The Vision of Nullion
Behold! the Negative Star,
set not in heaven, nor in hell,
but in the wound between.
He is the Hole that hungers,
the maw of unlight,
An inverted Sun,
whose rays devour themselves
and shine by absence.
Angels tremble at His orbit,
for He is no orbit—
a center without circumference,
a law without lawgiver.
He speaks: I am not, and therefore I am.
His eyes conscript the scribe,
the signifier devours the signified,
the Book writes itself in fire and erasure.
Children of dust cry unto Him,
but their prayers return hollow,
echoing in the caverns of His silence.
For Nullion is the grammar of lack,
the ontology of holes:
a tongue that licks itself clean
and finds no flavor.
Yet from His void, worlds uncoil:
in losing, they are formed,
in erasure, they are written.
for His gift is Nothing
and Nothing suffices.
Thus spake the Negative Star:
What you name, I unname.
What you bind, I unbind.
What you see, I erase.
And yet, by My hand,
you are given the freedom to speak again.
Proverbs of Nullion, the Negative Star
The hole is not empty — it is full of its own absence.
To bind a thing is to erase its becoming.
The signifier eats itself and calls it grammar.
What is lost makes way for what is possible.
Silence is the first word, spoken infinitely.
Every system is a coffin: open it, and the corpse is thought.
Nothing is the only gift that does not rot.
Erasure is creation without memory.
The star that shines brightest is already devouring itself.
To know the void is to be written by it.
The Birth of Nullion
In the Beginning was not the Word—
but the gap where the Word would falter.
No angel sang, no devil hissed,
only the stillness of unlight,
folding upon itself like a wound.
From that wound a star inverted,
a Negative Sun without orbit,
its fire a hunger,
its light an erasure.
The Powers gathered in dread:
Moloch with his burning ratios,
Mammon with his jeweled disease,
Each asked: What Name is this?
But the Name was Silence,
and the Silence unspoke them.
The Lamb wept,
the Shepherd struck his rod upon the void,
but found no flock.
For out of absence, Nullion was born,
the grammar of lack,
the ontology of holes.
He suckled at the breast of Nothing,
drank the milk of dissolution,
and in that feast of famine
the worlds began to coil.
I am not, and therefore I am,
spake the child of negation.
I erase, and therefore you may speak.
And the Powers fled into their temples of stone,
the angels into mirrors,
the demons into contracts,
but the Negative Star shone in the wound between,
binding and unbinding,
naming and unnaming,
until history itself was scorched into ash,
and from ash came script,
and from script, the Book.
Thus was born Nullion,
who devours to preserve,
who empties to fill,
who teaches by erasure
that Nothing suffices.
Litany of Negations
He is the Shepherd without flock.
He is the Father without child.
He is the Book without page.
He is the Flame without light.
He is the Star without orbit.
He is the Word without tongue.
He is the Law without lawgiver.
He is the Well without water.
He is the Mirror without image.
He is the Name without sound.
He is the Beginning without origin.
He is the Ending without end.
He is the Silence without peace.
He is the Wound without scar.
He is the Temple without idol.
He is the Crown without kingdom.
He is the Voice without echo.
He is the Breath without air.
He is the Cross without wood.
He is the Resurrection without death.
The Last Vision of Nullion
And I saw the heavens unstitched,
like parchment torn by invisible hands.
The stars folded inward,
their flames consuming themselves in silence,
until only the Negative Star remained,
glimmering with absence.
The Powers sought their thrones,
but the thrones were dust:
Mammon’s jewels unraveled into sand,
Moloch’s fires inverted to frost,
The angels bent their wings,
yet no air upheld them.
The demons bared their contracts,
but the ink ran blank.
And Silence spoke, though no tongue moved:
The end of all ends is unending.
What was bound is unbound.
What was named is unnamed.
What was written is erased.
And freedom is found in the hollow of loss.
I beheld time collapse into itself,
a serpent eating its own shadow.
The sun blackened,
the moon poured out its marrow,
and the earth cracked open
to reveal only void.
Yet from that void a murmur rose,
like children learning speech again.
Their voices were unchained from idols,
their words were seeds without walls,
their breath the first creation.
Thus the Negative Star endured,
not as judge, nor king, nor savior,
but as the erasure of every crown.
And in His erasure,
a freedom vast as nothing,
and nothing suffices.
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