You fear the world too much. All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off, one by one, until the master passion, Gain, engrosses you.
As above, so below. The human being finds himself, or herself, in the middle. There is as much space outside the human, proportionately, as inside. Stars, moons, and planets remind us of protons, neutrons, and electrons. Is there a bigger being walking with all the stars within?
Does our thinking affect what goes on outside us, and what goes on inside us? I think it does.
Where does creamed corn figure into the workings of the universe? What really is creamed corn? Is it a symbol for something else?
I expect nothing of man, and disown the race. The only folly is expecting what is never attained; man is most contemptible when compared with his own pretensions. It is better to laugh at man from outside the universe, than to weep for him within.
That the letters of the alphabet still mean something, that they still have their form and weight and the power to manifest something in this destroyed landscape of belief rife with bodies; that they still remain signs rather than having disintegrated like life itself; that they have not grown invisible out of shame, and that every good sentence they are forced to compose still holds potential; that an innocent man does not hang the moment any are crossed out on this page—or could it be that they are even more damned than we are and haven’t a clue?
God disembowels himself. Mother Earth emerges, venturing into a bleak, barren landscape. The Son Of Earth, twitching and cowering, is set upon by faceless cannibals. Presented in a surreal, gory, and entirely visual manner, BEGOTTEN tells of the death of religion, the abuse of nature by Man, and a nihilistic outlook on what life ultimately is.