There has been another drug death in Ibiza. A tragedy, but a relatively rare one. There have been less than a hundred drug fatalities recorded on the island since 2010, and the British -my own people and the subject of this piece- are not overrepresented in this statistic, judging by the volumes of tourists that visit.
Living in a popular tourist destination and coming from a people notorious the world over for our inebriated misbehavior, I have the opportunity to examine the youth of Britain first hand, with their mental shackles off. What I see, and try to understand, is the roots of a behavior that is not merely kids having a good time.
There is no good times to be had when you are first through the door to resuscitate a kid who, eyes bolted open, jaw masticating furiously, is barely breathing and choking on his own tongue. He can hear and see nothing in this world. Somewhere in his mind he is delving deep into the K-hole, given an extra serotonin-kick by MDMA and the dental anesthetics marketed as cocaine by the Senegalese sunglass-vendors-cum-dealers. This particular cocktail is popular. It is guaranteed temporary annihilation of the self.
Nick Land in The Thirst For Annihiliation:
Bataille tells us that the universe is energetic, and the fate
inherent to energy is utter waste. Energy from the sun is
discharged unilaterally and without design. That fraction of solar radiation which strikes the earth resources all terrestrial endeavor, provoking the feverish obscenity we call ‘life’.
Life appears as a pause on the energy path; as a precarious stabilization and complication of solar decay. It is most basically comprehensible as the general solution to the problem of consumption. Such a solar- or general-economic perspective exhibits production as an illusion; the hypostatization of a digression in consumption. To produce is to partially manage the release of energy into its loss, and nothing more.
Death, wastage, or expenditure is the only end, the only definitive terminus. ‘Utility’ cannot in reality be anything but the characterization of a function, having no sense short of an expenditure which escapes it utterly. This is ‘relative utility’. The order of Western history has as its most pertinent symptom the drift of utility away from this relative sense, towards a paradoxical absolute value. A creeping slave morality colonizes value, subordinating it to the definition ‘that which serves’. The ‘good’ becomes synonymous with utility; with means, mediation, instrumentality, and implicit dependence.
I think what Land is getting at here is quite applicable to the mind-set of the slave-morality modern British. Though the youth of Britain are raised on a diet of freedom and equality as absolute good, the truth is that Nietzsche was right. Slave morality is manifest in us; and how do we slaves behave when we are freed?
I think this is what is happening in the broad sociological and venereal experiment that is happening all around me in this place. More than eight hundred thousand of my countrymen visit this island annually, primarily to seek annihilation, either through narcotics or the window into the veiled beyond that comes with orgasm. Can there be another interpretation of a desire to visit paradise, and while there spend one's time in an aircraft hanger-sized shed, listening to soulless and repetitive music while ingesting mind-altering chemicals? Of course there is; in that- this is fun. We like to do these things. Recreational drugs are recreational because they are pleasant, I imagine. Even so, I fear there is something deeper and nihilistic at the root of this desire when I imagine that many of these people work a full year in gray boxes to achieve the week-long nirvana of being in a gray box with some fairy lights.
There is another aspect to the Anglo-Abroad culture, which is that of the explorer and conqueror motif. Read that last sentence in your best Richard Spencer accent for added effect. The Anglos, I find, are very much a conquering race when let off the leash of their masters and set loose on another land, like whippets chasing a stick across a field in lieu of a rabbit. It's not what the whippet was bred for, but it is in his nature to chase things. So too must the Anglo cause havoc.
It is sad to see such widespread disrespect for people of other nations, though of course Not All Anglos Are Like That. I think this too comes from something deep within us as a race, and is perhaps the expression of the idea that we are lesser sons of greater fathers. That we are no longer the self-determined empire builders of old, no longer the Tommy. Perhaps it is true that Anglos need something to go and fight, or we surely go insane. It certainly appears to be so, based on my own limited and unscientific experience. We are purposeless without conflict. Maybe we are horrible xenophobes, ill-educated and monolingual thugs. If that is so, then who bred this monster?
For Nick Land, we did.
Suffering must be obviously futile if it is to be ‘educational’. It is for this reason that our history is so unintelligible, and indeed, nothing that was true has ever made sense. ‘Why was so much pain necessary ?’ we foolishly ask. But it is precisely because history has made no sense that we have learnt from it, and the lesson remains a brutal one.
Useless suffering has always been Europe’s ‘practical philosophy’, our true evangelium, communicated to every cranny of the earth with unparalleled dedication. After all, it is the secret of so many things. So much power becomes accessible at the point where one loses all capability to enjoy it, and better the misery of the master than the wretchedness of the slave. Thus it is that entering the space of reason has always required that one spit upon the fierce pleasures of the savages, resigning oneself instead to an infinite vacuity.
How many layers of slave-morality are you on right now? There is a certain facile and effete representation of this idea, I think, in the intersectionalist argument of power and privilege. The meta-morality goes far beyond "I am privileged like so, and oppressed like so" but to say- we are all ultimately enslaved in perpetuity by ourselves and we have no way out.
Hence, I will save up my universally agreed bartering tokens, and then I will go to a place far away to get as far away from my nihilistic slave-life as possible. Then, I will consume substances that allow my self -the spark of consciousness that is the attention of man- to escape my own personality, identity, and the nagging gnaw at the corners of my mind that many things are not alright, and I don't know why. If only for a little while. Ketamine, MDMA and cocaine are also dissociative drugs, meaning the pain itself goes away. Nitrous Oxide was once used as an anesthetic. Now sold by the balloon by the afore mentioned Senegalese Looky-Looky, N2O is inhaled with gusto on the streets of these party-towns. You can find spent canisters and teenagers with balloons dangling from their lips everywhere you turn.
The kid with the cocktail of dissociatives in him had these pin-prick pupils that will live with me a long time. They reminded me of The Pixies song Wave of Mutilation.
Cease to resist, giving my goodbye
Drive my car into the ocean
You think I'm dead, but I sail away
On a wave of mutilation.
Ain't that right. I hope I do not come across as a matronly just say no killjoy here; far from it. I think that perhaps those who seek the wave of mutilation, the annihilation of the self are looking for an answer to a deeply existential question; or rather, they are looking for an escape from the prison which is unlocked by the answer to that deeply existential question. That question is who am I. In a society that allows identity for all groups except yours, the answer is a thunderbolt.