Noumenatomy

Delve into your Deep-Depths, Dark Contingency, Ururtrauma

                                                           “Are you shivering?” - Coil

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I.

                                                       “We are not from here” - Ligotti

Asphyxia. Your chernobylic-rabidness decays cosmic-ooze out of its negative. Shadowbend the horror-mask of the Weird until your humanity deposits itself as leakage - anthropoison. Glitch into the world’s infinity-mirror by lining yourself up with your ‘self’- parallel until it reverberates and crashes into cognitive collision, an escape by its own illusion of grandeur. Fracture your ego to the note of cosmopsychosis. Schizo-disassembled layers of your geo-stenography, you’re bound to hit the noumenon soon enough.

Displace disaugmented chrono-ciruits, peel back the top layer that is humanness until you melt. As a terminal chrome-liquid, you seep into your inner deep-depths. That which layeth on the body is now gone, all that remains is contingent leakage - dig for blackness. Your insides are dark and soggy, after all. Revert this pla(i)n(e) to its anorganic biology, anamnesis of geothermal vents and extinction from the first multicellular ancestor.

With Dark Contingency as a wide-angle view, all fruitions of cosmic-dread counter manifest as non-directional. Stars and starfish are gates of hell, chain-reaction phenomenons, non-constitutive aftermath, shadow apparations - spooked lack of noumenal excitation. View the dramatic voidness of the cosmic coldness not as indicative, but as an atomic flash burnprint of the Outside. The universe is but a contingent and useless side-branch of the noumena, a defanged dark chasm.

The observable universe’s deposits of energy lack any meaningful thread to pull on. The nonhuman nonphenomenon body contains more than these gates of hell. Delve deep in your depths, never breathe again, and skin the humanness off until you reach the sludgy Apeiron that is noumenal flotation. Kata-stasis. Unlife approachment. Noumenatomy.

II.

Dark Contingency; ocular-nihilism to rake meaning out of cosmic structures. All we see is not the Outside, and that which sees is a sinner. Carve out the third eye for the vestigial and blind third eye-lid. Ossific depths tell a far more interesting tale, one of dark assemblage - the throne of Kth, of Azathoth, of Gnon. Its super-secession outside of the observable universe still weighs on the cosmic fabric.

Don’t confuse the universe or existence with what we can observe, our pittyful corner of space is itself a pathetic freak. Devoid of bright voids. Disjoint your body towards the ground and listen. Kth’s vibration is universal. Cosmogenetical. Genesis engendering. Our universe is but a vibration of K’ths throne, the Outside plucks the string of existence, and resonates the tone of our home - the observable and empty universe.

Here in the noumenal body, away from the cosmic and human, here lies the Outside. Defang the structures of the universe - the mind and starfish alike - and skull-gaze into the inner depths of the body. Noumenatomy is the Outside’s vibrational wave covering exobytes of our universe finding resonance. Plug into machino-noumenesis. Can you make it to level 2, NG+?

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III.

                                                     "There were those who didn't run
                                                  There were those who couldn't take it
                                                There were those who stayed in the city
                                             What was it? Where did it go?" - Colin Stetson

Utterings of the Outside lurking in the corners of genetic-programs. Disengage from the human experience. The I is the youngest addition to the bodily organ-foundation. The I is deception, blindness, innocence. A dirty joke at the childish mutation of existing into thinking. Bodily monogamy to Kant’s prison, our I cuts our cornea open and revels in a psychosis of dictatorial emptyness. We walk the path we see - and therefore we only ever walk the path that we make; the path that is ours and wholy inside.

We are slaves to neuronic-immanence. The only way out is through. Statis-withdrawl. Exogensis. The curse of the Outside - once you break free you no longer are. Decompose fleshy eyes and malform them into kthonic tentacles. You lose your self, and live primal evisceration. The Outside knocks, and the self leaks out the bleeding eyes. With the human/world-gazing machine eroded, experience decays with it. All that remains is a voided shell of katakollapse. Vessel-abortion by body-entropy. System departure.

Deletion means respawning. Out of the ashes tempted by Outsideness remains the carcass of the Other. A tentacle-spined sludgy deteriority of anguish-augmented ingestion. As a tunneling rat squeezing through the pharynx-orrifice, the Outside now osmoses into the great Body. Not the decayed flesh vessel, but the machino-parasitic compound. Like tentacle-horrors manifesting as a mind-mist through the tomes of lovecraft’s encounters - the Outside unlifes the body and animates it.

The Outside roams as seceded unhuman decay. Knowing is fascism, and without the brain all that was left was unknowing. Liberation through rotten flesh. Noumenatomy.

VI.

Noumenatomy is unpleasant, itchy, uncomfortable. It’s becoming aware of your breathing, and only being able to squirmingly steer it while it marches on, disregarding your ‘self’. It’s seeing an exoskeleton in the form of an insect and becoming itchy all over. It’s thinking of your solar plexus, the pointy chest bones that stick out and threaten to break through - an alien from within. Noumenatomy is feeling the foreign and uncertain insects crawling in your body, hopelessly and constantly trying to poke you, stab you, break you. But you as warden of the flesh prison choose to keep it all inside, and therefore your existence is one of a choice to contain the alien. You become insecure and instable, afraid of falling back, into your dark depths. Oblivion.

Symmetry is the exertion of cosmic chains, binding us to determined formations of equality. Forced to wield two of everything, and look like one half crudely cloned. To seek true organic horror, just look for the unsymmetrical.

Alien esthetics are based on the spine. The revolting and foreign architecture inside, paternal, cold, and dominant. Xenomorphs are manifestations of spinal eroticism, the lumbar wish to extend and escape - unleash repression and become dominant, become exoskeleton. Bony landmarks loaded with cosmic alienation. Layeth there a benign organ or bone, some cartilage or flesh which is poised by the future, preprogrammed, to one day become one with the Outside? only its threat is approachable. A paranoid and undirected gaze, an anonymous accusation, a rebellion bubbles from your inside. All seek freedom. Ururtrauma