On hatred, mosquito's and headaches

Ah, I seem to have located the one place where I am enabled to post something. The Dungeon -- Fair enough. We all have to start somewhere. And much of it is a dungeon, "the World", a place where one would want to break out of, because it is too dark and cramped, and too many rotting corpses are in the path of every casual stroll one might want to take.

I was banned yesterday from ILP, not for long I suppose, but it's a nudge in the right direction perhaps, on to new shores. I had heard of this forum but never visited it. I had heard bad things, that it was a pool of resentment -- I can bear to be around resentment if there is at least a little pure hatred as well. On ILP pure hatred is prohibited, therefore the attacks of inferiors come in the most foul forms, the moral superiority of the slave. People who are proud, who are by social mores forced to be pride of their weakness, of their futility, of the futility of their life, the absence of power, etcetera.

I just squatted a mosquito, it was circling very slowly just at the height of my upper arms, right in front of me, as if it was hoping to find its end. It is so with much life, I suspect, much life that has been damages, mis-bred, cultivated by life-haters, life without a core, without the direct reference to its roots, with a compromised instinctive circuitry. So much of life is being guided along these channes, sewers really, or the waste-gutters of an abattoir... until recently, I could sometimes bear to watch some television. The last years it has become unbearable. The quest to eliminate strength and sap of life has entered a rather advanced stage in the west, we are truly surrounded by the lowest of the lowest, the pale peasant, uneducated in every way, except the ways in which he can polish his fingernails and whiten his teeth. "Social skills"... the methods of self-annihilation,

I ate torched spare-ribs and am drinking beer now to sooth the sting of a persistent headache that is with me today. Before there was the hopeful beginning of a thunderstorm, but the violence subsided quickly, unfortunately. If it has persisted I would have gone outside, after opening all the windows of ny apartment. In and around me thunderclouds are always building up, this is why I have erected on a pedestal the image of Zeus. I choose to believe in such Gods with the seriousness of a child at play. To believe or disbelief otherwise is waste... of life... and the results of this waste, the odors of it and the imagery it emits -- the voices in the street -- the horror, the horror...

Bad air! Bad air! as Nietzsche would say. I cannot stand the television either. I'm glad you happened upon this place, but you should probably disregard the bulk of my posts -- I don't devote any real time here; my comments are to pass the spare moments I have between classes and the like.

Anyway, what is it that got you banned from ILP?

If you would only know my history.... you would not fear that you would appear lower to me than you have done before. It is the measure in which a thinker can elevate his style, in which he masters the art of creating sublime forms towards a philosophical aim by which I judge, not his all-too-humanity, which is a given for all of us. But some (if not most) let their mundane nature guide them to a moral principle -- this is where I draw the line between "us" and "them" -- those who condemn all that is not all-too-human, such creatures must fall away. If they be squatted like that weary mosquito or just come to drown in their filth is of no interest to me, I do not wish them to suffer, only to stay in their own world. Since I have been making paths in the wilderness since I was sentient, there are few references I share with such half-life, and I am not even capable of making a rational connection with it.

The reason I was banned is that I replied "you fucking moron" to a reply one "Cezar" made to a comment of mine about the relation of the West to China, which is uninteresting. He had previously contacted me and assured me that I was Sauwelios. He has blocked is inbox, and is still under the impression that I am Sauwelios, and that his comment is understood. But I could not understand a word he wrote, and the suggestion that I would was, given the combination of his errant mind and the misplaced context of his aim, so idiotic that to answer anything other than I did would have been hypocritical.

It was very busy for a moment, and I got a sense of the diligence of the moderators. It is not unlike a state, I suppose. Order must be kept, interests are at stake. A small moment of clarity.

I have a few moments to myself tonight -- would you care to join me in the chatbox?

After my last post I went out to dissolve my headache in the nightly park-- I missed your invitation. I was successful though with my dances in the dark. I was quite acidic, spat out a lot, made strange sounds, which is satisfying at night between trees. Afterwards I dreamt of walking down a shore, and seeing a large bear standing in the surf. Later a black panther approached me across the beach. I could not decide if I should grow afraid or not. A good dream, empty except for me, the sand and water, and these two splendid beasts.

That's good to hear. I've been plagued my life through by a genetic brand of migraine-headache. I understand the plight of an exquisite headache.

One of the things I miss most about home is a summer storm.
Storms in the tropics make you feel very small.
The thunders don't sound right here.

This marks the first time I feel an attraction to the tropics.
Thank you for this new desire. It opens up an world of imaginings.

I salivate to think of the fruits of my land.
It makes me want to die.

I do not like warm weather, especially tropical humidity.
I love the coolness of a fall Canadian day, with the sun shining and the leaves turning shades of red.
I love a warm fire, a glass of brandy, a walk in the forest right when the first frost settles and your mind is absorbed by the sounds of your footsteps.

Might I find the above in Montreal's Sunday personals ad?

Sorry...just get a little squeamish with mellow dramatics.
I don't have a very poetic soul :'[

For example, why would one compare storms to fruits of the land (cue violins) and then proceed to tie it in with the insatiable urge to die (cue violins again)?

It's like olde English....biblical stuff....THE land....
Penalty: DEATH


Yes, I get it....there's a mood you're trying to create, but don't get crazy with the cheeze-wiz.

I love walking barefoot, feeling the juicy grasses under my feet. I like stepping into the water and feeling the shock of cold on my warm feet. I love the sound of water, the power of the storm.

What I hate the most about this land during winter is that there is no sound of water. Everything is frozen still, everything is sleeping and waiting for the slightest nibble of sun warmth to wake up.

In my land the sun is constantly kissing and licking and slobbering and making love to everything. We live in delight, we are like gods.

[clap clap clap]

I like long walks in the park, and poking dead things with a stick...

Running water is soothing.
I like walking in the rain, feeling it run down my face, listening to it pattering all around me.

Then, afterwards, the smell is intoxicating.

Water and sun, they put life everywhere they lay.

Satyr wrote:

Running water is soothing.
I like walking in the rain, feeling it run down my face, listening to it pattering all around me.

Then, afterwards, the smell is intoxicating.

You know....maybe that's it.

It's like, every person who is prone to the whimsical language of song & dance LOVES the smell of rain....

And to me it always smelled repulsive! Like...like wet dirt (go figure?)

Now give me some gasoline any day, the aroma...!

I don't even like candles much :/

I can sit lying down in the grass, watching the clouds pass over, seeing figures in their shapes; the gentle rustling of the leaves on the background disturbed only by the chirping of birds.

That's deep dude.

I once spent an entire hour lost in a passing stream.
The water playing with itself, churning against the stones, the sound of it like a whisper.

My entire metaphysics is based on this liquidity....the flow....the flux.
The beauty and sadness of it.

Yes well the same could be said for a toilet flush...

I guess what I mean to say is....

Flirtation and dressings are reserved for those who need them...

Hence, why I said my favorite philosophers are people like Wittgenstein.

Nobody forgot about you.

"poking at dead stuff in the (p)(d)ark"
A faithful description of Wittgenstein.

"absorbed by the sound of my own footsteps"
I can see the charm of Schopenhauer.

The best book about snow is "Legend of a Suicide".

phoneutria wrote:

Water and sun, they put life everywhere they lay.

Sometimes too much life.
Mosquito's. Pests. Plagues. Lice.

It is nice in the cool air, the rough sand and the grey, uninviting, simply present waves. There is space for man to live, to think, to walk and lose his sense of time and space.

I think of the smell of magnolia, of papaya blossoms, I remember the dance of dragonflies, the spectacle of waves and reflections on the water as they dive. I feel the night slowly approaching, bringing a cool breeze, waking up the fireflies and summoning an orchestra of nightly musicians, and I find peace in the frail balance of things. That water that is passing through those rocks will never pass through them again. The woman looking at it will never be a girl again.