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.