On Death


This world, our world, is a Death world. Life is predicated on Death: it walks a fraying tightrope over the abyss of non-existence and nothingness. At it’s core, life is nothing but infinitely small pockets of temporary resistance, subsumed in a swirling vortex of entropy and Death.

Death is the absence of life. The hollowing out of life. The stripping away of life to the bone. It is the bottomless abyss: an undifferentiated non-place, devoid of time and space. Death is sameness, the end of the illusion of difference which marks life. Death is the cannibalisation of the borders and boundaries that separate things, giving them form and existence.

In Death all is one. But all is nothing.


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