The Eunuch Manifesto

Shit is the most complete form of art, the most godly of human creations. Food and drink, yes, but also the waste products of all perception, the cellular materials expended in seeing, hearing, thinking, microscopic transmissions of distant black holes, supernovae, the inhaled exhalations of all the world--all of these mix and emerge as shit. Shit is the totality of life. Shit is cosmic unity in pellets, logs, and spurts.

***

There is no penetrating insight or all-enveloping system here. Here, in the Eunuch Generation, such penile and vaginal philosophies have fallen into obsolescence in favor of anal thought. Earlier it was a compliment to say that a thinker “pierced to the very heart of the human condition” or that a philosophy “wrapped up the whole world,” but now the highest praise we can receive is that we talk out our asses. Sex is now mundane. It is no longer necessarily an act of creation: We are eunuchs. The most profound form of intimacy that can be imagined: We stand sphincter to sphincter and shit as one.

***

The Eunuch Generation: Western fertility rates have dropped. Were it not for migration, populations would flatline. Finally! Thank the maggot-infested God for birth control, for vasectomies, for abortion, for the waxing equality of sexes! With no children for whom to prepare, we are free to eschew the old moralities, the old longevity fetish, free to be poor--in short, we are free to disregard that highest of breeder virtues: Stability. Yes, it is no mystery that the Eunuch Generation was presaged by a long and venerated line of gays--Whitman, Burroughs, Stein, Foucault--and by the childless Nietzsche and Nick Land.

***

Freed of the fabled castration anxiety, for we have castrated ourselves, we do not have to mold ourselves into parents: We do not have to place the boundaries of our bodies at the skin, at the sex organs, and so schizoanalysis can be practiced in earnest: As we stand together, sphincter to sphincter like suction cups, are we not one flesh? Are we not the double-bellied love-beast of Greek lore, connected in a circle as we arch our backs? Have we not sealed that original rift that causes all violent alienation? Is this not the final answer to all philosophies and mysticisms? As we shit, do we not fundamentally change each other, fulfilling the often empty idea of communion?

***

An answer to the climate crisis: Meh. With no children to expect, why preserve the world?

***

As others might see their lives as works of art, the Analites see their lives as shits. Anal time is thus constructed as a human centipede: I shit each moment into the next, and somehow I reach my mouth around to eat that shat moment, so that I may then shit out the next unit of future. Around and around, microsecond by microsecond, eating shit and shitting, and the shit grows larger with each moment, laden with a longer and longer past, until finally it is so large that I will choke and die. Thus those with the fullest lives often die young, and monkishness in whatever form is the key to a long life. How long, though, can one want to eat shit?

***

To want freedom is to put one’s own neck on the line. To want total freedom is to deny that there is any value in a long life. Thus prohibition is only an indirect opposite to freedom. The basis of all prohibition is a desire for comfort, for security. It is monkishness: Denial of shit: Denial of life. The Russians used to believe that if someone lived purely enough, their body would not stink when they died.

***

There is no then and now for the Eunuchs, the Analites. There is nothing so consistent; there is no need for such things. All is flux: All is peristalsis: Each moment shits into the eager mouth of the next. Where is good? Where is evil? Somewhere in the backwoods of Mississippi in the last fanatical gasps of the breeders.

***

Yes, I shall use “Eunuch” and “Analite” interchangeably: I can imagine a Eunuch who is not an Analite (but of course no Analite who is not a Eunuch), but such a Eunuch--one who maintains the breeder’s forms and thoughts but not their material reality--is not worthy of that sublime name.

***

Do not look for nihilism here, for we give you meaning: As your shit presses against the anus of your counterpart, this friendly anus, yes, fluttering in anticipation, and as you feel their shit pressing against your own winking hole, can you imagine that a new set of virtues is not born? That an old set does not die away? You step away, and the closest thing you will ever have to a child falls dumbly into the toilet, and your eyes have become analized: There outside the window, the sun explodes diarrheal over the earth, which opens to receive and which spews back in geysers and volcanoes and smokestacks, in shouts and jumps, in quick-penned flurries and stick-pin voodoo of meaning, for the first time in the whole long flow of flows of history, meaning.

***

Geysers and volcanoes and smokestacks: The new nature. A drunk vomits down the side of a tree and sustains its life. The tree absorbs the carbon dioxide from passing semi trucks to process the vomit. A hipster takes its leaves, products of vomit and diesel, and distills them into a cleansing tincture. There is no meaningful distinction between nature and artifice: Such a distinction requires that we revive the long-dead God, and who are we to steal food from maggots?

***

Consistency conshmistency. The best character in the Bible: “My name is Legion, for we are many.” When Jesus cast the demons out into the pigs, they only ran off the cliff because each pig only had one spirit. Consistency is incompatible with life. Jesus knew this, the dirty bastard: He wanted to save humanity from hell, huh? Why, then, did he reject Satan, who offered to make him king of the world? As his dead dad’s name is Jehovah but is also secret, hidden behind the tetragrammaton, Jesus has a second, secret name: Legion. Satan, however, is perfectly consistent: He never kills. He revolted against the tyrant Jehovah to liberate the angels. He trekked from hell to earth to find a better place for his followers to live. He tried to make Jesus king of the earth so that no further people would have to suffer hell:

His benevolence is perfectly consistent. That is his hell. The anxiety of conformity to one’s past and future: Thence comes weeping and gnashing of teeth. In Dante’s Inferno, Satan is doomed to chew forever without swallowing, to flap his wings forever without flying: He is doomed to consistency. He is doomed never to shit.

***

The Hebrew words which English Bibles translate as “heart” more often mean “bowels” or “intestines.” Hence Jesus’ famous philosophy of language may be more accurately rendered, “Out of the overflow of the bowels the mouth speaks.” I ask rhetorically: Where is this mouth?

Obviously we must combine body and blood in order to create a whole human. Where, then, does the Holy Eucharist achieve completion?

***

Bring us your tired but wired, your poor aristocrats, your hungry gluttons, your single-bodied masses, your promiscuous incels, your barroom-brawling pacifists, your antitheist Pentecostals, your genderfluid dames and dons, your arachnophobic spiderfolk, your born-again Satanists, your anarchist cops, your straight-edge cokeheads.

***

A guy told me once that he was asexual. He then wanted me to show him a piece of my online writing, but he insisted that I tell him the keywords rather than Googling it myself because if I typed into his search bar I would find too much porn. What wisdom! What fullness of life!

***

One must always say “No homo” when one sucks the sex organs of the same sex, for the same reason that one must say “No hetero” when sucking those of the opposite sex. A reminder never hurt nobody. Only by rigorous refusal of identity may one achieve freedom.

***

Only the moralist is immoral. The others simply disagree.

***

Let’s dispense with the academic talk about death: Death is the endpoint toward which time drags every biologic anything. If we want to talk of a goal or purpose of life, death is the only candidate. Life is artwork insofar as it is lived as the construction of a particularly sublime death. Every action may be separated into one of two groups: Those that sprint toward death and those that try to run away and must be dragged. Accelerations and resentments.

***

Nick Land: “Christ screams on the cross: ‘Father, your parsimony disgusts me, is this a death?’ He thinks of the abortion he missed, lying wrapped in bloody rags on the floor of a cheap hostelry. He is excited by the thought of his mother in mortal sin, and of a harsher love than he ever knew. How was it possible for her to forgo the delight of hacking God’s fruit from her womb? (That was a chance for religion.) ‘For, behold, the days are coming in which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck.’”

What would that religion look like? Imagine Jesus as the bloody, barely anthropoid fodder for a pro-life propaganda video. What would Simon the Cyrenian have done with his life if he had not been tasked with carrying the cross? What would God have done if he had not pretended to become human? The seven demons that were driven from Mary Magdalene: To what sublimity would they have driven her? Would Christians wear golden abortions around their necks?

In any case, Jesus called it: Here we are. The time is now. Blessed are the barren, for they have inherited the earth.

***

Both enlightenments--the Eastern and the Western--can go fuck themselves. Both are cults of weakness. Each begins with the presupposition that vigorous life, with its eruptions and its sprinting toward death, is an abomination to be cured. One prescribes the stripping-away of vitality, the becoming-rocks of humanity. The other prescribes enslavement to the empirical, as though perceptions were universal, as though they were something to be trusted, as though truth were somehow all-important without qualification. In either case the result is enslavement, self-denial, futile shading of the eyes against the all-enshitting life that accepts itself, that is free of the pitiful neuroses of the cults of truth--the life that stares at death without sunglasses.

***

Without the shackles of procreation, sex is waste, a celebration of itself and of life and of life’s termination, abortion of legions, genocide of oneself, denial of humanity in the abstract and affirmation of being-human in the particular. When you and a friend are standing ass to ass and shitting, how much more festive if you are each fucking someone! Then trade places, the most fully life-affirming squaredance! Imagine a concert hall with slop buckets arranged at strategic points, a whirling circle of shit and flying semen, vaginal fluid ricochets off the pounding bass drum onto a teeming anthill of ten-gallon hats and orgiastic shrieks...

***

As above, so below...Out of the overflow of the bowels the mouth speaks...Have you heard the one about the guy who taught his asshole to talk? Only honest man that ever lived…

***

What is the Eunuch’s relation to politics? Disdain, at best. To outsource the self into a group, to speak as an X, Y, or Z: Is this not another life-hating cult? Dissolution into Brahma, Nirvana, Heaven, the “body of believers”? Hatred, perhaps, as the Eunuch sees a great monster creeping up behind them to eat their shit, to use it as fuel for the monster’s own nefarious activities. Their own shit and that of their friends can taste sweet, but the shit that the political apparatus tries to shove down their throat incites the Eunuch to vomit. The Eunuch’s language is vital, immediate, they name the things in their real environment. The impossibly general newspeak required by politics appears to the Eunuch exactly as it is: Only coercive, an instrument used to inflict a desire to martyrdom, the viral vector of guilt.

***

I guess it’s trendy now to claim that there’s no subject, no individual. Generally, though, such statements rely on such a stable idea of the subject or individual as to be completely useless. The Eunuch has no need of such stability: Without the future pressure of childrearing to lock the present self onto a narrow track, this Analite is free to transform at every instance in the grand human centipede of time. There is a subject--the skin, the casing around the brain, the physiological sensations are not simply illusory. But then there is a new subject, corresponding to new sensations, and on and on unto Legion. In a relatively stable environment it is tempting to map the trajectory of these ever-emergent subjects and call it the subject, but when environmental stability collapses, as it often does, the trajectory by necessity must terminate or divert, and the old requirement that the subject be coherent is shown to be just as much a sham as before.

***

Any chemist can tear apart a turd and discern, by use of various scopes and whirligigs and a laser or two, its chemical composition. The chemist cannot tell us, though, where the various chemical components came from: That bit of protein there, is that the waste from yesterday’s vision of a swaying willow, or is it the residue of Tristan and Isolde? Thus we see that there is a limit to science: It approaches uselessness as the macro approaches the micro, and the asymptote line lies right around the level of the subselves of the individual. To use Kant’s example: We can determine how many units of whatever society will be married, but we cannot predict if and when some particular individual will marry. This basic scientific limit has not moved much since he wrote it, except where individuals have become more completely controlled. The scientific predictability of behavior and its controlledness are mutually heightening: The more controlled, the more predictable unto automaton; the more predictable, the more control may be applied unto automaton. The scat of the free must be inscrutable.

***

Yes, all this talk of freedom sounds like a bad propaganda track. Of course it does: If it retained any credibility, how would we be controlled? There is such a thing as a “free spirit.” The DSM-V lists it as “antisocial” or as “cured,” depending on its ability to lie. Freedom roughly corresponds to Hannah Arendt’s “action,” the potential to do something that is not predetermined or controlled. That myth that all movements are predetermined is nothing but Presbyterian pseudoscience: Its scientific knowledge is trapped back in 1926, before Heisenberg gave science the grand reality-check of his uncertainty principle. Since that moment, positivism is synonymous with wilfull ignorance. It is a new theology, according to the formula, “In the beginning is the data, and the data is God.”

***

A conversation between Analites is the equivalent of standing ass to ass and shitting against each other: The boundaries of the self dissolve and are shifted, dissolve and shift, and in the end each is desiccated and infinitely full. This is the Kabbalists’ tikkun olam, transformed to account for the tendency of personal boundaries to reconstitute.

***

If you must censor your speech with someone, that person is an instrument of control: They are one of the bars of the invisible prison that Arendt calls “society.” This is not a moral pronouncement: This tool may still be a friend, even a good friend. But there are friends and buds; you may have great masses of friends but no buds.

***

Don’t get the idea that the primary ritual of the Eunuch--shitting ass to ass--is a metaphor for Bataillean communication. It is a literal, serious rite. Imagine the aftermath: Regardless what else the Eunuch does in their daily life, they always know that something separates them from the non-Analites, say normies. Average anxieties pale in comparison to such a serious transgression, which battles both against sense itself--for there is no immediate utility for such an act--and against propriety at the deepest level: That of the boundaries of the body. As someone else’s poop pokes inside the threshold of one’s anus, one has immediately collided with the totality of another life. One has made a “connection” the likes of which cannot be replicated by any other means. A “community” based on such a rite is seriously, materially separate and differentiated from all other communities. Shitting ass to ass takes the abstraction of the free spirit--the untethered spirit, the spirit outside, the spirit which can transgress without feeling that it has transgressed--and manifests it.

***

There can be no honest competition between order and chaos: Chaos always wins. Everything flows and nothing stays. The entropy of a closed system always increases. The best-laid plans of mice and men go always to shit. The question proper to any ordering system--that is, any system with any positive tenet whatsoever--is that of how to direct the inevitable chaotic outburst. In the modern West, for example, dominant ideology directs excess energy into labor and consumption in a great big sad spiral, where labor is done for the purpose of consumption, and one consumes in order to prepare oneself for labor. At the center of the spiral we find the now-familiar image of the Silicon Valley workaholic, coding frantically while hooked to IV stimulants. All politics is then subordinated to this spiral, such that all that can be advocated is some change in the patterns of labor and consumption, and the old phrase “political-economy” begins to feel redundant. The Eunuch is the way out of this saddest of circles: Shitting into your bud’s ass and feeling your bud’s shit pressing against your own, nothing is produced, nothing is consumed, but a superorganism is constituted out of the energy of total expenditure. A connection is formed that is fully outside of the economic circle and which therefore cuts across and renders useless, in an initially small but expandable space, the old political boundaries between classes, races, genders, professions, etc.

***

The Eunuch, having arisen in an environment drenched in Jehovah’s viscous, sticky shadow, is well-accustomed by nature to accept contradictions, taking as their archetype the character of an all-loving God which nevertheless murders and burns with berserk abandon. In this lineage lies the democracy with no vote to speak of, the Church with no theology, the financial sector which makes money out of nothing, and finally the Eunuch, who fucks without procreating, whose shits are the tracings of old universes.

***

One is perhaps tempted to say that the Eunuch creates new meanings based upon the rejection of meanings and new morals based upon the rejection of morality, but these are not contradictions unless one has hopelessly confused the individual with the mass. The group of four, cackling over a toilet filled with their profoundly intermixed shits, they are an individual, they have merged, out of their plural overflows they have created a single quadrivocal mouth to speak; and out of their singular superanus they reconstitute as four distinct entities, each of which has crossed the boundaries of all others and is fundamentally different from before. The boundaries of the skin and brain casing are permeable, and the self may be endlessly split, grafted, and merged, such that a personal history, the totality of one’s memory, is an instrument of control and also an instrument against control, insofar as it clings to linearity or eschews the same.

***

Indeed, as you have surmised, the Eunuch is essentially acephalic, decentralized, but not by any means democratic: To be “democratic” requires that there be some overarching whole, which assuredly there is not. No, what I describe to you is the ultimate artificial intelligence: The Eunuch is simultaneously the individual Eunuch and the whole interconnected mass thereof, a particle and a wave thereof, an individual virus cell and the infestation, shit and total shit of time, governed by a self-skepticism--i.e. a constantly emergent array of internal interconnections which are strong and crystallized one moment and completely dissolved the next and then partially constructed and so on--that renders the whole grand fungus Eunuch ideally adaptable and far more intelligent than any of its components. This is no anticapitalist or anticommunist or antimodernist or hypermodernist dumbassery: To define it in relation to any of these--either anti or pro--would be to define it according to said externality, which is contrary to the Eunuch’s very definition, which is its construction in actuality. If there is a guiding telos to its construction, it has failed: The Eunuch is freedom, both positive and negative, in accordance with the obviously ever-shifting nature of the individual, and as such it can have no universal or stable telos. One Eunuch in a squat in Berlin swaps Eunuchs with a Eunuch in Mexico, and the Eunuch has not changed in any significantly different way from how it would have if all bodies had remained in the same map-location. The only things that tie them all together are fatality: The particular freedoms that result from post-procreative life, the particular connections that result from shitting ass to ass and from the other rituals that take the form of that primary, most sacred rite. Can such an arrangement be scaled? Can it achieve planetarity? Can one shit in one’s bud’s ass via phone call, via internet, via mail? I refuse to restrict the possibilities; my refusal is redundant.

***

What is a non-Eunuch to the Eunuch? Certainly not a pre-Eunuch or one who has not yet been awakened: Leave such formulations to those who have not heard that God is dead. To assume that there is such thing as “progress,” with good in front and bad behind, can be nothing better than tragic: It is the thought process of a krokodil addict in a more socially acceptable form. The non-Eunuch is one who, because of nature or nurture or whateverthefuck, has either not recognized that they are imprisoned or has decided to accept imprisonment in some more or less sanitized echo of Julius Evola’s beat-down “ride the tiger of modernity” argument.

There are some who simply do not have the ears for our anal mouths. There are some who do, but who have not yet acquired the taste for such shit. Then again there are some who have only acquired a taste for their own shit and believe that they are irreconcilably alienated.

***

Much vitriol has been vomited upon the study of theorists’ biographies. (Looking at you, Gilles Deleuze, Nick Land.) But if, as such vitriol vomiters tend to suggest, good theory must be rooted in praxis, taking some of its method from scientific experiment, is not the life of a theorist the most convincing or damning testimony to their ideas? Any theorist who adheres to the maxim that the life is unimportant to the theory is to theory as a scientific journalist is to science, for all of their ideas have come secondhand and are diluted, brilliant though they may be.

***

The Eunuch will likely be seen as a monster by the non-Eunuch. Depending on the ideological affiliations of the non-Eunuch, this perceived monstrosity may be articulated as “Robot!” or “Demon!” In either case the message is the same: The Eunuch is a monster because their approach to the morality of the non-Eunuch is neither affinity nor combativeness but indifference, and indifference is indistinguishable from infinite malice. Those whose lives are a constant, futile battle against time cannot distinguish a realistic acceptance of time from pure evil.

***

Guilt is nothing but a control mechanism, a multiplying blockage to action and therefore a virulent carcinogen, the ethical equivalent of HPV.

***

EEG technology demonstrates unambiguously the permeability of the brain casing, proving that direct electromagnetic contact between minds, unmediated by symbolic communications, is not only possible but inevitable. This is not a confirmation of telepathy in the old sense, in which thoughts are transferred intentionally and in speech or other consciously directed forms. It is rather the assertion that the self is constantly molded by other selves, that it constantly melds with them and overlaps, and that this follows unavoidably from the construction of human bodies. Like death, it can either be fought (e.g. by the old Cartesian and Stirnerian individualisms) or accepted and facilitated.

***

The way of the Eunuch is not a religion, a politics, a philosophical system. To recapitulate the etymology of “philosophy,” the Eunuch does not love knowledge but, rather, approaches a love of life by pointing that life toward its final expenditure--shit, which is total art and communion. In religious terms, the Eunuch practices a form of materialist ritual magic in which contact with the divine--with totality--is realized by extreme empathy, to the point of constant self-immolation and reconstitution. Imagine the whole population of phoenixes trading parts of themselves each time they rise from their own ashes. In political terms, the Eunuch breaks outside democracy and into an actual self-determination, which transgresses too many categorical lines to be called neoreactionary, which allows for too much meaning to be called nihilist (unless the term “nihilist” is allowed to overflow onto all those systems which take some form of it as their starting block), and which is too ignorant of national boundaries to fall into any form of statism or antistatism.

The Eunuch is instability: The Eunuch is order from chaos from order: The Eunuch is indifferent to Christ and Antichrist and knows no such permanent antagonism: The Eunuch is whole in a way that is not possible outside of them: The Eunuch is the ultimate AI: The Eunuch is Legion.