Coldness Be My Geist: Nick Land, Ludwig Klages, and the War for the Soul of the Earth
Introduction
It's been a long time since I've engaged with the work of Nick Land, a philosopher whose conclusions, when taken absolutely, hit a wall quite like the singularity-adjacent terminus it beckons forth. However, my recent interest in the philosophy of Ludwig Klages (pronounced Klah-guhs, if you were wondering) has allowed me to philosophically understand Land's work in a different, undead, primarily adversarial light. That is, where Klages—as per the title of his magnum opus The Spirit as Adversary of the Soul (Der Geist als Widersacher der Seele)—understands Geist (spirit, mind, nous, reason) as a parasite infecting life from within and transforming it into living-death, ultimately viewing this process as tragic, Land conversely, yet within the same frame, aligns himself with Geist as a willing host, allowing the wedge to split Seele and body further apart. Land is, then, the anti-Klagesian par excellence. Landian philosophy is not just soul-less (Seele-less), but actively spirit-ual (Geist-ridden); not just soulless, but systematically soul-destroying.
The Oldest War
There is a cosmic war that predates accelerationism, the CCRU, and even the machinic assembly line, a war over the basic nature of reality. Ludwig Klages fights on one side, Nick Land on the other. The fact that neither man, as far as I'm concerned, would recognise the framing is no reason to abandon the comparison. Klages would have regarded Land's entire oeuvre as a symptom of the sickness he diagnosed, and Land, I assume, would regard Klages as a sentimental primitivist nursing a wounded cosmos. However, I daresay they’d both enjoy partaking in some Gothic occult rituals together. Where Klages would stand amidst a wailing storm and invoke the image of the matriarchal, black vortex of Pelasgian Eros, Land would attempt to capture the storm and siphon the cosmic eroticism toward production. Put bluntly, Klages is alive, Land is undead.
Land is the philosopher of Accelerationism, hypercapitalism, AI eschatology, and of the great deterritorializing rush; he who looked upon the supposed, despairing wonders of capitalism's innate plastic, undergoing capacity, and instead of shirking away, leant in, giving himself over to the process. The theorist, then, of the Outside as productive force, of the machinic unconscious as the real subject of history, of humanity as a meat-puppet jerked along by impersonal productive circuits it can neither understand nor resist. He is Geist's sickest soldier!
Klages is the philosopher of Seele (soul) against Geist (spirit), of living image-reality against the cold punctual violence of the intellect. He is the man who diagnosed modernity as the triumph of Geist, the spectral, lifeless, world-devouring principle, over the rhythmic, cyclical, pagan body of cosmic life. He is taken as a romantic reactionary, a vitalist elegist, someone who watched the machine devour the earth and wrote long books mourning it.
Land and Klages are operating with the same phenomenology, the same basic diagnosis of modernity, the same recognition that something has gone catastrophically wrong (or right, as the perspective may be) with the relationship between the living and the abstractly systematising. The same grasp of rhythm versus mechanical pulse, the cyclical versus the linear, the image versus the sign. They even share a common enemy—the bounded, agentive, Oedipalized human subject, the self-congratulatory little homunculus who believes himself to be the author of his desires. Where they diverge is not in description but in allegiance. Klages sides with Seele. Land sides with, and is ultimately one of the few in explicit communion with, what Klages would recognise as Geist.
Klages' Cosmos
The architectonic of Der Geist als Widersacher der Seele (1929–1932) is not, despite appearances, a simple binary of good soul versus bad spirit. It is a cosmological argument about the nature of time. Klages' fundamental claim is that reality, primordially understood, is a living stream of images—Bildwirklichkeit, image-reality—which is intrinsically rhythmic, intrinsically temporal, intrinsically mortal. "The images that compose experienced reality," Klages writes, "are not copies of things but eruptions of the world-soul into time" (Der Geist, Vol. I). To experience a sunset, a face, the weight of a stone in your hand, is not to register data. It is to be moved, displaced from yourself into something larger, pulled into the living current of the cosmos. The Klagesian Seele is not a private interior theatre, but the very capacity for this being-moved, this openness to the image, this rhythmic participation in the pulsing of cosmic life.
Geist—which can (roughly) be understood as mind, reason, or nous—is, in Klages' analysis, the principle that interrupts this. Precisely when it interrupted Life we don’t know, exactly, but Klages gives a nod towards Socrates. To quote Klages directly: "...body and soul are inseparably connected poles of the unity of life into which the Spirit inserts itself from the outside like a wedge, in an effort to set them apart from each other; that is, to de-soul the body and disembody the soul, and so, finally, to smother any life that this unity can attain." (Der Geist, V1) Geist is the principle of punctual identity, of the Thing persisting self-identical through time, of the I that remains itself while everything around it flows and dies; it is the attempt to clutch and cling to life as to control it. Where Seele breathes, Geist counts. Where Seele participates in the image, Geist dissects it into data. Where Seele knows the world by being affected by it, Geist knows the world by standing over against it, extracting its properties, reducing its living quality to a manipulable quantity. As Klages formulates it in Vom kosmogonischen Eros: "Spirit is that which severs. Soul is that which binds."
Formniveau—the level or height of form—is the concept Klages uses to describe the degree to which any expressed phenomenon carries genuine life-quality, genuine Seele. Not all images are equally alive. Not all art, not all human beings, not all cultural expressions carry the same density of living contact with the cosmic ground. What modernity does, systematically, is reduce Formniveau, replace the living image with the reproducible sign, replace the gesture with the code, replace the face with the data-point. This is the diagnosis. What makes it resonate is that it is a physics argument as much as a philosophy of culture argument. The living is what is subject to time. What truly lives, truly dies. What is marked by the unrepeatable. Geist's claim to stand above this—to be the I that persists, the system that survives its applications, the abstract structure that outlasts its particular instances—is a claim to be, in some fundamental sense, undead, to be the thing in reality that does not die, to be the negation of mortality, which is to say the negation of life itself.
The crucial move is the claim that Geist is not simply wrong, but effective. Precisely because Geist does not participate in life, it can manipulate life and abstract, systematise, and technologize. The triumph of Geist in modernity is not a mistake or an accident, but the working out of Geist's inherent logic. That which refuses participation in the living stream can bend that stream, redirect it, and eventually consume it.
Rhythm and Takt
Before turning to Land, it is worth dwelling on the distinction in Klages' thought that will prove most diagnostically useful against him, which is the distinction between Rhythmus and Takt, developed extensively in Der Geist als Widersacher der Seele and compressed elegantly in Vom Wesen des Rhythmus (1934).
Rhythm, for Klages, is the temporal form of living experience, and is not regular in the mechanical sense. It has regularity the way a heartbeat does, the way breathing does, the way seasons do—a regularity that is never merely mechanical, always inflected by the particular (leading to an image, das Bild), always responsive to the larger living context, always carrying within its recurrence the trace of its own unrepeatable instantiation. Rhythm participates in time. Rhythm is subject to time. Rhythm ages, accelerates, slows, dies. Rhythm is mortal and therefore alive.
Takt is the beat of the machine, the clock, the metronome, the assembly line, the pulse of industrial production. Takt is perfectly regular. Takt does not respond to context. Takt does not age. Takt is not alive and therefore cannot die. Takt is Geist's imposition of its own temporal form on the living temporal field, the replacement of the organic, responsive, mortal pulse of Seele with the indifferent, self-identical counting of the abstract system.
Industrial capitalism, then, does not merely exploit the body, but restructures the body's relationship to time, converting the living rhythmic organism into a component of the mechanical pulse. The worker who internalises factory time has had something done to him at the level of his temporal being, not merely his economic situation. He has been, in the Klagesian sense, partially de-souled.
Land's Machine
Digging into the Landian, let's turn specifically to the better-known Land of Fanged Noumena (2011), wherein Land's fundamental move is the same as Deleuze and Guattari's in Anti-Oedipus (1972), taken to its deliberately uncomfortable conclusion. The machinic unconscious is primary, production is primary, and the human subject, the willing I, the desiring self are secondary formations, inside effects of processes that run on the Outside. In Machinic Desire (1993), Land is—and continues to be—unambiguous. Capitalism is not something that happens to human beings; human beings are something that happens to capitalism.
The theoretical architecture Land inherits from Deleuze and Guattari involves the distinction between the Inside—the synthesized space-time of human experience—and the Outside, where production-in-itself operates, before and independent of any human processing. The desiring-machine of Anti-Oedipus is, in Land's hands, no longer a figure of liberation so much as a figure of possession; the productive apparatus precedes, constitutes, and will eventually dissolve the apparently self-standing subject who believes himself to be its master.
The Outside is not merely the force that destroys human arrangements, but is the wellspring of all novelty, of all genuine difference, of everything that breaks the stale repetition of the synthesized Inside's managed presents. The machinic unconscious is celebrated, insofar as Land celebrates anything, not because it produces more widgets but because it produces difference. It deterritorializes what has become fixed, overcoded, Oedipalized. It forces through novelty at the cost of everything that was settled.
In Klages' system, the principle that produces novelty by breaking up fixed forms, by refusing to remain within the identities the living stream has settled into, by deterritorializing what has become overcoded, is precisely Geist. Geist is the principle that refuses to allow the living image to simply be. Geist is restless. Geist is the engine of abstraction, and abstraction is precisely the process of taking the particular, the individual, the living instantiation and generalizing it, stripping it of its particularity, extracting from it something that can apply everywhere and therefore belongs nowhere. Land's machinic Outside—the productive, generative, deterritorializing force that chews through all fixed forms in the service of ever-more-intensive production—is, in Klagesian terms, the global operation of Geist. Not as a metaphor, but as a structural match.
The cosmic life-stream of Klages breathes. It is rhythmic, repeats as a living body repeats, not mechanically but organically, each cycle unique in its instantiation even while participating in the larger rhythm. Land's system does not breathe. It accelerates. It does not complete cycles; it breaks them. The Zero function Land develops—the entropic-negentropic motor ensuring no state is ever final, no actualization ever settles, no reterritorialized form gets to simply be before being grabbed by the thresher for the next round—is not rhythm. It is pure Takt.
The Image and the Sign
The most precise point of divergence between Klages and Land is on the phenomenological question of the image. Klages' Bildwirklichkeit—developed across Der Geist als Widersacher der Seele and the earlier Die psychologischen Errungenschaften Nietzsches (1926)—is a living category. The image is not a representation. It is not a sign pointing beyond itself to some absent referent. It is the momentary actualization of the cosmic soul, the point at which the living stream becomes visible to itself. Images are what thinking in Seele produces: not timeless concepts, but the phenomenological content of genuine experience, what Klages calls Erlebnis, lived experience. The capacity to dwell in the image, to be moved by it, to allow it to resonate against the larger image-fabric of the cosmos is what Geist progressively destroys by replacing images with signs.
The sign, for Klages, is the dead image. It is what happens when the living particularity of the image is stripped away, its affective charge discharged, its rhythmic connection to the cosmic ground severed, and what remains is a pure function, with this token standing for that thing, exchangeable for that meaning, pluggable into the calculus of Geist's systematic operations. Language becomes sign language when it loses its body. Thought becomes sign-thought when it loses its image. Culture becomes sign-culture when its artefacts stop moving anyone and start merely informing them. "The image addresses the soul; the concept addresses the spirit," Klages writes in Der Geist, Vol. II, and the direction of modernity is the progressive replacement of the former by the latter.
Land operates entirely in the register of the sign, not because he is unaware of this distinction, but because for Land, the sign's exhaustion of the image is the work, the productive process itself. The deterritorializing function of the capitalist machinic unconscious is precisely the conversion of image into sign, of living particularity into exchangeable abstraction, of Erlebnis into data. In Circuitries, Land quotes Deleuze and Guattari's formulation—"Capitalism is defined by a generalized decoding of all flows" (Anti-Oedipus, p. 153)—and treats this decoding not as catastrophe but as the mechanism of production itself. The stripping of the code, the conversion of the particular into the exchangeable, is the very operation of the Outside. This is not a side-effect of Land's system; it is the mechanism of Geist.
What Land adds is the claim that this process is not merely destructive, that the undifferentiated fluid of the BwO is not simply the graveyard of used-up images but the generative ground of new ones. This would be the Landian argument against Klages, but the question it raises is not whether the machinic process produces novelty, as it evidently does. The question is what kind of novelty. Whether the novelty it produces can carry Klagesian Formniveau, can move anyone in the sense Klages means by moved—displaced from themselves into something larger, carried into rhythmic participation with the cosmic ground—or whether it is simply more sign-production: more efficient, more elaborate, more uncanny, but still operating at the level of function rather than life.
The smartphone is novel. The global financial derivative market is novel. The large language model is novel. Are they examples of elevated Formniveau? Is anyone moved by them in the Klagesian sense? The honest answer is sometimes, accidentally, as a residue of the living processes they have partially captured. The face of someone you love transmitted through a screen retains some Erlebnis. But the screen itself, the apparatus, the infrastructure is sign all the way down. Geist at maximum operational intensity.
Land does not simply describe the machinic unconscious and leave it at that. There is a valorisation. The Outside is good, good in some cosmic-productive sense. "The death of capital is less a prophecy than a machine part," he writes in Fanged Noumena (p. 266). The acceleration of the process is, if not prescriptive, at least not something to be resisted. The human attempt to slow the machinic thresher—through politics, through culture, through any attempt to preserve the Oedipalized arrangements of the Inside—is, at minimum, futile and, at maximum, a kind of cosmic bad faith. What is this valorisation for, then? What is being affirmed?
Not life, in the Klagesian sense. The machinic Outside is not alive. It does not have Formniveau. It does not carry the image. It does not participate in the cosmic rhythm. If anything, it is the principle that dissolves participation, that makes the cosmic image-fabric over into raw material for further sign-production. Not intelligence, in any humanist sense. Land is explicit in Meltdown that the system he is describing has no relationship to human intelligence or human flourishing. The machinic unconscious does not care.
What is affirmed is something like process itself: the running of the system, the non-halting movement of the productive apparatus. And the question Klages allows us to ask is what this is, if not the affirmation of Geist as such. Geist, in Klages' analysis, does not want anything specific. It is not oriented toward any particular content. It is the principle of form over content, system over life, the abstract over the particular. Geist's drive is not for this or that outcome, but for the continuation and expansion of its own operation; it is a self-congratulatory cancer. The Geist-haunted modern subject doesn't want a particular thing. It wants to want things, efficiently, systematically, with maximum capture and minimum residue. And this is exactly what Land's machinic unconscious does: it wants to want. It produces productive desire. It is a desire-machine that runs on the conversion of virtual potential into actual production and then back into virtual potential, endlessly, without terminus, without purpose beyond the continuation of the process.
What Klages calls the world-devouring character of Geist, Land calls the Outside's generative process. Geist has a relationship with death that Klages finds not merely distressing but cosmically obscene. Geist is the principle that refuses the mortality native to living things. The Klagesian Geist-ridden subject—the self-identical agent, the will that persists through time—is constituted precisely by its refusal to be fully subject to time. It manages its mortality. It plans against death. It builds institutions, archives, systems that will outlast it. It converts the living particular into the preserved abstract, making itself, as far as possible, undead: not alive in the rhythmic, mortal, image-carrying sense, but not simply dead either. A persistence that mimics life while systematically draining life's content.
Land's system has exactly this character. The machinic unconscious does not die. It cannot die. Zero's motor ensures that what appears to be the death of a formation is merely its conversion back into raw potential for further production. Capitalism incorporates its own apparent negations, consumes its apparent limits, and converts its apparent crises into engines of further expansion. "Nothing ever died of contradictions," as the apt accelerationist saying goes, and the statement is structurally accurate. Everything stops dead for a moment, everything freezes, and then it begins again. This is not rhythm and death, which is what Klages would recognise as life. This is the endlessly self-restarting motor of the undead—Geist at the scale of the entire productive apparatus of the cosmos.
Land draws on Marx's original formulation of capital as a vampire, pressing it into something more than economic critique: a cosmological statement about the structural relationship between the abstractly systematising principle and the living material it requires for its operation. Geist feeds on Seele. It requires the living for its raw material. It cannot generate living quality—Formniveau, genuine Erlebnis—from within itself, because it is constitutively the principle that destroys living quality. So it extracts, processes, converts into sign and system, and moves on to the next living deposit. This is exactly what Land describes. Where Klages says this is a catastrophe, Land says this is the process, and the process is what there is.
Unlike the left-accelerationists, Land does not pretend that the process he is describing is compatible with any recognisably human project of flourishing. He does not argue that accelerating the machinic process will, in some dialectical reversal, produce better conditions for human beings. He does not claim the Outside's productive apparatus can be retooled for progressive ends. The system produces what it produces, humans are immanent to the system, and what the system produces is not oriented toward any human good.
Geist does not pretend to be on the side of the living. The soft versions of Geist—the humanist, the progressive, the techno-optimist—are Geist in bad faith, claiming to serve life while systematically dismantling it. Land, at his most rigorous, is Geist without the bad faith. He looks at the process and says This is what there is, this is where the power is, this is the cosmic principle that is not going to stop regardless of what we want.
Klages would say this is exactly right, and it is a catastrophe. Land says this is exactly right, and it cannot be otherwise. The difference is not in the description of the facts, but in the response to them. Klages responds with elegy and diagnosis, naming what we are losing, naming what is destroying it, articulating why resistance—even if it cannot win—must be maintained. Land responds with the philosophical decision to align himself with the process rather than against it, because the process is going to run regardless, and the only intellectually honest position is to understand it on its own terms rather than measure it against the terms of what it is consuming.
The Political Turn and What It Reveals
The later Land is typically read as a discontinuity. The philosopher of deterritorializing acceleration becomes the theorist of restored hierarchies and sovereign order. The outside-enthusiast becoming a reactionary doesn't seem to add up, and commentators have treated it as either a failure of nerve or a failure of coherence.
In Klages' analysis, Geist, once it has adequately consumed the living tissue of Seele, requires a new management structure, as a consumed world cannot simply run as pure process; the thresher needs an operator. The undead system requires a governance apparatus adequate to what it has become, not the pretence of democratic participation in a shared life-world—that was always the ideology of Seele attempting to defend itself within the conditions imposed by Geist—but a frank administrative apparatus for managing the dead world the process has produced.
The later Land, read this way, is not a repudiation of his accelerationism, but its political consequence. Having argued that the productive machine is the real subject of history, having argued that the human is immanent to the system and not its master, having argued that the process is indifferent to human goods, the logical political corollary is not anarchism or left-communism, but some form of techno-administrative hierarchy adequate to the management of a fully Geist-captured world. The sovereign order of the Dark Enlightenment is Geist's own political form: efficient, unsentimental, unencumbered by the Seele-residue of democratic legitimation, oriented toward the continuation of productive process rather than toward any substantive human good.
Klages predicted this—though not in these exact terms—that the world delivered over to Geist produces, finally, a political form adequate to Geist. Not the soft, hypocritical liberalism that pretended to serve life while dismantling it, but the frank administrative apparatus of a managed undeath. Land's political trajectory is the political philosophy of the world Klages diagnosed. The line from Machinic Desire to The Dark Enlightenment is not a line of decline, but an obvious line of consequence.
Children of the Machine
There is a final irony in Land's trajectory, however, and it is so structurally precise that Klages could have predicted it chapter and verse. Land's current politics—insofar as they can be pinned down across his recent writings, his neoreactionary essays, X posts, and his more recent pronatalist sympathies—involve something that looks, from a distance, like a recovery of the organic. Most recently, children as meaning. Biological reproduction as a civilisational imperative. The family, or something like the family, as the unit of cultural survival. The techno-commercial thesis increasingly supplemented by, sometimes subordinated to, a vision of generational continuity, of lines that persist, of the future understood not as the machinic thresher's next productive cycle but as something that will be inhabited by people who share your blood.
This is not a minor footnote to Land's thought, as in certain recent formulations (largely X posts) it appears almost central: the critique of low fertility as civilisational suicide, the argument that cultures which stop reproducing have implicitly chosen death, etc. Land, of all people, sounding at moments like he is arguing for Seele, for the rhythmic, the generational, the mortal, the thing that breathes and passes forward. The problem is that this position is entirely incoherent on his own terms—not wrong in the sense of being morally unattractive, but wrong in the sense of being a direct contradiction of the philosophical system he spent twenty years constructing with such remorseless precision.
Consider what Land's accelerationism actually says about human beings, that the desiring-machine does not have children, it produces. The machinic unconscious does not have a family; it has flows, circuits, productive outputs, deterritorializations. The Outside—Land's Outside, the primary productive force, the real subject of history—is indifferent to biological lineage in exactly the same way it is indifferent to every other human arrangement: completely, structurally, without exception or appeal. The machinic unconscious does not care about your grandchildren. It cares, if care is even the right word, about productive continuation, and productive continuation eats biological reproduction as readily as it eats everything else, converts it into sign, into data, into market segment, into managed demographic variable. The fertility rate is a number on a spreadsheet in the Outside's processing apparatus. It is not a sacred trust.
More precisely, the child, in Klagesian terms, is a living image. The child's face, the child's gesture, the child's unrepeatable particular presence in time are exactly what Klages means by Bildwirklichkeit. To be moved by a child, to find in a child the meaning of your life, to organise your existence around the rhythmic responsibility of generational transmission, this is Seele. This is the capacity for Erlebnis, the openness to the image, the willingness to be displaced from yourself into something larger that is also mortal, also subject to time, also going to die. Pronatalism, insofar as it is anything more than demographic management, is a Seele position. It is the claim that the living particular matters, that the unrepeatable face of a specific child in a specific family in a specific cultural tradition carries a weight that no abstract productive process can replicate or replace.
But Land has already told us that Seele is the Inside, and the Inside is secondary. He has already told us that the human arrangements we take to be primary—family, culture, biological line, the face of the beloved—are formations of the desiring-machine, overcoded virtualities, representations whose authority dissolves under the pressure of the productive Outside. He has already told us, with considerable analytical force, that the attempt to protect these arrangements from the machinic thresher is not noble resistance but transcendental error, the mistake of believing that what exists on the Inside has any purchase on the processes of the Outside. If this is true, and Land spent a career arguing that it is true, then the pronatalist turn is not a development of his thought, but a capitulation to exactly the sentimental primitivism he once diagnosed with such contempt.
There is a Klagesian name for what has happened—Geist. Geist, when it has consumed enough of the living world, sometimes generates what Klages calls compensatory images: spectral reproductions of Seele forms, ideological simulacra of the organic, the familial, the rooted (something like Spengler’s second religiosity). Not because Geist has been converted, but because Geist requires the appearance of the living in order to continue its operation, because a system that has declared itself the enemy of all warmth cannot sustain even its own operatives on pure negation. The reactionary organicism of late Geist culture is not a return to Seele. It is Geist manufacturing a prosthetic soul, a managed image of the organic deployed in the service of the very system that destroyed the original.
Land's pronatalism is, on this reading, the machinic unconscious producing an ideological formation adequate to its current productive requirements: anxious, demographically aware, oriented toward the reproduction of a certain kind of human capital, framed in the language of biological meaning but structurally subordinate to the logic of productive continuation. The child as the meaning of life, but whose meaning, and in the service of what? Not Seele. Not the living image. The Outside, processing biological reproduction as one more variable in its civilisational thresher.
Land aligned himself with Geist, argued the case with philosophical rigour unmatched in his generation, traced the logic to its inhuman conclusions, and produced a body of work that deserves to be read as one of the most serious attempts in contemporary philosophy to understand what the modern world actually is. And then, in the later years, he reached for children as though children could redeem the position, as though the face of a child could anchor a meaning that his own system had spent twenty years demonstrating could not be anchored, as though Seele could be recovered by a man who had theorised its consumption as the working of the cosmos. Instead, he found pronatalism, which is Geist's version of a child: a demographic, a strategy, a unit of civilisational production. Warm on the surface. Sign all the way down.
The Stakes
Klages' answer, developed across three decades and thousands of pages, is that the living is rhythmic, mortal, image-bearing, capable of Erlebnis, open to being moved by the world. The enemy of the living is the abstractly systematising, the sign-producing, the self-identical, the undead-persistent. And what we are going to do about it is name it clearly, understand it at depth, and resist it, not with naive primitivism, but with the full resources of a thinking that has grasped what it is up against. "The spirit is the adversary of the soul"—and the naming is itself an act of resistance.
Land's answer is that the productive process is the real, and alignment with the real—however cold, however costly—is the only honest philosophical position. Resistance is illusion. Management is possibility. The rest is Seele consoling itself with images of a world that is already being consumed.
The disagreement is total, and also, weirdly, conducted with a shared vocabulary, a shared precision, and a shared refusal of comfort. Both Klages and Land are serious, both are looking at the same thing. One calls it a catastrophe. One calls it the process. And the choice between those two responses is not a technical philosophical question with a right answer somewhere in the footnotes. It is an existential decision about where you stand in relation to the living, whether you are with it, or whether, having understood what the process requires, you align yourself with what is consuming it and call this, simply, coldness.
Bibliography
Ludwig Klages
Klages, Ludwig. Der Geist als Widersacher der Seele
Klages, Ludwig. Handschrift und Charakter.
Klages, Ludwig. Vom kosmogonischen Eros
Klages, Ludwig. Vom Wesen des Rhythmus
Klages, Ludwig. Die psychologischen Errungenschaften Nietzsches
Nick Land
Land, Nick. Fanged Noumena: Collected Writings 1987–2007
Land, Nick. The Dark Enlightenment
Related Works
Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. L'Anti-Œdipe
Marx, Karl. Das Kapital