we have indeed secreted a human age out of ourselves as spiders secrete their webs: an immense, all-encompassing ceiling… which shuts down visibility on all sides even as it absorbs all the formerly natural elements in its habitat, transmuting them into its own manmade substance. yet within this horizon of immanence we wander as alien as tribal people, or as visitors from outer space, admiring its unimaginably complex and fragile filigree and recoiling from its bottomless potholes, lounging against a rainwall of exotic and artificial plants or else agonising among poisonous colours and lethal stems we were not taught to avoid. the world of the human age is an aesthetic pretext for grinding terror or pathological ecstasy, and in its cosmos, all of it drawn from the very fibres of our own being and at one with every post-natural cell more alien to us than nature itself, we continue murmuring Kant’s old questions- what can i know? what should i do? what may i hope? - under a starry heaven no more responsive than a mirror or a spaceship, not understanding that they require the adjunct of an ugly and bureaucratic representational qualification: what can i know in this system? what should i do in this world completely invented by me? what can i hope for, alone, in an altogether human age?
fin.
fin.
libertarian benefit collector - anti-academic super-intellectual. http://mixlr.com/the-little-phrase/
