IV
Per Pynchon’s Paranoia Postulation, one is allowed to be a solipsist, esp., when for no good reason one watches Anesthesia et True Grit back to back (a consequence of singing – in the bath – Today is Friday, it is my day, who knows). But that’s where I must depart from alliteration to humbly suggest that you had not caused it to occur (one of the writer may have been inspired by the other, but that’s beside the point, since the common denominator, prima facie, happens to be the poor unaware watcher), you were forced by Amaterasu or devil or F.A.G or computer to watch the films in succession. The same can cause Spinoza to consider this world a pre-determinist design, or Einstein to tell us that God, who doesn’t play dice, is watching film of the World on a time-machine (on a side note, a wasp ought to be happy when I, f.i, kill it, thereby liberating it from its lowly life, and hence, possibly elevate its status in its next reincarnation, if there is one).
Our normal life suggests that effect is bound to appear after the cause. It is a solid law, but one that needs to be forgotten while dealing with paranoia – an impossible task it’d seem, but perfectly possible, if only we can be Sun Tzu’s Warrior Adept. It is like boxing with shadows: you can be Jacob wrestling with God (Elizabeth Marvel / Katrina Kaif / Morgan Freeman) or accepting your defeat, cry: Wheresoever was plunged by me knife, God there was – though★ you are not allowed even to resign with dignity (p/h, not even with humiliation cum laude), remember. No lawyer can get you out of this quagmire, neither is psychologist a good option (psychiatrist is slightly better if only they give you a pill that would keep you knocked out for long periods of time – it is no fun that your opponent is laying supine, looking at the ceiling without recognizing anything – but not a permanent solution by any stretch of imagination). This leaves you holy people, magicians, parapsychologists. Chose one and believe it would work, really work.
★ since as one Chinese proverb puts it even if you just possess one inch of TT you are still legitimate ruler, and now that your very existence is trash {{in fact, True Grit was viewed by me first, but introduced later on purpose – so, too, Bruce Almighty was watched before Chetan Bhagat’s Hello}} in God’s view (or devil’s), you must be eliminated in such a way that the onus of the deed falls on your shoulder squarely, while God (or devil) absolves Self (self) – that’s what Mao did. Deception, disconcertment, harrying, suspicion – of those around you, added/abetted by 1984, Nazi Regime, The Truman Show, etc – worst of all vainglory XXX (Jia Lin) to manipulate the enemy (François Jullien) in such a manner that s/he get zirself into a weak position by own doing. Doubt leaves one utterly defenseless. It doesn’t matter whether you are wicked or you help the needy, in the ultimate analysis you pursue yourself.
What He Xin said of the Chinese culture (or lack thereof) in ’90s, and what in Anesthesia, to her teacher, the character played by Kristen says w.r.t modern World in general strikes quite a resonance. Not only are the so-called normal people being read (by tech giants or F.A.Gs), but also “tele-guided” as Mr [Enrico] Mattei [ENI president] had once put it. Again cause/effect binary is in view when it is suggested that reading of newspapers makes us vey reactive; by the time we heard Big Bang’s birth pangs through static signal of TV, billions of years had already gone by.
However, my dear sufferer of paranoia, your mind is not being read, it is being fed – you are attacked not reactively, but proactively – and you are reading this only because you foe/der is playing with you like cat do mice (Wang Tzu) – or pitcher / Beloved do unwitting batter / lover {{cf. My hunger was struck / By a handsome Pitcher}}. And it helps immensely – if it isn’t part of the design, i.e – that the Universe is composed of the same 10 digits (Pythagoras, et not Boole, understands the essence of Universe) wherever one looks. What seems 1385 from one perspective may v. well be part of a much larger sequence – a brick in the Great Wall of China; or just mirrored version of 5831 – Tesla’s no plate.
I want to eat the cake et have it, too – said Beagle to hisself outside Green Lake Retort Boolean variables, like the Y/N questions lawyers are so guilty of asking, robs us of any chance to reach the solution. A bulb may be not working because
| It is switched off | Turn it on |
| It is fused | Replace it |
| Electric supply is disrupted | Check the wires |
| The power grid is off-line | Curse it, perhaps, it’d work – just kidding |
| You’ve forgotten to pay the bill | Clean it up, seriously … |
et millennia, but on-off guys would have us believe it is 0, period.
It is not just a fight against computer geeks, rather it is against the Legalist approach – no light in Yin, no darkness in Yang – et Totalitarians like Stalin, Hitler, Mussolini, Mao (the last attacks the ones who had the misfortune to be previously defended by him, while singing Indi, Sini bye bye) as well as the Hegelian state, and those who just cannot understand that religions are not static buildings; without Purgatory, Justice is outrageous – Justice the one thing (in se) which either is or isn’t.
Without his spectacles Shang can only fleetingly perceive a scorpion (or was it a spider) in a very bright-lighted room. A trick magician in a very dark room telescopes a tube light in a transparent pocket-flask into normal type. The overall light seemed the same – does the luminosity rate change, he thought afterwards.
What’s happening to me. You have eaten some food after a long time, quipped Jane, sarcastically. Junk-food, Qi might add, though he refused to acknowledge the v. file given to them by Yu. What can I do if you do not accept weak position, despite being aware of never having the ability to become Hamu Rabi, Cyrus the Great, Alex or Haider Ali (nor Einstein, Ruth Pfau, Tolstoy, Cézanne for that matter) – my dilemma precisely.
I know Kristen would accuse me even when like the Paramore video, I just want to hug Her Now, (knowing full well that my bind – to be with Her Always – is somewhat lacking in its force than Her Catch-22 – to find a real man, with power that Morgenthau et Nietzsche recognize alike – though, I fear, accepting Love f. somebody you don’t reciprocate to isn’t that easy,) though knowing full well that I cannot go within 10 miles near Her (History of the World, p. foundation, amigo – no trespassing), hence, I wish I could be physically tortured by Her. Now, I can only write Her Name on paper, cloth, wood, stone, wall, shell, silver, rubberstamp, glass, light, screen (0-1), marble and ultimately my flesh, to have pity on myself via laughing.
I am not Qi, my name is ★★★★★ cried I before the Law – Her Abode, I remember. The two Jack/Jake were laughing hard at my soliloquy. Jane was nonchalant, Victor, of course, nonplussed – esp. at the 5 5-ptd stars (my True, his Roswellike Chaos was discovered independently by contemporaries Farmer et -field: I know I am repeating the same words, perhaps, I have lost it, but think about independently |double entendre| I dare you. Define plagiarism. In the day sky is blue only b/c I was told that it is blue. But my mission that I chose to accept was to prove wrong the p-mism. I declare, In the day sky is red – this is the nearest I can ever come to True, Origin, Immaculate – no longer is it a mere wish, it is a command given by a madman: And Thy Will be Done. But what is sanity – I am superficially silent, hence they have moved on, but the duck goes on – a glyph; a life but a file carrying all one’s records – biometric, medical, education, official, tax, library, purchases, credit – and those who can XS such can claim divinity, if so inclined, though a title of that nature makes one a contender (that can be defeated), while formlessness is to be preferred anyhow: the powerful can easily arouse the sentiments of the weak against us who refuse to join either; whose search of True led us to see Apartheid in Gaza Strip et W. Bank, and in E. Pakistan massacre of Muslims in the name of raison d’état – in both cases the U.S government watched on, and when that regime do so, the whole World do so, this is the power that the popular culture brings to bear on the rest of us. See, Li Xinguang, The Global Times Nov 2, 2010.
Like Hawking’s Chronology Protection Conjecture (and the supposed C.P. Agency that protects us poor historians, I, too, have a Gog Magog Conjecture. It simply states that when Einstein states E=mc2, Hawking doesn’t need to come up with it all over again. That indeed our political history is a textbook of stupidity on a grand scale, but instead of learning from the past, it seems we like to forget about the speed-breaker, and to curse it a posteriori. I noted political b/c every fact, whether it is of scientific, geological or biographical nature, is history. It is one thing that Nietzsche is anti-historical, quite another when so sane a person as Hawking derides history, and to what end but to be witty. On the other side of the spectrum we’ve Hawking tell us, “It is the past that tells us who we are. Without it, we lose our identity.”
He correctly laments the fact that his History of Time – a best-seller – may not have been properly appreciated. A sceptic’s view – a work (esp. that of artistic nature) just cannot be fully understood by others – aside, the main reason is infinite regress. You begin with explaining to a layman like myself z, say, Anthropic Principle, which cannot occur till you explain x et y, which underpin z, while x in turn is in need to be explained via w, say wave function, which, in its wake, upends everything we learnt in school about the mini-Solar System aka the all too breakable atom.
History is also an infinite regress, though even historians find it hard to fully grasp it, for the simple reason that their task begins at Singularity. #BigBang
While a few logical errors come to mind, one of historical nature is w.r.t Columbian exploits. Now, Stephen may have loved his KFC et Big Mac (et American roads), the New World had not caused them.
Before Columbus went battle-ready to what is named after V. Amerigo, there existed Native Americans. If a change is to be sought thanks to the arrival of Columbus, it should be in the lives of those who were already living there – regretfully, it wasn’t a very great xp, unless one counts the culinary changes (in view of Big Mac) that occurred in the New World, specifically I am talking here of that poisonous red (is it vegetable, is it fruit or even a natural bundle of seeds) known to us as tomato. Had the ancestors of chain restaurant owners remained in the UK, they still would have come up with the recipes Stephen admired, since the New World didn’t contribute in a manner which would have rendered valid Stephen’s argument through this example. However, it must be conceded that the New World had much wasteland to offer to make feasible the highways and trans-continental railways.
Stephen is meters shy of saying↓ not in earnest, one hopes what many supporters of colonialism have claimed over the centuries: We gave to the barbarians railways, education, telegraph, etc, when, in fact, not only such were bestowed for the colonial power’s own advantage but also sooner or later colonized people would have reached that stage where express modes of communication (including the written word) becomes such a necessity that can no longer be ignored.
Between 15th to 19th centuries, what a New World Slave (of 12 million) might have said to an European Slave (of 1 million) captured by Barbary pirates, if he had the chance. You are here, because we are there. Not to mention the arbitrary drawings of lines on papers whereupon unfortunately maps had been previously printed, to obtain, for instance, this diabolical configuration:-
E., S.E Turkey = N. Kurdistan; N. Syria = W. K.; N. Iraq = S. K.; N.W Iran (Kurdistan Province) = E. K..
Consider this: A miniscule version of me inside a particular REG of my brain. It has gone completely haywire, moving like pendulum f. left to right et v. v., constantly saying the 2 sweet Syllables of her Name. That REG is coloured with Her graffiti, an Area 51, utter madness infecting the otherwise sane parts of my brain, for the chemicals, electricity, messages amid neurons must pass through that Area.
With the fearful strain that is on me night et day, if I did not laugh I should die. Surely A. Lincoln died soon after watching a tragedy.
Eugenie Bouchard – who after her name is White – said while watching Falstaff: Humour can be dissected [like] a frog … but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.
Of course, don’t take it from me but Alastair Clarke contends and I quote: An ability to recognize patterns instantly et unconsciously has proved a fundamental weapon in the cognitive arsenal of human beings. I add: beside his en-ergo-economics, Freud died warning us about backmasking manipulating our id in order to make us do things we might otherwise loath to have done. (N.B: I don’t take issue with Freud but with those who seeing some pattern claim Kafka wrote while reading Freud or inexplicably Sartre). C-A = {st ke}. In San Diego (un-Chile) human brain was made out of something. 13B R. Madheaven / N. Chandra. HNY 1441 So, I felt the need of Death et Transcendence my Beloved, not my distant cognates Life et the World.
We’re afraid of death, for we know we always return, and we don’t want the process of A 4 Apple to begin anew
Descartes’ first unknown = et
Plato’s last unknown = hupokorizesthai
2019 = 1441/2772
He watched brand new Café S, corrected her loosened strand of hair with his hand yet he refused to worship God – the Eternal Jester (out of respect for Plato, one suppose). As Bruce Springsteen covers King Solomons Psalm: A time to laugh et a time to weep (’tis madness else), Adventureland was the opium for the masses – who fear God via Hell (or snakes/scorpions) as oppose to Cannes-attending ones who strive for Heaven (Beauty) {{somehow he a plebian decided to behave, to write like patricians, with the same result as when some RP tries to score grand slam; that his personal motto/motive (or motif as they go by in high circles) became: I would rather die of hunger than to sale/barter Emerald}}. Indeed, there’re those, too, that thirst after God, per Se – Veritas Proximus – but chancesare you are not one of them, believe one, who has seen it, quotes Nietzsche.
I dare not criticize the good, it is impossible to find a completely bad person, hence I criticize the greats – it is even easy to call O. Cromwell Glorious Bastard (all illegitimate rulers beware). The great come in quanta, t/f, only a superficial person would criticize us for taking x from A, mixing y therewith and claiming C. † If you don’t want sour, it is better to take milk (or if you have arthritis, instead of cursing winter, try Adelaide). Just like with the passage of time bitter-gourd becomes +bitter, chili gets red hot, et beans hardy, so, too, in many respects, a person go through changes, not always consistent or compatible with the past. Xp, however, does not always come with time (viz. how many summers you have seen; nor necessarily through an education degree) on the contrary (Aristotle) keen observation plays vital role in gaining knowledge et new perspective: one may have seen a 1000x rain falling down on Eth, without grasping the hydrological cycle
† even within the same movement exist diametrically opposed figures, such as James v. Sartre v. Heidegger, regardless of what Will Durant might tell you – Nietzsche is championed by 2 quite different philosophies: Nihilism (God is dead, why aren’t we) et Existentialism (reevaluate everything for yourself)
(just as it took 111 yrs for a player to complete once again the cycle twice in the same MLB season. Nietzsche also talks about the vicious circle God(s) hath ordained for us, and gets mad. Of course K’gaard would be on his guard against this notion, and I sincerely advice you should do the same, despite some evidence working for it – that was my MarH/Sartre moment).
So Sister I don’t think I am going to achieve my freedom, if only I could hold your hand from (time)2, to see myself get mirrored in your eyes. God Bless you, though I don’t know if you do believe
sd/- Fahrenheit 47i c/o Perpetual Trial Organization,
I added later: Maloja’s snake in the Alps et Shuairan snake / Found in Mt Heng.
Zhang Yu comments with the help of Diagram of the Formations: (Shuai = swift) Front is rear, rear is front [ – ] each extremity is head … strike belly, et head/tail both come to the rescue.
Zhuangzi dreamt of being a butterfly flying without caring for humanity. Upon waking up he was perplexed whether he was before a man dreaming of being butterfly or now a butterfly dreaming of being a man.
…
From Ali Baba Motel to Open Sesame, then. Catching that Butterfly, in my Elucide Dreams. I, Michael Douglas in Love with Zeta {{Mr Brandt got his zeta}} G.A.M: Her Name in Perso-Arabic is a maze I cannot fathom / What if Dante was right about Islam. Despite Light inherent in That. The child in me just want to kiss Her Feet, and forget the rest of the Universe. Stupid me dreaming this since being 12 yrs old – with no end in sight. I would have declared no-exception Apollonianism but for the association of Yang with male energy – so afraid that the Chinese bound the feet of Yin for obvious-to-me reasons. Then again I mixed up zeta with Sega, so, there you go. In the Arabian Nights somebody said that the whole World is crazy about the size of you-know-what – Stern’s argumentum ad tripodium, remember. However, I would take sacred Sesame, always.
Beauty silence (me) et Absolute Beauty silences (me) utterly
…
I know I don’t deserve to kiss your lips, but why you do not let me kiss your feet; can’t you become my personal Goddess et I thy humble punching/kicking bag. I beg you, let my palms rather carry the marks of your worthy heels than the crescents made by my finger nails. Let me sing to you Francis L.wich’s songs (howsoever bad my rendition is). I need your smiles, but my pleading hands can only touch the black glass of the screen when even film is too much to bear. The ÷ b/w us is so vast that Beyond seems just a game.
Soul Sister, no, don’t let me waste away in dreams my life, though my judgment – to die young – was handed over to me in my childhood, and it hovers over me, pre-empting my every Yes, so much so that I’d to declare I am a LTTE member, if only I am allowed to follow the footsteps of Adam – and my reckoning is in God’s Hands, surely.
Harking back to Spinoza, had God gave us no choice, only point of the Eth would have been identical to the film-making, i.e., to entertain audience – since the director already knows how the movie pans out – but who exactly could have been these
Counter-intuition: We remain bound to the extent that Rousseau is wrong; that even Spiritual people can attain what they seek in a very narrow margin: At best 3 parts of the whole knowledge; that is all there is contained in sum of our minds, books, music, films, paintings, buildings, et alia. Revolutions, rags to riches also occur but infrequently, while the time between Louis XVi being no longer the King of France and his death comprise a very short span. Disclaimer: No data was hurt during the making of this graph. Any semblance to the life of a person, dead or living, was well intended – after all, this story finds its basis in reality, albeit in a very modest manner. Note to parsers: the word well is meant in at least two senses.
She’s a Superstar, who is perpetually adored by me (T.Y Hugo/Verve). Like Black Hole, like AIDS she sucks my élan vital and mocks my saturated body et spirit, my colourless wishes («vish» = poison in Hindi) to polish her nails, to massage her feet, to clasp silver anklets round her ankles, to wrap my arms around her, to breath her.
232323 0 (3_3)2+3 (2+3)x3 22 2+3 131 2×32 221 0 3 (2+3)x3 13
(My)2 Lover – I like engravings for they take away tiny bits of material but which alter the previous state completely. Your good Name is written upon my heart since antiquity. I can paint layers upon layers yet You – my evil sickness {Ruskin as quoted in 23 ½} – remain. Dante called this technique screen love. Indeed, women would criticize us men for this, instead of bestowing Love, gives way to misery (it is said of them that they like trees, which can bear fruit – Shakespeare is decidedly a man; one of my newest crimes: to prove f. a simple fact the existence of hill – I am in love with history et logic, hopefully, You will not take it to Your precious Heart, my Law). M/o, Dostoevsky (or was it Gogol) told us that women do not like men caught in whirlpools for eternity – such just weren’t man enough to begin with, hence through circuital reasoning it is proved that they had not deserved to win the heart of the beloved in the first place.
In the Land of (Certain) Women, the cheating Zeus/Jupiter teams/gangs up with Athena/Minerva against Hera/Juno, while I, Bozo – the ever faithful “dog in the bowl” of sweet Kristen (Elizabeth Travis / Lucy Hardwicke – I do give a darn, and about Thermodynamics also, p/h, t/f 🙂 Let Sun shine forth from thy brow, wish. Indeed, I remain in a deep well with more mud than water, cursing everything yet you – my “mozzy” Sun, eating the moose-burger – is the sum total of my hope/desire/prayer. I can’t even wish to eat with you – my manners/etiquettes are too vulgar – just let me drink with my eyes thelixircious light of your bright face. See the Sun / Sun, the Sea. Elle = Woman, God.
My mind gets impressed of people grey et old on a/c of their wisdom, but as Mac had said, whoever controls the heartland ctrls the World, thus my heart ruptures when upon beauty my eyes are set, why, even Hell becomes acceptable as a consequence, if only…. I’d’v watched both (back)2 in a completely free World, though probably with one small difference: There would not have been any Paper Town trail 2b explored by The Last of Us™, no trial 2b adjourned. You’d’ve been my teacher et I Yours. Here, for all my Love, I cannot make You happy even for a moment, let alone becoming the vessel of Your joy forever. Instead I said Yes to Story i.o.2 continue my misery, when it was appropriate more that I had killed myself. O Love, woe unto thee forsooth canst not thee killeth me outright. Or madness – return to infancy. No longer would I care about test/taste; that H. Steinfeld is 3 times daughter champion, and counting; where my next meal is coming from, if at all; not even any regard for the Master (or electricity, Morgenthau’s Power). {{Perhaps, one’s playlist really cuts through the façade.}}
Sister, the same occurrence/event satisfies both pre-determinism (you did it / it happened to you b/c you/it had to) et Karma (you chose f. a given set of variables, not all of them fully manifest, that, which you did). It is not that the pencil has broken/lost, still I felt an urge to use the pen – p/h, the pencil needs a taste of blade (not manifest to me consciously) or that I had just wrote an application with a pen, making me realize what I was missing. Somehow, Hera, thy scars are also beautiful. People talk about Love, but I only see the scar on my right ring-finger. You promptly say, remove thee thy band. That I do in haste, but what of my heart, Madam, I beg to state. Talk is cheap when spoken with the current, but try speaking like Mohamed Ali during Viet Nam, bro. At the moment, I wear my heart upon my left ring-finger. I wonder I accost thee on this matter, why I linger. Though if you can, for my Beloved’s sake, would you help me become a bright star, Sister?
24/7 is a non-terminating recurrent rational number. 100 x (24/7) yrs it took for majority rule to become reality in South Africa and days are left for 1442 A.H to begin (were left when I wrote it on paper) – our trusted old black et gold wall clock had stopped at 01:30 hrs for want of a AA size dry zinc battery cell. Adjective galore; p/h, I’m happy, hence I have broken a self-imposed rule – it’s truly liberating, Paelho Coelho was right about archery; I have seen the mistake, but he won’t mind it … I can almost hear his voice, plus, his name’s pronunciation is somewhat like this. Have I told you that my Beloved has a male alter ego – and it was only proper for me to have a female one: thus, we, I claimed, were like the terminals opposing One other perfectly. up in another ∠ is dn = down
Each instance of some rule being broken, stopping of a clock, or taking of a step results in something else to balance it, even if it’s just high pressure air coming towards the low pressure zone. Whenever I look tow. North, I also look tow. South, though I know not. Indeed, we make mythology as we go on the road to ultramodernity. {{While World was awed with ISIS, I was opening that mystery known as Isis; I was Rumi looking for Rosa Peace in Qisa Khani Bazaar for the sake of my Beloved Sun.}} And since all 4 of them were unwashed I was king for 24 hrs. Then eclipse happened – the day Hussein was martyred, I watched these videos XSidently by design
{{Perhaps, foregoing had been, prima facie, biased in favour of Kismet, that’s why, though what I think now is that our World is a gigantic version of Rube Goldman’s machine, regardless of what Alex Maksik has to offer – it wasn’t with a view to fall down that I had taken the step, yet I fall | Would I die if I let powdered lead fall into my cup of coffee XS | x design | right now}}.
On to the next page, still living. A simple fact: the player of my caliber cannot hope to play my other Canadian crush: Alexandra Botez, though I had seen her in my one dream not long ago scolding me for using as/qua, after I had attacked the word as. {{When we dream, we release powerful energies was what P.C had autographed for me personally.}}. The previous night it was carrot/stick. Calcutta [roja], meanwhile let me suck the boss, was what a msg flashed. (Cash your dreams – Franco Battiato.) After watching ½ of Riley’s, I’d switched to another movie The Vatican Files parodying a Tom Hanks film. The credits include Kristen Stewart playing the Girl who Ran Away. After watching the whole affair it dned on me that she wasn’t in the film, though Hanks’ look-a-like kept referring to the God who Ran Away, GW Array, Grande Water Resources Authority, Guinness World Records’ Australian Office. Tell me, was I in it, on your own. No, SSDIs don’t work, they just make me worse, but I keep on seeing Her Face – my Force Majeure, my Inherent Vice, the stick handling my heart with care, even when I no longer can move about, my soul self-exorcising like the Shi’ites do flailing, why it is typical that future starts so slow; that Hector Berlioz waits 7 yrs to marry the Irish actress yet it fails to move her heart; what should the Master Director do to cast Meryl Streep, one exception to his illustrious carrier [sic] of working with all my favs, even somehow Amber Childers et a Slater’s co-star.
Oh Madam, I would have merely bowed my head to your wishes, even if in the long run it would have been unhealthy for you – that’s why a parental figure is so important.
Mother likes those who toil
Hard to provide for themselves
Father shines forth upon all
Even on those wearing Madonna™ stockings
At the marriage ceremony, who but this humble scribe is the priest ministering the vows to pensil et book.
Don’t you think this’s INF, let’s START the Google
Microsoft Écafbook all over again – the last about to liberate us of curren¢, no need to worry about denominations of bills o.0.O. Have a New Deal, become Gandhi and wash our hands with SALT, at least brush our teeth – our breaths are reeking of cold-blooded menthol. Hackers, unless employed to safeguard against themselves, creates doubt with each attack, even if ostensibly for good. They sow the apple of discord in our minds, et esp. in weak ones: are we safe, could it be that our data has been breached (or even some re-lax official has decided to have it typed through freelancers) – a constant threat in the cyberspace results in compulsive decisions san conscious input; while a spillover to the so-called real World is always a damning possibility
So-called, since you’re being sold at point blank range products that come with tiny asterisk prints: promising Diamond Tuesday, when they can’t even bestow rubies. Moreover, one can’t be sure that whether it was Kristen or Ashleigh that was wearing white socks – p/h, for the sake of us worshippers they should give a statutory warning each time a stunt double is used (I like Tom Cruise b/c he is one real person on screen that we can set our watches by){{by the way, Ashleigh means tree – car/tree, got it – I was thinking today, (I’m not implying any genealogical/philological connexion) why are h.beings n’t like 木木木木木; each year they wither away only to be rejuvenated again; humans, however, once begin to pine cannot stop writing. Oops, I meant can’t go back in time like 12 Monkeys; once Bruce Willis lose his hair, he lose his hair, period. Howsoever much I see my Beloved’s Name syllablized [sic] everywhere like Meri/Kan Ultra, I can’t talk to Her, b/c I once made a blunder in a game called Life ©God – All Rights Reserved. OK, my Beloved is vivacious Green dancing with the Wind, I’m fossil brown crying tears of gum, hand me over that Yellow Handkerchief. Us [Tree].jpg. It is only appropriate that you don’t bring a wooden actress to the Forest of Lost Souls, but y’all beauties contemplating suicide, please don’t. Think of it as a personal favour to me, find a punching bag, name it after me, blame it for everything that’s wrong, and start punching/kicking it. You can bestow mercy on man-kind et even upon women, if you only knew, Life goes on within you et without you. This might be your launching pad, to soar high like eagles}}.
Wm. Paincourtville is correct: you shouldn’t believe everything you see. In every pixel that make up Kristen Stewart I find God particle. This I cannot help, esp. when Stephen Hawking is around eating shrimps or whispering consoling words to a dead stag or making his science project upon abnormality. And I don’t want her to die or lose her beauty; just become a vampire, will you, and stay forever young; drink that red wine running in my veins. You are my restless leg syndrome, please stop me and channel my energies into something better, for I don’t want to think anymore about Wm. Morgan or bridges.
おさまる
artificial intelligence: I agree with Stephen on the potential threat posed by A.I (as much as I agree with Hans that it is impossible for the UNO to form a World Government – hopefully). As if an alien craft is beaming a command to us Earthlings, make A.I … Überhuman … 6 million dollar-string. (Life in the high-rise can make you hungry for things you cannot even see.)
What took us millennia to compile, we gave that Knowledge/Power on a silicon platter (as unwittingly proved by Will Durant, Wisdom/Liberty is not needed by those bent on ending it all), and boast of that feat to boot – the Shiva, the phoenix in us p/h takes pleasure in this our destruxion. (Fly Away – to Mercury, I suppose, tabula rasa, highways, umm, Hg-free H2O, count me in.)
It is difficult to find the Pope weighing on the pros et contras of this self-inflicting [sic] disaster, hence the need for those like myself chipping in – I have seen round boulders staying intact on their respective tips; I proffer this allusion because it might hold some water with you.
Since the very beginning, N had taken a very carrot and stick approach to my existential crises. She would bring these gigantic carrots, feeding them to my gapping void, without any appetizers to prepare me, leaving me no other choice but to cry in pain. Yet as the old Neuroscientist would have it, pain triggers pleasure.
Once she knew that the latter has surpassed the former – the arrow points towards the correct direxion upon the 3D map that we call our little Universe – N would take out the carrot from the throbbing black hole, and put it into my mouth. It is covered in dead matter, but it doesn’t matter.
What does is that my obelisk, which was turning into a lighthouse emitting silvery threads, would receive a real beating down under. N would kick me with the point of her black long boot, quickly forcing me out of my intoxicated state, but that’s never enough. She takes out a stick from freezer, and holding it tightly in her hand covered in black gloves, she strikes at the minaret hiding terrorists.
A moment ago, I wanted to explode. Now, there is an implosion underground in Mawson, Antarctic. Plz, plz, plz, no more, I beg you, breaths I as I go down on my knees to the floor, the carrot – clean as a whistle – had fallen a mile away. She smiled mockingly: The Japanese never say No. Yes, till Nagasaki, oh Goddess – No es No, as Calu Rivero supports. Wait a sec, my name is Khan and I am not Japanese. She quoted: I said I was born in Japan, I was made in Japan, I am Japan. I think there is a mistake …. She hit me on my back. I’ve learnt my lesson: those who have emigrated from Japan are now proud Americans, what of me. You are a proud earthworm; now crawl – head down, buttocks up, yes – take the carrot in your mouth, good boy, and come back to mommy to realize your Freudian wet dream.
She took a pile-driver from the pile of dildos, and driven it at the top speed into my tunnel. Out of pain, I bit at the carrot. Oblivious to this, N was expressing her disappointment that the taxi hasn’t come out on the other side. She kicked me on my right football, took out the pile-driver, thought for a moment, then inserted it back into the cup, and began to shake the spoon haphazardly, while I was experiencing tunnel vision. Eyes on the prize but not. Target fixation; afraid of making a mistake, I always end up making a blunder. I, a nonentity, proposed an Olympian. Why, Goddess, do I always have to be the Offender. You love to be thrashed around. Not Levinasian but my very malnutrient Asian ethics are to blame for why despite winning, I always end up on the losing side, which promptly begins a sit-in, while I in the sportsperson spirit shake hands with the winner and walk away, telling myself: Whosoever wins, his real troubles begins now; the winner is the actual underdog hounded for 4 years – Classic Rex Nemorensis.
’Tis democracy, shouted a parrot, when it was decided by popular voting (with certain weightage given to the submissive kind) that to Fellini, king was known as piscavendolo. As Billy Durant said, one thing good about democracy is that a major portion of populace is happy. That aristocratic soul, afraid of receiving lashes on his chandala body, could not decide what synthesis would make him happy. Not me. Once N made me her chair, her foot-table, her vase, her candelabra, I forgot libra and loved my slavery; now I was Shingen’s duplicate, no longer weeping like Julius before becoming César.
I do not count for much, neither in democracy nor in aristocracy. In the former, one can be at best first among equals, at worst last among ballots found in a waste pit. Us one little god. In the latter, yours truly doesn’t count. Down with the Deus Group, I chanted yet holding a placard:
Life is hard; do not add 0.001% to your problems.
I looked down upon my fellow Chandala – from an invisible pedestal – thinking, the moment King is guillotined, they shall unanimously call for a Savior, trembling they like little children, sobbing while they cannot fathom why their detergents will not wash their hands clean from the red mud they had taken therein, out of mere curiosity.
Enter Narcissus, all clean and soaked in saltwater, at least that’s how they shall see him. He proclaims: My dear fellow citizens, it is I you sought, no more here shall shine the bleak sun of sorrow. Let’s make war on our neighbours. While SunTzus brush dust off their books of strategies, he would already have sued for peace, all the while claiming a resounding victory – not that he lost, to be fair to himself. In all seriousness, to what extent can be applied von Clausewitz to the SixGen war simulations, when Sun Tzu himself could not predict the crushing defeat of his Master’s army. This doesn’t call for Bartholomew’s Night, per se, only that it is hard to apply what’s been apparently decided with pomp in the Operation Room, to paraphrase Tolstoy.
Like a spider (OK, mentis), she grasped my head between her soles, and began to move my head around while I was beholden by Shrine. After what seemed a long time, she said: Come to Mommy, and in one brisk movement, made me very near to Shrine. My whole existence turned into my mouth, when my lips kissed the wet warmth of Field where sustenance grows in gold.
She began to eat me – metaphorically – till a time will come when I would implore her, please let me have just a pubic hair. But first, the next morning, she invited her friend, who braided the silky hair of N around my face | became I a bat, who could see only through N. Where she went, I went, of course. While I was allowed to drink some water through the straw, I couldn’t eat anything. On day 20, I collapsed. But the good thing was that N was lying on the sofa, so she didn’t have to suffer any consequences – the Last Sofas.
A sincere advice: If you have eidetic memory, don’t read / watch too much. Losing touch with the reality, you might become paranoid. Ricardo Darin, taxidermist, shot dead by an FBI agent, who looked a la moi maman – is the key. And I stand corrected: The Young Pope Pius the XIII has an OST brewed almost entirely for masses. Was Nietzsche alone right?
My deeply flawed thesis: paranoia since everything is based on just two categories + their absence. Call it Love or Hate on the one hand and Unknown on the other. Where p = Love/Hate; -p = absence of p; while q = Unknown, and -q = familiarity. Loving the Unknown, are we; consider: p + q = -q. Love God and you’d know you were already familiar. This is both the last tenant of religion and first tide of spirituality.
Did I stir you from revenge saga: The First Reformed avenging his family. Love for the loved ones, hate for the culprits. Are you watching Cars 2. 6 million currency man wouldn’t have imagined that vehicles would be anthropized, showing emotions. But haven’t we treated Zeus or Mercury the same way. Madam, are you singing a patriotic song. She was singing a eulogy merely of her own qualities, aren’t we all.
Her friend from ElEdEñ relieved me of my mission on the dark side of the moon. Only to propose another: Why isn’t he in chastity. N told her how I have fully internalized the concept of being the designated servant: I made him drink 2 l water, and told him he cannot release pressure of his bladder for the next 10 hours. And then I shut him inside the toilet. He held it for as long as he could … 5 hours, right. Yes, Madam. Then, when I came back, he wept at my feet for being unable to fight his instincts. Punish me, Madam. That’s what he said, yes. I mean punish me now. She laughed. I know baby, you want it, but Mommy’d torture you only when you don’t want it.
Make him wear chastity for women. And a diaper with a hole for easy access, said one of N’s gentleman friends. Max, be a nice sugar-daddy and give him a lollypop. Puppy took the bone in his mouth and started to play with it, while N’s friend was ordering the chastity and special needs diaper. Max sent his rocket on a deep space mission, expanding the wormhole ever so slightly. It had already been stretched a bit since I was assessed by other friends of her during my mission on the moon.
The Greek maintained a very patriarchal structure, thanks in large part to the fact that the men were keeping their dark energy, shi, among themselves to the detriment of Society. They only grudgingly accepted Hera. (No, women are not machines, but if they don’t work, they are parasites as one synthesis goes).
Women in Arab societies are nothing more than a domesticated animal, not even allowed the status of herd. In Oman, o man, you say the husband cannot peak at his wife’s cellphone, or v.v. Guess what, she is stuck within her cage, while he is at cabaret. A congregation of Women would surely jeopardize the house of cards, but men have other devices at their disposal: nation, religion, family, culture. Not as a stick alone, but as a boon, too. They are invited to find solace in man-made constructs.
People think I am just a stick stuck in the sand, but I’m nothing without Love. And when Madalina Bellariu Ion pointed towards the mirror, he banged his head against the wall behind it. Again and again, like a deeply ionized atom, searching for its partner.
And when I at last talked to Kristen, I called her my sister. To make impossible, what’s highly improbable – Levi-Strauss’ universal taboo, remember. Though she declined, I am lost in the sweet web of my own words. But that paragraph was about Ion. You know that theory w.r.t people inhabiting own dreams. But if that’s true, what about those I see acting in my dreams, those whom I saw on screen in a remake, a couple hours before sleeping. In order to accept the theory as it is, one has to extend the same into the real world. To suggest that in the dream in question, I saw myself watching me act on screen in a way that radically resembled what I had seen hours prior to falling asleep would stretch the theory a lot thinner to be of much use.
The innermost core, shaped petal-like, is dark grey (just saw a whitish bull’s-eye); yellow hallow-I; the brightest white (divided in ½ by a very fine bluish? black line); yellow hallow-II; the biggest circle is dim white.
the legs, the feet, the toe, the xRay of Scarlet Johanßon giving me existential AMRS. My tongue was willing to go inside her mouth guarded by her manly nose. (I know why Odin gave up his eye.) Yet she was so innocent. Ion100. The thought that she had surrendered herself to a man, powerful, yes, but surrender, nonetheless, made me angry. She, who can point towards his family portrait and they would disappear, surrendered. (I know witches only had to travel forward in time and use our gadgets to see what’s happening in their present.)
I was permitted a glimpse of Kristen tonight, playing the Baron. And I am not losing my religion (T.Y R.E.M). Lest I forget, the song was being played on the gramophone nearby. On purpose, She let his Rook go; XSidently lost Her Farz (fondly known as 747 gambit), still won on time; She shrieked with joyous wonder, and I could’ve done one thing alone: I kissed Her. The screen, lest I forget. When my sister visited me the previous day, I had tears in my eyes, held back somehow the river. Tonight … but why when … I get so emotional, knowing full well that She can’t help me in my predicament.
The reason I want to tell Her is the very reason you make Her call me bear. Though, I’d rather She be known as GOAT, what use are compliments: Beauty +/- Intelligence knows She is Beauty +/- Intelligence. Not-so-beautiful/intelligent knows likewise. Lest I forget, N hates me due to my dishonesty towards her. I know I cannot Love – neither Woman nor God. At least now that I know I listen to the gramophone more objectively than before.
Exhibition is over in spite of advertised time as Her namesake complained to her staff. It seems pointless to point out the fact that SatNav Sys each day add seconds, else Tesla and Ford both might find opportune to appear at 55’55”55.55 O NW. I know ’ & ” stands for hour and minute, respectively; –
{Indeed, Galileo, despite claiming time does not exist, you use profusely the word denoting the same. Your accusation is correct, N. In his defence, XVI may maintain that it is customary to write in this manner; but Galileo has something else up his telescope. Instead of SatNav, we need Universal Positioning System. Not only Earth revolve around Sun, but the post-Ptolemaic Sun is also moving, and so, too, is Milky Way awaiting its lover Andromeda, with spiral arms wide open. Our Earth might be the ship thought of by a Hawking belonging to another world.
{I understand that even still we call atom, atom, and by we, of course, is meant us scientists. Convincing the general public to discard a non-existent time for something more real shall prove difficult – note that I use the comparative degree, since, it is quite possible that movement is just another version of moment, and that we all ships stuck in the sand.
{Since time has been thus far held a fundamental concept, not only ordinary people may have Plutonic reaction against changing it, but the Pope shall sing an eulogy for Gregory, beside business persons, who consider their every minute worth a great fortune, and if they give you their time alone, you should consider yourself very lucky, at least that’s what is expected of you.
{Not to forget the institutions where tradition is given more importance than being in the right. Waking up at 0350 hrs each day for the morning drill might inculcate discipline or induce insomnia, but it can never be blamed for victory. Rarely would be a professional army found wanting in this regard yet one side lose, anyway. This reasoning may easily prove fallacious, I concede, but so, too, is clinging to our faulty conception of time for personal +/- organizational betterment. How much of that precious time is not wasted on correcting typos and clerical errors almost encouraged by pointing at the swords running one after the other in that great battlefield known as wall clock.
{Problematizations: How to gain salary in the timeless world. Hand over n assignments with at least 99.05% accuracy. How to calculate speed of a vehicle, x. Distance covered divided by units of energy combusted in the engine of x. To limit the speed, the drivers may be prohibited from using higher gearing levels. How to measure rate of precipitation of an area. The Sun and Moon remain intact; it is not intended to remove Pluto from the sky, merely to correct its category. In other words, feel free to use day and night as units to demonstrate the daily average of precipitation. The problem is to compound days into weeks … months … millennia or divide them into hours … minutes … nanoseconds, since all of these units together with time zones are human constructs.
{We have come a long way from sand clocks and Aztec / Maya calendars. There is no reason we cannot come up with UPoSys (yooPOzés) to overcome the redundant system of measuring time, and some day, time itself. The initiation of UPoSys would usher us into a new era, wherein the year 2000 ad/ce shall be known as +2000 bu (before UPoSys), while the year 1000 bc(e)shall be known as -1000 bu. All this, however, is difficult to achieve, harder than creating/building towers in honour of time. But we must choose the harder path – as JFK famously said – if we are to venture beyond Earth and its Moon.
{There is one thing Galileo did not tackle, that is, stopwatch. While it is easy to know when Usain Bolt crosses the line first – does he alone possess the power to be the genie, who escapes ’Aladdin’s matrix – in the final, but the complex qualification system requires precise measurement of time. Precise in the sense that the non-existent milliseconds are pathologically observed and quoted in order to determine qualifiers. While UPoSys could be used, its calculation may not come soon enough to the liking of organizers. Still: How to use the system as a stopwatch. When the finish line was reached, it is at point x; when runner-up reached, in the eyes of a passive beholder, the same place, the finish line is at point x ± 0.0000002, for instance. And so on.}
Kristen won on time; my relatives were involved in minor to severe XSidents – hence the visit; perhaps, exhibitionism not over. This reminds me of cricket where an over ends, only to begin anew at the other end, at the v. least in another stadium, some other set of players would be at it. My batsmanship: I loved Younas Khan’s vertical drives as much as Shane Bond’s delivery hitting the three stumps – I know Neither can ever like me the way I need.
The equality I seek! While I won’t search for my Hapsburg epistles, Judit Polgár be blessed for favoring mixed tournaments. If you can’t have Captع Marveل, you can always fall back upon Judd Law {there are nomads and then there are settlers}. In the charge sheet against the armchair nomad they wrote:-
Once upon a time, the accused went up to 2 club bouncers and asked them to have sex with him. They smiled and told him, we are not gays, now beat it. He implored them, it’s part of my therapy. He handed to 1 of them a piece of paper. The note was read and handed over to the other bouncer by the first. They whispered and then accused was told to meet them in the lobby of a hotel at 4 o’ clock in the evening.
At the time set, the accused met the bouncers, and he went blindfolded in the GMC truck belonging to the latter. After crisscrossing through the city for an hour to make sure that neither the accused can make out the location nor they were being followed, they went to an abandoned underground parking lot. After leaving the truck they walked in back alleys for one mile or so until they reached an old wooden gate of a decrepit building. It was shut but Shortie pushed it with his palm to open it; its hinges making a customary moan.
The accused entered with the bouncers, but slightly trembling, already having misgivings about his plan to be free of his childhood trauma through normalizing sex. Inside, his blindfold was removed. There were no windows or ventilators. Only source of light was a 100 watt bulb, hanging from the ceiling.
On your knees, commanded Leftie. The accused did as directed. Crawl. The accused did as directed. Take Shortie in your mouth. Shortie happens to be short but huge, while Leftie is long like rod. The accused took Shortie’s beer can in his mouth. He was forced, thereby, to breath from his tiny nostrils. Meanwhile, Leftie’s rod entered from behind. He instinctively wanted to look behind, but Leftie forced his head down, while Shortie held the accused through his earlobes. Thus, the accused became an inanimate object with only his eyes moving about in fear and pleasure. After ½ an hour, they changed places. While his gag reflex kicked in, his anal muscles, in silence, begged for mercy. His eyes were no longer rolling around but had fixed on an invisible point on what we might say Leftie’s belly, but for him some Euclidean plain.
After ½ an hour more, they came. Without their support, the accused dropped on the bare floor, like a bag of flour. They panicked, taking him for dead, but he was faintly breathing. Hence, it was thought best that the show must go on. The accused was promptly placed inside a cage, esp., designed for sex slaves. Only his head and buttocks were outside the bars, while his tiny manhood was tightly fastened to one of the bars. The accused was made to wear a mask covering his face except for his mouth and nostrils.
Now, he couldn’t see to whom he was being pimped. He lost his identity; hence, his near and dear could do him without either party knowing. Parties, yes, per the Law, equal are they, the USA & Palau. The accused thus assumed a new one: Dirty Sharpener. He was dirty despite being given a daily shower, inside the cage, of course. And sharpener, because his anal muscles still tried to cut fingers – like an absurd survival mechanism in-built against threats; absurd, for it works in great many cases, but becomes superfluous when the real need arises.
The accused was kept thirsty and hungry for days, and then on some day he would be overfed &/or showerhead would be placed in his mouth, because some dignity wanted a doll to urinate / defecate in front or upon or …. Let’s move on. Yes, your honor. On such occasions, he would be dressed to a pervert’s wet dream. Each time the accused was called Dirty Sharpener, he was to present his buttocks, like a pinup model, and the dignity would tuck bills inside. He would then remove them, smell them and put them in an empty fish bowl, always giggling this perfect pet, till the bowl was full, and, then, his cage, too. The judge released the accused. Now, I, mom, I won.
Actually, I am bolting doors and dreaming of opening Gates of Hell with the help of my Mataji – Amrapali Gupta. The secret of her allure is her identification mark: Mole at Chin. Despite her weird makeup, she sapiosexually arouse me. She, an Apsara, among her other magic spells, knows how to extend her sex / gender, and dexterously, too, at that. She goes deep within her slaves crawling blindly around her feet; we open eyes when she tell us to, preferring instead that the light reach us via back channel diplomacy. {This’s the writer’s attempt at his v. own Track III diplomacy between 2 neighbouring nations. The self-appointed or otherwise Foreign Secretaries need not worry, this’s now merely confessions of a persona non consequent.}
Each time, however, either the happy-ever-after goes wrong or Till-D-do-us-part becomes a hellish reality. In short, I, a recidivist, keep writing, even after my only reader goes awol. That’d b me, don’t worry, established authors, who may or may not use foolancers aka ghosts. Now they might gobble it up for want of cheap detective novels. In simple words, Withnail and I can never be on the same page; doth death us part?
After being told, tomorrow you would get a definite answer on your final appeal, I came up with my own question: Can the poorest guy in this World be called Mediocre? – once I realized that I’ve to find my way through a barrage of problematizations posed by Kristen. Post-mortem Ethics: How would you convince your mother to eat you up after you ran ashore together on an empty Island, and if your mother does not cannibalize you, she would starve to death? She told us, as far as she is concerned, she’d b happy to be the epitome of Love: self-sacrifice. This Freud diagnosed melancholy, she thinks she is a goat; that seem better than to read castration in lieu of cannibalization for obvious reasons.
Ov-y to be placed vis-à-vis Mirror: Would you rather chose mediocre life over greatness, if that can be achieved only and only if, during the course of your life (at age 50, perhaps), you are told / realize that everything is simulation conducted by some higher power. Let’s take a detour. If everything was to become fine, that means end of all misery. If so, who is going to worship God, the mighty mountains that cannot walk. Our cause/effect theory suggests that when from an area the house-fly genus is completely eradicated, certain disease(s) should take hold of that particular neighborhood. God hath so ordained that many of us live in misery; if not cancer, hyper/hypotension would kill you.
Let’s circle back. Billy Durant was fighting with the idea that humans are sophisticated machines – in the wake of industrial revolution. Now, we SimOnes, while playing computer games, consider ourselves holograms. And the Classical (Platonic / Aristotelian, to be more precise) conception of God rings hollow in these newer circumstances. Don’t worry, mediocre vanillas, I am not Billy.
Perhaps Billy had nailed the matter when he said that MaDonna feeding her child is the epitome of beauty: self-sacrifice. If this is indeed all a simulation, the higher power might expect (accept?) nothing more than providing it with more copies of alpha – for experimentation, could be, to remind us of Its Existence, certainly. God is dead in the eyes of old ravens; in the children, God still thrives.
For most the idea of God remain metaphorically equivalent to Dark Matter and Dark Energy, concepts either inherently ambiguous or something fundamental is found lacking in our tools, hence we are unable to fully grasp these concepts. For me, personally, the issue is not whether God exists, rather what kind of God.
The Greeks explained certain phenomena by assuming the existence of entities unknown, but nevertheless anthropomorphically represented, which in turn led to humanization of gods – deification of humans, by the logic of modus ponens. This might crudely explain why many lack the ability to appreciate the divine, while everything is allowed to be mocked. For instance, the Golden Age of Saturn (and of Augustus, since we like to deify) was turned on its head, and a chosen one given the title of Lord of Misrule; here precisely comes the pig Latin speaking Warden-cum-Magistrate to preside over a charade to appease the Master, bored from the mundane as well as the unquestioned loyalty of clone-slaves.
Revolution in Every Affair has given us the airs of gods: humans are breathing in thermosphere; seawater is being desalinized; the chronic shortage of food is being tackled through genetic modification; we are making alternative universes / creatures in augmented reality; knowledge is being spread at the speed of light, literally; one of the last bastion of gods – the Night – is conquered, and so, too, the forests and the mountains, for roads have been constructed even where our dogs won’t stand to spit.
And yet we are still far from turning into H. Über, let alone H. Deux. The design set in motion long ago is still here, and humans can thus far only dream of recreating something similar in lab conditions. Even our own Deep Ocean is not well explored. Who knows the key might be there for anyone willing to look for it. There even exists a design in our bodies: Circadian Rhythm. As Faiz had rhymed:
Like these verses, which use the same words in various combinations (reminding me of string figures, a game played with a piece of thread), there exist not one circle, but a set of concentric circles (a sort of torus mandala), sometimes violently bisected by lines and line segments in order to end / begin a cycle, as well as rays, which, perhaps, work like the sci-fi wormholes. Of the latter have I seen no direct evidence; the former is illustrated by the common experience of death, which cannot care less about the Circadian Rhythm. {Time, thus, is the best illusion ever created to ward off mass suicides – one doesn’t need to be Hamlet or live in a dark hamlet to recognize end itself when posed with the question of living out of sync for long periods, such as induced by the torture technicians; the very desire of breathing extinguishes, when it is realized that there is no legacy, no twinkle in Her Eyes …
believe me, I was desperate to become You Alone / But Cu is not the only element burning in the Sun …
Hence, I very patiently metamorphed like Jeff Goldblume in The Fly. (The photographer, who reminded me of the singer, has sold/rented – at least, ended the lease of – his studio to a local shoe-seller. The outer walls are still painted green, with Fuji logo, as well as name of the studio, One, is intact. Taxes, perhaps, is the reason for this, though it might be just a relocation, a new beginning – she ran away with all his money.)}
Xmas ≈ Saturnalia; Saturn ≊ Coronus ≅ El; El the root both of God and of Woman (Elle); See also, Chronus (Time). After castrating his father Uranus (Sky), Coronus reigned in Golden Age, where everybody was on = terms. May relate to quareena (free from Chaos; unlike Greek cosmogony, Singularity, not Chaos, reigned in the beginning), qrn (horn/power; cf. Zul-Quarnain/Cyrus the Great; era/age/epoch), Karma (and, perhaps, Arabic root of KRM). In another version, Indra “hit Vitra fatally, creating/cutting a free path” and “cutting/creating loftiness of sky”, like the Cosmic Egg concept. Note that the Great Galactic Ghoul is castrating Icarus’ wings or Deep Space 2 microprobe, right now.
Despite this origin, God Exists, and we are never mere logs of eternal fire for the crime of creating ennui in our Creator. The script is known to the Director yet we amuse God, for we are neither clones of each other nor dumb slaves. This Director surely Knows how to play with the toys and props, whither light and whither action; what to give and what to take, and when to say cut.
.
Adam is the best example of predestination. It was pre-ordained that he shall be sent to Earth. The whole point of creating the Universe was to have to have human beings admire it (or Scream, existentially, therein). Else, the whole exercise was fruitless. Regardless of which path Adam had chosen, he would have ended up on Earth. At first, he was alone. He needed his companion. Guess what, the story, too, needed a Hera. Without Hera there could not have been Abel and Cain and siblings and spouses. He prayed, and God, prima facie, answered affirmatively to his prayers, when, in fact, that was pre-determined. – The Shiva Thesis.
Noah is the best example of Kismet or Karma. Had Noah not built his Ark, he would have vanished, too. Please note that what may have seemed and recorded as an Earth-wide deluge was very well a case of limited scale inundation in Mesopotamia. Anybody living outside the immediate zone of the flood should have survived. However, Noah himself could only have been saved if and only if he listened to what God was telling him. While harboring two of every kind might seem apocryphal. But that need not to be. Once we tone down the scale, we perceive that only native animals may have found place in Noah’s Ark. – The Vishnu Antithesis.
Islam, where Adam and Noah are venerated as the first two Major Prophets, attempts to find a middle ground between the aforementioned extremes. Not only Allah Knows everything but also human beings may do everything provided that they do it within natural bonds – no king can demand retreat of seawater and expect obedience thereof. {You can demand dams of your engineers, though, but the latter must respect nature.}
Humans might be 98 % zombies, or 99 % chimpanzees, but that seemingly insignificant 1-2 % is also the most crucial part of being human. {For P. Coelho, 90 % is merely the first half of a task; even reaching the summit is not enough, one has to take a stroll at the end, in order to show strength of character.} We must celebrate our humanness in an age when our uniqueness is undermined by both the A.I from sideways and Darwinism from below. Add to that the deification of humans.
While Islam recognizes Adam and Noah as humans, and asks of its adherents to respect them as humans chosen by God, Hinduism turns humans into gods. No less than Buddha is being passed off as an Incarnation of Vishnu; plus, that peaceful deity is blast-famously associated with the tests of nuclear bombs, in remembrance, perhaps, of Operation Linebacker II – the so-called Christmas Bombings campaign of 1972 – wherein, according to Karnow (1983: 652-4), 40,000 tons of conventional bombs were dropped on Viet Nam.
Indeed, some believers of Islam are no less susceptible to this phenomena, such as, when they attempt to make a prophet out of Buddha, but at least here the intent is not to make a human being divine, but simply to bring into their fold someone, whose teachings they are fond of, and found parallels therein with the notions of Islam. Another manifestation of this divinity in the negative sense is slavery, since it subordinates one human being to another.
What Islam brought about in terms of human rights was unprecedented, esp., for the Arab World. Sadly, instead of building upon that opportunity, with the passage of time, a sort of inertia, and then regression occurred. Today, when nations ostensibly built upon precepts of Islam do not meet the criteria set out by Islamic nations themselves in the so-called Islamic Human Rights Declaration, one can shake one’s head in disbelief.
In Mauritania, for example, it is by far easier for authorities to hold somebody in jail – and sentence to death – for speaking out against slavery, than to apprehend – and sentence to 2 years of jail term – for slavery, a punishable crime under the penal code of the said nation, though rarely applied. The conservative society finds justification for slavery in the teachings of the Prophet of Islam. What! how is that possible; in which counterfactual world the majority of Mauritanians live. Ignoring The Final Sermon, they care only about those parts of verses of Qur’an which states: And those possessed by your right hand.
Minority Report. As I understand, Islam has following exceptions:-
- Adam was an exception to the rule God Alone commands worship from the creatures;
- Noah was excepted from deluge;
- Only one of his sons dared to stay away from the Ark, and was doomed;
- Abraham destroyed all but one statue (and he was saved from within bonfire, no less);
- His son was exempted from the centuries-old tradition of sacrificing humans;
- As oppose to conventional wisdom, Joseph was Truthful, and the Queen prevaricator;
- A prophet was asked to leave Sodom just in time (and without one of his wives);
- Moses, initially saved, despite Pharaoh’s orders, accidently killed an Egyptian yet received prophethood;
- Hidhar, who is exception to death, killed a child (this is exceptional even to the rest of the list, and for a very remarkable reason: the child would in future have committed a crime);
- Jesus was Immaculate Conception; while,
- The Last Prophet was exceptional in so many ways that this whole exercise would become redundant, if I enlist ’em all
Moses and Adam are the weakest links in the whole theography, Adam for the reasons already discussed, Moses due to the fact that he was given a reprieve despite killing a human being (not only it appears unjust objectively, but compared to his deed the sentences I have received for my misdeeds seems to my fish-bowl view rather harsh).
The story of Moses, however, begins a slow process of reinstating matriarchy, lost since antiquity, symbolically when Clytemnestra was killed by her son Orestes, while the mother figure was excluded from the myth of Athena’s birth.
Before Moses is born, Pharaoh (Ramses II?) gets a premonition in the shape of a dream – a child yet to born shall kill thee. Pharaoh killed many (almost all?), like Zeus before him, but the end result was that he was forced to raise Moses. In a contrast to Athena, Moses is almost exclusive tended on by his sister, his mother, and the Queen of Egypt. While, later the Pharaoh gets killed indirectly at the hands of Moses.
Then the circle comes around with the story of Immaculate Conception. Jesus born without a father, was declared son of a paternal God, for the Romans, nay, by then the Jews themselves, too, were enamored with patriarchy – all in the name of a male priest, too fond to give up his divine right to be fondled with care, even if it meant going completely in reverse to God’s word.
As I have just stated, it was a slow progress – repeatedly halted, of course, thanks to the stubbornness of the priest, but of the populace also – and Islam was the biggest leap forward. Indeed, feminists, today would object to what this religion has to offer unto Women, but from an objective perspective one has to say that at the time of advent, what Islam offered went far beyond what Women could have wanted at that time; perhaps, it was way ahead of its times, in re.
The very first person to embrace Islam was the prophet’s wife – a maternal figure to the faithful. He remained closely attached to his wives and daughters. The Qur’an designates the wives not simply as such but rather calls them companions, something which is lost on most adherents of the religion; because either they don’t read the Holy Book in a language they could understand, or the Might is Right maxim, as well as the regional mores disallow an objective reading.
Contrary to Nietzsche, my investigation (laid threadbare for the reader to make her or his own stance in re) come to the conclusion that God is alive, too much alive – dare I say; p/h, the end times are nigh for humanity in this sandbox – let the next T. Rex have a better innings than us mere mortals.
Sun MerVEarMar J.S.U.N – Pluto stood no chance in this configuration.
A sad song f. happy-ever-after movie becomes your fav anthem. Dave Mathews.
In an obscure battle, I was killed; the deathblow I received upon my heart.
EPILOGUE Thus they came to rule humans.
WerticalHorizon 
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