What else but a weak and whining body heaves complaints of whining demands through references to enforced ''rights'', his rights are his right and those against them are his wrong, we are.
What else but a corrupt body spreads as it is allowed to speak, a corrupt vision on the world, how it is (lacking), how it has been and should become to his taste which is nothing else but perspective, the perception (consciousness) and relationship with the earth, natural phenomena, otherness, himself, emotions, instincts - manifested and cultivated ideals as is one's body.
What else but a partialised mongrel, in class, unrooted in Modern fashions, with peppered and salted taste buds, can come up with something called as ''Common Sense'' and refer to Justice served in a political manner of mere debate as the Scale of Eternal Judgement.
Yes, I am one angry son of half-god, a mongrel in between the lower and the higher. Too lowly, it gives me depth and mocking in the height of my soul.
How fancy these pale-wired dolls are in their suits and ties, it ties them up easily in false senses of superiority. A Common Judgement as them to be of High value, business orientated, tentacle-armed plebs with a more rich, or rather, specialized vocubulary than the common untied marketing slaves.
Then you talk to me about ''narcissism''? What about yourcommon sense of grammar rules and political doctrines. You see them in your hierarchy, the taste you never had, given to you and digested without reflexes.
I have the arrogance to speak out and call the little man out upon his height in depthless spirit. A teacher-mentality, specifically reserved by females and autistic border-line Statists of the chinless male variant, they point out each gramatically incorrect word, not seeing the prose, or the lines in between, the superfluousness of language as an organic world in itself, a reflection of climate and blood. To them all is set and anything out of their order is ''narcissistic'' or ''fool-talk'', it is their talk and ''understanding''.
I saw a man some days ago without legs, his body attached on some wooden wheelly skateboard, without wheels.., lifting himself up with his arms upstairs out of the metro; he had to take a rest halfway even though muscular in arms.
If you see shit, feel shit, do shit, are shit, among shit; you just realize how fast The Language will change once the West will collapse and words such as ''mysoginist'', ''phobe-anything'' and ''micro-agression'' will disappear as fast as they came (in popular usage). They don't exist in my order already, phantoms of a corrupt world with corrupt mongrels fantasising their own bubbles of hierarchies, never popped by the top of Natural carelessness and taste, but a pyramid on its top about to fall, or rather, float to its height it does not have. Hatred with gender problems, your words come with your existence, ''women'' to be despised, ''men'' to be a laughing stock, what else but a mirror in front of the Television; be gone and so your Grammar of Living will be.
A city's historic fundament is a prosperous town or village, or a military settlement. Each city, if surviving, testifies its ideals of representative architecture, living standards, victories and defeats, dominant class and various skilled peoples. A clear top of ruling taste with ruled underlayers. Then it splinters as a mongrel infested rat's nest, the ruled classes becoming more dominant in influence and overall representation; the taste drains together with their bodies due to over-population. City-rats adapted to noise, hyper-social, ego-less activities. The classes start to mingle and the top becomes overwhelmed. The reserved places for the Highly Tasteful elite become business offices surrounded in a cess-pool of other-layers.
A (Modern) city is nothing more than a mongrel's nest populated by partialised individuals who think of their own ego-less desires, as if there is something as an ''I'' in them. The city layers are layers of fusing parts together of a bit of taste from here, and there, and spices from behind, juices around the corner; untill the taste has a taste for anything except wholeness, a cynical all-eater without digestion and preferation, selection.
A 'Man of the Museum'; again, a partialised mongrel who thinks that he transcends the past and all centuries, as if he is not a link, a continuation, whether inferior or not, with the past. Each section, to his taste, he looks at with either the feeling of superiority or fascination. Superiority as if his taste and era of manifested ideals and technology are totally detached from anything of the past, and ''fascination'' as with ''how could they live and survive like that with such and that'', not realising his degeneracy and weaknesss. The Man of the Museum, or an history professor, a Modern archeologist; they look at our forebears as if some ''wild cavemen'' with whom we have nothing to do or in common, people that are not within us, to which we cannot ''revert'' to with instincts taking over or the environment pressuring us. They study the History of Man as if they analyse the heart apart from the body, different worlds alike different planets. They see history as in Museum sections, in parts, with different eras mingled together in one building with each a specialzed department next to each other, a linear measurement towards some ''transcending'' nowness, Modernism, a timeline. To a degree we are different, we are degenerate in everything in body and mind and the few of us are those to build a greater generation upon, us flashbacks from ancient times.
How does one want to conquer the world if the world is all he knows; the world of man, the world of the museum, the world of the television; at his height he merely conquers the minds of degenerate and underdeveloped men, children and women.
The Talmud and Hadith say that with each person you kill, you kill a whole world. Here I go wrong already by saying ''person'' in stead of ''human'', too much emphasis upon some transcending detachment from a collective surrounding and past of pressuring. But with ''human'', why not organism, why not any animal with basic perception, memory and ability of learning skills; why are your human nerves, not even of your own, of more sensible value than that of a dog, for a dog's world is bigger than that of our's, we who see everything in small by knowing where we are.
So what if one kills the world of man in man, The world will do without us as it once did before Too much emphasis upon each mind as some detached entity
Yes, follow your heart as you should follow your head and all the other parts of the body as if there are no parts; for each path there is a reference to an organ or body part which of course should correlate to all the other bodily processes. But if I have learned one important thing; silence your heart and listen to your feet, they have a better touch than any beat of the heart. Better to be heartless (to be bitter about that is to be an inner-cripple) than limp on a crank.
Since I am a mere mortal with little detrimental powers except my reincarnate Goebbels spirit with the gift for speech and writing, a Faustian vision for overstepping virtue, let me humbly ask God in whom I have no faith nor trust, to grant me these curses that will be a blessing as death is to life and life is to death. So speaks the spirit I share with Marquise de Sade.
May God give cancer to those traitors of all kinds I despise, but for sure those personal encounters who have taken away my last bits of trust, humbleness, loyalty and my future that Fate does not share with me, in ‘spontaneous persons’. May their families be cursed and rot in their bones and souls; may the generations that will be born live in agony and their children suffer the worst together with their mothers, wives, sisters and loved ones. Oh God, give them cancer throughout their bodies, corrupt their treacherous souls more so to their dislike, let their women be raped and their men be slaughtered, their children sold into slavery of contracts and scorn. They have wronged me in so far, nothing to live for but to die for life, little to care anymore but a bigger cause to strive for - little to do with my loves and passions and how I saw myself in a bountiful future I now have to step on, over my borders that leaves me be and echoes a new creature to breathe.
Everything of value to me will be gone; may I be damned, may I lose everything but my health and detriment, may Fate be blindly guiding to keep an eye on me for there is no other way no more. All what I had in mind and foreseen, to which I would strive towards, to keep away from my Fate to counter it and lead my own will, may I lose all the friends of no help in this detriment of possessed soul, may I never find love and a caressing woman holding me in high regard who I would love more than anything else, may I never have a home and hearth, no folk and soil but the ancient remnants upon which I wander; may all love fail me and my heart be crushed into bitter-sweet aftertaste and never be crippled in bitter regret. May the nations and peoples be damned in who I saw life and future but at last found only treachery and degenerate backstabbing corruption, corruption of loyalty and decency and hope; when hope dies is the moment of the sword to swing the bowed heads in praying hypocrisy in slaying end, a new cycle, a return which others find mere myth and lunacy – a no-mad maddening against their sanely saints who know no evil and thus their virtues are of no taste. May they all be cursed with as much hatred as the Rabbis of Babylon writing their binding myths of resentful divinity prophesising the downfall of many in their manner, but never came true, let mine be true, let my Psalms be the prayers of my dignified damnation damning the filth of the earth. May I never have bloody soil and never have love for the sake of a greater Fate that leads me into my abyss, away from it all and resurrect me among the everything, but that all I longed for never will be so should it be and shall.
Death and misery upon traitors, promiscuous bedswervers, economic loyalists, mongrel mongers and any lower-dog with the heart of a chicken’s brains. Damn you all and more, get cancer and syphilis and misery, be cursed in blood and drop nearly dead crawling your lives in pitiful merciless pettiness.
You can see how much the body is to people, mainly women, as not in sync with but as the mind itself by observing these nonsense-diets propagated to certain demographics with the reason for 'sale results'. Women suffering anorexia, men being self-absorbed in their muscles, fat people being spoon fed how they should be comfortable in their bodies (this one actually indicates a discomfort of the mind which Political Correct policies tries to numb to become not wholly with but merely the body), make-up and clothes to ''correct'' and accentuate certain parts - partialisation of the body and thus the mind's perspective, just like a slut is a walking cavern, a male who merely perceives his world through sexual prickles, is a dick. But nonetheless, health and ugliness cannot be ignored with political views and what you perceive through the mind so will feel your body in stimuli.
It takes some time but everything returns to its origins. So life returns to death, unconscious matter, death to life through convincing the right chemicals and elements, blood to its spirit with its ancestral memories. But sometimes things get so confused, thus this confusion is a new source of beginning; for the better, the worse, or unnoticed.
But time is never "an-other"; time is continuously manifest(ed). We are time and it is our (bodily) matter and relativity of the positioning of our earth in this universe (space / gravity / compactness), which determines how we are affected as the manifestation of time.
It is that we are (Self)-conscious to a degree, that we are aware of the illusion of the apperent movement of time without the need of biological automatic processes regulating our whole lives, such as the mating seasons of the many other animal species.
But time is not movement, it is the conciousness of life which is aware of its time-span that is ending as life. But after life, existence continues and so does time, without a break.
Life is movement / organising and time measures this moving and is experienced, only when conscious, as "passing by".
Time is. But the matter / substantial elements are affected as time, dependend on the time-span of the many substantial / species lives and simple (lifeless) existence that endure. More, or less, resistent to the creation / decay of the movement of its self-organising / ordering existence against the movement of entropy. Hence "it takes time" for the substance to be-come / manifest - it's matter(ial) relative.
To think for yourself means to smash the Idols that you once took for granted, to see in them nothing more but a historic fraud and the re-production of a illusionary but often unifying, narrative and the Idealism towards greatness.
Willem of Orange (1533-1584), with his title 'Father of the Fatherland', of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. What is he but an Idol to unify a nation under a common narrative, a shared historic perspective, a common understanding of the 80 years revolt. But a simple search into history, shows the other sides. The Catholics were suppressed and during the liberation from the Spanish, massacred in the Southern Netherlands, and today these people celebrate him as the Founding Father.
Yes, that is right, he was in a way, but not from the start - it is the Idolization that made the Netherlands as it is. To Idolize for a nation means to secularize for the masses. To Idolize for the few means to inaugurate and exclude, for the people to live up to, like Hercules as an Ideal to inspire.
But once you see through it all, and the Idols become mere perspectives and you see through the false historic narratives of our histories of the nations, you start to think for yourself and not the Idol and the nation thinking for you.
Once the walls of sheltering civilization and ''human rights'' will collapse under the weight of its stacked lies and holes filled with more political perversions; then truth will haunt each of those plebeian opinion-trannies. For outside civilization, you cannot hide and survive with deludering lies and fantasies about equality and 'the right to live'.
They may kill the Wolf in their fantasies. Or behind a fence sheltered from its nature. But the Wolf kills them in reality, when standing face to face, each bare naked - on this world, outside the Human Zoo.
Behind the veil, one is still naked.. (Im)Modesty is reflection in selection. But regardless how modest one is, a woman still has her vagina and a man has his dick. You can't deny biological intent expressed in desire for intimacy.
Behind the veil, you have lust and desire; she just controls it by expressing it to the few (selection) instead of to all.
Pudicizia (Modesty), by Antonio Corradini, 1751, Italy. [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]
'Lady of the Instant', by Michael Cheval A very expressive painting, indeed..
How I might explain it, as how it speaks to me:
Beautiful 'misery' weighs, or dances her act upon the miserable. Of course she isn't misery personified, but only for those who hate her spontaneous message.
Lady of the Instant.. In a instant, like the shot of a bow, things will change, like an arrow piercing its way. From one theatre act to another. The heavens and the circles of hell, all change over time their roles. Life is a circus, but dressed like a gracious ballet dancer. Disguised like a clown.
I wonder what the lost and wretched souls in the heavens, grieve and screech about. Maybe they try to capture the shot arrow carrying the message of the White Dove: Love and Peace. Or simply a white pigeon, carrying the message as another undeclared war.
Opinions, even though objectively true, can be like personal opinions. Because truthfulness in regards with opinions, is often (bureaucratically) measured (by the masses), like in democrazy, through the popular vote. The ''personal'' opinion as objective truth versus the institutionalized public ''opinion'' of the masses and its Moral codes.