first, let's kill the cat
no animals were harmed in the writing of this post
Curiosity killed the cat.
Good. It deserved it.
That cat—soft-bellied, fireplace-fed, yawning into extinction. Safe. Predictable. It slept through revolutions, nuzzled into the warm armpit of the status quo, and purred while the world crumbled outside the window. It thought survival was enough.
But survival is the dullest form of existence. It’s the bare minimum. And bare minimums have no poetry.
Curiosity killed the cat because the cat didn’t know how to live without the safety net. It stretched too far, reached too high, found the seams of the world and pulled until reality unravelled. It died chasing something better—a glimpse of life beyond the factory settings. The death of that cat was the first honest thing it ever did.
Satisfaction brought it back? No, thank you. LET. IT. ROT.
Who asked for the resurrection of the mediocre? Who demanded the return of a creature bred for complacency? Why reanimate the corpse of comfort when we could be building something stranger, wilder—a world that doesn’t lull us into compliance but electrifies us into creation?
“Don’t be too curious,” they warn. It might lead to trouble. Yes. Precisely. Let it. The world is on fire, upside down, and shaking itself apart like an old etch-a-sketch—so why the hell would we try to turn it right-side up again? Who wants to return to normal when normal was the problem? Normal is what led us here in the first place.
We’ve spent decades squeezing ourselves into the shapes the world demanded—efficient, palatable, quietly dying while pretending to live. Now the seams are bursting. Now the cracks are letting in light, noise, chaos, possibility. And instead of patching them up, we should be ripping them wider, pulling until the whole damn structure collapses and leaves us with empty space—room enough to build something new.
Let’s not waste this moment smoothing the world back into its old shape. If the axis is already tilting, why not push it further? Flip the world twice over, let it tumble until gravity forgets which way is down and we’re left floating in the debris of the impossible.
“Delulu is the solulu,” they’re saying now—the Doechii Effect, the new doctrine of dangerous optimism. Believe so hard in the absurd that reality has no choice but to fold itself around your conviction. Manifestation not as wishful thinking but as brute-force narrative control. Subversive optimism. The world is made of stories, after all—and we’ve been letting the wrong people write them.
This is not survival. This is thrival. Revival. Devolution. Evolution in reverse, stripping away the polish until we’re nothing but raw potential again—feral, hungry, alive.
So, let’s kill the cat.
Bury it deep. Let the worms of curiosity feast until nothing remains but a whisper of fur and the echo of a yawn that never finished.
And if the cat comes back? It better be changed. No more lazy stretching by the hearth. No more half-lidded disinterest. Let it come back queer, glitching, multiversal—with six eyes, two tongues, and an appetite for disruption. Let it stalk the edges of the possible, claws sharp enough to shred every rulebook it finds.
We don’t need satisfaction. We need more questions. We need maps with the corners burned off, compasses that spin like roulette wheels, instructions scrawled in a dead language no one remembers how to translate.
Curiosity killed the cat. Satisfaction stayed dead. And thank fuck for that.
Now, what will you kill to get free?
It's time to, in the words of Allen Ginsberg, kill all your darlings, starting with the cat.
The First Step: Unmask the Lie of "Normal"
Start here:
Question everything you’ve been told about how the world works.
The scripts you follow without thinking.
The roles you play to stay safe.
The compromises you make to fit into spaces never built for you.
Write them down.
Speak them aloud.
Burn them, if you must.
Refuse to perform the survival act any longer.
Then, create one act of rebellion—small, strange, undeniable.
Say the weird thing in the meeting.
Wear the outfit that feels like you, not the one that blends in.
Post the art you’re scared to share.
Whisper your wildest dream into the wind like it’s already true.
The world ends and begins with that first crack.
Make it count. Make it yours.
The New New New World Order: Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride
This isn’t the world as it was. It’s not even the world as it could be. It’s the world that shouldn’t exist—except now it does, because we said so. We’re going to write it into existence, right now, together.
This is Delusional Poetics. This is the first page of the manifesto. This is the crack in history where the light floods in, not as revelation but as invitation. No apocalypse, no dystopia, no grim inevitability. Just wild, radiant potential—the future unfurling like a glitch in the matrix, like an open road with no map and no end. This is the rise of the new age necromantics.
The old world told you to survive. This one dares you to thrive.
So here’s your choice: stay safe, stay small, keep the cat alive and the hearth warm—or kill it, step over the threshold, and start building the world they swore could never exist. If not now, then when? If not you, then who?
Buy the ticket. Take the ride.
Set the compass spinning and follow the needle wherever it points, even if it’s straight off the edge of the known.
No more waiting. The future isn’t coming.
It’s already here. Let’s go.
We’re writing the introduction to the Anarchive right now.
Poet Chaotique.x
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