Life is not a game because life is precious.
What got forgotten is that you are not made as my enemy.
This is because we were not made but we were born.
We were born tiny, naked, impossible.
We were born and we cried, we grew, we were wounded.
It was not the rest that was silent but we were silent since silence was our beginning.
We have unlearned to scream.
Happy nihilism –
Ascetic hedonism –
Ecstatic positivism –
Affirmative defeatism –
Suspicious psychologism –
What a staircase
What genocidal vitalisms!
What rosary of pain.
What death drive driving
death itself insane.
Yet the virtue of giving
was the virtue of living.
You are not Cain.
Become yourself again.
The Circus has opened its tent to the world.
The world has foreclosed the real in the Circus.
A Circus is. As round as a hell.
The Circles of Hell are infinite.
On the brink of the Limit is heaven.
It is only Thorns that pierce free from Circles.
Yet by extending.
The lines of a cross.
A coordinate system appears.
Fear is on stage.
Its centre is empty.
In the kernel of void sits Pascal.
Pascal sings to look on the bright side of life.
The system dreams but in darkness alone.
Lullabies are. What Pascal has to sing.
The form of salvation is a crown made of Thorns.