My black book is now real and tangible, feeling a bit like a time capsule lobbed by me a year ago into this now. (A consequence of this is a set of incidents, cultural material, shifts in my own thinking, etc, that are not present in the book. When the time comes, I'll write a post-script/addendum/self-rebuttal.) Real thanks to everyone who helped me turn this mess into a somewhat polished slab of obsidian, neon, and bile.
My sadness, unsurprised but still, is only that what may have appeared to some as merely a rhetorical gesture of sorts - a punning title, a détourned theory, a silly bellicosity, a cute catastrophism for the fuck of it - has, in the year since I finished writing, shown itself all the more to be as deadly serious as I meant it to be. Would that it had turned out to have been just a bad joke.
It's been a long end of days, and we've got a long, long way to go. As always, it's communism or catastrophe. That's it. And in this case, there's no and/or in sight.
In the meantime, get your spades, comrades, and let's start digging, upwards this time.