seasideretreat

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Myself and my mind

I want to be alone, alone with the internet. But I am not alone. I thought of attending a course in Christianity, but I didn't go, I wasn't ready. It's just Tumblr for me. Verily, it seems to me Tumblr is an extension of Twitter. On Twitter, you get the basic stuff: the news, your general interests, the word of the day, a bit of psychology. On Tumblr, however, you get stuff that crystallizes your culture. The Dalai Lama tweets. This is a kind of authoritative philosophy, and yet it is also just a tinge of personality to the endless rage of the press and the jetset. What is truly important in life? That an octopus thinks with his limbs? Tumblr. That I shouldn't be self-obsessed? Twitter, or that British English is an heteronym? Twitter.

It's silly to be who you are. The things that happen go on, and nothing can change that, but the extension of life is just a mirage, that continues all the time, and nobody knows what life is really about. In fact, the essence of life is a silent death, that oppresses the limitations of the essence of philosophy; and we do what we do, because there is a thread of wisdom in the constellations of time. In the course of history, we are stuck in repetitions and I have watched a sitcom today and it wasn't that bad. I cherish laughter, as I cherish companionship, but both come in minimal supply.

I realized, whilst I was being cut by the hairdresser, that I might be a reserved man. So it is, probably, with the church. The church is readily for people who like to collaborate: I never liked that. I like to go solo; you know, you could say I like to meet my God with my own work, not with that of others. But no man can be entirely alone; no man is an island. Verily, a priest is a much more learned man than any random person, but of course there are the saints to aid us and they have written much. But as they say in that show: bugger the priests. Everything is just a model of something else. Why, I don't have a reference frame for the liturgy, but the fact is that I do have Tumblr - so maybe, through exploring Tumblr, verily, you might get an inkling of what your religion looks like. Or your culture.

#original post

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We are villains

Oh, the thing is insane about the ordinary things. I have said it many times, but we do not achieve any serenity by these means: it is all insane, monotonous, indeliberate. Be that as it may, the points have been achieved, and we continue - infinitely - down the drain of superlativity. To lose ourselves. Boy, have I said the truth? No. This is all nonsense. But the truth remains a directive: a directive of ordinary predicaments. Look at these motherfuckers! It is all a continuously bad situation; it continues, all the way down the drain. And no one can achieve a pertinence that really matters in this untimely totality: in some ways, I have lost my sheer redundancy, but the feckle essence continues all the time and we do not see the irateness of the double men who make the truth matter in some oblique sense that WE do not know. It is all madness. Madness and stupidity, but the hallowed men of the pure logic may be able to save us from villainy, because there is yet a way out of the terror. And yet, I do not see the measures for opportune half-assed solutions in this mad whole that has no security; frankly, I make sense of the ordinality of time.

#we do what we do #madness #stupidity

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Spotify as a kind of musical selection

I just got kind of motivated to listen to music of a certain kind, punk et cetera, and I stumbled unto this playlist of "noisy" music. It reminded me a lot of the "jazz for autumn" playlist in that it was all these different musicians that somehow all sounded very similar, they all seemed to operate within the same idea. Then I started thinking: you can hire Jazz combos and such for your wedding party, and I think there are like agencies that dispatch such groups and I am sure they have like homepages where you can see what they are like and so on and so forth. So I figured this "noisy" playlist is also kind of like a showcase of the "generic" bands they have on offer - indeed someone spoke about the "playlistification" of music; so we see, that Spotify doesn't really give us access to "more" music, but just to "different" music. You can scour Spotify and look for your favorite band, or you can just pick one from the "noisy" playlist and listen to their "This is" playlist - then if you think it is good you can listen to the albums. In this wise, music becomes more about moods than about class: more about different styles than about individual artists. Of course, it has always been that way, but we basically just want to belong to a certain crowd and in this way, we approach music in a way that is very much pre-occupied with what we might call a war, a significance: but everything is verily just volitility, absurdity, so basically we can approach everything in this professional, detached way: and so I do approve of a style of listening that is more or less oriented at "just listening" rather than "finding the best music" or "venerating idols". Indeed, we might see Spotify as a solution for the old style of music that was really about idols (or we might say, heroes) and the beginning of a world of music that is more about professionalism - you know, in a sense we are both upgraded and down-graded, just like past musicians used to be employed by kings and barons, verily, they just played the style dominant in the day, there were no genres: in fact, we may find that the genre we listen to, and the artist we choose, tells us nothing about who we are, but will provide us with some diversion, maybe - but there's no point to all this, it is just silliness. The idols will not go, mercifully I would say, but our pallette has extended to allow us to choose musicians not only for their class, but also for their mood, their act.

#john cage #purposeless play #spotify

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Life and common sense

I don't believe in living entirely to the letter. I don't believe in the land of steel. However, there is a great deal of things that have to do with ordinary things; we make sense of them and it is constantly in motion. So, in fact, we move virulently to the soliloquies of science and religion and these are the foundations of the ridiculous tendencies in malevolent life, but we can conduct ourselves in a variety of ways and in this wise become stronger.

I have often found myself losing momentum. Obviously, this is not a learned, dignified standard. Or maybe it is, but the thing is it doesn't fit in with the land of steel: a land supported by both acts of great violence as well as ruminations of great compassion, but the virulence of common sense is totally strange to this. In fact, you are hiding against the commandments of simple religion, which is just another form of simple action, but we should not trust solely in this kind of stringent existence, that has nothing to do with the diplomatic, gentlemanly behavior of the complete sage - but he is not a sage, in any case, no: he is just a vicar, or steward.

What is really the reason for the cultural life, as opposed to religious-scholastic life? Look at Goethe, or something: he spend his days writing books I suppose. Now, it seems a man can do what he wants, but there's a lot of madness in the world and sometimes we have to say nothing, yet at the same time distinction exist that give us a trajectory towards senescent virulence, for it really seems only a sparing amount of people really care deeply for the world, in a way that they would take care of it.

I am bound to say there's really no work for us in any okay sense. We gotta dance for the devil in many a sad case. Nevertheless, there's an escape from all the drudgery. We can do whatever we want and there's much to be thankful for. The good things come in ample supply and there's a lot to be gained in the entirety of the world, because there's magnificently the purpose of being wise in the variety of cases that we ascribe to senescent sages that build the whole world out of mud and clay - yet we may do something insane in the vastness of the world and so make amends for all the silly weaknesses that we presuppose in the mad hubbub in which there is only noise and dementia.

#another day #testimony #let's play #britishness #tea #august company

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The circle of life

Some of us will say that life is a curse: that time is an illusion, that we must free ourselves from, and that we must move casuistically into the netherworld of being and nothingness, to see the true essence of the Here and Now, or the emptiness of existence (a kind of reciprocity). But this is - verily - the purest sound of being automatic and senseless.

The hoary old sages of the eternal time are venerable entities of systematic thought, that fool around in the majestic nature of exalted, edified nutrition and togetherness, that has no bearing on the cantankerous vicinity of ferocious cunning that provides only temporal releases from the buildings of architectural simplicity that goes nowhere; so, in fact, the building-blocks of artificial synonymity are drawn back to the furrows of therapeutic attenuation that sees no brilliance in the kept majorities of democratic synonymity, which is now the hope of the governmental statesmanships that point indiscriminately towards the variety of deconstructive analyses that make the man who builds his house on the rock in fact realize his manifold attenuations to the happy virility of dependant captainships in the structure of play and verisimilitude. Wisely, then, our initial thought of "love" then is reduced through a magical act to the chemistry of solidary acquirements in the purpose of magisterial seigneuriality against the hopefulness of detrimental causes and virile acquirements against the visibility of visual examinations that corrupt the status quo. In this totality, buildings of rarified enunciation are opportuned to the viscerality of tentamount normalcy that gives us a brink of seriousness in the bellicose nonsense of synonymic arrests that we have found in the brilliance of correct usage of terms in the examinatoric revelations that send us, impossibly, to the borderline of acquaintance and research.

Kierkegaard described Hegel as having built a vast mansion of thought, but occupying just a tiny kitchenette in the back himself. Arguably, then, the filial piety of these vehement Buddhists that have conveyed a post-colonial revolution to the builders of the new world will certainly not encounter structural tendencies in the brilliance of visual tendentiality in the wilderness of kinetic feeling and amorous divisions in the grave tendrils of the cosmic unity. Therefore, I will say that the family is certainly a complete home in the constructive sense, but only a factory or workshop in the operative sense. So normal accounts of the future are in fact symbolic; and the geography of terrorism is frankly countered in the schizo-religious amateurism of the present moment, which is just a military, Anglo-Saxon Protestant work ethique, that forever sends us spiraling towards criticism, practicals and contrasts. In summary, life is a fight, but gentility is possible, and moreover, a pastime.

#deconstruction #confucius #yi jing #filial piety #kierkegaard #hegel #buddhism #postcolonialism #homi bhabha #wasp #derrida #deleuze

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Call me autistic, I found a kind of liberation in exploring the "quotidiality" of my life, which expressed itself in me finding a spectacular road to writing my master's thesis, going to the library every day, enjoying life. But after that was done, it was a recipe for disaster.

I realized that I have a kind of common sense, but I cannot use it to do anything; I mean, I could write a blog post et cetera, but to achieve something truly great, that's the real trick. So I basically found that I have to retry my original set-up of achieving some kind of routine - I mean, my life was harder, but clearer when I made that system; now I need a new system.

You need your own kind of job. This is truly the legacy of Britishness: the fact that you can conduct yourself in a way that is logical, yet not retarded, or perhaps I should say, egg-headed. I believe in chess, for instance, but frankly I also realized it was nothing for me - but in that moment of uncertainty, I decided on embracing it in a kind of logical, English kind of sense; just like I have long-ago embraced drinking tea, but only now am I upgrading to an essential part of my reality, in a sense; and in this wise, we are becoming verily wiser men. You see, I was delivering mail and suddenly I realized I could drink coffee, or tea. But yeah: it's like, when you drink coffee the day is simply another day, but when you drink tea you are diving headlong into life. Oh, yeah, maybe life is simpler when you have a clear job that gets you out of bed every day, but maybe life is way harder that way, because you are just stuck in a crazy loop and you are not free. This is why I would like to be a columnist; and this is why I am reforming my life. I am going to learn, I am going to get moving.

#lord byron #newspapers #churchhill

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Area Studies

I was lying in my bed and I suddenly realized the true point of my intellectualism. You see, in this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns, and those who dig. But obviously those with loaded guns don't know how to shoot half the time; and those who dig are digging their own graves. So that's why there are columnists. A columnist survives - as The Fantastic Mr. Fox says.

I was thinking how horrible the world is, as I lost another game of chess at the chess club. You see, priests and physicists determine most of the world, and for them, the world is a really simple place. Priests and physicists reason from simple axioms, and prove the entirety of existence from that. They believe everything is serious, or at the very least important. Everything has weight for these men. They have cold, collected minds that set everything in motion. Ah yes, I used to be quite curious about the morals of priests; and now I realize, they are terrifying, just like the physicists; you see, so many people are set upon dividing the world into several camps, and they really don't do anything useful: oh, physics is a horrifying enterprise. And religion is a ruthless endeavor.

In some sense, it is all connected to a very peculiar dichotomy that exists in the world, that between history and philosophy. History is the mother of the sciences, that gives us all those lovely secrets that we are all so proud of, that lull us into a false sense of knoweability. But philosophy is that invisible force that makes our lives worthwhile: philosophy is the free art, that allows us to have a nice day and be content. So basically, when you are a historian you are always in the winning camp. The historian is a desperate figure, but his work is always the best of the best, it truly proves a point; and it is directed at all the good things in the world. Everybody needs these terrific things; everybody wants to understand it. It is truly sophisticated. But the philosopher puts an end to this. Why work endlessly at learning from the past, when thoughts start over all the time and there is, verily, an escape from the world through invention and theorization? This is the promise of philosophy. What we see, then, is that people do what they can to be eloquent, but are in reality tied down to the reality of Area Studies, that grey area in-between history and philosophy, where people discover not so much the meaning of life, but the infinity of culture, family and identity. We want to know who we are, but we also want to contribute organically to the meaning of life, to the celebration of life. Which is why smart people do what they can to make the world a better place. We don't simply continue with the good work, we survive. And that is wisely the true reward of being a humanities man.

#humanities #arts degree #suppositions

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War and manner

It seems there are dozens of ways to betray one's opinions to the other: or, to just converse. To talk. To say something. Aye, at some point, all struggle is a form of cultural struggle. We can't just behave according to limitless reason at all times. We all have irrational desires.

I will say there is such a thing as "Britishness" and it is opposed to such other things as hitlerism and communism. At the same time, it does not mean anything. Good manners and having powerfully large amounts of money point into some direction; then there is the general tradition of sociopathy and nerdiness; recently The Guardian referred to Britain as a nation of thinkers. It seems I am not alone in focussing dramatically on the British character, for the country is leaving the church in flocks, looking also hopefully towards America for inspiration, although they are chauvenistic too, although I don't immediately see where they are finding this kind of work. I suppose I am just put off by the hooliganism of some Brits; then there is the Brexit of course, although I surmise Britain has never had a very good relationship to the mainland. It seems non-violence has created problems for the British, but maybe it has also connected them to the vital element in world history: aye, verily, Britain seems to be a dying breed in a lot of ways. The gentlemanly connection has truly been made in some ways, but it has a simple humanity that feels no remorse, but is automatically exalted by the ruminations of the infinite army, which only ever amounts to a resistance against valid appurtenance. Maybe the wise musical Englishman will emit a signal of technocratic mysticism in some direction, but he can yet analyse and so, is send dangerously close to the vampiric coasts of France or Spain. But there is a supernatural, impossibleness to Britishness as well.

So far my deconstruction. It's all about being yourself somehow. Thinking you got it. The things that happen are automatic; something may happen in the last analysis, but it is all the same. When consequential things happen, we see what really happen, and we do what we can do, but the essence of brevity is obscured - and so, automatic things just go on and we do not see the meaning of ordinary things. In fact, I can realize pretty clever situations through normal bricolage, but the facility with meanwhile things are ostentatious, and horrifying; so we are stuck in being ourselves, and we do what we do to obfuscate the necessity of being normal; and in this wise, the essence is suddenly a factor, that changes lands and gives us an opportunity to build castles in the air and realize the fantastical majorities of arcane heroes that do nothing sincerely but always build the callous boudoirs out of silly extravagances that hold no connection to the main storyline, and this is a constant endeavor; the truth, however, remains a constant memorandum of the normal enterprise that we wish was here or there. And that is a real accomplishment for God's sake.

#bullshit #story #deconstruction

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Getting through the day

At times I encounter truly ponderable things. Today it was a YouTube video of a lecture given by something called the Humanities Center or something like that, in which they compared Ludwig Wittgenstein's Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus with James George Frazer's The Golden Bough. It truly struck me as a profound investigation, and it pointed me at the theological notion of facticity. Verily, we see that in the world of religion, facticity is the only thing that explains why religion is still in the world, for if philosophy was just a job like doctor or lawyer we wouldn't have religion. The job of priest exists, and it is a business, although not as reliable as business as doctor or lawyer - in these dark times!

So basically I stumbled upon a whole new kind of day: the vacation day. So I am a historian, but I do have a day job. I work as a mailman. It's very nice, but I have seen that my ample free time is easily consumed by silly dalliances. So today I wasn't doing history, I wasn't trying to think straight, I wasn't wasting time either: I just watched YouTube videos, and commented on a couple of videos. So what I found at the end of the day was that I wanted to do something else than watch television, which is the kind of thing I do in the evenings when I have done much during the day. So then I figured I could do history. Verily, it is a most confounding life.

So basically I found that stoicism is a very enriching thing in a fantastical sense. I found that stoicism truly points us in the direction of a rich and layered life; a life that says what is there and what is not there, in the most unique kind of shapes and sizes: in this wise, it commands us to take something with us from the elaborate guise of nestorialism. Why, this is the continued sense of justice in mankind. We can think, even in an in-between moment, and it doesn't have to be straight, and it can be stoical. Truly, we have time; there's much to do in time, but we have to be aware of our energy reserves: the point of living is to understand and to move about the firmament of the heavens, in some unmistakeable way. Truly, we have to be aware of our motivations, for in religion, the facticity determines our virtue, our valour (in a religious sense, as sacred soldiers). Truly, I enjoy spending time in a unrestricted, unstructured way, but there's unfortunately much to do, for there's not too much of knowledge in the world, and we much take care of the little bits of wisdom there's still left. In fact, this is another layer of facticity. People don't see past the blackness of the ink, the shape of reason. For truly, it seems there's not so much a call for reason as an imaginary order of things, that points immediately to the meaning of life. But I do not know these things, since I do not engage directly with the world very often, and I am too busy enjoying the simple pleasures of life. Still, I have already spoken. It is just a statement of facts. I have more to say. The thing we see is that there is much to uncover. The facts swirl around and become what they are. The verity of the strange newness of ordinary affairs flies around, becoming automatic in the vastness of recreative endeavors, and this is wisely the opportunity for new, crazy whirlwinds of madness. I know, that sound becomes a newer kind of thing in the creativity of splendour, which is just an effect of the order of nature, which we build out of mud and clay: the facts flow and wisdom is gained, and so simple things become greater in the consistency of sheer randomness in which we are caught. However, something may be done, in the randomness, that helps us become better, more able people; so the sounds of the old world are slowly fading, and the imaginatory sounds of newness become universal: I have truly seen this. But in this wisdom of creativity, the facticity of the theology of Daoistic intent is suddenly reclaimed, because a wise man may build a system of thought out of simple moments, which are all together set in stone, and thusly reclaimed by simple men. The entire truth of this, which is not at all the same thing as writing, is thereby recovered somehow, and someone may encounter these things with vehement knowledge, and yet build nothing out of clay, or out of mud, but out of brain-waves, which are solidified in the vastness of time. The Earth, which houses the brain-waves, is the truth about simple effectuation, and the madness continues in every aspect of society, which purports us to understand the layers of time. So what I am saying is, for now, this: the candour of the layers of space and time continue, but someone may see with his mind's eye the contours of the universe. Then he will awaken.

#thinking #wittgenstein #priesthood

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There's much to do in time

Oh, I do struggle. There's much to be realized in the depths of time. In fact, everything is a consortium. And people are fools. I wish to achieve something in the continuity of crazy stuff, but someone may not realize something in the end and so, lose himself. But something may be done ultimately, that confronts us with some excess to the notability of nonsensicality that we cannot disprove, because it is just a silly commandment and everyone posits the same drive in the callous nonsense of being nobody. However, someone may do something to change the course of things.

#knowledge #sound #ambience

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Movement

The world of things is idiotic and strange, but something may happen in the last analysis. I have spoken. The things are universal and move, but in the last analysis we don't encounter anything of particular value in the entirety of the universe. I rummage through the infinite trajectory of knowledges; and in this wise I am consumed by the ignorant autonomy of being yourself; but as I traverse the vast unknown something happens to my knowledge, and I am thrust back upon the knowledge of my original self, and my highness is restored.

You may see the contours of a new order arising. Moving through days of nocturnal mists, something is gleaned from the variety of humane knowledge, and a man picks up his truth through academic scientificity. Oh, I am aware. I am conscious of the vast ocean of being yourself, and yet I have read too much: in fact, I am a fool.

The thing is universal, but something may be done. In the endless parade of sheer nonsense, the time we have left is remaining, but we do not see the things happening in the constancy of reality - in fact, we are just losing sleep over the ordinary trajectory of being normal, and someone may encounter a facade of normal happiness in the antinomy of normal actuality that gives us a semblance of endless possibility, but then we do not ever know what is commanding and what is serene: the confines of startledness remain in the quietude of abrasive erudition that helps us get ahead of the startling knowledge of opportune risks and valueless automatons, that have no free will. But a wise man may pick up the stragglers of the eternal, perennial woodedness of the ordinary order that is so full of happy men, who build the thing we need and continue - in fact - down the road of susceptibility until they are almost dead, but something will remain in the last analysis to give us peace of mind, and we wiser, more astute commander may rule over us and give us a piece of his mind. And so we move forward, until we are dweebs.

#poetry #noise #ecstacy

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It's good to think

Schopenhauer said that he chose to spend his life thinking about life. Of course, we realize that many of us will ultimately decide to read a lot - something Schopenhauer was against. Personally, I get a lot of relief out of thinking, but I do think it changed my metabolism somewhat: I mean, just like doing mathematics is really nerdy, so reading the newspaper can be nerdy. When my father did it was pretty cool, but the way I do it, is nerdy, is uncool. Still, I tolerate this nerdiness, but otherwise I would be miserable. But today, I rediscovered the computer. Now using the computer is no way to get through the day, although of course the computer can supply music and movies which do help getting through the day, but there is such a thing as "computering", which is perhaps not even really nerdy, and it costs energy, but it is still highly variable: we don't have to spend all night watching television, we can use the computer or write, these are all real things. Of course, we realize this is all ways to not read. In fact, the lazy life is spend reading, but reading can create an environment for thought - computering can't do this. I daresay, there are two roads to science: one is through the eyes, the other is through the computer.

#blog #free association #stream-of-consciousness

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The world of things

It seems during a day one can do many things. But just now I had a thought, that made me reflect on the fact that I can make choices, and that I can focus, or undertake a systematic effort. And I concluded that it is perhaps not such a great thing to do computer science. Nay, it is only a kind of impulse that we follow, for everyone must understand everything there is to know - and maybe people will one day acquire a basic understanding of machines the way they also know how to read and write, or do mathematics. It's insane to do a variety of things, since everything that happens is connected to the urgency of being quite abnormal, and consistently reapplying the varieties of ordinary action, the essence of the world is recovered, and something is gained. I do what I can to reassess the consistency of the normal world; and whatever we do is undertaken in normal essences, that do what they can to support the ordinary surroundings of ordinary activity, which nobody really sees; and yet, we do what we do.

#nonsense #essay #ideas

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I have nothing to say

I have had a psychotic era; I am autistic, but I don't believe these things define me: in fact, I don't think they say anything about me. There really isn't that much to do. We live in a world where all the power is in the hands of oligarchs, but the heroes of the past, I don't know who they are, have secured some basic freedom for us, and professionals, maybe politicians, maybe intellectuals, conduct themselves in such a way to make sure everything keeps going right. But there really isn't anything gained. We were better off when the world just consisted of a couple of splendid cities in which the slaves worked for the small aristocracy. For some sick reason, we live in a world where everyone is equal. Where everyone has to work. And yet, even St. Paul wrote: "He who does not work, neither shall he eat." Why wouldn't I be content being a part of a beautiful world in which my master could compose the most splendid poetry as made sure he was free from cares? I would probably have plenty of time off. We see, we live in a world built on the shoulders of the African-American slave. That is a foul situation, not something to be proud of. The Trans-Atlantic slave trade was the first step of the industrial revolution, of the foobar-world order we live in today, in which everyone is supported to continue his sinful lifestyle.

However, there is nothing I cherish more than my freedom. All wars were fought over freedom, my freedom. If I lose my freedom, everyone loses. As Hegel said: everything is the history of freedom. And yet we see that there is a meanness in this world, and freedom plays a trick on itself. People can be hypnotized by the lure of adventure. People think if they don't behave like monsters, there will be nothing to do anymore. Violence is the only industry that needs every man. But a man of God can work out. I have seen this today. This is my new meditation, and tomorrow I will have another one. Doing one of those nice Biblestudy courses on-line is the first step to a better world. If everybody did guided meditations, there would be hope.

I am not saying we should kill time by pondering existence. Thinking is not possible for everybody. Oh, I am surely demented. But neither I am saying that HAVE to do Biblestudy courses, or guided meditations. In fact, it won't change anything, except make us a bit stronger. I am reading Jack Kerouac and fairy tales. I enjoy the fairy tales a lot. I think the fairy tales will truly give me the chance to become a raconteur again. They say I was a raconteur when I was a kid; honestly, I find nothing more charming than a raconteur. I really liked the character of Sebastian J. Cricket in Guilliermo del Toro's Pinocchio. And he refers to himself as a raconteur. It is the kind of skill that you can use when you are not conscious of it, but when you try to control it, it is truly hard. You know, usefulness is truly overrated. The better thing is strength. As Bruce Springsteen says: only the strong survive. We must strive for strength with everything we got. It is a thing, to bring peace to your mind, but then it is equally prudent to take some time to rest: verily, it is smoother than you realize. In fact, my dad said this when I was in a bad way because of my psychosis, he said: you are processing, as I was lying incapacitated in the chair with a blanket over my face to stop the pain. As I say, it is smooth. We really don't have to do anything. We don't have to work out. But we can develop ourselves. It is my dream to become a priest, but I don't want to be dependant on a church: and all the courses at the university are of course either protestant or catholic. And I figured at a time: I am just going to do the catholic one, you know, be learned. Or: I'll do the Protestant one, you know, be stalwart. But now I guess I'll just read that Theology textbook I bought on the Kindle app, which is "theologically neutral". Learn it by myself.

Life is smiling at me. I see chances for my spiritual development as well as my professional one. But if war comes, I won't be ready. Of course, I play chess, but that is incomparable to the complexity of mounting a campaign. And yes, I try to read Marx at times, but I find it a rotten book, and I think communism exists more in our imagination than in reality. I guess I'll just try to really get into those Let's Plays I have been making, play some really good games. I have been doing a Let's Play of Expeditions: Conquistador and it is truly exhilarating. Fighting those rebels on Hispaniola really made me tense. In any event I have thought it was a lot like acting, you know, playing the game, but now I see it more accurately a work out: of course, there are elements of acting, such as the importance of understanding, but it's way more mechanical than acting on stage, you know, there is much more restraint; but it also differs markedly from chess, because most games call on many human qualities, whereas chess only calls on cold calculation (and psychological warfare). Oh, well, the contours of simple astutement are relative to the entire subtlety of sheer knowledge, that sends us with a wail into the realm of simple analysis, which forms us and rescinds us, to some extent, to become circular divisors of the eternal world that wants to combine us into a behemoth which is only a natural course of the renunciatory modality of vehement nature. The architecture of sheer multiplicity in ordinality is sheer, but the requirements of particularity are set in stone: therefore, the ordinary requittal of the main storyline of work is reproved. Something must be denied, or acquired, and we can build segments in the endless structure of meritorious descent and the main construction of simple automaticity. But something is done, to repair the remainder of the autochtonous whispering of the main structure of reality and we are lost in the contours of syntagmatic opportunity; and we do what we do, but there is a structure in the dark that moves aggressively against the repurposes of the eternal mania of ordinary existence that helps to reposition us in the vehemence of ordinary repercussions: and so something may happen that retraces our steps from the origin back to the limit: and this makes us hope again that something may happen in the vicinity of sheer work that helps us retain a semblance of the simple eternity of reality. And so it ever goes on, in silence, or in noise. But nobody really knows where it goes. The essences of weird creativity is nothing. I make sense of many ordinary things, but I scarcely know anything about the Roman Empire. Well, I know Marcus Aurelius was an emperor and a stoic philosopher, but really he said not so great a noble word, and he was not a very rigorous thinker. I don't know. It's nice to be normal, but someone may be abnormal and think he is; he does not know what is real and what is absurd, and so he is stuck in limbo. He does his best. Really, he does, but it is only heartbreak and precipitation. I am stuck in being myself and I really do what I really do. And yet, there is a colour of statement in the structure of ordinary reality that I set forth in genera and the constant song of something is let down by real things. This is what I really need, perhaps: a feeling of using ordinary noises, in the silence that makes something authoritarian, and this is the thing that we need, but there is a lot of sound, and nobody knows what this truly is, because we are stuck with it. I don't know. The silence of things obscures the essence of the higher reality that I have found and that I am making clear; the ordinality is made universal, however. So the noises continue in the alleyway, and we are stuck in reversal. The thing go yet on, so the thing we see can happen and may be real. I have yet to see the things that really happen, but I do what I can.

You know there is something good coming. We may insist upon the relativity of ordinary events, but something good is coming. Let us insist upon the repetitious segmentation of real things, the objectivity that is granted to us in silence. I will perhaps start writing history tomorrow.

#the modern world order #democracy #equality

[seasideretreat]

It's just another kind of silliness

I do what I do. The typicals of pure reality are insane, but someone may refer to the ordinary things with effervescent sound and continous architecture: oh, in fact the continuity of sheer reality is automatic, and someone may see the essences of things corresponding to the ordinary thing that we know and love because there is something arousing about this ordinary facade that is full of love and binary code that moves in sheer motions towards the silliness of sheer nonsense. I make sense of the ordinary things, because I want to make sense of the things that happen. Nevertheless, I am stuck in the craziness of being yourself and I don't make sense of anything because I am a fool. So basically I reform myself and I generate concepts in a continuous flow that is the same things as everything, because we do what we do and we like it that way. But maybe there is something silly going on in the end: who knows? I am just a silly fool who doesn't do anything right, but I do what I can and I am basically just reconsidered in the folly of being yourself and of being alive. So that's where it all comes together: silliness and war, marshal and trooper, peasant and knight. We see that it is all connected.

#area studies #derrida #religion

[seasideretreat]

I have nothing to say

It's always good to be what you are. In fact, the truth is universal, and we do what we can: everything is superb, when we go forth in simple stages and something can be uncovered. The point of life is, perhaps, to realize ordinary things. Frankly, we are situated in a curious situation.

Today, I am exhausted of energy. I composed. Frankly, I really enjoy to think; however, when you compose your whole being is aimed at that goal. There really isn't any possibility for escapades. So now I can just do anything, really. There is no fixed form to my day. Maybe I'll play a game - I had an enormous rush of nostalgia for video games this morning when somebody came by that told me they played video games on-line, and I figured I might play some Guild Wars 2 - or watch a movie; or maybe just some Big Bang Theory. Yet that takes energy as well. I was reading Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton: a prosaic book, but nice and vapid. I actually figured I don't have a strategy for reading such books and it may actually take a lot of energy.

I actually found a technique to get through stagnant moments. Television is the fate of most individuals who have become stranded in phlegmatic. But I have found that making a nihilistic podcast is almost as entertaining as watching television; of course, it yet is not totally workable. I don't like to just "send" all the time; I like to be mindful of my surroundings, to take in a situation. In fact, I think to have to "send" all the time is the most poignant form of despair. When you really see no reason to do nothing. It really is one of the great victories of a day when you have some time of recuperation, of resultation (bouncing back).

Anyway, my technique. I call it "planning". Freud spoke of it. He described how much thinking is akin to "a general moving small figures around on a map". So moreover I have found that a man engage in a species of cogitation in which one is merely focussing on saying one or two things, but having them at a ready, making up his mind in a sense, so that one may say much in a few words. I am not saying it is natural, I am merely saying that it is nice and apathetic, in the stoic sense. A man can spend hours in this state of planning, just moving his figures around the map, not thinking, just trying to get it into his head, those truths, those statements; so that one may be funnier, perhaps: more spontaneous. Certainly, that one can say it when someone asks: what's on your mind? For of course one may think something interesting, but one may also just think something easy.

#diary #sparta #television

[seasideretreat]

The world is a dangerous place

We have to take measures to be at peace, and to survive - but also to converse. The things we see in general are tremendous and insane, but we can make sense of it in the last analysis, because the confines of rigorous identity are correspondent to the original unity of various things, that we have gleaned from simple analysis and that happens all the time, because there is something fundamental about the structures of the ordinary world in which something is ascertained through the simple ways of the crazy work that we fabricated with the hard work of the crazy things that will forever happen in the trajectory of visible actuality in which crazy events continue to happen even though we are feeling something visible in the essence of philosophical attitudes towards normal things that we have never before seen, and we move crazily towards the ordinariness of insane trajectories in which happiness is caught and something may happen that hurls us, frantically, towards the normality of ordinal systems of thought in which the happy generation is always moving in columns towards the systems of the ordinary happiness in which something silly is caught and we are structuring our feeling in a generous motion of the hand through the essences of the world in which the silent generations captures some newer reverberation. I see that something may happen and we do what we can to stay forever in the same place, but we do what we can to structure the visions of the new world with arduous revelations that move sillily in the direction of eternal happiness, and we do what we can to sustain a movement of the crazy world in which we have no choice but to relent forever against the visibility of the universal arousal that structures our behavior, in fact; but something is still moving us in the direction of mad attitudes towards strangers and we are standing on the brink of a newer and wiser motion, that we sustain and that we hope for in the silence of ordinary things which we have forever returned with happy attacks to the structures of normal attitude: a control, of ordinary things that helps us create happenstance silences in the eternity of perennial wisdoms that are still constant in the final analysis.

In fact, someone called it finally and we are coming to that position where everything is called for and everything is necessary. We are going to launch an attack on the higher places in which we are hiding. We are forever hiding in the necessity of normal action and something may launch us with vehement violence into the things that send us - incongruously - into a limitation of the strange attitudes that have forever stuck with us because they are real and our hope is vested on it in fact because we are going solipsistically away from this aroused reverberation that stands gaping at the vestment of new revolutions that continue resolutely into the direction of mad restructuring of the new order in which foul dimensions are restructured in a silly and revolutionary dimension that we all need and that seriously corresponds to vehement reactions that finishes the combinations of the better kind that we all need because there is a reaction happening in the violence of the new order that somehow returns us - foolishly - to the constancy of the main attitude in which there is only idiocy. The returns of the true bank is silly and diminished but the reports of the renunciable directions of the main attitude kind of send us back to the endless country of the main restructurings of the main system in which the ordinary people are caught; and I truly send them all back to the callous refractions of the simple reaction of the happy people that are forever teleporting with vehement violence into the direction of ordinary revolutions that we really need because there is some essence in the simple action of simple reactivity, which is a kind of new order in which ordinary people reform their habits and truly act with simple violence against the attitude of the entire world and they build systems of simple action which are revolutionary, in some weird way because there is a lot happening but nothing can send us back to the eternity of the pastoral report that really happens somehow because there is something silly going on down in the reports of the eternal world, and we are stuck, attentively, in the structures of simple hope in which there is only reaction, and we the people move altruistically into motivation which is just a kind of silence that we always reconnect to the maverick development of the cheerful, hilarious attentivity that has kind of recounselled us to continue pristinely across the harrowing wastes of the ordinary people, and we continue attentively systematically to structure some kind of hope.

Some kind of happy accident will always contribute to the progress of civilization. I set whatever I want in motion, but there is a lot of things happening that has nothing to do with the contours of simplicity reactuated against the law of nature, and I am just a simple man who tries to do what he can to rediscover the opportunity to live systematically in the novel of the unique writer that nevertheless is just another prefect of the empire of harrowing sorrow that in some version of history returns the hero to the vicinity of build-up discourses in the entirety of the ordinary world which is just another nature of the third kind a nature that I have verily wished was mine for the taking but it is not. I do what I can to hope miraculously for typhoid fever but I should not put God to the test. And frankly I am terrified of disease, I only want to ascertain the morbid authority of the old masters that will - to this very day - reconvene, in silence, as the world slowly disintegrates into a fiery hotchpotch of insane authority in which the ordinary people can only swim and abrogate the law of the old prophet; and I sincerely wish for a higher calling that I have never before seen because I am just a lewd master that never wished for a release from the repositioning of the silly world and we do what we can to understand the mysterious soul of the people but the people don´t wish to live in a virulent state, they only wish to regurgitate and mitigate the sorrows of myriad actions that will never return to the hopefulness of the little children building sandcastles on the Beach of ordinary reproductions that go on and on and just situate themselves in the philosophy of commonplace things and we wish silently for the death of innocence which is just a newer kind of purpose calling for the investiture of the great kings into the might of robots and marshal who will to this day make sense of the chivalrous war on terror and the simplicity of simple people. And maybe there is a chance for creative enterprises to go forth and stand in the peacefulness of placid attentiveness which is just another shape or size of the grand opening of the chess match of the true players: the things go on, and we do what we can to situate our maverick tendencies into the hallmark of every true Scotsman who builds up the arcanity of the old university and everyone wishes things to take their normal course but it just doesn't make sense.

I bellow at the opportunity of the mad creators of the silly world that continue the war on terror, but I also restructure my offensive against the virulent dictators of the old style that we nevertheless assault whenever they wish to continue that virulent strike versus the happy reporters of the journal of war that we read and peruse at our leisure, because we are in fact hard men, we do not care for simple trifles, for simple delights: oh! The fact remains that structural revolutions of a higher kind will help us care for the ordinary people who do what they can to help us and I have truly seen that there is something simple about the attention for wandering minstrels that do nothing but report what they have heard and really wish to help people aid their friends in the Kampf against the silly reactions that will never help us recover from the Gebrauchten attitude of their commonsensical, non-handicapped friends that do what they can to stand up virtuously against the revolutions of simple action in which the nonsense of the world will find its final expression; oh, and we do repeat ourselves! I am not a man who can write deliciously, in fact, frankly I only write passionately, which is not the same: we are stuck in the repetitions of pure horror that somehow corresponds, sickly, to the continuation of mad revoluting against the simplicity of denotational necessity that tells us automatically what we really wished to do in our silence, taken up in the arcane incantation of the greater wholeness that will never return us spuriously to the refinement of our tastes, the glamour of our struggle - but there may be something going on that we can truly apprehend which is still continued in the viscerality of good action: the appropriation of the simple activity that somehow returned us with great violence to the present moment will always and in every possible situation tell us what we really wanted to know, frankly because there is a revolution going on down that tells us exactly what to think and what to savour; and something does happen, to run-of-the-mill deadbeats, that verily sends us in a mad ecstasis into the religion of God and the continuation of our laid-back mannerism, witticisms and silent prayers.

Something is coming on down the train of ramified sentencing that really helps us restore the unity of the world, the unity of nature in a silent prayer that sends some word, some act directly to the desirous arms of the old king, who will forever nourish the feeling and bravery of the happy men that build standpoints on the course of simple activity; and they will forever nourish the hope for something better, something universal that can, in some way, report the wishes of the old king in some silly reverence to the continuation of the old style of conversing, in which we truly set a course for the happiness of happiness, and we are truly set in stone like the Buddhas of the Far East that build necessities out of their own arm-sockets and send a trajectory against the villainy of the sober action-heroes that really want to contribute, solipsistically, to the reporting of the better kind that can somehow aid us in the virulence of the old world, in which happy people are still caught, in fact they are forever caught in it and we cannot do anything to save them, in fact we have to save ourselves. When there is still silence in the air, when there is still happiness of spirit, we can build a restoration of the truth that will in the final analysis help us reposition ourselves in the style of the philosophers that really want to help us return with violence to the ordinariness of structural divisions that help us congregate in great numbers before the Lord of lords and the King of kings; but I have not renounced the play of words that somehow wishes a hope to emerge in hiding forms from the great area of world war one, that still burns in our memory like a silly revolution that we truly wish was here and there in the notions of happy war that we still contain in our ordinary structures that we build with ardour on the banks of the old nile; and I have truly built structures with my mind even though I am stuck in limbo, but there is something going on, something silent that we can really help to do. I wish there was something bigger happening in the vastness of human potential, but we truly can't reminisce in the quietude of ordinary action, because our life is waiting in the waving assault against our senses - and maybe, in quietude, my activism will bear fruit of some sort.

So I have said much. However, maybe I said almost nothing. What is the point of industry? (As opposed to meditation?) What is the point of saying as much as possible? - in a as short as possible amount of time? Well, we're supposed to kind of get in the zone, I think. I think this is why we listen to jazz. However, it is just something to do.

#kerouac #spontaneous prose #on the train