potpourri

Consuming beats the night before, looks like your insides were involved in a midnight knife brawl, the morning after.

Best thing about waking up, daily, at 5 a.m. is you can wait for the sun to rise, for a couple of hours, in the winter.
Wait for the sun like one waits for a lover.

Romantic.

Sometimes the sun is the best of companions.

I remember a stray cat I once befriended in Greece.
I fed her, because she looked so thin.

To my surprise, she came scratching at my bedroom door, daily, eventually ripping the screen.

She became so trusting that I could pick her up by the head, and she would go limp, like a kitten when the mother carries them.

When I left for the army, I was gone for a year, before my first long leave.
I returned, not finding her.
I thought she had died.
That afternoon I took my father's vespa down to the town - he was in Canada at the time.
I returned, later, and saw the cat running to the house. She had recognized the sound of the Vespa, which is distinct.
Nobody had one in the neighbourhood.
She was emaciated, but as affectionate as before.
I realized she had given birth to kittens, and had hid them somewhere in the cactus bushes.
I fed her well, and before I left I placed food at the door.
Never saw that cat again.
But I still recall her trusting purity, her affections.

Nothing like the first sip of hot coffee, early on a fall morning.

Small pleasures, not to be made more than what they are - twinkles of a distant star.
Let the dark grow thicker, for me to see it dance - light skirting earthly gases from afar.
A messenger delivering a master's power.
How I long to acquire
A ship, with giant sails, and a hard rudder.
Perhaps to Troy
To do battle for another king's love
Perhaps elsewhere
Away from Ithaca shores

Distance makes the heart grow fonder
Closeness makes it grow cold
Caverns to be crossed
only by the bold

Those who can tolerate an ocean
of isolation
resisting the pull of friendly shores
or the warm water of the abyss
that persists

All resistance, mental and physical, can be softened with some chemical help.
Drink some wine and see how many it takes for you to be giggling like a girl/boy, without a care in the world.
Nietzsche's sobriety ought to be reassessed while piss-drunk. Then his meanings change.
He appears happier, more Modern.

And, does not a joint make women less resistant to your other failings?
Does it not gather the girls and boys, wandering urban playgrounds?

When I drink, my firmness softens, but I never lose myself in the inebriation.
I've heard people talk about not knowing what they've done after a night of boozing...not so for me.
I remember everything

It's too confining in here. I've changed my mind.
I'm not ready for the old folks home.

Hehe, sometimes I think we feel big or bigger in forests and sometimes small or smaller, but I think it depends on proximity, of distance around and space between us, ourselves..and per-fumes..

Give me a planet of this....

Never had problems sleeping, unless something was troubling me.
I've heard other complaining of sleep issues, insomnia, falling asleep after hours of tossing, and I can only empathize remembering my own, few times, of troubled sleeplessness.

Never underestimate the value of a good night's rest, or a cat nap at noon.
At my age, I don't.

There was one memorable night's sleep, when I was but a boy.
My parents had left me behind, in Greece, at my aunts house, and had departed for Canada.
I joined them 6 months later.
I was 8.

My aunt's house was in a mountain village, called Geraki (Hawk).

One night it was so hot she asked if I wanted to sleep on the roof.
Her kids, my cousins, much younger on the veranda.
I said, yes.
She laid down some blankets, sheets and a pillow.
I remember the night was so clear, up there, that the Milky Way was the brightest I had ever seen
The roof so high that there was nothing in my peripheral vision. No trees, no buildings, no town lights.
Nothing but stars surrounding me.
It felt like I was floating in space.
Roof cement fell away, as Hypnos came slowly to claim me floating in the heavens.


Sweetest night I ever experienced.

I imagine bed-coverings...
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Frosted window panes...[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

Book or a second glass optional.
A perfect night.

No true rest until death.

My kind of vehicle.

Always liked multi-functionality, being, myself a "jack of all trades master of none".


Multi-functional cars, furniture, devices, instruments, people...women.
You know, the "sexist ideal": cook, cleaner, maid, teacher, nurse, lover.

Multi-functionality, when you apply my comments on beauty-proportionality-biological functionality, compromises in efficiency, producing some crudeness of style.
Like with the Jeep above.
Mutli-utility, rugged, but lacks a sport-car's sleekness, its effectiveness. The sport car's fragility, high maintenance costs, make it a self-handicapping signal, a social marker. It's utility is singular.
What does it say about a man who chooses a vehicle like the above, or one who chooses a sexy sports-car, or a speedbike?
One is more interested in outcome, the other in image.
One is interested in the work, the other the effect.
 
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This thread is kind of feminine.

Speaking of femininity, today i was thinking about the possibly fatal attraction men have towards it, not in the sacrifice kind of way but how they seek to be validated by a feminine presence, which often upholds their meaning in their life. Which isn't really a big deal if you're truly masculine as you wouldn't know either way, things would just play out correctly as the feminine would be naturally attracted and continuously so, so the need never really becomes a need...but for the slightly feminine men, who requires female validation, a natural repulsion is expressed.

The true masculine nature has to stem from the brain orientation as the body is then directed via it, it is through this bodily direction that provides the proof, or natural attraction. Sometimes, when I'm making all kinds of gains in the gym i see steroid guys who have a feminine spirit, that self-consciousness that women have, bothered by external input, heavily affected by it, not enough masculinity to create an obliviousness to push the self towards self-focus where the brain internally provides an immunity. In some of these feminine spirited men, the external input of the world around them intensifies the nervous system causing a continuous muscle contraction.

Feminine straight dudes always trying to communicate with the woman directly, thinking there will be some sort of credibility for it, thinking the honesty of his nature will do him some favors, their minds draw a blank at this point. For the women this just a sign of a feminine essence to which they find naturally unattractive, their minds also draws a blank at this point.

Modern reality crash, did somebody divide by zero?..a woman in bed with her boyfriend, at midnight they are all cozy, she starts speaking in that baby voice..then feminine boyfriend starts speaking in his baby voice..what the hell is happening!!!!! reality is crashing!

Masculine men stand independently on one checked floor square not bothered by all other squares, almost complete in his nature, woman covering all squares except the one the man is standing on, she feels compelled to move onto it. Communication remains indirect despite of female's continuous attempts of direct connection, female remains..when female connects directly, connection is lost as the need disappears..all participating members don't really understand what's going on..

it's kind of funny..

You know what is also funny, ILP constantly feeling the need to insinuate that we are bored over here and we need them here in order to create interest, despite the fact they are watching this thread..

Chatter has been a social way of validating group, and women use it to establish, maintain, and re-evaluate their status within it.
With all masculine expressions restricted males are forced to become feminine - or child-like.

Basic judgment of Nihilism is quantity over quality - numerical advantage compensating for an absence of quality.
With reality out of the way, the other is all that's left.
Silence is death.
one must constantly speak, be looked at, when world means "humanity".
Power = dominating humanity
Existence = being perceived by humanity

Everything has to do with other humans, and this is why simple concepts like "love", and "value" become "problematic".
Philosophy becomes about attracting, converting, seducing, fame & fortune - words no longer connectors to world but french ticklers, vibrators, role playing masks, chemical enhancers, mind numbers...toys.
The game ceases to be infantile when the many are playing it - DnD, computer games...etc.

This is why they consider us "Nazis".
Anything that points to a harsh world is referred to their most viscous memory, usually second-hand, pop-cultural.
Being honest about nature = cruelty against humanity.
He who speaks of reality in a way that hurts, is an icon of pain.
Moderns having been brainwashed for decades in  post-war Nihilistic, and being inexperienced with real pain and suffering, being raised in relative safety, abundance, and comfort, only have pop-culture to fall back upon - movie magic, history written by the victors, a recitation that repeats yearly with more and more "art".
Holocaust is now part of Nihilistic shared consciousness, a "collective unconscious"...in the west. when we think of cruelty, inhumanity, suffering war, the same iamges pop-up, automatically, in our head - certain words accompany our thinking....six-million, Auschwitz...
Abrahamic dominance.
No other people have ever been victimized when the chosen are involved.
The genocide perpetrated against American natives, on a percentile level, is never on the radar because this would implicate the Protestant Anglo-Saxons who won the Civil War.
Genocide against the Armenians, never mentioned, because the Turks are not worthy of being our official "enemies" - too simple, too genetic, nothing memetic to threaten Modernity, the established narrative, where little boys & girls can still play with adult tools for shits and giggles.

Yes, this is intentionally a very feminine thread.
Wanted to express the feminine in me, the little boy.

Let others fight against these growing number of zombies, of crazies...men-children and...the un-recyclable....

Ordered this...


Hope it's good.
Fifty years have given me thick callouses.
My son offered to pay for it, with his allowance money.
I also make him earn some of it with work around the house, like vacuuming, moping the bathroom etc.
He's 9.
He's a sweet boy.
I will take the money to teach him how to give, and not only take.

Hope it smooths out my tired feet.

I also ordered this, from Amazon ...


Can never be too sharp.
I hate dullards.

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At first sight I thought clever, but coming back to it, it's not clever enough.

If the frame had been made from mock books, well done in design and detail, the seat would appear to be balancing on the books, which would be more interesting and less confrontationally blocky.

Curious, do you know in which decade it was designed?

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Now this is simply too cool.  Numerous configurations.

Product update...
Callous remover received and given a first try.
Already my feet feel softer than a baby-boy's scrotum.
Playing footsie with the ms. will no longer lead to a hospital visit, enduring accusatory looks.

Those hooves require a concealed carry license otherwise?

Ha!!!

In my youth I was a tree-huger.
Yes, you read correctly.
In my late teens I was in a stage of spiritual enlightenment.
Feeling the energy in nature. Wanting to tap it.
I felt great power in trees. So strongly rooted in the earth, so daringly reaching up, into the winds, to get to the sun - competing for every beam of light.
I hugged trees wanting to feel their inner strength - wanting to channel it - listening for inner movements, feeling the earth through them.
I remember my father in the back seat of a motorcycle I had, at the time.
I took him on a trip around the Peloponnese, a few years before his death - as if I knew it was coming, as if I wanted this last trip to be my parting gift.
On the final leg of our trip, from Kalamata, crossing over the mountain range that lead up to Tayetos, the spiritual mountain of Spartans, he signaled me to stop, for a piss.
Warm summer air, cooler than down in the valley must have made him remember his youth.
He suggested we sit a while and rest, under the trees.
On Tayetos, one summer day, we slept, listening to the birds and the mountain air making the leaves dance.

A friend in need, is no friend in deed.
When you're poor, generosity is more precious.

I've allowed myself to be exploited.
Giving what I knew was not going to be appreciated, nor returned.
Always put a limit to my generosity, on principle. Never wanting the liar to get away with thinking he tricked me, and it was not I giving it intentionally.
Something uncivil about taking without giving what the other values, equal to how you value what you've taken.
Not reciprocating indicates an absence of appreciation.

It's always the empty ones that take the most, and then only to boast about taking without giving.
A vampire must tranquilize its prey to drain it, otherwise what does it matter if the bloodless drinks of what will be replaced by the end of the day?
Beware of the tranquil, misers, wanting to put you into deep sleep, to take it all.

But they met a different creature, in me.
I always took before I gave.
I despise unappreciative souls, more than I despise hypocrites, of the self-deceiving kind.
Something vile about lying to yourself - like a drunkard falling all around himself, declaring his inebriated love, screaming out his honest opinions, revealing the duplicity of his sobriety. He's lost more than pride, the next morning.
He looks around for his keys in a hangover, but more is missing from the night before.
I cana appreciate lying to others, to take without giving, but to then lie to yourself that it was an act of generosity, well that just goes too far.
At least give-up the moral high ground, when you give up on the principles you claim as your own.
Do not redefine them day after day, to excuse your disloyalty.

Never had a need to bribe for eros , or agape.
Never had a problem getting attention, and of what I could not get I saw nothing deserving of more than a glance of appreciation - reciprocating for a past that made such beauty last, even if it would never be mine.
Since I remember myself, I could open my mouth to speak, and become the center of attention.
I prefer to sit back and watch, at my age.
Watch until I can no longer keep quiet.
I vice, I must confess.
But, I digress, while I undress.
Redirecting your attentions.

I know of liars and hypocrites because I could spot them early on in my development - intuitively.
A sensation, some discrepancy between words and eyes, and lips, and cheeks.
Erring on the side of caution helps, but they call it paranoia now for you to stop it - feminine ways, hip sways.
She fakes it so swell.
What does honesty matter when all's well?

Never needed anything so much that I would be willing to do anything for it.
Never was so obsessed, that a few night of sleep could not erase, leaving behind a trace of precious remembrance.
Always found myself to be enough, with only the pangs of regret coming when in a moment of being moved, by something simple, I looked around wanting to share, as a social mammal is bred to do, and finding nobody it was soon revealed no better than when I found somebody that was not enough to hold the entirety of my spirit spilling over.
My choices were simple.
To deal with the inadequate, for a small return, or to not have to deal with any at all, and have it all for my own.

Do I not share wit with you now?

In all my wanderings, past and present, not once did I hear a bird sing and think it was singing for me.
Not once did I think I had solved a riddle, or that I was someone's one and only.
Not once have I considered myself indispensable, a leader, a guru, a teacher.

I simply show, and ask
"Do you not see?"

I guess I've never been so vain, though I am egotistical as can be.
The opposite, in fact.
Whenever I'm flattered I feel embarrassment, speculating on the motives.
When I am shown appreciation, I blush.
Imitation is the highest form of flattery - actions speaking louder than words.
Mind can lie, but not the body.
Body judges, on the sands of time it draws its appreciations - salivating, moistening, hardening, dilating, contracting, with a mind of its own - a reptilian automatism, the cortex must justify.


Empathy.
Can't watch a shameful act performed shamelessly without cringing, feeling ashamed for the one who feels it not - embarrassed on his behalf.

Have you ever squeezed into your girlfriend's panties, enjoying how your package bulged through the fabric where her vagina presses against?

Yeah...me neither.

Stripping naked to wash is best accomplished if you take-of your clothes.
Down to the skin and hairs.
If possible, tear skin yourself, exposing bone and muscle.

Undress yourself to the core, wash, wipe and add each level working upwards, step by step.
Wet, soap, rinse, dry.
When you reach the skin level, stop. look at yourself with eyes wide open, before you put on your person suit.
That's YOU.