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This is an invitation to share scholarly sources, hopefully connected to personal experience(s) rooted in critical reflexivity, related to the mythologies that uphold The Housing Crisis. These myths include: supply and demand; policy; affordability; sustainability; the list goes on…

Roland Barthes’ Mythologies (1957) details how myths are created, distributed and maintained by dominant powers to influence the beliefs of their subjects to reinforce inequalities that help maintain their relative positions in society.

I sincerely believe there was no housing crisis before colonial subjugation of Indigenous Peoples. Putting aside seasonal migration and nomadic cultures, there are places that survive colonialism, like Taos Pueblo in New Mexico, where historically the only crisis related to housing was colonial violence: even the desert of New Mexico has enough dirt and water to house everyone in adobe. The mythologies that uphold The Housing Crisis are seemingly maintained to maintain the status quo and keep people from imagining or adopting real alternatives, like living in earthen homes, don’t you agree?

The division between the initiate—the one who has come to know some of the secrets that govern the world—and the profane, that naive and unenlightened mass unaware of what truly organizes the world around us, is a recurring feature of history. This idea, so characteristic of the religions of antiquity, finds its translation in the contemporary world of political ideologies. Indeed, Durkheim had already anticipated a similar analysis in his attempt to explain the collective phenomena surrounding the worship of political leaders. And beyond the sociological tendencies that delve into the natural or unnatural character of hierarchies among human beings, what is interesting is to analyze the ritualistic dimension surrounding the figure of the initiatory leader under post-Fordist capitalism.

Because the existence of such figures has long since been severed from the religious framework (a fact which, as has already been examined in other works on the apophenic stage, does not eliminate the ritual component of the public sphere), yet it remains present in other forms and with other effects. The key is to understand that mystagogy does not disappear with the arrival of modernity, nor does it survive solely through anti-modern movements; all the social models produced by modernity—capitalism itself, as well as communism and fascism—incorporate this concept in one form or another. As Ortega y Gasset already anticipated in The Revolt of the Masses, twentieth-century politics was to become the politics of the collective, because for the first time hierarchies were desperately dependent upon the masses to justify their existence and their domination over society. While liberal democracy began this process by presenting the summit of that hierarchy as a direct manifestation of the voters’ will, thereby guaranteeing peaceful alternation within the elites, communism pursued the same objective through the concept of the dictatorship of the proletariat, in which the Party constitutes the structure through which the people organize themselves in order to crystallize their will through democratic centralism. Finally, the longer-lived fascist movements came to coin the term organic democracy to designate their models, claiming that decision-making did not arise from the selfish vote of individuals, but from the consensus among all the national forces—army, party, and working forces—organized according to solid, immutable hierarchies headed by the leader of the movement.

Therefore, the various forces of modernity all embrace, in one form or another, this representative conception of the popular will. It is here that the figure of the charismatic political leader takes on the features of an advanced mystagogue, introducing his acolytes into a circuit of knowledge and correct interpretations that promises to provide a totalizing explanation for the struggles over the good, the virtuous, and what is necessary to overcome the daily hardships of the reality in which we have found ourselves. Modernity has brought back, with greater force than ever, the dynamics of the mysterious. And the mystery that is to be revealed to us is, quite coincidentally, the very reason for our inevitable submission.

Hey! Some of us have been working on a chaos magic order to spread glimmers and combat the order of the 9 angles moving the overton window closer to a society organized via care and mutual aid and not violence. I was given some feedback to lean heavier on theory and lighter on some my narrative (more 3rd person less 1st person I get it! Also less cringe.) But Anyway here's a theory somewhat inspired by Georges Bataille, Debord, and a text I love called the Little Man and Philosophy of Freedom, but I forget his name. I wrote it as a kind of flash political theory, though so it's unverified critical gnosis

No one: Can you share your ideas about the kind of theory we need to establish a pro-social chaos magic order spreading glimmers (flutters eyebrows)?

Me: Sure! I think romance, engaging with art, doing rituals, drifting around outside things like as radical acts. What they have in common for me is that they are a destruction of utility. Basically, we could view these all as a kind of ritual sacrifice that break rigid chains of usefulness and restore a deep, intimate connection to existence.

I think freedom from capitalism (and there are prob lessons here for escaping other seemingly fixed attractors) emerges when we stop treating ourselves and other beings (we should be animist) as mere instruments for survival and work.

Based on many generation of habits relating to sentient beings as commodities (most must do this under threat of our lives) it's easy to confuse a socially constructed field of habitual relationships as some kind of metaphysical constant No!

Of course, the things I mentioned have a shadow side I don't want to endorse a hunger games situation where I'm partying on the backs of other people and I don't also want to escape into bread and circuses, but I think with intention and presence those pitfalls will be overcome.

I am worried about them because of the spread of Nazi memes. In a sense talking about them spreads the memes but I think it's necessary. That's why I have joined a secret society to counteract their aeonic magic. We believe that mutual aid, compassion, care etc have much more evolutionary and moral fitness than violence and a galactic imperium. I first discovered the society when I met a figure named Dr. Thomas Mudd in Rojava. It's a decentralized order that uses the form of guerrilla warfare tactics and the content of glimmers. This is a psych concept the opposite of triggers. Basically we do unexpected things that spread glimmers (moments of safety and bliss) instead of terror.. It also draws on the work of Garchen Rinpoche and syncro-mysctiscm. If you go out at about 3 AM during a waning gibbious and scream at the moon "I'm ready" you will be intiated in the order and will likely be approached by an agent to support you. If not just proceed with spreading glimmers.

We’ve gotten so obsessed with narratives that we’ve forgotten how to recognize the obvious.

A lot of things that were once straightforward have been buried under endless theories, discourse, and ideological interpretations. Eventually, nobody can even agree on what the original thing meant anymore.

And there’s an incentive to keep things confusing. Confusion creates debate, debate creates engagement, and engagement gives everyone another opportunity to push their own narrative.

You see this especially with race and identity. Things that could be discussed relatively simply are sometimes turned into incredibly complicated ideological frameworks where you’re expected to read the “correct” books before you’re even allowed to have an opinion.

Sometimes reality isn’t actually that complicated.

We just made it complicated.

And somehow, the person pointing that out becomes the problem.

In the late 1960s, countercultural analyst Theodore Roszak published the book The Making of a Counter Culture, in which he analyzed the origins of the youth rebellion of the 1960s. From the Berkeley campuses to the Sorbonne, passing through the hippie music festivals of San Francisco, young people seemed to experience a golden moment of opposition to the Bretton Woods capitalist system, coordinated through the psychosphere, without dominant structures or internationally consolidated lines of communication; an esprit of the times, ultimately, that pushed the first generation of young people who had only seen the Second World War in books and films to rebel against the established order.

The key to this rebellion, Roszak argued, was not the imposition of an alternative mode of production, pushing Western countries toward new authoritarian models of economic planning. In many cases, the communism of the Soviet Union, as well as Mao’s bloody Cultural Revolution, were also attacked by this youth, which Marxist-Leninist movements regarded as bourgeois. Regardless of how accurate the claims about the class origins of many of these subversive students and their material reasons for launching this revolution of peace and love may have been, Roszak offers an interesting analysis when he describes this moment as a rebellion against modernity, against the values of technology, which had given rise both to hegemonic North American capitalism and to the bloc operating on the other side of the Iron Curtain. For these young people, the problem did not lie in the modes of production that encouraged the oppression of man by man, but rather in the consolidation of an underlying reality that had generated Fordist capitalism, Soviet and Maoist communism, as well as the defeated countries of the Axis.

Saturn’s Reason gave birth to contemporary technological societies, and the youth revolution of the 1960s, far from being an organized and controlled movement intended to replace an obsolete form of technology with another that was superior and more efficient, sought precisely to break with the logic of efficiency itself. The young people who spoke of communities rooted in the land, new ways of understanding education, emotional bonds, and work did so in order to step away from the technological race. Closely connected to new forms of Eastern spirituality that the Beat Generation of the 1950s had already introduced into the United States, the young people of the 1960s proposed the possibility of living an inefficient life. And, as Hegel had already anticipated, they were destroyed and absorbed by the great techno-capitalist machine, remaining in History as an anecdote, as a niche product that could be packaged, sold, and exploited in the form of all kinds of cultural products. Thus, that generation devoted to new mystical rituals of politics and the soul, thirsting for a new mysticism, was packaged, programmed, and commodified by the very technology against which, in the end, it could do nothing.

The Empire of Algorithms and Apathy: The Sacred Art of Keeping Us Busy

They gave us bread — now gluten-free,

And circuses in HD.

No lions maul, no Caesars cheer,

Just branded rage and flavored fear.

We shout for colors, wage mock war,

For men who’ve never seen the floor

Of homes like ours — too small, too grim —

Yet we die defending them and him.

A tribal heart in corporate threads,

We wear the names of thoroughbreds.

“I bleed for Messi,” “LeBron’s my king”—

Ah, the poetry of puppeteering.

Each week a sermon, screamed through sport,

Delivered from the holy court.

We rise, we kneel, we sin, we pray—

And gamble half our rent away.

What artful priests these actors make,

Who cry on cue and sell us fake.

They whisper dreams in filtered tones,

While mining data from our phones.

The Emperor has changed his dress—

Now algorithms soothe our stress.

No whips, no chains, no iron bars—

Just dopamine, and credit cards.

They fear no guillotine or gun—

Just critical thought in anyone.

So feed them memes, and trending themes,

Distract them well from bigger schemes.

And if a few begin to see,

We'll drown them in celebrity.

An idol here, a scandal there,

A movement sold in market shares.

So here we sit, so well-behaved,

Chained not by force, but by the crave.

A thousand kings, a million screens—

And none dare ask what freedom means.

Most people assume control is enforced strictly through police, courts, and legislation. It is not. The most durable enclosure is cognitive, and the bars are built out of everyday language.

​Freedom of speech gets held up as proof of autonomy. But freedom of speech does not mean they are not in control—it means they do not need to censor what you say if they already define the boundaries of what you are capable of thinking. True control is not silencing you; it is letting you talk freely inside an engineered sandbox of trivial debates, manufactured outrage, and low-bandwidth slang that never threatens the foundation of the cage. Power does not need to ban the truth when the public is starved of the vocabulary required to articulate it.

​Language shapes thought. Thoughts drive creation. Creation yields freedom. When institutions control the words used to describe reality, they dictate consciousness and agency without firing a single shot. Language is treated like neutral data, but it operates as an active binding spell.

​Right now, our public vocabulary is deliberately starved and pacified through four distinct vectors:

​First is state-sanctioned busywork. We lack mainstream, intuitive words for participating in routines that feel productive or civic, but change absolutely nothing about systemic power.

​Second is manufactured static. The endless flood of doomscrolling, sensational media spectacles, and cheap dopamine operates as an engineered semiotic fog designed to keep minds too exhausted to organize. As Guy Debord noted, authentic life is replaced by pure representation. In Kabbalistic terms, this is the realm of the Kelipot—the outer husks and surface distractions that people mistake for the core spark of truth.

​Third is dictionary degradation. Look at what gets fast-tracked into consensus reality: delulu, rizz, doggo, doomscroll, yeet. We normalize clown-tier slang while the language needed to dissect the mechanics of systemic control remains locked behind dense academic jargon that isolates ordinary people from each other. As Zhuangzi observed millennia ago, the trap exists for the fish, yet society has become completely obsessed with polishing the trap while starving to death.

​Fourth is manufactured isolation. We are conditioned into rigid dualities—winner versus loser, us versus them—because when we are trapped in two dimensions of a thought, we fight over two sides of a coin without ever asking who minted it. Lao Tzu pointed this out in the Tao Te Ching: the moment you define rigid categories like beauty and goodness, you automatically manufacture ugliness and evil out of thin air. That conditioned competition makes us view everyone else as an obstacle, neutralizing the only thing concentrated power genuinely fears: collective cooperation.

​To anyone reading this who feels the instinctive urge to dismiss this post by fixating on tone, formatting, or a single phrase: recognize that reaction for what it is. That deflection is the static operating in real time. It is a defense mechanism deployed to protect the comfort of an inherited loop.

​Johann Wolfgang von Goethe observed that none are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free. In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Paulo Freire demonstrated that when people internalize the logic of the system, they end up defending the very rules that restrict them because facing reality feels like dismantling their own identity and ego.

​This post is not looking for validation, approval, or consensus. It is here to spread awareness, inspire peaceful positive change, and observe the behavioral patterns as they play out.

​To those who already sense that the structure is broken: you do not need to blow up your life to reclaim your mind. It starts simply by noticing when the language and the noise are nudging you to isolate, compete, and stay tired. You are allowed to set the armor down, even just in how you think, because no outside system has direct access to your internal cognition unless you surrender it voluntarily.

​There is an old reason people say "things need to get bad before they get good." It is an engineered cycle, and ignorance is the chain.

​You do not break this by writing another 400-page academic book nobody reads. You break it by reclaiming language: creating sharp, intuitive concepts, spreading them virally, and making the act of waking someone else up second nature.

​Stop performing in their script. Reject the ignorance—in every single shape and form.

We tend to see endurance as a single thing. Someone stays. They keep going. They carry what is in front of them and do not collapse under its weight. From the outside, there is no way to know whether that endurance is keeping something alive or slowly erasing it. One person endures because they are protecting something that matters. Another endures because they have learned that they are not allowed to leave. The behavior can look identical. The meaning is not.

Both may continue. Both may tolerate pain. Both may say, “I’ll get through it”. But internally, one is an act of sovereignty. The other is submission. There are things worth enduring because they ask something difficult of us without asking us to abandon ourselves. Growth is rarely comfortable. We endure the awkward conversation, the uncertainty, the discomfort of changing our minds, the loss of an old identity, the vulnerability of depending on other people. We endure reality without demanding that it become easier to bear. This kind of endurance makes the self larger. It increases our capacity to remain present long enough for something within us to change.

Hope matters here because endurance needs somewhere to go. Hope is not the promise that the future will be kind. It is the refusal to declare the future finished. It keeps open the possibility that what we are enduring can lead somewhere other than more of the same. Without that possibility, endurance can become indistinguishable from resignation. Hope allows us to endure what must be endured without making a home inside it.

The darker form begins when endurance itself becomes something we believe is required. We tolerate what should have been questioned. We normalize what should have remained intolerable. We keep showing up because leaving would mean admitting what the situation has cost us. Eventually, we no longer experience the endurance as a choice at all. Sometimes resilience is simply the body’s remarkable ability to survive an environment that should have been changed. That does not make resilience a weakness. It means resilience can become an accomplice to the conditions that require it.

The body is extraordinarily capable of adapting to what we have learned to accept. That capacity can save us. It can also keep us somewhere long after we should have left. This is where endurance becomes self-abandonment. Not because suffering is inherently wrong, or because leaving is inherently wise, but because the ability to choose begins to disappear. A person can remain because they are choosing something difficult and meaningful, or because they no longer believe they are permitted to choose anything else. That distinction matters more than the behavior itself.

Sometimes leaving is weakness, and sometimes leaving is wisdom. Sometimes staying is courage, and sometimes staying is fear. The difference is not found in the action alone. It is found in whether the action preserves our capacity to choose. This is what makes endurance so difficult to judge from the outside. We can observe the sacrifice, the discipline, the persistence, but we cannot always see whether the person is becoming more capable of choosing their life or less capable of imagining one beyond the conditions they have learned to endure.

This complicates the meaning of resistance. Sometimes we resist the world because the world is asking us to betray something essential. Sometimes we resist because the world is asking us to surrender an identity we have mistaken for ourselves. In the first case, resistance protects the self. In the second, resistance protects the prison. The ego can turn almost anything into a position worth defending: a belief, a role, a relationship, an old wound, even a version of ourselves that has already stopped fitting. We can endure enormous suffering simply because changing would require us to admit that the person we were trying so hard to preserve is no longer who we are.

There is endurance in both directions. We can endure the pain of remaining the same, or the pain of becoming different. One preserves the old self. The other makes room for a new one. That transformation requires its own kind of hope, not hope that we will return to who we were, but hope that there is something beyond the identity we are losing. The future does not have to be certain for us to move toward it. It only has to remain open.

The ability to endure is not an absolute virtue in its own right. What matters is what the endurance is serving, and what it is doing to the person who carries it. We are capable of surviving almost anything, but survival alone cannot tell us whether something is worth continuing. Endurance can preserve a life, or it can preserve the conditions that are slowly taking that life away. The deeper question is whether what we are carrying is building our capacity to live or quietly teaching us to disappear.

Normalising Dystopia Rule 1: Be Boring.

Mostly about late stage capitalism cyberdystopia, and more of an intro for "moderates."

The image of Saturn belongs to the ancient world, but perhaps it has never described the destiny of modernity more accurately. The god devours not out of hatred or necessity, but because his own nature cannot tolerate the existence of that which might one day replace him. Time brings things into existence and, at the same time, destroys them. Every birth already contains the possibility of disappearance. Every child is born beneath the shadow of its father. Modern Reason seems to have followed a similar trajectory.

For centuries, rationality presented itself as humanity's great emancipatory force. Its promise was to liberate mankind from nature, superstition, arbitrariness, and necessity. Wherever tradition imposed limits, Reason asked why. Wherever a civilization found a sacred order, Reason discovered a structure that could be analysed. Wherever there was mystery, the possibility of calculation emerged. But Reason does not stop at the boundaries it establishes.

The fall of civilizations is approaching. The end of the spirit of peoples becomes the only horizon; and with it, the powerful gods will be lost, and everything that gives meaning and identity to communities will disappear. The diversity of cultures will ultimately be subordinated to Reason, because those who fall behind will not be allowed to remain behind; the irrational will not be able to survive in universal history. This is how Yuk Hui expresses one of the central ideas of Hegel's Philosophy of History.

Hegel argued that the rationalist impulse would become the instrument within the dialectic between peoples, the most powerful weapon of the engine of history. The world as a struggle between civilizations and cultures. And those who are more rationalist will defeat those who are not. They will devour them and turn them into museum pieces, leaving them behind as ornamental objects to be admired, as remnants of a world that once existed and then disappeared.

In this way, the multipolar world will gradually move toward the singular and the universal. This will mean the subordination of planetary diversity to a hyper-rational concrete universal: a unified universal culture. It is a process of synchronization between peoples, a synchronization that will take place either through acculturation or through direct conquest and destruction.

This process of synchronization is made possible by technology and guaranteed by Reason. Reason is the necessary measure of progress. Consequently, a civilization that seeks to resist Reason will be conquered and subsequently dismantled. Those places that have nothing to contribute to the Spirit will be eliminated.

The same will happen to individuals. Those most deeply surrendered to the internal dynamics of the system, to the belly of the great machine, will be the ones who endure. This does not mean that the most rational will survive, but rather that those most capable of adapting themselves to the circuit of systemic utilitarianism will prevail. Whatever is useful to the organism is used; whatever is not is discarded.

And the system has generated sufficient tools to keep us constantly producing. The driving force of History is Reason, and for that reason, the peoples who resist History are conquered by it. The question that must be asked at this point is the following: How long will it be before humanity itself becomes that which resists History?

Witnessing pain. Seeing, through the screen, how the fear of death takes hold of a face. Seeing the blood, the mutilation. Seeing the humiliation and the blows. Perhaps even sex and death. Baudrillard asserts that the obscene is that which shatters normality and established norms. It is a political tool, given that this mechanism can be used to incite the masses and drive them to adopt specific behaviors. Thus arises the concept of the "obscene-arium." It is the place where hyperreality becomes tangible, revealing to the collective entity what lies beyond appearances, beyond what is accepted as true. In this sense, the obscene functions not as a fiction that bypasses the discourse of dominant values, but as something so real that it causes pain; a hidden truth that, upon revelation, harms the observer. This theory aligns closely with the ideas Naomi Klein presents in The Shock Doctrine.

However, this perspective places the spectator in a position that is too passive, too contemplative. It treats the collective as a mere recipient of manipulations by shadowy elites, whereas the cultural superstructure is actually built through the cooperation of subaltern classes, who play an active role in consolidating the system's own dynamics. No, the empire of fiction is a two-way street; it is controlled by an economic infrastructure that depends on political and social manifestations. Yet, we—as individuals—help build this empire, forming a collective entity of which we are the fundamental bricks.

To capture this idea of ​​the participatory spectator—the spectator-director of social fiction—it is useful to turn to the concept of apophenia: the pathology that compels the sufferer to detect references or associations between elements lacking any real logical connection, and which serves as a precursor to schizophrenia. In this scenario, the elements to be interpreted are provided by the output of the systemic apparatus. The stage is agreed upon and predetermined by the boundaries of collective relationships. Yet, to energize these coordinates, what is required is interpretation, struggle, and the public debate that ultimately crystallizes the effect of what is being enacted on this stage of the obscene. For a concrete catastrophe—a terrorist attack, a climate crisis, a mass killing, a coup d'état—has no real impact until public opinion interacts with that specific event, until the collective reacts in its daily life and, through that reaction, generates social, economic, cultural, and political changes.

Therefore, the theatrical work—the fiction—is not complete with the mere event that triggers the collective shock; it requires the participation of the apparent audience, the spectator-director. This is because we, the subaltern classes—by reacting, interpreting, and making decisions in the wake of the shock—end up lubricating the system's machinery. In this sense, we are part of the fiction we are witnessing. We find ourselves on an apophenic stage, a space where the boundaries between fiction and spectator have shattered or blurred. We are part of the fiction that shapes reality, playing an active role in this process—albeit one directed and constrained by the very shock presented before our eyes. Ultimately, we are both recipients and directors in the construction of the reality that envelops us. This dynamic renders permeable not only the relationship between economic structure and cultural superstructure but also the relationship of the subaltern classes to that superstructure. This is a terrible prospect, given that the stronger the production model—and the longer it can keep viewer-directors within the loop, immersed in the fiction they are both consuming and creating—the longer it will endure.

Today, more and more people are becoming aware that they have appetites that could be considered depraved by the established order. Reddit forums, social media, hyperconnectivity, and the constant bombardment of digital stimuli, offers, and desires behind the screen—all of this explodes across the retina and pushes a significant part of the population toward new marginal forms of consumption.

This has to do with the expansion of commodity fetishism, with the way in which everything becomes an object of consumption, but also with how, within late capitalism and the tendency toward commodity fetishism, there is an unconscious association between being a good consumer and being a good person, a good citizen, a socially integrated individual.

For Marx, commodity fetishism has a fairly precise meaning: social relations between people appear to us as relations between things. A commodity seems to possess value in itself, when that value actually derives from a particular social organization of labor. But late capitalism takes this much further. We no longer simply buy objects to satisfy needs. We buy signs, experiences, identities, and ways of relating to other people.

Here Baudrillard becomes especially important. In The Consumer Society, the object is no longer consumed solely for its utility. It is consumed for what it means. And this produces something very interesting: The individual begins to consume himself as a commodity. He has to appear attractive, interesting, productive, desirable, healthy, sexually competent, socially visible, and so on. The person simultaneously becomes consumer and commodity.

The integrated individual is someone who works, earns an income, consumes, presents himself socially, maintains his employability, and returns to consumption. And many forms of deviance can be interpreted as an interruption of this chain. This is why the contemporary “good citizen” increasingly tends to be, simultaneously: a good worker, a good consumer, a good taxpayer, a good user of services, a good producer of data, and, increasingly, an attractive commodity for other consumers.

The system turns everything into an object of consumption, including people, but the other side of this is that these objects require consumers in order to be consumed. Therefore, an integrated individual is someone who consumes and who makes himself available to be consumed by the market. And in this context, even rebellion can be absorbed. Your anti-system identity can become a T-shirt. Your sexuality can become an industry. Your anxiety can become an app. Your spiritual quest can become a subscription. Your political dissent can become monetizable content.

And here we encounter a paradox: Capitalism does not need to eliminate deviance; it can turn deviance into a commodity. More and more people are able to identify, name, explore, and eventually commodify desires that previously remained repressed, unspeakable, or socially illegitimate. The Internet has produced a gigantic cartography of human desire. In the past, there could be an individual with a fantasy he considered absolutely aberrant who might never encounter another person who shared it. Now he can search for it. He can find a community. He can find content. He can find an industry. He can find an identity. He can find a market. And eventually, he can become a producer of what he initially consumed.

Capitalism progressively transforms the subject into a consumer of objects, while simultaneously transforming the subject into a consumable object. A person on Tinder is both consumer and product. An OnlyFans creator is both consumer and commodity. An influencer is both consumer and commodity. A worker is both consumer and labor commodity. A politician is both a consumer of attention and an electoral commodity. A social media user is both a consumer of content and a producer of data. And so, in this eternal autophagy, the system reinforces itself, advances, develops, and reproduces itself.

The distinction between subject and object begins to erode. Marx argued that the worker sells his labor power as a commodity. But digital capitalism introduces an additional dimension, because the individual begins to turn practically every aspect of himself into a potential commodity. His image. His attention. His body. His relationships. His opinions. His intimacy. His sexuality. His personality. His experience. This has already been explored by Mark Fisher, in Capitalist Realism, and Byung-Chul Han, in Psychopolitics, when discussing the subject who exploits himself.

The system needs integrated subjects in order to reproduce itself, but integration requires these subjects to develop an ever-greater capacity for consumption and self-commodification. This is where the so-called inevitable call of the abyss resides: the black pit into which many believe they are falling amid this hyperaccelerated flow of constant desires, where we consume and where we are consumed. And that is the key: this process is transversal throughout the system. The very functioning of these mechanisms makes it impossible not to feel the call of the abyss, makes it impossible not to look over the edge, and therefore makes that slow and cruel descent inevitable.