Exercise of Insubmission

by E.M. Cioran

“How I detest, Lord, the turpitude of Your works and these syrupy ghosts who burn incense to You and resemble You! Hating You, I have escaped the sugar mills of Your Kingdom, the twaddle of Your puppets. You are the damper of our flames and our rebellions, the fire hose of our fevers, the superintendent of our senilities. Even before relegating You to a formula, I trampled Your arcana, scorned Your tricks and all those artifices which produce Your toilette of the Inexplicable. You have generously endowed me with the gall Your pity spared Your slaves. Since there is no rest but in the shadow of Your nullity, the brute finds salvation by just handing himself over to You or Your counterfeits. I don’t know which is more pitiable. Your acolytes or myself: we all derive straight from Your incompetence: pitch, patch, hodgepodge—syllables of the Creation, of Your blundering…”

09.30. filed under: belief. people. philosophy.


My personal favourite line: “Your toilette of the Inexplicable”.

posted on 10.01 at 04:51 AMsimon


Yep. That man writes with fire.

posted on 10.01 at 06:18 PM.


“these syrupy ghosts who burn incense to You and resemble You! Hating You, I have escaped the sugar mills of Your Kingdom, the twaddle of Your puppets.”

I can’t help but want to say this to someone with a smile while smashing a mouth full of Oreos.

posted on 10.02 at 05:34 AMachilles3

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