Today belongs to the PMS-gods. While hormonal depressive madness enters, Zizek and Bataille is having a duel by chess-boxing with my very own frontal lobe as the arena. While Zizek did quite alright in the chess, Bataille started to hit himself in the face during the second round to the point of collapsing Hegelian dialectics on the other side of the room (actually my entire spinal cord). In horror of the birth of the catastrophe, Zizek offered his queen in return and thus, made a leap of faith that accidentally provoked an existential meltdown so severe that not only ideology met its rupture (happening in my amygdala), but also made sure that the precondition of any ordered reality as such melted into flames (happening in my pinneal gland). Thus proving that the only good ending in Elden Ring is that of the Frenzied Flame. In this regard, no one has a chance against Bataille our all mighty cenobite prophet. Not even Deleuze and Guattari teamed up in a game of Age of Empires II against him. (No one can beat his army of jaguar warriors, not even Satan and God teamed up with Nick Land).
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