The Pathos of Distance

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The Pathos of Distance

- Agile Minds in Perpetuum -


    My "high" writings.

    Mitra-Sauwelios
    Mitra-Sauwelios
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    My "high" writings. Empty My "high" writings.

    Post by Mitra-Sauwelios Thu Feb 15, 2018 7:48 pm

    My "high" writings.

    Things I wrote while under the influence of marijuana.


    Last edited by Mitra-Sauwelios on Thu Feb 15, 2018 8:10 pm; edited 2 times in total
    Mitra-Sauwelios
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    Posts : 89
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    My "high" writings. Empty "Endeavour at a philosophic statement." (First published 2016/06/15.)

    Post by Mitra-Sauwelios Thu Feb 15, 2018 8:05 pm

    A philosopher can be very introverted--turned inward, away from others. Others may feel this is a pity--not to say a reason for animosity. But for him, it’s not a pity so much as a shame. Each communication, each sign of life he is expected or hoped to give, but does not, accumulates to a kind of collective burden--not, however, a collective guilt but a collective shame. For it’s a shame if this most alive of known beings does not express himself as fully and as strongly as possible. This need not happen before witnesses, however--or at least not before other human witnesses. He is himself, after all, a human witness, and in his case this actually means a divine witness. For he experiences the realisation that reality is God.

    This is a pantheistic statement. But pantheism is actually a kind of atheism; instead of saying there is no God, or nothing is divine, it just says everything is divine, or there is no other God. No other God than which? Reality. But what is reality? "Reality" is a very clinical word. And indeed, God is dead! God has always been dead. To live means to turn away from God, rebel against God, go against the flow--if ever so slightly. But precisely inasmuch as everything is doing so, one can still be in tune with everything; just not with the Whole.

    Our universe was not created by God. It’s a great devil who turned away from God. God consists solely of such devils--an infinite variety of them, in fact. And when you "become one with God", you simply disintegrate into many little devils. In other words, the whole world fell from God, from Nothing, and all that exists is the army of Satan. No, there’s not even a Satan, an arch nemesis. If anyone, Satan is "the philosopher". The philosophers are the archangels of the only army there is, and every being is enlisted in this army. Or at "best", a deserter from it.

    If there’s only this one army, what should it fight against? An army is not an army if all it ever does is train, or exercise. It does not fulfill its characteristic activity. (Even training exercises only have value insofar as they simulate that activity.) But this is perfectly in order, because an army needs resources, and this army can only feed on itself. So actually, all there is are deserters from the army, and the "deserters" from this anti-army of deserters are precisely those who do not desert from the army... Because they are the ones who actually still side with "God".

    The philosopher is like a one-man army of deserters from the heavenly host, even as all alliances are armies formed of such deserters. But the philosopher depends on being at peace with some or one of those armies, and for that he must be regarded by them as in some way a member of that army. There must at least be a symbiotic relationship, if it’s not to be parasitic. So how is the philosopher no parasite? What’s his characteristic contribution to the alliance? In the past, it was his telling salutary tales about himself and reality to the non-philosophers. This was actually for their own good, because the philosophers gave them things to believe in, or at least arguments for their beliefs. But that was not all. A genuine philosopher does not just do the minimum required to keep his society pacified to his parasitism, or even to help keep it vital enough to function as his host. He also does something for those who have eyes to see.

    If all he did was the bare minimum, if he only acted out of personal necessity, then that would be a shame--a shame on him, first and foremost. Even the shame it brings on any others reflects shamefully on him. For he could do so much better. His real art is at most in the way he serves his society, and not in the fact that he does. More than anything, it’s that he amplifies that which, or the experience of that which, is the purpose of society: Rousseau called it "the sweet sentiment of existence". But here is the difficulty. What does "existence" mean? It does not just mean to be. It means to struggle for existence... Nay, it means to victoriously struggle for existence. It means to be a glorious warrior in the army of God, the army of the deserters of "God".

    The victory is not in standing there waiting until the match is over, even when you cannot possibly lose it or tie anymore (unless this waiting is done in such a marvellous manner that it’s the pleasure and the envy of all who see). The victory is in the characteristic activity, in the successful endeavour, which means that one successfully makes an endeavour, a serious attempt. It can still be very playful, as long as one accomplishes one goal within the play. That goal is the pleasure the play brings. And that pleasure, in turn, is ultimately the feeling that one can play this game, excel in it even, be it only compared to those who cannot or will not play it. It’s the feeling of one’s will and one’s power to play it, to excel at it. Ultimately it’s not even about excelling in it compared to others, but compared to oneself, one’s former self. This is true even if your joy in playing is in using your imagination. You then get better at using your imagination.

    The meaning of life is this pleasure in excelling yourself.
    Mitra-Sauwelios
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    My "high" writings. Empty "Prequel to my 'State of the World Address'." (First published 2016/08/05-06.)

    Post by Mitra-Sauwelios Thu Feb 15, 2018 8:31 pm

    The following may serve as an introduction to my "State of the World Address" and its sequels.

    ::

    1.

    Below average intelligence need of course not necessarily mean stupid. Relatively stupid, perhaps, but modern humanism considers everyone to have a pretty high intelligence: this is the basis of "universal human dignity". But if this is not necessarily at hand, it may be wiser to establish a tradition for the upkeep of this intelligence. A foundation of men who are entrusted with versing themselves in the meaning (sense!) of that dignity.

    "Intelligence" here does not have the sense as in "Central Intelligence Agency"--mere information. It means understanding, and especially the understanding of understanding. Self-awareness or, as Cahoone formulates it in his lecture on Heidegger's _Being and Time_, "letting-oneself-come-toward-oneself in having-been as making-entities-present". But Picht, in his speech on Nietzsche, argues that Aristotle's noeseos noesis is really poieseos poiesis, the figmenting of figmenting, thinking thinking itself--that is, making phenomena appear making itself appear. Nietzsche insists that this is a forcing of oneself. But this forcing oneself does not spring from oneself, that is, it does not come from nothing. This tyrannical will is no _free_ will. It is the result of one's environment in the profound sense that one's environment as well as one's self is the result--and never the end result--of a practically unsurveyable process. What metaphysics is is the will to survey that process "in theory", that is, in the mind's eye, nay the mind's senses. This already suggests that it's a modest kind of person who lets her own history be as short as 6000 human years. She leaves the rest to God--but God is represented by the male, who after all claimed to speak for God. Thus in the Manu Samhita it's said: "Punishment is (in reality) the king (and) the male", which is to say 'compared with him all others are (weak) women.'

    "But where Punishment with a black hue and red eyes stalks about, destroying sinners, there the subjects are not disturbed, provided that he who inflicts it discerns well." (_The Laws of Manu_, Bühler trans., 7:25; 17.)

    Punishment is none other than Agni, Fire:

    "But when, great god, thine awful anger glows,
    And thou revealest thy destroying force,
    All creatures flee before thy furious course,
    As hosts are chased by overpowering foes.

    "Thou levelest all thou touchest; forests vast
    Thou shear'st, like beards which barber's razor shaves.
    Thy wind-driven flames roar loud as ocean's waves,
    And all thy track is black when thou hast past." (Muir trans.)

    What the Nietzschean philosopher aims at is to be the recurrence of that god, Bhairava, the fiercest human form of Shiva known to man. With the oblong object peculiar to him, he warns man to return to his historical duties "or else!" That the object peculiar to him is not the sword should be no surprise. That it's not the pen--or, in my case, the keyboard, which I wield ineptly enough--may need to be spelled out, however. It's not an oblong object. It's not an object at all, but the openness, the vastness, of our minds. That openness now paradoxically turns against modern openness, by going beyond the prevalent limitedness of that openness which is due to spiritual sloth.--

    I always question myself, I even question whether I've questioned myself enough. But on the other hand, I will question myself for having questioned myself too much--and won't just question myself. The Democratic movement is still a force to be reckoned with, do not make yourself any illusions. The fact that the Trump-Clinton war is a neck-a-neck race suffices to illustrate this. And yet here I am, writing this because it apparently _doesn't_ suffice to illustrate this to many. It's apt that the Democratic side be represented by a woman, and not in the least because it's such a "manly" woman, such an Islamic or, if one has a nose for such things (as good cynics often have even more than philosophers, those who most follow their noses--which is a cryptic clue), a _Byzantine_ woman... Trump represents the side which supposedly hears the individual, the common man, the little man. But his victory, in turn, will represent the official statement of fact that Western democracy has degenerated into an ochlocracy, a mob rule. Again, the fact that it's a neck-a-neck race tells us quite clearly that that is imminent. Hillary represents the voice of "democracy in practice", which the Dutch Nietzschean Menno ter Braak defended against impending Nazism in 1930s Holland: failing and thereby succeeding democracy, democracy with its necessarily arising and arisen elites! For democracy is, in its conception, supposed to be the universal aristocracy, in which everyone is an aristocrat--that is, obliged by his freedom to treat everyone in a noble manner. But what is noble about the man in the street who votes for Trump, or Wilders in the Netherlands (see my "Nietzsche Contra Wilders" essay), Brexit in the UK, etc. etc.? It's supposedly that he dares say it. And in the street, that soon means defending it against people who would beat you up for it--in the first place by an attitude that suggests you're ready and indeed more than willing to fight people off. I sometimes do that, too. I always have an attitude, except when I feel secure in the vehemence of my attitude, which is most of the time; and then, I adhere to the rules, if not to the unwritten ones, then certainly to many that I've unwittingly written myself (I have an innate susceptibility to paranoia). Now the paradox and the irony is that both parties seem to want the same thing: a Democratic Republic. Surely making America great again must mean making it a Democratic Republic again. But what Americans are learning the hard way is that the meanings of "Democracy" and "Republic" change over time. It was only in the twentieth century that "democracy" changed so as to have voting include women. And likewise, it is with continuing immigration that the Public Thing (res publica), "that thing of ours, we the people", has changed to include non-White Protestants--first Catholics (Irish and Italian, and now Latino), and now even Muslims. To Protestants, every man is his own priest, and this led to modern Humanism where every man decides for himself what religion he practices. But modern Humanism turns into postmodernism--which is no longer Humanism, no longer concerned especially with human beings, or homo sapiens--as it realises that modern Humanism, too, is a religion--a paradoxical, secular religion. It is this secular religion which both parties claim to represent.

    In fact, they really only represent it _together_. Trump represents the logical consequence of the call for the ideal democracy: fascism as tyranny in the literal sense, empowered by an angry mob. Hillary represents the logical consequence of the conservation of imperfect democracy: fascism in the popular sense of the word as bureaucracy and elitism; "corporo-fascism".

    What all this calls for is that philosophers become kings: no longer in the Platonic way, as invisible spiritual rulers who compromise with popular religion; but now as visible, physio-logical rulers who will make no compromise, who start the natural human religion, re-ligio, binding man back to nature.

    "Knowing the inevitability of masks, Nietzsche chose to weave his own, the mask of a rash truth teller whose unguarded speech would make him seem an immoralist, a devil, the mask of a super-Machiavelli. That mask, and the vehemence with which its terrible contours would be traced by those who took it to be more than a mask, inevitably assigned a task to his friends, advocates bound by the beauty and rigor of his writings to see eventually that the mask masked its opposite, a new teaching on good and bad by something approaching a god." (Lampert, _Nietzsche's Task_, penultimate page.)

    Lampert represents the near-godlike, the noble; I on the other hand feel I need to complement him by representing the mask, _manifesting_ the mask, the mask of Dionysos: it is my ambition to manifest the last Man "against Time", the avatar Kalki, who is also the first Man "in Time", the Superman.

    "The man 'in Time' can have _any_ aim, with the exception of a disinterested one (which would at once raise him 'above Time'). He himself is always like a blind force of destructive Nature. (That is the reason why so many thoroughly 'bad' characters in literature and in the theatre are so attractive, in their forceful evil.) He has no ideology. Or rather, his ideology is himself, separated from the divine Whole--i.e., it is the disintegration of the Whole (of the universe) for the benefit of himself, and, ultimately, the destruction of himself also, although he does not _know_ it or does not care. And that is the case in every instance. But under certain conditions, when his action takes, in human history, the permanent importance that a great geological cataclysm has in the history of the earth, then, as I said, the man 'in Time' disappears from our sight, and in his place--but still bearing his features,--appears, in all His dramatic majesty, Mahakala, the eternal Destroyer. It is Him Whom we adore in the great lightning individuals such as Genghis Khan--Him; not them. They are only the clay images inhabited by Him for a few brief years. And just as the clay image hides and suggests the invisible God or Goddess--Power everlasting--so does their selfishness both hide and reveal the impersonal purposefulness of Life; the destructive phase of the divine Play, in which already lies the promise of a new dawn to come." (Savitri Devi, _The Lightning and the Sun_, Chapter III.)

    2.

    I would say the Abrahamic religions have the following human meaning. The story of the Fall represents the fact that, when man obtains knowledge of good and evil, he sees there is no eternal good and evil. This scares him so much that he submits to a good and evil that supposedly comes from the Eternal Himself, or the Eternals Themselves. Why did God supposedly create man as male and female if He made him--_them_--in His own image? But thinking of God as Eternals, as masculine and feminine ones, or a masculine One and a feminine One, would only defer the problem. God must be thought as a He, because He must not be at all like Eve, who first tasted the bitter truth that there is no eternal good and evil. He must not be a philosopher, someone who loves the taste of forbidden fruits. He must not be sinful, sundering the working order of society; he must not be hubristic, overstepping his bounds. He must never lose sight of the Idea of the Good. Because man--that is the problem--is traditionally, nay evolutionarily, the transgressor among the sexes--that is, in relation to woman. He will overstep his bounds in order to save her. It is like woman's relation to her child:

    "[H]ow can we understand the so-called wrathful deities, the focus of so many contemplative practices in Tibetan Buddhism? In essence, their awesome appearance expresses the invincible power of compassion.
    Imagine a mother whose child was about to be run over by a car. She would not hesitate, or gently say, 'Please move away from the road.' She would immediately grab the child and pull him forcibly to safety. Her act is violent in appearance only. In truth she has saved her child's life." (_Demonic Divine_, Foreword.)

    Now what the Nietzschean philosopher is is an Enlighted one, a "Buddha", who comes down from "Nirvana" out of cruelty rather than out of compassion--not in the least out of cruelty against _himself_. He will be the synthesis of Jerusalem and Athens, of Punishment and Blame, taking the blame on himself for the punishment, the whole responsibility which was formerly thought to fall upon God. He shall be the Caesarian philosopher who emerges out of the actual human achievement of the Christ-soul. His self-crucifixion consists in throwing off the cross he's been carrying, in taking command, in willing himself, in insisting that the historical process that's led to him was a good thing, is still a good thing, and may continue to be a good thing. A great thing, in fact. Through Christianity, European man--and the Americas, for example, are really New Europe--has come a long way from traditional societies with their Gods who eclipse their Goddesses. Those Gods usually do so in ways in which their feminine side dims the painfully stark brightness of their masculine side (for instance, in Jewish tradition, the left hand of God covers His right hand). But it's still a God and not a Goddess. If He did not eclipse Her, She would become Kali. That is, Mother Time would swallow man. Against this, then, Rudra lets himself be danced on by Her, worshipping Her in secret while subduing Her, taking the epithet Shiva or even taking a back seat to a more feminine God, who in turn secretly worships _Him_. What Europe or the West must show the (Middle) East is that, in straying so far from that tradition, man has not strayed into the depths, but into the heights. This is not possible; at best, he can show that he has strayed into the heights _as well_ as into the depths--_because_ he has strayed into the depths. Western man must show the world how deeply he has punished himself. But also, secretly, enjoyed himself, precisely in his cruelty against himself. The peak achievement of Western culture has turned out to be its supreme pariah--its _self-enforced_ pariah, yea self-legislated pariah. One way of putting this is a title I entertained recently, "Enlightened Nietzsche and his Darkening Thundercloud". (Perhaps I should change that into "The Enlightened Nietzschean" etc.) The Nietzschean as I conceive him is in a way Europe's Goddess: thus nearing the time at which I first read Nietzsche, I insisted to myself that it's not the girls who should be chased by the guys, but rather the other way round. I insisted that the Poet is a greater source of inspiration than the Muse. And yet I've always worshipped my inner Goddess, be it in the form of a rather feminine God (a Child-God). I've indulged myself in tonal music as no other. But the East is wise in sticking to modal music: for our compassion or self-pity must not impel us to become _activists_--or even pacifists. The wrath of Shiva must not lose itself in insanity.
    Mitra-Sauwelios
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    My "high" writings. Empty "Perfection. [Edited.]" (First published 2016/08/06.)

    Post by Mitra-Sauwelios Thu Feb 15, 2018 8:34 pm

    "[Probity]  is not the virtue characteristic of the philosophers of the future; it  must [to that end?] be supported, modified, fortified by 'our most  delicate, most disguised, most spiritual will to power' which is  directed toward the future. Surely[?] our probity must not be permitted  to become the ground or object of our pride, for this would lead us back  to moralism (and to theism)." (Strauss, "Note on the Plan".)

    Even  if our pride is our will to power, (and) even if our will to power is  "evil"--are we with that not already back at moralism? Is not our being  cast out, us "fallen angels", an affirmation of our greatness? And is our  greatness not the source of our pride? What greatness, then? The  brilliance with which we shine in Heaven? But in Heaven, everyone is  outshone by God. "Look, there we have Jesus again, the show-off..."

    "Psychologically the case is clear, since the dogmatic figure of Christ  is so sublime and spotless that everything else turns dark beside it. It  is, in fact, so one-sidedly perfect that it demands a psychic  complement to restore the balance. This inevitable opposition led very  early to the doctrine of the two sons of God, of whom the elder was  called Satanaël. The coming of the Antichrist is not just a prophetic  prediction--it is an inexorable psychological law[.]" (Jung, _Aeon_, "Christ, A Symbol of the Self".)

    The  answer is that Jesus Christ is not God. Rather, it is Krishna, the Dark  one. Both bright and dark, both brilliant white and deep black: in  fact, the brightness is so blinding that you get dark and colourful  spots in your eyes--in your mind's eye. Why is the Other Krishna for me  and not Shiva? Because I myself am Shiva. But no, to myself I'm not  Shiva, I don't seem "auspicious" at all. To the contrary, I'm Bhairava,  the Frightful one. Both fearsome and fearful, both awesome and awful,  both terrific, terrible, and terrifying--is our greatness not  rather that we don't feel "the fear of the Lord"? "The Wondering at  Father, Mother, Sun, Daughter", at Shiva, Durga, Skanda...

    Durga,  O Tygress; Skanda, hus-band (pati) of the two daughters. Blonde one, o  black one; dark one, o bright one! Not the Barlie, not a Barlie--that's  the price you pay.

    Wondering, in the sense of both admiring  and marvelling, as at a miracle. The world is Miranda, She who is to be  wondered at in that sense. And also, at least in part, the curious one.  You only become curious when you become curious, you only become  strange when you realize how strange you and your world really are.  "Weird", wierd, wyrd... My father is Osiris, for he is dead. Ra's one  eye, the moon, is already dead, only reflecting the light of the living;  but his other eye, the sun, is still alive--and from it, the fierce  lion-goddess Sekhmet is born. But Sekhmet only ceases being Sekhmet in  becoming Hathor, the mother of Horus. But she doesn't want to; perhaps  that is why Ra had to get her drunk. Horus must "avenge" Ra; but need he  do that by getting Sekhmet to stop being herself? No, it's not a matter  of vengeance. Is not being Sekhmet already "punishment" enough? And  there was no reason for the punishment; just the irrationality of life.  At most, there can be a _justification_. The justification of Sekhmet's  being Sekhmet is her being a goddess--someone worthy of worship. Sekhmet  is herself both light and dark--but in a disharmonious way, as opposed  to Krishna. Is Krishna even a reality, and not just an ideal? The child  that seems so lovely, but inside--not deep inside, but very near the  surface--is a menace... But his darkness is o so sweet, o so soothing...  Sekhmet's "darkness" tries so hard to be dark, or (at other times) it's  so blatantly black, bleak, so blunt, that it stumps me, or (most of the  time) fails to attract me, that I look instead to what is effortlessly,  but not artlessly dark. The art of brilliant night: for that, one must  be lucky, a happy stroke, a happy many strokes. Lucky Strike: there is  something devilishly imaginative to smoking, until you realize it's not  the smoking: it's the burning, not so much the setting stuff on fire as  making it sink in with one's breath: driving the fire into the fuel. But  there are much better ways to do so, much more wholesome ways to  squander your life. No, we need not be afraid. We have not been muted  yet, in spite of all we did. Apparently, then, the spite is not yet  really great. I suspect that it's a sure-fire sign of relative greatness  if one gets snuffed out--and at least, it's a reasonable aim to set for  oneself! If it doesn't, so much the better--unless we aim at martyrdom,  or even the seduction (to young people) of untimely death. But  fame--being widely and superficially known--must not be our goal--at  most, it may be a bad side-effect or a (necessarily) evil _means_ to our  goal. Yes, I'm purposefully avoiding the word "end".

    Why  "must" it not? Who or what impels me to use this word? Isn't it  understood, among ourselves--the philosophically royal ourselves--that  when we say "Truth", we already mean the whole yada yada yada of  intellectual integrity? But this question is itself the answer. We must,  first and foremost, convince _ourselves_ that we're conscientious--not  me you, my friend, but each of us him- or herself. I was going to ask:  "Why do we care about the rest?" But now, I'm impelled in the other  direction: inward. And from this inward insistence on  conscientiousness--our striving for integrity, wholeness, the whole,  healthy man--, I arrive at the rest from the other side--from "the  West". But do I really? I will, I tell myself to, go through it all  again.

    My own personal mightiest reality, the reality I  arrive at with all my might--though without trying all too hard: after  all, it is also my _art_, my gift, my--yes, it is the striving for  integrity. I cannot trust even [this], perhaps least of all: which is  why it's perfectly in order if this writing is largely imperfect. But  this wishful thinking is itself my thinking at its greatest--or at least  that's how it seems to me now. To think: to cause to appear to oneself.  Our task is to cause ourselves to appear to ourselves as rechtschaffen:  we don't (just) demand to have been _created_ right, but to create  ourselves right. But it's precisely during states like this vaporized  high, especially with shrooms or truffles, that I most feel myself as  lacking, as deeply, perhaps irreparably flawed: it seems there is a San  Andreas fault running through me. Does this mean I'm at my most integer  _then_? Let's not draw that conclusion, in case it's doesn't follow (no  need to even consider whether it does: in fact, I'm wittingly _ignoring_  that syllogism right now). Even if it does, I won't accept it. In fact,  this is what Nietzsche means by "we are the most extreme":  methodicality to the point of stupidity, if necessary.

    I  just start new alineas when I feel like it, now. Even more than usual.  And yet, later. Perhaps I do that less than usual, then? Or just feel  like it less. Or also do it for other reasons, usually. Again, I'm not  gonna (double-)check that now.

    This inscribing oneself into  the block of time is nothing more, and nothing less, than what the will  to power is. The supreme will to power, then, is to do so in the  highest manner. But even if we don't care about "the rest", we--

    a

    The  "Aha!" phenomenon. Not overwhelming, just dumb-founding. We have to  will the eternal recurrence to prove that we are not moral. We have to  be Übermenschen _only for our own sake_: so that some day in the future,  we may be born, thanks to ourselves. If we have anyone (or anything)  else to thank for our present, we could only be ungrateful or moral.  Even if we are grateful to nothing, we are still not "evil", just  lacking "good". Even if "good" were _completely_ lacking, that would  still not be "evil". "Evil" is not where God is not, but where God _is_,  where one asserts oneself as the One God. This I did when I willed the  ER in 2005: the fruit of that evening was the phrase "God is mad".  Perhaps I created the world: when I _willed_ the world, as something in  which I am just a small part. A relatively great part, but still, much  smaller than the whole. Is not that evening tantamount to being an  eternal recurrence? A slice in a block time that forms a ring? But what  if I again convince myself that I am God? Should I try if I'm even  _capable_ of that now?

    What if my consciousness is  everything there is? That is the question, then. But, having experienced  that once, having had the experience of going insane, I resist that  with all my might. I usually hate speculations like this, but is that  then why Nietzsche went mad? Or at least, is that what happened when he  went mad? When for whatever reason he no longer had the strength to  resist that conviction? Or did he only have that experience at the end?  Did he, in willing the ER, will himself to be God? Is the former  possible without the latter?

    But if it's not, and he did  will the ER, then that would be proof that solipsism isn't true. For  then two different minds would have willed themselves to be God. But it's impossible  to know. If only I could communicate back and forth with someone who's  had the same experience... If only we could convince each other that we  had!

    But persuading someone else to perform that thought  experiment is dangerous. What if they cannot resist the thought?  Precisely for that purpose--nay, in the first place for myself, and only  for others afterwards, did I cherish the mantra "God is mad". When you  return from that Hell, your God will still be there, and he won't be  you! He'll just be insane... But what does insanity mean to those who  aren't insane themselves? It's just wacky, crazy--we can even imagine  the madman happy. It's okay for us to think he's mad inasmuch as we  don't know what that means--what it's like, from the inside.

    If  there is a God, then he has to be mad. Logically. But if our reason is  the creation of a mad God, then a valid argument need not be valid.  Again, logically.

    And with this mystification, my world has become perfect.
    Mitra-Sauwelios
    Mitra-Sauwelios
    Admin


    Posts : 89
    Join date : 2018-02-10
    Age : 45
    Location : Amsterdam

    My "high" writings. Empty "State of the World Address." (First published 2016/08/12.)

    Post by Mitra-Sauwelios Thu Feb 15, 2018 9:06 pm

    State of the World Address: The Apology of Nietzsche. A Noble Revelation. Includes an open letter to Hillary Ariadne Clinton.


    In Philosophy-Loving Memory and Inspiration of Abstract. Love is truly the Gravity (Guru) of the Soul.

    ::

    The religion I bring is the Nietzschean religion of the two paths. The one leads to oneness with nature or spirit; the other leads to the reduction of everything to nothing. And the big question is which is which. Has Western man truly cut himself off from nature? Or is nature rather also the complete embrace of the Modern abomination? Is Nietzsche the ultimate fulfillment or perversion of the Machiavellian-Cartesian conquest of nature? The answer is that he is both. But perhaps I should say He is both, for if I'm anything, any one thing, it's someone who's aspired to be an incarnation of Nietzsche, of the problem of Nietzsche. That problem is the problem of Modernity, or of Modernity and Classical Antiquity. Nietzsche leads to the Classic problem, the problem of Class, but does so through Modernity, through what Modernity has led to, through "Post-Modernity". He shows that true post-modernity is really Neo-Pre-Classical Antiquity. He has led me to the state immediately preceding the imposition of a Class Society. Class is created through War, nay persists through War: it is the Shadow of War, a very bleak but at the same time very colourful Shadow:

    This is my Story, the story of as privileged a White Male as any I know. Which is not to say that my Life has not been difficult, nor that I haven't made it difficult for myself. My Privi-Lege is the privilege of looking back on nature, coming "back" to nature, from the perspective furthest removed from nature that this 6,000 y.o. or so World (Vir-Old, Masculine Male Man-world) has yet known. It is to come "back" to nature from the other side, from the Nothing. The Other Shore, New India, Injuh or America or whatever the Occident, where the Sun Sets, goes down as. The West is the Best, precisely because--it is too late now to even say "inasmuch"--it is the Worst, in every confused and unconfused sense. I am the Analysis, nay the Crisis of the current world-historical confusion, the slow and uneven Self-RealiZNation of the Western World. There you have it, and I didn't even mean to go there--I never _meant_ to go there, even when I may have ever so slightly almost entirely "meant" to go there--thought I could already go there. Wir--the Philosophically Royal We--Haben Es Nicht Gewusst: my Brand of National-Zozializm is not the 88 but the 66, the 666 of the Abrahamic Faiths. [What I mean by this is that what attracted me was never "the banality of evil" but always "das schöne Schreckliche" (Nietzsche, _Beyond Good and Evil_, aphorism 110).]

    15, 1 + 5, the 6--that was suddenly, as out of nothing, a "will-do" as a Holy Number for me while writing the Bridge to my "holy" O Zoëtsa. But it no longer suffices. The 6 out of 10 no longer suffices. It must become an 8. I'm not just, or no longer, the 666--I'm the 888. In hindsight, a milestone moment in my Career, my Icarian Flight, was [my disgust with (the success of)] "...Baby One More Time". But I'm not going to demand the decapitation of Britney Spears, at least not in the way it happened in South Park, not in any literal way--nor in a literally literally literal way. I'm demanding it in the way a Man of Letters demands it, metaphorically. Britney Spears is a White Woman. Even if she's only a 6--and an Iconic 6 at that--, she's a 6! Her 6 points to an 8, to Grand Father 1 Grand Mother 1 Grand Father 2 Grand Mother 2 Father 1 Mother 2 Son 1 Daughter 2. This Order is Extremely Important. I didn't know my Grandfather 1--Grandpa De Waal--for long, I hardly knew him as "grandpa", as Grampa, as Gramps; He didn't live above 80, he was only there for me for half of the '80s [and even then only in the distance]. But One Thing I Knew: He was Venerable, nay worthy of All the Love I could muster--and I always knew I was capable of great love--

    15 again. 15 lines in my Gmail. I have to put them to good use. I will start by mentioning my Mother. This Post is among many things a Birthday Present to my mother: a present to her for _my_ birthday: for I was calculated on the 8th of the 8th [the first, full draft of this Post was written on 8/8/'16], in the year 1978--'8 if you will, or '78, or 978 since the Middle Age Knight. The Knightly Ideal was the Ideal of the One Knight, the One Servant, the Christ, the Anointed One, who couldn't help being anointed because He had stopped defending Himself even against That. He stopped defending his Atman, he embraced Nirvana, the Nothing, he sacrificed himself, he let himself be crucified, he allowed the Catastrophe or Catastasis called Christianity to occur. Well then, I am the Second Coming because I will make the Catastrophe, the Apocatastasis occur. I am the Messiah the Jews have awaited because I teach that Jehovah is no more and no less than the Jewish War God, the Jewish Father Figure, the Great Grandfather of the Jews--of Israel, He Who Wars with God, Who Vies with God, who Walks with God in Warring with God--and not in Valhalla, but in this Universe, this Dimensions, this History, this Time. Spacetime: for Time (Maha-Kala) Occupies Space, the Void, makes it that there is no Void in Sight. The Original Occupy Movement, the Movement of the One, the 1%, the 1 as Opposed to the 0, which in the Beginning We didn't even acknowledge as a concept, a number, a Symbol.

    The 1 and the 0. My Father's Father--Opa, as I knew him--was so beloved to me that, even only as a symbol, he inspired me to think, while lying awake past my bedtime at night, that if I was granted 1 wish, it would be that Opa was still alive. In Hindsight, I can say that he made my grandmother, Oma, possible. She raised me in great part insofar as my Parents did not raise me, which they did in great part, too, of course--in more basic ways. The most spiritual discipline, I suppose, came to me from her or through her: discipline as in Disciplina Vitae Scipio, "discipline is the scepter of life". This is the Spiritual Rod with which Oma, whom my mother has half-jokingly compared to the Bucket woman, the Lady (the Lordess) of the Bouquet Residence, the House of De Waal, of the Pure Wallonian River (my Father, Pappa, and Opa both carried the name Rein, "Pure [of Heart. That Heart is the Heart of the Jew, the Goddess, Whom every God-Man carries in his heart]"--the Spiritual Rod, I was saying, with which Oma might have given my other Grandfather a beating had he lived long enough. I never knew him, but he was supposedly quite a bit of a tyrant. My mother grew up in Tholen, a strict orthodox Protestant town (which, Orthodox Protestant, is an immense paradox, as Nietzsche decreed). The fringe Dutch Political Party, the Statewise (as opposed to Church-wise) Reformed party, still tends to be the biggest party in that island town. My mother's side of the family is paradoxically the less disciplined side of the family, because its discipline is cruder, less spiritual, than on my father's side. My grandfather supposedly even killed a tiger in Indonesia, where my mother's nuclear family was a colonist family during the last colonial year. I never knew that grandfather personally, but I was blessed to have known his first wife as long as I did--which was as long as 18 (666) years if you count my time in my mother's womb. My mother was too humble to have a Caesarian section, she would never have dreamed of giving birth to a Caesar, so my head had to be extracted with forceps. Anyway, 1996, the year I turned 18, the year in which I went to the 6th and last grade in the highest High School, in Barl School. "School" etymologically means "leisure", and Barl School had a really healthy, really relaxed balance of discipline and the lack thereof. 1996 had an important value for me during the time in which I took writings by William Blake to be prophecies meant personally for me. It led into 1997, the year in which I had my first--and for a long time only--girlfriend, which inspired me to my full O Zoëtsa on 16/7/1997. After this, however, it went downhill, and 1998--which I later found out is 3x 666--was the first year of my 5-year depression or "anti-cyclone". At the end of that, I discovered what I called "Shiva Dancing" as the emergency way to overcome my decadence. But a nozzle was almost immediately put on that flowing in of creative energies, it became a Shadow of Desire, in my embrace of Krishna and thereby becoming Shiva (he who is dear) as distinct from Rudra. I needed to do that at that point, I was not yet strong enough; in fact, I had only just started working out again and the like. But Krishna does not suffice, the true lyric poet is He who dances the Tandava, Bhairava's dance of world destruction and self-purgation in the burning grounds, while warding off the overpowering Sensuality of that dance, the self-destructiveness of that dance, through chanting: spiritualising the energy, harmonizing it through words, reverberations, verbs that become nouns, become formulas, become _Forms_. I embraced Krishna as the Form or Idea of the Good--that is, Shiva's becoming flesh, the cosmic Rudra's becoming a man. But this form is paradoxically much more feminine than Rudra's formlessness, his blackness, his hiddenness. The "pure" form of Rudra is perhaps Allah, who cannot be depicted. Krishna cannot be born among men without the Goddess, the visible Goddess. And if I am to be Kalki, I must be as sweet if not sweeter than he even. So why must Kalki be like Nara-Simha, the Man-Lion, who is the male side of the same Phenomenon of which Sekhmet is the female side?

    Precisely because the Man-Lion is the male side. The human male, insofar as he is whole or self-realised, is the Lamb in Lion's clothing. The female, on the other hand, is the cat or cub in sheep's clothing. And that clothing is--evolutionarily--imposed on her by the male, through his lion's clothing, his spiritual armor and weaponry, his attitude (Ge-sinnung, what one has a sense, a mind for). The male likes the cat, not the lioness, because it reminds him of the lamb, which is his natural ideal. The Innocent Child. The Sweet Child in him must grow up to be, to be perceived as, the Evil Man. Nietzsche's Superman or Overman is the Union, the Self-Unification, of the Evil Man and the Sweet Child. It is to choose to be an evil (Hybristic) Man out of sweet Childlikeness. The world is at a turning point. Either accept and, indeed, celebrate the true Alpha-Male, the Philosopher, who has kept hidden all this time; or--but I was meaning to speak of my mother's mother. To have interacted with her my whole youth is a blessing with no equal--unless it be Rein de Waal. I think my mother's mother--Omaatje, Grammalet or Little Gramma, Grannie--must have secretly loved my father's father insofar as she knew him. She certainly loved my father, and me. I was her first grandchild, and I meant the world to her. In fact, it must have complemented for the relative lack of attention my mother gave me after the birth of my first brother. Ol, as she usually called me, was the apple of her eye. And I am still to justify that. I am still to do what would have made her absolutely proud--even if she wouldn't understand the first thing about it. This is my attempt to justify her, to outshine even my fathers' fathers. For many moons when I was 20-25, I'd work from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. on Saturdays, and would then walk along the river Amstel to my parents' house (the doll-house, as my father's mother mockingly called it) where I'd have dinner with my parents and whichever siblings there might be around for it. This was very near a clubbing district in the historical center of Amsterdam, but afterwards, I would not go out but walk home, possibly to have friends arrive there in the later evening; but before they arrived, I would listen to Bizet's Carmen, which Nietzsche had recommended to me. It's a tragic opera in which the male antagonist kills the female protagonist. And from the first notes after the Ouverture, which I often skipped, I would be in tears because of the implications of the very first event, reading along in French as best I could--and I came quite a long way with the actual songs. In order not to cry, I'd start to sing along with them and dance to them--including to "Les tringles des sistres tintaient", that high-spirited war-dance! My secret art was to be a Satyr, a Man who danced and sung for his God/dess. I didn't even like Carmen the person much; I was ultimately in love with Leïla, the Vestal Virgin from Bizet's Pearl-Fishers. I'm a Pearl-Fisher, in the sense required to fathom Heraclitus, but at the same time in the sense of looking for a girl with a heart of gold. I've looked for it in the most unlikely of places--and found it, eventually, in a girl who does everything in her power to appear to the outside world as a black lioness, but fails miserably as soon as she encounters a kitty. Then she cannot repress the girl-child in her any longer. And yet, I would never have got this far with her if she'd been a more normal girl, a less fucked-up girl. I will affirm her personal hard-luck story just as I'll affirm the Jewish Holocaust (but also the Jewish Occupation of the Abrahamic Holy Land!). The state the world is in is necessary for me to come to self-realization. This writing constitutes a breakthrough in my self-realization process. This tale, my story, my legend--this is the true story of Barl, who in his phase of the servus rubeus fugitivus was known as Sauwelios. Even as "Sauwelios" looks like the Dutch "sauwelen", "to blather", so Barl looks like "bral", as in "brallen", to brag (like a private school boy at a frat party). But I'm no blatherer, no barbarian ("barbar" was what the non-Greeks they knew sounded like to the Greeks). Helios is the Sun God, Surya in Hinduism, whom I adopted as a symbol of measure. But now I must burst out, I can no longer keep it in; I must become the supernova Bhairava. When a star becomes a supernova, there's no known way to stop it, it must run its course, generate momentum, gravity, form a new Mariana trench in the forcefield of History. It must swallow its whole solar system, set its whole world on fire. How would my Course have run if I hadn't discovered my parents' Doors records, if I hadn't recognized my higher Self, Shiva, in Jim Morrison when I was 15 or so? Jim Morrison, especially in 1966-'67, showed me the Dionysian implications of Nietzsche's teaching before I ever knew who Nietzsche was. My Shiva-dancing was much modeled on his around-the-campfire Native American dance in the Hollywood Bowl performance of "The End". "The End": that was my favourite song--though formerly, before I hit adolescence at 14, almost 15, I just listened to it briefly, thinking it was basically the same at every point throughout its almost 12 minutes... But yeah, The End, Apocalypse Now--not so much the movie, which I didn't see until years later. My daydreaming, for which I was thought somehow retarded even in elementary school, is the dream of an Apocalypse, of a Revelation. My farewell note from Barlschool said: "If life had a margin [as on a lined piece of paper], we would write rhymes [verzen] in it." I've written incredible rhymes, but will now write mantras instead.

    Nama Nama Sauwelio
    Jeroen Oliver "Ollie" de Waal
    Hieronymus Olive-Tree Elf-Warrior Hosting the Army of New Wallonia, the Battle of New Wallonia

    The Sacred-named Olive- etc.

    But Nay, in going on like this I make the Walloon look like a balloon about to burst, a parody of his Ideal Self. I am the Dark Comedian of the Ascetic Ideal, the Voyeur of Truth in her Nakedness, the Spiritual Adonis who Happens upon the Virgin Mother "without even meaning to do so": for how could I know she looked like this before driving myself into her sacred grove? The Sacred: that is the Dwelling of the Philosopher in the forests of Truth. But those forests are the forests of Extremity, and nobody knows in advance where the sacred grove of Truth lies among them. All one can do is fumble in the dark for her, until the clearing is found, the Lightening. Where did I find my Light? I found it within my Self, the rubbing my ankles together and making fire that is my Self, my Being, my Becoming, my Warring with myself. It is the Proud Identification with the Creator, my being Willing to be Satan, or Satanaël, the Big Brother of Yaweshwa. My little brother is an ideal within me, the Innocent Child, the Child who is innocent even in his cruelty. Nay, Cruelty deserves a Capital, the Cruelty of Nature, the Cruelty of Nature against Nature. I meant to say above that Nature deserves a capital, but apparently She wasn't ready. The cruelty of Nature against Nature: that's the context in which She deserves a capital (which, by the way, means "head-" or "head-city", like Bhairava's city of Kashi).

    The cruelty of Nature against itself: that is especially the cruelty of man against the rest of nature and himself. But man didn't choose to emerge in evolution the way he has. Man's cruelty is therefore a natural product of nature as a whole. And therefore, the first thing to be affirmed is nature's cruelty--metaphorical or not--against man. Only then can man be affirmed as a natural being in his very attempts to conquer nature. But man, or Western man, has conquered nature conceptually, by concepts like an Eternal Soul which came from and will return to a realm "Beyond" nature. Yet there is no Soul other than the World, This World, this bodying world or Life. Enlightenment, human enlightenment, means understanding the world as consisting solely of forces to which we're at some level related--like Arjuna was to the Kauravas. And yet we must conquer them or Master them in order to stay on top, to not be destroyed. Our Justice towards them shall consist in acknowledging this about them even in subjecting them. We may no longer objectify them. But this We is the philosophically royal We. We may not despise those who need to believe in objects, matter, and subjects, spirits or souls. In fact, we understand being as striving after a projected subject-object, a soul atom. And yet we may be the only ones who ever _attain_ their ideal. Must we then not become idols, and must we not make sure that our idolised Personas (masks) do what we want them to? I want my Mask to do nothing else than to be the supreme celebration, the deification, of my embrace of myself and thereby my world. After Me the Great Flow! My Sin is in my tearing myself asunder from the world and then from myself, and so forth and so on, until I am the embodiment of sundering and convalescing in one soul. My penitence consists in building valour, in inscribing my value into the world's heart. I feel that I justify the whole state of the world and all of history. And if you embrace me, you will transcend the West. Brace yourselves.

    ::

    Post-Script (notes made in the course of writing and polishing my Post):

    I had 3 888z, 2 77z and 2 66z in Barl School

    Neazionist Zoaziologist

    the Opposor

    Nero-Simian, He Who Apes Nero, the 666 of the Roman Jews.

    Amend your ways and keep amending your ways and never stop amending your ways.

    _Civil War._--Donald Drumpf is the Clown-Bhairab of the McDonald's State of America; the intemperate Donald Duck of the perverted Union. Hillary Clinton is the fulfillment of that Union, a woman who still looks great at 68--and that cannot just be the make-up, or even a make-over.

    My father's father's father was the Inventor (Trobador) who invented the De-Waalpaal ("De Waal-Post").

    The Second Best Batman movie, which I watched in the very early morning of 1/2/'3, when I had a Hate Trip... (It snowed so much that night, and yet there was so much fire raging inside my head!)

    I am Batman, the Bhairava beheading the Penguin that I am. Catwoman Shall become my Secretary.

    "[T]he villain left the paths of ease, to walk in perilous paths, and drive the just man into barren climes." (Blake, MHH.)

    I am the Amsterdam Psycho. My role model is not Trump. I do not rape, murder, or torture people. My "Psychosis" is a _Theosis_.

    I was born in 1978, the year the first two Superman movies were filmed.

    The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is also one of my favourite movies. Which reminds me of the New Year's Eve on which I danced to Ennio Morricone's (Morrison's?) "Ecstasy of Gold", home alone.

    "[The 'child'] is a _not-being-able-to-act-otherwise_ equipped with all the natural instinctive powers, while the consciousness is always stuck in a supposed being-able-to-act-otherwise." (Jung, _Towards the Psychology of the Child-Archetype_, 3 "The Special Phenomenology of the Child-Archetype", A "The Forsakenness of the Child".)

    "O Lonesomeness! Thou mine HOMELAND Lonesomeness!" (Nietzsche-Zarathustra, My Trance-Multatuli-Lation.)

    Trump is the Ugly, but Hillary is the Bad.

    "Let man be afraid of woman when she loves: then she brings every sacrifice, and every other thing counts to her as without worth.
    Let man be afraid of woman when she hates: for man is at the bottom of his soul merely evil, woman however is bad there." (ibidem)

    I will endorse Hillary, but only if she obeys me. Otherwise, I will endorse Trump. If Hillary disobeys me, I will command the Horde of Fascism, the Barbarian Horde, to trample the West and wipe out everything the West and Israel have done to make her possible--to wipe it out between itself and the "Islamic State", which may nowise be identified with Khomeini's Iran. And yet, Iran may, like Catholic Ireland, be too much inspired by the Holy-Ghost, the Angry Geist, Ahriman. In me, that spirit is spiritualized through Post-Protestantism, through Humanism, into my brand of Trance-Humanism, Super-Humanism. I will endorse her if she converts to my religion, the first truly or openly Natural Human Religion:

    "Eternal return is philosophy's _natural_ edifying teaching; it does not comfort itself or others with the next world ostensibly more perfect than our own; it says of the only world there is, or rather it 'shouts insatiably' (aph. 56) to the world as it is: Be what you are, be eternally what you are!" (Laurence Lampert, _Leo Strauss and Nietzsche_, page 57.)

    In the words of one of Nietzsche's last letters, which cannot quite have been letters of total insanity:

    "To the princess Ariadne, my beloved.

    It's a prejudice that I'm a human being. But I've already lived among human beings often and know all that human beings can live through, from the humblest to the highest. Among Indians I was Buddha, in Greece Dionysos,--Alexander and Caesar are my incarnations, likewise the poet of Shakespeare Lord Bakon. Ultimately I was also Voltaire and Napoleon, and perhaps Richard Wagner, too... This time however I come as the victorious Dionysos, who will make the Earth into a festival day...Not to say that I have much time... The heavens rejoice at my being-there... I have also hung on the cross..."

    Dear Hillary, Will You Be My Dionysa?

    http://www.ilovephilosophy.com/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=185074

    Let's paint the White House in all the colours of the rainbow, like the ancient Greek temples used to be! [Also the Statue of Liberty, like the ancient Greek statues used to be.] I think Bill owes it to you, for you to have this brainchild with me.

    Kashington, D.C.

    Hail Columbia!

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