“There can be no liberation through denial, but only through fulfilment. In despair, life is shattered, but this does not lead to a marriage with the Cosmos: the new state would be just as miserable as the old” – Ludwig Klages

Chaos is rejecting all you have learned. Chaos is being yourself – Emil Cioran

It was the first, the only dream — and just since then I have held fast an eternal, unchangeable faith in the heaven of the Night, and its Light, the Beloved. – Novalis

{[the call of disorder]}

The Cthulhucene is horrific rupture in time. Writhing tentacular intrusions, eruptions, ahuman invasions. It can never be fully seen, only glimpsed in reflections cast in the mangled chassis of plane crashes, car accidents, or purple light shone through oil spilled oceans. However, once seen, it cannot be unseen.
“That could not be real” we repeat over and over in our head, in repetition such denouncements become ritualistic, chthonic invocations. A worm burrowing into the brain. A virus latching onto a central nervous system. We refuse to believe the reality which has already tunnelled into our unconscious. A reluctant pressing horror.
“What is that which lurks behind the towering statutes of our historic hero-men, Aristotle, Kant, Hegel?” a vicious monstrous thing, unknowable in scale, inhuman, deterritorialized, its phantasmagoric presence displacing any human claim to centring within the universe. Deep time made violent, ancient temporal forces (rightly understood to be elder gods) stretching beyond any human conception, an alienating ouroboreal xenotime of <future/pastpast/future> A tear in the fabric of human experience. Copernican revolt. Non-Euclidean chronochaos.
It was James Hutton’s incantation “No Vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end” which awoke slumbering Cthulhu, his invocation of deep time collapsing biblical dominion on temporal narratives, releasing a far more ancient and deterritorialising chronotropy, colossal in scale. History, temporal linearity and the myth of progression all immediately trivialities, obliterated by a cosmic timescale beyond noumenal experience. Hutton’s break from human temporality is alienating and strange, violently usurping human claims to the earth and the cosmos, casting all meaning inside a daemonic shredding maw.
Deep time is daemonic power, with the ability to haunt the everyday, manifesting through places, objects and eerie atmospheres. We have all had an encounter with deep time, for instance a plastic bottle held in hand, the banal symbol of anthropocentricism – pliable, utilitarian & manufactured. From Cthulhucenic deep time this bottle becomes Chthonic idol, an inhuman temporality made material, composed from the dead flesh of ancient creatures and simultaneously projected a thousand-years into the future – decomposing in a world devoid of ‘the human.’
The Cthulhucene is the era of the not-known, of disinterested cosmic forces that worm and tunnel their way through the walls of the ‘inside.’ By the inside we refer in part to the Kantian transcendental island/egg. The inside is thus a fortress comprising of circular walls of logic & empiricism, built in the hopes of keeping at bay the infinite expanse of planetary unknowing. As Nick Land shows in Kant’s transcendental legacy the inside is “a fortified boundary, sealing out everything uncertain, irresolvable, dissolvant, a sea-wall against the unknown, against death.” Yet as many of H.P. Lovecraft’s tales prove (for only a fool is to deem such works as ‘fiction’), the rationalist, the logicistician, the scientist, all those stiff with fear behind the fortress they constructed, they all eventually succumb to the outside:

either embracing it
I was one with them”

or driven to insanity
“shut into this barred room”

{the Cthulhucene is the outside coming in,
                                                       an irruption into this world}

[what follows are scribbled footnotes from the margins of the published text]
quickly pause upon Land’s critique of Kant, for Land here articulates the essential aspects of the Cthulhucene. If the inside is protected by a ‘sea-wall’ then the outside is a Chthonic ocean of unknowing and death, and it is within this ocean that the Cthulhucene resides, crashing against human interiority. It is no surprise Cthulhu first emerges from the sea!

{[making death with it]}

Few have been willing to admit the temporal reality of the Cthulhucene, Parsani’s opening of the () hole complex focuses on physicality, invoking speed only as a gate way to the outside. But one cannot speed toward the Cthulhucene, <it is time> one accelerate towards oneself. We turn to Land again: “After the ruthless abstraction of all life the blank savagery of real time remains, for it is the reality of abstraction itself that is time: the desert, death, and desolator of all things.”
it is time, always time, we must let it open us, make death with it, be obliterated by it. Death is time, time is change, the eruption of new wonderous intensities
in that lair of the Deep Ones we shall dwell amidst wonder and glory for ever.” Death, in the Cthulhucene is thus purely Deleuzoguattarian, another step in becoming a body without organs. In the Cthulhucene we must all become thanatic cultist, shed the label of the human, dive into the ocean of time, dwell amidst is wonder.


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