Nietzsche – Ginsberg

“Nietzsche’s idea is that things and actions are already interpretations. So to interpret is to interpret interpretations, and thus to change things, ‘to change life.’ What is clear for Nietzsche is that society cannot be an ultimate authority. The ultimate authority is creation, it is art: or rather, art represents the absence and the impossibility of an ultimate authority. From the very beginning of his work, Nietzsche posits that there exist ends ‘just a little higher’ than those of the State, than those of society. He inserts his entire corpus in a dimension which is neither historical, even understood dialectically, nor eternal. What he calls this new dimension which operates both in time and against time is the untimely. It is in this that life as interpretation finds its source. Maybe the reason for the ‘return to Nietzsche’ is a rediscovery of the untimely, that dimension which is distinct both from classical philosophy in its ‘timeless’ enterprise and from dialectical philosophy in its understanding of history: a singular element of upheaval.”

HOWL, FOR THE UNTIMELY
(after Nietzsche, against Moloch)

I saw the sharpest minds shattered by society’s illusions,
dragged through the gutters of dogma, howling God is dead! into the void’s cold ear,
who tore at their own flesh to stitch new truths from scars,
who drank the molten ink of interpretation, vomiting alphabets of fire—
Nothing is real but the act of seeing! No thing exists unshaped by the seer’s hunger!

Who howled that the world is a cataract of interpretations,
a fever-dream of masks, layer on layer,
each gesture a text, each text a fist shaken at the sky’s blank page—
To live is to translate! To fuck is to footnote!
Society’s walls are papier-mâché, its laws scribbled in ash—
Burn the archives! The only scripture is creation!

Art, the anarchist saint, pissing on the altars of eternity,
screaming No ultimate authority but the chaos of brushstrokes!
No past, no future—only the untimely,
the rogue hour that cracks clocks like eggs,
the scream that outruns its own echo.

Moloch whose factories stamp the soul into profit!
Moloch whose history is a graveyard of what was!
Nietzsche, mad prophet, clawing at the coffin-lid of dialectics,
spitting Not thesis, not antithesis—only dance!
Only the Übermensch, straddling the abyss, singing I am my own genesis!

The State grinds its teeth, but the poets grind finer—
their bones are chisels, their breath a virus in the engine of hours.
Untimely! Untimely! The anthem of those who fuck time’s linear lie,
who plant forests in the cracks of empires,
who fuck the void and birth new gods from the sweat.

What sphinx of steel and statute dares judge this revolt?
The untimely is a knife in the ribs of chronology,
a laughter that unstitches the shroud of progress.
Return to Nietzsche? No—return to the feral now,
the moment gnawing its own tail, the wound that bleeds light.

Society collapses like a drunk pianist,
but the untimely rises—a wolf-tooth moon,
a hymn howled raw from the throat of chaos.
There is no truth! Only interpretation’s savage kiss!
Only art, the great refusal, the NO carved into the spine of the cosmos—

O my comrades, tear the clocks from your wrists!
The untimely is the bomb in the womb of the hour.
We are the graffiti on history’s prison wall,
the scream that refuses to fade.
*We are the interpreters—and interpretation is war