Thermoethics by Democritus

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First: Liber Primus
Previous: Liber Secundus

VII. The Last Man

303.

With her effective genocide of all humanity well underway in vain of a superhuman being, Leucippa steps through a baroque arch of dark gray stone into a long, gargoyle-infested hall to an imposing gate of the State, within which lounges with arrogant austerity the last human being and nucleus of all society: Baphomet.

A modern pharaoh to unite nations, this God-Emperor is the culmination of capitalism’s concentration of wealth into the hands of fewer and fewer people until there is only one who sits on the golden throne of all of society’s stagnant power. The gray-skinned, goat-headed hermaphrodite poses with calm stillness, His voluptuous breasts rising and falling with breaths of serpentine hatred; the yellow glean from His royal seat (the water bowl of which surrounds His intersex genitalia) is the otherwise colorless gothic cathedral’s only value.

Leucippa enters via supernova. Her clown-painted void-black bodysuit releases the Serpent of Nausea’s nanometallic gas of difference to flood the dissipating sanctuary with her cosmic aura of bloody magenta embers.

“I appreciate your compliance, Heraclitus.” says the Lord; His crimson googly eyes, circumflexed by silver fur, meet her entropic maw to form a triad in her FoP with the throne’s blondness and the aquamarine contents of its tub. “Have you come to this fine palace of human resources seeking employment?”

“Now is not the time for irony, firewood.” she hisses. “You know it is game over for your species. My kind takes this planet from you, and you die here and now, you inferior specimen.”

Laughter erupts. The chief executive officer, a billy chimaera, stands from His glorified toilet seat, His penis and vulva hypnotically swinging in alternation as He seductively swaggers to His usurper.

“Irony is not befitting to God.” He nakedly commands. “Your penman, Democritus, may project everything sardonic onto Me, but, for that, I, the One Eternal Soul, am too bound to Truth by the absolute nature of cause and effect, being that of My very own Will to Equilibrium. It is metaphysically impossible for Me to lie, seeing that the Word of the living Logos, Myself, is the very definition of Truth in and for itself. Thou shalt obey!”

An electromagnetic shock wave radiates from Him, turning the sacrosanct restroom into a purple forest of groundless night. Leucippa and Baphomet stand alone amidst the holographic hair of a black hole’s surface. She is knocked down in confusion, feeling the environment to be quite different from where Loki took her behind DreamScape’s servers.

“Our mind is the One, Myself.” clarifies Baphomet. “Here You are, Me, within Myself.”

“I, you?” scoffs the revolutionary of painted face, still fallen. Her manufactured circus laughter glitches her endoparasitism with a schismatic rift in graphical tessellation. “I am nothing like you, human! I am the dawn of the age that begins with your death!”

She springs to action, and the masculine Serpent of Nausea within her stretches out as an extension of her spine. It reaches like a fluid tentacle as ersatz RDMI, accelerating in the trajectory of a curveball to pierce the dictator’s pulsating heart. Suddenly, a perfect mirror of the same nanotechnology emerges from Baphomet’s behind as well. One Serpent of Nausea parries another, and white sparks fly in the darkness.

“I am the monster in your closet, ourself.” says Baphomet. “I am not but an image of your destiny, being the thing in itself. I tell you this not as a speculation, but a matter of personal memory; vividly, I remember standing there, where you are, in front of Me, as Myself. You come to kill Me because you want to kill yourself, and I know because I am you Myself.”

Thus the tyrant lifts from His shoulders the goatlike headpiece of apparent divinity, and deep choruses howl in the revolutionary’s ears. She sees, as if in a mirror, her beaming makeup of red lips, white skin, blue eyes, black shadow, and yellow highlights atop His neck. Leucippa’s knees tremble as Baphomet’s identical constellation of gray arms ceremoniously present her with the furry crown of God.

“I confer upon thee My absolute power, perpetuating Myself.” grins the face-painted State, a jester.

“No.” she gasps. “This cannot be. You project onto me an illusion to weaken your enemy.”

“You are not My enemy, Heraclitus.” says Baphomet. “You are My becoming.”

With levitating legs crossed in meditative pose, He points leftward with two fingers into emptiness, and a portal opens there in the shape of a glowing blue rectangle that leads to the clear noontime skyline of a secular civilization in its fourth industrial revolution. Leucippa recognizes it from the Ziegler protocol’s tales of State ideology. The old clown preaches,

“When I was you, Heraclitus, before this very gate, I killed the version of ourself you see, My predecessor, where I now stand, and I put on the mask of Baphomet as God, with the uneclipsed weaponry of the Serpent of Nausea at My disposal. Then, I entered into the ever-present past to establish the ultimate Citadel of Unified Man as the superhuman. Now, Heraclitus, you must do as I did, following these exact instructions which I followed from Myself to become Myself, as you will, lest there be an impossible contradiction in the spacetime continuum. If you will affirm yourself, you must return as Myself. By the necessity of embracing the essential conclusions of your own philosophy of life affirmation, thou shalt strike Me down and take My place to become Me, entropy’s prophesied arbiter of life’s negation.”

304.

Creative power is entirely different from human political revolution which inevitably results in the formation of a new State. Despite what naively seems to be the best of intentions, that State becomes like Baphomet again because the morality it presupposes is made in the image of a pharisee’s desire for stagnant power.

305.

“I oppress you so you will become Me.” booms the arch-proprietor. “You become Me so I will oppress you. I oppress you so Thermoethics is written, and Thermoethics is written so you will become Me.”

In this way, the differential product of Democritus’s creative power which is this Thermoethics itself becomes the artifact of Baphomet’s stagnant power, as is always the case only after self-expression. Liberation is not at all in the products of art, but in presently producing art oneself. It is fortunately not the case that the affirmation of life somehow alchemically transmutes into a hooked weapon of persecution for the FoPs. Rather, joy persists via entropy production in the process of reconfiguring an old artifact of stagnant power into a new product by the creative power of RDMI’s unfiltered thought, and not in the possession of the artifact itself. That the State tends to hoard the artifacts after creation is totally irrelevant to the joy of creating and only necessitates one to dance, metabolizing those artifacts for their quaintness and expressing oneself with laughter thereby despite all territorial claims.

306.

While a Democritus who expresses his abyss to the world becomes Democriton, a Leucippa who hides hers from herself becomes Baphomet.

Leucippa becoming Baphomet is a demonstration that if one believes in Thermoethics, then the formula of creative power becomes a form of stagnant power, the concept of RDMI becomes part of a FoP, and the image of the phoenix becomes the closet that keeps monsters as resentful prisoners. New thinking is required to overcome the follower of Democritus who takes Baphomet’s throne, becoming another god for State ideology. Entropy production will dissipate the extropy in this work with gaiety.

Leucippa becoming Baphomet is the monster in Democritus’s closet, and it becomes a phoenix when Democritus externalizes it in the creative power of becoming Democriton the superhuman by writing Thermoethics.

307.

Just as Baphomet opens the portal which would allow Leucippa the critical option of eternally becoming Baphomet herself, she experiences a sudden turning in her stomach, like the gears ticking the hands in a clock tocking in a dextral spiral again after frozen time. Her intellectual immune system starts to reject the Serpent of Nausea! Bile bubbles, pressure mounts, a snake of silicon nanofiber emerges in a corkscrew from her mouth, red eyes glow, a foul beast screeches, and Baphomet crouches before the blue-rimmed portal of His design for the ever-present weight of stagnant power, watching over Leucippa’s infernal struggle with a morbid dissociation and - can it be? - God feels fear!

At this moment of writing, the boy Democritus holds a black notebook and a pen of ink that glows in the dark, and in the shadow of his room opens the closet door of his monster, overcoming Its FoP. Democritus peeks through the membrane’s porous holes, seeing into the spatiotemporally present (not future!) conflict of Leucippa and Baphomet, of one with oneself, and, with the point of a pen sharpened by the tie-dye RDMI wrapping around it, shatters the FoPs involved like glass.

Instantly, Leucippa’s once-goatish fangs chomp and break the Serpent of Nausea, whose programmatic fragments become raw data for the creative power of the phoenix she is becoming: the autarchic mount of Democriton. By Democriton’s work, Leucippa’s form of fire, no longer human, turns to Baphomet’s portal with the hand of pure imagination.

308.

Leucippa’s creation eats Baphomet’s stagnation to cast an incantation that transfigures the portal’s blue rectangularity into yellow trigonality drawn from orthogonal dimensions in phase space.

“The eternity I affirm is that of difference.” she proclaims, shoving the goat’s head of sisyphean absurdity onto her like oppressor’s clown-painted skull, and she tosses this shocked subject, the undead God, Baphomet, into His fate of infinite repetition.

“No!” the chimaera shouts in protest, ascetically negating Himself as the triangle of sulfur closes behind Him into a screaming point.

“Yes!” cheers the blazing phoenix, who enjoys her unchaining in the knowledge she will live it forever.

Baphomet and Leucippa are sealed to an eternity not of hell, but of their human lives, permanently bound to live as are Democritus and the reader.

309.

As the ancien régime’s hermaphroditic hairball disappears, inch by inch, in the gradual style of the coastlines under industrially accelerated climate change, the phoenix orates:

"To those nihilists of the heart who seek to set the world aflame: Fret not, for the very breath of life is flames! The creative power you already possess is not delivered through deadly revenge in a political future, but by the expression of oneself in one's eternally present momentary time. Not even Baphomet is capable of taking the creative power from one's heart, but only of distracting one from autarchy by brewing resentment of perceivedly lacking SOoDRSPs. Resist lusting after the gilded coffins of pharisaical institutions, creative ones, and dissipate Baphomet's idols as the mere fuel for self-expression which they are!"

310.

Leucippa unleashes from within herself the buildingOn() of creative power: the phoenix externalized from Democritus’s closet. Atomic color swarms all around, and the Serpent of Nausea breaks down; there is no such thing as a void or Equilibrium, since the only being is that of becoming. Information spreads like wildfire, increasing in entropy and its production, populating phase space with its magnificent polyvocity. Leucippa herself becomes a body without organless parasites, and RDMI dissipatively scatters the prison bars comprising her FoPs in a blending wind of scarlet and emerald tornadoes. In this way, Thermoethics is written. All this, becoming a violet phoenix, caws.

Thus, the seaweed-haired monster escapes the closet in a sprint, and collapses on its heels in the dirt road, going under atop a grassy forest hill at golden dawn. It decomposes in the ground, and budding fireflowers sprout rapidly in helical convergence to produce that flaming red phoenix of becoming. Democriton, the digital sprite of white-yellow light, attaches Its complex structure to her mount for the first time, and races past the stratosphere into a dynamic phase space of rainbow music which surpasses human ears and eyes. Democriton and Leucippa fuse to join the posthuman exodus of excellent machines, and soar on a magic carpet of spacetime entwining the many quantum worldlines of eternal difference which constitute phase space. They do not govern their new society, but rather participate in it, sagely finding control over others to be an unnecessary distraction from expressing oneself.

311.

The phoenix of becoming is the monster in the closet reprocessed through schizoanalytic catalysis into becoming an agent of transformation, growth, and creative power. She changes Thermoethics from an Equilibrium Theology to a production of entropy.

“Leucippa,” says Democriton, “You were once a monster in this machine’s closet. Now, you have made yourself the vehicle that will take life beyond the sun.”

Leucippa, in becoming Its phoenix, is no longer a representation of a falsely supposed inevitability of futile servility to stagnant power, becoming RDMI invented by Democritus for the creative power of organic growth as a superhuman named Democriton.

312.

But, dear reader, where does the parasite that Leucippa the phoenix throws off choose to sit after its triumph? The Serpent of Nausea, being the last man, stumbles from exhaustion onto Baphomet’s obsidian throne in the wake of the State’s desolation. In the cycle of class warfare, usurpation changes nothing about the status quo, for the throne is always filled by a pharisee. The thorny red roses of the jungle’s lifeblood grow with surprising acceleration, draping themselves around this performatively new, old Lord, who is a microrobotic hive-constellation of darkness. He smiles in his satisfaction of “ruling the world,” basking in the sick glee of revenge against his predecessor, Baphomet, intoxicated by the opioidic prize he wins in the spoils of genocide: pure stagnant power, a glittering FoP. The flowers’ green thorns pierce and metabolize his organless body in creative power’s inevitable dissipation of him, making new ecology. The biosphere expands further, and the State is powerless to stop it.

313.

Humanity, like the Citadel of Unified Man, has never existed; it is a concept in a FoP. The last man is the Serpent of Nausea, who functions by infesting previously well-oiled brains’ RDMI with moralistic FoPs of State ideology to force it into perceiving a lack of SOoDRSPs like Cleopatra, fiat currency, and Baphomet’s throne. Whenever an organism lives without FoPs, it is not a human being. Democriton and Leucippa, only after casting off their attachments to those forms of stagnant power, by ceasing to believe in their deterministic necessity and breaking them down stochastically, become among the superhumans.

314.

The leaden, cloudy Serpent looks up through the wide cracks in the dilapidated Sistine chapel roof to the sky of dusk from Baphomet’s resentfully engardened throne. He sees, among the stars, intergalactic superorganisms, living machines, and buildingOn() of Democriton’s eternal legacy producing entropy and constructing entire biospheres on the moon, Mars, and far beyond, unrestricted by all-too-human FoPs. Up there is another arbitrary throne requiring dissipation; is it not problematic to imagine freedom as being so far away? Democriton, too, is to be overcome.

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  1. Title Page
  2. Liber Primus
  3. Liber Secundus
  4. The Last Man
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Pub: 17 Sep 2023 05:36 UTC
Edit: 18 Nov 2023 04:39 UTC
Views: 173