"The personal is political"

Discussion in 'General Philosophy' started by Xev, Jan 18, 2004.

  1. BigBlueHead Great Tealnoggin! Registered Senior Member

    Sometimes honesty does have a value... some of those who act the moron all their lives do so to protect themselves, which makes it difficult to discern what they're really like.

    Next time you're in a group of idiots, and one of them tells a "my girlfriend's such a bitch" joke, instead of pretending to find it funny, try calling them on it. Ask them, "Then why don't you ditch her instead of whining?"

    Twelve of the idiots will look all offended and pissy. The other two will look at you like they actually understand because somewhere inside they're not actually idiots, but just covered with convincing replicas, like hermit crabs.

    Long ago I worked a couple of manual labour jobs, of the type that will soon all be done by robots. There was another student in this one place... he was going back to school at the end of the summer, and everyone bugged him about it, telling him that he would be happier if he continued lifting boxes for a living. Finally, in response to the constant "why do you want to go back to school?" questions, he answered:
    "Because I don't want to be trapped here for the rest of my fucking life."
    Everyone else just shrugged their shoulders and stopped bugging him, but there was one lady sitting at a nearby table - I'd talked to her and she seemed like an idiot to me - got this look on her face which I can barely describe. She knew she was in hell. It was the only expression I ever saw her wear other than her habitual bovine indifference.

    So why is this important? The trouble is twofold.
    First, if you act like an idiot for long enough, it seems you can forget what you used to think. Not everything, but the little things, stuff you inherited from your education without realizing that it was important, and then forgot because it never occurred to you again when you spent all your time pretending to be somebody else.
    Second, the real idiots serve (as Xev said) to drive you apart from the other people who have a real contribution to make to your life, especially if you pretend to be like the idiots. If you're convincing enough, you might make the other wise ones think you're a real idiot...

    You should give your friends more credit, and if they don't deserve more credit you have no business hanging around them.
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  3. Hastein Welcome To Kampuchea Registered Senior Member

    Ha. That's so true, never thought of it that way.
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  5. gendanken Ruler of All the Lands Valued Senior Member

    Tell me about it. I’ll cry you a river- I look nothing like I sound. My mind is a battalion, my words and personality as toxic as risin but folks never see this because in their mind I’m some kind of exotic Tinkerbell. Remember long ago we talked about the looks of others being small murders? That the bourgeois is born from the poor looking at him and the poor born from the same bourgeois looking back? All the other for-itselfs living right next to me turning me back into an object, murdering what I know I am by simply looking at me.

    Don’t get me wrong though- I love the recoil as soon as they pick up on the mistake though. Its like a kick in the crotch, yes? Ha. Nothing hurts more than that, I think.

    “Ouch”. Allright, just remember you said this to me once.

    Thus Sprach Methuselah:
    Middle aged humor is thrilling.

    I’m a healthy, perfectly obnoxious 24 year old now, Wanderer. And you, the dirty old man getting high off the kiddies and the essays he shoves at them, yes?

    In case you wonder why I’ve said this to you, “I just love reminding you of it”

    Wait until you actually see it. It would make your blood freeze, your loins flare, and your mind so bitter your mouth would betray you.

    Don’t think so.

    Meeting and keeping them will take spine and lots of it so swallow my ego my ass.
    I will agree that eventually I’ll need to put that ego away in order to see theirs and add to this blossoming art between humans, and I’m destined to running away every now and then in order that I should not scare them or myself away. I’m not above this task and the sacrifices involved- in fact I'll welcome every last bit of it but not for those not worth it, and especially not for those that remind me of that ugly part in me I’d like to push out sometimes like old stool.

    You misunderstood. Not your indifference- theirs.
    And something tells me you took the bullfighting clause as a compliment.

    Here, I’ll show you:

    Bob is also your microphone.

    I refuse to believe you don’t also swing your rag around to amuse your audience. Without Bob and the predictable strategies we both know he embraces so well when he’s made uncomfortable, all that’s left is that man all alone down there in that sandy arena that got all dressed up for nothing. He can strut and flex his muscles, play with his rag and scream out his name from his little lungs but his audience grows indifferent- they came to see blood, or at least be reminded of their mortality. A toreador never dresses for himself, never braids his curly ponytail nor picks out the prettiest montera for himself but his audiance, and what an enticing crowd too when there’s women in it.

    No bull, no audience. All alone, you don’t exist. And so, indifference is your gallows, remember? That’s the dandy’s lot.

    Blue, pink or pitch black- they’re still those tights we’ve all seen on those macho, macho ballet dancers. That’s got me so hot.

    In case you wonder why I’ve said this to you, “I just love reminding you of it”

    No, you rub them in. But no sweat, so do I.

    I've seen that same look before also, but my heart melted (meh....*flips hair* whatever). It was on my father's face when I showed him my diploma- he was beaming but inside I knew he was dying because he never finished college. And it's a damn shame- he's almost as bright as I am, despite my chewing him up here and there for even trying to best me, but its fucking sad to think of all he could have been at my age if he did not throw his life away on his kids and his home and his job and all the other modern baggage that robs humanity of meaning. He made his own hell.
    Last edited: Feb 6, 2004
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  7. Xev Registered Senior Member

    To be sure, you fight the ones that you find limiting. Those that don't you don't fight or address.

    Nature's? It's only nature's fault in that humans are fools.

    Fucking Sartre.
    Funny as hell - I've managed the fourth state, hatred. Objectification in the eyes of the Other can't hurt you there. But times, it pisses one the hell off. You know? It's not even that they try to fuck with you, it's that they have the gall to think you're one of them.
    And once that idea is in their head, there's no way to remove it without hollowpoints.

    So what do you think of Janet Jackson's tit?
  8. gendanken Ruler of All the Lands Valued Senior Member


    Shut up.
  9. Xev Registered Senior Member

    Suffer. I've heard about nothing but Janet Jackson's tit today:

    "Did you see the game?"
    "Did you see the halftime show?"
    "Did you see what happened?"
    "Did you hear about Janet Jackson's semi-exposed tit?"

    Finally "I only watch hardcore sadomasochistic porn and the History Channel"

    And people wonder why I'm weird.
  10. gendanken Ruler of All the Lands Valued Senior Member


    The pompous sophistries on the Apocrypha on that channel were amusing, but this expert gets on to talk about the most scintillating piece of New Testament I've ever heard where this witch is raining hell on the Virgin's head for having sex before marriage. She sticks her claws up Mary's robe and it bursts into flames for having doubted the holy conception. Merci.

    I don't think so.


    Piece, not peace
    Last edited: Feb 6, 2004
  11. WANDERER Banned Banned


    Middle-aged? I plan to live until 100 so 50 will be my middle-age.
    Ok, now I'm old? Imagine being ‘old’ in your thirties, just wait six years and then get back to me.
    Youth is a state of mind young one. It is irrelevant unless it becomes relevant. Age is something that matters in schoolyards and cafeterias. Age is how the very young excuse their stupidity and the very old excuse their laziness.
    I know teenagers that are old and inflexible and older folks that are young and spry.
    Health is my middle name.
    But why is your bite so deep?
    I might break my ‘image’ and start crying. Imagine my shame then.

    A few months ago I would have not believed you but now that I have personal experience with your type of woman, I do not doubt it at all.
    A ferocious wonderment you must be.
    My mind never becomes bitter in the face of beauty, it becomes silent.
    But we both know that surfaces only state half truths. If you met me you wouldn’t even know it was me until I had entered the walls and unlocked the gates from the inside.
    What did I say about Greeks my dear, in my ‘Beware of Greeks’ thread? We are charming; look at how we dominate western thought.
    I grow on people like a fungus and my effects are noticed months after first contact.
    Which is as it should be, ego takes time to appreciate another ego.

    Sometimes beauty needs fertile ground and sunny horizons to blossom.
    There’s a testing phase where the soil is analyzed.
    You wouldn’t want to grow roots in shit, now would you?

    The fact that there’s a part of you, you consider ‘ugly’, and a part you want to deny is a sign of youthful insecurity.
    In time you learn to appreciate all parts of you that cannot be altered, because you’ve altered all the parts that can. You learn to suppress them when needed and to harness them and guide them towards fruitful endeavours.

    I take nothing you say as a compliment. That’s not why you are here and flattery comes like a stranger to your tongue. It’s not your style.
    You compliment through more subtle means so that you may retract it later if you change your mind.

    You sound like you speak from experience.
    But isn’t loneliness the lot of every distinctive mind?
    A woman wouldn’t understand this, her loneliness, if she is beautiful and fierce like you, is derived from being surrounded by flatterers and posturing dolts that just want to fuck her using the usual methods and being surrounded by those that underestimate her because of her gender or image.

    The 'Bob' creation is not my only one, the others just didn't have the same personal affect, that's all. I started 12 threads, only two got bombarded with posts. Guess why.
    But where am I alone? Did you not see the 4000 hits and the ongoing obsession with me and my persona? Did you not see how many try to knock me down, how many fighters enter the ring to prove their worth against me?
    Do you think that’s what I wanted? Well maybe it's part of it.
    I came here seeking intelligence and a deeper connection with people I respected and that understood me, instead I found, like David Mayes, a bunch of children talking about the same old shit searching for intimacy and games. So now I mock them by participating on their level. It's fun.

    Not only does indifference not bother me but I prefer it. I freely urge others to ignore me. Inconspicuous observation is clearer, being under-estimated gives me an advantage and I never was one for being the center of attention anyways. Difficult to believe, I know, given the circumstances here.
    But if you knew me personally you would see how little attention I try to attract and how little I talk about myself. Despite this I laways get noticed.
    Intelligence nor beauty can be hidden for long.

    I'm indifferent to your temperature.

    Why are you here anyway?
    Do you still tell yourself it’s not because of solitude and an inability to fully be taken by the attention of idiots?
    Have you tired of putting morons and imbeciles in their place with your ice-cold stare and bitter tongue?
    Have you tired of having the worship and respect of inferiors that compliment and bow to you on every opportunity?
  12. BigBlueHead Great Tealnoggin! Registered Senior Member

    Gendanken: I think there's an especial kind of pain for realizing that you work for pathetic wages every day and watch your co-workers lose bits of their fingers, so that you can go and visit your family in Italy for one week each year. Worst of all was probably her kid, who had just started working there and was apparently yet oblivious to what was wrong.

    People sometimes talk about not wanting to sleep because of nightmares. Imagine not wanting to wake up because of them...
  13. Xev Registered Senior Member

    Sounds like it belongs in a Gorgoroth concert more than in the New Testament. Scrumptious.

    I do think so. Very few challenge ideas that they aren't threatened by. If the status quo works for them - bully for the status quo.

    I don't get it - if someone takes a job so that they can afford luxuries, how is it so especially painful that their job sucks syphilitic donkey balls?
  14. BigBlueHead Great Tealnoggin! Registered Senior Member

    Generally because
    1) People can't help getting slightly smarter as they get older
    2) When she started working, she was as stupid as her kid is now
    3) It took her until now to realize the hole she dug for herself
    4) Upon seeing the hole she dug, she can also see it's too deep for her to get out of with her limited smarts.

    In short, the pain is for realizing you had something after you've already lost it and can't get it back. People usually choose to forget again, if they can manage to.

    EDIT: Has dug? So much for the Queen's English...
  15. Mrs.Lucysnow Valued Senior Member

    Gendy Quote:And as for these friends to 'cozy' up to...don't have any of those yet. Its still down to those you're only seen with Friday nights but I promise you...I'll be kindapping some real ones soon. .

    Xev Quote: I've only accumulated a few. Make sure you feed them and keep them happy or they aren't as snuggly - they just try to climb their way to freedom.

    These aren't friends you speak of, they are pets.
  16. gendanken Ruler of All the Lands Valued Senior Member

    And didn't you know normal people make good pets? Slow down and read it again: those I have now are gerbils but those I plan kidnapping won't be.

    These "irrelevance" eulogies so common among old people mean what when you chose to make age relevant enough to crack a joke about gendanken turning 300?
    Or have you forgotten? You’re making a dirty habit of me having to quote you on everything, Wanderer.

    Wonderful. Timeless is mine.

    Don’t know if you know, but I don’t nibble.

    But enough of this rot because here’s where things get interesting:
    Classic. Fucking, fucking classic. You know, you just got easier? Who was it that said something about men being salesmen and women their buyers? Penis goes, "I can’t see you but my what a fierce, callous, enticing little minx you must be" and the little vagina coos and giggles at the image of being called as much by a ninny and POOF she’s playing the part he just gave her.

    What you don’t know is that I’m a bigger penis than you are, Wanderer. This whole ~analysis~ you have about what goes on between strings of text is just that now that I see the bad cards you play…...strings of text.

    Yes, but they’re also those bearded bores we read about, remember? They used to haunt the markets and palaestras of Athens doing like Socrates, every last fucking one of them barking at people with their sophistries. From hence came The Sophists, yes?
    You can go on and on about your warhorse undoing the latch from the inside but I always imagine you trying to pick the lock with a sermon. Singing the walls down and demanding the door open with some cheap gospels when all that would do is a simple push with your hand. You’re like Amphion playing on his fiddle.

    And by the way- Latins have Greeks for breakfast.

    Uhm. Duh?

    And the fact that you don’t realize who I’m talking about is a philosophical one.

    Explanation: look right there, in that seat of yours. That "ugly part" in me is sitting right there in your seat and its got your shoes on. There are two kinds of philosophers in this world and both can pick out likes and unlikes- I know there’s a vile, sourly aging (insert Wanderer’s real name here) writhing inside of me that I keep tied up with ribbons. I keep his noise down with the sounds of warrior poets and nightengales- beauty.
    So keep talking about "appreciating those parts that can’t be altered" and then kindly shove it up your bloody colon, I’m no schoolgirl. I’ve accepted, modified, tweaked and tied him up to use later for those that try crossing me.

    Do I just sit there ~appreciating~ my daggers or do I use them briefly and put them away again?

    All that strive for nobility know this.

    Call me beautiful again and you'll be peeing blood, you erectile dysfunctionette.

    I know this, but do you realize that by "Bob" I mean everything? Somthing tells me you think Bob the bull is only the middle aged puerco slowly melting in his cubicle. Bob is everything, amigo. All those little essays of yours are the fancy rapiers you flash to your audiance in your flamboyance with Bob.

    The antichrist and the overmen were Nietzches's toro.
    Rebellion was Camus toro.
    Nausea and the comedy of virtues were Sartre's toro.
    Virtue was Socrates' toro.
    Moral and ethics were Plato's and Chesterfield's toro.

    The only difference is that people are still coming to see their show long after these men have died but you'll be rotting with maggots and soon forgotten by every last one of us here if you die today.
    Of course in each of their cases, society always won but its natural- society is a powerful opponent and always will be. It has the advantage of mass and age. However, my what true spirits those men were, fucking timeless. Its as if they're standing right next to you sometimes.


    Here's what I wrote once, "dear":

    "So what are you but the story you make up for others? I doubt there is anyone content with merely writing, thinking, composing, or singing for themselves without the secret hope locked away somewhere for that charming happenstance that would accidentally land that book he's writing onto some other's lap, the voice in some other's ear, and the brilliant thought with his signature still fresh on it quietly floated subconcioulsy from his mind into the psyche of an other. All legtimately "by accident".

    I highly, highly doubt you prefer indifferece Wanderer. And both beauty and wisdom is easy to bitch about when you have it, in fact its scripted, but you'll be one crybabying little bitch as soon as you lose it.

    Last edited: Feb 7, 2004
  17. Xev Registered Senior Member

    But. that. was. beautiful!

    That might explain why they keep gnawing their way through the leather restraints, the bastards.

    They mortgage their hopes so that they can afford kids, house and minivan - so fucking what? If you're that stupid, rot in the hell you created.
  18. gendanken Ruler of All the Lands Valued Senior Member

    No, dear, this was:

    Muha-ha. I picture a small wide-eyed commune of smiling people too scared to say anything but you know something is wrong because the walls are bloodstained where they tried scracthing their way out. Something about God being a comedian and his audiance too scared to laugh.

    We're God. Kidding.
  19. Mrs.Lucysnow Valued Senior Member

    Quote:And didn't you know normal people make good pets? Slow down and read it again: those I have now are gerbils but those I plan kidnapping won't be.

    Reminds me of the song by Porno For Pyro's:

    Children are innocent
    A teenager's fucked up in the head
    Adults are even more fucked up
    And elderlies are like children

    Will there be another race
    To come along and take over for us?
    Maybe martians could do
    Better than we've done
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!

    My friend says we're like the dinosaurs
    Only we are doing ourselves in
    Much faster than they
    Ever did
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!
    We'll make great pets!

    Why would you want people like that around you anyway? Surely there are better human specimens to choose from.
    Last edited: Feb 8, 2004
  20. Xev Registered Senior Member

    And I see gendanken with a pair of bloody pliers in her hand screaming

    "You WILL grasp the complexities of Quinzubro's thought!"

    That's it, though.
    To achieve the mental cleanliness required to break past bad methods of thought, one must be extremely careful in whom one admits to one's circle. Unclean or simply mediocre minds can be educational to deal with, but camraderie and love are such dangerous forces that the strictest discipline must be observed in their use.
    Ultimately, clean thinking requires clean surroundings.
  21. WANDERER Banned Banned

    Just 24 and already counting days.
    You’ll be a wreck by 40.
    But is your youth the only thing you have over me or is it also the fact that you posses a vagina and so have grown accustomed to using it as a tool of manipulation that does not require blood for hardening?
    Look behind you dear, death is creeping up and beauty is only good for so long before it turns to shriveled emptiness. Then you’ll look next to you, and if there’s someone there you’ll wonder if he was the best that you could get or if there were others you scared away with your make-up and insane mental gyrations.
    Do you have what it takes for the later years? Do you have the courage?
    You will find this out for yourself.

    Good, nibble on this.
    Aged to perfection.....dear.
    Some things get better with age and female beauty is not one of them. Male beauty, on the other hand, is something that can be appreciated by those having the right tongue and discirminating taste.

    Hmmm you sound like someone that needs a spanking.
    Tell me, does the fact that others buy into your little ‘nasty girl’, female intelligencia bit make you believe I do so also?
    The day a little girl, like you, intimidates me with her snarling, red- painted nails and supposed fierceness is the day I chop off what’s left of my limp aging member and serve it up to a German cannibal.
    Do young boys fear you little girl? Do they gasp at your stare and forked tongue?
    No human being scares me any more. I have seen the worst of them.
    You aren't it.

    How nice for you. A vagina and a penis in one?
    So a hermaphrodite you are.
    I guess fucking yourself must come easy then. You do it so often.

    Hey look she's read a book. Good for you.
    But we Greeks don't like talking about Socrates, he was our downfall, the black sheep of the family.
    As for sophistry, you should know all about that, little one. All that pretended wisdom and viciousness to hide behind, all those pretty little words and clever euphemisms to shoo away prying eyes and needful boys.
    But I’m poking little girl, just for the fun of it.
    No need only curiousity.
    Mankind is my study. What else is there to do?

    Don’t you like my tune? I know many more and choose songs according to the listener.
    My hand is too strong for tender doors like these, I fear bruising them.
    I prefer making them want to open by themselves with simple words. It’s a test of my linguistic artistry.
    Imagine making an apple fall in your hand with a song. Imagine the power of this.
    Everyone has hands and muscles, even if not as big as mine, but to crack shells with verbal talent, now that’s power.
    My ‘gospels’ are how I filter out dirt from pure water.

    Only after Socrates and Jesus have cooked them well, beforehand.
    But some of us have escaped the frying pan and are now in the fire.

    What you call aged I call experienced.
    Reading great deeds in books and sharing vicariously in their honor is different from being there, now isn’t it?
    You speak of war when you’ve never survived its horrors.
    You speak of fighting when you’ve never been cut or felt the blood pouring out of you.
    A warrior needs a place of rest, young one; a place to recuperate and forget the battle for a while. A warrior is forced into battle by honor and nobility and never enters it will soft heart and gay song. Only the inexperienced crave war for wars sake.
    But you speak of it with the naiveté of one that has never lost or been defeated.
    Time will cure you of this.
    But what battles does a young lady indulge in when she walks behind her favorite warriors shield and then speaks of nobility and honor?
    A flash of her smile and a peak at her ankles opens doors for her and makes her way smooth and uneventful.
    A man must earn his way.
    What do you know of manliness? You are barely a woman.

    My ‘colon’ is presently occupied by my head but thanks for that beautiful imagery.
    Words so many words.
    The fact that you now think you’re done with the tweaking tells me you have more to learn.

    Hey, call my penis small but don’t dare call it limp.
    I’m hurt.
    How appropriate for women to never have to prove their libido or potency and to then use the male member as their target practice.

    And what have you done lately?
    Oh, I see the endless pursuit of knowing how the mind works or what consciousness is, is your chosen distraction.
    But even if you could know this, what then?
    Consciousness is only important if you know how to apply it even if you know nothing about where it comes from.
    Let’s debate free-will until we get bored, while we avoid applying free-will altogether.
    Let’s talk forever about the unknowable and forget the knowable.

    Is this supposed to be a display?
    I'm only mildly impressed.
    I am more interested in your displays of viciousness and cruelty.
    They fascinate me.
    Like a Barbie doll with fangs.

    And here lies the crux of your attack. Your misunderstanding of my motives.
    I’m hurt by your forgetfulness.
    Next thing you’ll do is write a bad review for my book and destroys my dreams of fame and fortune.
    You, on the other hand, will live in infamy in my mind dear. A tender woman pretending she’s a man, a fearful girl searching for a nest to lie in and finally rest.

    I choose who stands next to me not you.
    You choose corpses and cadavers as your lovers I choose flesh and blood and only use cadavers as sign posts and direction finders.
    Do your books feel soft when you cuddle next to them at night, does your significant other recoil at your coolness and indifference or that flash of a sneer?
    Poor bastard.
    That was beautiful.
    What a common mistake to take my song and my singing as proof that I take any of it seriously. Even you are a joke to me in the face of oblivion and nothingness.

    Beauty fades wisdom never. It perishes with the mind.
    But my beauty is not skin deep, like yours, it lies in my character and my will.
    Last edited: Feb 8, 2004
  22. Mrs.Lucysnow Valued Senior Member

    Quote:To achieve the mental cleanliness required to break past bad methods of thought, one must be extremely careful in whom one admits to one's circle. Unclean or simply mediocre minds can be educational to deal with, but camraderie and love are such dangerous forces that the strictest discipline must be observed in their use.
    Ultimately, clean thinking requires clean surroundings.

    You are lucky to recognize this now, it takes most people a very long time to come to this necessary conclusion if they ever reach it at all...especially concerning lovers and life-partners.
  23. gendanken Ruler of All the Lands Valued Senior Member

    Damn it, Lucy. Come come now- can't you see its precicely these kind of people I don't want around me? This whole thread is about this.

    The 'kidnapping' clause was a joke. The ideal is not stupid.

    Dangerous indeed. The humble I'd be a vicious maggot to put out only becuase of humility.
    The careless egoists I'd be a silly girl to let in becuase they'd crush me and I'd let them.

    Only with restraint and discretion can I expose myself- not cheap gossip or fyi's but the things inside never seen before, I'm talking My Self- expose that completely to one I'd fear otherwise, a hard lesson, believe me.

    Only an extremophile would do.


    Barbie doll with fangs? Interesting.

    “Battlescarred” muneco:
    Thank you. A blooming hermaphrodite…bingo. Its precisely this that makes you easier the more I deal with you, yet you don’t see this.

    Observation number one: age only became relevant after you chose to make it so.
    Observation number two: sex became an issue only after you chose to throw out a line only lonely, pathetic, perfectly gullible carrion we call women would buy and play into just for you and those watching.

    Observation number three: my disillusionment with you is nothing by proxy- you gave it to me, no one else.
    Observation number four: there’s more truth in you liking the idea of my being a little girl then there is real truth in me being one. More truth in an ego safely putting another ego away with quick labels than there is in the solace the first ego always employs to tell himself the alarm is a false one.

    Observation number five: I don’t care what you look, smell or sound like, the money you have or how old you are- and don’t care if you did of me likewise.

    And last observation: you’ll get nowhere and fast with your cute ‘little girl in need of a spanking’ and ‘young one’ looking your nose down where you damn well cannot. We can sit here like two little Bobs playing hopscotch with pedestrian insults and get nowhere- and if that will be the case then this is my last post to you, you syphillized monkey.

    Kidding. Now, let us begin:
    According to you, I’ve placed all my faith on the superficial.
    According to you, I’ve never seen past the pretty nose or the fingernails.
    According to you, I actually have fingernails.
    Accroding to you, I’m the perfectly canned piece of trash turned out by Revlon each year


    the perfectly canned piece of trash turned out by death metal and Rice novels- those goth chicks with fashionable scars on their arms basing all that they are on the puppies and dirty old men drooling all over their hard-rock persona.

    Look at you- so full with no room to breathe. What did I say about walking away from a house on fire? What did I say about using it for warmth and nostalgic amusement? What did I say about having to put up with the nosy neighborhood simply insisting on knowing why I’m standing there, prying into business it has no right to? What did I say?

    Like you, I hide what I have. Remember the monopoly game? I’m right there next to those slavs watching them twirl the dice in complete ignorance of how foolish they look to me. They’re the burning house – and the “little girl” walks away how? Flashy nails and make up? A Lilith gimmick?

    Who said this?
    Who? Me....or you?

    Little do you know, because you too don’t know me personally either. I either hide or ignore my outside and there are periods where you’d swear I was either Amish or homeless.

    You think flashy nails and lipstick is going to push away the neighborhood? What’s the matter with you, think I’m actually sitting here thinking nobility comes from calling attention to oneself? In case you didn’t know its worlds harder for a woman to hide herself in all things, and no matter how loud she cried and how big her sword was, how steeped in the complete, innocent faith of her cause or how pressed down her tits were Miss Joan of Arc was probably still sexy.

    And that’s what makes it easier to underestimate what you see before you- the superficial you’ve just tried preaching to me about that I damn well know will one day betray me.

    Only here, in this world with all the benefits of society and yet not one can I actually see gendanken where everywhere else, my reality as in yours, you find people so quick to pry you open, cut it out and spit on it by assuming.

    And you dare ask if I have what it takes for later years. I’m living timelessly, Wanderer.
    You’d find my mind in a nursing home as you would a college dorm and a sandbox.

    Ask yourself if I care what you buy and don’t buy. Ask if I care that you came down my aisles one day, picked up some merchandise and walked out without purchasing. Ask me if it matters a damn if on my deathbed I realize there was a wandering vulture once that took me for carrion and didn’t like the meat in his mouth.

    Vultures, last I heard, aren’t cannibals.

    Ask yourself all of that and answer your own questions. Then realize it was you that put out his merchandise- not I.

    Another obvious for my basket.

    You assume I haven’t seen the universe and been saddened by it. Depressed, enraged, enraptured and put off by it- taken a plunge in the cold and learned how to swim. You too are a joke to me in the face of oblivion and nothingness. You could even be my essay in times such as those.

    So many ideas and images.
    So quick to narrow his options.
    So quick to grab the world and fit it with shoes Made By Wanderer, t.m.
    So quick to harness shadows and try fitting them in his categorical imperatives.

    Little does he know I envy his battlefields of experience, envy this idea I have of him building his own home with his hands. Envy his years of living in a world that would let him live it completely, one that doesn’t part in the middle like crowds do for invalids and wheelchairs trying to make it through doorways.

    There’s not a scratch on my hand and why? Because in younger years this silly girl was too busy taking the shortcuts put out for those fucking invalids while he was sweating and knowing what it feels like to build things and not buy them, think them and not be taught by them. But in trying she’s robbed of every last luscious piece of experience so easily come to him in this pampered, perfectly spoiled little world we call America.

    Yet I’m not even American, I’ve been incredibly poor and grown used to the scraps meant for peasants so eat it- I know both loss and defeat. You’d think all this would have bitchslapped me sooner but I’m glad it did not. My slap is harder and I’ll never forget it.

    You ask what I’ve done and I ask that you look around- Russia declares war tomorrow and the world’s fattest soldiers will take up their little flags and kill those reds off with buttons and radar.
    Food cooks in seconds.
    Virgin soil is a myth now.
    All stones have been turned to see what’s under.
    Phenalynine and cheap fads have completely uprooted exercice.
    The planet has become the lazy, fat, foul, boring, perfectly ignorant piece of work Bob is.

    You tell me what I can do other than deny myself food, warmth and society to keep myself clean. Tell me what else there is other than the cheap ploys of those pompous ~romantics~ that became farmers so they could write about it when they came back home to their luxuries.

    You’re making a lot of mistakes with me. You’re more of a woman than I am.

    “In order to understand your questions you should first read Nietzsche after you’ve read Schopenhauer and the pre-Socratic Greek philosophers, especially Democritus”

    …….so have you, yes?

    Odd silence.

    Like, * flips hair in Bellsy moronic fashion *, you, like, assume, I didn’t know this?

    Mankind is my study as well. We’re like sisters, Wanderer.


    And can you see now why it is I completely ignored your ~analysis~ on the transmutation of matter in your Bob thread? If you don’t, I can point it out with my broomstick.

    Speaking of which:
    Gasp! You mean I’m not a hairy little amazon? A Sycorax? Not even a Joan Rivers?

    Surely you jest.

    Book reviews are for spectators.

    I loved your essays at first- but people, like fish, strike of their bad odors with overmuch.


    I love hummigbirds, yet never seen one nesting.

    I choose me, not books.

    There’s something to be said of those people that wrote them, though- they knew the world and turned it over in their voluptiousness, not their sickness. These bon vivants were my catalyst, Wanderer- I let them in and by opposing or tweaking them perfected my vision. And don't think I'm only talking storybook characters either.

    The ugly ones are like mold, slowly growing on you in the twilight. You yourself called you a fungus- not I.

    What did I tell you about Greeks, dear?.....I grow on people like a fungus and my effects are noticed months after first contact.
    Which is as it should be, ego takes time to appreciate another ego.
    - Wanderer

    I let light, truth, and those with earnest motives seeking to make me more than I am in. No one freely welcomes a parasitic infection.

    You’re sadly mistaken to think my world is paperbound.

    Nope. This is:

    “The bane of existence is a question apropos and is not, according to Hebrudious Punctilious, the metempsychotic meme concordant with the Greeks of old. Rise up! said Quinzubro, charge the status quo….....all these paradigm shifts are to be found, if one puts one’s effort into finding them, culminating beautifully in one shining masterpiece, known the world over in those famous dictas of Ptolemycious, third edition, chapter four, paragraph 6 starting with 'The'......”

    If you like displays look up Tiassa. I call him Tessie. I was only showing you the difference between free spirits and those I feel like to borrow their feathers. Nothing less, nothing more.

    Neither is mine.
    Last edited: Feb 9, 2004

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