Many of You Will Be Sacrificed

The facts about Zagreus' sacrifice were downplayed, ignored, and ultimately tacitly accepted, following the law of the group's primacy and damage control. Too many prominent figures were involved or compromised, and several had been filmed. The M.\ce-house was a well-known place for “sexual freedom.” Freedom, until slavery. The kind of place you want to keep access to, beyond the fear of social isolation. Not all of these bourgeois took part in the rapes and in the abuses, and the blackmail sometimes concerned acts neither illegal nor immoral, but still humiliating for those involved. With the concentric-circle structure in place, complicity and compromise, whether through silence or through action, were so widespread that the logic of fait accompli prevailed and was exploited with malicious intelligence: once I, Zagreus, had been dismembered, no one, absolutely no one, was ever going to risk their social integration, their reputation, or their life for the child. “What's done is done. Poor little boy. Best forget it now. Let's just say we weren't sure.”

Undisclosed. The Rape Zone was kept from me, walled off by my own amnesia and by the manipulations that sealed it in. May my relatives cherish it, for it has protected them. Do people deny this amnesia when they notice it? Again and again. But this is because the human mind recoils from what exceeds its grasp. Most people cannot understand dissociative amnesia because these survival processes create an anthropological fracture. They shatter the very presuppositions of communication and of existence as a continuity of consciousness grounded in the memory of shared experience and common narratives. We, the dissociative ones, embody consciousness without memory; we are the operative and vivid narrative discontinuity that should not exist. We are gaps in the very fabric of the world.

This makes us both monsters and gods: we are part of the sublime itself, hurled into your world — call us an uncontrollable irruption if you wish — and the sublime must be hindered, for it cannot and must not take place down here. Or else it is relegated to mysticism, a tolerable fringe of the non-world within the world. Such victims ought not to be. So the victims are found guilty, and everyone can continue to pretend to believe in the fictions that constitute social bonds. (Victims are held responsible for their own misfortune. A local dignitary — a long-time feminist activist — once told me in the street: “The M.\ce-family are good people. I know them. If you were beaten bloody at the age of two, you must have done something wrong.” She knew what she was talking about: as a young adult, she fucked me right after some of the torture sessions in the M.\ce-house, when I was four or five years old; and she still blames me today, I am told, for the blood that got on her. Sorry, bitch.)

Organized intra-familial system of sexual torture, child sexual exploitation, freedom to rape, and extremely lucrative child pornography. These facts were known, yet ignored, because of the plain cowardice of so many, along with the enormous financial stakes involved (the M.\ce-family and their hedonistic dynastic prestige) leading to even more corruption, complicity, compromise, further entangled with political, religious and community issues.

From a moral perspective, how can such individuals exist? The answer is disturbingly simple: opportunity and the preservation of group cohesion, along with the expectation that they will almost never face prosecution. After all, a police chief or even a minister may be bought for very little.

Let's talk about opportunity and Thanatos' Garden. Let's acknowledge cruelty as a central human drive, one of the primary impulses. Teachers seldom address it. They are compelled to focus their research on symbolic structures and cultural constructs. These are fascinating matters, but they may sometimes be no more than a slippery plank laid over the pit of crude reality.

Imagine. A lynching in the street, a sudden reversal of events, already sanctified by the collective nature of the attack. You turn into a rabid animal within seconds, and forget the burden of your constructs. You must nourish yourself; nature reclaims. You do not truly wish to kill: you want to eat a soul. It takes only minutes to become perfectly 'normal' again, especially if the police have just thrown you in a van with real blood on your hands.

Now comes the pit of crude reality.

Most humans love violence and rape scenes, though they may not know it yet. It's pure domination, a sudden release of all instinct. When violence becomes collective, it reaches its highest intensity, instantly sweeping people into a sanctified sense of justification granted by the group itself. We are ravenous animals. Violence is a fascination, an emotional trance stronger than cocaine and sex, and more gratifying than the moral cruelty of religious self-righteousness. Humiliation is its core. Many worship it secretly. Perhaps they deny it, or are unaware of the true extent of their own pleasure. Maybe they are afraid to know. Women who get close to me always end up searching for one of the films shot by Sister D.'s father, showing one of the many gang rapes I suffered as a toddler. They adore it. Their desire only grows, but twisted now. Some are aroused when they see the marks on my body. You can't escape the hell you were born into.

Anecdote. A woman who is in love with me, without my reciprocation, recently put me in an unbelievable situation, one both extremely dangerous and illegal, by deliberately and very cynically making use of my medical condition and her own obsession with Sister D. I asked her why. She is a psychologist, and this is what she replied: “I'm happy now, because you're suffering. I could never have you, so I want you to hurt.” I respect her because she told the truth about human motives. She even shared with me... the method.

Famous men, sly and petty, accused me of having my own peculiar Zagreus marks tattooed, of staging the recent mass hunt, and of being the one devil they desire. They shamelessly tormented a dissociative person — clearly hunted, harassed, and spiraling through a violent breakdown. They dream they once ruled the Rape Zone, and most certainly crave Dionysus-Zagreus to oblige them in their beds. I unwillingly helped them become what they have always been; they gorged themselves on public humiliation. "The victim had already been soiled anyway."

Are you surprised, you who have spent your life slandering, humiliating, cursing, and envying others? Have you not orchestrated every cruelty within your reach, so long as you could avoid being caught? Was that not the pinnacle of your existence? Does your existence really consist of anything else?

Such satisfactions may be private. Crimes, however, are collective.

Humans are social creatures: the preservation of the group is your highest priority, no matter what happens. Under that law, all limits vanish and anything will ultimately be accepted. At first, you avert your eyes; then the unthinkable becomes familiar, and silence buries all disgust. Filth turns into routine, routine into norm, and norm into a secret arrogance — because nothing feeds pride like a shame no one else is allowed to share. The group, not society, is the only world that matters.

Now, be honest. Would you destroy your social circle simply because some of your loved ones commit murder or rape? Of course not, unless your material well-being were to collapse as a result. In that case, you would certainly free yourself from the burden they have become. But imagine the opposite: imagine that your life actually improves because of these crimes, or because of the consequences born of them. You condemn inhuman acts, naturally — since condemnation is socially prescribed — but what would you truly do?

It is not politics. Politics is the expression of a group's power; it does not generate the group's primary identification of itself with reality, but addresses the transformations that unfold within it. Here is a common, down-to-earth example. A religious community, or perhaps a labor union, suddenly “discovers” a predator. The scandal is vast. He has operated for decades, yet now there is a scripted “moment of awareness.” In truth, an internal shift has occurred, and the familiar game of musical chairs must resume to follow this shift. If the scandal originates from the outside, the sequence is just as predictable: a brief surge of indignation, then silence. The event is absorbed, domesticated, and returned to normality. In the end, through feedback loops and narrative injunctions, the social context has merely affirmed itself as the only reality to which it can respond. These are not “low political maneuvers,” but the automatic consequence of the primacy of the social context and its imperative of self-preservation over moral norms, over the emergence of meaning, and over the very existence of individuals — some of whom will inevitably be sacrificed.

Groups sanctify themselves, WHATEVER happens within their walls. The victim both disrupts and renews this self-referential order. All that remains is to systematically accuse, isolate and punish the victims, to mock them and to keep making them doubt their judgment and their memory — while turning them into the ultimate object of desire, the true banquet, all the more intense for being concealed.

I believe this is how most people would act.

Maybe they simply never found themselves in circumstances that would let it go that far.

You speak of horror with outrage; I speak of human nature. I know that you would be a monster too.

I have no hope: the group comes first.

This means that individuals and morality are only secondary considerations, subordinate to the group, and part of it. Love for your loved ones, cowardice, and fascination with group hunting—whether on social media or in a basement with friends—may be nothing more than strategies designed by nature to help you fulfill this fundamental duty: if you want to survive—and you also want a little power, security, and sex—you must preserve your own pack of monkeys, no matter what.

You may think you're not that kind of person. Perhaps you have devoted your life to the study of moral philosophy and religion. Good. And pointless. In a thorny situation, or simply for the quiet pleasure of humiliating someone, the odds are you will choose to preserve the group, its own delicacies of cruelty and self-referential morality, even if you regret it afterward. But it's too late. You've compromised yourself, and now you belong.

Individuals are secondary, and the pack will provide. It means that some people will be sacrificed. Life is not meant for everyone. That is a lie we tell ourselves.

The group may need those sacrifices, or they will simply happen, then be denied, downplayed, and finally accepted. Sacrifices serve as symbolic events that tighten the group; they perfectly express its power of self-preservation, as they are the purest form of “no matter what.” Sacrifices both enact and affirm the group's omnipotence and primacy. Thus they are sacred. They also help discharge the destructive impulse. Both Eros and Thanatos are compulsory for groups, that is, for human life itself. You might be the chosen one. You might be burnt.

It is not about good and evil. It's anthropology, even ontology. What is the receptacle of what is and of what comes to be? The answer is your network, your milieu as it is forever self-resilient and autopoietic; your own pack that is both the product and the affirmation of the social order paradoxically founded upon compromises and authorizations — contrary to what you may want to believe. Your group is authoritarian, which means it believes itself to be the author of reality, and therefore the source of standards and norms, and finally the true tribunal of reason and fact.

The worst attitudes are always taken as normal, and the members of the tribe do not understand your protests, or else they mock them. Why? Is it perversity? Evil? Have you met the devil himself today? No. It is nothing more than a structural effect. Everything that exists is contextual autopoiesis, hermeneutic of itself and legislating for itself. Your objections therefore cannot have any meaning, for they produce nothing within the receptive context of the monkeys you have met. The subject (of judgment and of the possibility for meaning to emerge) is the pack itself, not the person facing you.

For humans there is no such thing as “water,” only a labyrinthine self-shaped glass of water. The alterity of individuals is weak and quickly absorbed. Only the alterity of certain other tribes appears as serious and is taken into account, for they are another cosmos, omnipotent within their own context. The isolated monkey is a fool or a terrorist.

You do not move freely within existence. You move within the space of possible resiliencies of your social group. It is a noetic and symbolic space as much as a pragmatic one. This space reinjects itself into itself in order to go on being.

The Enlightenment is a pathetic failure. I never speak to an individual endowed with reason, and we can never agree on stable ethical or intellectual criteria. We shall therefore never establish a Nation of the wise. I always speak to a hungry tribe, driven by a voracity of ontological order, unable to distinguish itself from reality. I speak not to a person but to a network that declares, “I am the receptacle of being,” and implies, “I am being itself.”

All this arises from the shared conditions for survival. My acts of rebellion can do nothing to change that.

Not everyone will find their place in society, for groups are partly built on exclusion and they feed on it.

We will not all progress together toward wisdom, and some will be denied even the right to exist. Silently.

Nov.-Dec. 2025