The End of Sanity

All sanity is the same. Like all peace, and most kindnesses. The reverse, fortunately, offers endless variety. Finding refuge in the slum of genuineness, one discovers the untold pleasures of pain. The fragility of sanity looms like a voluntary mirage of sorts, easier to leave, than to return to.

The beauty of war is that it offers this thrilling respite from the ravages of certainty. Travelling across wounded landscapes, one can notice this magical energy that thrives on violence. Not just the random violence of the lower levels, but the central ideas that govern human nature. In destroying, war rebuilds in a way essential to the cyclical obsessions of civilizations. It is not just inevitable that we destroy, it is necessary.

Technology has produced this numbing sensation of ugliness. But where it takes away from beauty, it also lends itself to it. The prospect of biological warfare is far more fascinating than lone men with rifles in the trenches of the world wars. It is but obvious, that newfound power and control will be used on the species itself. The scale of pain it can cause, the unconscious fear it generates, the denial exercised by the multitudes embracing optimism and humanism (and other such impotent illusions), and the sheer delight the weapon can bring, is one of the best ways to grasp modernity.

In the labyrinthian complexity of insanity, mass psychopathologies show themselves with such clarity, it has a horror unparalleled. The only respite sanity could possibly provide, is probably that of boredom. An occasional foray into systematic illusions.