Friday, May 13, 2011

Nietzsche's Prophetic Prolepsis

Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained the earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns?  Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing?
F. Nietzsche, The Gay Science

The above is a quotation from a larger prophetic pericope, but every metaphorical, rhetorical question in it is a repetition of the same theme.  It bespeaks of the beginning of the end of an aeon.  Nietzsche like Prometheus seized the light of hyperdimensional resonance for the benefit of humanity, and inasmuch as it was yet before its time, as it was wrenched from his contemporaneous future, it sent ripples of shockwaves through his psyche; he in all eventuality retreated into deep unconsciousness, and never rose to the surface again.  

Nietzsche's ecstatic dithyramb, as it provisionally vibrates with our current time here and now (and this might change beyond the 2012 event horizon), is and has been the source of a recurrent theme that characterized the modality of a dying aeon---in the motif of this fall as a beginning of the end (cf. blog article Finnegan: Bricoleur)---an aeon that has already ended.  The news of its end is, for now, yet but a supernal seed, gestating.  

Aftereffects are currently still rippling, symptoms perhaps worsening in various aspects, and healing in terms of others.  Time is still increasing in velocity, and the entrenched masses of beings clench on with all of their might to chreodes of human-historical Habits in the framework of global and local cultures, and everything they entail.  They do not realize that the entire horizon has been sponged away, that the earth has been unchained from its sun, that they have moved away from all suns, that they are in perpetual freefall in a chaotic vortex, even as their Steampunk world grinds on with gargantuan gears, well-greased with virulent lubrication.  For fear and dread of losing the only Machine they know, they clench on, tighter and more desperately than ever.  And they no longer make any bones about it, as they have come to notice, by and by, that they have a death grip.

But it's all alright, believe it or not.  And that's the amazing part of it all.  A new resonance is emerging that is tearing away at the fabric of Steampunk Habits of the unchained earth.  It is still in its infancy, it is still a seed.  But time is moving faster.  And faster.