All these struggles of god with god, power against power, the gods feeling those forces they are thought to control crackling at their fingertips; this separation of the power from the god, the god reduced to no more than a sort of word, falling, an effigy dedicated to the most hideous idolatries; this seismic din and physical convulsion in the heavens; this way of riveting sky into heaven, earth onto earth; these mansions and expanses of heaven which are handed on and pass from mind to mind, with each of us, inside our heads, refashioning our gods; this interim occupation of heaven, here by a god and his wrath, there by the same god mutated; this takeover of power, succeeded as though by the perpetual spasmodic pulsation, top to bottom and back again, of other takeovers of power; this respiration of cosmic faculties, similar, on a higher level to the coarse and buried faculties dormant within our own individual natures – and for every faculty there is a corresponding god and a power, and we are heaven on earth, and they have become the earth, the earth drawn into the absolute...
– Antonin Artaud, Heliogabalus: Or, the crowned anarchist
No comments:
Post a Comment