Imagine: A Surreal-Relatable Hell
Picture: O que arde - Oliver Laxe (2019)
IMAGINE| 14 Oct 2024
* First Draft of this short essay was written and published on 10 June, 2024 with same title.
Exploring Imagination as the First Sin
To imagine, is the first sin.
Absurd Hellscapes
Imagine a place where forest grows apples full of dopamine, yet they fall only to fly upwards-away. Where creatures creep forward, then haphazardly as if a movement, disoriented or in a circle -marks a way forward to an imagined promised land. A place where the starved sadists laugh uncontrollably at his own trick- holding a stick in one hand and a carrot in the other. A place, where the shit one takes makes his next supper.
Dopamine, Desire, and the Defiant Carrot
Where creatures flaunt their kaleidoscopic orientations now a male, now clueless, yet breed not for passion but the sheer tedium, while 72 virgin-whores sleep alone on their empty stomachs. Imagine a place where nothing happens- as nothing is asked, none given. Imagine dark horses of Apollo’s chariot running amok, trampling the ruins of Sun-temple, announcing the triumph of body in a war of virtues.
Twisted Realities and Lacanian Reflections
Imagine a place where imagination becomes a forgotten sin- a the view that leaves nothing to imagine. A place where all things edible and lovely sprout wings and fly away yet stays back the madman, feasting on amber and anguish seasoned with his own delusions—Day in, day out.
The Dance of Virtue and Vice: A Surreal Ordeal
Imagine many Gods and children of those Gods born out of wedlock, yet without fucking. Too many children yet not enough fucking- what the fuck! Imagine first fuckers. Worry not for the chaste temptations, as there’s no supreme sin than just to imagine. An imagination that offer a world to each his own, one that no evil could snatch away from its bearer. A world of a lover born of two naked fuckers. A child as the next closest match, a mutated copy entitled to another chance, yet a being so real. Albeit, one must take a dare and plunge- and imagine what’s not given, thus not real. There’s nothing un-fuckable yet not enough reason or resolve to want to fuck.
Set Fire to the Mundane
Fuck such reality, fuck carrot and fuck someone else’s war on their God and their Satan. End of the day, It is the madman’s body which gets marked as his libido, mind, and values leave him astray as he demands his earthly matters be settled before he has to leave. Why not start with setting ablaze such earthly matters, were they ones who know not how to settle? Why not beat the game to it? Come forward hobo and take with you what did not burn- but the gold of this world. For gold is a cursed metal which doesn’t burn yet turns its seeker’s flesh into a tertiary metal. A Lacanian trick to eat the very subject which desires it. A stubborn element that mimics the desire and turns everything it touches into metal of a weird sorts- but never gold. Such gold could only be imagined in hell. Everything else burns. People burn. Sometimes for each other, mostly burn each other, but burn nevertheless. Burn down what burns, and extract what remains to see if a virtue holds, and lit up all sacred things. Watch the Hegelian ‘essence’ melt into its last substance; had it any. Set the cage ablaze and watch what could fly away.
Marquis de Sade and the Last Supper
Imagine being freed at last. Set fire to the floor in one last satanic dance, an orgy in excess and bordeaux to bathe in. Play one last ‘out of tune’ requiem and pay a timely farewell to masters of deceit who wrote sonatas of self-deception.
⧫ Excerpt from Chapter Marquis to Justine (All copyrights reserved 2024@ Mrityunjay Awasthy)
