Monday, 24 January 2011
Why is everyone avoiding me?
"Speak honestly, and bad people will avoid you".
I didn't realise there were this many bad people!
Saved by Indiiference
What keeps us from suicide? - That our loved ones would be crushed? - That our enemies would rejoice? ... Or that the world will retain its indifference?
No woman can be guilty of her beauty.
Are men then innocent of their desire?
When the madman knows that he is mad, does that knowledge not make him sane?
Finding your real friends
By turning your friends against you, they do you a favour: as those friends who can be turned were not real friends anyway!
True colours revealed.
If Beauty be but Terror's Childe, then treat it like a lion cub -
Never take it as a pet, but send it back out into the Wilde.
The walls of their hatred built a fine gymnasium for me - I got fit on their spite.
When you believe that they are spying on your dreams.
Play a part
These two came together to find peace, and these others to find war; and yet others to find happiness and others sorrow.
But they all came together to be a-part.
As sober as a judge
Plato's 'Symposium' has philosophers getting together to discuss Love at a drinking party.
Therefore, it is rightly said that: 'only in Wine is there Truth'.
He lacked empathy, and would therefore never make a saint - nor a con-man.
The singular man is always 'inappropriate'*.
[*The favourite politically-correct put-down today is the word 'inappropriate']
First question to a poet:
How angry are you?
If ye be not angry, vicious and vehement, I want nothing to do with you - you will not speak to me.
The male attempts to master the female lest she destroy him.
Man can't even master the woman in himself.
The Tenacity of Truth
How do you test the Truth of something or somebody?
Push it to the very limits - to the extreme.
See if it buckles or stays.
The great Haters in every age turn out to be the great Realists too.
There is hidden in every insult the highest of compliments.
Wrongs, Might and Right:
The mightiest of two wrongs make a right.
An honest man is always in danger on two fronts, for he is always too hard on himself and on others, and so constantly incurs wrath from inside and outside.
The splitting and shedding of my 'selves' ... I did that? I was not my-'self' that day. What 'self' am I today? But all my 'selves' are my friends - they just haven't been in the 'self-same' room together.
Pain a teacher
The self-destructive man uses minor self-harm to remind himself of the greatest of danger - self-oblivion.
Everything becomes public: therefore everything becomes obscure.
The Artist must wound his audience: he uses the word, the sign, the sound - rather than the Knife.
In the last analysis we all lose.
All actors *become* thier parts eventually.
As your mother said;
'Keep pulling that face and your face will oneday stay like that'.
Feigning madness is a form of madness.
We are no longer in a race war, but in a psyche war.
Pessimism is a better predictor than optimism.
Honesty is rarer than hen's teeth - is that not true?
What would you rather - an honest lie or a dishonest truth?
Violence is the only truth
Life is based on violence in the widest sense - call it 'will to power' if you will.
Everything lives at the expense of everything else.
So life is fundamentally 'barbaric', in an extra-moral sense.
As Goethe said; 'you are either hammer or anvil'.
I want to live in the moment.
I want the past to disappear from my ken.
But I keep judging the present by the past.
I keep ... judging.
The Hells Angel of the mind
The oursider is in a constant state of rebellion agianst life, against people, against things, aganist death.
What are you rebelling against Johnny?
What have you got?
Language is an Ordering;
Like life itself?
No: life is messy, ambiguous, complex and dis-ordered.
You pick out a single frequency;
You isolate it.
Same with a colour;
Same with an image;
Same with a thought.
Only in War does
Man achieve Self-Realisation:
Thus the Birth of the Wor-ld's Tragedy.
Nothing is more weakening than loving An-other, than worshipping An-other.
You cannot discover the Self through Others.
We periodically need to reconnect with the archetypes,
symbols, imagery and soundscapes that abound in great art and imagination.
The world of dreams and invention,
The worlds of creation,
The creation of worlds.
Love is only consummated in Death.
Love is therefore the eternal condition of humanity, and the key to its mortality.
The Philosopher is not human, for he chooses Solitude and its loveless immortality.
When men love, they are at their most human.
This is because mankind itself is a disease.
Love is the most human of all ills.
'Telling Truth to Power'?
Would Power not be deaf to such Truth?
Rather telling the Truth about Power,
and telling the Power of Truth;
For that we have ears, even if Power does not.
Time is Distance
By looking into Deep Space we are looking into the Past.
Go even Deeper, and one can see into the Future.
This is the technique used by the Great Seers.
Alas, I have brought too much
Order into the World ...
Is that what is meant by 'playing God'?
All art is a simplifying which can sometimes masquerade as complexity.
There were Runes before Odin,
There were Runes before Fire & Ice,
There were Runes before the Yawning Abyss.
These are the Runes of
The Runes of
The Runes hold everything in abeyance
- they suspend all thought and speech -
And they supercharge the Will
When listening to atonal music you have to invest the music with your own meaning.
You have to make the effort of interpretation not necessary in conventional music.
The Mess of Life
To say that 'life is a mess' is to say that the underlying view is one of chaos, not cosmos; - disorder, not order.
The devil is devious and complex;
he throws things into disorder:
he 'messes up'
The world of dream and fantasy is chaotic and messy.
Men want to tame, organise, and order it.
Story-tellers like to spread this illusion that the chaotic world of fantasy is one of order.
Music is the organisation of mess - but not too much, please!
For messy sounds are the best - clean sounds are not 'musical'; they lack texture.
Too messy though, and it becomes noise.
And some like that even more.
The world is in a mess:
The numbers have become too unwieldy.
The people found solace in the simple things:
In music - in simple tunes that gave them meaning and order.
The master imposes his will - he is a predator.
But he is constantly pressured by rival predators.
And so he seeks the castle solitude, and gravity-less flight.
Where, neither subjected nor subjecting, his only predator is age and decay.
Sooth-saying will land you in hell, my friends.
Hell is other people, as they say.
When I gave you my Trust,
I also gave you my Truth:
That is Troth.
Or an explorer of the labyrinth?
The Clutter of
Con-cepts versus the
Clarity of In-nocence.
Man drags his own grave around with him like a nomad, bearing his own bed on his back.
This grave is his ever-present absence, the thing he tries to kep at bay.
Most of the time he can dimly 'forget' about it, but this life is mostly spent in trying to obliterate this absence.
The swirl and swarm of Life's traffic goes endlessly around me.
I have not moved
I have not
... moved ...
The religious man sees the proof of his God in all the order he perceives in the world.
But perception is intention.
Fleet fetches leave no footprints.
But even the most secret spirits can be detected,
As every contact leaves a trace,
be it ever so infinitesimal.
A philosopher can never be a courtier.
There are no friends, only enemies.
Your Friends are but your closest Fiends.
States of independence
Are you independent so that you can better climb up the ladder of Ambition, unencumbered?
Or are you independent so that you can better descend into that Self-abyss, in Solitude?
Nietzsche distanced himself from the
Western Philosophical tradition by
philosophising with a Hammer.
The vicarious relationship of the worshipper to the hero.
The vicariousness of the hero's relationship to himself.
Fundamentally, each man is his own vicar.
This man is a mess of straw,
hastily thrown over the void that is his soul.
The addict is blessed/cursed with an excellent memory - he is compelled to repeat his highs and lows.
Modern man lacks the guide to the labyrinth.
The poet will guide him if he will listen ...
Lest that poet be lost too.
Write with the Blood
In poetry, words can be isolated and their antiquity bled out.
When the Folk lost their belief in the Elder Troth, the Dwarfs scuttled from the land.
Just as slag is from iron, and
Rime from ice and
Dust from earth,
so too is mankind the
Dross of the gods.
War on the Beloved
To fight fiends is the work of a Hero.
But it is with a Heavy Heart that one makes
War on the
That is the work of Gods.
Woman is the
Frith, and the
Goddess of Grith.