#absolute secrecy

You are evil. A diseased missionary, you want the world to hear what you say, take your words as truth, all the while infecting it with what you are, with what you are really like. That is what is actually published – to the universe. Sorry. It is that simple. Flattering yourself with scientistic wonder that we – whoever that is – are star dust while your invisible life spreads everywhere its subtle slime. Nothing but you are at the centre and the periphery of the cosmic malignity. Will you at least have the decency to stop hiding the horror of yourself? (Behind critique, behind the object, behind hyperchaos, behind immanence, behind becoming, behind difference, behind the real, behind whatever.) Will you come out into the open?

The actuality of the individual is something other than both creature and creator, yet inseparable from them, being ‘rather quid concreatum, concreated with the creation of a created thing’. The existence of you is neither a being nor nothing.

Individuation is an anonymous material.

You fear. For yourself. Because you are yourself. Because you are afraid. That you are not.

Individuation is a flight of the alone with the alone, the phoenix-flight that you can never properly undertake because it is your actuality. What other option does a species of one have?