These are the End Times, but who knows it but us? No one. We're quite alone with our knowledge, which is really a kind of feeling. We're on our own, we decide. That's what we have in common: a sense of the apocalypse. A sense that the time has come, and these are the days of our Judgement.
We'll be found wanting, we know that. We two above all – we're terribly guilty. What's to become of us – of us in particular? No one believes in us. No one listens. We're out on a limb – terribly far – and we're sawing it off. We'll fall off the edge of the world. We are falling – who believes us? Who believes in us?
These are our thoughts on the train that rushes through the night. We're drinking gin with great determination. We have to drink!, drink! until we can no longer say the word, Messiah. That's our punishment, and we must be punished. This is to where it has come, here in the dark rushing forward.
What place do we have in the world? None. Where's it all going? To perdition. To desolation. And we are going with it? All the way! It's where we're heading now with our gin and our apocalypticism, full speed into the night.
Lars Iyer's Blog 