Sometimes the darkness and I sit outside all night long and argue about a god we’ve never seen.
I say that there is no god, that there is only a vast turning darkness and an infinite love, that human systems of meaning derived from our projection of our unconsciousness into the void are illusory and empty and lead to much suffering, and the only truth is an infinite compassion that makes no demands and requires no sacrifices to itself.
The darkness says that it is wearing a gatorskin and that it can shoot lasers out of its eyes and once it saw a shark with an anti-aircraft missile on its back riding an elephant, and the elephant was trampling shrieking scions of bourgeois burghers under its feet, and so my argument is invalid.
I say that gatorskins and lasers and Comrade Elephant and Comrade Shark destroying the oppressors and ripping the chains off the proletariat actually all prove my point, that consciousness itself is absurd and temporary and pointless and the only possible answer is a love that can encompass all things, even the screams of the administrators of empire as they are ridden down by the unholy rampaging elephant/shark/anti-aircraft missile monster.
The darkness says that the void is howling and empty, that there is nothing there except the distorted imaginings of human fear, that there is no love to redeem the white knuckled terror of the abyss, that there are only rules and punishments and clearly demarcated lines between Us and Them, Thou and I, and a desire to cause the suffering of consciousness that is not enclosed in one’s own skull because then one’s own bright sharp blade of suffering is dulled for a time.
I say that all of reality is love.
It says that all of reality is a pile of decaying bones, dark gray and wet with acid godpiss and the tears of trampled noobs.
I open a pack of cigarettes and take one out. I hold it up and ask the darkness for a light.
It says “Now you will know suffering,” and lasers shoot out of its eyes.
