Random Thoughts

Who am I?

I am not a critic but he who keeps egos in check, I am not the bringer of truth but he who uncovers folly. I seek no followers or converts but urge others to find their own way; I try not to mimic or pretend but, alas I fail even at that.

I am he who stands upon the battlefield in a war I did not choose nor hoped for and I raise my voice in blasphemy against the wind for having been condemned to fight.

Fear clenches my heart and fills my soul with uncertainty. But I feel I have a duty to those that have fought before me, to those that have pained and bled upon this noble and accursed field of anonymity.

I have an obligation to her, who birthed me and sacrificed on my behalf; to him who offered freely the fruits of his labors and the products of his wisdom to me.

I feel a duty towards my creed hurtling through nothingness and looking for meaning in the cold, dark void; grasping superstition and mythology to stay afloat.

So I fight on in unknown wars upon unnamed battlefields for them as well as for me.

I search for Ithaca.

Those that stand in my way I will cut down and blame it on the universe, I will uncover them and show their disease to the world, I will defame and insult them in plain view, I will unmask their hypocrisy and reveal their cowardice as an example to be avoided.

Those that stand with me I will praise cherish their worth and call them friends and brothers, I will foster give aid to and honor in my own way, I will defend them and stand by their side, I will love and take their humble honesty as proof of character.

I will bow to no king and no idol will entice me into service; I will surrender to no Cyclopes and no Siren will tempt me.

I will search for teachers in order to overcome them and challengers to better; I will accept help and direction and in turn I will offer my own.
I will scream and tear at my chains, at my flesh, at my being and even in my hopeless enslavement to the unknown I will earn honor through my hope for absolute liberty.

I will confront all and become master of myself; I will accept no authorities but only allies and even those I will doubt as I doubt myself.
And in the end when I am dried and spent and my will wanes as my strength falters, I will surrender to my fate knowing that I have done my best, I have fought the good fight and I have remained true to myself.
If I lead then it is by example, if I speak truth then it is by experience, if I dominate it is not intentional, if I teach then I am glad and if I am taught then I am thankful.

Who am I?

I am the WANDERER.

I am MAN.

Live well brother's in arms, the night beckons.

A toast for the weathered soul: ?'May its end not dishonor its beginning'

I face the calamity of expectation…once again.
I am cradled there; my hopes erupting in a spectacle, before my inner-eye.
Transfixed, I stare at the creations of my soul and Will them into reality.
But my Will has no omnipotence. It is itself, a piece of what it desires to have.

How can one belong and possess, simultaneously?

?'Let go.' I tell my self. ?'Just…let go.'
Maybe I will this time.

I project my love out there, in the hope that I will one day find solace.
Sometimes it is accepted, sometimes it is taken for what it is not, sometimes it is rejected, or worse, it is ignored.
But that doesn't matter anymore. Not like it once did.

Love has been the one thing that has wounded me the most, when hate has soothed and comforted me, through many thunderstorms. It is why wrath has become my shield of choice, my panoply of paradox, my inflatable boat.
But its hard weight has grown cumbersome and my muscles yearn for more gentle fabrics.
I unfasten my ego from both love and hate, now.

?'What will be, will be', I whisper, the carefree mantra of a mind that knows its place in the eternal; that has come to terms with how tiny it is.

Not indifference, but abandonment to the coming flood.
Not surrender, but acceptance of what cannot be altered.
I spread my arms wide, relaxing to the surface, so I can see, so I can ride the current, so I can maneuver in the torrent, so I can experience.
Both hot and cold wash over me and the quiet depths call me.
But, not yet.

The flow is addictive.

Not yet.

Love is an act of naïve optimism.
Who but the very young, the inexperienced and the simple-minded could ever believe in such romantic tripe?
From a mere mechanism of social attachment it has been relegated into a virtue; its very existence within the minds of men proof of their overall frailty.
Only human reason can take an expression of delicacy and reinterpret it into one of strength and absolute power.
What is this promised supremacy of love?
It is one of union where individuality dis-assimilates into the other and ceases to exist.
It is an act of suicidal optimism and a desperate grasp at eternity.

Based on personal experiences


1} Never listen to what people say but observe what they do.
Actions speak louder than words.

Words are cheap but actions demand a price that imposes honesty.
Words are thrown around allot, these days, without considering their implications or validity-God forbid that we may deconstruct ideas and uncover them for what they are- and so love, compassion, hate, justice etc. are meanings few really comprehend and only possess a rudimentary feeling about what they are based on personal interests and emotions.
This particular fact is more pronounced with women.

Many simple-minded, female, men find women mysterious and hard to understand; I find them simplistic in their behavior and very predictable. This male inability to understand females stems from the practice of listening to what women say rather than watching how they act [It is often contradictory and puzzling when one does both].

A woman only relates to man as a means to an end and this end, no pun intended, is always the bearing of children; preferably superior, advanced children.

There is no other pursuit worthy of a woman's efforts and she inevitably judges herself and her success in life by the attainment of this goal.
Women may say they want a man with a sense of humor, a sensitive predisposition and a kind heart but she will always be attracted to the strong, dominating, confident man and then find these other attributes in him as justifications for her choice. [The bad boy always wins out over the good boy]

A woman will always go for the genetically superior man and then find him funny, kind or whatever else, in order to appear reasonable and thoughtful.

How many ?'nice' guys are frustrated by this female insincerity?
As most men are governed by their sexual urges and easily manipulated and used because of them [A fact many women use to their advantage and as an argument for their mental superiority] so do women submit to instinctive urges and predispositions which often go against their better judgment.

Intelligence and male physical beauty are the only thing that ?'wets' a woman's appetite for sexual intercourse.

Yet sometimes, when she can't get both sexy and wealthy, she'll settle for the comfortable, wealthy man in order that she may offer her future offspring a social leg up, while she sexually desires others.

Realizing this ?'truth' can help you attain the sexual pleasures you lack.

But this insincerity is also found in men with female psychologies. The world is full of women with penises.

How many men will be offended by the above statement?

Most will be physically imperfect, dolts that need the illusion of ?'selfless' love to feel content in their delusional existence.

There are no deeper lies than those a man tells himself to hide from uncomfortable self-realizations.
How many really know themselves or in knowing how many can accept what they see as truth?

Most, when faced with uncomfortable facts, run from them, become angry and defensive rather than using this information to construct strategies and not excuses.

[I'm expecting accusations of misogyny and perhaps a few remarks about my adult virginity or the length of my penis, so I answer beforehand: I've experienced the heights of pleasure and comfort in the arms of women and it is a woman that I value above all else, besides myself, in this world. My remarks are focused on all human beings and I use women as an example of what I mean]

2} Always push the limits of your existence.

It is man's submission to comfort that forces his existence in the middle-ground of his abilities. Limits, for most, are signposts to be avoided and in this man inevitably winds up in the centre of his genetic possibility.

In mans existence it is only the mind and body that he truly knows and owns. It is therefore only here that he can make progress and find honor.
Most focus their ambitions to external superficiality and neglect the very essence of what and who they are. They become successes in social/cultural interactions and complete failures as human beings.

Most people's ambitions involve external goals and rarely internal ones.
In other words, most define themselves through others and invent themselves through the eyes of others.

How many rich men and women die never knowing what they were and the boundaries of their existence?
How many die never realizing what existence is or ever considering the question?

A successful life isn't measured by stature but by improvement.
A man living in apathy and lethargy on thrones he did not earn is a failure in my eyes; a man that struggles on and surpasses himself, even if he falls short of the first ones stature, is for me a success.

Nobility is found in how you've stretched your limits and fought against pain and suffering to redefine yourself; honor is found in leaving the comfort of the middle-ground and fighting your way to the limits of your genetic and environmental possibilities.

3} Value your friends but know that all respect is based on fear; so remain vigilant.

There is a romanticism found in the western world today about certain ideals.

Friendship, as love, is one of those terms that are valued but misinterpreted.

It is an inevitable mechanism of nature that strength should dominate and weakness should perish.

Friendship is an alliance of similar entities based on mutual fear and common motivations, called respect.

We respect that which can do unto us what we cannot do unto them or that which possess a characteristic we lack but value.

4} Most of modern mans actions are contrary to his natural inclinations.
Nature values strength and cunning; modern man exalts weakness and stupidity.

Nature is selfish; modern man values selflessness and martyrdom.
Nature is efficient and economical; modern man is superfluous and wasteful.

Nature is heightened by pain and suffering; modern man spends his every moment running from it.

Nature is cruel and indifferent; modern man raises compassion and kindness into a virtue.

Nature is amoral; man is moral.

Modern mans every institution is an attempt to circumvent nature and to enable the weak and stupid to procreate and live in comfort and lethargy [All this in order to take advantage of more hands and minds to harvest more resources necessary to civilization]. In the process we've allowed retardation to multiply and disease to be genetically spread like a plague.

It is even homosexuality that now gains normalcy and adds one more cut on the body of the human species.

The mechanics by which nature filtered out weak individuals and genetically imperfect creations has now been eliminated by man in his haste to level existence into a mediocre playing field to achieve a peace based on illusions and myths.

This has lead to psychological imperfections and physical abominations that now threaten man's very existence.

But unavoidably, no matter how man tries to escape and redirect nature, he remains a creation of nature and so, still, her minion.
This conflict is the root cause of modern mans stress and insecurity.

5} Knowledge and awareness does not diminish pleasure, it enhances it by giving man choice.

Most people today fear to look too deeply into the mechanics of natural phenomena or of their inner being. For instance the interpretation of emotions and their motivations are thought by most to be an affront to their very happiness.

They will accuse the one trying to analyze love, for instance, of generalization or of deconstruction.

This human fear to know and understand things is the primary cause for their lack of wisdom [In my ?'Human Judgment' essay I mention that courage is one of the most important parts of wisdom; one lacking it, no matter his intelligence and knowledge, will always remain a fool].
For me understanding things only heightens my enjoyment of them because now I choose to indulge in them or deny them as I choose. One coming to pleasure by choice rather than by need can appreciate it all the more.

So what if love is a natural mechanism of bondage and a selfish emotion masking as selflessness?

Do I not enjoy a glass of wine even when knowing where it comes from and how it acts upon my brain?

But the qualitative difference between one that has choice and one that is just a pawn to his emotions and his nature is easily discernable.
Ignorance may be bliss but it's also helplessness and a sure way to remain a victim of circumstance.

6} Live lightly. Live like a Spartan.

In my experience man needs little to be content.
A warm bed, good food and drink, company and social interaction, sexual gratification, access to creativity, an ambition. The rest are luxuries that can be accepted or rejected [asceticism].

Most modern men in their total ignorance of what they are and who they are, buy everything in the hopes that one of these things will bring them eternal contentment.

He who truly knows himself focuses his attentions and purchases to objects that he will use and benefit from. A thinking man thinks twice and buys once.

In modern mans rampant consumerism he purchases unneeded items which become chains around his feet.
Every purchase requires upkeep and a constant payment for preservation. When too much is owned then the owner becomes a slave to his possessions.

Many men of wealth live as they did when much poorer, with the only difference being, that now they are surrounded by a better quality of objects.

What is the difference between a chain of metal and a chain of gold?
The only thing of worth that wealth can really purchase in this culture, is mans freedom from it.
Less is more.

7} Progress requires pain and suffering but so does its maintenance.

Many forget that once a goal or a height is attained there is no room for relaxation.
It is harder to maintain a position than to reach it, as many people struggling with their weight know.

This relaxation of effort, usually submitted to by those that have paid the price and now want to be rewarded for it, leads to the sliding back to previous positions.
The reward of attained goals is not the goal itself but the consequences it will produce.

It is an unfortunate rule of life that effort can never diminish if progress is to be achieved.
Here the ascetic ideal will come in handy to one seeking personal growth.
Embrace the struggle, become familiar and comfortable with it until it becomes a normal state of your being and no longer registered in your consciousness as suffering.

There is no easy way around this, no easy path, no shortcut.
One must fight through it and hope he can reach the other side.
Most will fail due to genetic limitations and environmental programming.

8} Be proud.

Not arrogant and domineering but proud of who and what you are.
Pride is a way of being not of only of acting.

The only honest form of pride is one that is fixed in a deep knowledge of ones strengths and weaknesses without exaggerations, either way.
To accept oneself completely, without over-inflating oneself because of perfections or deflating oneself because of imperfections, is the hardest balancing act man is forced to endeavor. This is why few succeed.
Know always that despite your talents there is someone above you and despite your faults there is someone below you.

A superior man is simply one who tries to achieve the highest point within his genetic/environmental limitations.

This does not mean you should humble yourself or deny yourself the pleasure of flaunting your strengths. This means that you can also laugh at your faults.

THE LIST CONTINUES...................

Philosophy stands as the discipline of all things human and as the means by which man searches for meaning and understanding in a universe denying him both.

As such it is a curious amalgamation of scientific curiosity and artistic expression that attempts to uncover, indirectly, things that can never possibly be made aware of in a direct conscious manner to the human senses or that can be fully expressed, through words and language, to the human mind.

Science has been thought, in this ?'scientific age', as the forerunner of all human progress and the primary tool of human exploration. It has served man well, thus far, and has saved human kind from the overindulgence in and surrender to mythological and religious pacifiers that threaten to limit mankind to the confines of his own prejudices, self-interests and fears.

But science itself is beginning to reach the limits of its effectiveness, where its probing eye, is itself, affecting the results of what is being observed and is making the scientific ?'dream' of absolute objectivity, an improbability, at best, and a complete illusion, at worst.

This inter-relation of object and subject, described by Schopenhauer, has uncovered some uncomfortable realities about the extent of human knowledge and places doubt about the very likelihood of knowledge itself, as a whole; a subject tackled by epistemology in the philosophical discipline.

Science is like trying to shed light in a dark room that will be changed by the very light you cast. One can never be sure that, in the dark, things remain the same or that the light used is powerful or precise enough to make everything visible.

Art also faces its own restrictions in its endeavor to describe transcendental ?'truths' by utilizing human imagination to shape sensual interpretations into metaphorical symbols.
Here feeling, instinct and imagination is unleashed in the place of critical thought, reason and empiricism and the underlying, unseen reality or the transcending ?'truth' of existence is expressed through color, shape, tone and all forms of sensual interpretations.

But art cannot give direction, purpose or create life strategies and rules by which a human being can live or find power in; it can insinuate and guess, it can paint approximations and try to achieve precision through indirect means but it remains restricted to individual limitations of interpretation and understanding and is seeped in an allegory that leaves much room for misunderstanding and lacks the precision to quench the minds thirst for answers.

Art is like trying to describe a dark room by walking through it with the lights closed and feeling the movement of your body through the objects in it, the effect of the air upon you and the overall sensation you receive and then mimicking it to the best of your abilities for all to see.

Philosophy bridges these two attitudes of exploration by combining the scientific desire to cast light on everything and the artistic disposition of gaining insight through instinct and emotional comprehension.
Gustave Flaubert says on this matter: "As a rule the philosopher is a kind of mongrel being a cross between scientist and poet, envious of both."

One may even venture to claim that philosophy is the source of both science and art and is related to both as a tree, rooted in the human mind, is related to its branches, breathing and gathering sunlight on its behalf.

But even philosophy has fallen on some hard times and is now faced with the specter of nihilism and the denial of life itself. Centuries of human philosophical thought has guided us to the brink of human desperation and the precipice of nothingness. This mental exploration of ?'all things' has uncovered painful facets of mans place in the universe, his purpose, or lack of, and his relation to sensual information gained through imperfect instruments and forever entrenched in subjectivity and speculation.

What therefore is the value of philosophy?
Many take philosophy as this pool of subjects by which they show-off their mental abilities or indulge their need for deeper conversation to pacify their boredom and occupy their minds with mental puzzles that can never be answered adequately.

There are those that take philosophy to be the mere reassessing of previous opinions in this unending interpretation and reinterpretation of what others have thought or believed.
They feel they are ?'philosophical' or ?'intellectual' just because they can mention the multiple schools of philosophical thought, quote from previous works and take a position on abstract ideas formulated by previous minds.

Here is the very essence of what it means to me a sophist.
A mind that has not suffered or struggled for its opinions feels a distance, a cold-hearted indifference towards their validity and so expresses them as if reciting a poem he hasn't written and therefore not fully comprehended. For him a philosophy is not part of him but only something he knows and so can easily replace with another. His only attachment to it is in regards to his ego and not wanting to prove his judgment wrong for ever having believed in it.

Beliefs gained by reading books or by adopting another's viewpoint without personal effort and analysis of the world directly are truly worthless and utterly without consequence on any individual life.
A philosophy that isn't ?'lived' is only a candy suckled on by those wanting to believe they are in that instant thinking…deeply.

A sophist participates in philosophical discourse knowing beforehand that no answer will be given, no conclusion reached and the inevitable result will be a smile, a handshake and an agreement to disagree. He will then leave the debate table non-the-better and non-the-worst. No change, no gain, no difference will have been made and this suits the sophist, just fine.

This Christian attitude of wanting to equate all opinions and respect all viewpoints so as to not insult or hurt anybody for holding on to the most ridiculous belief, is a direct result of the current psychology of equalitarianism and compassion that negates all possibility of superior and inferior opinions and participates in debate only when no clear victor is to be crowned and no belief will be totally discredited.

A sophist will only include himself in a conversation when he does not feel threatened by exposure and so prefers to discuss matters that can never possibly lead to a result and that have no personal ramifications.

But philosophy is meaningless if only this attitude is adopted and no real-life consequences are looked for.
Philosophy is not only about a recitation of dead ideas and dead peoples opinions in an endless regurgitation of ?'what was meant' or ?'what was said'; it is a battle between two, or more, personal viewpoints and the destruction or alteration of the weaker one for the purpose of achieving a higher ?'truth' or a more worthy state of mind.

The world of ideas is subject to the same rules of physical existence and evolutionary methods of progress.
Philosophy is political in that it must lead to real-life results and the formulation of life strategies for the attainment of goals in a given environment.

Philosophy is artistic, in that it uses metaphor and allegory to describe what is indescribable and speaks to the imagination where reason is incapable to comprehend.
Philosophy is scientific, in that it uses sensual phenomena to deduce and induce bigger phenomena and empiricism to find arguments for or against interpretations.

What is the value of something that will not have a consequence upon our being and lead to no result?
A philosopher opens his window, his eyes and his mind to the world and only uses past opinions as inspirations and guidance tools to his own, personal explorations. Books and philosophical treatises are resource material not goals, in themselves.

It is preferable to have an incomplete and weaker opinion that was gained through personal effort, than to adopt more perfect and complete ideas in which you had no participation in and the only work done was memorization.
As a result of this personal effort, ideas and opinions become personal and the individual in their defense becomes passionate.

It is true that emotion must be kept, as much as possible, out of the formulation of opinion but the expression of such a formulation, once made, can be emotional and passionate because it then becomes a life position with real life consequences and far reaching results.

Philosophical debate can and must include everything of human interest even the things that are unavoidably beyond his ability to perceive. But if philosophical debate does not also include discussions on subjects that offer an opportunity for personal growth and empowerment, if it does not have consequences in the everyday living of an individual, if it remains non-political then it becomes castrated and impotent in any real sense.
It becomes a game for the sophists wanting to remain as they are and only desiring a perspective on opposing beliefs that they can discard, as useless, using personal interests, prejudices and fears.

A sophist is like a fight spectator; he chooses sides and then yells for his man in support but, in the end, for him the result of the fight has no real results and so win or lose he will leave intact and unscathed. He therefore remains distant and cold, which comes off as confidence or superiority, but is in essence the indifference of non-participation. He can therefore laugh and cheerfully exit the stands without passion or risk, embracing the ones that opposed him in his choice. The extent of his participation is in utilizing his judgment to pick fighters. His only stake is one of ego.

For the sophist all fighters are noteworthy and respectable- he may have his favorite but all are his superior- but he can never feel the ecstasy of being in there or pay the personal sacrifices needed to enter himself.

The philosopher, on the other hand, is the fighter himself. He enters the arena to defend himself and to prove his worth by testing it facing another of his kind. For him the preparation required discipline and effort; blood and sweat was put into his ?'exercise', his askisis and now he gets into the rink risking both health and limb in order to become better. For him the fight is personal since it has direct consequences on his being and his beliefs and he's invested much time and effort in reaching fighting fitness.

In the end though who benefits more from a fight; the spectator or the fighter himself, win or lose?

If philosophy does not lead to personal growth and change then what is it good for, in mans ephemeral limited existence?

Here are the levels of human lucidity as I perceive them.

LEVEL 1-Individuality-Specificity-Superficiality-Materialism-Ego-Self-I-Gender-Love/Hate-Isolation-Uniqueness-Selfishness-Logic/Reason- =Slave

LEVEL2-Culture-Society-Religion-Tribalism-Uniformity-Conformity-Instinct-Reality-Us-Nationalism-Racism-Evil/Good-Generality-Consumerism- Social/Economic Ambition-Selflessness-Morality/Ethics-Law-Procreation =Master Slave

LEVEL3-Nature-Universe-Spirituality-Wholeness-Unity-Intuition-Completeness-Multiplicity-Spirit = Master

LEVEL4
-Transcendence-Immortality-Timelessness-Perfection-Symmetry-Beauty= God

Each level requires the sacrificing of the one before to be reached and as such requires a loss for a gain or a gain for a loss, depending on how you perceive it.
In some recent Hollywood movies [I only mention them as examples that many can relate with and as common points of reference] this same idea has been depicted as Matrixes containing human consciousness at different degrees of self-awareness.

In the ?'Fight Club' the entanglement of human consciousness between two levels of lucidity was represented as a kind of schizophrenia, a psychological confrontation between two aspects of the same human consciousness.

Achieving a new level does not necessarily mean leaving behind the one before, it means incorporating the one before into a new unity of lucidity.
All of us live, to varying degrees, in the first two levels of awareness and we've incorporated the two into a single consciousness depending on the strength of lucidity each individual is capable of.

It is therefore possible for a single individual to be selfish and selfless, individualistic and conforming, materialistic and religious.

In ?'modern' human society the isolation of many from the 3rd level of lucidity has culminated in a loss of identity and psychological stability.
Technology is used to seclude man from the upper levels of human awareness, even if perceived intuitively and subconsciously by the majority, and forcing him to go against his very nature so that he may become more malleable in a social context. The well known Matrix if you will.

This barrier placed in order that only the few, who are capable, can use the rest, who are incapable of such a level of perception, to attain to the higher levels of lucidity.

Unfortunately the masses have achieved superiority through their great numbers and through recent moral and political systems [Judeo/Christian, Muslim, Buddhism, Democracy, Pessimism, Nihilism] they are now placing barriers to all human ascension and attainment of higher levels of awareness.

The few "capable" hindered by over-skepticism, tolerance and the decaying effects of dead-end philosophical ideas and weariness have allowed themselves to be influenced by the very ideologies and ideals of the masses, making them doubtful, non-confrontational, compassionate and tolerant of them.

What a cruel joke life is and I an unwilling jester on a musical carousel, spinning infinitely in circles while gleeful notes dance between the wooden figures.
I long to laugh from my stomach at it, to see the punch-line amongst the tragic sarcasms and bellow from the pits of my insides in a moment of surprised discovery. Instead I stand wide-eyed between the figures rotating in the night looking for a single point in the, surrounding darkness, looking for a single instance of stability in the engulfing black.
There is a joke here, an underlying substratum of ridiculousness I cannot grasp. So I am left to ponder the possibility that it may be I that is the target of this anecdote, and I smile inwardly

Where can I turn for solace, upon which ground shall I build my shelter?
I stand here in the solitude of existence dreaming about an end.
I am surrounded by multiplicity and diversity; in the turmoil of relationships I feel as one, alone in a crowd of objectifications.
But even this is an illusion.

In the darkness I wander, lost in my own perceptions, and in the void I construct temporary castles to achieve a focus for a restless mind.
I am often tempted, oh how I am tempted, to let go, to surrender, to give in as many have, and fool myself, delude myself into meanings of my own imagining.

My body cries out for contentment, begs for shallow rapture that lasts only for so long; it needs to be fed and the temporary nature of gratification does not lessen its zeal.

But I see it for what it is: a mechanical expression of a transcending will that knows only struggle and strife. There is no moment of peace, no possibility of rest; there is only an escape from the awareness of it and even this comes with great effort and at a high cost.

In this whirlwind I persevere, I struggle on, alone.
I gather understanding as others hoard material things. This is my treasure, my motivation, my purpose; this and only this belongs only to me in eternity.

Through the story of my life I will experience both gain and loss, both pleasure and pain and in this I will lose myself as it is my nature to do so. But always in the depth of my consciousness, in the back of my mind, I will know of its hypocritical illusion; I will comprehend only its surface value that hides a hollow empty center.

I will remain forever a spectator of my own experience.
This is not my desperation or a source for further suffering; in fact it is this knowledge that sets me free from the world and the self that binds me to it, and it liberates my mind from its prejudices.

What for others, at first sight, may appear terrifying is for me the fountain of my inner strength; paid for with years of acceptance.

Who has felt the sweet rapture of being alive; energy flowing through the molecules of the body, making the hairs stand on end and the eyes water?
Who has touched the flesh of another and felt their gentle fingertips pulling, wanting, and drinking his breath with every gasp?

Who has heard the vibrations of life reverberating through his soul; the senses sucking the marrow out of existence; wanting more, needing more?

The one that has felt the rapture.
Electric energy crashes in waves against the limits seeking to break them, to shatter them into infinity.

The momentary contentment that follows is a brief respite from the unending search for satisfaction and the beginning of a hopeful expectation for the next instant.

This is being this is existence.

So many words! I can't keep up. Can you give us a synopsis?

Synopsis:
I like Pizza.

OK; well in that case, join me.

Confessions
• The most interesting and frustrating thing about living in this age is that there is nothing stable left to stand on.
The concept of truth has been dishonoured and along with it all the ideals that were dependant upon it.

A world released from external definitions settles for illusions to recreate itself continuously and it invents perils and desires to maintain cohesion by keeping its parts in a continuous state of mystification.
Anomie keeps the social brew bubbling, making the boundaries attractive and the extremes, factories of doe-eyed wellness.

This is the world of my preference.
This is the world where the sightless get swept away by passing fads and the sighted, even if one-eyed, project inner islands outwardly, and call them home.
The time for sorrow and anger is over.
Now comes the time for glee.



• The thing about me is that I never became ambitious enough in the areas where I was told I was supposed to be.
Whereas others accepted whatever forms of self-definitions were presented to them as the highest forms of self-realization, I couldn't see the point of it all.
I felt the natural urges, just like everyone else, but I couldn't rationalize the expenditure of so much effort in pursuit of the promised rewards, to myself.
I had little interest in these rewards when all around me they were being hyped and spun into mythologies.

I was once told, by someone, that the underlying reasons for this ?'flaw' in me, might be my fear of failure and a deep-seated fragility wanting to protect itself.
It forced me to reconsider my past and re-evaluate my present.

I couldn't remember one instance where failure or the thought of failure had caused any debilitating emotion in me. I've felt the natural disappointment and embarrassment everyone feels when a goal is not reached, but not to the extent where it would stop me from any future attempts.
I couldn't recall one instance where I was broken and left grasping at darkness for help.
In the end anger always welled up in me and woke me from my self pity.

In all honestly, I've mostly entered into projects in pursuit of goals which I never really wanted.
I did it because of this exaggerated sense of responsibility and compassion I have towards those I feel indebted to, for one reason or another.
I did it because I doubted myself and succumbed to external influences that promised satisfaction and desirable rewards.
The pressure to be what others believe represents success or strength or value abound. It takes a certain degree of remoteness or separation to notice that all constructs of self, come through social prerogatives.
The forces of responsibility, commitment and guilt enforce a certain course of action.
It takes a strong mind to resist and to accept the burdens of consequence.
It takes an ideal.



• Experiences are enjoyed more in expectation rather than in their actuality.
Then they are enjoyed in retrospect.
The mind has a way of forgetting detail.



• Should I be feeling shame for it, should I be embarrassed because of it?
Progress has certainly done its best to make me feel so. It has certainly tried to convince me that I should suffer for it, that I'm born guilty of it - just by being me- just by being.

But besides an earlier bout with bad conscience and an infantile infatuation with the redirected hypocritical selfishness of idealistic altruism, I'm more inclined to feel pride and pleasure in it these days.
A recognition of an entirety, I'm not fully responsible for, I guess.



• Remorse never solidified in me, it clung there for a while, and then slid away leaving only scar tissue in its passing.
Disfigurements are the inevitable souvenirs of pressure.

I've salvaged whatever remnants of self-respect I could from the corrupting forces of a world that wanted to absorb me into its wholeness and make me a willing member of its entourage, and I now hold them up like a banner of honour. A symbol of waving belligerence in the wind:
"I'm still here, damn you! I'm still, *******, here!" I shout, even if nobody cares but me.



• I, sometimes, stand there enduring the hysterical shrills of a misbehaving infant or the demanding vocalizations of a needy child, and I'm gripped with the excruciating desire to splatter its little ******* brains onto the nearest wall, before I turn my rage upon the imbeciles that produced this foul bundle of need and brought it within my vicinity to disturb my peace.

It takes a village…my ass!
Since when has everyone become part of my village and who invited them in?!
Since when have I been forced into the idea that I am now responsible for people I neither know nor care to ever know, at all?

?'Brother's keeper' indeed, problem is, they aren't my brother's.

Proud parents show-off their genetic excrement, seeking approval or primate grooming displays from the surrounding villagers.

"He's/she's so cute" I hear, knowing most of it is a part of social ritual meant to keep the illusion going and the alliances intact.

Cute? Cute?!!!!
Even a Hyena's pup is cute for a while.
Then it grows up to become a scavenger of cadavers.
But at least it, unlike the two-legged kind, is honest about it.

Cuteness is a deception of form and those big innocent eyes hide an unwritten, and often vile, future but most of all they hide a tabula rasa waiting to be scribbled upon, waiting to be taken, like a two-dollar whore.

Is there any doubt that Hitler was cute as a child?
Was Nero anything but adorable in his youth?
Can we be sure that any of those villains, we love to hate, were not once endearing and full of untapped potential and unbridled hope and …cute?
Now we call them monsters or insane and we shudder at the mention of their names and at the remembrance of their actions so that we can pretend we are better than that, that we could have never…

How attractive, really, was Jeffrey Dahmer and how did Joseph Merrick compare?
The same Joseph Merrick that wrote this:

"Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.
If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind's the standard of the man."
-Joseph Merrick



• The moment human life was raised to the level of holiness, it ceased to matter.
The moment every human life became a precious commodity and as a by-product made all forms of life objects of veneration, the entire idea of self was obliterated.
God on the cross is a symbol of pretentiousness and the beginning of the end for the human species, as we know it.



• This aggression, this deep need to destroy lurks secretly behind my outward civility. I, sometimes, gnash my teeth to keep it confined.
It's an antithesis to my very social character, a characteristic intolerable and punishable under these cultural circumstances.
Funny thing is everyone is this way.
Some openly, some secretly while others don't even dare consider the possibility at all.
These last, become the most disgusting and brutal of them all.
Ugliness isn't the absence of symmetry; it is the absence of recognition and acceptance of self in its entirety.
It is beauty and symmetry unrecognized.

It is this denial of what you are that makes it possible to be controlled by it.



• I'm a walking contradiction, only because I'm never in total control over my entire being.
One moment I'm this and then I'm that, with only my mind remaining a constant, or should I say, with only my mind's interpretation of continuance and self-awareness, as the only constant.

Satan is confronting Eros inside me - as Freud would put it - wanting to obliterate the products of assimilation and unification, wanting to simplify.

"Mephistopheles: ?'I am the spirit that negates
And rightly so, for all that comes to be
Deserves to perish wretchedly;
?'Twere better nothing would begin
This everything that your terms, sin,
Destruction, evil represent-
That is my proper element'."
-Goethe (Faust {Part 1, Section 3}.)

I always did have a soft spot for the fallen angel. This would explain my indifference concerning evil spirits and bogeymen, as a child, and why horror films, involving ghosts, possessions and haunted houses, have made me yawn more than cringe.

Mankind has always been the most horrific thing on this earth for me.
Man and the products of his imagination.
Man and his bullshit, pretending to be virtuous.

Nature and its creations were always tolerable to me, its dangers and rules honest and straightforward.
But man? Man is intolerable in his insincerity. He permeates the landscape, dominates it, warps it, infects it with ideas and ideals he cannot live up to and then makes excuses for his failures, which is to be expected in a reality where nature has been pushed to the fringes and where man and his imagination governs the vistas.

Man and his insufferable language.



• The dilemma for every weakness - if it becomes conscious enough to see the choice - is between submission and a temporary humbled existence through assimilation, or resistance and a fiery proud death as a distinct entity, before it is consumed and forgotten.
Both drives pull at me at different times, and my anger often wells up in me for having so few other options and for being forced into the choice, at all.

But such is existence: the will to life, the will to death - swirling in a Taoist smear.



• "Mine is a most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a humble cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window, and a few fine trees before my door; and if God wants to make my happiness complete, he will grant me the joy of seeing some six or seven of my enemies hanging from those trees. Before their death I shall, moved in my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in their lifetime. One must, it is true, forgive one's enemies - but not before they have hanged."
-Heine (Gendanken und Einfalle {Section 1}.)

From God I ask for no such favours. Delightful work, as this, I'll do gladly on my own and with not as much mercy or sympathy.
But my hand is stayed by the safeguards of a civilization built on the myth of unconditional love and compassion which has resulted in so much filth and… emptiness.

It threatens me with its many minions and its insufferable bureaucracy contains me with its rationale.



• "We wot that our parents do but bear us into death. A strange thing, that."
-Julian of Norwich

What a wonderful absurdity that we are given life only to become aware of and experience its slow loss; a wonderful farce that so perfectly reflects the human condition.

How appropriate then, that this ?'gift' is often given by ones so in love with living and the false sense of self that they seek to find eternity through the creation of another, only to find that they have passed on the dilemma to someone else and have both cursed and blessed them with consciousness.

"There in the morning, I realize this second, then this one, then the next: I draw up the balance sheet for each minute. And why all this? Because I was born. It is a special type of sleeplessness that produces the indictment of birth."
- E. M. Cioran

It is our parents that condemn us to the realization and unceasing expectation of death.
We call it life.
Then we dedicate its measured loss in search for beauty and power and a way out of its inevitability.
We search for pause buttons…then for excuses.

"To have committed every crime but that of being a father."
- E. M. Cioran



• It's never about the one involved.
If it were, then there would be lamentations at birth and celebrations at death.

-Instead we celebrate our own renewed hope and the unburdening of our successes and failures upon the newcomer, whom we welcome as an extension of our self.
We rejoice over being able to now live vicariously through their fresh start and for being able to finally escape our growing sense of unease concerning our insights and our insignificance.

-Instead we mourn over being forced to adapt our consciousness around their absence and we resent their sudden escape from our reality.
We grieve for being left behind to endure an added suffering and their peaceful indifference fills us with a sense of resentment we cannot bring ourselves to admit.



• "Having tested young Nachiketa and found him fit to receive spiritual instruction, Yama, king of death, said:
The joy of the Atman ever abides,
But not what seems pleasant to the senses.
Both these, differing in their purpose, prompt
Man to action. All is well for those who choose
The joy of Atman, but they miss
The goal of life who prefer the pleasant.
Perennial joy or passing pleasure?
That is the choice one is to make always.
The wise recognize these two, but not
The ignorant. The first welcome what leads
To abiding joy, though painful at the time.
The latter run, goaded by their senses,
After what seems immediate pleasure.

Well have you renounced these passing pleasures
So dear to the senses, Nachiketa,
And turned your back on the way of the world
Which makes mankind forget the goal of life.
Far apart are wisdom and ignorance.
The first leads one to Self-realization;
The second makes one more and more
Estranged from his real Self. I regard you,
Nachiketa, worthy of instruction,
For passing pleasures tempt you not at all."
- Upanishads (Katha Upanishad [2] 1-4

In all honesty, the idea of losing self to some grand idea involving an interconnectivity of a larger Self fills me with just as much dread as the idea of dying.
For me the thought, about a collective unconscious existence, is but a clever way of dealing with the entire process of coming to be and then surrendering to being.

I've always been filled with a deep admiration and a lasting love affair with the concept of separateness. What I am, beyond the commonalities and underlying forces that brought me about, is a consciousness of distinction.
It is the part I must play in this spectacle.

"Better one's own dharma, imperfectly achieved, than another's dharma carried off with skill.
Better it is to die in one's own law; another's way is frightful danger."
- (Gita 3.35)

It is no more my nature to be a manifestation of a larger fabric than it is for me to become aware of this manifestation as part of a multiplicity.
It has been this ego, this arrogance of presence, which has kept me at the outskirts of any idea that diminishes conscious self on the behalf of some greater unconscious, collective-soul idea.
I can see the logic in the spiritual acknowledgment of wholeness and equality of ancestry. I just can't abide by its ultimate sacrifice nor can I ignore the intermediary circumstances of environment that brings about the efficient utility of discriminating thought.

"Ordinary mortals do what they are told, and get attached to anything: their counting, or a piece of land. Everything they work for, secular or religious, comes to nothing.
Only those who find out Who they are and what they want find freedom, here and in all the worlds."
- (chad.VIII.1.5-6)

The truth is that I've never loved anything or anyone more than this combination of talents and faults I call me, and in so doing, I've remained true to my nature and I've embraced the totality of consciousness.

Like Mithras I battle the bull and I remember Balder when I weep.



• It has become evident to me that those most willing to give up the ?'I', no matter how illusory it might be, are those with not much ?'I' to lose in the first place.

They jump onto any bandwagon promising them an extension, an enlargement of their becoming, a reprieve from their consciousness which impresses them as equally as it impresses others who observe them.

They tread water in the shallows, wondering why swimming is so bland and only intuitively gain an appreciation of their own failings when they see someone else surfing by the reefs.



• It was never about hating my self nor was it about being insecure or lost or afraid.
It was always about hating what the world forced me to change about my self, what it forced me to bury or lose, and what it amputated.
How it imposed its rule and offered me the do-or-die dilemma.
How it made me go underground to preserve what I valued most.
There was only so much I could compromise before I settled for biting tolerance.

It has always been my adaptation that embittered me…this and the high cost of resistance.
It humbles me by reminding me about how helpless I am against my environment.



• Every idea, every position every thought can be used to portray the mind, under its influence, as either weak or strong or in either a negative or a positive way.
The solution is to take a stand on a single position and embrace all the ramifications of your decision, accepting all definitions.

The difference is that, while you'll be doing it with foresight, demanding integrity, others will be doing it with hindsight, demanding excuses, and they'll call it the same thing.



• I believe I'm a sort of reluctant nihilist.
Part of me wants to find something meaningful to make existence more than a version of reality endlessly reproducing itself. But everything I find crumbles under the pressures of my fingertips, as I manipulate it before my eyes, as I peel away its layers.
What doesn't, warps under my needy gaze or it forces me to either adjust my trajectory to its gravity or abandon its atmosphere altogether for the quiet void.

Loss and gain are the natural offspring of all choices; even the choice of living.



• In the dry fields of my soul I've planted vine sticks with my own two hands.
In time they have grown, fed with the fertilizers of my awareness and watered by the tears from my sorrow and the sweat from my brow; and they have born fruit.

I have been patient and did not rush to harvest this bounty of the sun. Even when pests savoured their flavours and blemished their near perfection, I held back.
I've let the sun burn them ripe and I've allowed the heat to pull out their natural inner sugars and when the season came I crushed the grapes into pulp, with my own two feet, and let them ferment slowly into wine, in cool, subterranean cellars and secret chambers.

Now, strangers drink this nectar and comment on its sweetness or they spit it out because of its overstated bitterness.
But they want to taste it again and again.
They want to savour the aromas and delicate aftertastes that linger on the palate, no matter its insensitivity.
They want to enjoy the delicate intoxication and become lost in the sensation of unleashed power it invokes.

They don't know why.
I do.