Everyone is in agreement, it’s about to explode. But what’s the “it”, here? Not just climate apocalypse, but apocatastasis: the coming end of the world is necessarily the end of time, all times and temporalities. As we approach the singularity, all time and history collapses and everything thought buried rises from the grave in anticipation.As in previous ends of the world— and the days following the ends— there develops a dadaistic language to process and communicate apocalypse, if only to laugh ruefully and assuage us that nothing could be done.
Shitposting is this language, adapted for the specularised networks and information highways choked by Metaverse ads and rhizomatic Disney flows. But— in these undeadtimes— in a destituted language adapted to global communication networks, the Tragic—and tragic art— creeps back into it like a necromantic vapour, and the original questions of tragedy take on new, trollish senses. They present new cracks in the human, through which it may be imperative to gaze? What is on the other side of the end of the world?
