| My truth. One cannot change oneself through the re-evaluation and consequent re-classification of others.
Favourite vid: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Waw2d0pP9J8&featur...
Lions are badass. To be a lion - Ah!
Mein Gott! It's so fucking FUN to pretend one is conducting Beethoven in one's own bedroom! [Fifth symphony, third and fourth movements.] Quite exhausting though :D
After reading my profile, I realized how fucking erratic it is. That's because I update it quite a bit, and insert stuff where I think it appropriate. It's not because I can't write. This paragraph will probably be the only part of my profile which doesn't change. Ye have been warned.
- Long, coarse and primitive - I wish love, Lord, I wish love could live, forever -
There's a pretty clear divide, though. The top half is the normal person in me. The bottom half is my intense, intellectual, firebrand self. Which prompts the question: Is there a real me? Both seem very real. How do they fit together to form this coherent whole? Or perhaps I have gone too far!
I am constructing the biggest profile known to man. I have also commenced *the* book, which I will then post in a series of weblogs. Hurling thunderbolts from the abyss, 'pon my word.
I am a submissive, masochistic, handsome young gentleman of a very lively temperament. I'm also either a bastard trying to convince myself that I'm a nice guy or a nice guy trying to convince myself that I'm a bastard. Or both? Both is good.
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http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=n_wlAcaZdrs
...And respect isn't the same thing as honour?
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Oh, my friends! - That I straddle dark clouds and spur them onward - 'On, on! To battle!'
That I emerge as monster, spawn of the abyss - And truly! This wisdom did I learn there: That the abyss is not to be feared. For how could one - Fear freedom!
Oh, my enemies! - That you must suffer the spite and anger of my past! But my attack is a salute: You are a worthy foe because I struggle and subdue demons such that we may fight side by side! Because I turn my past to serve your destruction!
That you see me, descending upon storm-winds from hill-sides afar! Like a troop of cavalry, white-hot spear-points - Spear-points poised to strike, burning as the blessed sun. Thus shall I bring life to all shriveled carcasses. And truly! Both the sun and rain slay dead men and matter through life; the life-gift. Thus shall I slay you, my enemies! And only when you are dead shall you bless me for it. Read this riddle, my enemies!
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Do not contact me if you're going to be a cunt. Some dommes seem to think that by virtue of the simple fact that they are dommes, they are necessarily worthy of respect. Well, I don't buy it.
Life atm is a bit bizarre.
''Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind blows!'--Preach thus, my
brethren, through every street!'
I'm finally going to take up some martial arts - Looking into capoeira and tai chi atm.
Blog: http://theabyssalleap.blogspot.com/
Favourite things: the Squeaky Door and the Cutlery Man. The Squeaky Door is infact my friend's bedroom door; and the enemy of all late-night jamming. Having conquered the wind-chime, the rowdy dog and the stairs of doom [impossible to overcome when carrying a tray and a glass of water], one is faced with the Squeaky Door. It has no face...
'Don't do this to me squeaky door!'
'I must do it. Grehhhhhhhhhhhhh...'
'No! No! Noooooooooo!'
'Grehhhh...'
'Noooooo! Killl meeeee! Kii-ii-iiill mee!' [man turns hysterical and makes stabbing motions towards his heart]
The cutlery man breaks into your house and steals a piece of cutlery every day until you are left with a single spoon with which to end your life. Victims either commit suicide or are left traumatically scarred, breaking down at the mere mention of kitchenware.
The man who breaks down at trifles... He's waiting at the bus garage in the cold. The last bus has its engine on. The driver revs up, and the man rubs his hands against the chill. The driver then turns off the engine, the man breaks down. The lights go off, he sinks to his knees. The little fan on top of the bus stops spinning, and he begins beating his fists on the pavement, etc.
Later on he goes to tell a joke to a group of people and no-one laughs. He breaks down and a tumbleweed rolls past. He breaks down [again] and it rolls back the other way, etc. Me and a friend are going to script this for an animated cartoon series. I could do some drawing for it, hm ;]
'Who's 'pretending'? We don't live in pretend land. Ah, that we lived in pretend land - Where nothing ever hurt and people are happy people.'
What I'm looking for:
A Mistress, preferably with some experience. I'm new to the scene, so ;] Should be caring and affectionate but also a sadistic bitch. Sexiness is a fantastic bonus, intelligence a must. Well-spoken too! I'm also pretty sexually driven, so play should ideally have sexual overtones. I'm pretty damn emotional. I make innocently trusting eyes at dommes from time to time. My expression, normally so wrathful and beset by storm-clouds, instantly lightens, my eyes widen and... I just look at you. [What! Did I really write that?] But I love that face too much to do away with it ;D It makes me feel gooood. - Don't call me weird!
I'm also open to the idea of a relationship.
Update: Not sure if I'm a switch or no. Updated update: Probably not.
About me:
I'm something of a pretty boy. Germanic, touch of the ol' Irish in the eyes, a shy smile. But no flushing violet he -
I'm also eccentric. Actually, no. I'm something else; fuck knows what this something else is. I get really fucked off with the pseudo-eccentric [to borrow a mate's phrase] 'We're so crazy' bunch. Fuck off you fucking twats. In all seriousness, I am vain - But you would rather spend your life as a fucking statue, you fucking dickheads. Do you want to know what it's like; to live as we do?.. We pass each other, as ghost-ships in the depths of night. - Perhaps we light a lantern in greeting - but no word is exchanged; it is bad taste to attempt bridging the abyss that lies between us. One lookout nods to another - but both ships pass with a mutual understanding, little more. But these pricks would make light of it through appropriating the mantle of madness *for thoroughly sane reasons*. But sane - to I? Non. To them? Aye. Why? Because I know you. You would rather have people's pity, or concern, than not - You crave attention; no matter how ill-gotten, or ill-favoured. I find it quite disgusting. Do I want attention? I do not want people's pity, or concern... I would rather make people disgusted than have them pity me, or feel guilt/shame on my part. Perhaps all I'm trying to do is prove that I am crazier than thou? But no, I am not that shallow.
... But not egocentric however, which you might have supposed from the first two paragraphs starting with 'I'. A bit self-centered, quite a bit infact - So what? The day nature creates an organism which isn't concerned primarily with itself is the day I'll finally eat my large, spiky, first world war German army issue hat thing. Which is never. Because I don't have one. And I wouldn't eat it anyway. But the point is that self-centrism isn't always a bad thing. To be sure, there are forms of it which are worthy of little more than despise; mine isn't. My silent audience makes me ramble!
A young boy at heart, grown old all-too soon.
Not pedantic.
Quite recently I've been very outspoken. Perhaps this offends people - If so, then I don't apologize. What has happened to me, my friends? 'Has not happiness come to me like a storm-wind?'.. It's a bit of a story, really. One year ago I dreamt of a wasps nest in a strange but familiar house. The only way I could destroy it was with fire, and I did. I have thus decided to be a passionate/expressive person, perhaps in the absurd hope that I may find myself therein. Or thereout. Whatever, you get the idea. I am an enemy of social norms, normativity. I hate who Nietzsche terms 'the good and the just'. You have no idea how much.
Started raving. What's raving like?.. It kicks arse with size twelve steel-toe capped boots; a special requisition from the armory of Bad-Motherfucker.
And yes, I can dance - I love it! I want to learn glowsticking :]
I read lots of good books, it is true. Philosophy, [NOT politics or theology, an inestimable boon], poetry, existentialism. Getting into Shakespeare, love Kafka/Nietzsche/Kierkegaard/Schopenhauer. Pinter is good, Beckett is God. And Voltaire of course! -
Philosophers? Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. Kierkegaard is very nice, though he never discarded his Hegelian mantle. Come to that, neither did Sartre... I have no time for analytic philosophy. I DESPISE ANALYTIC PHILOSOPHERS. Haven't read Heidegger/Jaspers/Spinoza, I don't like much of Kant/Locke, Hume is Ok, Kuhn is Ok, Descartes is no longer Ok. Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, favourite artist would be Beethoven. The man is just... People are always like: 'Oh, yeah, sad isn't it, that he was such a great composer and turned deaf.' They don't understand. They really don't fucking understand. Or know, even. Not one fucking bit. Role model?.. Zarathustra!
I listen to lots of good music. Beethoven/Mark Lanegan/2Pac are the first three, in no further particular order. Recently been getting more and more into trance. Loving the dark synths ;]
I write [some] good philosophy. I focus on nihilism, the promotion of meaning, the desolation of ethics through the sublimation of ethics to meaning, rejecting Nietzsche. I am the peacemaker of art and ethics. -
Needless to say, I'm an artist! I draw, I write short stories/drama, concentrating mostly on absurd and promisingly dark themes. They owe much to Kafka, and a first sunday afternoon, which might otherwise have been spent hugging my blanket and beseeching providence between post-prandial gagging [Ooh, naughty!]. Kinda long sentence that, but my stuff isn't long-winded.
But what am I like? I put much stock by intelligence. I love to talk, I love to drink, I do smoke, though I'm stopping. I love passion. To be truly passionate is to truly live, I think. It's just so fucking exciting ;D As Nietzsche said, and I cannot emphasise this enough - Very passionate persons are the refutation of all, and i mean *ALL* moralizers of humanity. Especially the christian ones. Christianity has hitherto rejected passion; and look where the world is now. Fuck 'em all.
If you wanna chat, then send me a memo.
I like fun stuff and cool people. Perhaps I should elaborate... I find 'normal' people quite boring. I tend to distance myself from them as much as possible... I like something to bite on. Stockings and garter-belts get me horny as fuck - Rar! Seamed tights as well -
I despise rubbish little faces people post on youtube with comments like: 'THIS SUCKSSSSS' and other such classics as 'RICK ROLL'D I LOL'D' etc. These are the epitome of internet phenomena, and pretty fucking depressing. On the other hand, 'ITS A TRAP' spammers are and will remain close to my heart. Also on the top of my hit-list are Richard Dawkins, TV Magazines, most Americans [cripes], the journalistic style of Private Eye [which is basically: 'Wow, shit's going down, remember you read it here first. Two weeks later: 'Wow, this shit has gone down, remember you read it here first. Eyes passim.' Fuck off!], idiotic 'great thinkers' [little hubris there], most modern scholasticism [University was enough to whet my appetite for green meadows and summer springs - not musty rooms and polished corridors. Bastards!]. What else? It's hard to quantify one's dislike. My enemies are:
Richard Dawkins -
Public opinion. wherever it might skulk -
Basshunter -
Aforementioned analytic philosophers -
Very smug persons and statues -
Anything which purports to represent a country -
Politicians and lawyers -
People who follow politicians and listen to lawyers -
All notions of 'Human rights' -
The list grows ;]
.
Update: More enemies for the ol' firebrand... Anyone who peddles or is involved with the production of advertisements for public viewing. With these we witness another form of the world-despisers. They create another world of fireworks and other special effects; and in doing so they draw attention away from this world. The world stands to be neglected through this virtual-reality which most people live in... No advertisement possesses a truth value. No, not even 'Three for the price of two'! That one might coerce the shopkeeper to actually give what he has promised through legislation proves little to the contrary. Legalizing truth? Hah! It is virtual because it has no truth value...
Hypocrites are also bastards. Especially those who preach 'tolerance' - whatever that means - and in a different capacity advocate a zero-tolerance attitude towards what they perceive to be social evils. Even worse is that these 'evils' are often themselves symptomatic of something else; rather than causes of such-and-such. The first of Nietzsche's 'Four Great Errors'.
Beware of the milky pirate//It's a Bag in a Box
Bit of poetry-rap shizzle [It's not about me, I just wrote it]:
.
Roll up roll up for the great weed hold-up,
Holed-up with Jimmy Split as the crow tolls
Plastic, fast chicks bullets and brag;
The only snag
Two men with shooters, one's a cowboy one's a Rufus
Bullets sprayed, one's winged one's back is blown
Forever to be, an incapacity, it don't have to be
Like this, Billy the Kid with his verterbrae split
Son you're a soldier, and here's my salute
Snatch your wallet, snatch your phone, snatch your loot,
Take aim and shoot, at your head - You're dead
Lying on the pavement with your brains running through
Your skull where the hole, whole bullet blowed
Dope flow, home-grown, No-Go Zone to my foes
Causality will also be the death of me
Kinetic forces, light travels faster than sound
But my super-solar-sonic rhymes will smash you to the ground,
Yuh-huh.
._.
And perhaps one more?...
.
A Drive-By.
Hit the hard-hat man hanging heat from his window
And as the frame freezes, sit back, enjoy the show
Ripples still there in the air, where the bullet left the barrel
To travel in a cleft, hits the left lung, catch your breath
'Wrap up well son or you'll catch your death.'
Is what his mother used to say when he used to go play
In both summer blaze and wintry haze, autumn days
And joyous Mays - Now he's pushing up the daisies [day-sies]
The driver moves on, and fast, leaving this dead man's past
To perish at the last, his face forever cast with the dark mask of death
His brow now untroubled, a knight at rest, crest blessed with pistols,
Twelve-gauges, women, fiscal wealth and respect.
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TRUE FACTS:
Dawkins is a pseudo-scientist
Dawkins is a pseudo-philosopher
Dawkins is pseudo-everything
Therefore: Dawkins is nothing-in-himself
Wowsers! That wasn't hard. Wouldn't be so bad but the man identifies himself with this semi-mystical set of beliefs which are not of themselves empirically verifiable or falsifiable. I despise Evolution theory. I despise Creationism. I despise all theories regarding cosmogony.
Question of conscience: What matters?
Well, the here and now. People, animals - Great men. Not moulding systems and arbitrary tradition. Culture matters - tradition can go hang. Individuals above all conceptions of state, universal obligation, religion - Therein lies the paradox. The entirety of humanity is worth infinitely more *as individuals* than as a single body of people.
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Strong beliefs are the heresy of modernity... We shall not talk of 'opinions' and 'views' here. The terms 'strong opinions/views' presuppose a will to misunderstand. That is sufficient for me to condemn everything 'modern' as mediocre, aurea mediocritas. Do not strive for mediocrity, my friends. And be wary of those that do! They dispose of free men; they call them 'malefactors'. And thence they claim that the malefactor disposed of himself. But no other choice but death was given him. By my love, I ask this of you: Do not strive for mediocrity!
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That book is worthless. Check my weblog history.
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This short passage is dedicated to every buffoon who states: 'Such and such should be illegal.' For here, we see what politics is to such people - A way of satisfying one's moral scruples through a political framework; through democratic tyranny. Welcome to my list of enemies, you fucks.
I did consider at one point that politics is merely a form of moralizing which occurs on a much larger scale. And then I realised that I lived in England - Birthplace of protestantism, factories and the workhouse. How will I wash this filth away?
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I fucking hate people who talk of human rights. I despise such weaklings; the only purpose these supposed rights serve is as aegis and protector. What's more galling is that people think them necessary. We're heading for homogeneity; and every fibre of my body is turned to making greatness - true greatness - die hard.
What are rights, when all is said and done?.. Externally imposed obligations. There's no fucking honesty in any of it - They smack of christianity. A twentieth century rehash of christian ethics, little more. What does it matter that Gandhi was consulted when they were formulated! Apparently, rights are 'indivisible' - What! Objective ethics still holds sway; woe to me and my loved ones that these ethics are christian! People are being bred for weakness; they are born into the world with prosthetic limbs. Away with rights! Away with ethics! Truly, men need neither shield or sworn defender - they have strength enough, if only they realise it. Be strong, for strength is a virtue. And though I am fragile, submissive even - Something burns within me, the heart-fire... The fire with which I will burn my enemies!
Freestyled this to a friend with instrumentals ;D
Walking down the high street this fine day
It suddenly occurred to me to say
Why do i live as a one, all the while i'm among
A whole group of persons, none of which are people
From the foundation stone to the church steeple
I condemn one and all christians, the religious
The political, the nihilistical - The principle, I deny it
That life can be solved if we first decry it
But my Passion, Desire, will scorch you like fire
You decry life because you are its secret denier
See, i've travelled to the very depths of your core -
You're the man who's sick of life and doesn't want more.
[Cheesy in parts I guess, but it was one of my first.]
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Looking to move out as soon as fucking possible.
Want to make music.
Want to write more.
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Four Virtues of the Tragic Man:
- One can never know what might have happened
- The hero always has his holy signs and stars in reference to his goal
- The hero's goal is his one desire; the tragedy is revealed in his character as opposed to his relation to outside events
- Greatness of itself does not bring happiness. It seems most likely that great men are no more happier than the petty and small - But therein lies their greatness; their heroism.
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'I don't wanna run - run - but I know that if I stop I'll be another nigguh heading to heaven hanging with 'Pac'
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I will write more. I shall find myself an enemy, a real enemy - When I do, it's war.
Update: Enemies sighted.
'These teachers of submission! Wherever there is anything small, and sickly, and scabby, there they crawl like lice: And only my disgust stops me from cracking them.'
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The following is a passage from Nietzsche on Schopenhauer. He also knew me, it seems. But I'm no Schopenhauer - -
'He was a total solitary; he had not a single companion truly of his own kind to console him—and between one and none there lies, as always between something and nothing, an infinity. No one who possesses true friends knows what true solitude is, even though he have the whole world around him for his enemies. —Ah, I well understand that you do not know what solitude is. Where there have been powerful societies, governments, religions, public opinions, in short wherever there has been tyranny, there the solitary philosopher has been hated; for philosophy offers an asylum to a man into which no tyranny can force its way, the inward cave, the labyrinth of the heart: and that annoys the tyrants. There the solitaries conceal themselves: but there too lurks their greatest danger. These people who have fled inward for their freedom also have to live outwardly, become visible, let themselves be seen; they are united with mankind through countless ties of blood, residence, education, fatherland, chance, the importunity of others; they are likewise presupposed to harbor countless opinions simply because these are the ruling opinions of the time; every gesture which is not clearly a denial counts as an agreement; every motion of the hand that does not destroy is interpreted as approval. They know, these solitaries, free in spirit, that they continually seem other than what they think: while they desire nothing but truth and honesty, they are encompassed by a net of misunderstandings; and however vehemently they may desire, they cannot prevent a cloud of false opinions, approximations, half-admissions, indulgent silence, erroneous interpretation from gathering about their actions. Because of this a cloud of melancholy gathers on their brows; for such as these it is more hateful than death itself to be forced to present a semblance to the world; and their perpetual bitter resentment of this constraint fills them with volcanic menace. From time to time they revenge themselves for their enforced concealment and compelled restraint. They emerge from their cave wearing a terrifying aspect; their words and deeds are then explosions and it is possible for them to perish by their own hand. This was the dangerous way in which Schopenhauer lived. [...] Yet there will always be demi-gods who can endure to live, and to live victoriously, under such terrible conditions; and if you want to hear their lonely song, listen to the music of Beethoven.' | 
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