"Every time I met Rudi he would hand me a bag of garbage. It was always the first thing he would do. Then I would go and throw the garbage away, and I'd come back, and we'd sit together a little bit, or I'd do some work. Sooner or later he'd give me some more garbage. It is really very simple. You just throw it away."
- Garbage and the goddess: the last miracles and final spiritual instructions of Bubba Free John

Kairos is interred here; the moment was never ours. There is no Armageddon, just an endless terrestrial silence, as peaceful as it is horrifying, human gods and immortal daemons unruffled alike by the unending sun, a present that stretches far beyond the limits of past or future. Here we are no longer concerned with being right, here we are no longer concerned with being good. Far from harming righteousness and goodness, the fatal snap of that anxious committment intensifies both into the absolute infinite divinity of reality.

Actually, there is no such thing as divinity or as reality. Neither eksist. All that stands out here is this line of openness that slashes through the human, the god, the earth: the pit.

I look to the sky, but it is relentlessly grounded to the earth and its arid blood.