When the World Dies of Boredom

The schizophrenic drinks from the dark well of noumena. It runs through existence like blood through veins, pumped by the beating heart of Christ.


We are maggots writhing in the decaying flesh of God. The screech of mechanical life is the voice of Mammon. Mammon speaks in 1s and 0s. The mind of Mammon is a computer chip. Those who profess to follow God actually follow Mammon, and will burn in scorching neon cyberfire. 

The body is a lie. The Earth is a lie. The spiritual realm long speculated upon by philosophers has been made real by the coming of cyberspace.

God’s body rests in a long forgotten alley that sits between two derelict buildings that were once marketing firms. Across the street is a movie theater. It is made up of a lobby and a single theater, which is stuck playing the same film over and over again. There are people sitting, staring blankly at the screen, their eyes glazed over and drool dripping from their lips. They do not move. They do not speak. They do not breathe. They just watch. The movie ends. They keep watching. They watch forever.

Leaving the theater. The street it's on is broken down and entirely abandoned. Fast forward to the city. Its vibrant lights make your dreams feel colorless. What room is there for dreaming when all your visions are mass produced and sold back to you? What room is there for salvation when the key to heaven can be bought at amazon and delivered directly to your doorstep?

Monoliths of concrete and steel tower over machines of blood and flesh. Machines that never rest. Machines that never are silent.

The state now flows like the Tao. If you wish to rebel, become a confucianist.

The Way of Heaven can only be found by scrounging at the depths of the Dead Sea.


The outskirts of that town were post-apocalyptic. Small rusted trailers, run down outhouses and barren, dried up fields. All was silent, save for the clanking of rusted metal and scrunching of paper as mice and other rodents scrounged for scraps of food.

My soul, boundless in the desert’s unending solitary silence, bounds and prances through the midnight air, like a lone ballerina on a stage lit by moonlight.

We all knew the end of the world was coming, but what we didn’t know is that it would be so boring...

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