That was destabilitating.
Pardon me while I seek abstractly to regain that which you can find sufficiently surrogate for your superficial blues.
Life is a joke. I spell it out early and in front. Meant, as it must be, in every possible way. Sorry to tell the rest of you, but everything else has been a vast–and I really mean vast in the vastest sense–mistake.
How is this possible?
Really? How the fuck is this possible.
The answer, much like a wide range of mundane axioms, is simple, much as many would desire them incomprehensible.
Most people are fucking stupid. That’s the secret. Hope that didn’t entirely blow the lids off the last few remaining ringnuts about our religions. Frankly, you never stood a chance. Progress requires that you accept a distorted reality.
Still, something’s wrong. There?s a disconnect somewhere. It turns out that as a hyper-intelligent being, it’s in my best interest to manipulate you into deriving on your own an only truly relevant emotional response (I’m talking, naturally, about orgasming) to anything other than pure, melodrama free (ironically you betcha) standard copulation syndrome formula ninety-nine.
Pro-sanity dictates that the lack of order within order reflects the lack of evolution inherent in the evolutionary condition.
You’d think you were getting a complete picture until suddenly it occurred to you that everything had been going swimmingly prior to your unexpected detour prior to your arrival to the mundane–relatively speaking–yet profoundly, inarguably, inexxxaustible and irrefutable tomorrow.
tHE SURVIVAL OF THE FISHES DEPENDS UPON THE SURVIVAL OF THE INFARCTIONS.
WHO THE FUCK HIT THE CAPS LOCK KEY? FAGGOT.
You should be too
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4 responses to “You should be too”
I’m all for the esoteric, but…
what are you doing posting/writing here?
I thought this site was all about classical values, not nihilism. Or am I wrong, and Eric has morphed into some kind of alter ego, complete with an alter name?
And, BTW, how old are you, and did you recently read James Joyce? Just asking, because I had the same desire to write paragraph length sentences of oh so profound meaning after reading the Irishman while at Berkeley those many years ago.
The dichotomy between nihilism and my morphing overlooks the possibility that this truly is anonymous drunken satire — over which I exercise no editorial control.
For all I know, there are privacy issues of which I’m unaware. In my own posts I struggle between entertainment and enlightenment, hemmed in as I am by time constraints, and haunted constantly by the specter of blogger burnout syndrome.
I have a friend who is an visual artist (not a blogger here, unfortunately) who enjoys arranging words and ideas the way he does paint or clay. The result disturbs people who expect ordered thought, and who associate such “artistic” discourse with schizophrenia, so it doesn’t go over well at parties. I find it good for the soul, but not everyone agrees.
(BTW, I can’t speak for CD, but I read James Joyce in the early 70s, although it instilled me with zero desire to write.)
Well, I enjoyed it, though I make no claim to understanding. It’s like reading Republican tax policy.
It’s all written independently of any conscious effort on my part, an achievement only possible in the immediate aftermath of substantial alcohol consumption.
It’s not an attempt to emulate anyone, to deliver a message, to be profound, or anything else whatsoever. It just is what it is.
It’s here for your enjoyment. So relax, try not to be too uptight, read on, and smile. It’s not like the ‘serious stuff’ is going away any time soon.