On Base Matter
Excess, Consciousness, and the Upright Animal
The subject is a constipated being. Base Matter, the irreducible virus that infects every human construct and brings it low, prevents the subject from its continual quest to bring order to the universe. The flash of Base Matter onto the subject destabilizes its ordering, like the tide washing away a child’s sandcastle. The chasing of homeostasis, where Order is order, the subject craves stagnation because it knows it’s unattainable. Debasement through trauma, through that point of pain where the world feels immaterial, the constructs of life are gone, disassociated from your own humanity, where the filters and barriers that divide Homo sapiens from its cousin species are brought tumbling down. The siege that Base Matter does upon consciousness, taking cadavers to launch over the walls, to seep into all that feels “good” and “wholesome”.
Sieges that go on indefinitely are sieges that are won; the gates were seized before the first catapult slung its stone. There is no avoiding Base Matter; Human Will only goes so far before it is subjugated to the base reality. No human has avoided The Real, the irreducible; the difference is how it is processed, how the virus is integrated. The Acephalous Man is freed from the high, but in his own way, regrows his head, waiting and begging for it to be lopped off again. The battle against the low, the structural supports, becomes the lopping off of feet in some medieval contraption. When the head is regrown, the chase begins, the saw on the ankle, waiting to cause the head to tumble down into the base so it can face the executioner’s block. Reintegration into the chase instead of channeling, into the destruction of the flesh following the haunting demand of the sun.
The Sun, the giver of life, the ass-headed god of earth, demands its pound of flesh, the Acephalic in his dance of freedom, returns to that one stable order. The stability of instability, the order of chaos, where out of disorder, out of vacuum order births itself once more. It grows, absorbing excess to support the growth of its species, and then vivisects itself. It’s viscera fertilizes the earth, allowing a new order to grow from the old order’s cadaver. The excess itself is not recuperated outside of that action of reproduction, but the destruction of the symbolic order allows for the birth of a new order. Digestion through the sacred, the stomach of the universe, burning away the flesh and bone of humanity’s temporary constructs.
The birthing of the new, coming from that digestion, that excrement, is the problem of Human Will. Just like the eusocial ant builds its nest, Humanity tries its best to force the head and the ground to be one. Putting the thoughts of man as a pure act, something where the dreams of the ape can fully overcome base matter. Cursing the Demiurgic Sun that made the world as it is, the need for blood to satiate its thirst. Every attempt at homogeneity cannot cut out the infection fast enough; it assumes enough ideological penicillin and antiviral can bring about homeostasis. This ignores that the infection is ever-present and the disease is endemic to life. Waste not managed, allowed to stockpile like gunpowder in an armory, will spark. Humanity’s intuition in managing waste has always been present, from great celebrations to the greater wars: when excess is achieved, debasement soon follows, and the massive trauma that comes from access to the irreducible.
The human element, one of the few conscious species playing in the solar shit, is the only reason there is something there to destabilize from the human perspective. The systems of waste, the byproduct of the Demiurge, would still occur; the emanations of the Sun are not dependent on human actors. It is the uniquely human problem of dealing with this destabilization, building our worlds within our own minds, then the flash of the horror, the meaninglessness, and the lack of The Real.
That flash, being blinded by the Jesuve, the ideal brought low, brought to the equilibrium, man made horizontal, it is that great reminder of the animalness of man. But the fact that our equilibrium now is one that stands tall, the spine lifting the skull straight up to carry the 3 pounds of gelatin and neurons, is a miraculous act that breaks us from being purely base, purely foot. The reliance on the big toe is a unique human experience; even among those who are brothers in species consciousness, we cannot know whether they think the same way we do.
The permanent trap, one laid by ourselves through our subconscious’s own need to filter, can only be mediated, processed after the fact. The head demands rationalization as much as the foot may abhor it, where the big toe’s foundation is something to be ignored, only acknowledged with deeper perversions, but still rationalized away like any other perceived sickness of the mind. This tragedy, the inability to leave our own minds, to embrace the totality of nothingness, is what draws us to the scapegoat, the essence that may bring us close to that totality without breaching the gap.