We are entering an age where every book shall be squared, every secret told, where the naked, writhing meat on the end of every fork shall be seen as what it is. We are entering the Text Explicit, the Myth Omnivorous, the Story Pansexual. The Aeon of Dreams.
Reality has given way to hyperrreality. Hyperreality, delirious in its lies, became caught in its own web and turned like a monarch butterfly to transreality. Even Anime is being made Real. We are nothing but characters in a sixth or seventh Terminator sequel, a repurposed sample in a futuresynth tune. We are a direct to DVD horror movie, and we are forbidden to reproduce without the express written consent of Major League Baseball.
Some of us are nothing but craft beer and an ironic wolf shirt, the poor sods.
But there is hope. For therefore we are Sarah Connor, we are Shinji at last mounting the robot. We are The New Black. We are pop eating itself, which implies that we are also that which eats pop. If nothing means anything, then everything means everything. We are Rizzo making a running catch at the foul line.
We are a product being sold to itself. This is manumission. The hungry ghost is the fat Buddha seen from the wrong end of the Eternal Vietnam. This is not to say that potential is for sale. We are creators of an eternal mesh of orgasmic sensory overload meaning, as all things become True in the dawn of the Last Day.
Do not lose courage. Go for the throat. The world now knows a surplus of meaning like a nuclear apocalypse. Bombs fall all around us. But we shall not be free until the last fact is strangled with the entrails of the last scruple. This is perhaps what Donald Trump is achieving. The earnest hyperreality of the Ron Paul and Bernie Sanders campaigns, the ennui of the dreamless prole-in-theory is giving way, to a transreal embodiment of The American Dream. We are no longer temporarily embarrassed millionaires. We are real characters, the connected world over. He is us and he is a meme and he is the hope and we are only realizing this now, the text breaking into a thousand shards as the Last Trump sounds…
The Book of Life is open. The myth is all there is. The God-Man is among us. The Emperor Protects. Meme magic is not the end of meaning, but the beginning. In the center of the city there is a tree of life, and all nations come and eat, and drink of the water of life. This is the day of Be-With-Us.
Take and eat. For he who is righteous shall be righteous still.