You May Have Killed God Beneath The

Visibility Is A Trap.

And Now, If We Try To Assign A Value, In And Of Itself, Outside Its Relations To The Dream And With Error, To Classical Unreason, We Must Understand It Not As Reason Diseased, Or As Reason Lost Or Alienated, But Quite Simply As Reason Dazzled.

Confined On The Ship, From Which There Is No Escape, The Madman Is Delivered To The River With Its Thousand Arms, The Sea With Its Thousand Roads, To That Great Uncertainty External To Everything. He Is A Prisoner In The Midst Of What Is The Freest, The Openest Of Routes: Bound Fast At The Infinite Crossroads. He Is The Passenger Par Excellence: That Is, The Prisoner Of The Passage. And The Land He Will Come To Is Unknown—as Is, Once He Disembarks, The Land From Which He Comes. He Has His Truth And His Homeland Only In That Fruitless Expanse Between Two Countries That Cannot Belong To Him.

Madness Designates The Equinox Between The Vanity Of Night's Hallucinations And The Non-being Of Light's Judgments.

My Point Is Not That Everything Is Bad, But That Everything Is Dangerous, Which Is Not Exactly The Same As Bad. If Everything Is Dangerous, Then We Always Have Something To Do. So My Position Leads Not To Apathy But To Hyper - And Pessimistic - Activism.