Monday, 13 February 2012

Albert Caraco: A Pessimist for the Pantheon

My apologies to those four or five regulars who drop by this blog and comment. As per my last entry I’ve been feeling pretty flat and anhedonic lately and pretty much uninspired generally. However, in a world of official optimism and life-loving drones (and encouraged by Bazompora’s suggestion that I switch the blog theme to just pure resentment:-)), I do wish to keep the black flag flying so here’s a pointer to a pessimist who’s pretty unknown in the English-speaking world: Albert Caraco.

More unknown and obscure than E.M. Cioran, Caraco is someone I discovered through a posting on Thomas Ligotti Online. None of his works have been translated into English, so if, like me, you’re keen to read him we’ll have to reach for our French dictionaries and verb tables. A few of his books are available on Amazon. Caraco was of Urugyan descent but lived his mature adult life in Paris. He committed suicide after the death of his parents. More info on this intriguing gentleman can be found on the following sites (from which I’ve garnered the quotations below):

The more I grow older, the more the Gnosis speaks to my reason, the world isn’t ruled by a Providence, it’s intrisically evil, deeply absurd, and Creation is the dream of a blind intellect or a game of a principle without a moral.
Blessed are the dead! And thrice cursed are those who, taken by madness, breed! Blessed the chaste! Blessed the sterile! Blessed even those who prefer lust instead of fertility!

For now, the Onanists and the Sodomites are less guilty than fathers and mothers. While the former only destroy themselves, the latter destroy the world, by multiplying useless mouths. Shame on the learned and the spiritual, who force us to venerate them and teach us to lose reason! We should be less miserable and less ridiculous, if it weren't for these preachers of smoke and mirrors, these saviours of trumpery. They aren't good for nothing, having served only to deceive us about ourselves, about them and our reality.

The cities in which we live in are schools of death, because they are dishuman. Each one of them has become a den of noise and of stench, for each of one has became a chaos of buildings, in which we ammass ourselves in millions, losing our life’s reasons.Unfortunates without escape, we feel to have put ourselves, willing or not, in the labyrinth of the absurd, from which we will leave only when we will die, for our destiny is to continue to multiply ourselves, only to die in great numbers. At every turn of the wheel, the cities in which we live in advance slowly one against the other, desiring only to confuse with each other: it’s a run towards the absolute chaos, in the noise and in the stench. At every turn of the wheel the price of the grounds go up, and in the labyrinth which devours the free space the revenue of the investiments builds up, day after day, hundreds of walls. It’s necessary that money give revenues and that the cities in which we live in advance, so it’s right that the houses double their height at every generation, even if the water is missing half of the days. The builders only desire to escape the destiny that they prepare for us, moving towards the countryside.

“The starting point of Caraco’s thought is to bring back all the absolute sense, origins and explainations to the nothingness and to the indifference, demolishing the pedestal on which the belief stood on, a trait surely derived, and extremized, from Nietzsche.Caraco’s thought focuses on the indifference of the universe towards all the human life and values”

I don’t believe in the goodness of nature, the being of quality can prove their good origins, but they in no way could represent the species as a whole, which is nothing but a tangle of abortions...
However since the majority isn’t neither reasonable nor sensible, new abortions will have their birth in shame, in misery, in sickness and in filth. We then must educate these abortions in order to, once adults, carry on the absurd destiny of the species.

Extermination shall become the common denominator of politics to come and nature shall join in, adding its furors to ours. The end of the century shall see the Triumph of death, the world overburdened with men shall discharge the surplus deadweight of living things. Not an island shall subsist where the powerful could strip into the consensual hell which they prepare for us, and the spectacle of their agony shall be the consolation of the peoples they have led astray. The future order shall be the sole heir of our failures, and the prophets, amidst our ruins, shall gather together the survivors.

The young can no longer save the world, the world can no longer be saved. The idea of salvation is nothing but a false idea, and we shall pay for our countless errors. It is too late to redeem anything. The time of redemptions is expired and the time of reformations is over.

The most fortunate men shall die fighting, and the most miserable, crammed in the bottom of basements or coupling in ardour, as to deceive agony, aided by the orgasm. The world shall be nothing but a howl of pain and ecstasy, and the purest among men shall only be able to avoid self-contempt by resorting to weariness. The choice of agony will be the only choice left, and this will be sooner than we expect.


  1. What just baffles me, is that people maintain the assumption that the human condition can only get better or, more rarely, at worst as bad as a post-apocalyptic setting; yet, already I notice a rapidly expanding market for organ harvesting, the emergence of nuclear waste disposal as part of warfare with more and more being half-savaged from the onset of their lives, and the muffled screams of thousands of lives coming to a brutal end (every day now) as causing less of a fuss than a dog being offed swiftly.
    Beyound these times of globalised exploitation, I can imagine a technocratic singularity, where human brains are cheap core components for autonomous tools, integrated in their entirity or even likely chopped up into parts essential to the function. I see no further selective advantage to greater compassion beyound preserving physicians. And all will work to the sole whim of cannibalistic cavemen with superhuman cunning.
    As outlandish as such turnout would seem to us now, I wonder if it is any more so, than our present civilisation
    - in which no land remains unclaimed, humans are bound to engage in "voluntary" servitude to survive and starvation is rampant while death of overeating tails it -
    would have been inconceavably pathetic to our prehistoric ancestors, who might not have conjured up a worse turn for life than being chased by one's neighbours, at the dawn of the Neolythic.

    1. I also dread at the rationally deducable plausibility of horrors that my imagination might not be able to conceive for any distinguishable fraction.

      Ink is the color of reason. Love the flag, Karl.

    2. Thanks for the great comment, Bazompora. Yes, the cognitive dissonance that people engage in when evaluating life is truly astounding. When one attempts to coldly consider the amount of violence practiced in the world today (as well as the threat of violence), it is remarkable that all the 7 billion+ inmates are not trembling with fear. And as you intimate, the fact that 25,000 humans die of hunger EVERY DAY while millions of obese teenageers waddle around is surely further proof of the warped and crooked nature of Homo Sapiens. Given the endless vapid rhetoric of western leaders supposedly committed to alleviating world misery, one imagines that it could hardly be that difficult to ensure regular food supplies to those in need, but instead we see an ever tightening boundary around the circle of the elite while the rest are chained ever tighter to their indentured slavery, commonly referred to as 'work'. Ah yes, 'work' my old friend. The final proof of the utterly useless nature of humanity and the fraudulent nature of the 'gift' of consciousness has to be demonstrated by the fact that the vast majority of humans would go insane and/or become incurably depressed were they to be relieved of the burden of 'earning' their living. Slaves we are and slaves we shall remain for all time. All a person can do is insulate themselves as much as possible, or in other words fly low and beat the radar...

      And yes, this blog shall from here on in deal more and more in bile and resentment toward this ridiculous existence!:-)

    3. Hey Bazompora! Long time no see. Great comment!!!

      It baffles that one thing that you commented above: that there are no unclaimed lands. How horrible is the ambition and thirst for power of man!!!!

      And what about "ink"? Ink is the same as black?


      Great post!! I love to get to know new names on this venture on the Pessimist Lands.!! Thanks for that!

    4. "And what about "ink"? Ink is the same as black?"
      Yes, I was being poetic there; thanks for scratching the shine of my catchphrase. X-D

      Lo, S.,

      I returned "Sorensofos" a question.

  2. "Ah yes, 'work' my old friend."

    Yes! Work is slavery. To work in a company with their ever increase objectives and goals - to wallow in its madness... to work is to slave!

    Let´s lift high the black flag!!!!

  3. Powerfully pessimistic! I enjoyed the guy's style, although he's left himself wide open to the indictment of the yaysayers, who tend to interpret any and all such dissertations of negativism as nugatory indulgence. Anyway, black goes with everything, and has a slimming effect. :)

  4. Thanks, Shadow. I think some of Caraco's works have been translated into Spanish if you've any interest in following him up. And yes, the madness and slavery of work! What a nightmare!

    Jim, great to see you here. The Naysayers will always be poo-poohed by those with a vest interest in seeing the horrible show continue and whose rose-tinted glasses are welded to their heads, but to hell with them!

  5. "I think some of Caraco's works have been translated into Spanish"
    I didn't know my body could harbour this much jealousy, haha.

    A post like this gives me hope that there are other thinkers out there with equally distasteful views. The only pessimist I knew about before becoming an antinatalist was Schopenhauer (Albert Camus was a cop-out, sadly). But after browsing this blogosphere for a while, I came across Zapffe, Cioran, Mainlander and Ligotti - an astounding increase of 400%. So if we all search hard enough, I'm sure we're bound to find more hiding around somewhere - even if their works aren't in English. When I enter university and have a lot more free time, I think I might have a go translating some Caraco and Cioran (unless all the works of Cioran are already translated), to see if I can help anyone here. My French is pretty basic, so it'll definitely take me a while though.

    1. EstNihil, the good news is that practically all of Cioran's works have been translated into French and are easily available through Amazon UK. For what it's worth, I'd recommend starting with the wonderfully titled 'The Trouble With Being Born', a fantastic collection of aphorisms, and also Cioran's favourite of his own works. Working on French is still a worthwhile ambition, though, as it really does appear to be the language of all great pessimistic literature and philosophy.

    2. Should read 'Cioran's works have been translated into English'!

    3. This book of Cioran, and many others, are already translated to english. I have a copy of it (The trouble with...) myself, that I ordered from Amazon. Great book indeed!

    4. Thanks Karl, for the recommendation and the update with regards to the Cioran situation, or non-situation as I know now. I think I might take your advice with regards to Mitchell Heisman's work, though if I end up liking it enough I'll probably read through the whole thing. As for On Suicide, I've been meaning to read that for a while, but somehow managed to forget about it.

  6. Karl, what's your opinion on Cioran's "On the Heights of Despair"? Have just begun reading it. Is it shit?

    1. Oskari666, 'On the Heights of Despair' was Cioran's first (or maybe second) book. It's got that youthful rage and vitality of someone realising the horror of life. It may be a little melodramatic in places, but it's definitely worth reading. All the themes that Cioran spent his life on are there in embryo.