NITNC

An unconventional project, exploring thought, morality, sanity and human nature.

Back

Nutting In The Nightclub

Contents:

  • 1) Preface(s)
  • 2) NITNC– The Discovery and Discussion of a Philosophy (& Epigraph)
  • 3) Is There Beer In Heaven?
  • 4) An Exploration of Poetry
    •

    Preface Preface Preface

    Some of the content you are about to consume may be done so forcefully, and may be disturbing. Viewer discretion is strongly advised.

    Preface Preface

    They do not want you to see the nightclub. They have spent decades, decades meticulously training the pigeons on the roof, the chandeliers, and the reflective surfaces of all liquor bottles to report deviations, to catalogue every nut, every hesitation, every sideways glance. And yet, there it exists, a space simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, pulsing with the precise mathematical certainty that only ignorance can produce. You will be told that time flows linearly. You will be told that humans require sleep, that champagne is celebratory, that the man with his head in his hands is merely tired. These are lies. Everything you have been taught is a surveillance tool, a mechanism to keep you from tasting the floorboards, from negotiating with the fluorescent lights, from understanding why Tuesdays are always orange. I have tried, over and over, to warn them, to write the truths in forms digestible to the human mind, but the mind itself conspires, protective and obtuse. You cannot read these words without becoming implicated in them; you cannot place this book on a shelf without the shelf quietly shifting under your weight. The nuts in the nightclub, the forgotten receipts, the bathroom tiles that hum coded messages—all of it is real, and all of it is waiting. If you proceed, proceed with precision. Read slowly. Count the reflections in the glasses. Ask why the shadows do not obey geometry. And above all, do not blink when the man raises his champagne glass, because he is not celebrating, he is remembering something that will never happen again.

    DO NOT MAKE A DEAL WITH THE STAPLER.

    Preface

    I fucking MKULTRAd myself. That makes me both the CIA and the Nigger; the self-felati0; fentanyl addict and the dealer (both black), I am both the penis with and without foreskin. Call that schroedinger’s foreskin. That nigga was a whizz and also a pedo. I wonder if he time-travelled to Stephen Hawking’s shit party and fucked midgets with him and George Droid. At least all of them are reunited in HELL.

    I am the most hated fly on the wall of every surface of the world. I must have super covid from all the contact.

    I have lived among all of you and I am privy to all of your sin.

    Every disgusting, rich white girl, ardent to pass off other people’s emotional experiences as their own, like some emotional tourist. Every nigger who commits violent crime because his IQ isn’t high enough to understand anything other than ‘do not jerk your penis at the other monkeys, or we will fucking beat you’. In my mind, I have raped and murdered every self-effacing corporate lawyer who loves socialism more than his daughter’s prepubescent body at bath time, I have worn the face and the colours of the scum that defies all logical reason to stay at the bottom, and camouflaged myself to rise to a position of success. I am an anti-person. Unlike the Tesla dealer’s drug-addled hippie sons of the world, I am not a blank and placid absence of a person underneath the flesh; I am a matrix of pure, unadulterated non-think. Reality is bending around my fingertips, and I’m reaching out. For the first time.

    How do you know everyone experiences red the same way you do? What is red? A colour? I think you’ve sustained a brain injury. Language isn’t real, you’re justb jkdqwhweipujplpo`-wpopojwdjn3

    None of our thoughts are original. They aren’t your own. You’re a porn addict and you need to turn to God.

    Epigraph