Dr. Lou:
You have allowed distance, sterility and what looks like Western comfort to lie to you. I cannot really blame you it is common and somewhat...inescapable..... but how many times have we heard of your hatred for man, how many times have we suffered your pubescent iconoclastism with nothing to go on save that of appeals to nature? Nature, nature, nature. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!!
You not only brag about twisting peoples arms around, like 3 times, or stabbbing them with pens but do you not realize the amusement of this being little more than an extra on "Jackass"? You'd barely flich having 'crushed' a stranger's skull in with a hammer-post act-
but cringe at brutality towards babies? Why, innocence? You wannabe.
Pardon, but your programme is simple to dissect- its a common dressing up of misantropy as mercy towards animals, and you'd probaly hate them as well if they could actually talk and tell you what a pampered, perfectly
bored little dipshit you are. Like Schopenhaur sans finesse.
Xev:
Why don't you go back to chatting with gendanken about what I may or may not be telling people whom I may or may not be talking to about matters that definitely do not concern any of you?
This from a cyberglitch with her ICQ number displayed like free pussy.
This from a girl whose hands have probably bled from the carpal tunnel to another girl, gendanken,
who has never seen a chatroom.
So tell me about how you don't
get this social shit, dearest, tell me about high shool bullshit and I'll show you a kitchen wench that has taken something private and made it public, like writing some slut's phone number up on a bathroom wall. How cute, how quaint,
how Wandish.
Speaking of which, going to
"pfft" me again? Going to yap about nobody being able to "deconstruct" that bedouin fly?
Kinda like Rocky Balboa's wife squealing in the background, you know? Tell me about your husband you unsocial creature!! Muhahahha.....
This, ladies and gentlemen, this is why I love, fucking LOVE Freud and Skinner-
godammned would I love to have you and Andy in a room with me- in real life- all alone sometimes. Perfect little specimen.
Wolf:
You said something earlier about a state of nature being favourable for you and others like you. Inference... but fair enough, you didn't directly come out and say so.
And so let that be a lesson Wolf- never, ever fuck with a woman's memory. Ever.
You're not alone in your fascination with it, to be sure. So am I.
I know. It was reading what you wrote about it here that was impetus.
I wouldn't say I'm one of those suburbanites dreaming of bloody battlefields, but to say I hadn't thought of it on occasion would be a lie.
Hmm. You may not be but I need help here- Petrus Borel, as I've said before, was a writer/dandy who wrote something that perked my ears up one day.
It concerned being aware of one's chains
simultenously with this awarenes off one's own reticence. I may go so far as saying some virulant strain of ethic or some mutant form of moralty is biologicallly wired in all of us (hierarchies could not exist without some semblence of order, cooperation)....to keep organisms in line, so to speak.
But this yearing for Earth for Gaia for her verity buttfucking naked- given the chance we recoil but why? Is it only becuase of that internal checkbit or this awareness of having to prove oneself to...oneself maybe?
Camus wrote:
"I was conscious of my power and I was conscious of my chains. But these chains are valuable objects. Without them it wold be necessary to prove, or to exercise, this power which, after all, one is not very sure of having."
I long and I'm fascinated but which is it? This knowing or the checkbit? I feel a hypocrite at times.
A rifle would be easy, probably. Up close and personal requires something a little more.
Easy and boring.
I touched a dead body when I was 13. I've always had this...attraction but having touched it I felt as if I was set on fire or disturbed. Her breast were huge and flattened on her sides and her fingers bloated. She felt like furniture. It was the first time in my life that my motional feel for most humans- that of them being furniture- became flesh.
Ever since then I've been wanting to look at a human from the inside or at least be given the chance to dissect one (did you know one is given free access to the morgue in Haiti?) but no dice.
Imagine holding a head in your hands...a human head. Like Benthman- he's got his body embalmed and displayed in some medical college or other. Imagine holding that head of his that looked on this world and built a philosophy for it- that head that used to be filled with all the angst, yearning, wonder, and intellect that feels so timeless, there it is smelling like dirt and looking like furniture.
Start a thread about serial killers, will you?
Will do- told you this some time ago. Raskolnikov.