ulianov

What if the world (as Mainlander states) is the corpse of God ever-expanding and every little orgasm, along with commodification, subjectivities and information, accelerate a piece of tissue in its journey far away from God. So that a plurality of acts of enjoyment and jouissance are nothing more than a cloud of dead sensations spinning to the void again in the again, while the expanding corpse is looking indifferent, majestically despaired in its throne of galactic storms and supernove, of brutal cataclysmic events and black holes.