Alfred @ Omega
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Ridicule: the tribute mediocrity pays to genius.
Finding our sense of self - Have you explored your deepest nature? Are you self-reliant? Are you sharpening your skills to leave your old ways of belonging, to leave home and wander into the wilderness? Can you be alone? Can you let go of what is dear to you? Can you support yourself - physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially? Have you taken risks to find your sacred dance? Have you relinquished your attachment to your former self? Given up addictions? Can you choose to be authentic over being accepted? Have you made peace with your past? Have you confronted your own death? Have you journeyed to uncover yourself?
Time to go into the dark, where the night has eyes to recognize its own. There you can be sure you are not beyond love. The dark will be your womb tonight. The night will give you a horizon further than you can see. You must learn one thing. The world was meant to be free in. Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong. Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn: anything or anyone that does not bring you alive...is too small for you.
The issue of mass manipulation has been around since the machinations of the ultimate clique drew the attention of perception-freedom fighters. As long ago as 1980 and listening to Pink Floyd's Wall, utter denunciation of Educational practices as mind control and very mild and 'justifiable' cloning, lead me to virtual hatred of the ways and means of the fucks who continue to ensure supremacy.
The fact of the goverment providing a legal mechanism to punish those who do not find the opportunity to stick to booking vacations strictly within the standard school holidays, is a heinous practice. I just can't wait to lock horns with the head at y daughter's school. No hurry.
I'd like to be a fly on the wall for that.
Once my dad went to bat for me and left the school principal shitting himself --prick deserved having his balls handed to him.
Was the only time I was ever called into the office when I left feeling good. I was walking on air. Made me proud.
People will almost always abuse power, given the chance.
My dad told me to tell the head I am an existentialist. He had paroxisms of rage. I was also advised to tell bullies that bullies needed telling they came from deprived
backgrounds. It worked so well but so cruel.
I took an official beating for whipping an upperclassman after he got in my face for flirting with his girlfriend.
It was good getting the tables turned and restoring order to my universe.
Life had momentary clarity.
What, pray tell, led you up that particular garden path? Actually (and honestly), I had an assessment of my suitability for RAF pilot training. After peering up my asshole and screening for colour blindness, they found me in adequate for training as a pilot.
As an aside, you know the current talk of a growing arena based on investigations about teleportation? Surely by establishing a moratorium on all carbon fuels, then placing a massive investment in teleportation, we could form an opinion about its viabilty by kicking the football that is quantum physics way out into 2020/30?
The primrose led me up it...but, after my old man set the world back on its axis, I realized I'd never be the lover I'd hoped to be without being a fighter as well. Much to my dismay.
At least I never let the military search me as they searched you, they might have found deliverance...or maybe their true calling.
I made one visit to the the draft office, with news of my conscientious objection to the unholy practice of killing humans. They just grinned and mumbled stiffly...and I had a sense of them mentally sharpening knives.
Part of taking a path of one's own requires that just once in a while fighting is the best policy. I did choose once to mix it with 2 drunk youths at the mall who were racially abusing two asian women with their children. I got lucky & swear now to throw my weight around only if I can expect to make a run for it. Generally I prefer living to dying, however, there's a bit of a moveable feast about it.
A bit of a moveable feast about it? That's profound. And wildly funny. Hilarious.
I can't get past it. It has completely rejiggered my moorings.
Your scenario reminds me of a time I almost pulled a woman out of a car for slapping her small child. It would've been an interesting tussle, she was black, angry and had about 100 lbs on me. She probably would've whipped my ass.
Didn't you atempt to reason with the woman?
Yes, of course.
I told her if she laid another hand on her baby, we were going to have a come to Jesus meeting.
Like my friendship with "Rob" a schizophrenic voice-hearer. I only wished to-day to 'proove' what I espouse, the linkage between Husserl's phenomenology and Sartre's existentialism. Of the issue of calling, Husserl begs us to 'go to the things themselves.' A random thinker summons the veil to rend, the ultimate real phenomenon of Earth is exposed as pure beauty.
I know the way, I have showed the world divested of nomenclacture and emptied of pre-conception. Where are the warriors of the golden dawn? Scrape off the blurry cuticle of the ignorant's inner eye.