A thought adequate to capitalism, to the horror of capitalism. How are we going to find it?, W. muses. A thought that is at one with the end.
The chicken won't stop, says W. The very end is endless. Dusk and no night, no midnight stillness when we might come face to face with the horror. It's moving too fast, W. says. It's dragon coils are snaking.
Hang on!, says the world. Ride! And that's all we can do: hang on, ride. What did we think: that there would be time for the reckoning? That there would be a moment that would open up before our sentences were carried out?
But our punishment was decided long before we were born. Death, death, and before we were born. Until the lives we led were living deaths. Until our life was only a dragon-coiling from death to death …
Lars Iyer's Blog 