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ERYSICHTHON (2015) by Jon Rafman You fell asleep from exhaustion at 7am this morning. You were awake all night, and the only thought in your mind was that to exist is to devour oneself. If you look at these images enough, you begin feeling like you composed them, that you took the photo. You remember the dream in which you had glimpsed the germ of the idea. These images posted at random and forgotten have ways of permeating their surroundings and of affecting you, even if you are barely conscious of perceiving them. When you leave consciousness, you will do so contented with one thought: You know you did not intentionally create another human being. You did not bring into being another consciousness. You hope this gives you courage while your mind farts. You hope you remember to meditate on this while you depart. You hope you remember to remember. Cuz, you fricking fricks just can’t ever be quenched. Your ah- your fantasies can’t ever be quenched, can they? You fricking fricks! When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences? A moment of complicity and intimacy, holding hands with death. A moment without hope and without an opening. I finally said it: My startup failed. Fai-ailed. My startup, my startup failed. Fai-ailed, failed, faaiii… I have ten thousand compound eyes, and each is named Suffering. In those moments when consumption accelerates, beyond the desire to endure. It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known. I never thought I’d die alone, I laughed the loudest who’d have known; I traced the cord back to the wall; why did building 7 fall? The void also attracts you; otherwise you wouldn’t have any vertigo. HTTP://
