WE are the newborn children of the History. Our souls are the souls of God-reborn, remade, refashioned in the spirit of the age. What we face is a universe gone wrong-a deprivation of spirit, a calamity of everything social that lives and breathes not in the prosperity of the time but in the degradation of the connection. Our connection is to the melancholy, to the sadness, the triumph and the tragedy-that which is intertwined. Our chessboard is the awkwardness of confusion. Our playground is the blissed-out netherworld of the lost and pleasured. What we see before us are generations sapped of purpose, drowned in the ecstasy or the failure of their times. What we see amidst ourselves is tyranny, collusion, the ranging of the forces of enjoyment and distraction arrayed against completion, understanding…what we see is the vaccum into which our energies must pour.

Around us lie the casualties-a nation wed to policies they do not understand; a people frenzied by the very things that subjugate their lives. Around us breed a million people, harnessed not to purpose or to destiny but to furniture, and landscaping, economics based around not family and future but the orgasm of the present, the pleasure of the now-a brilliance built upon the moment and the second, a feeling structured in the clubs and orgiastic powerhouses.

Our peers have gone degenerate. Our elders are adrift. The essence of our playthings is genital, a confirmation of nothing but the basic fact: we feel. But what degrees of feeling? Of escape, of abdication? We see a panorama, a bleakness cloaked in everlasting neuroscapes of loss and unconclusion. What has failed before us is our duty to redeem. What has vanished in the vapors of our icon-sucking “virtue” is our duty to recall. We are the resurrectors-we are the redeemers. We are bound to spring from the cave, fully formed in ways our predecessors could only stagger around, hoping-we are freed from desperate delusion, we are spilled from our broken homes and shattered moors, our gross foundations-we are revanchist, regenerators, we are the practitioners of a new conservation of all the wisdom of the ages. What we bring is neither old nor new but Unified, the drive toward ultimate completion, the striving for the Endpoint and simultaneous recycling.

What we recycle is the immaterial-we transform it with the ages, we provide its newer breath and being, we unlock the living of the dead and seal the death of the living souls that squander their own livelihood. We are over this-over the simplicity, the dogged rationality, the brute-force utility-mind of the modern world. We fight against obviousness, compiled in sordid rows of consensual, recreational, casual fuck-thought. We combine the love of Emergence with a condescension, a turning of the cheek beyond all pity to a system predicated on truths it no longer believes in, and we press that Emergence against ourselves and against all those who flock to what we practice. We are not revolutionaries. We are not the agents of a brittle world that time has left behind.

We are the Continuity-simplicity of purpose and complexity of being-we rage against the failures of a broken, empty worldview and seek to triumph with a Rebirth. In the souls of those reborn we find our children. In the bodies of their vessels we discover their true forms. In the pattern of the Permanent, the image of our Maker, we reply to all the baseness with the depth of our impressions: that the passing of the Previous has marked our world with Death; that the Death we stand and reckon is the Death of the Unliving; and that the living that has vanished is a temporary falter; that the faltering, perennial, is the pattern of the Ages; that the Standard, dropped upon the fields, is none but Ours to gather; and that the Gathering, the Synthesis, is none but ours to foster; and that this, the action, flowering, shall, true, recover us from wilderness, instate us from the pits and barren emptiness to the Crowns of the Renewal; and when, upon completion, we arrive at this Achievement, there is nothing but the Nothing that shall challenge us in Doing.

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