Op. 140


Journal of a Reluctant Writer


Philosophical Journal


Copyright © 2013 John O'Loughlin








































When the female is allowed into religion, whether via the state or otherwise, the only consequence for religion is its subversion by criteria owing more to the concrete than to the abstract, to soma than to psyche, to particles than to wavicles, etc., etc., in consequence of which some form or another of 'God thingfulness' will prevail to the detriment of Heaven, to the detriment, in other words, of soul as the essence of psyche or, more specifically, of metaphysical psyche, which is male.

Whatever the kind of God, that is, God as 'Creator' (of the so-called universe and/or the world) or God as 'Person' (whether female or male), the consequences for religion can only be detrimental, which is to say, exposed to subversion by the concrete.

Truly, females, whether superfeminine or feminine, devils, so to speak, or women proper, will always bedevil religion so long as they are not excluded from it, as from a gentleman's club.

Taking a double-decker red bus to Tottenham Hale, as I do on occasion when obliged to by circumstances beyond my control, is an experience I could well do without, since, what with the underground not far away from the bus station, it seems to me more like a trip to what could be called 'Tottenham Hell'.

Love and lust – the opposite poles of sex-based gender relations, with the extremes of pure love and pure lust characterizable as lesbian and homosexual (gay). In between, the impure love of female-dominated heterosexuality hegemonic over what could be called impure pseudo-lust, and the impure lust of male-dominated heterosexuality hegemonic over what I shall call impure pseudo-love.

Therefore in between the extremes of pure love (lesbian) and pure lust (homosexuality) we find the impure love and impure lust of heterosexual relations of either a female (love) or a male (lust) bias.

Even metaphysics is susceptible to lust, if of a more elevated kind than that applying to the other male element, physics, wherein one would think more in terms of pleasure than of joy, as in relation to either male-dominated heterosexuality or outright homosexuality. On the other hand, the lust of metaphysics, which, being closer to joy, is akin to the German sense of the word, could be associated, traditionally, with the so-called priestly kiss, as between clerical peers, or equals. For in the subjectively ethereal realm nothing germane to bodily lust can obtain, least of all in terms of sodomy or pederasty, and the mode of homosexuality – for that is what essentially transpires – is accordingly sublimated and of an altogether more elevated order of lust than anything applicable to the subjectively corporeal realm of physics either impurely in relation to pseudo-chemistry (pseudo-love) or purely in outright axial degeneration, analogous with social democracy and/or proletarian humanism, to lustful bodily relations between adult males.

In societies dominated by females, however, it is love which has tended to prevail over lust, for better (state-hegemonically) or worse (church-hegemonically), and the deference of the generality of males to the dominance of love is only to be expected, whether because it is metachemically 'on high' (state-hegemonic axis) and therefore somehow superior to physical lust, or because, though chemically 'down below' (church-hegemonic axis), metaphysical lust would be beyond their capacities, even in the limited guise to which I have alluded in connection with priests.

Television doth make 'sons-of-bitches' out of those who are naturally or technically male, and I, for one, who rarely watches TV, feel distinctly uncomfortable about it.

Television, I believe, is one of the chief means by which males are dominated by females in the modern world.



I find, with subtitles to films and film credits (usually after films), that I am, as a kind of intellectual, tempted to read. But one should really pseudo-read; that is, take cognizance of the words with a passive mind, so that one does not get ahead of oneself or, more correctly, of the medium of film, whether on television or DVD or whatever, since there is usually more alpha-stemming sensuality about film than omega-oriented sensibility, the latter of which, in contemporary terms, would have less to do with, say, television than with eBooks on eReaders and/or tablets.

It was the evening of the 18th December 2012, and largely because – as usual – of the jumping and hollowing noises coming from the autistic and somewhat macho Bangladeshi boy in the room below, I had elected to keep my wax earplugs in when I switched from listening to music via conventional padded headphones (how painful to the exterior of the ears after about an hour!) to watching television, which meant that, in order to hear what was being said on a documentary about barbarians on BBC2 (of all channels!), I had to have the volume quite loud, albeit still considerably reduced from the level of the previous evening when, my ears and head not aching or hurting me for once from protracted use of the large, peripherally padded, ostensibly around-the-ear headphones I was accustomed to resorting to (which I hadn't used for music on this occasion), I had utilized headphones with my television-viewing, though not without wax earplugs already in my ears, as was my custom in this Bangladeshi-owned house. Nevertheless, the volume must still have been quite loud, albeit in connection with a serious documentary whose knowledgeable and thoroughly entertaining presenter, being a gentleman, was generally soft-spoken. For when I switched the television off, with the conclusion of the programme an hour or so later, what did I hear, over my earplugs, but a loud, all-too-familiar knocking on my door, the sinister overtones of which were impossible to ignore as I slowly – and with the utmost contemptuous reluctance – went to answer it, only to find myself confronted, not for the first time in recent weeks, by a gang or perhaps I should say pack of Bangladeshi youths intent, with cold-blooded premeditation, upon condemning me for having had the television on too loud (why not tell me an hour before?), the son of the landlord somewhere in the middle of the assembled Bangladeshis whose sole purpose was to heap accusations upon me and brand me a defiler of their peace and, when I made to verbally defend myself from this all-too-familiar psychological pressure, a deflector from the main issue, which again was par for the course of superficial, premeditated criticism to which I was subjected with ever more intolerant intransigence on their part, the arrogant son not least, who fancied himself as the landlord's spokesman if not successor, but others too, including one or two whom I hadn't seen or, more accurately, been confronted by before, and one particularly offensive black fellow who appeared to possess a legal remit with which to bring things – from their collective standpoint – to a satisfactory conclusion. That being the threat first of all, and then, after some downstairs consultation between a few of the principal antagonists, which must have included the landlord, the issuing by the landlord himself, who had evidently been hiding in the shadows whilst others did the brunt of his dirty work, of a possession order effective as from the day in question and extending into early January of the following year.

Well, that did it! My impression was that they had been waiting for some such pretext (television on too loud, never mind the urbane context of a documentary on barbarians and their contributions, paradoxically, to culture and civilization) to drive this final nail into my domestic coffin and to give the landlord not only the pretext but, for someone who was naturally cowardly, the courage to bring things to such a draconian and, to my mind, exaggeratedly callous head. Quite frankly, with this sort of psychological pressure and intransigent attitude on their part, I couldn't wait to get out of the place, which had always struck me as being a living hell, particularly as some of the reasons the landlord gave for evicting me were, frankly, laughable or, at the very least, of dubious justification, not least in view of the fact that he had refused to extend the short-hold tenancy agreement beyond the six-month period that had elapsed some five months previously (though when it suited him in the past he had allowed six-month contracts to elapse and still collected the rent, only bothering to make out a new one when he needed a rent increase).

Be that as it may, I was in no mood, after this further instance of Bangladeshi hospitality, this sly form of ethnic cleansing, to drag my heels in looking for alternative accommodation and, within a day of the above events, I had viewed and secured a one-bed flat in another part of north London, into which I officially moved on the 22nd December, four days after the eviction from a place I had persevered with for over twenty-one frigging years!

Moving is another story, and the way I did it, combining toing and froing on foot with the use of a removal van on the fourth day of proceedings, was nothing short of hell, not least given the time of year and the wintry conditions under which I was obliged to operate, dragging books and CDs, DVDs and clothes through the bleak streets of Hornsey. But somehow I survived it and never doubted its desirability in view of what had transpired at the old address, both on the evening described and over a period of several months if not years of persistent abuse motivated by a desire to get me out of the place – in short, to evict me no doubt for having had tastes and cultural predilections, as a West European of Irish descent, at variance with their own, whatever that might be! The fact that I had shared a kitchen, bathroom, toilet, landing, stairs, entrance hall, front door, garden, etc., with the likes of them for so many years, as well as having been subject to the landlord's discretionary economizing powers with regard to heating, water availability (which in things like the toilet flush and washing machine was barely adequate), lighting, etc., meant that any amount of trouble that led away from that towards something new and, on the surface of it, domestically and environmentally better … could only be welcomed if not exactly with open arms in view of my general dislike of north London, then, at any rate, with tired, overburdened arms and legs, back and sides, and the promise, if I survived such physical pressures, of a more dignified lifestyle to come, free of Bangladeshi oppression and, indirectly, the correlative oppression following from the kind of tenants to which this particular landlord appeared partial, including Arabs and East Europeans, particularly Poles.

Thanks in part to some financial help and moral encouragement from my mother, the only person who has ever really helped me, I did survive it, and I look forward to the New Year (it is now New Year's Eve) in the hope – nay, with the certitude – that, come what may, things will be better in 2013 than they were in 2012, the year of my domestic nemesis but also, paradoxically, of my release from the dreadful Bangladeshi-owned lodging house in which I had languished and festered, like a flea in a fat spider's web, chewed over and spat out time and time again, for over two decades!

The West was (is) not about God but, through Christ, Man, and what Man can do, humanistically, in the face of Nature and the Cosmos and, needless to say, all those peoples who still cling to some form of God(ism) and would remain – or have remained – stuck in a Nature- and Cosmos-dominated (God-fearing) past were it not for the West, both Europe and America in particular, and their continuing belief in the ability of Man to change things, life, the world, society, etc., for the better.

And out of this humanism, this belief in Man, is coming – and will increasingly come – a belief in and commitment to superhumanism with a supermasculine bias, that is, to Superman and His ability not simply to change the world for the better but, in keeping with Christian faith, to transcend the world in the interests of otherworldly criteria germane, believe it or not, to 'Kingdom Come'.

This will be the 'icing on the cake', so to speak, of humanism, and in transcending himself Man will know and become Superman, the Being who, in his heavenly realization of Self, will be at an antithetical remove from the self-denying worshippers of God who are slaves to the Cosmos, as to a superfeminine rule. For this God of theirs is, in truth, no God at all but Devil the Mother (or some equivalent thereof) hyped as God as the 'best of a bad job' starting-point for civilization in pre-Western if not Eastern and specifically Judaic terms, and instead of 'God in Heaven' such people are subject to 'Hell in the Devil', with something akin to beauty and love, or love in beauty, in free soma metachemically contrasting with the joy and truth, or truth in joy, of metaphysical free psyche, the goal and culmination, so I teach, of evolution conceived from a male-oriented psychic standpoint.



How much truth is there in Thoth, the Egyptian deity who was the scribe of the gods and accordingly made their rulings known to man? For some have thought Thoth and Truth to be one and the same, as though he were akin to Christ.

Those who come down from the mountain may embrace the world, but they will never climb the hill (of Calvary) that leads to the (Golgotha-like) other-world … of Heaven, with which God is One, since, to speak metaphorically, the candlelight and the candle-flame are essentially one and the same, the light (of God/Truth) simply being the flame (of Heaven/Joy) perceived from the outside by those who would rather worship the light than experience the flame, since otherwise engaged.

One does not become a leading philosopher overnight but rather over, if not after, several decades. Philosophers are made, not born; for the philosopher, when true, is the most reborn, or transvaluated (to use a Nietzschean term), of individuals and therefore the least 'once-born', for whom a certain reluctance towards writing, or recording his thoughts, would not be uncharacteristic.

Indeed, it may well be that the Philosopher is the most reluctant of writers, the one who views writing as a 'necessary evil' in order that thought of the highest calibre may be recorded and, hopefully or theoretically, made available if not to all, then at least to some others of a like high-minded disposition who may be able to profit from it and even introduce aspects of it into the world generally, thereby contributing to progress towards otherworldly transcendence.

There are no limits to the scope of my philosophical genius. Philosophically speaking, I have left nothing, absolutely nothing, to be desired. And still they know little or nothing about me. Nor, in a sense, do they know very much about themselves, either.

So long as Beauty, or the Beautiful, continues to dominate the world, there can be no place for Truth. For Truth, conceived metaphysically, is a pariah from the standpoint of Beauty and its wish to arrogate Truth, or what passes for truth in its estimation, to itself.

If Truth is to triumph, Beauty must be dethroned. But Beauty can only be dethroned by Truth coming into its otherworldly own – assuming, for the sake of argument, that were possible. For it is indeed a 'tall order' in a world dominated by the Beautiful, as by beautiful women and the more picturesque aspects of Nature, quite apart from the extent to which civilization chooses to identify with the Beautiful and to emulate, on comparatively artificial terms, whatever is naturally beautiful.



Salvation for the pseudo-physical to metaphysics is not just from the sin of pseudo-ego to the grace of soul; that is only the pseudo-bound psyche to free psyche polarity on the male side of the gender fence on the church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axis stretching from the southwest to the northeast points (or poles) of what I call the intercardinal axial compass, so to speak. More significantly, it is deliverance from what rules over and conditions pseudo-physics, as of the pseudo-physical, from a chemical vantage-point on the opposite side of the gender fence; namely, the pseudo-evil of spirit, which, in the event of the salvation of pseudo-males from pseudo-physics to metaphysics, would be destined for counter-damnation to the pseudo-goodness of pseudo-will, as from the free soma of chemistry to the pseudo-bound soma of pseudo-metachemistry in what would then be an unequivocal subordination to metaphysics.

Thus the chemical 'first', equivocally hegemonic over pseudo-physics, would become the pseudo-metachemical 'last' in their counter-damnation from free spirit to pseudo-bound will, whilst, in axial contrast, the pseudo-physical 'last', equivocally subordinate to chemistry, would become the metaphysical 'first', unequivocally hegemonic over the pseudo-metachemical, whose fate would be equivalent to that of the proverbial 'lion' and/or 'wolf' that 'lies down' (through neutralization) with the 'lamb' (of godly grace in Heaven), to take but one metaphorical parallel.

As for the state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axis, its fate will be dependent on the degree to which (if at all) salvation and counter-damnation are achieved on the stepped-up ('resurrected') church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axis. For, in the event of being denied its customary chemical/pseudo-physical 'prey' the probable fate of the state hegemonic would have less to do with salvation and counter-damnation than with damnation and counter-salvation – namely, in terms of the damnation of the metachemical to pseudo-chemistry and, on the male side of the gender fence, the counter-salvation of the pseudo-metaphysical to physics, though only as a temporary situation pending an order of judgement intended to render the masses of what had been a metachemical/pseudo-metaphysical and physical/pseudo-chemical axial polarity eligible for lower-tier incorporation with their metaphysical/pseudo-metachemical counterparts on what, in other books by me, has been described as the 'triadic Beyond' … of what would, in effect, be a pluralistic approach to revolutionary church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axial criteria. As the initial phase, at any rate, of a process destined to culminate, many decades or centuries later, in a metaphysical/pseudo-metachemical totalitarianism commensurate with the apotheosis, as it were, of the 'Kingdom Come' process or, rather, of a process which I, as a self-taught philosopher and self-proclaimed messiah tend to identify with 'Kingdom Come', not least in relation to the democratic triumph – and, in a sense, triumph over democracy – of Social Theocracy, the politico-religious 'face' of Social Transcendentalism, and therefore the godly concomitant of Heaven.

Flicking out of curiosity through the Daily Mirror at my local library, I couldn't help but see in this tabloid newspaper a reflection of the ugliness, brutality, rapaciousness, and carnality of the masses, so that one can surmise the regular reader or, rather, browser of this paper would see himself reflected, as in a cracked mirror, on a daily basis.

Library computers are okay (if usually frightfully slow) until some person, more often female, with a noisy and smelly cold elects to sit right next to one, threatening one with a flight of germs. Then, by contrast, they become something to escape from as quickly as possible!

Rubbing shoulders with the masses always makes one dirty. I was intended for cleanliness which, as the saying goes, is closer to godliness than to … outright manliness.

There is more than the abstraction that negatively applies (in psyche) to somatic concretion; there is also, on the male side of life, the abstraction that negatively applies (in soma) to psychic concretion. For whereas on the female side of life soma precedes and predominates (in somatic concretion) over psyche, whether to an absolute (3:1) or a relative (2½:1½) extent, on the male side of life, by contrast, psyche precedes and preponderates (in psychic concretion) over soma, whether to a relative (2½:1½) or an absolute (3:1) extent. Therefore whereas psyche is abstracted from soma in the one gender case (female), in the other gender case (male) soma tends to be abstracted from psyche which, paradoxically, would seem to be a concretion of wavicles as opposed, with free soma, to particles.

But just as there is a wavicle aspect (bound psyche) to free somatic particles, so there would have to be a particle aspect (bound soma) to free psychic wavicles, whether the ratio of the one to the other happens to be absolute or relative; that is, germane to the noumenal or to the phenomenal, to the ethereal or to the corporeal.

In general terms, it may be that the male side of life is an abstraction from the female side, with secondary rather than primary gender implications. But, in the particular instance of males, I have always maintained that psyche precedes and preponderates over soma, so that the latter is in effect an abstraction from the former which, as free psyche, is its concrete, that is to say, fundamental precondition.

To transcend the body (bound soma) is, in the male case, to return to the fundamentals of male life in free psyche, which has less to do with God the Father, or godfatherliness, than with Heaven the Holy Soul, the actual foundation of metaphysics, or ground of joyful being, whose extrapolation is divine taking (truth, or godliness).

To transcend the mind (bound psyche) is, in the female case, to return to the fundamentals of female life in free soma, which has less to do with Hell the Clear Spirit than with Devil the Mother (free will), the actual foundation of metachemistry, or ground of beautiful doing, whose extrapolation is diabolic giving (love).

Whereas the male can lose his ego and/or soul to a female, becoming her pseudo-male subordinate, the female, not having ego or soul in relation to free psyche, can only lose her will and/or spirit to a male, becoming his pseudo-female subordinate.

So whereas the fate of the 'lost male', or pseudo-male, is to mirror, through pseudo-free soma, the free will and/or spirit of the dominating female, and to do so on inferior ratio terms, the fate of the 'lost female', or pseudo-female, is to mirror, through pseudo-free psyche, the free ego and/or soul of the dominating male, but to likewise do so on inferior ratio terms. Moreover, this 'mirroring' of the hegemonic gender's dominance from a subordinate position will not be couched in the same terms as the dominating gender, but in terms applicable to or characteristic of the subordinate gender, be it pseudo-male or pseudo-female.

Hence under female domination, the metachemical free soma of beauty and love will be paralleled, in pseudo-metaphysical free soma, by pseudo-truth and pseudo-joy; the chemical free soma of pride and strength will be paralleled, in pseudo-physical free soma, by pseudo-pleasure and pseudo-knowledge (carnal knowledge).

Contrariwise, with male domination, the physical free psyche of knowledge and pleasure will be paralleled, in pseudo-chemical free psyche, by pseudo-strength and pseudo-pride; the metaphysical free psyche of joy and truth will be paralleled, in pseudo-metachemical free psyche, by pseudo-love and pseudo-beauty.

Therefore neither beauty nor pride, to take the female elemental fulcra, will be paralleled, or 'mirrored', by the subordinate pseudo-male, whose respective pseudo-elemental fulcra will be pseudo-truth and pseudo-pleasure.

Likewise, neither knowledge nor joy, to take the male elemental fulcra, will be paralleled, or 'mirrored', by the subordinate pseudo-female, whose respective pseudo-elemental fulcra will be pseudo-strength and pseudo-love.

The concrete basis of the psyche, if I may be so bold as to put it that way, is of course the brain stem and spinal cord of the central nervous system; for it is that system which is akin to the candle in which the flame of soul burns to shed superconscious (godly) light upon the darkness of the world. As for the ego, its concrete basis has to do with the brain and, in particular, the so-called 'new brain', or cerebrum, and is therefore a mode of psyche more corporeal than ethereal and correspondingly less absolute (noumenal) than relative (phenomenal), with a personal rather than superpersonal (universal) connotation.

Some are fated to tell tall tales, others to write short stories. Neither, however, would have a clue about what it means to think.

Metaphysical heat in the soul, which is the supersensible functioning of the spinal cord of the central nervous system, engenders metaphysical light in the superconscious mind, which is one with the soul as God is One with Heaven and truth is one with joy. But such metaphysical heat, which is soul, joy, heaven, etc., is psychic through and through, and the concrete basis, in the spinal cord, of metaphysical light in the superconscious, truth, godliness, etc. Therefore without metaphysical heat there would be no metaphysical light, without the supersensibility of soul, no superconsciousness of mind. God, in short, would not exist without Heaven, could never be independent of Heaven, any more than truth could be independent of joy, since they are essentially one and the same, the inner and outer manifestations of metaphysical psyche.

Antithetical to this is metachemistry, like absolute alpha to absolute omega, absolute female (superfeminine) to absolute male (supermasculine), and whereas metaphysical freedom, which is psychic, or of the psyche, has to do with Heaven and God, joy and truth, metachemical freedom, which is somatic, or of soma, has to do, by contrast, with the Devil and Hell, beauty and love, in that order. For the fulcrum, or representative aspect, of metachemistry is will, free will, and just as free soul in metaphysics engenders a corresponding free order of mind (superconsciousness), so free will in metachemistry engenders a corresponding free order of spirit (supersensuousness), which is the love that is correlative with beauty.

One might say that metachemical heat in the will or, more specifically, in the will to life, which is the supersensual functioning of the sexual organs and, more specifically in this elemental case, of the womb, engenders metachemical light in the supersensuous spirit, which is one with the will as Hell is One with the Devil (Devil the Mother) and love one with beauty. But such metachemical heat, which is will, beauty, the devil, etc., is somatic through and through, and the concrete basis, in the womb, of metachemical light in the supersensuous, love, hell, etc. Therefore without metachemical heat there would be no metachemical light, without the supersensuality of will, no supersensuousness of spirit. Hell, in short, would not exist without the Devil, could never be independent of the Devil, any more than love could be independent of beauty, since they are fundamentally one and the same, the outer and inner manifestations of metachemical soma.

Consequently the antithesis between metachemistry and metaphysics, absolute alpha and absolute omega, is complete in every sense, from the somatic fact of Devil the Mother preceding Hell the Clear Spirit to the psychic fact of Heaven the Holy Soul preceding God the Father – the absolute alpha starting from without (will) and working inwards (spirit), the absolute omega starting from within (soul) and working outwards (mind), so that they are not only opposites in every respect but completely incompatible. That is why the metaphysical position (in both free psyche and bound soma) cannot properly exist except through complete independence of the metachemical position, whose free soma will otherwise preclude all but a truncated metaphysics comprised, as with the Christian and in particular Roman Catholic tradition, of the bound soma (illusion and woe, the Son of God and the Holy Spirit of Heaven) of the crucifixional paradigm.

In order for God the Father (godfatherliness) to properly exist as the psychic corollary of Heaven the Holy Soul (the actual fulcrum of metaphysics), not only would Heaven the Holy Soul have to be acknowledged, but the subterfuge, stemming from the Judaic roots of the Christian tradition, of hyping Devil the Mother (beautiful free will) as God the Father … would have to be categorically abandoned, so that instead of a metaphysics (necessarily bogus) accountable to metachemistry, as Christ to the Creator, or the Son to the so-called Father, we had a more genuine order of metaphysics comprised of the free psyche as well as the bound soma which was completely independent of metachemistry, and thus of all Creator-ism and allegiance, via the Bible (and the Old Testament in particular) to the materialistic roots of the Christian, or Western, tradition.

Such a metaphysical independence could only be global or universal in character, beyond Roman Catholic Christianity and antithetical to Judaism. For it would not be about the 'One God' or, for that matter, about any 'Three in One' extrapolation thereof which could be identified with both Catholic and Protestant traditions. On the contrary, it would be about the 'One Heaven', the only heaven of Heaven the Holy Soul, whose 'Kingdom' lies within.

Amenthat wonderful English-language German film about the exploitation of Zyklon B in the liquidation of Jews which somehow remains praiseworthy even though it tends to combine the worst aspects of Night of the Generals with the worst aspects of Massacre in Rome, if you get my drift. Not that one could accuse Ulrich Mühe's character in the film of being implicated in any such reactionary or sanctimonious tendencies!

What has been logically established in the foregoing pages is that the psychic concretion of soul in the spinal cord has to be contrasted with the somatic concretion of will in the womb, as one would contrast the fulcrum of metaphysics with the fulcrum of metachemistry, noting that whereas truth is the 'psychic light' of the soul's 'joyful heat', love is the 'somatic light' of the will's 'beautiful heat', the former being superconscious and the latter supersensuous.

Thus the absolute, or noumenal/ethereal, alpha and omega is a contrast not only between beauty and joy, with truth and love their respective corollaries, but equally or equivalently between Devil the Mother and Heaven the Holy Soul, which has to be distinguished from any fanciful or simplistic antithesis between, say, the Devil and God or, alternatively, Hell and Heaven – the stuff, it must be said, of populist delusion and mystical claptrap.

As in the somatic Beginning, so not somatically in the End but, on the contrary, psychically – an entirely different order of concretion that is supermasculine as opposed to superfeminine.

Although the kinds of heat that characterize alpha and omega could not be more dissimilar, I have tended in the past (I think correctly) to identify metachemical heat with heat per se and metaphysical heat, by contrast, with light, as though to distinguish more sharply – if on the basis of a generalization – alpha from omega and each of these from their relative counterparts 'down below' in the phenomenal/corporeal realms of motion and force, reserving for the noumenal antithesis an equation with space and time, and for the phenomenal antithesis an equation with volume and mass, so that heat = space, light = time, motion = volume, and force = mass, as in a distinction between will and soul with the former antithesis, but spirit and ego with the latter, an antithesis more elementally in accordance with water and vegetation (earth) than with fire and air. Or, in religious terms, with Purgatory and the Earth as opposed, 'up above', with Hell and Heaven, or something to that general effect.

But these quadruplicities appertain to a more simplistic logical structure than that to which I have more recently committed my pen (I confess to scribbling into a notebook as a writer rather than using a keyboard to begin with, in the manner of what I would call a pseudo-writer who not only does not write but prints artificially via his so-called typewriter and/or computer). Nonetheless, the ascription of a quadruplicity of options to each element (and even pseudo-element) provides interesting food for thought. Namely, that if the fulcrum of metachemistry is somatic heat, or wilful beauty, then its somatic concomitant, love, must be a 'once-bovaryized' (compared to chemical spirit) order of spirit appertaining not to volume, like spirit per se, but to space. And that if the fulcrum of metaphysics is psychic light, or soulful joy, then its psychic concomitant, truth, must be a 'once-bovaryized' (compared to physical ego) order of ego appertaining not to mass, like ego per se, but to time.

Likewise, to extend the argument down into the phenomenal/corporeal realms of motion and force, volume and mass, if the fulcrum of chemistry is volumetric motion, or spiritual pride, then its somatic concomitant, namely strength, must be a 'once-bovaryized' (compared to metachemical will) order of will appertaining not to heat but to volume.

And, finally, that if the fulcrum of physics is massive force, or intellectual knowledge, then its psychic concomitant, pleasure, must be a 'once-bovaryized' (compared to metaphysical soul) order of soul appertaining not to light but to mass.

Now what applies to the free aspects of each gender element, whether with regard to soma (female) or to psyche (male), would also be applicable to their respective bound aspects, whether psychic (female) or somatic (male), where there would be bovaryized orders of negative ego and soul in the female case and bovaryized orders of negative will and spirit in the male case, neither of which require further exegesis here, since it is a subject which has been dealt with in previous texts by me and which, if added to the above, would only further complicate – and possibly confuse or obfuscate – matters were I to attempt a definition of the respective bound aspects not only of each element as described above, but also, and subordinately, of the pseudo-elements which accompany them on both pseudo-free and pseudo-bound terms, compliments of the pressure being brought to bear from the hegemonic element, be it female (and freely somatic) or male (and freely psychic).

It is with the utmost reluctance that I commit my thoughts to paper in the form of writing; though I have to confess to subsequently taking a certain pleasure in reading them!

It may well be that, just as in the noumenal alpha and omega, free speech is the enemy of free thought, so, in the phenomenal alpha and omega, free verse is the enemy of a free press.

I only value writing to the extent that it reflects free thought. Any other kind of writing normally either bores or disgusts me.

I have planted the emblem or, if you like, flag of Social Theocracy on the peak of philosophic thought. For Social Theocracy is itself the peak of philosophic thought, which stems from a bovaryized ego – call it 'superego' – that is pro-superconscious in its advocacy of the supersensibility of Heaven the Holy Soul. Such a bovaryized ego differs from conscious ego by being less a product or attribute of the brain (with particular reference to the so-called 'new brain', or cerebrum) than of the brain stem (the so-called 'old brain', or cerebellum) which is closer to the spinal cord and therefore to the core of the self, the concrete basis of the soul in the central nervous system. Consequently it has a tendency, being deeper than ego, to be metaphysical, whereas the ego, when not selfishly egocentric or egotistical, is more likely to be co-opted, in the axial equivalent of a Faustian Pact, indirectly to the service of the will and directly, in male gender polarity, to the service of pseudo-soul, whose pseudo-essence is pseudo-woeful and therefore at an antithetical remove from the joyfulness of soul proper, as pseudo-metaphysics from metaphysics, the pseudo-bound psyche of the one contrasting, under metachemical pressure, with the free psyche of the other, unequivocally hegemonic over a prostrate pseudo-metachemistry, the proverbial 'lion' and/or 'wolf' that 'lies down', compliments of neutralization, with the 'lamb' of godliness and, more accurately in respect of the metaphysical fulcrum being in soul (joy) rather than ego (truth), of heavenliness.

As an Irish-born Irish citizen long resident in England, I have to say that the Irish writers who have had most influence upon me and whom I have most admired were in all cases but one – namely James Joyce – Protestant, starting with Oscar Wilde and continuing via W.B. Yeats to Samuel Beckett.

The absence of George Bernard Shaw from the above-mentioned influential Irish writers has less to do with the fact that I haven't read all that much of his work than with his commitment to theatre and reputation as a leading playwright. Wilde, Joyce, Yeats, and Beckett may have written plays, but they were also, amongst other things, poets and novelists, and therefore more deserving, in my estimation, of respect as writers.

Of contemporary Irish writers, I would say that John Banville is the one whom I most admire, having read at least two of his novels, namely Dr Copernicus and The Book of EVIDENCE, both of which were of a class I would consider to be European rather than simply parochial or Irish.

I feel I should have some kind of reputation as a literary transcriber as well as a philosopher and writer, having transcribed some forty or so books, including James Joyce's Ulysses and Aldous Huxley's Point Counter Point, but, of course, the literary establishment in England prefers to believe that I don't exist – rather like the absence of the Republic of Ireland from the weather map of the British Isles on the BBC, which pedantically sticks to a United Kingdom format. I am just as much of a nonentity in Britain as is the Republic, as far as mainstream recognition is concerned.

Because they suffer from an ethnic blind spot with regards to church-hegemonic axial criteria … as traditionally applicable to Roman Catholicism and, in particular, to Irish Catholics, the British intelligentsia, who are almost invariably Protestant, have little or no capacity for metaphysics and, hence, for a comprehensive approach to philosophy that, in setting everything out in its proper place, could do justice to truth, which is to say, to metaphysics. The want of this dimension in their metachemically-orientated Weltanchauung renders their philosophy incapable of metaphysical verisimilitude and nothing more than a reflection of their ethnic limitations as Protestants, whose philosophy, being scientifically based in empiricism, is fundamentally false, that is to say, false to truth, since overly factual.

Yet they can never admit this, and therefore they have no choice but to ignore or trash anyone who, coming from a Roman Catholic background, is capable of doing justice to metaphysics – if, in this day and age, on more than Catholic terms. As, for instance, in relation to Social Theocracy and/or Social Transcendentalism which, unlike Roman Catholicism, would be determined to do complete justice to metaphysics and thereby, in the event of attaining power, consign to the rubbish heap of history those metachemical constraints which always preclude metaphysics from being true to itself in terms of free psyche as well as the all-too-prevalent bound soma (of the crucifixional paradigm). For when you only have the latter, the truncated metaphysics that follows from a deference to metachemistry, as to Creator-ism in the Old Testament, is effectively bogus and only too susceptible, for want of a soulful fulcrum, to being subsumed, down a 'Sacred Heart' plane from its entitlement to 'Sacred Lungs', into a pseudo-metachemistry which is itself doubly bogus for want of due deference, through subordination, to metaphysics proper, that is, to a full complement of metaphysics (free psyche as well as bound soma, not just the latter) which, did it but exist, would preclude, through some transcendental meditation-like aloofness, pseudo-metachemistry from being subsumed into a triangle dominated, in perpendicular vein, by metachemistry, and by a type of metachemistry, moreover, unequivocally hegemonic over a prostrate pseudo-metaphysics, the preordained 'fall guy' for slag or denigration or devaluation or religious persecution from both metachemical and pseudo-metachemical standpoints, both of which are, by contrast, on the female side of the gender divide and therefore all too partial to an anti-male perspective from a sanctimonious standpoint designed to camouflage their basically anti-religious natures.

The extraordinary sensitivity and brutal opposition of average people, including immediate neighbours, to thought, as to thinking by a solitary man, has to be experienced to be believed! Clearly, most people are not designed to think but, rather, to oppose thinking in those who can, as though it were an affront to sanity (as conceived, in superficial terms, by the majority).

Philosophy is not a profession (as with university academics); it is a vocation, demanding the utmost perseverance, asceticism, and aloofness from worldly entanglements. The philosopher is a kind of secular monk, who lives, as far as possible, in his private cell, shut off from everyday life as from a threat to being.

After over twenty-one years of Bangladeshi rule at Hermiston Avenue, London N8, I feel like someone who has 'done time' in a concentration camp or harsh prison from which, at length, he is now free, albeit not, as yet, from the psychological scars and painful, humiliating memories he carries within!

For me, life at Hermiston Avenue was a living hell. But it motivated me, not least through Centretruths Digital Media (which I founded in 2007), to aspire towards Heaven.

It could now be that, with my attic flat overlooking Alexandra Palace from its rear room, I have attained to a kind of domestic heaven. For up here one can certainly speak, echoing Jim Morrison, of 'cool air heights', in welcome contrast to the overheated atmosphere that enervatingly prevailed at Hermiston Avenue under Bangladeshi auspices.

Up here, on my Zarathustrian heights, where I look down upon Alexandra Palace from a room around which the wind howls like a deranged Banshee, I rejoice in my release from the Bangladeshi hothouse in whose suffocating atmosphere – suffocating to literature and music as well as to the spirit – I languished for many a long year without promise of reprieve or hope of liberation. At night, when the January wind assaults the rafters and rattles the windowpanes whilst the ventilator sighs mournfully and seems to funnel breaths of cold air across my bed, things couldn't be more different from how it was in the airless prison whose central heating seemed especially merciless at night as I lay in bed, too close to the radiator for comfort, with pyjamas and sheets and duvet alike drenched in torrents of sweat from which, under the weight of my listlessness, there was no escape, since no way of turning the radiator off or of having the thermostat settings, which were at the landlord's discretion, changed for the better.

If that implacable heating system was hell, or an aspect of the greater hell in which I suffocatingly languished, breathing with considerable difficulty, and then in a laboured fashion that always threatened to choke me, then the cold draughts of air from the ventilator next to my bed up here, in the bedroom of this attic flat, is more akin to heaven, and I welcome them with outstretched arms as one who has emerged from some kind of fiery fundamentalism dominated by heat to an airy transcendentalism whose chill winds, transmuted into cold draughts, is the release of my spirit and salvation of my soul.

Whereas the primary sex (female) devaluates and evaluates in typically objective vein, the secondary sex (male) revaluates (re-evaluates) and transvaluates in typically subjective vein, since the secondary sex is, in general terms, an abstraction from the more concrete, or somatic, nature of the primary sex, whose lives typically revolve around reproduction.

Just as Progressive Rock is the zenith of rock, so Heavy Metal is rock music's nadir, a branch of rock that digs itself into a deep and – one might say – 'black' hole from which, like extreme republican socialism and/or socialist republicanism, there is no escape and certainly no possibility of divine redemption. Rather does Heavy Metal worship death, whose personification is Satan.

Reluctantly I got out of bed before eight o'clock this morning in order to go up to Wood Green and tend to some pressing business. I really hate getting up early, especially when it's freezing. Actually, I don't think I've recovered from the ordeal yet, several hours later, since my nerves have been on-edge all day and I haven't had so much as one single interesting thought. Worry and strain, of which there is only too much in life, can really destroy a man, even if a woman doesn't.



The four twentieth-century authors whose books I have read and enjoyed (respected, admired, etc.) the most are Aldous Huxley, Hermann Hesse, Henry Miller, and Jean-Paul Sartre, all of whom were to influence me as a writer/thinker and set me on the path to literary success, that is to say, to a literary vocation in which the pursuit of Truth, or metaphysical truth, was the principal motivation. No money, no fame, no recognition, no encouragement – how could there be? But success on my own terms, that is good enough for me!

If I reluctantly entered upon the path to a literary vocation, as I did, it was because I saw myself as a musician who only took up writing when all else, including the loss of a piano when I moved address from Merstham in Surrey to Finsbury Park in north London in 1974 and the want of an electric guitar (I still owned a battered old acoustic one, but so what?), had failed. Subsequently, any music I played or 'composed' (ahem!) was an aside to my pursuit of a literary vocation, to which, through thick and thin (but mostly thin) I have remained steadfast.

Superficiality is a bitch vulgarly imposing and insinuating without just cause, driven by vacuous necessity.

People – and males in particular - seek and strive for one thing above all: independence of other people, especially of their exploitations and insinuations.

As one of the world's leading philosophers I feel I have a right to live above the world in this attic flat whose rear window overlooks Alexandra Palace from above and from a discreet distance that renders it of somewhat diminished scale.

Is that an angel on the pinnacle of the pediment or, perhaps, a whore? I should prefer to think it was an angel, since, in my celibacy and solitude, I am of saintly disposition and prefer to look down upon such creatures from a higher vantage-point, but, deep down, I am not convinced. After all, would not whore hyped as angel accord with the general biblical practice of hyping Devil the Mother as God the Father or the Cosmos as the Universe or, for that matter, metachemistry as metaphysics?

Ultimately, the only thing worth knowing is oneself or, more specifically, one's self. Otherwise how, as a male, can one carry on living? To be at the mercy of other people, particularly females, with their so-called selflessness, is a form of hell that limits and corrupts one's life, making one a kind of dependent nonentity subject to constraints upon self-knowledge.

The relatively short move – within walking distance – from Hornsey to Harringay was, for me, akin to moving from Hell to Heaven, though only in comparative terms. For here, as elsewhere, there are still neighbours to contend with, most of whom are not adult male.

If I write less and less, it must be because I think more and more. As for speaking and reading, I rarely do either!

Meine Wohnung ist hell. Translated into English, that means 'my flat is bright'. Not hellish in the English sense of excruciatingly painful or evil or difficult to endure on account of the suffering involved.



For me, music has always been higher than literature, as, from the opposite standpoint, art would be higher than sculpture. For art and music are the alpha and omega of the noumenal, or ethereal, arts, the arts of space and time, whereas literature and sculpture (to possibly oversimplify) are the alpha and omega of the phenomenal, or corporeal, arts, the arts of volume and mass. This means that whereas literature and music would be indicative of a gender polarity having church-hegemonic/state-subordinate (southwest to northeast points of the intercardinal compass) axial implications, art and sculpture, to take once again the hegemonic elements, would be indicative of a gender polarity having state-hegemonic/church-subordinate (northwest to southeast points of the intercardinal compass) axial implications. Such a polarity, in the one case, would be from chemistry to metaphysics, volume to time, whilst, in the other case, it would be from metachemistry to physics, space to mass, with, in the former instance, pseudo-physics and pseudo-metachemistry as the respective subordinate gender positions, equivalent to a polarity between pseudo-sculpture and pseudo-art, pseudo-mass and pseudo-space, but, in the latter instance, pseudo-metaphysics and pseudo-chemistry as the respective subordinate gender positions, equivalent to a polarity between pseudo-music and pseudo-literature, pseudo-time and pseudo-volume, however one may wish or deem fit to interpret such polarities, bearing in mind the upended 'natures' of the pseudo-elements involved.

Therefore whilst art and pseudo-music may be said to complement each other in metachemistry and pseudo-metaphysics at the northwest point of the intercardinal compass, their state-hegemonic/church-subordinate polarities would be sculpture and pseudo-literature in physics and pseudo-chemistry at the southeast point thereof.

And whilst literature and pseudo-sculpture may be said to complement each other in chemistry and pseudo-physics at the southwest point of the intercardinal compass, their church-hegemonic/state-subordinate polarities would be music and pseudo-art in metaphysics and pseudo-metachemistry at the northeast point thereof, a point as far removed, in its omega and pseudo-alpha positions, from the alpha and pseudo-omega positions of the northwest point of the intercardinal axial compass as is possible for any two points to be.

Therefore not only art and music, but pseudo-music and pseudo-art are also axially antithetical, if more, as noted above, in relation to a pseudo-noumenal differential between pseudo-omega and pseudo-alpha subordinate positions corresponding not to space and time but to pseudo-time and pseudo-space.

And what applies above, in respect of the ethereal, also applies to the corporeal realm below it, where the phenomenal antithesis between literature and sculpture, volume and mass, is accompanied by an axial antithesis between pseudo-sculpture and pseudo-literature corresponding to a pseudo-phenomenal differential, in pseudo-mass and pseudo-volume, between pseudo-omega and pseudo-alpha subordinate positions.

I was the musician who turned renegade and became a writer, albeit one who bestowed upon the titles of his not-inconsiderable oeuvre individual opus numbers, as though they were musical compositions. Actually, some of them may even be music in literary disguise.

Poet, dream on if you dare. For there will come a time when your dream becomes a nightmare and you will wake up screaming for the daylight of some kind of philosophic rationale.

Those who only pay peanuts for their lodgings sooner or later end-up having to live with monkeys.

The train disappeared down a long tunnel before emerging again on the far side of day, reborn, as it were, into the light.

Art for the deaf, music for the blind; literature for the lame, sculpture for the dumb.

Breathe deeply the air of idealism in order that the light of transcendentalism may illuminate the darkness of fundamentalism and put out the fire of materialism.

I recently purchased a tall, pine bookcase from Homebase which, after I had lugged all 24kgs of it home via the local bus, took me several hours to assemble – at least partially correctly (for I had yet to buy an appropriate cross-pointed screwdriver to enable me to drive the many screws all the way in and thus complete the task of assembling it properly). But when I had finished and began to load the shelves – some six in all – with my books, lo and behold! They exactly filled all the shelves, with no space to spare! Now is that not something of a miracle?

The next time somebody tells me to 'fuck off' I shall tell the bugger, in no uncertain terms, exactly what to sodding-well do! And preferably to the nearest underground station.

If I have a general criticism of the German film Anatomy (2000), which is one of my favourites, it is that responses to certain statements by the leading character (played by Franka Potente) happen too quickly, with little or no space for reflection or due consideration. Another is that the scene where Benno Fürmann's character disposes of the corpse of Philip, a fellow student whom he has murdered for having dated his girlfriend (Gretchen), with whom he is ostensibly madly in love, is wildly implausible, particularly since, under pressure from cleaning personnel and/or caretakers who are endeavouring to gain access to the storeroom in which he has hastily barricaded himself, he still manages not only to strip and store the said corpse away, but remove, in a panic, the ring from its finger and, subsequently, cut or chop off (one isn't shown this) its head and stash it away in a plastic Aldi bag to which he nervously clings as he is shown huddled and hidden away from view in one of the cupboards or compartments of the room just in time to avoid detection by those who have been vainly trying, evidently for several minutes, to gain access to it. All this has to be seen to be believed or, rather, disbelieved! Nevertheless, this film, which spawned an inferior sequel, is not without considerable merit, and it is amazing to think that Benno Fürmann and Franka Potente, whose characters become bitter enemies in this film, are back together again in The Princess and the Warrior (2003), as Der Krieger und Die Kaiserin is translated, but in circumstances that turn out to be at a considerable remove from those of Anatomy, or should I say Anatomie.

I am the one who has always lived alone, slept alone, cooked alone, eaten alone, walked alone, bought alone, borrowed alone, played alone, travelled alone, thought alone, drank alone, written alone, edited alone, designed alone, published alone, promoted alone, cleaned alone, washed alone, washed up alone, fought alone, worked alone, been alone – in short, done everything by myself, because that has been my fate as one born in Ireland of an Irish Catholic father but brought to England at an early age by an English-born mother of mixed-Irish descent and subsequently transferred from a Catholic to a Protestant upbringing in church and school and home.

Being neither 'fish' nor 'fowl', I fit in nowhere and have always been aware of my personal uniqueness and of a proclivity, deriving from this, towards solitude, a solitariness reinforced by the fact that, issuing from parents who were soon to part and go their separate ways, I was an 'only child' and never learnt, in consequence, how to mix-in with others. It is only with the greatest reluctance that I enter into social relations with other people, preferring the company, when that has been possible, of animals, particularly cats, who don't judge or, at any rate, appear not to do so, but simply show affection and sometimes a touching deference.

People talk of 'changing the system', whether from 'within' or from 'without', but to me the only thing that matters is a change of system – namely to one based around religious sovereignty and rights accruing to same, about which I have previously written at some length (though not, of course, in this particular project). Such a 'change of system' I would incline to identify with Social Theocracy, the ideological face (godly) of Social Transcendentalism (heavenly), and the concept, also dealt with before now, of 'the Centre', conceived as the ultimate politico-religious entity whose centro-complexification (to use a de Chardin-esque expression) is not incompatible with an omega point.

But, of course, none of this could transpire without the democratic consent or endorsement of the masses, and therefore in consequence of the utilization of the democratic process in certain countries (principally those with, like the Republic of Ireland, a church-hegemonic axial tradition that is the necessary precondition of the 'resurrection' of church-hegemonic axial criteria) by the adherents of Social Theocracy to a religiously-sovereign end, pending a majority mandate for Social Transcendentalism. Then and only then would it be possible – and legally permissible – to establish 'the Centre', as the context in which religious sovereignty (together with the rights accruing to it) was the ideological norm, as germane, so I contend, to 'Kingdom Come'. For what else could 'Kingdom Come' possibly be about?

It may well be that I am the philosophical equivalent of Karl Marx, the theoretician behind not Social Democracy, as in Marx's case, but Social Theocracy, with altogether different axial implications.

The British are axially torn between the Scylla of science-dominated pseudo-religion (or pseudo-metaphysics under metachemistry at the northwest point of the intercardinal axial compass) and the Charybdis of economics-dominated pseudo-politics (or pseudo-chemistry under physics at the southeast point of the intercardinal axial compass), the latter of which, corresponding to a parliamentary democracy characterized by the governance of an oligarchic elite, dare not or cannot rock the proverbial boat of the economic hegemony which, appertaining to plutocracy, has its fulcrum in physics. But this fulcrum of an economic per se is nonetheless obliged to defer, via pseudo-chemistry, to the overall axial hegemony of science, represented by metachemistry, and hence the ruling principle of a constitutional monarchy, which is theoretically head of the Anglican Church, that pseudo-religious Archbishop of Canterbury-led subordinate corollary of the metachemical hegemony of science.

They say that 'time is of the essence', but that is only true of repetitive time, or time per se, not of the sequential time that, in relation to pseudo-metaphysics, is largely the product of spatial pressure from metachemistry and all things to do, in consequence, with space per se. Ironically, time that, being repetitive, is essential has always been 'beyond the pale' of the Judeo-Christian tradition rooted, as it is, in both spatial space and sequential time, the latter of which has probably been identified with 'Father Time' to a greater extent than its metaphysical counterpart, whose essential being most accords with what I would describe as Heaven the Holy Soul, the precondition of any godfatherly 'face of heaven' such that is merely Heaven regarded from the outside rather than being actually experienced from within (which is 'god' to others).

Both aspects of the One Reality would, however, appertain to metaphysical free psyche, the preponderating ratio aspect (3:1) of metaphysics, which, in the Western tradition, has never extended beyond bound soma (the crucifixional paradigm) by dint of its Creator-esque anchor, so to speak, implying a religious deference, on the part of Christians, to Devil the Mother hyped as God the Father in metachemical free soma, as to the predominating ratio aspect (3:1) of metachemistry, whose fulcrum has nothing to do with truth or, more correctly, joy and everything, by contrast, to do with beauty coupled, in the other aspect of its free soma, to love.

Therefore when and if this has been incorrectly identified with 'Father Time', it is small wonder that people speak of the coming 'end of time' as of metachemical/pseudo-metaphysical dominion over the world, when, in point of fact, time per se, which I have identified with metaphysics, can have no end, since germane, in its repetitiveness, to Eternity, and more specifically to the eternity of repetitive time in Heaven the Holy Soul, a reality that could only officially transpire at the expense of both spatial space (Devil the Mother) and sequential time (pseudo-God the pseudo-Father), akin, in biblical parlance, to Jehovah and Satan, or so-called God and the so-called Devil (whose natural parallels after the cosmic – stellar/solar – dichotomy would be Saul and David, with a kind of tree-oriented blossom/fruit dichotomy the latter aspect of which I would incline to identify with oranges).

But the end of pseudo-being, as of pseudo-metaphysics as the subordinate element or, more correctly, pseudo-element to the spatial space of metachemistry, would signal the beginning, globally, of repetitive time, as of metaphysics hegemonic over the subordinate pseudo-element of spaced space in pseudo-metachemistry, and hence of 'Kingdom Come' which, as the reader or student of my work may know, I happen to identify with the Social Theocratic/Transcendentalist Centre, whose fulcrum, in true being, is Heaven the Holy Soul.

Wherever you live, there are always people, usually though not invariably female, who are only too ready to track one's movements, as though to keep in touch, discover more about one, and possibly earmark one for sexual or social predation. As a solitary male who thinks, one also finds there are a dependable number of persons, again usually female, whose sensitivity to thought does not preclude them from endeavouring to censure one's thought processes through some physical retort or other designed to make one aware that thinking to oneself is not permitted or encouraged, presumably because, quite apart from their own incapacity to think, it wouldn't be for them at work or school or college or whatever, or simply because it doesn't suit them for you, as a male, to be self-absorbed.

Well, seeing that I am a thinker, all I can say is 'tough'. That sort of reactionary attitude and retaliatory behaviour usually induces me to think all the more!

I didn't 'get where I am today', as the saying goes, by being weak-minded and afraid to think from fear of offending female objectivity, rooted, as it is, in the spatial vacuum of free will and, in the more devolved cases, in the volumetric vacuum of free spirit.

The female objectivity of will and spirit may make life possible by enabling women to achieve, through reproduction, a temporal solution to the problem of being fundamentally vacuous, but it is no friend of Eternal Life or of that which, spurning female seduction, turns away from temporal life. Which is why salvation, as I've said before, is an exclusively male solution to the problem, for men, of female domination, and can have no relevance whatsoever to women.

That is why the flabby Christianity that exists today, with its salvation for all and sundry, irrespective of gender, has to be rejected if one is to understand the nature of salvation and the purpose of religion that is in any meaningful sense 'true'. Unfortunately, the mixed gender congregations of the Christian Church, in each and every one of its manifold denominations, has never done very much to advance religious truth and the prospect of genuine salvation (coupled, for females, with counter-damnation – at least on the church-hegemonic axis and as the necessary preconditions of anything else), but has tended, rather, to confirm a worldly bias in which the liberal values of gender equalitarianism were implicit long before they became explicit and the Cross became partially eclipsed by the Star that had always hovered somewhere nearby in the Marian background of a latent heathenism awaiting its time to 'come out' and to proclaim the same ungodly message of love to all and sundry, irrespective of gender.

When Baudelaire, one of my few literary heroes, asks what conversations with 'God' women in church can possibly have, you know you're dealing with one of the most ironically barbed of rhetorical questions by a poet – and considerable intellect – who was nonetheless regarded, in some quarters, as something of a 'devil-worshipper'. Now is that a fact?

Unfortunately, it has to be admitted that, although Baudelaire probably had a Christian concept orientated solely towards Christ in mind, the term 'God', especially in Western usage, affords a pretty 'wide solution', as John Cowper Powys, evidently no friend or admirer of Baudelaire, would say.

Fundamentally, women think that men have nothing better to do than to sexually and socially serve them, which, because this isn't the case, is a source of considerable annoyance on the part of females and, correlatively, of general resentment on the part of males.



The pseudo-writer doesn't write, he prints, whether with the aid, traditionally, of a pen and/or pencil or, more contemporaneously, with the use of a typewriter (so-called), word processor, personal computer, laptop, etc. Either way, by hand or machine, the results are less than writing … in the sense of joined letters in a flowing style, but the independent, disconnected letters of print, thereby attesting to a particle (alpha) as opposed to a wavicle (omega) bias more suited, traditionally, to young children or the mentally retarded.

In fact, given the amount of print (as opposed to writing) which is available and daily thrust upon people these days, one can only conclude that the age is effectively juvenile in its partiality to the disjunctive lettering of print, which follows, it seems to me, from a female domination vacuously characterized by objectivity.

As for me, I would be more reluctant to print than to write, though I confess to transcribing my notebook scribbles into print via my laptop computer, which makes me no less guilty than everybody else of being 'modern'.



Those idiots who live surrounded by beauty, within a beautiful environment and with a beautiful wife and beautiful kids and all the rest of it, can only be dead to their souls. For to be aware of one's soul, one's inner self, one has to suffer, to suffer ugly or trying or somehow difficult circumstances that, when push comes to shove, cause one to recoil in horror and revulsion, thereby obliging one, when not too distracted, to come to terms with one's self, one's inner being, which enables one both to mentally comment upon what is going on and, at the same time, to theoretically transcend it, to draw certain conclusions, often philosophical or moral, about life and one's relationship to the world, for better or worse.

This tendency of difficult circumstances to drive one in or back upon oneself is the path to Truth in consequence of disillusionment with the outside world, and in Truth (metaphysical truth), inner values are considerably to the fore!

But females are not like males in this respect, since the embodiments, as a rule, of beauty and therefore of that which conduces, through seduction, towards 'the world', not least in respect of appearances. Rarely will a female turn in physical disillusionment with 'the world', that largely human construct, towards 'the Otherworld', so to speak, of metaphysical truth. On the contrary, it is precisely then, under pressure of difficult or trying circumstances, that their true nature, their will and spirit, fight back and come to the fore, whether aggressively or, more usually in connection with male children and even adults, compassionately, to offer sympathy or encouragement.

For females, rooted in the Beautiful, as in free will, do not aspire towards the otherworldly truths that are the product, as a rule, of disillusionment precisely with that which, as 'the world', they uphold, like the legendary caryatids of classical mythology. It is males who are so inclined, and to that end they have devised institutional underpinnings of their disillusionments in the more transcendental aspects of religion, which offer them some hope of a 'better world' to come, one which is not 'of this world' but somehow above and beyond it. Therein lies the core of Christian faith as the possibility of divine redemption through a 'saviour' who will deliver from 'the world' those (males) who are not specifically 'of the world' but capable, in their disillusionment, of embracing Truth and thereby opting for 'Kingdom Come'.

In war one side gets stronger (and more female) whilst the other side gets weaker (and more male), like Germany in both the First and Second World Wars. Really, Germany should – and possibly could – have known better; for 'the Fatherland' has generally been characterized by a male bias, in contrast to the various 'Motherlands', including Russia and France, which have historically demonstrated a female bias, one at loggerheads, through will and spirit, with ego and soul.

In this world, the male struggle (towards Eternity) is always an uphill (Calvary-like) one, and the male is, in consequence, for ever 'up against it'. No disgrace to Germany for being preponderantly of male character, but the fault, if anywhere, lies in a want of self-understanding in relation to the implications of being male (and secondary/abstract) rather than female (and primary/concrete), in a world which, traditionally, has shown itself to be dominated by the latter. Perhaps, where the Second World War was concerned, the fact of Hitler's Austrian ancestry had a destabilizing effect upon German gender self-assessment?

The book collection, the record collection, the collection of CDs and DVDs – all dead. Little or nothing that he would ever read or listen to or watch again. Really, just a record of his past 'cultural' spending, his tastes, his previous interest in amassing paperbacks and LPs and audio cassettes and video cassettes and CDs and DVDs that now assumed, in their various settings, their shelves and cases, their racks and boxes, a kind of museum-like quality … of dead artefacts, kept because they had once held an intellectual or musical or pictorial interest. And he himself barely alive, buried beneath the various mounds of dead artefacts that he struggled, in vain, to escape from, as though from a psychological imprint or curse or weight that bore down upon him with ironic indifference.

He who had once been alive was now virtually as dead as the books, records, tapes, CDs and DVDs of his vast collection of cultural products. At any rate, he was dead to them, having lived through them and sucked what nourishment he could from them, from some more than others, until his ego was proportionately bloated and his soul possessed by their literary or musical or pictorial content. He had, in a sense, outgrown them, but they had left their various marks, some deeper than others, and now he himself was a product, in varying degrees, of their manifold influences, if something of a rebellious product who still struggled, under a mountain of these external influences, to find himself or, rather, his self, in spite of the immense difficulty of doing so in a life characterized – and marked – by the products of so many other selves from whom, he knew, one could never entirely escape. For even dead things exert an influence on the living, though less of an influence than when he was 'dead to himself' and 'alive' to them, succumbing, with youthful enthusiasm, to their artificially resurrected or simulated 'lives'.

A female has to love others or she'll hate herself. A male, by contrast, has to love himself or he'll hate others. A 'happy compromise' allows the female to love someone who loves himself, so that she ends-up adopting a number of his views, some of his tastes, a few of his habits, etc., in what effectively amounts to a male-hegemonic situation that degenerative and barbarous detractors stigmatize as chauvinistic in relation to what is, by any accounts, an 'unhappy age'.

But, of course, the aforementioned 'happy compromise' is actually geared towards reproduction, and thus the acquirement, by the female in particular, of somebody, namely the child, who will love and need her more than he loves or needs himself. Talk about giving an inch in order to take the proverbial mile …

The more he thought, the less he wrote. The more she wrote, the less she thought. There are thinkers who write and writers who think, but there are also thinkers who do not write and writers, one has to say, who do not think, and they stand, in female and male terms, at opposite poles of what I like to regard as the church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axis, like, musically speaking, electronica and rock. But in between, yet still apart, come the thinkers who write and the writers who think, like regressive electronica and progressive rock, as though symptomatic of a more androgynous gender constitution in which either the male position (or pole) is compromised by female predilections or, alternatively, the female position (or pole) finds itself compromised by male predilections, the former analogous, as noted, to what I like to call regressive electronica, the latter to progressive rock.

Yet writer and thinker are as symptomatic of the hegemonic poles in chemistry and metaphysics of the church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axis as … speaker and reader of the hegemonic poles in metachemistry and physics of the state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axis, and whilst there are doubtless speakers who, in female vein, do not read and readers who, in male vein, do not speak, like jazz singers and orchestral musicians, there are also speakers who read and readers who speak, as though symptomatic of a more androgynous gender constitution in which either the female pole (or position) is compromised by male predilections or the male pole (or position) finds itself compromised by female predilections, like presumably and analogously what could be called instrumental jazz and vocal classical, the former arguably akin to a progressive kind of jazz and the latter to a regressive kind of classical, since progress always accrues, it seems to me, to a male predilection within a female context and regression, by contrast, to a female predilection within a male one, whereby instrumentality in the one case and vocals in the other presents us with a departure from the axial alpha and omega of singing and playing that is analogous, in literary terms, to the speaker who reads and to the reader who speaks, and therefore stands at an androgynous remove from the speaker on the one hand and the reader on the other, as from the sensual and sensible polarities of the state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axis.

For the more she speaks, the less she reads. And the more he reads, the less he speaks. The speaker and the reader are as polar on the state-hegemonic axis as the thinker and the writer on the church-hegemonic one, with the speaker and writer no less female in their respective axial ways than the thinker and reader male in terms of a noumenal and phenomenal, or ethereal and corporeal, distinction of axis.

But if the speaker is polar to the reader and the thinker polar to the writer, then the speaker and the thinker are axially antithetical on absolute (noumenal) exclusive terms, whereas the writer and the reader are only axially antithetical on relative (phenomenal) exclusive terms, like rock and classical as opposed, most exclusively, to jazz and electronica.

Nor are the 'androgynous' in-betweens any less or more axially exclusive, since progressive (instrumental) jazz is still at an absolute axial remove from regressive electronica, which tends towards vocals at the expense of instrumentality, whilst progressive rock, which tends towards instrumentality at the expense of vocals, is still at a relative axial remove from regressive classical, with its incorporation of vocals at the expense of instrumentality.

The speaker who reads is no less incompatible with the thinker who writes than the writer who thinks with the reader who speaks. Only the thinker who writes and the writer who thinks have anything mutually in common, if from opposite points of view on the church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axis.

Likewise, only the speaker who reads and the reader who speaks have anything mutually in common, if from opposite points of view, on the state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axis. On the other hand, having something in common on what could be called lopsided terms, as between the thinker who writes and the writer or the writer who thinks and the thinker, not to overlook the speaker who reads and the reader or the reader who speaks and the speaker, can of course logically exist. But it would remain distinctly one-sided, neither mutual, as described above, nor exclusive, as between axial antitheses, and quite distinct from the thinker and the writer on the one hand and the speaker and the reader on the other who, if not axially exclusive, are only inclusive of each other on polar axial terms, having little or nothing in common.



In my experience, library computers, not least in the local Haringey Borough libraries I frequent in north London, are too slow to be worth taking seriously from the standpoint of one's work. They tend, I find, to be a sheer waste of time, jamming up at frequent intervals.

The wind blows and sweeps and growls and howls and rasps and rattles and chokes and croaks against and around the walls of my attic bedroom, tirelessly ravishing the slanting figure of a roof which has no defences to protect either itself or me from the ravages which daily befall it, turning my dream into a nightmare and my night into a storm of dread whose demons send shivers of fear down my spine and through my limbs as the gusts of wind continue to blow and to growl and to prowl and to stalk the night air with a vengeance that smacks of the restless torments of a mind betrayed, abandoned to the whims of a vicious winter under the godless blasts of which life retreats into itself as into a shell, a void of contempt and resentment for being at the mercy of elemental forces beyond its control.

She said: “He is so far up his arse that he's almost inside out,” evidently on account of his thoughts being exposed to the public notice of persons who, in their vacuous objectivity, would not hesitate to cut them down to size and further blacken his reputation as an anti-social being who prefers his own company and the companionship, à la Nietzsche, of his thoughts to the chatter of others!

Now you see it, now you don't; the devil's tail cursor flits haphazardly across the computer screen with what seems like an enigmatic mind or, rather, will of its own which it can be exceedingly difficult to track down and somehow master, keeping it firmly under control. But master it one must, if one is not to explode in a fit of rage or, in my case, implode from mental exasperation, and simply stop using computers altogether.



Life is so much bigger than any one person that the travails of the individual count for little in the grand scheme of things. Life goes on willy-nilly, polyversally indifferent to the universal, impersonally indifferent to the personal, objectively indifferent if not hostile to the subjective.

If there's one thing worse than recruiting, it can only be actually being recruited, since it almost inevitably follows that with recruitment goes regimentation and the sacrifice of one's will to the domination of another.

Some would claim that bangers 'n' mash was the classic rock 'n' roll meal. Others that toad-in-the-hole was, though, on reflection, that might well be more appropriate to rhythm 'n' blues, since arguably of an older vintage.

Inconsistency is the hallmark of the human. Humans are nothing if not inconsistent, in contrast to machines and most species of animal, who follow set patterns from which they rarely if ever deviate. But, then, the truly contemporary man, an urban proletarian, is nothing if not machine-like in his repetitious life-style and is expected, with the absence of religion, to behave like a machine, to repeat, on a daily basis, what he has done before. This is what happens with the dominion of science.

People lace their shoes with – lace? I think not. Whose shoelaces are made of lace these days?

Fries, burger, and soft drink, kind of like jazz, blues, and gospel, but not at all like rock 'n' roll, however you choose to define or interpret a term that, to reprise John Cowper Powys, 'affords a wide solution'.

Music is like a well into which one drops the bucket of one's tastes and from which one draws nourishment for the soul. Or is it one's will, spirit, or ego? Depends on the type of music, I guess, as well as on the person concerned.

If I didn't prefer my own music to anyone else's, there would be no point in me listening to it, never mind having composed it. But in the event of having done so, it would be odd not to prefer one's own music to anybody else's, since it should be closer to who or what one is.

When somebody else cooks for you, it's not the same as when you cook for yourself. In fact, it may well be that he who cooks for himself doesn't need anybody else to cook for him, since likely to prefer his own tastes and stratagems.

The Poet in his garret; the Philosopher in his attic, high above the mostly one and two storey houses of the masses.

No philosopher should live – or have to live – in a bungalow or cottage, the kinds of dwelling more suited to the down-to-earth writers of prose, particularly novels and fiction generally, which tend, as a rule, to reflect a low cultural disposition.

These days I travel by single-decker bus and overground train, rarely by anything else, least of all double-decker buses and the underground.

A man is never more of a man than when he is by himself. With a woman he is reduced to half a man, saddled to somebody who is more hell and purgatory than earth and heaven; in other words, to somebody anterior to himself and effectively inferior to him in relation to taking and being, since more characterized by doing and giving, viz., by will and spirit as opposed to ego and soul. It is this half-and-half deal which constitutes 'the world' as a kind of liberal phenomenon always falling short of 'the Beyond', as of 'Kingdom Come', the setting in which Heaven is granted free rein or, rather, the right to exist.

When all is said and done, we are alone (on our own) and have to make decisions in our own interests, or what we perceive to be such, irrespective of what others do or say, think or believe.

I have never interpreted 'free thought' as a licence to write anything, irrespective of how stupid, base, degenerate, or seemingly depraved it is. The 'liberal' concept of free thought leaves me cold, especially when it leads to trivia and to gratuitously vulgar or fatuous notions being taken seriously or granted a degree of credence for seemingly being at the so-called 'cutting edge' of things, however you might wish to interpret the latter phrase.

For me, by contrast, free thought (which should not be confused with its antithesis, free speech) is a philosophical concept deeply associated with religious freedom Which is not to say freedom from religion (often confounded if not falsely identified with freedom from religious persecution), but, on the contrary, freedom to develop a religious concept, like God or Heaven, to its logical conclusion, irrespective of how different or even contrary it may be to the perceived wisdom of religious tradition.

Being free of 'Creator-ism', of the so-called Father, Jehovah, the Almighty, the Omnipotent, etc., is for me the crux of religious freedom. For it allows metaphysics, the religious element par excellence, to develop or be developed to the full extent of its capability independently of metachemistry, the scientific element par excellence, and thus, to repeat, of the alpha-based 'First Mover', that is, of the so-called 'Creator' and/or 'Creator as God'.

This, for me, is the test of free thought, the responsibility of which and for which is to become profoundly religious in an ultimate sense, a sense which puts one 'beyond the pale' of the Church, as of conventional or traditional religion, in a mindset orientated towards the possibility of 'Kingdom Come', as a totally unprecedented manifestation of religious freedom or, more correctly, liberation achieved via the philosophical vehicle of free thought.

The 'free thinker' in this higher sense is alone truly religious, for he heralds the dawn of a new age in which the worship of power, disguised as the Almighty, the Creator, the Father, etc., would become a thing of the female-dominated past, when the will was triumphant and the soul … prostrated in supine submission before the tyranny of what passed for God. Is this not still the case today in large swathes of the world, the Judaic and Moslem East not excepted?

Even when, as a younger man, I was more into writing … I was reluctant to write about certain things, subjects which would have unduly compromised me or for which I had only a limited competence or passing interest. My reluctance then was of a different order – more like shyness or tact or indifference. Today, I can safely say this it derives, this reluctance, from my self-esteem as a thinker, for whom writing is a kind of 'necessary evil', to be entertained only as a last resort.

And yet, I am arguably a better writer, or better at writing, which is to say logically and systematically conveying my thoughts, than I was then, back in the heyday, as it were, of my literary vocation, when I was not beyond writing novels or poems or even dialogues (the nearest I ever came, within a largely philosophical framework, to the wilful drama of plays).

The artist/philosopher, or variants thereof, may not seem, in this day and age of commercial enterprise, to be the most significant or important of persons. But even with his limited appeal to the masses, who generally prefer competitive sport and game shows, he is absolutely necessary in an age when, with the decline to the point of near or even virtual extinction of religious conventions and traditions in the West (the East although apparently more religious is simply comparatively backward), he is the only safeguard, not least 'On High', that is, in the noumenal (ethereal) heights, against society being overly dominated by tyrannical elements who, desirous of bringing people more under their predatory wing, would proscribe and, if possible, exterminate anyone remotely resembling a genuine artist or philosopher or paradoxical combination of both, in order not to be constrained in the expression of their oppressive agendas by persons whose positive attitudes to creative individualism and subjective originality could only detract from if not actually inhibit their pursuit of power to authoritarian not to say overly tyrannical ends.

Without the constraining influence upon would-be tyrants or worshippers of power (who are often manual workers accustomed to the daily grind in all kinds of inclemencies) of artists and philosophers who are inherently subjective and disposed to 'new vistas' of creative potential, the proclivity of the common man towards competitive violence, fuelled by gender rivalry and the natural domination of females, would more easily be exploited by those of an autocratic or otherwise power-hungry disposition, with consequences that are only too predictable! The artist, thank god (and I use this term in connection with metaphysics), is, even if indirectly and via his intensely subjective creations, the 'bad conscience' and 'thorn in the side' of those who would otherwise have free rein in exploiting the common man for purposes much closer, in their metachemical natures, to the diabolic than to the divine.

So, when priests can no longer be taken seriously as religious leaders because they are manifestly anachronistic, kowtowing to superstitions and social conventions that have no bearing on the Truth, the independent creative minds are the last or only bulwark against those who would do away with religion in their obsessions with scientific power. But they have to be in or near the vanguard of metaphysics, these artists, and not unwitting apologists, like priests and the conventionally religious, for metachemistry by dint of adhering to fundamentalist constraints issuing from the outmoded religious traditions characterized by the worship of 'the Creator', 'the Almighty', 'the All-Powerful', even 'the Lord' (surely a medieval term with aristocratic associations?), and other variants on a (metachemical) theme all-too-beholden to the defence of tyranny under the cosmic order of things. As though that were sufficient justification for analogous processes continuing unabated on earth! Only the radical artist - and the artist-philosopher in particular - stands in the way, these days, of the untrammelled tyranny of those who, scornful or art and religion alike, would otherwise have a free hand in recruiting the common man to ends which lead not forwards to Heaven but backwards to Hell.

But be warned: the godly can and have been disposed of by the devilish, if democracy is not maintained as a safeguard against that happening, at least until such time as the godly can utilize the democratic process to ends which would exclude the power-hungry tyrannical in the interests of universal peace, establishing thereby a 'church' to end all churches in what would become the context of 'Kingdom Come'. For me, this process can only be carried forward by Social Theocracy acting under the messianic auspices of 'the Centre'. For it requires a vote for what I have termed 'religious sovereignty' (and the rights accruing to it), without a majority mandate for which, in certain countries, there could be no legal justification for transcending 'the world' and doing away with all that, in largely netherworldly vein, has always felt itself justified in ruling over it, even to the exclusion of otherworldly criteria and, hence, to a soul-denying slavish deference to mere willpower.

The citizen for the country or the country for the citizen, or both? Probably 'both' would be typically liberal and somehow worldly, whereas the citizen for the country smacks – notwithstanding crises like war - of alpha autocracy and, by contrast, the country for the citizen of something comparatively omega-orientated and, hence, theocratic (using that term in a higher, more evolved, non-Creator-worshipping sense).

Substitute society for country and, say, member for citizen, and you doubtless have a similar antithesis and/or compromise (in worldly vein) between the alpha and the omega. Collectivity on the one hand, that of the country (nation) and society, or persons collectively. Individuality on the other hand, that of the citizen and members, or persons individually.

Citizen of a country, members of society, persons collectively and individually, whether, in fact, they happen to be social or anti-social, herd-like in character (like the majority) or solitary and possibly if not probably misanthropic.

Of course, countries and nations are not necessarily synonymous, since Great Britain, for example, is a nation comprised, at the time of writing, of three countries, namely England, Wales, and Scotland, while the United Kingdom incorporates, besides numerous offshore islands like the Hebrides and the Orkney Isles, what is termed Northern Ireland, or six of the nine counties of the Province of Ulster, one of the four provinces that make up the island of Ireland, the greater percentage of which, including three of the Ulster counties, fall within the self-governing Republic of Ireland which, together with the self-governing Isle of Man, is nevertheless part of that archipelago of islands called the British Isles, together with islands closer to France like Jersey and Guernsey that fall within the British sphere of influence and would regard themselves as sharing British nationality.

The United Kingdom could loosely be described as a nation on account of its more or less traditionally common political and religious structures, but, even without the Republic of Ireland and the Isle of Man, it is comprised of several countries, each of which has its own characteristics, as do the majority of immigrants and British-born nationals who still adhere, in varying degrees, to the cultures, religions, languages, and social practices of their ancestors or native countries.

Furthermore, just how much 'national' overrides 'nation' in terms of a countrywide disposition or dispensation … is a moot point; for there is certainly a sense in which 'national' has come to be identified, rightly or wrongly, with more than just a nation. Nor can society be pegged down to all the members of 'the nation', since it also encompasses the various types of society, from class and profession to club and ethnicity, which constitute a nation, however much or little that term is synonymous with a given country.

Ideally, a society that serves its members is more desirable, from the members' standpoint, than one that exploits and dragoons them for purposes at variance with their personal inclinations or interests. It is even preferable, I believe, to a liberal compromise between exploitation and service, and it is only in a society which serves its members that you can have anything approaching if not approximating to 'Kingdom Come', like a country which serves its citizens by both protecting them and facilitating their well-being or, at any rate, the well-being of those earmarked for salvation as opposed to counter-damnation, a term I reserve, as the reader may well know or have guessed, for those who would have to be 'kept down' in order that the well-being of the deserving might be served to its maximum extent, so that, contrary to a liberal aspiration (whether fulfilled or not) to serve all and sundry, or the interests of the majority, irrespective of merit or nature or gender, one finds a parallel with the biblical metaphor of 'lamb' and (neutralized) 'lion', or, alternatively, 'saint' and (neutralized) 'dragon', the latter, in each case, being that which has to be 'kept down' if the former is to have, through peace of mind, that well-being which is commensurate with a heavenly situation and not, avowedly not, with any kind of worldly norm such that, if truth be told, facilitates the advantage (if not exactly well-being) of those given to what could be called well- or even mal-doing through the bridled or, in the worst case scenario, unbridled encouragement of free will in a situation not incompatible with the citizen serving the country or society being served by its members or, to take an analogous context, females being served by males … to a world-perpetuating reproductive end that could have no conceivable ending barring some cosmic or natural cataclysm, which would perhaps be some kind of poetic justice in a world without hope, through faith, of world-overcoming but governed – nay ruled – by fear.



André Gide, Hermann Hesse, Henry Miller – with my closely-cropped and/or shaven head I would resemble any or all of these great authors, in more than looks, to boot.

Surfing the Internet – dare I say 'internet surfing'? - is the only kind of surfing I do or have ever done. Certainly no wind or wave surfing!

This life is dominated by the 'gold standard' of Satan, who offers you 'the world', that is, all the economic success and material riches you could possibly desire. But there is a catch. You have to pay. And not just with money, but with your soul (like the Mephistophelian Faust). In other words, the loss of your personal freedom as an individual.

Today (this morning, to be more precise) the sun shines down with a post-wintry vengeance, and I feel like one besieged by … Satanic forces!

In the Christian West, traditionally, a lower starting-point than that obtaining with the Jews, deriving largely from the Graeco-Roman world, would have pushed Satan underground, down to the bowels of the earth, so to speak, by dint of the solar realm being perceived as closer to 'the Father', as to God.

Therefore the Judaic Devil would have been the Christian 'Father' (not strictly God, though Christ as 'Son of God' might suggest that 'the Father' still counted, in quasi-Judaic vein, as God, even if not as the focus of Christian worship), and the Judaic God, Jehovah, my Devil the Mother (hyped as God) by dint of its association with an origin anterior to and, in relation to the stellar realm, on a higher plane than the solar, which, by contrast, directly rules over the earth. Nevertheless the stellar plane rules over the solar one, as Jehovah over Satan or, in my terms, Devil the Mother over pseudo-God the pseudo-Father.

Thus the Western tradition was closer, ironically, to God in its solar roots, even if such a pseudo-God ('the Father') remains at a pseudo-metaphysical remove (under metachemistry) from metaphysics and thus from the possibility of Heaven the Holy Soul forever hegemonic, a plane up at the northeast point of the intercardinal axial compass, from what I have called pseudo-Devil the pseudo-Mother, the pseudo-metachemical 'lion' that (through neutralization) perforce 'lies down' with the 'lamb' of godliness, that is, of the godfatherliness which is the outer aspect, as it were, of Heaven the Holy Soul, the fulcrum of metaphysics and absolute antithesis to Devil the Mother, as to anything, not excepting polytheistic adherence to stellar criteria in general, based on cosmic free will.

Why and how does anti-Semitism arise? Principally, I believe, because the Judaic tradition is rooted in the stellar alpha (not the solar pseudo-omega) and therefore lacks a capacity, given its metachemical fulcrum, for metaphysics, which, by contrast, Christianity does have, if only to a limited (bound somatic) extent, and then within a Roman Catholic as opposed to a Protestant axial framework.

Hence the radical Catholic, the man who adheres to metaphysics but is still obliged to officially acknowledge, if reluctantly and even resentfully, metachemistry through the Old Testament (whether or not Jehovah is identified with 'the Father', or, rather, 'the Creator' is conveniently switched from Jehovah to 'the Father' … in relation to both 'the Mother' and 'the Son' of New Testament reference), will most likely be inclined to a degree (varying with the individual) of anti-Semitism, since, for him, 'the Creator', duly attenuated and modified down from its Judaic position in the Old Testament, is not the fulcrum of his religious orientation but, on the contrary, merely the basis, through 'the Father', for subsequent extrapolations of a Marian and Christian order which, depending on one's gender, are more conducive to serving as a fulcrum of worship and/or emulation, whether through acts (Mary) or knowledge (Christ) or as a kind of androgynous (liberal worldly) combination of both.

But this degree of anti-Semitism, always characteristic of, if not endemic to, the Catholic world view, with its metaphysical aspirations and pretensions, will only turn nasty or virulent if and when the individual breaks with metachemistry altogether, in the interests of a more complete or comprehensive approach to metaphysics, commensurate with free psyche in addition to just bound soma (the crucifixional paradigm), and thus, in turning against 'Creator-ism', turns, correlatively, against Judaism and, by implication, the Jews, as, of course, did Adolf Hitler, who was of Austrian Catholic descent.

This, it seems to me, is the ultimate cause of anti-Semitism, and it can only be neutralized or avoided by the Jews themselves acquiescing, as Israelis, in the metaphysical revolution, so to speak, and opting, democratically, to break with metachemistry in the interests of metaphysical universality, the goal, in Heaven the Holy Soul, of all religious evolution and antithesis to religions rooted, like Judaism, in God as Creator, which, barring the substitution of monotheism for polytheism (a kind of devolutionary approach to God as Creator), effectively defy the concept of religious evolution from an unequivocally fundamentalist and, most especially, materialist standpoint – something that even as sophisticated a writer as Arthur Koestler was not immune to in his 'scientific' fixation upon cosmic criteria.

Like Judaism, Islam is another of those religions rooted in some form of 'Creator-ism', albeit more, I believe, in relation to pseudo-metachemistry than to metachemistry, and thus from a contrary standpoint within the perpendicular triangularity of what could broadly be described as Middle Eastern/North African culture in general.

Both Judaism and Islam, however, for all their axial differences, are alike hostile to pseudo-metaphysics, the Satanic or, depending on your point of view, pseudo-godly 'fall guy' for some degree of female denigration, as though paralleling a stellar/Venusian opposition, down the 'Cupidian axis', to the solar plane which, in its overall triangularity, necessarily excludes all but a peripheral and, as it were, unofficial Saturnian orientation appropriate to cosmic metaphysics. For this triangle is dominated, at its apex, by metachemistry, which directly rules over pseudo-metaphysics, as space over pseudo-time (sequential) and indirectly over the pseudo-space (spaced) of pseudo-metachemistry.

Christianity in the West, thank goodness, is unlike either Judaism or Islam, and for that reason the West, when true to itself, has shown itself to be instrumental, not least at its global 'cutting-edge', in undermining and even opposing the reactionary mindsets that derive from an inveterate form of fundamentalism and would seem to be symptomatic of a certain climate- or environment-conditioned backwardness which has tended, traditionally, to fight shy of democracy from autocratic if not tyrannically authoritarian standpoints conducive to the acceptance, through fundamentalism, of the 'One God', as of 'Creator-ism' in general.

Without Western intervention, whether directly or indirectly, the situation in the Middle East and much if not all of the so-called Third World would now be a lot worse, that is, less democratic and correspondingly more autocratic than it currently is.

Where Western imperialism led the way, interventionism has followed, and the results can only be preferable to what would otherwise have been the case, had backward countries been left to their own poverty-stricken devices in consequence of environmental, topographical, or climatic conditioning factors which tended to hamper, if not preclude, civilized progress, leaving the peoples of those lands at the mercy of Nature and of what rules over it – often more fiercely or implacably than in temperate zones – from a stellar/solar basis in the Cosmos.

Global civilization, the fruits of evolutionary progress, would not have transpired without Western imperialism coupled, subsequently, to interventionism, and although it still has a lot of evolving to do, we can at least look towards a future in which the greater proportion of mankind benefits from technology and its rapid progress, much of which would have initially derived, in any case, from the West.



When I reluctantly picked up my pen to write something this morning, it was not because I was sceptical of the veracity of the idea that had occurred to me during the night (though that can be a good enough reason for scepticism), nor that I had nothing particularly new or original to say, but, rather, because my fingers were numb from cold compounded by a degree of alcoholic self-abuse the previous night, which made it difficult for me to grip the pen. So I put it down again and got on with something else. Other things intervened, and I was reluctant, even after my fingers had kind of thawed out, to return to my writing pad, having, in any case, forgotten what I had earlier intended to write.

The other day I picked up my pen and put it down again pretty sharpish, not because I was reluctant to write so much as because I was reluctant to write with the black biro that lay across my notebook, for all the world like a love-sick cuckold or, more to the point, a social democratic arsehole awaiting some anti-stigmata, so to speak, or maybe even the coup de grace that I could be depended upon, sooner or later, to grant it.

Usually I unthinkingly (for a thinker) have no hesitation in picking up a biro – any biro that happens to lay conveniently to-hand – in order to scribble some thoughts into a notebook. The other day, however, was different, and I am reluctant to say if the fault lay with me or with the ballpoint pen. Either way, it was a day that passed unremarked upon, even though it probably contained one or two remarkable events or, at any rate, thoughts.

Today, thank goodness, I have no such scruples, but have scribbled away as though my life depended upon it; which, in a sense, it does, even if that makes me, by association, a bit (you thought I was going to purposely pun that with a 'c' instead of sticking to the 't' on the end, didn't you? Well, though!) of an arsehole myself or, at the very least, somehow social democratic, too. At least I will have the consolation of keying-in all this to my laptop later-on today and thus, as it were, over-typing anything I may have scribbled this morning.

Incidentally, I would never use – and to the best of my recollection have never used – a fountain pen. Nor, for that matter, would I use a pencil (better suited to sketching) to write or, in my case, scribble. My thoughts are way beyond the parameters of pencils and fountain pens alike, requiring the services of black biros whose ink – rather akin to blood – can be seen through the transparent plastic tube or container with which one grips the pen, holding it, as I do, between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand at a point just above the ballpoint's metallic funnel tapering down towards the ballpoint itself, so that the upper end of the pen nestles against the outer side of my forefinger in what is, by any standards, a firm grip. This has been the case longer than I can or care to remember, and I would be most reluctant to change my writing habits or, more correctly, the method by means of which I set about the often perplexing task of conveying my thoughts to paper.

Seeing these thoughts of mine in the light of day, so to speak, they are exposed to view in more than one sense, enabling one to subsequently clarify or modify notions that would otherwise appear indecent in their naked, or unrevised, presentation. To hell with scribbling for scribbling's sake and all that spontaneous writing rubbish! At the end of the day you still have to read what has been written, for better or worse.

My motto has always been: revise, revise, and revise again. Sometimes I can't revise enough, being most reluctant to allow anyone to read anything of mine that I am not satisfied or happy with having read in the first place. I am my own sternest critic who censures himself left, right, and proverbial centre in the interests of a more focused presentation of my thought such that will do maximum justice to my philosophy and, correlative with that, to my various experiences in and conclusions about life and the world in general. It is only through painstaking revision that I overcome my initial reluctance to publish and face the prospect of people reading what I had earlier written.

Degeneration is a natural process that affects all life forms over a period of time, as they draw towards the end of their lives. Old people degenerate as a matter of natural course, and so, in a manner of speaking, do civilizations, Western civilization not excepted.

Much of so-called Modern Art has been described as degenerate, not least by the Nazis and even the Soviets. But that could only be expected from fundamentally barbarous and, certainly in the case of the Nazis, inceptively global ideologies which regarded themselves as existing beyond the parameters (one might almost say 'pale') of Western civilization, with its petty-bourgeois departure, in much modern art, from the representational and still concrete norms of the more conventional or traditional kinds of Western art, a departure often taking the form of abstraction in one way or another, such that the more enlightened would view less as symptomatic of degeneration than of a progression towards a kind of metaphysical omega point commensurate with an aspiration towards or even, in a limited sense, achievement of Eternity.

But one can see how, from a fundamentally barbarous (militaristic) point of view, such idealism in much modern art could be interpreted as degenerate or, more correctly in the case of art that was still representational to a degree, if within distorted parameters, as degenerating from the representational traditions, since an inceptively global civilization, beholden to a new form of concretion, will not be partial to the abstract, in whatever form, whether expressionist or impressionist or some combination or derivative thereof, such so-called non-representational art may take.

Therefore in resurrecting a kind of pagan approach to art in which, when not overly social realist, the 'body beautiful', whether clothed (militaristically) or unclothed (pantheistically), becomes one of the chief vehicles of ideological expression, the Nazis upheld a new alpha orientation appropriate to their militaristic agenda and to the crude, even barbarous beginnings of a new civilization, namely the global civilization with which we are more familiar these days in what is, by any accounts, a post-Western age, in which any form of modern art on canvas, no matter how abstract, could only be regarded as a petty-bourgeois anachronism in a more openly proletarian age, an age still struggling with barbarism and philistinism (not least in the sphere of popular culture) within a global context that has yet to transcend its own concretion through a new kind of abstraction comparable, though synthetically superior to, the so-called 'degenerate' art of the bourgeois West.

When such a time will come, I cannot of course say. But until it does, the addiction to all things concrete, not least on account of female domination, will doubtless continue, and global civilization will be insufficiently mature to have 'degenerated' towards true culture in the most synthetically artificial of abstract creations, whether in the guise of art or music or whatever. For the abstract only comes, like a psychic resolution to life, with old age, not with youth and not to any perceptible degree with middle age either, whether of the individual (a dirty word from a concrete standpoint beholden to the dragooned collective) or of society in general.

When life is young (and pagan) it generates, as in reproduces and expands. When it is old (and Christian) life degenerates, as in being unreproductive and contractive, more typified, in other words, by the centripetal than by the centrifugal. An omega point is, by definition, the product of a degenerative process likely to culminate in the utmost centro-complexification (a de Chardin-esque term for contraction) of a society or individual or, better, a society given to individualism orientated towards if not actually in Eternity.

But when the individuals are given to society in the collective, we find not Eternity but Infinity, coupled to the indefinite expansion of peoples at other peoples' expense in a context typified by competition, the corollary of concrete expansion through generation.

Hence whereas the omega is co-operative and abstract, the alpha is competitive and concrete, particles as against wavicles, collectivity as against individuality, and the Infinity of spatial space (Hell) as opposed to the Eternity of repetitive time (Heaven).

Generation is natural, even supernatural in its flirtatious inception. Degeneration or, rather, what emerges because of degeneration is, to coin a word, nurtural if not supernurtural. For whereas the one is apparently female and objective, or female in its objectivity, the other is essentially male and subjective, or male in its subjectivity – at least in respect of whatever, as free psyche, accompanies the degeneration of soma and could not arise without soma having degenerated or become otherwise bound rather than free.

Alpha and omega, beginning and end, concrete and abstract, will and soul, competition and co-operation, beauty and truth, drama and philosophy, science and religion, the loving Clear Spirit of Hell (within the beautiful context of Devil the Mother) as opposed to the truthful God the Father (within the joyful context of Heaven the Holy Soul), the absolute alpha and omega of Devil the Mother and Heaven the Holy Soul, noumenal objectivity and noumenal subjectivity, absolute concretion and absolute abstraction, the generative free will of beauty and the degenerative or, rather, cadent (but that, to anticipate another theory of mine, has still to be broached) free soul of joy.

If youth is given to Infinity and old age, by contrast, to Eternity, then middle age is perforce torn between infinity and eternity in the world of finite and temporal relativity. A kind of regenerate, as opposed to either generative or degenerative … leading to cadent, norm.

Generation/decadence; degeneration/cadence. Two sides of the same coin? Degeneration of soma, cadent ascension of psyche.

The degeneration of soma vis-a-vis the cadence of psyche – a declining alpha and a rising omega (resurrection of psyche as soul?).

There is (was) a degenerative process at work in Modern Art, but it would largely have applied to the degeneration of the concrete rather than to the emergence, like a resurrection (to use the religious term) of the abstract as a psychic alternative to declining soma, only made possible by the decline of soma. Therefore just as one must die to the body (the crucifixional paradigm) in order to be reborn into the mind, so art had to die (degeneratively) to soma in order to be reborn (via abstraction) into psyche, dying to representational concretion in order to be reborn into non-representational abstraction (or even, certainly in the case of Surrealism, into a kind of representational abstraction), thereby achieving an apotheosis unprecedented in Western art and significant of a kind of omega point of canvas-based art commensurate, so I contend, with petty-bourgeois criteria.

Today I have to confess that I only wrote the above entries with the greatest of reluctance, insofar as there would seem to be insufficient gender differentiation, quite uncharacteristic of my writings generally, between the generation/decadence and cadence/degeneration antitheses. The notion that the bound psyche of metachemistry should be identified with decadence in relation to the generative status of free soma now seems to me, after a day or two's reflection, logically unsustainable and therefore philosophically spurious. And the same would go for the distinction, in metaphysics, between free psyche as cadent and bound soma as degenerate, although there would seem, on the basis of the crucifixional paradigm, to be some justification for such a theory.

On deeper reflection, however, it seems to me that the distinction between metachemistry and pseudo-metaphysics at the northwest point of the intercardinal axial compass, which is after all essentially one of gender, should parallel that between generation and decadence, irrespective of whether with regard to free soma and bound psyche in metachemistry or, on the male side of the gender fence, with regard to pseudo-free soma and pseudo-bound psyche in pseudo-metaphysics, so that the former pairing is to be associated with generation and the latter pairing with decadence, that being a retreat from metaphysical cadence, so to speak, which, at the northeast point of the intercardinal axial compass, would be – or have been – hegemonic over pseudo-metachemistry, as over a degenerate retreat from, or contrast with, the generative impulse, founded on free will, of metachemistry.

Hence generation/decadence would be equivalent to metachemistry/pseudo-metaphysics, whereas cadence/degeneration would be equivalent, by contrast, to metaphysics/pseudo-metachemistry. That, I have to say, better suits my philosophy than does the initial theory, and I believe it can also be applied 'downstairs', as it were, to chemistry and pseudo-physics at the southwest point of the intercardinal axial compass and to physics and pseudo-chemistry at the southeast point thereof, if less in relation to the above terms than, in the former context, to what could be called pro-generation (relative to progeny) over anti-pro-cadence, and, in the latter context, to pro-cadence over anti-pro-generation, the pro-cadence of physics no less diagonally removed from the anti-pro-cadence of pseudo-physics …than the pro-generation of chemistry from the anti-pro-generation (anti-progeny relative to recourse to contraception) of pseudo-chemistry, so that we have parallels, in relative or phenomenal (corporeal) terms, to the absolute or noumenal (ethereal) distinctions between generation/decadence on the one hand and cadence/degeneration on the other.

This, I must say, is a theory I believe I can live with, even if it will require some fine-tuning, as it were, and even modification in the days or weeks to come. Certainly, I am less reluctant to go with this argument than with the one I opened the discussion with a couple of days ago, since it neatly complements the gender differentials that are characteristic of my logical structures.

Therefore the noumenal male is decadent when no longer cadent, whilst the noumenal female is degenerate when no longer generative, that is, given to generation.

Likewise, the phenomenal male is anti-pro-cadent when no longer pro-cadent, while the phenomenal female is anti-pro-generative when no longer pro-generative, or given, in chemical vein, to progeny.

But, of course, none of this would accord with my axial theorizing in relation to church-hegemonic (southwest to northeast points of the intercardinal axial compass) and state-hegemonic (northwest to southeast points of the said compass), since the salvation of the pseudo-physical to metaphysics on the church-hegemonic axis would parallel a deliverance from anti-pro-cadence to cadence, whereas the correlative counter-damnation of the chemical to pseudo-metachemistry would parallel a deliverance from pro-generation to degeneration.

Contrariwise, the damnation of the metachemical to pseudo-chemistry on the state-hegemonic axis would parallel a deliverance from generation to anti-pro-generation, whereas the counter-salvation of the pseudo-metaphysical to physics would parallel a deliverance from decadence to pro-cadence, neither of which kinds of state-hegemonic deliverance would be sustainable, in consequence of which at some point they, or their adherents, would have to opt for lower-tier positions on the church-hegemonic axis in order to avoid the ignominious decline or slide into radical social democracy (communism), and thus a fate merely regenerative in character, which is to say, neo-generative and characterized by state-absolutist criteria inimical not so much to democracy (scarcely representational) as to plutocracy. Enough for now!

The word 'cadence' is normally only used in connection with music, where it signifies a close, the resolution to a musical phrase and/or movement, like the 5:1 'perfect cadence' (G to C in the key of C) or the 4:1 'imperfect cadence' (F to C in the key of C), to take but a simple example in each case. But I have used it, above, in connection with philosophy, and more precisely in relation to free psyche as a 'coming out' with, or following, the decline or degeneration of bodily soma, like 'life after death' (presupposing the almost cannibalistic self-consuming of the central nervous system to a point of permanent incandescence), or the prospect, in other words, of what Christians might equate with eternity.

I was, to be sure, most reluctant to use the term 'cadence', not to mention 'cadent' as its adjectival counterpart, in this novel way. But sometimes you have no choice, the language lets you down and either you invent a new word or modify an existing one or, indeed, use an existing one, as here, in a new way, with implications that go beyond what convention or tradition, conditioned as much by ethnic as by grammatical or environmental factors, would have allowed. Common usage is all very well, but anyone who wishes to expand knowledge towards the possibility of Truth, or metaphysical truth, must be willing to take up the challenge of finding appropriate terminology, however reluctantly.

Thus 'cadence' as the opposite of 'decadence', and 'cadent' as the opposite of 'decadent', the latter term having nothing to do with 'decade', a period of ten years, but implying a falling away from previous higher standards, whether moral or otherwise, as a consequence, I would contend, of generative pressure from a contrary order of perfection, as of beauty to truth or even strength to knowledge.

Likewise, 'degeneration', the opposite of 'generation', implies a falling away from the previous higher standards, not necessarily moral in the Christian sense but arguably moral in their own (pagan) right, of 'generation', largely in consequence, I suspect, of cadent pressures from a contrary order of perfection, as of truth to beauty, and not simply in relation to the ageing process (which in any case affects both genders pretty much alike).

So we have, contrary to what convention would allow, a parallelism of sorts, with opposite gender implications, between generation/decadence on the one hand, and cadence/degeneration on the other, to take but the noumenal antithesis of space and time, both in terms of metachemical space (spatial) and pseudo-metachemical pseudo-time (sequential) and, by contrast, metaphysical time (repetitive) and pseudo-metachemical pseudo-space (spaced), the latter coupling of which would accord with the symbolism, I believe, of Saint George and the (neutralized) Dragon or, for that matter, with the proverbial lamb and lion and/or wolf that only 'lies down' with the aforesaid lamb, in pseudo-metachemistry under metaphysics (or pseudo-space under time) because it has been neutralized (rendered degenerative) and in no position to assault it from a predatory (generative) point of view.

The decadent is as much a 'falling away' from the cadent on the male side of noumenal life … as the degenerate a 'falling away' from the generative on its female side, and whereas decadence approximates to the 'Prodigal Son' (or 'sonofabitch' sucking-up to metachemical somatic licence in the guise of the will to generate), cadence is that which, symbolizing a conclusion or resolution to life (as to music), is beingfully aloof, in metaphysics, from any such pseudo-metaphysical 'falling away' under the vacuous influence of metachemical generation. Quite the contrary, cadence is what lies beyond the crucifixional paradigm of bound, or degenerate, soma – namely, the resurrection of the soul to Eternal Life.



I can think of few worse compositions than Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, which is probably the most barbarous piece of music to come out of the early twentieth century, like a grotesque parallel to World War One. Ugh! How I loathe it!

People have no idea of how much work goes into serious literary composition, not least when of an avant-garde or otherwise radical order that defies the formal conventions of bourgeois literature. It is easy devaluate or denigrate something you have absolutely no idea about and, unfortunately, most people – especially females – do, more or less as a matter of metachemical course.

I am more than reluctant to return to my old address in order to see if there is any post for me and, if so, to collect and bring it back here, to my new address. I have no intention of ever setting foot in that accursed house again! Going back there, for any reason, would be the last thing I would wish to do!

I am confident, from experience, that women of different countries have more in common with one another than they do with the men of their own country.

London is so cosmopolitan that it hardly seems to be part of a country, much less of a nation. It seems, rather, to be a microcosm of the world, in which virtually every race and nation on earth is represented, and in which city one lives with a strong sense of isolation … from one's own kind or race or nation, as the case may be.

Living alone in such a city is like being cut-off from contact with people you can relate to or even have any real prospect of conversation with. I have lived alone here since 1974, when I was obliged, by circumstances beyond my control, to leave Surrey, more precisely Merstham in Surrey, and move up to north London (where I briefly stayed at my mother's flat in Finsbury Park before finding a bedsitter in nearby Crouch End), which I did with the utmost reluctance and sense of foreboding. I was already, in a sense, déclassé at age twenty-two, though not, as yet, classless and a kind of literary philosopher whose work, for the most part, goes unnoticed and unremarked upon. But then, I suppose, it would in a city like London.

London, for me, is fairly synonymous with hell on earth, and not only in respect of the underground rail system stretching in every direction for miles under the city or, above ground, the red, mostly double-decker buses that ply their routes with remorseless regularity. It is hellish in so many respects that one wonders how one can continue to live in it on one's own and without the slightest prospect of congenial company.

When I think of my old landlord, a moustachioed Bangladeshi who, with his broad face, bore an uncanny resemblance to Stalin, I see a devil or, rather, demon ruling over a segment of hell, but a demon with a devil on his back – namely, his wife, who used her remarkably large powerful hands to slam doors like you've never heard, especially the front one, which was hell for anyone living over it.

Success breeds its own failure. People jump on the bandwagon, as the saying goes, and before long the wagon breaks down under the weight of too many band members, most of whom are only interested in blowing their own proverbial trumpets.

All tyrants are enemies of free thought and the freedom, through writing, to leave a record of one's thinking, such that will document one's experiences and whatever conclusions one has drawn from them. Tyrants are not interested in freedom of expression but only in political control, whether from economic or scientific (military) motives or, indeed, from a paradoxical combination of both.

There can be no true philosophy which is not independent of science, nor, for that matter, any true religion established on the basis of philosophical truth, that is, metaphysics. For when religion is beholden, via science, to metachemistry, it is demonstrably false, and no less so because metachemistry is hyped as metaphysics the better to exclude metaphysics proper and grant a certain moral respectability to metachemistry itself.

A true philosophy leading to a true religion – that can only be germane to 'Kingdom Come'. For that is what 'Kingdom Come' implies. But such a true philosophy/religion, logically demonstrable, cannot be tolerant of falsehood, whether of religion or philosophy or, for that matter, of anything else. Free thought that leads to Truth (metaphysical certitude) is all very well. Free thought that is morally or philosophically irresponsible is – or can be – the enemy of Truth, and should be opposed and, where possible, discouraged by whatever means – short of cruelty and tyranny – are most expedient, not least by Truth itself.

Philosophy and morality are not, of course, the same, but philosophy can make a certain type of morality possible, and more justifiably from a given gender and/or class standpoint.

Being reluctant to listen to the bullshit that typifies traffic-generating websites, I tend to surf with the sound off, so as not to have my peace of mind unduly undermined by all the scam merchants and petty satans who offer you 'the world' and infinite riches … if only you'll … which, however, I won't, since, as a philosopher, I value my soul too highly.

So the reluctant writer is also, in some sense, a reluctant surfer, who rarely or never fully commits, and then only for an hour or so at a time. After all, what could be more boring than surfing the Internet for traffic credits when what you encounter is mostly either scams or boring business proposals?

The pitfalls of internet surfing are worse than puddles, and if you're stupid enough to fall in, you'll get more than wet: you'll get burned!

Internet predators resemble spiders who trap fleas and other smaller insects in order to suck them dry, leaving them empty and wasted.

My old enemy, the hammering, drilling workman is back with a vengeance, working in the house next-door, not least with regard to the roof and upstairs apartment adjoining my own, thereby turning my heaven into hell. But I 'hit back', as I always have done or, more correctly, have had to do … with music – at the present instance music from BBC3. Quality classical is not, I believe, generally to the taste of such persons!

That's what I've always detested about London: too many workmen impinging or impacting upon one. The past two months have been relatively quiet, but now! I often wonder how I manage to think and write anything at all, in these circumstances. It's all somehow against the grain, what I do, of the inherent barbarity of this and other such urban environments, and therefore all the more laudable, I should think, for taking place in spite of everything. It has certainly precluded me from becoming flabby and … complacent, such that can befall people, male writers I mean, who are stupid enough to move to the country or to some more suburban or provincial setting where their minds are overshadowed or, rather, bewitched by natural beauty to such a deplorable extent that they have nothing truthful to say and scarcely any feelings worthy of being identified with the soul!

To think that people like them – manual workers – could come to the fore as the pre-eminent class in society, as has happened in various communist countries, fills me with dread and dismay! Barbarism and philistinism are the only winners, and what is that if not a gross failure from the standpoint of civilization and culture? A society characterized if not dominated by its lowest elements, namely manual workers, or industrial proletarians, can only be the lowest form of society, testifying to the degeneration of civil society to the base level of some kind of communistic barbarism.

But out of or, rather, against the degeneration of soma to the base level of the urban proletariat will come the ascension of psyche towards some cadent resolution commensurate with Eternity in 'Kingdom Come', like the phoenix of Nazi Germany arising from the ashes of the decadent Weimar Republic or, in more general terms, Fascism from and against the threat of Communism, with its call to world revolution on the basis of worker power ('workers of the world unite'). Eternity ('the thousand year Reich' included) is only possible when the world degenerates, as it does with the eclipse of liberal democracy by social democracy and bourgeois humanism by so-called proletarian humanism (more correctly, sub-humanism), in which, quite understandably, there can be no 'God building' (Lenin), but only the lowest-common-barbarous-denominator of hammer-brandishing worker power. Frankly, I have nothing but contempt for this and for the poor buggers who are stupid or desperate enough to fall for it.

(As a sort of footnote to the above, I will add that one should be careful in drawing parallels between the regular thud or crash of hammering and music utilizing a regular drum beat, the regular beat of repetitive time, since what may sound like a regular thud is actually the exemplification of repetitive force, and one should avoid demeaning repetitive time by equating it with anything so physically temporal as repetitive or steady force. Repetitive time, on the other hand, is commensurate with metaphysical eternity, but only in a rather externalized crude way in the context of, let us say, rock drumming that foreshadows - and requires to be overhauled by - inner refinements effectively axially polar to itself, as, for example, in relation to drum machines, since drumming of this nature, no matter how rhythmically repetitive, will always be compromised by an element of repetitive force that one might call rhythmic force which, though obviously distinct from the noise created by hammers, is not so distinct from it as to be fully commensurate with the exemplification of repetitive time. It is precisely in this utilization of rhythmic force by drummers, particularly in rock music, that a parallel can be drawn with the repetitive force of hammering, to the detriment of repetitive time.)

Degeneration regenerating some neo-generative primitivity dominated by the bitch – thanks, but no thanks! Civilization is morally bound to fight back, using the 'fascistic' tools of militarism, against such barbarism until it gets what it deserves and is utterly exposed for what it's worth.

Whatever you may think, the Hitlers of this world will always be preferable to the Lenins and Stalins, as will the Nietzsches to the likes of Marx.

I have always, as an artist/philosopher, fought back against worker power and will continue to do so, as long as I live and can adhere to reason and, above all, to the divine values of metaphysics and the justification of 'Kingdom Come'. Social Democracy has not disappeared from the world, nor will it – at least not until the victory of Social Theocracy seals the fate of state-hegemonic criteria and makes for a world orientated, through the resurrection of church-hegemonic criteria, towards the otherworldly goal of evolution in the development, through all Eternity, of 'Kingdom Come'. All one can add to that is 'Amen'. So be it!

Homosexuality is little more than the expression of somatic degeneration (from heterosexual somatic relativity), having nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with the psychic cadence of the 'priestly kiss'. It attests, rather, to the degenerative nadir of state-hegemonic axial criteria and can only be tolerated, if not actively encouraged, in a society given to state-hegemonic criteria – in short, to one which is the fruit of heretical decadence and its corollary of generative licence. Homosexuality, as a sexual parallel to social democracy, can have no place in 'Kingdom Come', and one fancies that the man who smokes cigarettes as against cigars effectively lives on the plane, whether he realizes it or not, of proletarian humanism and social democracy, with all its attendant corollaries.

Science and philosophy have different starting-points. Science begins in free soma with the empirical investigation of facts, whereas the starting point of philosophy is in free psyche with logic and an investigation if not elucidation of truth. Fact is no more truth than beauty is truth or, for that matter, truth … beauty. Fact is somatic and empirically verifiable; truth, by contrast, is psychic and logically verifiable. Whatever is factually or empirically incorrect is fictitious. Whatever is truthfully or logically incorrect is false. Fiction is as distinct from falsity as fact from truth, but a society which hypes Devil the Mother as God (the Father) or metachemistry as metaphysics will constantly confound fact with truth, conveniently hyping fact as truth and thereby subordinating philosophy to science, so that it becomes synonymous with empirical investigation and verification through testing – the somatic antithesis to anything requiring to be logically verified because the product not of soma but of psyche, not of the body but of the mind, and therefore closer to religion, which should take its cue from philosophy, than to art, which more usually takes its cue from science, since concerned with facts rather than a logical analysis of the world and one's position or situation in it.

But are facts, when verifiable, any more real, or concrete, than truth, the product of logical reasoning. There is much talk, after all, about truth, to the extent that it is recognized (and not confounded with fact), being abstract and therefore somehow less real than facts. I don't believe this to be the case. Philosophy, like science, can be concrete or abstract, true or false, just as science can be factual or fictitious. The difference, it seems to me, is between two types of reality – the somatic concretion (coupled fictitiously to psychic abstraction) of science and, by contrast, the psychic concretion (coupled, falsely, to somatic abstraction) of philosophy. A distinction, in short, between objectivity and subjectivity, soma and psyche, empiricism and logic.

Thus science and philosophy, when respectively factual and truthful, are equally or, if you prefer, unequally real, or concrete, in their opposite approaches to life, approaches that inspire either art or religion and have a lot in common with the distinction, also antithetical, between state and church, which is, after all, one between soma and psyche, body and mind, objectivity and subjectivity, female (to bring gender into the frame) and male, however compromised or muddled the two contexts may, in practice, become.

The Church is no less real than the State, any more than philosophy is less real (except when twisted to suit a scientific agenda) than science, both of which are capable of abstract departures, through fiction and falsity, from their respective types of concrete grounding – the one in soma, the other in psyche, like alpha and omega, the beginning and the end, infinity and eternity, the objectivity of the vacuum that results in the investigation of the world, as of life, from an empirical standpoint, and the subjectivity of the plenum that results in the investigation of life, as of the world, from a logical standpoint, neither of which have anything in common, since they do not, as a rule, meet in the middle except in some liberal realm of atomic compromise whereby either philosophy is subsumed into science or science subsumed into philosophy, and one tends, more often than not, to get political or economic shortfalls from either science or philosophy, as the case may be.

But where the scientific and philosophic absolutes or extremes are concerned, looking at the world, almost literally, from the outside is so contrary to looking or, rather, thinking about the world (where religiously-inspired quotes might be in order) from within ... that there can be little or no common ground between them, which is of course a problem from a liberal point-of-view, since liberalism wishes to subsume everything or, at any rate, a watered-down version of everything (especially when noumenal) into itself, so as to be able not only to investigate but to control the world in a manner conducive to secular values.

Yet neither science nor philosophy, when respectively factual and truthful, are of the world but, rather, are netherworldly and otherworldly disciplines that investigate the world from opposite points of view, with intent not only to control it but either to dominate it, as in the case of science, or to transcend it, as in the case of philosophy, in the interests of either netherworldly (science) or otherworldly (philosophy) values, the values not of chemistry and physics, still less of politics and economics, but of metachemistry and metaphysics, the Devil (to speak in simple language) and God.

But the majority of people are – and without messianic intervention will always remain, in Nietzsche's memorable phrase – human-all-too-human, and therefore humanistic, knowing neither the Devil nor God, but only Man (meaning women and men generally).



They say that Marx turned Hegel on his head by replacing his theory of historical unfolding in terms of the evolution of geist, or spirit, with an economic theory of history as embodying a dialectical struggle between the owners of industry and the producers of wealth, i.e., between bourgeoisie and proletariat, with the latter destined, so far as Marx's reading of history was concerned, to expropriate and supplant the former in their collective ownership of the means of production and socialistic dispensation of wealth.

Thus from a geist-oriented highpoint in German philosophy, Marx turned Hegel upside down in pursuit of his own degenerate theory of historical evolution as implying the inevitable victory of the urban proletariat as the necessary outcome of the dialectical struggle between capitalists and workers in the class war destined to culminate not in the universal triumph of religious geist, but in the global triumph of scientific communism! The ongoing existence of a 'struggle' between employers and those they employed was a taken-for-granted tenet of this disgusting philosophy, as was the fact that capitalists could, with moral impunity, be expropriated by those to whom they gave work and some kind of living, without anyone's suspecting anybody involved in such expropriations of blatantly criminal behaviour!

Parallel to the degeneration of German philosophy from Hegel to Marx, we find a similar, albeit contrary, parallel between Schopenhauer, that proponent of the world as will and representation but, at the same time, denier of will as the solution to worldly entrapment, and Nietzsche, the sick and lonely preacher of self-overcoming through the affirmation of will and, as the embodiment of power, the coming of the Superman, who would be the successor to man and 'meaning of the earth', that is, of a world rejuvenated by his triumphant self-overcoming through powerful ascendancy as übermensch (a term equivalent to superman), lording it over others, rejecting Christian values, including a compassionate negation of the will, in his vainglorious pursuit of natural dominance in a spirit not altogether dissimilar from Darwin's survival of the fittest, a philosophy doubtless suitable to an imperial age and to those busily engaged upon the expansion of Empire, for which any form of weakness or Christian compassion would be irrelevant, especially in connection with the conquest of non-Christian peoples or traditional enemies of Christianity.

So if Marx was the degenerate retort to Hegel, then Nietzsche was arguably the decadent retort to Schopenhauer in his advocacy, if not exactly embodiment, of willpower, of the supremacy of will and the right of the wilfully supreme to dominance in a world inimical to Christian compassion, a world characterized not merely by the survival but, more importantly, by the prosperous aggrandisement of the fittest or strongest or most ruthless as the natural outcome of the triumph of will over self-doubt or self-regard. Sound familiar?

For Nietzsche, 'otherworldsmen' and 'afterworldsmen' (the terms are roughly his) are a waste of time in a world where only the triumph of the strongest lends meaning to the earth and the earth achieves its justification precisely through their dominance - a philosophy that was to lead, via Spengler, who in some respects resurrected Hegel's geist-orientated theory of history with his 'Second Religiousness', to the triumph of the will in the twentieth-century and to the emergence, at least in Germany, of an ideology that embodied many if not most of Nietzsche's core values, including an abhorrence of Christianity and an almost pagan belief in the power of will, when harnessed to blood and soil, to solve all or most of Germany's problems.

The fact that Hitler esteemed both Nietzsche and Schopenhauer – as incidentally did the left-leaning Albert Camus – is a curious, even paradoxical commentary upon the Nazi leader's philosophical tastes. But the fact remains that National Socialism would not have taken the form it did without Nietzsche's and possibly Spengler's decadent contributions to philosophy, which emphasized the need for a rejuvenation of Europe through the superhuman efforts of one nation, one party, and especially one man, in the guise of the Führer himself, the embodiment of the 'will to power' and self-styled first Superman.

Thus if one of the twentieth-century's two main competing ideologies, namely Soviet Communism, stemmed from a degenerate thinker in the pseudo-scientific person of Marx, then the other, namely National Socialism (which some would identify with Fascism), was in part the product of a decadent thinker in the pseudo-religious person of Nietzsche, neither of whom would inspire the thought of Spengler who, although a man of the Right, was evidently no Nazi but, rather, one who hoped for an outcome to National Socialism that would resemble his 'Second Religiousness' and thus stand as a true beacon of enlightenment on the road to if not actually in 'Kingdom Come'.

Sadly, Nazism was not to be that. For any pretensions to its being a new dawn in religion were quickly eclipsed by political reality and by the obvious need to combat Communism both at home and, subsequently, abroad, thereby detracting from the possibility of a cadent resolution to the historical process that would have been the goal of any movement sensible enough to take advantage of degeneration in the State to strengthen the Church, albeit not along conventional lines but, on the contrary, along revolutionary lines commensurate with the possibility of 'Kingdom Come'.

Nazism was, in Koestler's memorable words, a 'god that failed' precisely because too much of its efforts went into combating 'godless communism' from a standpoint insufficiently cadent to prove a truly viable alternative, a standpoint in which a peculiar kind of mental decadence went hand-in-hand with a neo-generative barbarism epitomized by the Nazi Party's accommodation with – some would say 'sell out to' – the largely Prussian-dominated military as the means by which, under Nazi auspices, Germany's rejuvenation as a 'great power' and, above all, right to imperial expansion would be guaranteed, and achieved, not least, at the expense of the degenerate Communist East, epitomizing, for Hitler, a subhuman failure worthy of domination by a superhuman power entitled to more than mere survival.

The West may have declined, to paraphrase Spengler, with the threat to if not actual communist suppression of church/state liberalism and the degeneration of liberalism itself through the incorporation of socialism, but Hitler was no friend of the Church, and the want of a truly cadent alternative to social degeneration leaves us in a position today where – if we except the Third Reich as being no more than a precursor or racially localized manifestation of eschatological promise - 'Kingdom Come' has still to come, and where Communism, in a more covert or underground and even apparently liberal guise, wears a Social Democratic mask, though still very much a part of the degenerative fabric of Western civilization, the global retort to which, though manifestly existent on an alpha-stemming basis, cries out for a genuine cadence truly commensurate with the resurrection of church-hegemonic values under what I term Social Theocracy, and firmly believe to be the ideology most likely to accord with the coming of the 'kingdom' whose values lie within, in the deepest recesses of metaphysical self, but only if and when that self has been liberated from the clutches of both will and spirit, achieving, at the expense of ego, the soul's beingful delight.

Neither the Hegelian triumph of spirit nor the Nietzschean triumph of will, nor even the twisted ego of Marxist dialectics can bring to the world that resolution of history which Spengler, like Bunyan before him, glimpsed from afar, albeit without an ideological definition to seal the fate of those who would capitalize on its vagueness to uphold the temporal (coupled to the pseudo-finite) alternatives to Eternity (coupled to pseudo-Infinity) by continuing to bow before the Infinite (coupled to the pseudo-Eternal) in order to enslave the finite (coupled to the pseudo-temporal), thereby precluding their deliverance, on both positive and pseudo-negative terms, from this world to the next.

Picasso – that degenerate bourgeois artist with predictably left-wing sympathies but a decidedly heterosexual disposition – at least to all appearances. For who knows what goes on underneath?

As for Dali, a much finer artist with a capacity for spiritual values and even a higher form of religious art.

If Picasso is the alpha, then Dali is the omega of twentieth-century Spanish art, an artist who, as is well known, politically leaned to the right and even flourished under Franco, becoming less surrealist and correspondingly more Catholic.

In contrasting the alpha left with the omega right, one still needs to distinguish the extreme forms of each from their so-called moderate counterparts, as between the noumenal objectivity of science and the noumenal subjectivity of religion in relation to the extreme left- and right-wing positions (or antitheses), and between the phenomenal objectivity of politics and the phenomenal subjectivity of economics in relation to the so-called moderate left- and right-wing positions (or antitheses), so that the alpha left, divisible between science and politics, can be more comprehensively contrasted, to an antithetical degree, with the omega right, divisible between economics and religion.

In relation to Picasso and Dali, I would argue that Picasso was more an artist of the political left than of the scientific left, more corporeal than ethereal, so to speak, whereas I would hold Dali to be - and this despite appearances to the contrary – more of the religious right than of the economic right, or more ethereal than corporeal, and therefore the polar opposite, within the axial context of Spanish Catholicism, to Picasso, whom one can associate with the lower-order left as opposed, like Dali, with the upper-order right – that of course being extreme (noumenal) right (and religious).



Omniscience, or omni-science. What can that have to do with godliness (as an attribute of Heaven), which knows only the joy of its own inner being, a kind of supreme beingfulness commensurate with Being per se, the condition of Heaven.

Omniscience would tie-in with empiricism, or any kind of general knowledge, none of which would have anything to do with godliness, much less Heaven, as the condition of supreme being.

Beware the bovaryized religions of those who have a 'personal god' or an 'impersonal god' or a cosmic (so-called universal) god. Man, woman, and Devil the Mother (hyped as God) have little or nothing in common with true religion, that is, with religious truth, which is equivalent to metaphysical truth, in which godliness (I hesitate to say 'God') is the 'outer face', as it were, of Heaven, and therefore not someone, whether male or female, or something that can be personified and/or rendered anthropomorphic.

But societies built around economics, politics, or science will have their bovaryized religions, since they can have nothing else. Only in 'Kingdom Come' would it be possible to have religious truth, with a society less built around man, woman, or superwoman (the diabolic) than around superman (the divine), and thus neither physics, chemistry, nor metachemistry, but only – at least hegemonically – metaphysics, the element of religion par excellence.

Omnipotent, or all-powerful. Just imagine! What could be further removed from godliness … as the outer manifestation of Heaven, as heavenliness perceived, as it were, from outside by persons who were not actually experiencing the beingful condition of Heaven, but were bearing witness to it.

Power and contentment, the alpha and omega of the noumenal planes of space and time, are absolutely incompatible, just as, on the phenomenal planes of volume and mass 'down below', glory and form are relatively incompatible, since the alpha and omega of 'the world', of spirit and ego, chemistry and physics, as against, 'up above', the netherworldly alpha of power and the otherworldly omega of contentment, that attribute not of will(power), but of soul, and therefore standing at a metaphysical remove from anything metachemical.

The fact that omnipotence should have been equated with God is proof of just how far removed from godliness in Devil the Mother (hyped as God) religions accepting or identifying with omnipotence actually are!



I scribble like a scribe because I am a kind of scribe and scribbling comes naturally to me.

Don't confound hope with faith. A woman can hope for a man with whom to have a child, and thus a family. That has nothing to do with male faith in the possibility of salvation from this world (and its female domination).

Paradoxically, hope in the one case can be associated with disbelief in the other, while, conversely, fear of the one can lead to or imply faith in the other.

Freedom from fear and shame through faith (belief) in self (self-belief), that is, faith in the ability of the male soul (metaphysical) to rise above 'the world' and achieve heavenly peace. Not impossible, but very much against the tide of life as a female-dominated reality characterized by will and spirit.

Photography is basically two-dimensional; holography, by contrast, three-dimensional. Therefore holography is a form of sculpture, with representational properties deriving from the projection of objects into space through the refraction of light. Some would call it sublimated sculpture, or a sculpture abstracted from 'real' objects without being necessarily abstract in itself.

I have always suffered from a reluctance to live. I have tended, rather, to exist … on my own … in sordid exile from my native country, the Republic of Ireland, from which I was taken at the unsuspecting age of two-and-a-half. In that respect I have something in common with W.B. Yeats, my favourite poet and the only Irish-born poet I really esteem, since he was brought to England at a similar age. Although schooled in England, his family, the Pollexfens, regularly returned to Ireland and eventually settled there again. So he accordingly spent more time in Ireland and reverted to being Irish – a thing I can hardly say for myself!

I think my reluctance to live has something to do with not being British, kind of resisting British criteria, not least axially (Britain is, of course, a state-hegemonic/church-subordinate country typified by a northwest-to-southeast axial directionality on what I term the intercardinal axial compass, as between Monarchic/Anglican and Parliamentary/Puritan polarities).

I think I have tended to live in and through books – my own not excepted – at a sort of Platonic remove not only from real life, or so-called real life, but from a type of reality, namely British, which I can't relate to and therefore tend to reject, leaving myself with no alternative but a kind of surrogate life to be found in books and writings, even though, as the reader will know by now, I am something of a reluctant writer, being more concerned, as a philosopher, to think.

I think the basis of my celibacy, of my reluctance to enter into sexual relationships with women, lies - quite apart from my anti-urban distaste of north London and want of any sort of romantic disposition in an environment which, in its urban congestion, noise, and pollution, frankly leaves me cold – in the fact that I would not want any son or daughter of mine (not knowing what gender you are going to get is another problem, but no matter!) to be born in England.

As someone born in the Republic of Ireland of an Irish Catholic father and even mother, though British born, raised as a Catholic, I consider myself to be free born, a free-born citizen of the Republic, and therefore I would be most reluctant to be partly responsible for any offspring of mine becoming a subject, through English birth, of Her (or perhaps by then His) Anglican Majesty's constitutional rule.

As an Irish citizen I take my status as a free-born individual very seriously; for it was not handed to us on a plate, so to speak, and knowing something about history, not least in terms of Anglo-Irish relations, I would be reluctant to belittle that achievement and my subsequent birthright by fathering a British citizen, or someone born in England and therefore made subject to a constitutional monarchy that was not even Catholic but manifestly the product of anti-Catholic Protestantism (Anglicanism). Thanks, but no thanks! Even Germany, which is a republic, would be less unattractive if not a viable alternative to Ireland or, rather, the Republic of Ireland (for at the time of writing the island of Ireland is still divided, if imperfectly so, into two nations thanks to the legacy of British imperialism). But the child would have to be born there, not in England, and therefore so long as I remain in England I shall remain celibate and, as in the past, not responsible for fathering a child.

At sixty, which is what I am, one is, in any case, more reluctant than ever to become a father, since somewhat over-the-hill. Besides, never having known or seen my own father, who shirked responsibility for me at an early age, I have never felt any real desire to become a father myself, since, quite apart from the fact that I did not have the benefit, as a child, of paternal care or company, encouragement or instruction, I would be extremely reluctant both to act as a father to somebody else and to extend such a man's surname into another (much younger) generation, one in relation to which I should really be a grandfather.

Anyway, the reader should have learnt from earlier pages what I think of the word 'generation' and of its corollary, namely decadence, which I largely tend to associate with the pseudo-male side of a generative dominion presided over by the somatically-free female. If, by contrast, I am indeed a cadent retort to bodily degeneration, a kind of philosophical or religious resurrection, then I cannot see how any associations with generation, much less of being partly responsible for generating offspring or, rather, of enabling a female to do so at my personal expense, could possibly transpire, given my reluctance to condone, never mind acquiesce in, a lifestyle characterized, in worldly vein, by female dominion. Thanks, but, as I said before, no thanks!



It is one of the great paradoxes of life in the so-called British Isles that, whilst the Catholic Irish are politically free (in the Republic of Ireland) but religiously bound (to Vatican papacy), the Protestant British are religiously free (of Vatican papacy) but politically bound (to a constitutional monarchy), so that neither people, whether Irish or British, is totally free of either religious or political enslavement. But, to my mind, the British are more bound, as subjects of the reigning monarch, than their Irish counterparts, and this despite the fact that, for them, freedom is primarily from the papacy, as from the moral stranglehold of the Catholic Church.

Yet the British – and the English in particular - became free of Roman Catholicism not through any virtue or especially progressive disposition on their part, but in consequence of the excommunication of Henry VIII back in the sixteenth century for refusing to abide by the strictures of the Roman Catholic Church in regard to marriage or, more specifically, with regard to divorce and remarriage, and thus, in contravening the strictures of the Church by going ahead with his divorce from Catherine of Aragon, he took England off the 'gold standard', so to speak, of Western religion and was obliged to found a church independent of Rome, a church which, to this day, attests to an heretical departure from the 'one true church' of the Western tradition.

Henceforward the English – and eventually the British in general – would pay for the apostasy (and tendency towards serial monogamy) of Henry VIII through the binding of the Anglican Church, the Church of England (not to mention those of Scotland, Wales, and Ireland) to the ruling monarch, a procedure intended to preclude a return to Catholicism and tending to ensure that Britain, in particular, though relatively free of Catholicism,would remain characterized by the subjection of the populace – as subjects – to political authoritarianism in the person of the ruling monarch, and this despite constitutional modifications of the basic structure.

Even now, Britain is the land par excellence of the politically bound, the parliamentary representatives of the subject populace who had elected them having to swear an oath of allegiance to the throne (which I have always tended to regard as being the political equivalent of a Faustian pact), and one wonders, with its largely Protestant bias, both Anglican and non-Anglican (puritan), whether Scotland will opt for independence from the United Kingdom in the autumn of 2014, and hence from the status of being British subjects, democratically choosing, instead, the road to political freedom and the concomitant privilege of Scots being, thereafter, free-born men (and women), like, it must be said, their Irish counterparts in the Republic of Ireland who, by contrast, had to fight the British for the right to be free.

The Pope, being a learned man, may well be 'infallible' in relation to the teachings of the Church, but he is in no way independent, despite being 'Christ's vicar on earth', of the Creator-ism associated with the Old Testament, and thus of the fundamental lie of Devil the Mother hyped as God (the Father) and, correlatively, of what I call Hell the Clear Spirit being hyped as Heaven (the Holy Soul), as though beauty in the one case and love in the other had any function other than to secure, for the female, the means whereby she might conceive offspring and thereby acquire the surrogate plenum of maternity to release her, if only temporarily and, as it were, intermittently, from the root cause of her need in the vacuousness of a metachemical disposition, a disposition at variance, if not loggerheads, with anything godly and, more specifically, heavenly … in what I have described as metaphysical free psyche. On the contrary, beauty and love are attributes of metachemical free soma, and therefore stand at an antithetical remove, alpha to omega, from metaphysics and the prospect of Heaven (the Holy Soul).

It is not God that joins man and woman together, in the phrase adopted by priests at official marriage ceremonies, but Devil the Mother coupled to Hell the Clear Spirit, and this lie is fundamental to the Church, as to Christianity in general, whereby beauty and love continue to exclude, from state religion, the possibility of joy and truth, the possibility, in short, of metaphysical free psyche and thus of a full complement, as it were, of metaphysics over a genuinely deferential – because neutralized – pseudo-metachemistry, the corollary of such a full-blown metaphysics.

For me, it has always been less important to question the philosophy of religion than to answer with the religion of philosophy – namely, Social Theocracy and/or Social Transcendentalism, which I, as a thinker, have developed over the course of several decades.

Psychological metamorphosis is the concomitant of biological or physiological metamorphosis. For the child can only act as a child, the youth as a youth, the adult as an adult, and the geriatric as a geriatric. But physiological metamorphosis can be, in certain instances, the concomitant of psychological metamorphosis, as when the heathen become Christian and, in accordance with the reality of rebirth, often symbolized by baptism, change both their appearance and their lifestyle, or attitude to life, becoming virtually unrecognisable to those who knew them before their conversion (rebirth).

Logically, I would incline to the argument that females appear more prone to psychological metamorphosis in consequence of biological or physiological metamorphosis, whereas my feeling about males is that they would seem more prone to physiological metamorphosis in consequence of psychological metamorphosis. But I would be reluctant, all the same, to categorically contend that such gender-based distinctions were invariably clear-cut.

The concept of Christian rebirth has a lot in common with metamorphosis and even, in a special sense, with reincarnation. For the Christian is, in some degree, akin to the butterfly that emerges, via the chrysalis, from the caterpillar, his chrysalis being the religious indoctrination which allowed him to slough off his heathen past and be reborn, through conversion, as a Christian, or a believer in the teachings and example of Christ and, through him, in the possibility of salvation, or deliverance from temporal life to Eternal Life, from the sins of the world to the grace of otherworldly blessedness.

But the Christian, for all his belief in a better life, remains man, even human-all-too-human, to use that Nietzschean turn-of-phrase again. The realization of Eternal Life, on the other hand, will require the metamorphosis that leads from man to Superman, as from physics, or any 'pseudo' approximation thereof, to metaphysics. Now the Superman, when he eventually transpired, would not be Christian, still less heathen, but effectively Superchristian, the fulfilment, in 'Kingdom Come', of Christian faith, or belief in that 'better world', presided over by Christ or in this instance of a Christ-like figure, to come.

A new day in life's sinister adventure, punctuated, as usual, by periods of quiet hysteria and seething anger.

A dreadful film, whose title I can't recall, full of fag-smoking degenerate lefties who, even if they weren't exactly fags, were certainly arseholes! Guess, if you can.



Although I am extremely reluctant to write this, Henry VIII had a real dilemma on his hands with the want, through Catherine of Aragon, of a male heir to the English throne. Catherine had suffered several miscarriages and only given him one daughter (Mary, destined, as a Catholic, to become Queen), and, given her advancing age, the prospects for a son were not too good. At that time a female sovereign, or queen, on the English throne was unheard of, all the previous monarchs having been kings. And so, under pressure to produce a son, Henry sought to divorce Catherine in order to remarry in the expectation of better results.

The Catholic Church, however, to which the king was attached, forbade divorce, no matter what the pretext, leaving Henry with little option but to divorce Catherine and marry again anyway, thereby incurring the penalty of excommunication. Ironically, although he did eventually secure a male heir in the person of Edward VI, who was too young to actually rule independently of a regency, it was his first daughter, Mary who, following the brief reign of Lady Jane Grey (appointed via her mother, Lady Brandon, by Edward in order to preclude Mary, a Catholic, from inheriting the throne), went on to rule from 1553-58, and largely because the Church that Henry founded, the Church of England, made it possible for England to be ruled by a female, albeit one in her case who, being Catholic, sought to undo, within the Anglican state, what her father had tried to establish. For Henry had had a problem with the Catholic Church and Catholicism in general, bearing in mind that loyalty to the throne could not be guaranteed from subjects who were mainly Catholic. Therefore he had set about disestablishing monasteries and other traditional religious sites not merely to avenge himself upon Rome for having excommunicated him but, more significantly, to ensure the continuance of his reign and of the Tudor line.

Art, not least religious art, was also a victim of Henry's reign, which is not altogether surprising since, quite apart from any moral objections one might conceive of (dubious at best), it would have been the product, by and large, of Catholic artists, not least from Italy and France, and therefore one could not establish, much less build, the new church, the Church of England, by continuing to employ the kinds of artists, sculptors, carvers, etc., largely, if not exclusively, responsible for what had gone before and who would not, in all probability, want to work for a heretic and apostate even if he had been stupid or naïve enough to invite them. They, too, were naturally banned from Henry's church, as he sought to distance himself from Rome and all things Catholic (which must have incurred Mary's resentment well before she ascended the throne and acquired the 'bloody' reputation for which she is still remembered).

As for his subsequent marital fate, it didn't really improve all that much, what with another daughter (Elizabeth, destined to succeed Queen Mary as Elizabeth I in 1558) from his third marriage (the second having given him Edward), while Katherine Parr, the last of the six (Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, and Catherine Howard having preceded her), was someone he apparently didn't have intimate relations with at all, although she outlived him (he died in 1547) and went on to marry again, this time a relative, if I'm not mistaken, of Catherine Howard.

So, all in all, King Henry VIII had, even without personal problems deriving from his corpulence, a hard time of it, and one should not look upon his excommunication from the Roman Catholic Church as retribution for an especially sinful or wayward disposition but, rather, as the inevitable course of unfortunate events in which the king felt he had no alternative, in the circumstances, but to divorce Catherine of Aragon and remarry in the, by then, desperate hope of securing a male heir to the English throne. His subsequent tendency towards serial monogamy, as I earlier described it, was not unconnected with this fundamental problem and in no way connected to his excommunication which, of course, resulted from his marriage to Anne Boleyn, who, happily, gave him a male child, namely Edward, before proving less than satisfactory in other respects. But, in all, he only had three children, two of whom were girls, one child from each of his first three marriages, Elizabeth, like Edward before her, being raised as a Protestant within the Anglican fold, but not destined to inherit the throne until after her half-sister Mary, who had of course been raised as a Catholic during his first marriage, had died in 1558 and, with Habsburg connections (Mary having married Philip I of Spain in 1554), paved the way for Spanish interest in the English throne and opposition to the Protestant Elizabeth, which culminated with the loss at sea and effective defeat of the Spanish Armada sent to invade England and resulted, ironically, in the continuing rule, until 1603, of Queen Elizabeth I, the real beneficiary of her father's reforms.

Although I have no compunction in pursuing metaphysical truth, indeed tend to write about it with an alacrity that sometimes astonishes me, given my general reluctance to put pen to paper, I am, as though by compensation, much more reluctant to get my facts straight, largely, I suspect, because I tend to distrust the extent to which certain things or claims are actually factual and not rather fiction in disguise, or fictions dressed up as facts. In fact, if truth be told, I often encounter a difficulty, coming from a literary background, in distinguishing fact from fiction anyway, quite apart from the amount of fact which is dressed up as truth when, in point of fact, it is further from truth than would be illusion or, rather, falsity.

As a matter of fact, I am equally reluctant to read fiction these days, much less write it, and usually steer well clear of novels and other fictitious writings that, no matter how preferable to unsublimated drama, also make claims upon truth when, in actuality, they would be further from truth than illusion and correspondingly closer – dare I say it? - to fact.



The sheer brutality of the building/renovating work taking place in the house next-door beggars belief. This has been going on for several weeks and shows no signs of abating. Rather, it has intensified to a point where I feel like going out just to get away from it, and probably would do if the weather were not so bad, so cold and miserable, with lowering grey skies for days on-end. Yet how typical of London and this part of it not least! My short-lived 'heaven' has been assaulted by 'hell', the 'hell' of constant hammering and drilling, which has rudely returned me to 'the world', as to a context I detest, like a cesspool in which one festers.

The story of my life – a writer/thinker (not recognized or regarded as such in this female-dominated country) beset by hammering, drilling, banging, shouting fools and/or 'sons-of-bitches'. Not a particularly pleasant story, by any means. But, then, life in this world is always fundamentally hellish. One isn't grateful for it; one simply endures it because, short of committing suicide (which is cowardly, selfish, and an arch-sin, to boot), there isn't much else one can do. Yet in thinking and writing, one kind of avenges oneself upon life or, more specifically, the life one knows and continues to suffer from, both personally and in relation to others, as well as to things and what the inclemencies of Nature – which some are stupid enough to identify with God – inflict upon one. Life is not something one can – or indeed should – be grateful for. It is the sick joke of the gods (stars), whereas wisdom, that product of experience and sensibility, always counsels one to turn away from life, plain bitch-ridden life, in pursuit of a dream, a vision, a destiny, a goal, an ambition, a cadent resolution to the inevitability of somatic (bodily) degeneration.

Such a resolution I identify with 'Kingdom Come', and thus with otherworldly criteria presided over by Heaven. If, as a metaphysical thinker, I am reluctant to write, I find that I'm even more reluctant to live, because living is the opposite of dying to the world, as to worldly life, in order to be reborn into the beingful supremacy of Heaven. Living is really about doing, which, as noted above, is fundamentally hellish, since emanating from the exercise of will(power), and in all doing there is a denial of being, in all willpower a denial of soulful contentment, in the Devil, as in Hell, a denial of God and Heaven or, more specifically, of God in Heaven. For truth is in joy, but in a world dominated, through females, by beauty and love or, more correctly, by love in beauty, Hell in the Devil, there can be little room for truth in joy, God in Heaven.

Therefore I reject this world, as of whatever most characterises and represents it, and have always been – and hopefully always will be – reluctant to engage with it, to the detriment of my freedom, the freedom to pursue philosophical truth to its logical end in what lies beyond understanding, or ego, in the joyful contentment of soul. I may be reluctant to write the truth, but I have never been reluctant to think it and, when possible, to experience that condition of soul which is commensurate with supreme being and which manifests as truth. This is the wisdom of Eternity.

Do the religiously sacred make any sense to the profanely secular; in other words, to the generality of persons, both female and male? Nope!

Which is precisely why meaningful change, in terms not of the exchange of one type of worldliness for another – socialist for capitalist or vice versa - but in relation to the triumph of otherworldly criteria, can only be effected messianically, through a religious elite capable of mastering and then overcoming 'the world'.



People afraid to stand-up for themselves, to be true to themselves, to have real self-respect, because they fear the attitudes and opinions of others, males especially fearing females in this regard, since, when it comes down to it, males are the ones who need to stand-up for themselves in this world and avoid, as far as possible, the pitfalls of social conformity such that, in their most overt manifestations, culminate in mass slaughter.

Average British males, as subjects of the reigning monarch (especially when that monarch happens not untypically to be female), find it difficult if not impossible to really stand-up for themselves and defy social opinion. This explains, in part, their cynicism and resentful bearing, their attitude of 'what's the use?' which conduces towards pessimism and defeatism, to an identification, paradoxically, with the underdog, even though Britain was once master of a third of the globe and would still consider itself 'great', not without justification in view of its vast stockpiles of nuclear weapons and cutting-edge military technologies.

All of the above lines were written in the face of external pressure from noisy workmen in the house next-door, with whom I am, in a manner of speaking, at war, since I refuse to bow to their brutality and abandon my work. Rather, do I counter their vulgar noises with the aid of recorded music, hard rock and heavy metal not least. That, at any rate, precludes things from becoming too one-sided.

If you run away, they win! Therefore you are left with no option but to stand and fight your ground.

England in German is the narrow land. Narrow, it has to be said, in more than a geographical sense!

How anyone with the slightest degree of culture or civility or self-respect can stand-up for the worker, the manual labourer, that epitome of philistinism, brutality, and self-denial, is something I'll never be able to understand, since it would defy logic and reason.

Self-culture is not only the highest duty; it is the mark of a civilized human being – in short, of a gentleman.

Hitler was dead right about any society built around the manual labourer, the industrial worker, the urban proletariat, etc., being one that stood lowest in the scales of civilization. In fact, one has a right to query whether a socialist or a communist society is actually civilized at all! Is it not rather the product of somatic degeneration?

Those people, the workers, don't get better. They are what they are, from doing what they do, and no amount of ideological rhetoric or misguided altruism or exaggerated humanitarianism can do a jot to change that fact. Pumping classical music at the worker, as the Soviets did, only debases the music or calls for a specifically debased form – social realist – of so-called classical music, since the worker is, in most respects, the antithesis of such music, being closer, in his use of the hammer, to the persistent drum beats of rock 'n' roll. Not being able or inclined to completely ban classical music, the Soviets were forced to accommodate it, or a socialistically-adapted philistine modification of it, to society in general, thereby making it available, as an egalitarian gesture, to the masses. Whether the latter paid any attention to it is, of course, another matter!

As a free-born Irish citizen, the prospect of working for the British has always struck a painfully negative chord in me, jarring the rhythm of my soul.

I think, when push comes to shove, that I would rather be an Irish fly in the British ointment than return to Ireland, the land of my birth and earliest years on this earth, only to discover, sooner or later, that the ointment to which I aspired had too many British and other flies in it for my taste.



The bifurcation of petty-bourgeois Western art between the alpha of abstract expressionism and the omega of abstract impressionism is akin to a distinction between materialism/fundamentalism and transcendentalism/idealism, though not, on that account, one between degeneration and decadence but, rather, a division between two types of decadence – metachemical and metaphysical, roughly equivalent to a distinction between the absolute rectilinear (square) and the absolute curvilinear (circular).

Degenerate Western art, as noted above, is distinctly bourgeois in character, i.e. a corruption or distortion of realism and/or naturalism, as opposed to a kind of atomic or nuclear split (fission) invoking materialism and idealism.

Proletarian 'art', with its global and barbarous/philistine connotations, contrasts with both degenerate bourgeois and decadent petty-bourgeois art in terms of its photographic and/or cinematic adherence to representationalism of a predominantly synthetically artificial order, as befitting an art of the big city, an art whose environmental mean – and inspiration – is urban and industrial and/or commercial. Even the appropriation of painting from the Western tradition is apt, as with Socialist Realism and Modern Realism, to take a representational, or solidly concrete, form, as befitting the prevalence of freedom conceived, under female domination, in predominantly somatic, or bodily, terms.

Thanks to America, Germany lost in two world wars. Were it not for the USA, Great Britain would have lost in two world wars. For America saved Britain from total defeat in both conflicts, as, indeed, it saved France from defeat in the First World War and assisted France in overturning defeat (and occupation) in the Second World War. Whether Russia, which effectively lost to Germany in World War I, would have lost, under the Soviet Communist regime ruled by Stalin, to Germany in World War II … without Anglo-American assistance … is a moot point. Though I, personally, have difficulty envisaging Nazi Germany subduing the whole of Russia, including Siberia and the rest of its Empire, when Japan was effectively tied-down in China and much of East Asia and not quite the assist that Hitler might have hoped for in relation to the Soviet Union's eastern-most provinces. Somehow the notion of Nazi Germany holding-on to European Russia whilst the greater expanse of it (by far) was still in Russian hands, and doing so, moreover, without either threat or, more probably, active intervention if not invasion from its eastern reaches, seems to me somewhat unlikely, even implausible.

Hitler invaded the Soviet Union not from tactical nous or strategic advantage, but out of a combination of desperation in not being able to defeat Great Britain, fear as to the consequences of encroachments in Greece and the Balkans, a desire to exploit the momentum of recent military successes and keep the war machine rolling, ideological antipathy, anti-Semitism, and the prospect of securing vital oil, mineral, grain, and other resources in his continuing struggle with the British. Lebensraum may have served as an imperial pretext favouring the interests of the Germans themselves, but such a hackneyed concept cannot have figured as a prime motive for a country at ideological loggerheads with Communism which, besides seeking to placate and win the support of Finland, would not have been content to leave half of Poland in Soviet hands when it was determined to exterminate Jews, Gypsies, and other undesirable elements whose continued existence in such vast numbers both in Poland and further east would have made Russia and its satellites even less attractive to colonize than it must have been anyway, given its chronic coldness and never-ending bleakness and emptiness, the almost infinite expanses of steppe and wilderness that were to prove so demoralizing to the German soldiery and their allies in the years ahead. The invasion of the Soviet Union was a desperate gamble that quickly backfired, with disastrous consequences for Nazi Germany.

If I remember correctly, I think I said goodbye to Christopher Isherwood (whom I particularly admired for his translation of Baudelaire's Intimate Journals) after reading Goodbye to Berlin, that collection of short stories and assorted autobiographical and polemical pieces by a Weimar Republic-slavering Cambridge lefty of – to put it mildly – homosexual tendency.

Brilliant programme (BBC4) on John Portman, whose buildings span the globe and appear to fuse architecture, sculpture, and painting into a synthetic not to say symbiotic whole that confirms the presence of a truly universal genius, probably the foremost architectural genius of the age.

No sooner had I got over (in a manner of speaking) the genius of John Portman, than a programme on Roy Lichtenstein ensued on BBC4, making me freshly aware of his influence on Pop Art - that more populist, sorry, folksy equivalent of Social Realism and Modern Realism in the appropriation of the painterly traditions of the West in an age of photographic and cinematographic synthetic artificiality more characteristically proletarian - and uniqueness as a draughtsman, a kind of stencil- and ruler-utilizing neo-pointillist (not that he had much in common with the likes of Seurat) and neo-plasticist (not that he was another Mondrian), what with his large dots and straight lines which, whether plastic or not, take his work closer to draughtsmanship and further from the art, or attempts at art, which preceded, with little success, his adoption ('conversion' would hardly be the word) of his particularly garish brand of Pop Art.

But Lichtenstein's work, though often deriving from comic books, or co-mags, as we say these days, has a two-dimensional quality about it which suggests an affinity with space and time in a not-untypically American vein that is fundamentally somatic concretion of an absolute rather than relative character, kind of glamorous and superficially beautiful, to be sure, but assuredly not abstract, like the abstract expressionism (Pollack and de Kooning) that Lichtenstein repudiated after having tried his hand at abstraction and decided that it wasn't for him, or, in other words, that modern art in that vein was beyond his capacities.

Neither, as it turned out, was the comic-book sublimations involving Superman quite to Andy Wahol's advantage after it transpired that Lichtenstein, his creative contemporary, was the guy receiving all the plaudits for such art instead of him. So what did Wahol do? Quite logically, he switched from Superman to soup cans (notice the poetic similarity?), and the rest, as they say, is history.

But that, too, was a species of draughtsmanship which, when one adds craftsmanship, is what, after all, most Pop Art tends to be, since the inner realm is absent from a creativity fixated on commercial externals in the world as we know it under contemporary American domination.

Yet what these people – and others like them – lack in genius, in that inner spark of inspiration leading to creative originality, they more than make up for through hard graft, mirroring, with their factory-like industriousness, the industrial society in love with the machine and all things mass-produced. Soulless it may be, but nobody could accuse it of lacking willpower!

The first duty of a responsible government is to keep the lower orders in their place.

The second duty is to combat and, if possible, thwart criminal governments who allow the masses to dominate society to the detriment of society in general.

Delivering the masses from 'the world', on the other hand, whether in terms of salvation (males) or counter-damnation (females) is the responsibility not of governments but of an ideological elite inspired and motivated by messianic leadership of the kind which would have the ability to utilize the methods of democracy to supersede democracy in the interests of an ultimate theocracy, a religion, if you will, not only beyond 'the world', but completely independent of Creator-ism and thus of God as traditionally conceived and worshipped. Such a religion I identify, ideologically, with Social Theocracy and the possibility thereafter of Social Transcendentalism.

Sex, the consequence of lust, is good for men at women's expense.

Being with child, the consequence of sex, is good for women at men's expense.

Having a family, the consequence of reproduction, is good for the child and/or children at the parents' expense.

Growing up, the consequence of childhood, is simply awful!

The leading principle of the Bauhaus (Barehouse?) school of architecture, which flourished in Weimar (that eminently cultural city that was briefly capital of the short-lived Weimar Republic), was allegedly that form should follow function, so that one would get a pared-down style relative to the use to which the building was to be put. But, I ask myself, isn't that generally the way architecture pans out? After all, who – apart from average Sunday School types of a Protestant disposition – wants a church that looks like a school, or a factory that looks like a church, or a hospital that looks like a barracks? Form does usually tend to follow function, though there are, alas, exceptions to the general rule, as when certain churches – usually of a Nonconformist tendency – tend to resemble warehouses or public halls, and certain hospitals remind one uncomfortably of factories or even prisons.

Form following function, although long associated with the Bauhaus school, was not new to architecture in the early-twentieth century, nor was it a particularly revolutionary concept since, as noted above, function normally determines form, and courthouses look like courthouses, schools like schools, and churches like churches. What was comparatively new about Bauhaus architecture was its minimalist and almost neo-Plasticist approach to building design, with little or no (superfluous) decoration or 'cultural' embellishments. In that respect, it was not only the opposite of the rococo style of ornate and sumptuous formal extravagance, worthy of eighteenth-century aristocratic patronage, but, if we except the bombastic imperial pretensions of the nineteenth century, a decidedly twentieth-century approach to design which pared everything back and down to its basics, as though beginning from scratch in a conscious repudiation of past excesses, both ornate and ostentatious.

Bareness, as I facetiously implied above, is what most characterizes the Bauhaus style of architectural design, a style which does little or nothing for the soul but, in typically twentieth-century fashion, reflects the soul-denying egalitarianism and utilitarianism of an age besotted with the machine and with the production, for the masses on a mass-produced basis, of so-called mass culture, which, in reality, defies culture in its philistine concession to the barbarous, whether in relation to egalitarianism or to utilitarianism or to anything else likely to reduce life – and 'culture' – to the lowest-common-democratic-denominator.

In overall terms, Bauhaus design would appear to signify a logical progression or, more correctly, regression from Protestant bareness (of ecclesiastical buildings both internally and externally) to commercial and industrial bareness (of secular buildings both internally and externally), as germane to a general degeneration of Western civilization in its modern guise (Protestant-derived) towards a somatic nadir commensurate with Socialism and/or Communism, not to say all forms of Social Democracy.

In this world, and the modern age not least, what is good and right often stands out like a sore thumb in a society dominated by what is bad and wrong (left). But you have to have the courage of your convictions and lend some form of support to it wherever and whenever possible. Otherwise you would be no better than the common herd, whose acquiescence in 'wrongness' stems from ignorance rather than sophistication, but whose 'badness' is still less culpable, on that account, than that of the wilfully sophisticated.



It's not what you earn that matters; it's what you do. And if what you do follows from and reflects what you are, so much the better!

In the inner sanctum of my bathroom, mein badezimmer, I receive absolution for the day's shortcomings and misgivings, through the ablutions that rain down upon me, as from Heaven.

I am too much of a leader to follow anybody, not least on the internet, where I have always been reluctant to follow a so-called 'leader'.

As a leading philosopher, or thinker/writer, I would be most reluctant to follow the teachings of another, since it would suggest a want of knowledge or understanding or direction in myself.

Today, the last day of March, is also the start of British Summer Time, but it still feels like winter, so much so that I was, as usual, reluctant to get up this morning. Nevertheless, it is Easter Sunday, and, looking back on it this evening, I am pleased to say that I have not spent so much as a penny. This is, indeed, a rare occurrence!

The workmen next-door have, mercifully, stayed away for Easter, leaving me in relative peace. For that, at least, I am moderately grateful.

April will come with its fools and showers … of bills and other undesirable impositions with which one will be expected, as usual, to comply.

Hermann Hesse was always my favourite twentieth-century German author, just as Henry Miller was my favourite American one, Jean-Paul Sartre my favourite French one, and Aldous Huxley my favourite British author of the twentieth century. Four favourite authors who, for me, stand apart from everyone else.

I was always disposed to think in fours, thereby transcending the tripartite limitations of those who only think in threes, like Arthur Koestler (with his tripartite theories) and the majority of Christian thinkers (with their trinitarian limitations), with the notable exception of John Bunyan who, together with the somewhat unchristian Oswald Spengler, also thought in fours.

Most authors don't think at all; they just write. And, for that reason, they are hardly authorities on anything, but simple bugbears revelling in spontaneous or instinctual filth.

The only way one can get beyond the negative metaphysics of idealism to the positive metaphysics of transcendentalism is by abjuring both the positive metachemistry of materialism and the negative metachemistry of fundamentalism, thereby abandoning Creator-ism for the prospect – and indeed actuality – of an Ultimate Creation, which is the supreme beingfulness of Heaven, as far removed from anything cosmically characterized by primal doing as it were possible to be.

Thinking (never mind writing) is a luxury in this part of town (north London) which you are lucky to get away with, without some prying bimbo – usually female – objecting to it via a censorious thud or thump from some room next-door or perhaps even on another floor of the same house, an experience, I have to confess, which I thought, erroneously as it turns out, I had got away from when I moved from the hell house in Hermiston Avenue that I was effectively kicked out of. But there you are, wherever you go in this accursed city there are people who are only too ready to put the anti-intellectual boot in with the intention of stopping or, at any rate, inhibiting one from thinking, presumably in consequence of too objective and outgoing a disposition – certainly for my liking!

Oh to be free of neighbours altogether! They are always such an infernal bore.

The only solution, short of moving yet again (optimist!), is to give them periodic doses of hard rock and/or heavy metal, which they are guaranteed, whether as unthinking philistines or commonplace idiots, not to like. Something of a vicious circle, what? But then life is a kind of battleground, not least of the genders, whether you like the fact or not. On second thoughts, I could always opt to put wax earplugs in, yet again!



Yesterday, being April 1st, I was reluctant to write anything, from fear that I would end-up making a fool of myself. So I wisely resisted the temptation and kept my thoughts, such as they were, to myself.

Today, however, is another day, as they say, and I feel the need to unleash my inner demons, as it were, by putting pen (biro) to paper (lined notebook) and penning these autobiographical lines, which I trust will not prove too boring to any prospective or actual reader – should I be fortunate enough to have any readers in the months or years to-come.

Conservatism is inherently reactionary; it resists change, as, up to a point, do we all, especially when it would not be to our spiritual, financial, social, or material advantage.

Sometimes I feel like K in The Castle, hemmed-in and restricted by all manner of social and bureaucratic constraints, which have the effect of limiting one's course of action and effectively precluding one from actually getting anywhere. By the way, does not K stand for Kafka, the novel's author? I read him years ago, including his other novels, America and The Trial, but latterly I have had the pleasure, or perhaps I should say privilege, of seeing the film version featuring the late, great Ulrich Mühe in the lead role of the land surveyor, or land vermesser, as they say in German, who cannot make any headway against the social and bureaucratic obstacles placed in his way by the castle authorities, all of which is aptly symbolized by the prevailing blizzard that forms a continuous backdrop to the narrative and constantly blows snow back into the trudging, even faltering, figure of K as he tramps dutifully but with an impending sense of futility towards das Schloss, forever out-of-reach and seemingly out-of-bounds to him. Susanne Lothar, Frank Giering, and Martin Brambach are just some of the other well-known and respected actors in this estimable adaptation by Austrian director Michael Haneke, whose films include the somewhat newsreel-prone 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance, the rather unpleasant Funny Games and, more recently, The White Ribbon, also featuring Susanne Lothar.

Conservatism (to return to that subject from another angle) is, it seems to me, an inherently female tendency to resist male-oriented change, especially of a religious or moral order. But putting constraints upon females is not the same as advancing beyond them, even if it is impossible to do so without having, in some degree, constrained them or otherwise managed to circumvent and/or ignore their efforts – spirit warring upon ego, will upon soul – to constrain one from advancing via ego or soul towards some degree of male independence and – devil forbid! - some form of self-sufficiency. For what use to females could males who are self-sufficient possibly be? But the female doesn't have to ask such a rhetorical question. She simply acts according to her nature and opposes both ego and soul from her respective objective points-of-view in spirit and will, depending on the context. And if you can ignore her, that is to say 'turn the other cheek', your reward is … what? Either the earth or heaven, depending on your bent. For, even though they differ, as the corporeal from the ethereal, subjectivity is common to both, and subjectivity is beyond both the spirit and the will of female imposition.

Fiction, poetry, and drama are effectively 'beneath my pale', so to speak, and therefore not something I would want, at the ripe old age of sixty, to return to, even though I had, in my youth, to pass through them in order to get to where I am today and where I have generally been, in original philosophical terms, for the past twenty-five or more years, that is, since at least the mid-1980s. Poetry I could conceivably slide back to, but fiction and drama would, if done properly, require a change of axis (state-hegemonic) and, to my mind, an effective change of gender which, these days, I wouldn't wish to psychologically undergo.

Suffice it to say that one who evolves towards and even into metaphysics … will not be too partial to disciplines owing more, one way or another, to physics, chemistry, or metachemistry, quite apart from the subordinate gender options of pseudo-metachemistry (under metaphysics), pseudo-chemistry (under physics), pseudo-physics (under chemistry), and pseudo-metaphysics (under metachemistry). Once one has burnt one's literary bridges, as it were, one has no option but to press on to the end of one's road and eventually achieve one's goal as an independent and original artist or writer.

Not having seen, never mind known, my father, I had a pressing desire, brought up as a single child outside the land of my birth (Ireland), to discover who the heck I was and, by and by, I turned this quest for self-discovery, beginning with books and study, into philosophy, my life's vocation, only to discover that I am more, as we all are, than the sum of one's parts, having more than one ancestor and an altogether different set of environmental influences and conditioning experiences than could be attributable to any given source.

For me, the paternal aspect of my ancestry must remain an enigma, since not only do I not know very much about it, but I have no time for that which failed me as a father and to which, in consequence, I can owe neither allegiance nor respect. This fact also underlies my attitude to conventional religion, since any type of 'father', or so-called 'father', is effectively 'beneath my pale' and therefore taboo. Fortunately, the Baptist church I attended in Carshalton Beeches, Surrey, compliments of the children's home to which my mother had sent me at the age of ten, did not have 'fathers', at least not in the religious sense, but only ministers or vicars or parsons or whatever, for whom I had, in spite of my Catholic antecedents, a degree of respect, even if I had no loyalty whatsoever to the Baptist or Protestant faith.

I've heard it said, not least by my mother, that the educated are generally lacking in common sense, and, to be sure, there would seem to be some truth in that opinion, insofar as what could be called common sensibility tends to exclude common sensuality, as physics excludes chemistry, and Puritans, or nonconformists, tend to maintain their distance from the generality of Roman Catholics.

But there are also what could be called uncommon sense, or sensuality, and uncommon sensibility, both of which would not only be mutually exclusive but above the common mass of humanity, holding noumenally antithetical positions in metachemistry and metaphysics. Axially considered, common sensibility would be ruled, as in England, by uncommon sensuality, physics by metachemistry, whereas common sense (or sensuality) tends to be led, as in Ireland traditionally, by uncommon sensibility, where a degree of metaphysics in the celibate Catholic clergy has tended to preside over the sinful commonness (dominated by chemistry) of the Catholic masses, who would have been expected to 'come clean', as it were, and confess their sins in the expectation of verbal absolution, however temporary such a forgiveness - ostensibly through the representatives of Christ - might be in a society characterized, as Western societies have increasingly become, by worldly criteria and, hence, the domination, willy-nilly, of the masses at the expense of both autocratic and theocratic elites.

However that may be, one can go beyond that to a truly uncommon sensibility which owes nothing to Catholicism and still less to the Confessional; a sensibility, I mean, that is only possible to those who, having repudiated metachemistry, are alone capable of taking uncommon sensibility all the way to paradise, the paradise of metaphysical heaven.

What other people think about you counts for nothing compared with what you think about yourself. People may hold you in high or in low esteem, but if you don't hold yourself in high esteem … for who you are and what you do … no amount of adulation from others can compensate you for the lack of it. Contrariwise, no amount of denigrative abuse by persons who choose to hold you in low esteem can make any inroads into or detract from your self-esteem, if you are truly proud of who you are and what you do.

Actually, those with the most self-esteem usually do least, while, conversely, the ones who do the most, who are most active and sociable, usually have little or no self-esteem because their estimation of themselves is largely dependent upon others. This is especially so, I believe, of women.



Authentic writing tends to follow from the thought. Writing for writing's sake, on the other hand, tends to reflect a degree of thoughtlessness and is fundamentally vapid.

I am a thinker/writer, an artist-philosopher. Period.

Slaves live to work and/or work to live; freemen live to play and/or play to live. Alas, the modern age is par excellence one of slavery, in which the individual is submerged in the collective – company, firm, corporation, organization, movement, school, or whatever – and the collective comes first. Freemen, unfortunately, are the exception to the rule, a rule determined by female-hegemonic criteria in objectivity and sensuality, those twin concretions of somatic licence.

In the modern age, the playboy stands in the somatic shadow of the workman, like a freeman to a slave.

Now what is the modern age but the secular fruit of Protestant schism? A direct consequence of the rejection of religion and, more specifically, of religious idealism in favour of a cynical, fatalistic submission to female domination.

The solution to this dilemma can only come when the Catholic 'dead' are resurrected … under Social Theocratic auspices.

A horrible place crawling with slaves, i.e., workmen. What disgusting noises! Enough to make one puke. Ugh, the anti-like industriousness of these petty creatures!

Culture is a gentle thing, as are the cultured. But consistently confronted by worker brutality, with their incessant noise, they are likely to become embittered. Such is the deplorably base, money-grubbing nature of the age, which puts profit before people and, above all, culture.

One can only be reluctant to write like this, but, then again, what else is one to do in the circumstances?

Of course, one could choose not to think or write at all. But then the bastards would have won … and what good is that?

Yesterday, the plethora of barbarous noises coming from the workmen in the house next-door was so intense and disturbing, especially the low drill grinding away down beside my bed, that even wax earplugs, my customary defence against noise, were of no avail and I just had to get up early in order to get away from the immediate vicinity of the main source of noise, although elsewhere in my flat things were not much better.

I can say, without any reservation, that I was extremely reluctant to stay indoors, never mind write. Yet somehow, with the help of hard rock music, I persevered and got on with some internet-related activity germane to my vocation. But there you are, I was once again in the front line of resistance to whatever they threw at me or, more correctly, inflicted upon themselves as builders, and somehow I survived, survived, I mean, as an artist.

So I live to fight another day. Writing is my weapon in the struggle against barbarity and brutality, philistinism and ignorance, prejudice and greed.

I search in my notebooks for something of note and, lo and behold! I uncover the truth.

Writers who drink heavily, presuming they are not up against really difficult circumstances, are either dissatisfied with themselves as writers or deluded into thinking that alcohol will give them some special insights and even literary wings, so to speak, enabling them to transcend the mundane limitations of diurnal life. In reality, what one is more likely to encounter, in reading such people (though there is no guarantee that a drunk will be published or even publish himself), is the voice of alcohol, not their own voice. Now that voice, besides being somewhat discordant and even raucous, is apt to become a colossal bore, with a kind of selfless impetus that has a momentum of its own but one, alas, that is peculiarly familiar in a world where most people are habituated if not to drinking then at least to taking orders from others and allowing others or other factors, not necessarily alcoholic, to rule their lives and lead them on a merry – or perhaps not so merry – dance.

Accept the world and lose your self (to a woman) or reject the world and discover your self, that is the choice a man must make, and it is of the order of not-being or being, not to be (with another) or to be (with self). Losing your soul (to the world) is likely to leave you feeling empty and dependent, and therefore your own worst enemy (as a man).

The voice of alcohol is not the voice of reason, but the voice of madness, which speaks from the standpoint of 'the other'.

The world is a reflection of female domination, however much this fact may be disguised, in philosophical and other writings, by recourse to such apparent abstractions as 'will' and 'spirit', terms which, in reality, have decidedly concrete implications. As, incidentally, do science and politics, not to mention art and sculpture, or, in literature, drama and poetry.

Whatever can be acted, as an expression of will, and whatever can be spoken, as an expression of spirit – the twin objective concretions of drama and poetry, which are quintessentially public, as, for that matter, are painting and sculpture, the 'drama' and 'poetry' of canvas and clay.

Being a subjective kind of writer, more private than public, is the prerogative of novelists and philosophers, whom one would read in private rather than watch or listen to in public. The literature that is not, like drama and poetry, primarily of will and spirit is necessarily of ego and soul, and ego and soul are more male than female in character – in fact, it would be as subjectively logical for soul to exclude will, or philosophy to exclude drama, as for ego to exclude spirit, or fiction to exclude poetry, whether or not this actually happens. For, as a rule, will wars upon soul, as drama upon philosophy, and spirit wars upon ego, as poetry upon prose, and sometimes philosophy is appropriated by drama and prose by poetry, to the detriment, it could be said, of both philosophy and prose.

But if philosophy and prose are 'true' to themselves, then they will avoid appropriating drama and poetry respectively, since soul will no more gain from the appropriation of will than ego from the appropriation of spirit. On the contrary, they will be vitiated and therefore diminished, as in Nietzsche and Lawrence Durrell, to name but two appropriators.

A philosophy which is truly philosophic, as with Schopenhauer, and a prose which is truly prosaic, as with Sartre, will be alone genuine and therefore vehicles of literary subjectivity, which is impressive.

As for mixing the 'high' with the 'low', drama with poetry or, on the opposite side of the gender fence, philosophy with prose, or vice versa, forget it! Neither drama nor philosophy, will nor soul, gain anything from being mixed with poetry or prose, spirit or ego, but will simply be coarsened and thereby reduced in substance to some mongrel-like cross between the noble and the plebeian, the noumenal and the phenomenal, the ethereal and the corporeal, which will be neither fish nor foul but an ungainly compromise whose ability to fly, whether objectively in the case of drama or subjectively in the case of philosophy, is impeded by the degree to which it has substituted gills or hooves for wings and either purgatory for hell where, as with drama, objective expression takes precedence, or the earth for heaven where, as with philosophy, subjective impression is at stake. What, on the contrary, is truly dramatic or truly philosophic will be above such crudities!

The notion, traceable to the Bible, that God (or anything godly) could have created woman is positively monstrous and little short of a contradiction in terms. Only an erroneous concept of God, as of the godly, could possibly lead to such a ridiculous conclusion.

I think it was Huxley who once described God as a 'being withdrawn', and, to be sure, the subjective beingfulness of godliness or, more correctly, of heavenliness as a sensible feeling (of joy) that godliness bears divine witness to (as its outer manifestation, so to speak, in the sense of candlelight to candle-flame) is precisely what Huxley's phrase conjures-up for me, in complete contrast to any active will that objectively imposes upon the world, as upon life in general, and creates things, being responsible, after a fashion, for the so-called Universe. That is the misconception of God, as of godliness, that has bedevilled religion for centuries if not millennia, and, strangely enough, it continues to do so even in this day and age of ostensible enlightenment.

I have a theory of mobile phones – cell phones, if you prefer – that would equate each of the main or principal design types which exist today with a given hegemonic point of what I call the intercardinal axial compass, viz., metachemistry at the northwest point, metaphysics at the northeast point, chemistry at the southwest point, and physics at the southeast point, with metachemistry axially polar to physics on state-hegemonic terms, and chemistry axially polar to metaphysics on church-hegemonic terms.

Here, then, is this theory: the 'upper order', or noumenal, types of mobile phone would be sliders, or those whose screen slides up from the keypad, as approximating to the metachemical position, but folders, or those whose screen unfolds from the keypad as they are opened up, as approximating, by contrast, to the metaphysical position, so that we would have a kind of noumenal, or ethereal, antithesis between these two types of mobile phone.

Similarly, the 'lower order', or phenomenal, types of mobile phone would be those which appear to be entirely comprised of screen (all show) as approximating to the chemical position, and those, by contrast, upon which the keypad is more prominent as approximating to the physical position, so that we would have a kind of phenomenal, or corporeal, antithesis between them.

In axial terms, sliders would be polar to the latter type of 'phenomenal' mobile and folders to the former type, so that the overall axial contrast would be between upper-order screen-based phones and lower-order keypad-oriented phones on the one hand, that of the state-hegemonic axis, and lower-order screen-based phones and upper-order keypad-oriented phones on the other hand, that of the church-hegemonic axis.

In simple antithetical terms, one has a contrast, in each case, between alpha and omega, show and concealment, appearance and essence, screen and keypad, outer and inner, which is equivalent, so I contend, to a gender dichotomy between 'female' and 'male' types of mobile phone, as between the metachemical and chemical screen-based options on the one hand (usually more populist and therefore prevalent), and the physical and metaphysical keypad-oriented options on the other hand (usually more select and therefore suited to intellectual or high-brow types).

That, in a nutshell, is my theory of mobile phones, and you can take it or leave it, accept or reject it, according to your 'lights' (as James Joyce might say).

My own type of mobile phone happens to be a folder, or fold-up, which I would consider appropriate to my metaphysical disposition and predilection as a thinker, or self-taught philosopher, for whom the centripetal takes considerable precedence over the centrifugal.

Probably, if literary parallels are to be adduced, the slider, or slide-up type of mobile phone, would accord with a dramatic bias as appropriate to a playwright; the screen-based one with a poetic bias, as appropriate to a poet; the keypad-oriented one with a prosaic bias, as appropriate to a novelist; and, as noted above, the folding type of mobile phone with a philosophic bias, as appropriate to someone like me whose life revolves around thought.

Being a thinker, I have to confess that my phone is used primarily for playing music (the most metaphysical of the arts) rather than for talking, surfing the internet, or watching videos. I have theories about which type of mobile phone these other options most accord with, but I'll leave that for the reader to figure out for himself.

Somehow, in spite of everything the world throws at you, you keep going, a solitary outsider and bohemian intellectual who continues, day after day, to play his music despite regular interference and even opposition, as from ethnically unrelated types who, in most cases, don't even want to hear Western music at all, never mind rock music in various of its several permutations. But somehow, despite being a minority of one, you keep going, remaining true to yourself both vocationally and recreationally. And that is all you really need to do.

People fixated on beauty, as on 'the Beautiful', don't want truth, as in 'the True', and are probably incapable, in any case, of being truthful, since for them factual beauty is all that really counts.

Drama and philosophy are mutually exclusive, like the Devil and Heaven or Hell and God, to cite the primary (fulcra) and secondary (bovaryized) positive aspects of metachemistry (soma) and metaphysics (psyche).

What isn't mutually exclusive, however, is drama and pseudo-philosophy (dramatic) on the one hand, and philosophy and pseudo-drama (philosophic) on the other hand, since these are akin to metachemistry and pseudo-metaphysics in the one case, that of drama and pseudo-philosophy, and to metaphysics and pseudo-metachemistry in the other case, that of philosophy and pseudo-drama.

Likewise, if 'down below' (phenomenal as opposed to noumenal planes), poetry and prose are mutually exclusive, like purgatory and man or woman and the earth, to cite, once again, the primary (fulcra) and secondary (bovaryized) positive aspects of chemistry (soma) and physics (psyche).

What isn't mutually exclusive, however, is poetry and pseudo-prose (poetic) on the one hand, and prose and pseudo-poetry (prosaic) on the other hand, since these are akin to chemistry and pseudo-physics in the one case, that of poetry and pseudo-prose, and to physics and pseudo-chemistry in the other case, that of prose and pseudo-poetry.

Dramatic philosophy is, of course, pseudo-philosophy, philosophic drama, by contrast, pseudo-drama.

Similarly, poetic prose is, of course, pseudo-prose, prosaic poetry, by contrast, pseudo-poetry.

Dialogues are no-less pseudo-philosophic than monologues pseudo-dramatic.

Prose poems are no-less pseudo-prosaic than free verse pseudo-poetic.

Don't believe me? Just think about it for a moment, even if you are reluctant to do so.

The Artist, if true (genuine), is in this world but not of it (Sound familiar?).

On the contrary, he has to constantly struggle against it to survive as an artist. For 'the world', least of all on its female side, does not encourage him or anyone else, for that matter, who does what he is.

To think in terms of two sides to life, as to a coin, may be somewhat reductionist, but it does lead, sooner or later, to a distinction between victors and victims, predators and prey, with the one presupposing the other, as females presuppose males.

Salvation is nothing less (or more) than the deliverance of victims from the clutches of victors, thereby putting the predators 'out of business'. Easier said than done, of course, but there is no other interpretation of salvation that makes any religious – as against scientific, political, or economic – sense. And, of course, when (and if) you deliver victims from victors, thereby saving the former and effectively damning the latter (to neutralization as predators), you put an end to 'the world' (as we know it in relation to man rather than simply in terms of the planet), since life in 'the world' only works on the basis of victors and victims, females and males, predators and prey, the rich and the poor, the strong (powerful) and the weak (powerless), etc., etc., as, in fact, is the case with Nature generally.

Those who believe in 'the world' necessarily believe in and respect its terms. Those who do not believe in 'the world', in rejecting its terms, tend to have faith in otherworldly criteria and are inherently religious.

Whether that faith can be vindicated … remains, one might say, to be seen. But such people as have faith tend to be victims and therefore usually if not exclusively male.

Adam and Evil (not bad, eh?). Nor is that song by Heaven and Hell from the album The Devil You Know entitled Atom and Evil, which would seem to be a pun on Adam and Eve.

I think the only financial freedom worth having is freedom from finances. Then you are truly free or, rather, liberated.

Free to do or free from those who do – that is, in a sense, the question, is it not? For the one interpretation of freedom is antithetical if not inimical to the other, and the predatory will always regard freedom in terms of free soma, or the licence to 'strut their stuff' and thereby exemplify 'the Beautiful' through free will.

But those who do are not the only ones who are free. That, to be blunt, is a metachemical order of freedom commensurate with free will in free soma. There are also other orders of freedom – chemical, for instance, which also has associations, through free spirit, with free soma, and, effectively on the other side (male) of the gender fence, physical, whose freedom has less to do with giving and more to do with taking, and taking – note-taking not least – in terms of free ego in free psyche.

Nietzsche's well-known phrase about not just being free from something but, more importantly, free for something else … can be construed to imply that one kind of freedom leads to another and can even, to some extent, be replaced by another, as when plutocratic freedom replaced – though didn't necessarily exclude or preclude – autocratic freedom, making the latter constitutionally obliged to acknowledge the 'rights' of plutocratic freedom, or, alternatively, when democratic freedom replaced or succeeded autocratic freedom disguised as theocracy, and we got republics that tended to favour socialism rather than capitalism or even a liberal mixture of capitalism and socialism.

Certain types of freedom replacing or succeeding other types of freedom is nothing new, but has been going on for centuries, even millennia, and the modern age is no exception, being, if anything, one when democratic freedom has come to the fore at the expense of autocratic and even plutocratic freedoms, though the latter is far from dead. In fact, plutocracies disguised as democracies have been no less prevalent than autocracies disguised as theocracies, and have incurred various forms of freedom-clamouring opposition which, in some cases, have led to so-called People's democracies and other Social Democratic variations on a Marxist theme.

But whilst freedom from one sort of freedom may lead to another sort of freedom, better for some and worse for others, freedom from freedom has not transpired on a mass basis, nor could it in worldly societies or in societies beholden, in netherworldly vein, to autocratic freedom.

One kind of freedom replacing another is all too symptomatic of worldly societies or of societies whose ambitions are worldly, whether in relation to democracy or to plutocracy, bureaucracy or meritocracy, and is akin, in my view, to one kind of 'godly thingfulness', or idolatry, superseding another, as with Marian and Christian 'gods', or deities, superseding pre-Christian deities like Jehovah or Zeus or 'the Creator', and doing so on a kind of attenuated basis that required a modification of such concepts as 'the Creator', 'the Almighty', Jehovah, etc., that, whilst still existing as a religious concept (as it would have to do from an extrapolative standpoint), allowed for such Christian concepts as 'Mother' and 'Son' to enter into religion, which is precisely what such a concept as 'the Father' actually does, unlike Jehovah or Allah or any other non-Western monotheistic concept of God as 'Creator' and sole ruling principle behind the so-called Universe (cosmos) – in other words, as a disguised form of autocracy that, from a Christian standpoint, must appear as a species of religious tyranny characteristic of an older or more backward type of civilization, one even subject to dissimilar environmental and climatic factors to those generally prevailing in Europe, and northern Europe in particular.

Yet even 'the Father', equivalent one could argue to a constitutional monarchy, continued to fulfil, or fill, the autocratic role for those peoples whose religious freedom had become more focused around 'the Mother' and/or 'the Son' in typically Christian (Catholic and/or Protestant) vein, whether or not such deities could be construed as corresponding to an inherently worldly type of civilization divisible between giving and taking, democracy (with a bureaucratic correlation) and plutocracy (with a meritocratic correlation), this civilization itself so divided against itself as to have fissured into alternative and even contrasting types of freedom that would continue to divide it along roughly Catholic and Protestant lines.

However, despite its schismatic splintering, doing did not and, in the circumstances, could not cease to exist, or be religiously symbolized (as Father, Creator, Almighty, etc.), just because, in Western civilization, and Europe in particular, giving and taking had become more prevalent. So it need not surprise us if the latter were – and to varying extents still are – tarred by the former's brush, as it were, for notions of freedom of a lower order to have superseded, but still be subject to, the root or most basic order of freedom that, being metachemical and predominantly somatic, is the supernatural principle behind worldly life.

Man is never so free as when he acts”, said Sartre, as if there was something inherently praiseworthy about an order of freedom that, based in metachemistry, is characteristically more female than male (strictly speaking, most female and least male), since having associations with free will and therefore with what I have tended, in recent years, to associate with Devil the Mother. Doing is, to be sure, the freest order of freedom, but it is also, on that account, the furthest removed from being, from what is neither free nor unfree but simply is, since beyond the scope and limitations of freedom.

The Nietzschean cry of 'freedom from' in order that there may be 'freedom for' may be more vociferous in our own time, but it does not and cannot put an end to the 'wheel of suffering' which is 'the world' and the kind of vicious circle, largely comprised of triangular rigidities, that the partial replacement of one type of freedom by another necessarily implies. For there can be no absolute freedom, other than in the autocratic sense of netherworldly free will, in a world where freedom is simply to replace one set of choices or one course of action by another, the ego superseding the will, the spirit superseding the will-disguised-as-soul (though still deferential to Creator-ism) and then, in its secular decadence, rendered all the more vulnerable to predation by the axial enemy of spirit whose ego is beholden to will and able to profit from the doing of will by taking from the giving of spirit, the basis, in a triangular nutshell, of capitalist exploitation.

One godly delusion leads to another just as surely as one mode of freedom to another, and the Truth continues to lie 'beyond the pale' of whatever is both characterized and limited by freedom, whether in relation to metachemical beauty, chemical strength (pride), or physical knowledge. Being, the essence of Truth, is, to repeat, neither free nor unfree, it simply is, and in its beingfulness all else, all that is not being, ceases to have any meaning; for freedom is meaningless to that which is beyond it.

Not this or that, not a toing and froing, not a choice between competing or antagonistic options, not a dialectics of triangularity, neither partial to free speech, to free verse, to a free press, to freedom of movement, nor to freedom of action, being is free of freedom, and in that it is true to self, to the soul, in what we call Heaven, the condition neither of doing, giving, nor taking, which is axially beyond all worldly limitations.

To be liberated from freedom (and binding) by being, the soul one with the self in metaphysical salvation – that is the only solution, from a male standpoint, to the triangular 'wheel of suffering' of apparently independent but actually interdependent freedoms which grind everything and everybody in the mill of life from birth to death.

Life in north London has always given me the impression, somewhat eschatological in character, that I am one who is constantly being tormented by devils and demons who, in the intensely urban environments in which I have been obliged through chance and circumstance to live, take the forms of hammering, drilling, banging, shouting, thumping workmen who never go away, at least not for good, but tend to characterize so much of the way life is lived in what I like to think of as these worker-infested environments. Is this not a kind of hell?

I do, in spite of having been raised as a Protestant in a children's home and at high school, have a certain ingrained detestation of the British work ethic, especially when it manifests in manual or labouring work.

The extent to which one is constantly being brutalized by workmen's noises is, in a way, nothing short of scandalous, and makes one conscious of what a horrible place this part of north London (Hornsey/Harringay) actually is, even if there weren't plenty of other reasons to consider it – and other places like it in London as a whole – as such.

I think their self-sacrificing work ethic has always scandalized me and kind of driven me in the opposite direction or, at any rate, made me more self-consciously 'the artist' and philosophically-inclined 'bohemian intellectual' who must daily achieve his salvation, the salvation of his soul, through what he thinks and writes, with its publication a kind of testament not only to what it means to be an artist-philosopher, writer, or whatever, but as evidence of opposition to 'the world', as to worldly lifestyles, which for me – and I think all genuine artists – is the raison d'être of art.

But why are they, the British, so like that, I mean generally so philistine? I believe it has a lot to do with female domination within a state-hegemonic axial system deriving from Protestantism. That is, of course, not the whole explanation, but it's certainly a cogent starting-point.



For the past week or so my customary reluctance to write has turned into a refusal to write, since I had nothing new to say and, besides, I had other things to do and, more importantly, be, including a pretty engrossed reader of a library book on Germany from 'Lonely Planet', which has taught me so much I didn't know before, even when one finds oneself skipping over several pages – information on restaurants, hotels, nightclubs, and the like – on a regular basis, as one often does with this kind of book.

Interestingly, they always supply, in this 'Lonely Planet' guide, the population of the cities, towns, and even villages of Germany. But, of course, you always take that with a degree of scepticism, if not treat it outright dismissively. After all, quite apart from the figures being somewhat dated by now, several years after the last edition, populations are never static but tend to rise and fall with circumstances. You look at a given population figure and say to yourself, “Ah, I'll take that as a loose guide to the size of the place, be it city, town, or village, since only a fool would take the given figure literally.”

You could spend a lifetime travelling around Germany, visiting this and that, and still not have seen everywhere or know everything there is to know – in a general, schematic sort of way – about a place. Simply amazing!

Germany produces – and this opinion owes nothing to the above-mentioned guide – the best films in Europe, and when Germans act in American films, as they sometimes do, even American films are improved, or rendered less predictably violent and brash.

There are certain things I am extremely reluctant to write about, so I don't.

If I were to tell them everything about myself, they'd probably kill me or throw me in jail.

I am, in spite of this, no Rimbaud, to have written a couple of (questionable) books or, more correctly, collections of poems that were subsequently turned into books, like A Season in Hell and The Illuminations, only to pack it in for some other vocation or profession. Nor do I make a habit of doing other things whilst still claiming to be a writer, like, say, Albert Camus. I despise dilettantism, not least in regard to the general British attitude (inveterately hostile) to writing and, for that matter, to writers, at least if they amount to anything original and thought-provoking. They may prefer reading, but someone wrote the books they read, including writers living in England.

Living in England is, by itself, enough to make one a reluctant writer, though not necessarily, as in my case, because one is primarily a thinker or, for that matter, because the depiction of one's immediate circumstances and experiences don't necessarily make for enjoyable writing or pleasant reading but tend, on the contrary, to embarrass and disgust one....

I would no more copy a film (DVD) into my laptop that featured a bowtie-wearing jerk than … write a novel or other work of fiction based on such a person. In fact, I doubt that I could, or would want to, write anything remotely resembling fiction, these days, anyhow.

Once writing gets a hold on you it never lets go. Sometimes you are the one who is written by it.

I write, therefore I exist … in a broadly chemical way.

I read, therefore I exist … in a broadly physical way.

I speak, therefore I exist … in a broadly metachemical way.

I think, therefore I exist … in a broadly metaphysical way.

There is no single way of existing, not even in 'literary' terms, and no person exists – barring twins or so-called Siamese twins - in exactly the same way and to the same degree as another.

I exist to give … as a writer;

I exist to take … as a reader;

I exist to do (or act) … as a speaker;

I exist to be … as a thinker.

I exist, therefore I give, I take, I do, or I am.

The Philosopher may exist to be, but not anyone else within the literary world, least of all the Dramatist, or Playwright.

Doing and giving are more female than male; taking and being more male than female. In fact, doing is most female and least male, since metachemically absolute, whereas being, by contrast, is most male and least female, since metaphysically absolute.

Giving, on the other hand, is more (relative to less) female and less (relative to more) male, since chemically relative, whereas taking, by contrast, is more (relative to less) male and less (relative to more) female, because physically relative.

Unlike doing and being, which are noumenal (or ethereal) antitheses, giving and taking are phenomenal (or corporeal) antitheses, and therefore subject to comparative as opposed to superlative distinctions. One could, if one wished to complicate matters, write doing and being with initial capitals, as though to distinguish them, in this respect, from giving and taking, pretty much like the Devil and God vis-a-vis woman and man.

To wake up one morning only to discover that one had not been woken up by hammering, drilling, banging, scraping, and other such horrible noises, but that it was perfectly quiet, with not even the sound of a goods or passenger train passing nearby. One rubs one's eyes, looks around the room, as if to ensure that one hasn't died and gone to Heaven, but no! One is very much alive and lying in one's own bed in one's customary bedroom. And then, all of a sudden, the noises return, not from next-door, as before, but from up the road or down the road or across the road or in some adjoining or nearby street where more building or renovating is now taking place. But at least it is not right next to one at present, even if one can still hear it from afar!

Alas, even that is not the case today, and I know I must endure yet another day of mental torment at the hands of crass workmen and carry on with my life as best I can, still reluctant to write, not least about all this, but having little or no alternative, since if I stopped writing altogether … it would be as though in consequence of them, of the workmen next-door, and philistinism and brutality would have triumphed. Never! I shall outstay, outlive, and outwit the sons-of-bitches, come what may. And maybe, just maybe, one will wake up to discover that one's life is no longer subject to such dreadful noises, but is actually more akin to Heaven. A nice thought, but living in England, Great Britain, the United Kingdom, I rather doubt it!

I have swapped a green notebook for an orange one, i.e., one with a pale orange front cover, and the next one, when I have filled this, will doubtless be another notebook with a pale green front cover, and so on, in alternating vein. Somehow, this suits me, as a person of mixed Irish descent, just fine.

Wir Sind Die Nacht is one heck of a beautiful film! Simply awesome in every respect, including, not least, the music. Who said film music was boring? They evidently haven't been watching the right films!

I despise people who eat cake that has no icing on it.



Paradoxically, the most salient feature of rock music (rock 'n' roll), certainly in its mainstream permutations, is that it is straight – in other words, conceived on a 'once-born', alpha-stemming basis that glories in sensuality, not least in respect of love and sex. Most male rock musicians are inevitably pseudo-physical and, hence, sons-of-bitches, for whom deference to females (the chemical – and effectively pop music – hegemony over pseudo-physics) is a given. There is little that is Christian, much less Superchristian (Social Theocratic?) about such people, although on the fringes of rock music one does encounter elements of a desire for otherworldly release from worldly bondage, even if this is sometimes misinterpreted in terms of 'the Beautiful', and a return, via Nature, to metachemical criteria presided over, as it invariably is, by the supernatural. Much of the hippy-based so-called 'counter culture' of the mid-late 1960s was effectively of this tendency, with an Indian-inspired alpha-oriented fatality that fought shy of omega-oriented criteria. When you succumb to beauty and love, those twin pillars of metachemical free soma (in the female), that, alas, will be pretty much the inevitable consequence, and you become no better than a kind of apostle or even apostate of a superheathen disposition within the framework of New World-dominated contemporary secularity. Too bad!

When civilization is little more than an artificial form of Nature, as it tends to be in these days of secular freedom, it's as though the equivalent of a shoal of mackerel or other small fish that had bunched up into a revolving (rock 'n' roll-like) ball in order to have some chance of surviving a two-pronged predatory assault from the air and the sea, from sharp-beaked birds diving down into the sea and big fish (sharks, dolphin, tuna, etc.) storming up from below, had its human counterpart in the way the lapsed Catholic/republican socialist masses are axially preyed upon by men whose suit-wearing sartorial norms of bow-tie and neck-tie put them in an analogous position to the diving birds and storming fish that were assaulting the bunched-up swirling shoal of mackerel from above and below, from approximately metachemical and physical positions whose human correspondence would be state-hegemonic and very much a bow-tie and neck-tie polarity for whom open-necked shirts and/or tee-shirt-wearing types were their chosen prey, to be ripped off from above (somatic licence) and below (profiting from the financing of said licence) in a two-pronged attack upon the chemically-dominated church hegemonic or, in republican guise, lapsed catholic socialistic masses, their own proletariats not altogether excepted.

So when, to repeat, civilization is no more than an artificial form of Nature, you simply have a predator/prey dichotomy that allows the former to exploit (rip off and effectively gobble up) the latter in a mirror image of what transpires not only in the oceans (dreadful places!), but also in the jungles and deserts of the planet in general. And this situation will continue until the masses, preferably within traditionally church-hegemonic axial contexts or nations, democratically opt for a new religion that will have the ability to deliver them from their preyed-upon plight and thereby put the predators out of axial business, as it were, for want of prey. That alone would put an end to the so-called 'exploitation of man by man', since it would be germane not to this world, with its predatory/prey dichotomy, but to the otherworldly criteria of 'Kingdom Come' in which 'man' is being 'overcome' and the ensuing life-form lives independently of human limitations, not least as they derive from Nature and all things natural.

The dedicated reader of my writings, not just this book, or collection of ideas, will of course already know what I consider the 'new religion' to be and how it can be brought about, so I needn't bother to repeat myself here, especially as it would be with the utmost reluctance, except to say that civilization can and should be more than just a glorified form of Nature, and won't have attained to its full global/universal stature until it becomes so.

But, of course, it won't be the people who are behind (both literally and figuratively) the contemporary form of global civilization that will have to be 'resurrected', in the appropriately new religious terms, for the overhaul of what now exists to transpire. On the contrary, it will be those who have lived in the shadow, as it were, of this development, stretching from the Reformation on down to the overlap with the present state of civilization, who will have to be 'raised from the dead' if true progress beyond it is to become a reality and not continue to remain a kind of life wish of their 'dead souls'.

When they call Hell 'Heaven', as they do, there can be no place for Heaven as such, and religion is accordingly corrupt. Joy-excluding love is the name of their metachemical game, which is emblematically embodied in triangles, angular pediments, and such-like expressions of a tripartite (trinitarian) shortfall from the possibility, in 'Kingdom Come', of metaphysical heaven, or Heaven per se.

People refusing to demystify themselves (an observation Ionesco first raised in, if I remember correctly, his Journal en Miettes), the big religious lie (the Lie par excellence) of Devil the Mother hyped as God the Father permitting priests, citing beauty and love, to say, with complete unction: “What God has joined together, let no man pull apart,” or words to that paradoxical effect. As if beauty and love had anything to do with God or, more correctly, the godly in relation to Heaven, that is to say, of truth in relation to joy!

I would be reluctant to put a ring on anybody's finger, never mind to acquiesce in the God-rhetoric of Nature or, more specifically, of Supernature, as of metachemical beauty and love, corresponding, as I believe, to Devil the Mother and to Hell the Clear Spirit.

Newton, who was of course a scientific genius of the first rank, was little more than a Jew or a Moslem when it came to identifying God with 'the Creator' (the Father, Jehovah, Allah, Zeus, etc.) and making Christ out to be no more than a link between 'God' and 'man', not a separate succeeding order of deity germane to Christianity. In that respect, one can see how the Protestant departure, both axially and theologically, from the 'Mother Church' of Catholicism paved the way, in Anglicanism, for a more fundamentalist approach to religion that would reap a Puritan backlash when the emphasis came to be placed on Christ (though not, of course, in Catholic terms, which is to say, neither Christmas-like nor Easter-like) at the expense of the Father, and in adherence, not least, to the New Testament at the expense of the Old, not excepting the King James Bible, which would have been more congenial to Newton from a standpoint favouring the Old Testament at the expense of the New.

But whether, in a kind of Anglican/Puritan axial polarity, you prefer the Old Testament to the New or the New Testament to the Old, even going so far, in the more radical Puritan case, as ditching the Old Testament altogether in favour of a Gideon New Testament-type parallelism to the Cromwellian Republic, the fact remains that in neither case are you subscribing to Marianism, but to different interpretations of God that puts the Holy Spirit in either a cohesive light, as between Father and Son, Old and New Testaments, or, notwithstanding biblical reference to the Holy Spirit as a conduit from the Father to the Virgin Mary (and thus to the Mother-to-be of God the Son – a way of theologically justifying or even delineating the 'Immaculate Conception'), in a leading light that makes of it the so-called 'Third Person' of the Trinity, beyond both the Father and the Son, the attenuated 'Creator God' of an Old Testament in cahoots with a New Testament, in what may seem like a portent of Eternity, 'Kingdom Come', Heaven, and even the transfigured Christ of the Resurrection and/or Second Coming. In that respect, the Holy Spirit permits of an open-ended future in which there is the possibility, if not actuality, of an Omega Point, antithetical to the Alpha Point, so to speak, of the fundamentalist monotheism of God as Creator, a point, by contrast, of otherworldly significance lying beyond the 'light of the world', which is Christ, but not as a link, simply leading back in pointless fashion, to the Creator.

This, however, is evidently not something that Sir Isaac Newton, as a Creator-oriented telescope-wielding scientist with his eyes firmly fixed on the Cosmos, or so-called Universe of monotheistic make-over, would have subscribed to, and for that reason, much as he may have been a scientific genius of the first magnitude, he was incontestably a kind of theological idiot.

As, several generations of scientists later, was Aldous Huxley, son of Thomas Henry Huxley, whose Anglican, or High Church, fatality towards fundamentalism led him to espouse the Clear Light of the Void (in America), thereby going back behind Jehovah Witnesses and Jehovah-worshipping Jews to a position owing more, in its cosmic orientation, to Hinduism than to any later religious traditions, Eastern or Western.

Really, you can't go further back in pseudo-time and space, pseudo-metaphysics and metachemistry, than that, and it just goes to show how English Protestants of a certain scientific disposition just cannot be trusted, never mind believed, where religion is concerned. Huxley was an even bigger idiot, in that respect, than Newton.

The People, being naturally conservative, esteem all that is natural and utilitarian, fighting shy, with cynical insouciance, of the artificiality of culture and thus of that which, with otherworldly aspirations, is truly radical.

The People do not have the intelligence for anything progressively radical, but tend rather to cling to the past out of fear of the unknown and from an inherent scepticism concerning the possibility of significant change, what with the female-dominated evidence to the contrary which daily characterizes their lives.

It is my privilege, as a 'leading light' in the field of radical philosophy, or philosophy with an ideological edge, to have remained, all these years, relatively if not completely unrecognised and unknown, rather than to have become, after the tastes of the populist masses, some kind of celebrity or pseudo-intellectual star, shining from the television screens with a set of shiny white teeth and a jovial demeanour. Had it been otherwise, I would have had reason, long ago, to doubt my entitlement to consideration as a philosophical genius of the first rank.

If there's one thing I'd be most reluctant to do, it would be to debase my philosophy – no, not by having it published in conventional mainstream book format (which could never happen anyway) – but by climbing onto the proverbial soapbox, so to speak, and haranguing the masses – especially the cynical British masses – as to the moral value and eschatological significance of Social Theocracy in relation to the possibility of 'Kingdom Come'. If ever there was a sense in which, to paraphrase Nietzsche, 'I am not the mouth for their ears' … it would apply to my philosophy and its irrelevance, by and large, to the British, whom I have been fated to live among whilst not being of …

Unlike Nietzsche, however, I could well be the mouth for German ears, but having my works translated into German, much less understood, would not be too straightforward.

If I have no friends, especially British ones, it is for the sound reason that I would find it difficult to be friendly towards such people or that I would sooner or later come up against the usual ethnically-conditioned incompatibilities and divergent attitudes towards things Irish or religious or cultural. After all, I am (if on revolutionary terms) profoundly church-hegemonic, and nothing that the state-hegemonic British uphold, whether superficially or profoundly, in relation to either noumenal objectivity or phenomenal subjectivity, has any great appeal to me. In most things, I find that I am simply out of sympathy with them.

In actuality, I have spent the best part of my life avoiding, not embracing, British criteria, including education, sport, religion, science, economics, politics, and what passes for culture generally. As a youth I was in rebellion against it, seeing in rock 'n' roll an antidote to the so-called classical music of the bourgeois establishment. As an adult I developed my own alternative lifestyle and philosophy, to which, quite logically, I still adhere, since it adds up, and what adds up within a comprehensive structure must be true.

Reluctance to play the 'British game' has always been a salient aspect of my character and fundamental nature. Both Protestantism and Parliamentary Democracy have always left me cold, and when confronted by the choices they present to one I tend, more usually, to freeze, given my antipathy to state-hegemonic criteria. Any decision in regard to such choices would still amount, so far as I'm concerned, to a sell-out, to a repudiation of one's better knowledge and identification with church-hegemonic criteria.

His was a life that couldn't be lived; only endured.

There is nothing romantic or heroic about being an outsider. On the contrary, it is one of the worst fates imaginable, both humiliating and depressing, with a sense of everlasting solitariness.

I was once asked, by an Englishman, whether, as a self-professed Irishman, I was ignorant. I should have retorted: “Only of things British”, but, as usual, fearing to give offence and being too nervous to think straight, I simply replied: “No” or, rather, “I hope not”, which now strikes me as lame and … evasive. Besides, everyone is ignorant as well as knowledgeable and, as I think I explained in one of my earlier titles (possibly The Fall of Love), knowledge breeds ignorance and ignorance knowledge. So his question, being sarcastic and probably rhetorical, was fundamentally an expression of ignorance based on ethnic prejudice.

You do not get rid of oppression by removing the oppressor (the socialist delusion). The only way to get rid of oppression is by delivering, through salvation (of males) and counter-damnation (of females), the relevant masses (lapsed catholic and/or republican socialist) from their lowly predicament at the foot of the church-hegemonic axis in countries, like the Republic of Ireland, with a predominantly church-hegemonic axial tradition, to the polar axial heights of a full complement of metaphysics (for the pseudo-physical) and a properly deferential pseudo-metachemistry (for the chemical), so that those who had been pseudo-physically 'last' (equivocally subordinate to the chemical) become metaphysically 'first' (unequivocally hegemonic over the pseudo-metachemical), and those who had been chemically 'first' (equivocally hegemonic over the pseudo-physical) become pseudo-metachemically 'last' (unequivocally subordinate to the metaphysical), a process which, if thoroughly undertaken by a revolutionary regime mindful of Social Theocratic criteria, will eventually lead to the downfall of oppression, as of metachemical/pseudo-metaphysical oppressors and, hence, to the general collapse of state-hegemonic axial criteria, that secular offshoot of schismatic heresy. Think otherwise and you don't really think at all. Which is generally true, after all, of the state-hegemonic themselves, including the physical/pseudo-chemical polarities to the aforementioned metachemical/pseudo-metaphysical positions that effectively dominate the axis from 'on high'.

I fail to see how anybody dressed in a conventional suit, with triangular lapels, could possibly have any time for or inclination towards metaphysics and the possibility, never mind prospect, of 'Kingdom Come'. Such people are usually, if not invariably, at loggerheads with idealism, never mind transcendentalism, and are more likely to be in cahoots with a waistcoat-inclusive 'suit' who prefers, when he is 'properly dressed', to wear a bow-tie to a neck-tie, thereby equating himself with an unequivocally triangular disposition that has an architectural parallel in pediments of a triangular nature – what, in other writings, I have tended, without any degree of reluctance, to dub aediculated monstrosities.

Today, thank goodness, the monstrosity they call Alexandra Palace is largely obscured by a dense low-lying veil of cloud that has come down, like a deus ex machina, to hide the central pediment and the 'angel' that stands atop its pinnacle as the ruling principle of such architectural – and by association social – integrities, one I am profoundly out of sympathy with, since where they see Truth I see the Lie, and where they see God I see the Devil (Devil the Mother, not Satan or, for that matter, King David), and where they see an angel I see a whore, and where they see autocratic freedom I see not plutocratic or democratic freedoms, the freedoms of 'the world' in its antithetical axial positions, but the justification of deliverance from freedom to that which is neither free nor unfree (bound), but, in being true to self, simply is – not, to be sure, as metachemistry hyped as metaphysics, the age-old 'best of a bad job' starting-point for civilization in its Judeo-Christian manifestations, so much as metaphysics proper, independent, for all Eternity, of everything metachemical, physical, and even (polar to itself) chemical.

The only ecumenicism worth taking seriously would not be that of Catholics disgracefully cosying-up with Anglicans, and the latter with Puritans or Nonconformists, but, on a much broader basis, that between Christians, especially Catholics, and non-Christians, especially Moslems, Jews, Buddhists, etc., in order to make their various religions or faiths more open to the possibility of Social Theocracy, as of a Social Theocratic overhaul of traditional religion, and the global promise, thereby, of 'Kingdom Come'.

Pets (especially dogs) revolve around men, men revolve around women, women revolve around children, and children revolve around toys (including toy animals like teddy bears) – the cyclic nature of family relationships.

Family relationships are, of course, germane to the 'wheel of suffering' that both perpetuates and is a symptom of worldly life.

The bigger the family, the smaller the individuals who comprise it.

The more natural the people, the less artificially radical are they and the more correspondingly conservative.

But there are two ways of being artificially radical – the state-hegemonic axial way that leads down to Social Democracy, and the church-hegemonic axial way that can lead up – though hasn't as yet begun its mission – to Social Theocracy, the former being subhumanist and the latter superhumanist or, which amounts to the same, superhuman.

Socialist intellectuals, who are artificially radical on state-hegemonic axial terms, I would describe as inherently scatological, their church-hegemonic counterparts, by contrast, as eschatological.

Man being something that 'should be overcome' (Nietzsche) is a notion which can be applied to subhumanists as well as to superhumanists, though, like Nietzsche, I would always interpret it in relation to the superhuman, not to the mere overcoming of the bourgeoisie (man) by the proletariat (subman), which is, rather, the position of Marxism and a narrowing-down of life to the southeast point of the intercardinal axial compass.

Britain, at the time of writing, is a land chock-full of loud-mouthed foreigners who don't even close or shut their mouths when eating, presumably because the type of food they eat is so hot and spicy that it would be painful to close one's mouth even if one were not overly extrovert by nature (and thus more given to hot food anyway) with, in all probability, a correlatively loud-mouthed disposition.

Laws of nature are not about right or wrong in a moral sense, but about what works – and is therefore 'good' – as opposed, with the violation or negation of such laws, to what doesn't work – and is therefore 'bad'. Morality, on the other hand, is not utilitarian or pragmatic (scientific), but an expression and/or impression, depending on one's gender, of conscience (religious). And conscience, especially when male, is often in conflict with nature.

The idea that morality is or should be naturalistic is as false as the notion that religion is or should be scientific, and derives, I believe, from the same misguided (scientifically-biased) premise.

Christian morality, when genuine (catholic) has little in common with Nature and is therefore bad, advisably from the standpoint of conscience, for 'the world', as even Nietzsche, with his anti-Christian polemics, well knew. But being 'bad' for the world is, in this instance, to be 'good' for the Otherworld, as for otherworldly criteria centred around Eternity and the prospect of 'Kingdom Come', for which, incidentally, the Protestant Nietzsche, who was in many respects the culmination of anti-Christian protest, had little capacity.

However, being 'bad' for the world is also something that applies to the false morality deriving not from Christ but, through Marx, from an opposition to humanism likely to culminate, degeneratively, in a subhuman rather than superhuman dispensation having nothing in common with otherworldly criteria because a manifestation of what could be called subworldly criteria with a degree (revolutionary vanguard-like) of neo-netherworldly criteria tacked on, with consequences that, given its Social Democratic connotations, are likely to encourage a sodomy-oriented order of homosexuality at axial variance with the 'priestly kiss' of Catholic tradition, and doubtless with any prospective Social Theocratic removal from the depths of bodily carnality that, like someone blowing a kiss, would be equally if not more elevated than its priestly counterpart and, in an historical sense, predecessor, and certainly correspondingly more (if not most) artificial in its sublimated implications.

Conscience is gender divisible and also divisible according to class, that is, whether one is upper or lower class, noumenal or phenomenal, ethereal or corporeal, absolute or relative, in both alpha and omega.

The morality of conscience is about truth to self, be that self female or male, predominantly of soma (body) or preponderantly of psyche (mind), and the rightness or wrongness of morality is in respect of the degree to which one is either true to self (right) or false to self (wrong), and therefore subject to censure for having 'sold out' or betrayed oneself or otherwise acted contrary to self-interest, be that self somatic (female) or psychic (male) or, in androgynous cases, a paradoxical cross between the two.

There is no more one mode of conscience than there is one mode, or type, of morality, or loyalty to self. Whether you are morally wrong or right is determinable, unlike natural law, by conscience, which enables you to weigh your relationship to self in the balance of moral judgement and, if you're not unduly corrupt, draw appropriate conclusions.

Whereas metachemical and chemical modes of being true to self are female in respect of will and spirit, their physical and metaphysical counterparts are male in respect of ego and soul, with alpha and omega noumenal distinctions between will and soul on the one hand, that of absolute or ethereal morality, and alpha and omega phenomenal distinctions between spirit and ego on the other hand, that of relative or corporeal morality, neither of which, whether noumenal or phenomenal, are compatible with the other, because germane to opposite gender positions on what transpire to be antithetical axes, the only difference being that whereas will and soul are absolutely incompatible, spirit and ego are relatively incompatible and therefore incompatible to a lesser (2½:1½ as opposed to 3:1) degree.

The conflict between social conscience and individual conscience, natural morality (not to be confused with natural law) and, for want of a better word, artificial morality, corresponding to gender-based antithetical modes of self-interest (soma and psyche, body and mind, subdivisible, in each case, between will/spirit on the one hand, and ego/soul on the other), is a seemingly never-ending struggle that typifies 'the world' (not simply planet Earth but the human sphere of civilization in general), torn, as it is, between social and individual interests, the latter of which usually come off worse in a world where, traditionally and even typically these days, the female side of things, being objective (stemming from a vacuum) is effectively dominant and normally disposed to getting its way.

But people themselves are often divided on this issue, and never more so than in the relative, or phenomenal, contexts of worldly life proper, which are either collectively social with aspirations, when not unduly corrupted, towards universal individuality (church-hegemonic axis) or individually personal and beholden (as with an oath of allegiance by British parliamentarians to the British throne) to collectively polyversal society, so that their own antithetical positions are subject to the pull of polar opposites which lead (individually universal) or rule (collectively polyversal) them, according to the prevailing axis.

Thus whether the personal conscience of ego is undermined by the polyversal conscience of will or, contrariwise, the impersonal conscience of spirit is undermined by the universal conscience of soul, undermined it will be, and a correspondingly greater degree of moral ambiguity and ambivalence, amounting in many instances to amorality, tends to obtain.

Goodness, for all its pompous claims to victory and moral supremacy, is constantly undermined by evil, as is punishment by crime (the church-subordinate corollary, in psyche, of state-hegemonic somatic polarities), while, contrariwise, grace is constantly undermined by sin, as is wisdom by folly (the state-subordinate corollary, in soma, of church-hegemonic psychic polarities), to take but two contrary aspects, in each case, of what appertains, in mainstream terms, to each axis, be it state-hegemonic (and unequivocally dominated by metachemistry) or church-hegemonic (and unequivocally dominated by metaphysics).

Justice can no more completely defeat vanity than, on the church-hegemonic axis, righteousness completely defeat meekness, at least not on the traditional more-or-less humanist terms of the Catholic Church. But on more than humanist terms, the terms, more precisely, of the superhuman, meekness can be saved to righteousness (along with the correlative counter-damnation of its female counterparts from pseudo-vanity to pseudo-justice), thus bringing about a situation whereby vanity will be damned to justice (along with the correlative counter-salvation of its male counterparts from pseudo-meekness to pseudo-righteousness), thereby putting an end to the seemingly never-ending struggle between the conflicting kinds of conscience that is 'the world' or, more correctly, 'the world' still ruled over by metachemical polyversality and not yet entirely led by metaphysical universality – an eventuality commensurate, were it to transpire, with 'Kingdom Come', and thus with the 'resurrection' of church-hegemonic criteria in terms of a full-complement, as it were, of metaphysics and a correspondingly deferential pseudo-metachemistry which, together, would allow for the deliverance of that manifestation of 'the world' which corresponds to pseudo-physics and chemistry at the base of the traditional church-hegemonic axis since gone, in a manner of speaking, to the republican socialist 'dogs' of secular degeneration but not, thank god, to a degree where there could be no accommodation with the religion to come and no prospect, in consequence (as with state-hegemonic societies), of 'Kingdom Come'.

If I am reluctant to write this morning (25/04/13), it is more because of the continuous drilling and hammering next-door than of anything else, even the state of my health which, largely I suspect in consequence of having to endure months of such brutal noise, is not all it could be, neither physically nor mentally, and that quite apart from the poor condition of my eyes, which have continued to deteriorate.

Today, however, I am due back at Moorfield's Eye Hospital, which will be another afternoon wasted. One is almost always reluctant to attend such routine appointments, what with the number of people that have to be seen and the amount of time spent sitting around on hard chairs.

Not able to do any work (writing) because my pupils are still too dilated from the drops I was given at the hospital earlier this afternoon. So I sit in my living room and listen, helplessly, to the noises still being generated by the workmen next-door. Of course, I could play music, but somehow I don't feel in the mood. It was ironic that I was limping to and from the eye hospital with a painfully wonky right knee that came upon me Monday morning (22/04/13) just before I was due to walk down the road towards the Estate Agents in order to pay my monthly rent. What it is, exactly, I don't pretend to know, though I have my suspicions, not least in respect of the amount of pressure I have been under from all the noise being generated next-door. I suppose, at sixty, one has to be resigned to such ailments or afflictions, including rheumatism and/or arthritis. I only hope I don't end-up using a walking stick, particularly as my mother, who is still alive, is a great walker and categorically refuses to use one!



Vanity (noumenal) trumps justice (phenomenal), just as righteousness (noumenal) trumps meekness (phenomenal). Though pseudo-righteousness (phenomenal) would claim to trump pseudo-meekness (noumenal) and pseudo-vanity (phenomenal) to trump pseudo-justice (noumenal), even though both pseudo-righteousness and pseudo-vanity are 'lower order', or corporeal equivalents, vis-a-vis pseudo-meekness and pseudo-justice, which, being 'upper order', are ethereal. The significant difference, however, is that whereas both pseudo-righteousness and pseudo-vanity are equivocally hegemonic (over justice and meekness respectively), pseudo-meekness and pseudo-justice are unequivocally subordinate (under vanity and righteousness respectively).

Not untermenschen riding the u-bahn (or untergrundbahn), but übermenschen riding the ü-bahn (or übergrundbahn), whether or not the former took a double-decker bus to the u-bahn or the latter took a single-decker bus to the ü-bahn (not like the street-level S-bahn or Schnellbahn but more akin to Wuppertal's Schwebebahn, or suspension line). For if they had taken such buses, one would have the right to conceive of a distinction between state-hegemonic (alpha noumenal/omega phenomenal) and church-hegemonic (alpha phenomenal/omega noumenal) axial criteria.

One should add to the above distinctions concerning the term ü-bahn (admittedly down to my imagination), that the bus types (single and double) would have less to do with untermenschen and übermenschen (taken here as referring to males only) than with what could be called überfrauen and unterfrauen, so that the state-hegemonic polarity of double-decker bus and u-bahn would be of überfrauen and untermenschen, whereas the church-hegemonic polarity of single-decker bus and ü-bahn would be of unterfrauen and übermenschen, or something to that class- and gender-divisible effect, with broadly alpha/omega implications in each case.

Therefore we can posit a kind of gender transformation, in either case, from buses to trains or, more correctly, the alternative types of bahn, as conceived by me in an attempt to endow Nietzsche's distinctions between übermensch and untermensch with a semblance of transportational logic!

Irony aside, one thing we can be sure of: übermenschen, or supermen (supermenschen would still be effectively German), on the underground, the u-bahn, the metro, or whatever, can only be a logical contradiction in terms. Nor would it be logical for untermenschen, or submen, to ride what I have called the ü-bahn (überbahn or Schwebebahn), the elevated line, least of all on a regular basis, whether or not one would also wish to make a kind of bourgeois/proletarian, liberal/socialist, humanist/subhumanist distinction between conventional above-ground trains and the underground.

But the real world, for all its boasts of efficiency and regularity, often defies logic, whether from necessity or simply because of ignorance and uncertainty or, indeed, a pragmatic refusal, bordering on ethnic intransigence, even to entertain the possibility of ideological overtones.

Something analogous, in regard to überfrauen and unterfrauen, superwomen and subwomen (and/or women per se), could be inferred about the bus distinctions noted above between double-decker and single-decker, with the upper deck of the former especially applicable to superwomen and the main deck level of the latter (for even single-decker buses can have a raised-seating platform towards the rear) applicable, by contrast, to subwomen, whether or not one then opts to conceive of the lower deck of double-decker buses and the raised rear deck or platform of single-decker buses as appropriate, in their different ways, to women in general – somewhat analogous to the likelihood of mainline and suburban trains being applicable, in their different ways, to men in general, as opposed to supermen 'above' (elevated and/or suspension line) or submen 'below' (underground line). Doubtless this argument could be extended to … but I think I have speculated quite enough for today and would be reluctant to further complicate matters with any more such mind-boggling distinctions!



This is without a doubt the worst environment I have ever lived in for hammering noises!

Yesterday I was mentally driven to a near pathological rage (not, incidentally, for the first time in recent months) over the sheer volume and brutality of the noise that was being generated next-door and in other nearby properties evidently also undergoing renovation (an understatement, if ever there was one!). One feels nothing but a sort of righteous indignation over the indignity of having to live with the barbarity of all this heavy-handed manual work that the British – and/or their foreign lackeys – appear to excel at. All the more galling for taking place ostensibly in the name of civilization! More specifically, their level or type of civilization. Instead of prefabricating everything or, at any rate, whatever can be reasonably prefabricated, all they do, these urban artisans, is prop-up or renovate old buildings of, for the most part, a kind of petty-bourgeois terraced nature.

Today, confined to bed with a nasty cold, I regard the continuing noise of workmen hammering and drilling and scraping and sawing and hell knows what else the other side of my bedroom wall as nothing short of a sick joke, as though the repetitive persistence of these same noises in the same places (usually as close to my bed as possible) month after month were attributable to automatons that, like those in Raymond Roussell's surrealist novel Locus Solus, have been pre-programmed to act in a limited number of specific ways, without rhyme or reason but solely as the product of some mechanical necessity. Or even, I am reluctant to admit, out of some perverse vendetta or sadistic perversity! In this state of ill-health, with my 'spitting bowl' rapidly filling up with the polluted spittle of a day's throat infection, I feel more disgusted than ever, as though life were no more than some kind of malevolent conspiracy (by the British and their overseas' lackeys or admirers) against me! After all, as an exceptional being, by their pragmatic standards, why shouldn't it be?

David Tyrnan O'Malley was the Irishman who voluntarily came to England – unlike myself – and sold-out to the British as the ex-Butlin's comedian Dave Allen, who subsequently became famous for ridiculing the faith of his ancestors and thereby making Catholics – and in particular Irish Catholics – appear ridiculous to an-all-too receptive British audience. Rot in hell, Dave Allen; you don't deserve the name you were born with or the birthright you rejected!

Aesthetics is the attempt of the deluded to denude Nature of Her predatory pragmatism and somehow render Her tame. But Nature – and the Beautiful in particular – cannot be tamed by those who worship the false art of aesthetics, only presented in a contradictory light (much like Devil the Mother hyped as God the Father or, in simple parlance, beauty hyped as truth).

Any art worthy of religious respect is always about Truth rather than some refined sense of Beauty likely to amount to no more, to put it bluntly, than 'the best of a bad job'.

I detest aesthetes, because they confound science with religion and, hence, Beauty with Truth, coaxing people to be resigned to the Alpha at the expense of the Omega. For alpha hyped as omega, like metachemistry hyped as metaphysics, necessarily excludes the latter. All one is then left with is a kind of High Anglican absorption in the worship of Nature, particularly in its supernatural manifestation, which is that of the Beautiful, as of the exemplification of Free Will and the sanction, whether to an infinite degree or more usually in some circumscribed measure, of autocracy.

Those whose sartorial appearance is triangular in one way or another are almost certainly going to be pro-aesthetic (and therefore anti-ethical).

A constitutional monarchy is an aesthete's kind of monarchy, whereby Beauty (and its utilization of free will) has been tamed, that is, placed under certain constitutional constraints susceptible to aesthetic refinement.

The apostles of 'true love' are of the sort who bend metaphysics towards metachemistry and thereby preclude any place for metaphysics proper, i.e., the Truth. So-called 'true love' is dear to those who either lack a capacity for Truth or prefer to idealize Beauty and its concomitant (in metachemical free soma) attribute of Love, largely, I suspect, in consequence of gender. 'True love' renders Truth, for such persons, unnecessary or irrelevant or, worse, a figment of the imagination when not associated with love.

But 'true love', for all its prejudicial limitations, is not 'free love' or, in a sense, the rejection of love in the interests, more freely, of sex. The apostles of 'free love' have little time or inclination for 'true love', and may well be closer, despite their promiscuity, to the possibility of Truth.

If, as a male, you get burnt by Beauty … you fall in love, and once you have fallen in love you are likely, as a man, to fall into carnality and eventually find yourself frozen-out by family, since children take precedence over husbands for most wives.

Therefore the prospect of falling in love again with somebody else could well prove attractive to the partly disillusioned male, as a means to thawing out the chill and rekindling a spark of lust. Until the next time …



Just beginning to emerge from the formative manifestations of a bad cold (what one is good?) during the painful course of which I spent most of my time spitting (dribbling would probably be a more apt description) into the small red plastic bowl I habitually set aside specifically for such purposes. For me, ejecting the excessive cold-infested sputum from my mouth usually takes precedence over flushing it down with fruit juice or sucking on some lozenge or tablet-like sweet largely intended to combat such a profligate condition and induce one to swallow into a sore throat. Not that I am entirely bereft of either liquid or lozenges, but spitting, I have to say, comes more naturally in the circumstances and is, besides, the only way to ensure that there is no excessive build-up of phlegm or sputum in the stomach likely, at some point under some provocation or other, to culminate in vomiting and, hence, total wretchedness. Having a cold like this is so awful, so distasteful and, frankly, humiliating … that one sincerely regrets being alive, particularly when, as in my case, there's an awful lot of hammering and low-drilling noise in close proximity to where one is perforce obliged to lie, as though on one's deathbed.

Frankly, I am never so rebelliously anti-life than in times like this, when the mere thought of religious worship makes me want to puke and curse and rant and rave and generally go into some kind of total exasperation with the religious status quo, which strikes one as being obscenely anachronistic and of no consolation whatsoever!

It's no wonder that, in recovering from the experience noted above, one has an enhanced thirst and accordingly drinks, at least in my case, a fair amount of diluted fruit juice, as though replenishing the body of fluids lost during the preceding twenty-four hours.

I have now entered the nose-blowing and coughing phase of the illness, and that isn't much fun either.



I used to think – and to some extent probably still do – that the peculiar nature of my colds owed something to the fact of my having Irish ancestry but living in England, more specifically in London. Having had a taste of the downside of Irish weather in recent years, however, I am sceptical that were I to contact a cold in Ireland it would be any better or, depending on your attitude, any the less bad. In fact, to judge by the prevalence of cough-racked chestiness you encounter with people in the damp climate of the West of Ireland, and Galway in particular, it could well be that colds suffered there would be even worse, with an inevitable slide into bronchitis and even pleurisy or bronchial pneumonia. Actually, I can recall one such experience four or five years ago whereby I brought a cold I caught at the last moment in England to Ireland with me and spent the best part of a week in bed in a Salthill B&B sweating profusely. At one point I woke up in the middle of the night, touched my forehead, and felt sweat gushing from it as though I were a fountain. That really freaked me out! I am also aware that my father died of pneumonia and general respiratory complications in Galway City when he was still young, since I learnt about this from my mother several years after she had moved back to England and I was living in either Aldershot or, probably by then, Carshalton. She attributed it to heavy drinking and smoking on his part within an especially damp climate, but was furious at the fact that no one in his family had notified her of his death, it being a relative of hers who had sent her a copy of the obituary notice from a local Galway newspaper which, tactfully, made no mention of the fact that he had ever been married or had a son. Somehow they had contrived to hush all that up in the interests, presumably, of Seamus's reputation as a decent Catholic and all that. Never having known him, I would have received the news, I expect, with the utmost indifference, as if it concerned a complete stranger. Which, in a sense, it did.

It would seem, if experience is to be believed, that the Beautiful turn ugly with age, the Knowledgeable become ignorant, the Strong grow weak, and the True (if any such still exist) subject to delusions (of heavenly grandeur) which may well appear as illusory – if not downright false – to anybody else.

What, then, can there be to look forward to?

I have it! Escape from life. Dying, to be sure, may not be easier than living, but once you are dead … you're dead, and that is all.

You are not going to be born again; you are not going to live again; and you are as sure as hell not going to die again. Only the species does that, in whatever racial or ethnic permutation.

Death doth put an end to all our afflictions, sealing the door on a life that went from good to better, and from bad to worse, ceasing, as a matter of course, to be worthy of existence. So one decomposes from composure in death as one had degenerated from generation in life, reluctantly going from bad to worse.

Birth – Life – Life – Death; from childhood to youth, and from adulthood to old age; good – better – bad – worse.

Generation – Cadence – Decadence – Degeneration (into the composure of death and decomposition of the corpse).

You reached your highpoint with the so-called idealism of youth, fit reward for the naturalism of childhood (with its sickroom atmosphere), and after that everything went regressively downhill, as from adulthood to old age, realism to materialism, and the ensuing closing of the coffin lid upon life, however it had been spent – whether well spent, misspent, ill-spent or, in relation to the life force, just plain spent!

The public may snap and peck off bits of one's private life, inhibiting thought, but if one is truly sensible one knows how to deal with that: simply by ignoring it and continuing, if anything, to behave in a private manner. For the Private in public are one thing; the Public in public quite another!

For me, the distinction between extroversion and introversion comes down to gender, like that between skirts and trousers or, for that matter, dresses and trouser suits. It is a distinction, furthermore, between objectivity and subjectivity, those antithetical consequences of a vacuum and a plenum (rather like womb and pudenda or … well, you probably know what the four-letter equivalents are, so I needn't resort to them here, like a wilful American of the Henry Miller persuasion hell-bent on sounding crude).

When I was a youth in Carshalton Beeches, Surrey, I read so much Bertrand Russell, so many of the cheaply available paperback editions of his various essays, that I knew there and then that, one day, I would follow in his footsteps and become a philosopher and, if possible, outdo or surpass him in the analysis and criticism of religion, especially Christianity, though less from a loosely scientific point-of-view than from a more radically religious standpoint that would set me apart from Russell as an Irish rather than British philosopher and make me, in a sense, the Plato of my time, in contrast to the Aristotelianism, so to speak, of Bertrand Russell, whom I still admire and consider the most important early philosophical influence on me and my development as a writer – more important even than Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Spengler, Koestler, de Chardin, Camus, and Sartre.

Without Russell, I doubt that I would have become a philosopher in my own right (ha, ha! I can hear the academics and pedants retort, as if having a philosophy degree, which I don't, or a chair at some college in consequence of a privileged background, which I did not have, gave one the equivalent of a divine right to consider oneself or one's kind alone genuine philosophers and everyone else, no matter how manifestly accomplished or intellectually significant, as fakes or charlatans or talented amateurs or whatever), with a fearless attitude towards conventional religion and its want of Truth which, so far as I'm concerned, derives from the fundamental Lie to which it subscribes, compliments of such antiquated Creator-oriented books as those found in the Old Testament, not least in Genesis itself, probably the greatest offender against Truth that ever was and which still, along with the various grades of 'eminence front' that conventional society hides behind at the colleges, still persists in existing as official religion within the – wait for it – Judeo-Christian tradition of anachronistic civilization.

Tall people do not usually mate with short people, or short with tall. Those males well over six feet tall tend to favour tall women, whereas males well under six feet are perforce obliged to settle for women approximately their own height, or even a little shorter.

Consequently a distinction persists between tall and short, or 'big' and 'small' people which is akin to that between big and small fish, with the usual predator/prey, employer/employee, rich/poor, licensor/licensee, etc., etc., implications.

There cannot be equality between those who are so physically (and mentally) divergent as to effectively appertain to separate social species, and therefore all talk of equality, especially from churchmen and vote-hungry politicians, has to be evaluated in this light and, thus exposed, regarded with the disdain it deserves.

Politicians often use the word 'fairness', especially in England, the land of 'fair play' par excellence (at least in theory), but one man's fairness is another man's unfairness, one man's justice another's injustice.

A left-of-centre politician may speak of equality of opportunity for all and of his party's endeavour to establish, under some disguised or diluted form of socialism, a 'fair society' or, at any rate, one that is 'fairer' than the one (evidently under a right-of-centre government) currently in existence, but such 'fairness' only goes so far, largely with regard to people of a working-class status and/or background. It has nothing to do with the 'fairness' of a right-of-centre politician's programme, which is more likely to revolve around the entitlement of the rich and powerful, the privileged and business owners, to a bigger slice of the proverbial cake by dint of their status and capacities (whether for greed or simply in relation to ability).

Fairness for the 'big man' is an entirely different proposition than fairness for the 'small man', who has a right to existence but not a right to exclude the 'big man' or to avoid being preyed upon, since he is to a large extent dependent on the former for his livelihood, as on anybody who has money.

Therefore 'fairness' is a term that, as John Cowper Powys might say, “affords a wide solution”, and, unfortunately, one type of man's fair meat is another type of man's unfair poison, and so has it always been.

I remember some lines from a poem by Oscar Wilde which, describing the poor, went: 'Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know …' Which may well be the case. But if you don't have the financial or social means to do certain things or go to various exotic or romantic places, what is the point of knowing about them? Rather is it a case of: 'Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise …' which, if memory serves, may well be from a poem by the Scots poet Thomas Gray.

If religion were to disappear overnight, nobody would be happier, or more relieved, than women. But what a tragedy that would be for men!

The natural desire of most women for a male child is not unconnected with the prospect of a more efficacious surrogate plenum (than could be gleaned from a female child) to relieve them of the tedious vacuity of mere existence as an unmarried or childless woman.

You can be free to do, free to give, or free to take, but the one thing you cannot be in this world – except to a limited extent on days set aside for religious or other special purposes, like Easter and Christmas – is free to be (or to be free of freedom), despite a nominal status as a human being.

To distinguish the alpha of high pediments from the omega of high pediments, as one would distinguish the square from the round, or the angular from the curved, with metachemical and metaphysical implications that point up an antithesis, across the axial divide, between autocracy and theocracy, noumenal objectivity and noumenal subjectivity, absolute female and absolute male criteria.

The triangular pediment, which is of the metachemical variety, may achieve a dominating superfeminine standing atop certain façades, but it is doubtful, as yet, that the curvilinear pediment, which is of the metaphysical variety, has attained to a properly or fully supermasculine standing atop buildings of an ecclesiastic nature, given the dearth of metaphysical free psyche in the Western (catholic) tradition, by dint of theocracy having to acknowledge – and therefore be compromised by – the prevailing autocratic rule of metachemistry at the Judaic roots of the Christian extrapolation, no matter how artfully this autocracy may have been disguised as theocracy.

Christ on the (catholic) Cross does not amount, despite theological pretensions to the contrary in relation, for instance, to his upstretched arms, to a Y-chromosomal supercross, since still figuratively beholden to superfeminine criteria in the Creator-esque guise of Devil the Mother hyped as God the Father, with anything properly father-esque in relation to Heaven lying beyond the Christian pale in a world (otherworldly in character) entirely independent of metachemistry, as of the so-called 'Creator', the 'Almighty', etc., whether you interpret this in relation to Buddhism or, from a global standpoint that is actually beyond rather than above Western criteria, the prospect of 'Kingdom Come' and an end to 'the world' as we know it.

I must admit that the Blues, even in the hands of somebody as accomplished as Gary Moore, reminds me uncomfortably of angular (triangular) pediments, and therefore of all things dominated or even characterized – as in the case of three-piece suits with bow-ties – by autocracy. A kind of fries, burger, cola parallel.

He bought a suit that didn't suit him, because he wasn't suited to such attire and it was in no way suitable for him to dress in a manner suggestive of an indifference if not opposition to metaphysics and whatever was properly curvilinear. He was smarter than that.

Cogito, ergo sum - “I think, therefore I exist,” said Descartes, uttering a profoundly philosophical statement. “I am, therefore I exist” … would also be philosophic, as would “I exist, therefore I am.” For it is the individual, the philosopher, the artist, the saint, etc., who is particularly aware of his existence as a sentient being. The masses, by contrast, flee from self into life, which tends to allow the individual to forget about or ignore his existence by interacting with others, whether in terms of doing (will), giving (spirit), or taking (ego), none of which is conducive to being (soul), which the masses, habituated to fleeing from self (under female-hegemonic pressure) tend, falsely, to identify with death, as though death were the gateway to Eternal Life, to a life of everlasting being (joy, bliss, enlightenment, etc.).

Actually, death is the decomposition of existence, and therefore the end of being. But those who have evaded existence all or most of their lives will also be obliged to evade this fact, the better to continue living (over or in 'the world') as long as possible.

To die, as an individual, to the flesh, as to taking, giving, and doing, is not the same as to die to existence, but simply amounts to dying to life, to freedom from existence and its corollary, well known to philosophers and artists, of existential being, through the various modes of evasion noted above. Such 'dying' paves the way for existential awareness and the possibility of true being, even of intellectual or cultural greatness, but has nothing in common with death, which puts an end to individual existence and obliges those who have always lived collectively, in families and companies and regiments and teams and congregations and so on, to abandon their life delusion of freedom and embrace existence as though it were the corollary of death instead of that condition of self-awareness death puts an end to, thereby releasing one not so much from life as from existence.

I exist, therefore I am” will be supplanted by: “I no longer exist, therefore I am not”, and not because one has fled from existence into one or more of life's freedoms (to do, to give, or to take) – always susceptible to triangular reference – but because one has died and continued, past degeneration, on the downhill path of decomposition (of existence) that leads to nothing or, at any rate, to nothing recognizably human bar one's skeleton (assuming one were buried rather than cremated) from remaining, as skeletal testimony to former existence.

The artist and/or philosopher's works live-on for ever because he has dared to exist, whereas the lives of the masses are simply swallowed up by death.

Most people, whilst not afraid to live, are demonstrably afraid to exist and therefore to be. “To be or not to be?” - That is a question that only a comparatively small number of persons – and then mostly male – answer in the affirmative. Most people either choose or are obliged, by circumstances, not to be, but to do, to give, or to take, thereby opting for one or other of life's freedoms at the expense of existence.

There is a sense in which the do-er is autocratic, the taker plutocratic, the giver democratic, and the be-er theocratic, to use comparable terminology. In overall axial terms, the taker is polar to the do-er in state-hegemonic (protestant) opposition to the church-hegemonic (catholic) polarity between the giver and the be-er.

In an age of freedom, when the possibility of being delivered to being is virtually non-existent and certainly redundant even on a truncated basis (the catholic tradition), the givers, corresponding to the democratic masses, are all the more vulnerable to predation at the hands ('claws' would be a more appropriate term) of the do-ers and takers, of autocracy and plutocracy engaged in a Faustian Pact, as it were, for the mutual exploitation of their predestined prey who, deprived of messianic leadership and the concomitant prospect of deliverance from their plight, are only too likely, in such circumstances, to be 'ripped off' and kept in their dependent place within the parameters of worldly society.

In such an age, characterized by the dominance of predatory freedom, civilization has slipped back from having an existential or, more correctly in relation to the Catholic tradition, quasi-existential dimension to being a mere artificial reflection of Nature, and thus of Nature's predatory instincts, rooted in female (objective) freedom, for exploiting and killing 'the weak'.

The struggle against predation for true civilization, or civilization open to existential being and, if possible, centred in the possibility of such being, is the struggle for the future, in order to rescue the future from the present and return civilization to a more artificial and, hence, evolved form of what transpired in the Christian – and especially Medieval Catholic – past.

But this will not be 'just another civilization' (Henry Miller); it will be commensurate with 'Kingdom Come', the open stretch of self-realization in the metaphysics of existential being, which can only transpire if what is contrary to existential being (in life-oriented non-existential doing, the metachemical manifestation of maximum freedom) is no longer able to operate, following the salvation of life-oriented non-existential giving or, rather, pseudo-taking to existential being and the counter-damnation of life-oriented non-existential giving to pseudo-doing, a pseudo-doing kept down to pseudo-metachemical deference to metaphysics, akin to the biblical 'lion' and/or 'wolf' that 'lies down' (a plane down in pseudo-space under time) with the 'lamb of God' or, more correctly, of Godliness in Heaven, and only because, having been neutralized (or lanced, to use a metaphor owing more to St George and the Dragon), it is simply not in a position to do otherwise.

What did Queen Elizabeth I (the so-called 'Virgin Queen') and Adolf Hitler have in common? Answer: They put their respective countries above their sex lives and refused (except in Hitler's case when service to his country was at or near its end) to marry. Admirable, wouldn't you say?

I, too, have always been reluctant to marry, not least for being an Irishman in England who, as a self-taught philosopher, chose existence above life, becoming increasingly scornful, as time went by, of writing prose, poetry, and drama, or anything analogous. But also because, well, the environments in which I live or have lived were never particularly conducive to romance, being way too built-up and overcrowded for my liking. Enough bodies knocking around, as it is!

What is it about north Wales that attracts philosophers? Not only Bertrand Russell and Arthur Koestler, but John Cowper Powys, who was no mean philosopher, despite a life-long commitment to prose.

I would have no regrets about leaving this world, only an immense sense of relief which would probably be akin to Heaven (as Schopenhauer would have understood it, that is, more as a release from suffering than a new experience complete in itself).

Rather than continue to live the Lie, it is better to die to life in order to be reborn into Truth and thus into the fulness of existential being, even if such being is fated to be snuffed out by mortal death and a kind of mini-eternity of non-existential being the other side of death in the so-called Afterlife.

Freedom is fundamentally a wilful manifestation of the Lie (metachemistry or, rather, metachemistry-hyped-as-metaphysics), but it can also be a spiritual manifestation of the half-lie (chemistry) or an intellectual manifestation of the half-truth (physics), depending on the kind of freedom prevailing at any one time.

Only existential being can liberate one from freedom through the Truth (metaphysics proper). But the type of freedom would have to be characterized by domination of the half-lie (chemistry) of spiritual giving before any prospect of liberation from it could be envisaged, whether in terms of salvation of the pseudo-physical (to metaphysics) or counter-damnation of the chemical (to pseudo-metachemistry).

In such fashion, what could be called the pseudo-half truth (of pseudo-physics) is saved to the Truth (of metaphysics), whilst the half-lie (of chemistry) is counter-damned to the pseudo-Lie (of pseudo-metachemistry), the phenomenally 'first' (equivocally hegemonic) in the latter case becoming noumenally 'last' (unequivocally subordinate) and the phenomenally 'last' (equivocally subordinate) in the former case becoming noumenally 'first' (unequivocally hegemonic), as in metaphysics over pseudo-metachemistry, time over pseudo-space, as against chemistry over pseudo-physics, volume over pseudo-mass, in what would be a reversal of gender standings from southwest to northeast points, or poles, of the intercardinal axial compass on a stepped-up church-hegemonic axis.

Artists are those who prefer to reflect upon society than to participate in it, standing back, at an existentialist remove, from life's various kinds of freedom.

Philosophy is less about reflecting upon society – though that, alas, happens – than about utilizing logic to a rational end – the end, ultimately, of self-realization and, hence, the Truth … conceived, properly, as a metaphysical order of subjectivity.

I am, besides being a reluctant writer, somewhat of a reluctant saviour, since saving from 'the world' is not what people think, nor can it be dissociated from the concomitant process, if you will, of counter-damnation, a fate less applicable, so I teach, to pseudo-males than to females within the parameters of mainstream worldliness down at the southwest point of the intercardinal axial compass at the foot of the traditional church-hegemonic axis.

A low persistent thrumming or humming reverberating with periodic ups-and-downs all through the night which makes one reluctant to go to bed, especially since, when it doesn't keep one awake, it disturbs what little sleep one gets and, in waking up early, makes it difficult for one to settle down again or get back to sleep. What could it be, I wonder? An electricity generator? Something to do with the nearby station? An extractor behind the kitchen of some Indian restaurant over towards Tottenham Lane? The mind boggles and bogs down in such arid speculation. All I know for sure is that, what with the persistence of hammering and drilling noises during the day, life here is by no means quiet or easy, not even at night. More like being trapped in a living hell.

Although appearing to champion literature, philosophy, and other worthy literary causes, book publishers are actually enemies of original writing who give a contractual inch only to take a commercial mile, as it were, in due course, thereby resembling women. Frankly, I would never offer any of my writings to conventional publishers these days, and am only too relieved, in retrospect, that my comparatively youthful efforts to have various of my early writings published in book form some decades ago came to nothing, and that, due to a combination of factors, I was spared the fate of those who somehow get original literary material published, thinking they're on to a good thing, only to discover, some two or three publications later, that they are having the shots called by people whose primary if not sole interest is to make money from publishing and to do so, needless to say, at the author's expense, meaning (when he is not actually paying to have something published by the so-called vanity press) at the expense of whatever intellectual or spiritual pretensions he may formerly have entertained.

The internet, I have to confess, spared me from such a stultifying fate, allowing me to continue writing in my own way and with regard to what mattered to me independently of editorial interference and the constraints imposed by commercial necessity, which turns the freeman into a slave and makes of the mediocre mind a champion of literary taste. As though there were anything cutting-edge, these days, about novels and such like literary works published in book form! A form that, long ago, degenerated social democratically into the paperback of today, with the usual punctuation contractions and avoidance of 'good taste' or sensible spacing, never mind intelligible grammar. The paperback is indeed 'down market', but in such a way that literature is debased by it and usually only a pretty debased type of literature, suitable to an average mind, results, which of course publishers are only too willing to publish, since there are far more average minds than distinguished ones. For what matters to them, remember, is selling books, and to as many different types of average people, from children and adults of both sexes to old folks, as possible.

The sooner the Irish drag themselves, or are dragged, out of the bog into which the Republic has sunk them, the better! For there is no salvation to be had from the Republic, only from what would ideologically transcend it in relation to 'Kingdom Come', as interpreted by me in terms of a return to 'the Garden' of 'the Centre' by Social Theocracy championing the cause of both salvation (of pseudo-males within pseudo-physics) and counter-damnation (of females within chemistry), the twin approaches to deliverance from their particular type of worldliness which axially contrasts, it has to be said, with that of the parliamentary/puritan British masses.

To be in paradise, as in the 'Garden of Eden', is to be subject, as a male, to existential being, perfectly at one with one's self. However, that is the only way you can, as a male, return to it, though not strictly on biblical terms commensurate with a literal return to Eden or any equivalent 'natural paradise' but, rather, on a more evolved synthetically artificial basis deriving from the subjective thrust of civilized evolution. Either way, Eve, or Woman, is irrelevant, since the source and ongoing guarantor of expulsion from Paradise and entrapment in 'the world'. What preceded Eve must also, in a manner of speaking, succeed her, thereby regaining the possibility of existential being.

But, of course, recourse to biblical interpretation of 'the Beginning' and the 'Fall from Paradise' necessarily limits you to the capacity of the original writer(s) of books like Genesis. I don't for one moment believe that males, whether in the guise of Adam or whoever, actually preceded females in historical time, nor can I accept a god who, having created Adam ostensibly in his own image, then proceeds to create the cause of Adam's downfall in the guise of Eve, i.e., Woman, who of course proceeds to tempt Adam with the 'fruit' of the 'forbidden tree of knowledge' or, more specifically, of carnal knowledge, to which he subsequently succumbs, thereby becoming unfit to remain in Paradise.

Such a paradoxical not to say hypocritical god cannot be trusted from a strictly divine standpoint, any more than can much of what passes for Truth in the Bible and other such conventional or traditional religious texts. When I draw upon biblical metaphor or interpretation I do so to illustrate a point, not to affirm belief in the Bible as such which, so far as I'm concerned, will need to be officially consigned to the rubbish heap of history within the context of 'Kingdom Come', if religious progress is truly to be made.

Someone of Christian descent, raised in both Catholic and Protestant communities, living for over two decades in a Moslem-owned house in which the Bangladeshi landlord and his family, or extended family, also lived, having gradually moved in from elsewhere in the neighbourhood as and when circumstances permitted or, more likely, dictated – what could be worse? It is a wonder he survived and lived to fight another day, not least against all forms of religious fundamentalism worshipfully deferential to the monotheistic delusion of God as Creator … of the Universe, the world, animals, people, etc.

How he detests such falsehood and, by extrapolation, the kind of people associated with it, ever susceptible to autocratic freedom and never more sanctimoniously insufferable than when women are exploiting the more fundamentalist aspects of such religions to ensure the continuance of conservative approaches to life and thus the persistence of values inimical to anything genuinely religious, as characterizable not by freedom of any description, but by being, which is more than just being free of doing, giving, and taking, much as that is a precondition of what I have in mind.

How he detests that freedom-worshipping sonofabitch!

What with all the drilling and hammering during the day – still as ferocious as ever – and the low persistent thrumming or, more correctly, booming of some generator or extractor or whatever all through the night, I almost forgot to mention the astonishing effects of the gale-force winds upon the tarpaulin draped, in several overlapping layers, over the scaffolding beside and, indeed, overlapping my bedroom window which, last night, was especially violent, as the gusts tore into the loose plastic sheeting, causing it to twist and turn this way and that with a plethora of mostly nondescript noises to which words like flapping or tearing would hardly do justice! Suffice it to say that the low booming outrage was considerably upstaged by the magnitude of the buffeting being inflicted upon the workmen's tarpaulin by an implacable wind, whose merciless gusts descended from above like birds of prey intent upon ripping it to shreds and devouring whatever it concealed.

I was as if frozen in my bed by this horror and, what with the more predictable torture from the low booming noise, found it almost impossible to get to sleep. And all the while my mind was rushing ahead, as though in an alcohol-fuelled frenzy, in anticipation of the early start – around 8 a.m. - of the drilling and hammering noises next-door to which I feared I would now be more vulnerable from want of sleep.

How I hate this fucking country!

There are three things the British excel at: bullying, brutality, and bigotry, as though in reflection of a triangular commitment to life. Oh, I forgot 'bullshit', but then that could be substituted for pretty much any of the foregoing or regarded, for that matter, as a kind of American extrapolation from the same.

The dead saviour on the Cross tellingly illustrates what could be regarded as the traditional state of religious affairs in the West by exemplifying the extent to which metaphysics is a 'dead letter' with most so-called Christians.

Christ was killed by those who esteem life (that consequence of expulsion from 'the Garden') above existential being, and the result is the dearth of metaphysics characterizing a civilization beholden to the worship of metachemistry and to the effective domination of females.

I have already written about the paradox of a god who ostensibly made Adam in his own image also making, at a later juncture and evidently in consequence of a request, Adam's nemesis in the form of Eve. That two-faced entity, with a capacity to make the antithesis of a man, namely a woman, is not the kind of god with which I would wish to be associated! Quite apart from that, getting back to 'the Garden', not in any Joni Mitchell-inspired hippy sense of the so-called Woodstock generation intent upon a return to Nature but rather in terms of progressing towards its synthetically artificial equivalence, can only happen in relation to male freedom from female domination ('the world') and, hence, to a situation in which 'Eve' is effectively killed off (neutralized) in order that 'Adam', or his supermasculine equivalent, can be true to his self in the paradise of existential being instead of, as now, deferential, through self-rejection, to another.

This is the St George and the Dragon metaphor, or the lamb and the (neutralized) lion metaphor that amounts to a structural distinction, involving two planes, between metaphysics and pseudo-metachemistry, time and pseudo-space, male and pseudo-female, righteousness and pseudo-justice, Heaven and (not the simple fulcrum-overlooking parallelism of pseudo-Hell but) the pseudo-Devil, the heaven of free soul (Heaven the Holy Soul) and the pseudo-Devil of pseudo-bound will (pseudo-Devil the pseudo-Mother), joy and pseudo-ugliness.

So paradise regained can only transpire if the male is liberated from the female and thus from the objective clutches of Doing (noumenal) and giving (phenomenal) that, together with the subjectivity of male taking (phenomenal), conduce towards life as a rejection of Being (noumenal), as symbolized by the Crucifixion.

Only when existential being is resurrected will the Cross cease to have any meaning and those who have died to Being, as to Paradise, be saved from life (as from 'the world'), liberated from freedom by that which is neither free nor unfree (bound) but simply is, which is the condition of Heaven.

Because of my commitment to Being through thought, I have been reluctant to write. But now I feel I have given quite enough to make the truth intelligible to the (lapsed catholic/republican socialist) masses, without whose acquiescence there can be no deliverance from 'the world' and therefore no possibility of 'Kingdom Come', whether in terms of salvation or counter-damnation, the rise to metaphysics or the counter-fall to pseudo-metachemistry, depending on gender.

Have you ever noticed, as an adult male, how subjectivity is vitiated by proximity to a woman; how, in public places like, say, libraries, a female's natural objectivity impinges upon it as a matter of course and renders one less subjective? That is the threat to Self which continuously transpires in a world torn between male and female gender antitheses and well short, in consequence, of Paradise.

Beware, you men, the seductions of 'the world'; for they only lead to reproduction, not to salvation.

Generation, or reproduction, leading to the male flight from existential being, as from cadence (not to be confounded with composure in death), only results in decadence, the male equivalent, in a twisted psyche, of female degeneration (following menopause) which, paradoxically, allows for a degree of recrudescent cadence (resignation) in the male, pending death.

And what, exactly, is he resigned to? - To existential being, if not also to the prospect of non-existential being, or pure being, following death, which is not the same as composure in death, least of all in relation to males, who, whether they realize it or not, have this extra dimension which females simply don't.

One of the worst T-shirts I ever bought: gone at the neck, with sleeves way too short, and now too tight to wear. A more apt description would be: T-shi(r)t.

Commonness is a woman, incapable of deep thought or true originality, and all tit-for-tatism fuelled by objectivity, an outgoing disposition, an extrovert impulsiveness, stems, in anti-Christian vein, from woman, as from those who are commonly engaged in the pursuit and achievement, by turns, of a reproductive end, the acquirement of a surrogate plenum to relieve the burden of fundamental vacuousness.

The French-Algerian philosopher Camus found nothing wrong with commonness, or the fact of one's being common. I do. And so would any right-thinking male who was in any degree capable of distinction.

Woman, not money or gold, is the root of all evil (Eve), and anybody who thinks otherwise is either a fool or a scoundrel, and certainly ignorant.

The typical or archetype snob is a woman trying her undamnedest not to appear common, despite all the gender evidence to the contrary.

The Protestant-dominated cutting edge of Western civilization busily digging its own equalitarian grave, upon which descends an avalanche of global barbarism to bury what remains of its once-proud libertarianism, the fruit of liberalism, beneath a mass of strutting feminism and female domination in general, which smothers its death agonies under proletarian rhetoric about freedom for all, especially the freedom to dissent or desist from thought and other forms of subjectivity traditionally associated, in the popular imagination, with male chauvinist elitism and the correlative bourgeois or clerical oppression of women.

So you must repress your urge to think, my fine gentleman, and join in the frenzied dance of the Many, the dance of id-governed impulse and instinct which, whether disguised as sport or posing as culture or even plain nakedly, struts its mind-killing stuff over every institution that may once have been the preserve of the Few or even of males alone.

Did they bring about their own downfall, these wishy-washy liberals, or were they cowed into submitting and, through further compromise, throwing away their worldly gains? Whatever the case, they let the proverbial cat out of the bag, and now they are akin to mice who haven't even got a decent hole to hide in.

With a degree of reluctance, born of tiredness and eye strain, I put down my pen, my biro, return my current notebook to the table upon which I habitually lay it, and then remove the wax earplugs from each of my ears, to return them to their customary small plastic case. I knew the 'cats' were prowling nearby; for the walls always have sharp, pointed ears of thought-forbidding mischief which it is only possible to defeat or, at any rate, ignore if one has taken the necessary precautions and, with the aid of earplugs, sealed oneself off sufficiently to be able to think (and write) without a sense of being continuously interfered with and effectively threatened by external censure of one's subjective designs. This is no country house, nor even a summer retreat, but an urban flat in a terraced house in a particularly built-up part of north London, and such flats tend to be terribly uncharitable!

Meanwhile, the tattered remnants of vilified and vitiated subjectivity limp on towards … RELUCTANCE.

Reluctance to live; reluctance to die.

Reluctance to write; reluctance not to write.

Resigned to existence because consigned to birth from the womb in which one existed, as in a watery tomb that was the death-in-life, the pre-life antithesis to any post-life life-in-death of the soul's immortality.

Hell is being alone from a female point-of-view. Heaven, by contrast, is being alone from a male standpoint. In the world, on the other hand, either women dominate men in alpha over pseudo-omega (chemistry over pseudo-physics) or, in axially antithetical vein, men dominate women in omega over pseudo-alpha (physics over pseudo-chemistry). Either way, worldly people are rarely if ever alone.

Literature has generally lagged behind the other arts in the twentieth century and even now in the early twenty-first century, especially painting and music, because of the commercial requirements of conventional publishers and the contractual obligations of authors. With the internet, all that, thank goodness, is in the process of changing, and I, for one, am only too relieved to be able to write the way I choose and still have my writings published. In that regard, they are not a means to either me or somebody else (agent, editor, publisher, etc.) becoming rich, but, being philosophical, are ends in themselves, all the more gratifyingly so the closer they draw or the more justice they do to metaphysical truth.

An age dominated by woman can only be extrovert, outgoing, sociable, sensual, superficial, equalitarian, and generally given over to all things public and international – in short, cosmopolitan. Such an age, whose alpha-point is akin to the vacuousness of a cathode-ray-tube, revels in the common, not in distinctions or exceptions, but in a kind of communal conformity to objective criteria epitomized, in our own time, by cinema and television. But, like a woman, it snobbishly strives to cloak its commonness behind rhetorical pretensions and social masks.



God (or godliness) dwells in Heaven, as Adam in the Garden of Eden, that rather poetic concept of Paradise dreamed up by some ancient Hebrew scribe, author of the Book of Genesis. But outside Heaven there is no God, no godliness. Whatever is of the world in general, the earth, the planet, etc., has nothing to do with God, because it is not Heaven. Neither is the Solar System or the Galaxy or galaxies in general which are called the Cosmos, or so-called Universe. There may be divine elements present, aspects that are kind of Edenic or paradisiacal, but, generally speaking, there is a whole lot more to the Cosmos which has absolutely nothing to do with God and Heaven, or God in Heaven.

Therefore it is blatant nonsense to equate the creation of the Cosmos, the Galaxy, the Solar System, the Earth, etc., with God. Actually, it is worse than nonsense, since a kind of sacrilege. God in Heaven begins, in a manner of speaking, with Adam in the Garden … and also ends there. Everything else is ungodly, unheavenly, and therefore profane. In fact, whatever is not associated with existential being, whether in terms of doing, giving, or taking, has nothing to do with Heaven, or the possibility of Paradise, but is either of life behind and over 'the world' (doing) or of life in 'the world' (giving and taking), and is therefore of autocratic, democratic, or plutocratic tendency as opposed to – and in effective rejection of – theocracy.

Life in general, as of 'the world', the Earth, the Solar System, the Galaxy, etc., is comprised of diverse factors which, in the main, have nothing to do with God, much less of God in Heaven, since life is a composite of everything that exists or could ever exist, including, to be sure, elements which are divine. But to equate God, or godliness, the condition of bearing witness to Heaven, with the creation of the Cosmos, the Galaxy, the Earth, etc., as though it were commensurate with 'the Creator', and everything therefore reflected Divine Creation, is, in my opinion, akin to a species of blasphemy, of 'doing down' the concept of God to suit agendas which are if not metachemically contrary to anything godly and heavenly in metaphysics, then certainly beneath it, like chemistry and physics, politics and economics, the contexts of giving and taking par excellence.

Godliness is found in Being, as in Heaven, and nowhere else!

Religions either associated with what rules over 'the world' in autocratic fashion or with 'the world' (not the Earth, or the world/planet in general) as a plutocratic end-in-itself (barring 'the sub-world' of a radical social democratic nadir of state-hegemonic axial criteria) are necessarily heretical and false.

Only that religion which does not either rule 'the world' or make 'the world' an end-in-itself but regards it, on the contrary, as an imperfect means (from a male perspective) to a better world, otherworldly in character that, with God in Heaven, or truth in joy, is the true end of life, the goal of existential being for males or, more correctly, for pseudo-males to become supermale (supermen), can be in any degree true and worthy, in consequence, of religious respect.

Such a religion is – or was – Roman Catholicism, which is axially contrary to the Protestant descent, via Lutheran schism, into state-hegemonic/church-subordinate heresy, and the rule, in consequence, of autocracy over a world dominated by plutocracy for the mutual exploitation of what would become, with the decline of Catholic influence, the democratic, or lapsed-catholic masses.

I was always, after having been sent by my mother to a Protestant-run children's home, a reluctant Protestant; for I knew that, before having been dispatched to institutional care at around the age of ten following the death of my conservatively Catholic grandmother, I had been raised as a Catholic, even serving as an altar boy in the local church in Aldershot, and could not accept the uncatholic attitudes and practices to which I was subjected by those responsible for my care.

Now, of course, I am a self-professed Social Theocrat, a believer in the desirability of religious sovereignty as the kind of sovereignty, necessarily ultimate in character, appropriate to 'Kingdom Come' for those who are worthy of it, and am therefore scornful of both Catholicism and Protestantism alike from what is effectively a Superchristian standpoint, none of which would have transpired but for the paradoxical, even contradictory, nature of my upbringing at the hands of others in a land not of my choosing.

Do not speak to me of churches, priests, bibles, prayer books, hymnals, scriptural exegesis, etc., or of worshipping at the throne of 'Almighty God', 'Creator of Heaven and Earth', a 'jealous God', a 'wrathful God', 'the Omnipotent', 'the One God', fount of all tyranny and social enslavement! As long as I hold to the Truth, which is metaphysical, your lies are powerless to change the course of my existence and have me subject to falsehood, to whatever vitiates and corrupts religion, giving it a bad name. If your 'God' isn't already dead, he/she soon will be. For the Truth will kill him or her off, making it difficult if not impossible for what is untrue to prevail.

Protestantism may have blinded me to Catholicism, as to my Catholic childhood, but it opened my eyes to the lies of Christianity and made me reluctant to embrace it. Such reluctance, however, was not without value; for it paved the way for the discovery and endorsement of Truth, which philosophy and philosophy alone made possible, and Truth is nothing if not the light of the Centre, faith in and loyalty to the Centre, not least in respect of the Self, the Soul, whose inner flame burns with a luminous if not numinous glow the core of which can never be seen but only felt as supreme beingfulness.

If I am true to my centre I shall be joyfully at one with myself, my soul, and in that I can know, beyond knowledge, the Holy Soul of Heaven. Being true to myself in the soul is 'the Garden', the Centre of Truth whose light reflects the lightness of existential being in the paradise of self – a paradise not of this world and not available or possible to women, who would resist it.

Only the Superman can take up the Supercross, and the Supercross presupposes the co-existence, on subordinate gender terms, of the pseudo-Superstar of the counter-damned pseudo-Superwoman – the neutralized 'dragon' under the 'saintly heel', the pseudo-metachemical counterpart of metaphysical bliss.

Pop Art certainly had its fair share of arseholes, but the biggest arsehole of them all was undoubtedly Andy Wahol, whose 'paintings' were so stereotypically populist and mechanically banal that, no matter how appropriate to the age, one hesitates to apply the term 'art' to them. Even when that moron spoke it was as though he had an arse for mouth. Wahol may have taken advertising to a new level, but he didn't do anything to enhance the reputation of art, least of all in terms of the quintessentially contemporary arts of cinematography and photography.

From William Blake to Peter Blake – from the sublime to the ridiculous, or 'high art' to 'pop art', on the downhill path of British painting, as of the decline of British civilization from the Reformation on down to the secular present.

Normally I am reluctant to wear my spectacles, no matter how spectacular they may appear, out-of-doors because the lenses are so thick, so strong, that it is like looking through the proverbial wrong end of a telescope at people and objects so reduced in scale as to appear diminutive. You could, of course, argue that there is an advantage in this, certainly as far as most people are concerned, and I would be the last to deny it. But even so, I prefer to wear contact lenses in public, since the ensuing perspective more accords with reality, being approximately according to scale.

Best of all for reading, especially anything in small print, are one's eyes unhampered by either glasses or contacts but simply being what they are without recourse to so-called corrective lenses. For neither spectacles nor contact lenses are much use, I find, for small printed words, whether in books, leaflets, newspapers, on CD and DVD cases, notice boards, or whatever. What I do, whenever possible, as with a book, is simply to hold the printed material up close to my eyes (I am profoundly short-sighted) and proceed to read in what seems to me like a more intimate manner, especially congenial with a book whose glossy or smooth pages not only look good but smell good as well. One such would be Matthew Teller's Switzerland (a 'Rough Guide' publication), which I recently borrowed from the local library.

Did you know that LSD was accidentally discovered in 1938 by a Swiss scientist by name of Albert Hofmann? Well, now you do!

How nice – at least in theory – to have a place of one's own in the Upper Engerdine region of Graubünden, like Nietzsche, or in the Ticino, like Hesse. Somewhere like Sils Maria or Montagnola, in other words. Somewhere well away from the mad hammering of workmen in cities that, like London, are too built-up for their own good, a consequence of state-hegemonic fixation on the terrestrial city at the expense of the celestial city or any possibility thereof.

Seiendprobably my favourite German word. Treue Seiend. Even better!

Switzerland is such a complicated country, with its various cantons, communes, etc., that even the Swiss don't understand themselves, except possibly when they abandon Swiss German (in its numerous dialects), Swiss French, Swiss Italian, and Romansh for English, thereby achieving the rudiments of a lingual consensus.

I think it just a matter of time before English becomes the lingua franca not just of Europe but of Switzerland too. If only the German Swiss hadn't abandoned Hoch Deutsch! Who, having learned standard German, is going to make himself properly understood in the German parts of Switzerland? It probably makes more sense to speak English.

It is better to die fighting your enemies than to live running away from them.

Physical pain that is not associated with mental tension, as a kind of overspill, is for me pretty much the exception to the rule. Which, in some respects, makes me reluctant to think, even though I consider myself a thinker.

With an off-white television standing atop a black stereo stack, or midi tower, it could be that I have achieved the media equivalent of a glass of stout, even though I rarely if ever drink the stuff, especially since – quite apart from the fact that my father evidently drank it in abundant quantities – it connotes, in my imagination, with the notion of 'liquefied priest', that is, of a white collar above a black cassock or vest, hovering there like a halo.

Most people's survival in this world is premised upon the extent to which they are useful to somebody or someone else. I have always been reluctant to be of use to others, especially when they are manifestly predatory and simply out to exploit one for purposes of material or social gain, as is generally the case in Britain. In fact, I have elevated such reluctance to a veritable religion, a principle, a moral duty, in the face of external pressures, especially from females, to remain true to oneself. For that alone guarantees one's salvation as a male.

Byron – that drunken, womanising aristocratic sonofabitch who paid for his folly with an early death at, if memory serves, thirty-five. No merit in that, little merit in him. Just another fool dying young.

Shelley, with those ridiculous forenames of his, also died young (from a drowning accident) but was nonetheless less of a fool than Byron, as, for that matter, was the consumptive Keats, whom a former acquaintance of mine once described as “a tit”. Be that as it may, Keats was no Byron, but a half-decent sort who simply came to grief through ill-health. The Scotsman Byron was a poseur who died not fighting the Turks, as legend would have us believe, but in consequence of a fever.

Of latter-day poets who died young, Jim Morrison would probably be the nearest equivalent to Byron, given his tendency towards drunkenness, debauchery, political controversy, and, well, general mayhem. His premature death at twenty-seven was even sooner than Byron's.

The godless cosmopolitanism of those foreign workers who would exploit the secular 'ideal' of free enterprise, under the auspices of some laissez-faire regime, to callously and almost cynically tear apart and refurbish from scratch whatever the Darwinian struggle for survival demanded, irrespective of the cost or consequences for themselves and others. Such is the nature of the age, with its so-called 'open society' policy of letting loose any number of mercenary elements upon the unsuspecting indigenous populations if it is in the financial or material interests of the governing elite to do so. Something akin to imperialism in reverse.

In a religious age, on the other hand, you struggle towards an omega point, if necessary at the expense of inferior religions or peoples of lesser faith, thereby effecting true evolutionary progress. Even the Nazi struggle against Communism, fuelled by Nietzschean theories of the Superman, can be seen, albeit through the distorting prism of twentieth-century secularity, in this light, since there was more at stake here than mere survival – a theory more to be identified with the subhumanist untermensch, and hence Communism, than with anything deriving, in evolutionary vein, from Nietzsche's übermensch.

Nazism – and to some extent Fascism (whether or not you crudely lump the two together generically) – was the last stab at religious evolution before the curtain came down upon a world destined, under allied pressure, for secular cosmopolitanism and the free enterprise to which one has become so brutally and almost resignedly accustomed, thereby permitting the survival antics of the 'fittest' to ride roughshod over religious and cultural sensibility, to the detriment of evolutionary progress. It is not Nietzsche and Spengler, but Darwin and Marx whose shadows stretch over the contemporary world. And that is a world I find myself most reluctant to live in!

Freedom for all, the 'free for all' of do-ers and givers and takers to exclude being and thus hold religion at bay, if not in contempt, whilst the survival of the fittest, strongest, most ruthless, predatory, secular, somatic, etc., manifestations of freedom take precedence over the others or, rather, over the givers, since it is the axial polarity of the do-ers and takers on the state-hegemonic axis that combines to exploit, for predatory gain, the plight of the givers, bereft, in such a secular age, an age of 'freedom' determined not least by a republican socialist agenda, of any prospect, as things stand, of religious deliverance (from 'the world'), and therefore of that salvation of males or, more correctly, pseudo-males which would alone constitute the possibility of evolutionary progress for them towards the omega point of beingfulness, as it were, in 'Kingdom Come', thereby returning civilization to the cultural heights from which it fell into barbarity and philistinism once true progress – as the great Baudelaire himself would have understood it – had been eclipsed by the false, and effectively devolutionary, progress of the mere struggle of the Many for survival under the competing flags of secular freedom and a generally outgoing disposition.

But any such evolutionary progress, premised upon inner values, towards the omega point of Being that one has identified with Salvation requires the corollary, in counter-damnation, of counter-devolutionary counter-regress towards the pseudo-alpha point of pseudo-Doing, if the proverbial 'lion' is to 'lie down' with the 'lamb' and the latter be spared the consequences of predatory imposition, an imposition not unconnected, in human terms, with what I habitually term a XX-chromosomal cosh which, pending any prospect of eschatological neutralization, will continue to get its way, thereby perpetuating 'the world' and another generation destined, on an even more overcrowded planet subject to Darwinian criteria, to repeat the errors, with regard to the presumed desirability of freedom, of their secular forebears, much as the do-ers and takers in particular would be loathe, one might even say reluctant, to admit of error in this respect, since they are the ones who, under the flag of secularity, take the right of predatory survival more or less for granted, even as a matter of necessity, never supposing that, from a truly civilized standpoint, they could be wrong, never mind be overhauled in the decades or centuries to come.

Alas for them, they are indeed morally wrong, and one day they will be overhauled and effectively consigned to the rubbish bin of secular history by those engaged in the struggle, through a new kind of 'holy war' against the new kind of 'infidel', to bring about the true peace of 'Kingdom Come', the peace that will be the fruit of evolutionary progress in the 'Superman', 'Second Religiousness', the 'Omega Point', etc., for all Eternity, Otherworld without repetitive-time End.

But the peace of the metaphysical (from pseudo-physics) can only be established, remember, on the basis of the neutralization of the pseudo-metachemical (from chemistry), for all pseudo-Infinity, pseudo-Netherworld without spaced-space End.

Hence the 'Superman' presupposes the co-existence, a plane down, of the 'pseudo-Superwoman', 'Second Religiousness' the co-existence of what might be called 'Second pseudo-Science', the 'Omega Point' the co-existence of the 'pseudo-Alpha Point', and so on, in the necessary co-existence of evolutionary progress with counter-devolutionary counter-regress, or 'lamb' with (neutralized) 'lion', the 'lion' that 'lies down', a pseudo-metachemical plane below metaphysics, with the 'lamb' (of godliness in metaphysical heaven) only because it has no other choice, no freedom, but to do or, more correctly, pseudo-do so, in consequence of the triumph of Being.

Gossip is the revenge of the mentally inferior upon the mentally superior.

Some writers – poets in the main – are evidently inspired by Nature. I am not one of them. Confronted by Nature I tend to recoil in horror, as from a threat to my very existence. In fact, I can only conclude by saying that rather than being inspired, I would be more likely to expire when under threat from Nature, in whichever of its diverse predatory manifestations, not excepting women.

I overheard someone at the bus stop, the other day, saying to his girlfriend: “We move (or live) at the speed of technology”, which seemed to me, though apparently not to her, a pretty interesting not to say profound observation.

Certainly one can be moved by technology, whether or not one moves at the speed – always variable – of technology, depending on its mode.

Is there anywhere in this infernal city where you can actually get away from noise, as from other people? I have yet to discover anywhere. And as for Pascal's dictum about staying put in one's room (or flat or whatever), what use is that when noise accosts one on all sides or one is subject to the intrusions of nosy neighbours who, especially in the case of psychotic females, have an aversion to intellectual activity, whether one's own or anybody else's.

Nowadays even public libraries can be infernally noisy, with kids running around screaming and shouting, with doors being slammed, phones ringing, women chattering away to one another like they were at a market or even crèche, which, in a sense, they effectively are. Also, I might add, a kind of circus.

But all this is in hock with the times, with a female-orientated age of so-called equalitarianism in which kids are an integral part, not to be sidelined or constrained by male egos or intellectual pretensions. Now that you can rent CDs and DVDs from public libraries, as well as use computers, I guess you have no choice, as a male, but to accept the downside, fanned by ethnic pluralism, of what is, after all, a public institution.

Yet I can still remember a time when silence in public libraries was de rigueur, a more or less mandatory requirement of one's visiting them, and one was at least guaranteed a modicum of peace and quiet, the more so as the library had several departments, some of which would have been almost exclusively the preserve of women and children.

My local library, however, is not so fortunate, being one fairly large elongated room divided into several sections, and therefore noise from some of the sections is, alas, inevitable and, frankly, inescapable. Perhaps the solution, in this case, would be to use substantive earplugs, as well as to be careful as to which days of the week and at which times of the day one bothers to turn up.

When it comes down to it, there is no getting away from the fact that some people, for whatever reasons, are just pests.

So long as you have people who blindly follow criminal ideologies, like Marxism and Communism, with a mandate to expropriate the so-called bourgeoisie, or owners of industry in a manner which puts even the phrase 'biting the hand that feeds one' in the proverbial shade, a fascistic backlash will not only be inevitable, but morally desirable, if only to prevent the worse-case scenario from coming anarchically to pass and spreading farther afield.

The same is true when you have people who violently turn against the Catholic Church from a standpoint less Protestant (though that can obtain) than Marxist or even atheist. Mere violent revolution is not the solution to the problem, from a civilized standpoint, of outmoded or anachronistic institutions like the Church, even if violence is sometimes inevitable in the struggle against State tyranny or repression, and largely, I believe, because the fundamental dichotomy between State and Church is one of gender, as between female and male, soma and psyche, body and mind. Violence by males is more usually directed at the intransigent concretions of alpha-stemming institutions, like the State, simply because, like females, certain things are not open to discussion or peaceable reform but are implacably what they are – at least in the case of the more authoritarian and sometimes tyrannical manifestations of the State, as of state power, such that can only inflame male opposition and lead to if not culminate in violent revolution, all the more so when such a situation is in consequence of imperial imposition by peoples at gender loggerheads with those who would resist state tyranny from a standpoint orientated towards the Church, though not, of course, the deferential or correlative church of the state-hegemonic (or tyrannical) power, but one, on the contrary, which is incompatible with state-hegemonic criteria because manifestly church hegemonic and requiring a deferential if not subordinate correlative state in what could only be a society characterized by the dominance, overall, of male criteria … of subjectivity at the expense of objectivity, psyche at the expense of soma, truth at the expense of beauty, soul at the expense of will, and so on.

Thus the struggle, traditionally, of the Irish against the British, of Catholics against Protestants, of Republicans against Monarchists, bearing in mind the state-subordinate vis-a-vis state-hegemonic distinctions obtaining between Catholic-deferring Republicans and Monarchy-subjected Protestants, is one between two axially incompatible orientations which, short of a stalemate or hold-off, allows little room for political or religious compromise. A divided society is not a nation, but the consequence of imperial imposition by a power which, in Britain's case, is state hegemonic, and therefore such a society remains ideologically anomalous until dealt with in a manner befitting the interests of the greater number within the country as a whole.

'The Good', as in goodness, are usually reactionary; that is, 'the Evil' act, and they find themselves obliged to react to it, as justice to crime, or righteousness to vanity. Without a 'good' reaction to an 'evil' act, the latter would go unpunished, and 'the world' would soon be transformed into the playground, as it were, of Hell, with the devil's evil everywhere triumphantly free to do its undamndest.

The reactionary struggle of good against evil may not lead to 'Kingdom Come', and hence to the triumph of grace and wisdom, but it at least prevents 'the world' from becoming overly partial to the rule of evil and crime.

Awoke early this morning (20/05), which happens to be a Monday, in nervous anticipation of the return of the workmen at 8 a.m., to carry on from where they left off last week. And, sure enough, a loud crash followed by a series of even louder crashes heralded the start of a fresh campaign of low drilling, ferocious hammering, and what may well have been a soldiering iron or something rumbling and rasping away with a monotonous consistency that, coupled with the other noises, was so immensely annoying that I just had to scramble out of bed to pen these exasperated lines in my front room (living room). Really, there ought to be a law against this kind of inconvenience! But no, they are free to carry on in this fashion for as long as it takes – and who knows, with these kinds of stupid people, exactly how long it will take?

Football, that epitome of lower-class godlessness, with no points over the crossbar, as though between Gaelic football-like uprights. In fact, so unlike both Gaelic football and Hurling, those quintessentially Irish field sports which even continental Catholics cannot match, never mind Scotch or English ones.

How anyone with any degree of religious self-respect could possibly bring themselves to head a ball, as in football, I absolutely fail to understand. To me, heading the ball in football, or so-called football, is a further confirmation of its inherent godlessness, turning the head into another means of scoring goals, not to mention defending from would-be goal-scorers, putting the ball into touch, or even of 'passing', or transferring, the ball from one player to another on the same side, something which, when I was young and obliged to play football, I was always somewhat reluctant to do, even contriving stratagems by means of which I could avoid bringing my head – destined for intellectual greatness – into direct contact with the ball, particularly when, as in those days, it was a heavy leather-clad one.

Once, I had the ball kicked into my face from close range and, I can tell you, I still shudder with dread when I think about it! Frankly, football is not a game that I would encourage anyone to watch, and I am only too relieved that, not being married, I don't have a son who would be exposed, at school, to either football or rugby (that other English game) and inevitably require some deference, if not amateurish coaching, from me. Thank god I remained single! Although living, as I have been obliged to, in England, I don't see how it could have been otherwise. What with the ubiquitous prevalence of state-hegemonic games like football and rugby, never mind political, environmental, social, and other reasons, there was never any incentive for me to even regularly date a girl, never mind marry one!

The British, when they are not cravenly sucking-up to their royals, are busily levelling everybody down to the mass level of some humanist and/or subhumanist common denominator appropriate to an acquiescence in games like football.

Forsaking God, or the possibility of godliness, humanism was always going to lead, one way or another, to worship of the Devil, that is, to an acquiescence in metachemical objectivity, if from a standpoint centred in physical subjectivity, the alpha-deferring ego of the mass humanistic whose egotistical exploitation of spirit leads to an exclusion of soul and, hence, the possibility of salvation.

Whereas Britain is a nation divided into three countries (England, Scotland, and Wales), Ireland is a country divided, thanks to British imperial imposition, into two nations (the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland), neither of which, however, are ethnically homogeneous.

The equalitarianism of man (a dangerous philosophy) can have no place in the inequality between man and God (or godliness), and for that reason societies based on humanistic equalitarianism, whether liberal or social or a paradoxical combination of the two, turn away from religion in pursuit of secular values. But such values only lead in one direction: downhill.

If they are 'up to no good' it must be because they are 'down to something bad'.

Equalitarianism, stemming from the bourgeois philosophy of liberalism, tends to lead, sooner or later, to unisexual tendencies, not least in respect of females dressed in or, rather, wearing trousers and/or jeans, roughly corresponding to a liberal/social distinction.

But what does that signify? Equality of the genders? Or simply a post-heterosexual predilection that would be compatible, did they but know it, with varying degrees (liberal/social) of buggery or sodomy. For how can you approach a jean-wearing female, say, from a heterosexual standpoint? Not that I, as someone of Irish Catholic descent, would be the slightest bit interested in buggering or sodomizing anybody. But a female who wears trousers or, especially, jeans, with their proletarian connotations, is open, whether she knows it or not, to so-called 'anal sex', and would have no real grounds, least of all sartorial, for pretending otherwise. Dressed like a male, she deserves and, indeed, wants to be treated like one, with all due equalitarian implications.

I can recall, from when I worked in an office back in the early 1970s, girls who wore jeans virtually every day. Even one of my girlfriends had a habit, I remember, of only wearing jeans, and it wasn't long, with nothing much happening on the sexual front, before I dropped her, preferring not to have a girlfriend at all than one who only wore blue denims.

Certainly, I would never have considered buggering her, even had I been partial – as I was not and never have been – to the use of condoms. For when you use condoms it matters little, it seems to me, into which orifice you insert yourself, and that is one of the reasons why I have always detested them, preferring celibacy to mere carnality and debauchery. Better no girlfriend at all than one whose sartorial appearance invites you to demean yourself! After all, what could be more demeaning, not to say revolting, than to insert yourself into somebody's back passage, their rectum via their anus, as if it were a legitimate sexual organ having reproductive associations instead of being part of an organ, the bowel, designed by nature for the excreting of excrement? That, for me, is a rhetorical question. But it wouldn't necessarily be so for everybody, least of all in a society, or so-called civilization, which is inherently corrupt and the bitter fruit of somatic degeneration, like a social democratic nadir to liberal democratic criteria more openly identifiable with heterosexual and/or bisexual norms, at least within a bourgeois, largely Protestant-derived ethnicity owing much, if not everything, to state-hegemonic axial criteria, as deriving from schismatic heresy back in the sixteenth century.

Somehow, I could never escape the feeling, when I was young, that people were unconsciously and perhaps, in some cases, even wilfully placing obstacles in my way when it came to sex, and that the society I was living in was more consciously anti-natural than natural, given to the discouragement of one's natural sexual inclinations rather than to encouraging them, as though putting up the barricades against someone of Irish Catholic descent, with a circumcised penis, who might prove a subversive threat, for want of natural corruption, to their mostly anti-natural souls or, rather, egos.

For the soul is largely irrelevant in a society beholden, from a physical/pseudo-chemical gender integrity, to metachemical/pseudo-metaphysical domination by persons closer in spirit, or more correctly through the exercise of will power, to the Old Testament than to the New or, for that matter, to any Marxist degeneration, atheistically, beyond the New Testament to the 'bible' of class hatred between proletarians and bourgeoisie, that is, of the proletariat for the bourgeoisie, out of which emerges not only social democracy but all its concomitant attributes in relation to sex, clothes, mode of transport, type of literature, music, art, sculpture, and so on.

Clearly, a jean-wearing female is a product of this degenerative and fundamentally criminal class war whose unisexual mode of dressing has logically entitled or condemned her to a correlative mode of sex, or so-called sex, that, even as a youth, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with, quite apart from any obstacles certain others might place in my way.

Consequently I spent my youth devoid of sexual relations and, as I am still living in England and, more precisely, in London at the time of writing, in which criteria appropriate to the southeast point of what I have termed the intercardinal axial compass still exist, and do so, needless to say, in relation to a polarity which is the root guarantor of state-hegemonic axial criteria, it need not surprise the reader when I confess that I am still as celibate today, at sixty, as I was at the age of sixteen, an age when most other people are committed to sex, or to the pursuit of sexual relations, like at no other time in their lives. And being celibate, I am, of course, well qualified on the messianic front to document Truth and to think and write truthfully about matters which the axially corrupt either choose to ignore or gloss over and regard with a kind of matter-of-fact resignation to, if not acceptance of, what are perceived to be hard-won freedoms which one ought, irrespective of any logical or even practical evidence to the contrary, to be thankful if not grateful for – thankful, in other words, that man is still 'calling the shots' and there is no need, in consequence, to fear the inequality between man and God, even if, ironically, the manifest inequality between man and the Devil (Devil the Mother) is still very much a factor to be reckoned with and even deferred to from standpoints beholden to the reign of free will and the correlative exercise of state-hegemonic authority.

This evening (22/05) the sunset had a wonderful deep orange glow to it which bathed the horizon which I contemplated whilst lying on my bed and listening, appropriately enough, to material from Tangerine Dream's Oasis album via the micro-headphones of my mobile phone. I can't say how much I appreciated the calm breathing which this combination of factors made possible, all the more gratifying since the house next-door was no longer crawling with noisy workmen. At least they go away in the evenings …

That pro-Left, pseudo-right wing, pseudo-economic-son-of-a-political-bitch whose name alludes me, though I know for a fact that he is a pro-Republican kind of Socialist with a chip or perhaps even chipmunk on his shoulder.



When the noise next-door is especially obnoxious in its crude persistence, as it was this morning, I find the best way to deal with it is to 'get even' by hitting back with a Black Label Society album, which usually has sufficient density of texture and intensity of virtuosity to enable one to smother the kinds of noise, in this particular instance the low drilling which has persisted in more or less the same spot for several months now. Besides, Black Label Society, alias Zakk Wylde and co, are one of the few bands whose lyrics have any applicability, especially on an album like Mafia, to the kind of hateful situation one finds oneself in, and one is only too relieved that such albums exist to enable one to seek sanctuary – admittedly not, with due respect to Zakk, as one would ideally like – from the infernal racket right next to my attic flat, where it is not so much a case of 'neighbours from hell' as of workers from hell. But if these barbarous swine think that can drive me out of here, as from the first flat I've ever had the dubious privilege of renting, then they've got another thing coming, not least from the great Zakk Wylde and co!

Surfing or, rather, navigating through the choppy seas of internet sharks and trying not to fall in, fall for, fall over, or fall off one's surf bar (or is that 'board'?). Only suckers fall.

Some, not least the internet sharks themselves, would consider me anti-social. Good, let them! If being social is to fall to sharks, even at social networking sites, then social is something I am most reluctant to be, especially when the cost would be so high as to leave one's soul dangling in the wake of whatever money-hungry internet shark had ripped one off whilst promising one, in classically Satanic fashion, the earth.

Outside, the rain hurtles down from yet another leaden sky evidently anxious to disgorge its watery burden in the hope of cheering up, as though after a puke – or does it? What matter! The fact remains that the weather has gone from windy bad to rainy worse, and I am sick and tired of living in this place – meine wohnung ist hell remember, but not as you might think - , this area, this borough, this city, this county, this country, this.... But there you are, sick and tired as you may be you have no option but to persevere with whatever life throws at you because, short of giving up, giving in, and taking your own life, there is nothing else.

At least I have not been partly responsible for putting anybody else into this world, this kind of situation, so that, I suppose, is something, even something, in a perverse sort of way, to be proud of, since it proves your moral superiority over those who – ostensibly mastering life and in full control of everything (even the weather or, more specifically, of how to handle it) – would have you seduced, as from cravings not unconnected with reproductive ends.

I, however, continue, in spite of everything, to cling to metaphysics whilst others are victims if not exponents of metachemistry. That, in a way, is my philosophical duty as one who expounds Truth and leaves the worship or exploitation of Beauty to those whom it concerns.

Whatever stems, in a manner of speaking, from the Devil can have no truck with whatever aspires or even appertains, after a fashion, to God. For they are incompatible realities, as incompatible as alpha and omega, and incompatible they remain, come what may!

That which stems from the Devil, though is not actually of the Devil, usually feels satisfied to have someone, or to have produced someone, who is capable of, though not necessarily given to, God. In other words, a mainstream worldly situation in between netherworldly and otherworldly extremes.

There are also others who, whilst stemming from the Devil, are satisfied enough if such a person, such a product of their reproductive urges, were to turn into a man.

Henry VIII was the English king who dissolved the monasteries of his realm, thereby destroying those institutions dedicated to the service of God or to the possibility, in the case of the more devout monks, of realizing godliness and bearing witness to the soul.

To claim that such a man was godly is, frankly, an insult to God. He was driven not by devotion but by pragmatic necessity, not least in respect of the need for a male heir and the urge to remarry, the very thing which got him excommunicated in the first place. Unless you have a twisted concept of God, or godliness, which, alas, many people still do, you are never going to equate the actions of such a man, a man who became unduly corpulent and subject to uncontrollable rages, with anything godly, much less heavenly. Superstitious he may have been, but religion and superstition are two entirely different things.

Axially speaking, Christianity allows practising Christians – notwithstanding the nebulously ambivalent role of the Holy Ghost - a choice of some eight deities (four hegemonic and four gender subordinate): the Marian deity presiding over the Christ Child of mass Catholic devotion; the Crucified deity presiding over the prone or kneeling Virgin of confessional Catholic devotion; the Father-esque deity effectively subordinate to the state-hegemonic Virgin of High Protestant (Anglican) devotion; and a New Testament-oriented so-called 'Son of Man' presiding over the pseudo-Virgin of Low Protestant (Nonconformist) devotion.

Although the devotees of all these hegemonic and subordinate Christian devotions might claim to be devoted to the same deity, viz. Christ, they would in fact be biased towards one or another of the aforementioned deities according to class and gender within either axis.

That even Protestants have different if not polar approaches to devotion, not least in respect of a bias favouring either the Old Testament (Anglicans) or the New Testament (Nonconformists), makes the fact that they would also differ, in their various if not polar ways, from Catholics all the more inevitable, much as Catholics are themselves torn between a Christmas-like and an Easter-like polarity which renders even them susceptible to a bias for this or that approach to devotion, with many if not a majority preferring, in mass spirit, to identify with a Marian-oriented 'Mother Church' and others, far fewer in number and of a higher disposition (relative to Catholicism), preferring to kneel before the Cross of the crucified Saviour as though it held some clue to the Resurrection and the prospect, through messianic intervention (Second Coming), of 'Kingdom Come'.

If this latter predilection is not the faith of the Catholic majority but of an eschatological elite, it would hardly figure at all in the Protestant estimation, where one is either closer, through the Father or some such equivalence, to the God of Old Testament Creator-ism or, alternatively, biased towards a humanistic Christ who, as the 'Son of Man', induces one to be more susceptible to the New Testament, even to a Gideon New Testament exclusivity at the expense of the King James Bible, and thus to a scriptural devotion necessarily averse from mystical ceremony, as from anything religiously dramatic or theatrical or in some way suggestive of a spectacle.

To worship one way or another, according to one devotional pattern or another, is to worship or be devoted to a different deity, which may be closer to or further from what is actually godly, but will always be symptomatic of a refusal, almost liberal in character and certainly worldly, to be tied down to just one deity, like the 'One God' traditions of the Middle East which tend to reflect a more authoritarian or autocratic approach to religion than would the Christian preference for such effectively pluralistic concepts as the Trinity, with its 'Three in One', coupled, one way or another, to the Virgin, the so-called 'Mother of God', the Marian deity whose 'Son' can be engineered to veer in this or that direction, depending on circumstance and, as noted above, denominational bias which, as we have seen, is not unconnected with factors such as gender and class, not to mention race and country, even, in a loose sense, nationality.

The atomic relativity of the Christian tradition may differ from the pre-atomic absolutism of non-Christian traditions like the Judaic and the Islamic, but it will take a truly post-atomic civilization, beyond even Buddhism, to overcome both netherworldly and worldly traditions in the interests of what is properly otherworldly and thus germane to 'Kingdom Come' as against any other – and anterior – type of kingdom closer in bias to either the Devil, woman, or man than to what appertains to God as (merely) the outer manifestation of Heaven, to the possibility, with God in Heaven, of the 'One Heaven', religious Omega Point eternally without end.

From Hell in the Devil (of love in beauty) to God in Heaven (of truth in joy) via Woman in Purgatory (of strength in pride) and Earth in Man (of pleasure in knowledge), as from metachemistry to metaphysics via chemistry and physics, or will to soul via spirit and ego.

Hell in the Devil (love in beauty) and Earth in Man (pleasure in knowledge) are axially aligned on state-hegemonic polar terms, whereas Woman in Purgatory (strength in pride) and God in Heaven (truth in joy) are axially aligned on church-hegemonic polar terms.

Generally speaking, you are young when you can walk with ease and old when you can't.

A civilization like that of the Christian West traditionally, which is in any degree morally evolved, attains to its height with discrimination between males and females that favours the former, and goes into decline the more gender equalitarian it becomes.

When degenerative civilization is eclipsed by barbarism, you get a gender inequality favouring females, no matter how this may be disguised by equalitarian rhetoric as the legacy, by and large, of degenerative civilization.

When and if the female-dominated barbarity/philistinism of the 'concrete jungle' of contemporary cosmopolitanism is superseded by civilization of a new and higher – perhaps definitive – order, you will see a return to gender discrimination favouring males, as psyche takes precedence over soma, the mind (soul) over the body (will), and something along the lines of the proverbial Saint and (neutralized) Dragon accordingly becomes the structural or social norm.

We have not as yet, alas, reached that juncture, but it would be commensurate, I feel confident, with the transformation of globalization into 'Kingdom Come', that 'open stretch of realization', etc.

It would be logically difficult if not impossible to contend that no correlation exists between gender equalitarianism morphing, with the global divide from Western degeneration, into female-dominated inequality and the other forms of equalitarianism busily morphing into other forms of inequality in our own time, a time dominated not by the mind but by the body.

The twentieth century was, in all probability, the heyday, so to speak, of bodily barbarism, as exemplified by two world wars and a plethora of other wars all over the world.

I believe paedophilia is to republican socialism what homosexuality is to radical social democracy – evidence of degeneration from a traditional norm, in the case of paedophilia less liberal bourgeois than mass Catholic in character.

Devotion to the Christ Child is replaced by molestation of children, which seems to be the nadir of church-hegemonic axial degeneration, as from ecclesiastic to pseudo-secular values, the very antithesis, it seems to me, of the degeneration of state-hegemonic society from secular to pseudo-ecclesiastic values with the onset of Communism, or radically social democratic criteria favouring the exemplification of unisexual trends.

If you box you wouldn't have a problem, in all probability, with heading the football or with so-called footballers applying their head or, more precisely, their brow to it either defensively or, more to a boxer's liking, offensively.

The Devil above pseudo-God as metachemistry above pseudo-metaphysics at the northwest point of the intercardinal axial compass is equivalent, using Christian terminology, to the Virgin above the pseudo-Father. Contrariwise, God above the pseudo-Devil as metaphysics above pseudo-metachemistry at the northeast point of the said compass is equivalent to the Father above the pseudo-Virgin.

Thus the alpha/pseudo-omega and omega/pseudo-alpha antitheses of the noumenal, or ethereal, planes of space and time, with space/pseudo-time equivalent to the Virgin/pseudo-Father, and time/pseudo-space equivalent to the Father/pseudo-Virgin.

Woman above pseudo-Man as chemistry above pseudo-physics at the southwest point of the intercardinal axial compass is equivalent, again using Christian terminology, to the Mother above the pseudo-Son. Contrariwise, Man above pseudo-Woman as physics above pseudo-chemistry at the southeast point of the said compass is equivalent to the Son above the pseudo-Mother.

Thus the alpha/pseudo-omega and omega/pseudo-alpha antitheses of the phenomenal, or corporeal, planes of volume and mass, with volume/pseudo-mass equivalent to the Mother/pseudo-Son, and mass/pseudo-volume equivalent to the Son/pseudo-Mother.

Hence whether Virgin or pseudo-Virgin, pseudo-Father or Father, these (Christian or Christian-derived) terms are of the noumenal heights, the planes of space and time, whereas terms like Mother and pseudo-Mother, pseudo-Son and Son are very much their phenomenal counterparts on the planes of volume and mass 'down below' in the 'worldly' contexts of effectively mass catholic (Mother/pseudo-Son) and mass protestant (Son/pseudo-Mother) reference, to use but a relatively simplistic fourfold structure, a logical structure that necessarily excludes philosophical complications of the sort to which I have dedicated my pen on several previous occasions in a series of elementally complex publications, whereby each element and/or pseudo-element has been divided into four attributes (two somatic and two psychic) with but one fulcrum in each case, like free will in metachemistry corresponding to Devil the Mother or free spirit in chemistry to Purgatory the Clear Spirit, and so on.

One thing the above findings (great to distinguish between 'Virgin' and 'Mother' in such fashion) would make me reluctant to confess, though confess it I must, is that the term 'Devil the Mother', when not used specifically in connection with free will as the fulcrum of metachemistry, as I have often used it in the past to describe the hype of the Creator-esque 'First Mover' to the status of God (the Father) in conventional or traditional Judeo-Christian usage, could be replaced, in overall metachemical terms, by Devil the Virgin (with its vacuous implications), again reserving to chemistry the general term 'Mother' (with its maternal connotations of having acquired a surrogate plenum) for the phenomenal, or corporeal, realm below what can only be a noumenal, or ethereal, realm appropriate to a 'first mover', who or which evidently has a lot to do (not least in regard to the exploitation of beauty and love) in order to arrive at that female resolution in maternity.

For the condition of virginity, or of being a virgin, is not actually a female ideal but, rather, a vacuous predicament in search of a solution in the form of a surrogate plenum, and therefore only finding its resolution, through the acquirement of a child, as 'mother', whether as the mainstream worldly mother of mass catholic reference down at the southwest point of the intercardinal axial compass, where chemistry is hegemonic over pseudo-physics, or as a pseudo-mother subject to constraints under male hegemonic pressure of nonconformist reference across the axial divide at the southeast point of the aforementioned compass where, in contrast to the southwest, physics is hegemonic over pseudo-chemistry in an order of worldly complementarity not only at axial variance with anything mass catholic, but polar to the Virgin/pseudo-Father apparent complementarity, in metachemistry/pseudo-metaphysics, existing at the northwest point of our intercardinal axial compass as ruling principle of the state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axis.

If, in a Christian-inspired general terminology, the pseudo-Son (of pseudo-physics) is to be saved to the Father (of metaphysics), then the Mother (of chemistry) will have to be counter-damned to the pseudo-Virgin (of pseudo-metachemistry).

And if, in the event of the salvation and counter-damnation, corresponding to a rise and a counter-fall, of these reference points on the church-hegemonic axis, the state-hegemonic axis finds itself deprived of prey, of a captive audience for the exemplification of and profiteering from somatic licence, then the knock-on consequence will be damnation of the (metachemical) Virgin to the (pseudo-chemical) pseudo-Mother, and, correlatively, counter-salvation of the (pseudo-metaphysical) pseudo-Father to the (physical) Son, the son of physics in what would be, with a fall of the one and a counter-rise of the other, the collapse, or general dissolution, of the state-hegemonic axis and, hence, of state-hegemonic axial criteria in general, as ordained by divine righteousness existing in tandem with pseudo-diabolic (pseudo-Virginal) pseudo-justice, the time/pseudo-space complementarity of metaphysics/pseudo-metachemistry at the northeast point of the intercardinal axial compass on what would have to be a stepped-up, or 'resurrected', church-hegemonic axis commensurate with 'Kingdom Come' and thus, as I teach, the coming triumph of Social Theocracy.

I'm way past the age when I'd want to sit out in public for any length of time, even if there wasn't an almost constant gale blowing across a land ravaged by prolonged winter and the want of warming sunshine. How much of a part has human greed and folly played in creating these conditions, I wonder?

Other people – usually complete strangers or, in the case of neighbours, as good as such – being wise for you. Why don't you grow up? Why don't you do this? Why don't you get a job? Why don't you get a girlfriend? Why don't you go back to Galway, Ireland, your own country, etc., etc., ad nauseum? Don't you get sick of such people, with their malicious superficiality, their self-serving cynicism and sarcasm? People who think they know what's best for you or know you better than you know yourself, or think they can get one to behave as they want? What infernal bores!

Little do they realize just how little I care for their opinions or admonitions or suggestions or whatever. If only people would mind their own business! But, alas, we live in a world and, in the case of England, a country where, possibly as a corollary of having ruled over the world's largest Empire, minding other people's business is pretty much the rule rather than, as with self-centred outsiders like me, the exception. And even if Empire had nothing to do with it (which I doubt), you'd still have the basically objective nature of women to deal with which, hailing from a vacuum, is simply what it is and never or rarely changes. After all, do they not exemplify will and spirit to a degree way beyond the capacities of most men, who, confronted by such a double-barrelled objective onslaught, are more likely to retreat into their egos or, in exceptional cases, souls rather than strive to emulate – though strive to emulate many still do – what cannot be emulated from a male standpoint.



Yesterday, being a Bank Holiday Monday, I was extremely reluctant to write anything, never mind open my email or surf for credits at one of my regular traffic generating sites, so I didn't. Instead, I got through the day in a fairly desultory fashion, mulling over my thoughts and reluctantly coming to the conclusion that all books or, in my case, eBooks must, sooner or later, come to an end, even if you'd like to indefinitely extend them in order to put off the inevitable drudgery involved with formatting and publishing later on.

Curiously, it might be fairer to say that my works, my collections of ideas and experiences and reminiscences and opinions and investigations and so on, don't really have an end because, quite apart from the fact that each one is a kind of individual link in an ever-expanding chain or, if you prefer, a succeeding rung on an ever-mounting ladder, they don't really have a beginning either. You could start in the middle and work backwards or forwards, but wherever you choose to start you'll soon find something of interest if not of logical insight on virtually any page, so it doesn't really matter where you begin so long as you approach the work with a sufficiently studious or serious disposition.

Of course, strictly speaking, there is a beginning and there is an end even in writings that, like these, are non-linear in construction and kind of spiral upwards in curvilinear vein, but the beginning might read like an end and the end like a beginning, since it is not in my nature to write a straightforward narrative like somebody telling a story or writing a tall tale. After all, I am an artist of sorts, with an original turn-of-mind, not a bloody novelist or whatever who sits down at his desk every day, like a businessman, and imagines he's an artist when all he does is write in a formulaic manner, according to the dictates of some plot or other with a certain number of characters in a given number of situations or settings. Frankly, being like that would bore me to tears, and I can't see how anybody who writes novels, these days, could possibly be an artist, least of all an original one, never mind a thinker or philosopher!

Poor buggers like that are just literary slaves who have been bought by some publisher whose agents see to it that they comply with whatever 'in house' rules or requirements the 'stable' demands. Such people, frankly, give literature a bad name.

Religions of 'the Creator' vis-a-vis religions or, more correctly, the religion of the Saviour … from a world dominated by criteria owing more to 'the Creator' than to Christ.

For Christianity is the only so-called world religion which is devoted, through Christ, to the worship of death and the prospect, with the 'resurrection', of Eternity. All the rest, with the possible exception of Buddhism, are devoted, one way or another, to the worship of whatever presides over life as an expression of the Infinite. And the acceptance of life through worship of 'the Creator' is, as Christians should know, a kind of heathenish shortfall from repudiation of life, through Christ, in favour of the prospect, following death, of Eternity – an eternity commensurate, so I teach, with 'Kingdom Come', and thus of an end not only to 'the world', with its predator/prey axial dichotomy, but to any connection with the worship – such that Christianity itself still upholds through the medium of the Old Testament – of what lies behind 'the world', as also of the world in general as planet, earth, etc., in the netherworldly guise of the stars and of one star in particular that has been monotheistically singled out, without necessarily being defined, for association with 'the Creator', the 'One God', 'the Almighty', etc., which I prefer to term 'Devil the Mother' or, latterly (following more general insights), 'Devil the Virgin' or, for that matter, 'Devil the Vacuum' (in and of spatial space, or space per se), stripping away the 'sugar coating' (over female dominion) of what has tended to pass, in Old Testament usage, for God and turning away, in disgust, from cosmic fundamentalism in the interests of the coming 'One Heaven' that will be the antithesis of the so-called 'heavens', the stellar bodies presiding over the Cosmos, from which, ironically, the 'One God' was monotheistically extrapolated.

This 'One Heaven', hegemonic over a pseudo-Hell or, more correctly (in relation to the actual fulcrum of the pseudo-metachemical context under metaphysics being pseudo-bound will) a pseudo-Devil, will be truly universal, not in the way that the polyversal Cosmos duly hyped as universal in relation to monotheism is, which is to say falsely, but in respect of a global resolution to the cosmopolitan globalization of the present that will either replace or transcend all the old so-called world religions, even Christianity, as it delivers religion from the grip of cosmic infinity in the name of universal eternity, an eternity without universal end.

If I have been reluctant to either play or worship the Infinite in some Creator-esque disguise, it is because I have been reluctant to live, whether in doing, giving, or taking. To beingfully exist is certainly preferable to that, as I've said before, not least in my capacity as artist or writer, but you still die and decompose, even if cadently so. Which is the kind of non-existential eternity of being traditionally acknowledged and even anticipated by Christians.

The eternity I have in mind, however, goes way beyond this, since it does not involve actual death but only dying to 'the world' in order to be reborn into a type of existential being or, rather, non-existential being that, with the right kind of synthetically artificial support and/or sustain system, would last for ever, defying the prospect of death and dissolution that even the practising Christian, who had 'died to the world' through Christ, cannot escape.

This, I believe, would be Eternal Life in relation to 'Kingdom Come', which I equate not with Christianity, still less Buddhism, but with Social Theocracy and the desirability of religious sovereignty for a world that knows only political sovereignty because still labouring under the delusion of God in the Beginning when, in actuality (and not forgetting the place of pseudo-God under the Devil), God and, more specifically, God-in-Heaven is very much in the End when and if the people of certain axially predisposed countries or nations are granted the opportunity to elect for religious sovereignty, conceived as the ultimate type of sovereignty, and the rights accruing to it (as already discussed in previous writings) within the overall context of 'Kingdom Come'.

It is not 'God-in-Heaven' (metaphysical truth-in-joy) that is in the Beginning but 'Hell-in-the-Devil' (metachemical love-in-beauty), and that, hyped as God/Heaven as the 'best of a bad job' starting-point for civilization as the world has generally known it, particularly in the Judeo-Christian traditions, is the Lie that only a majority mandate for religious sovereignty will enable the Truth not merely to expose but, through its appointed representatives in the Social Theocratic movement, to depose and effectively consign to the proverbial 'rubbish bin of history' and, more specifically, of outmoded religious history, for ever and anon.

'The Ten Commandments' – the 'Thou Shalt Nots' … Is it not too autocratic and authoritarian for our tastes, these days? Being told what not to do like so many children before a stern (Mosaic) parent, or father figure. Have we not grown beyond all that?

Of course, being a writer, I like to think of myself as an authority on, well, religious evolution and the Social Theocratic Centre leading, for the religiously sovereign (should any such eventually transpire) to Social Transcendentalism in what has loosely been identified with 'Kingdom Come' as a context characterized by the universal prevalence of religious sovereignty under messianic auspices. Now as the author or 'father' of the said ideology I must be something of an authority, whether I like it or not. And, in a way, I have to say I do.

The practical realization of this ideology, however, requires the assistance of a 'son' or even 'sons' of the 'godfather' of Social Theocracy, pretty much as Hitler to Nietzsche or Lenin to Marx in their own respective spheres of influence, and therefore would have to be left to a time when, having thoroughly familiarized himself with my philosophy, such a person or persons were capable of implementing it and bringing about the rudiments or beginnings of 'Kingdom Come' in whatever country or countries proved most amenable to the development of Social Theocracy under the guidance of a Social Theocratic Party and/or Movement. There is only so much that I can do and, as this and other texts should prove, I am far more theoretical than practical and see my work as existing on the philosophical plane where, as a thinker, I have spent the greater part of my life, struggling towards the formulation of a complete philosophy which theoretically leaves nothing except its practical realization or implementation to be desired. In that respect, I have succeeded like no other, and should be satisfied with my life's work.

Since existential being precedes, for males, the non-existential being, or pure being, of afterlife experience in death, we can contend that what may be called existential superbeing will precede, with a more developed cyborgization capable of enabling substance utilization of a purer, post-visionary constitution to regularly and substantively obtain, non-existential superbeing, thereby permitting Eternal Life in 'Kingdom Come' to truly 'come into its own' in terms of a stage of being, of metaphysics, more analogous in character to afterlife experience in the grave, that is, less visionary (and dream-like, perhaps even feverishly so with death-pending existential being) than non-visionary in constitution, closer to what Huxley would have called unitive knowledge of the Self.

But as existential being normally precedes non-existential being for those who die naturally (and peaceably), that is, of natural causes not unconnected with bodily degeneration, so it would be logical for a form of existential superbeing to precede non-existential superbeing in the eternity of 'Kingdom Come', as defined by me in relation to the culmination of global civilization under the messianic aegis, through Social Theocracy, of religious sovereignty, the sovereignty alone capable of being equated with any society or social system existing under the guidance of messianic leadership.

It is difficult to feel particularly enthusiastic about anything when the sky is so overcast, so leaden with dense layers of sullen cloud, as to be like a lead weight upon the soul, which seems to go into hibernation, leaving one feeling lackadaisical and generally indifferent to everything.

People cling to life from fear of death, not because life is particularly enjoyable or agreeable, which, for the most part, it isn't, but simply because they don't want to die, since too committed to living, as to a habit. Fear of death keeps them on the rails of life, but they also know that, one day, they will come off the rails and die, whether into nothingness or, more likely in the case of males, into a somethingness analogous to afterlife experience.

Non-existential being, which I have described as pure being, and regard as the antithesis, in tomb-encased death, to the wilful birth of life in the womb, is actually supreme being, the being beyond existential being and therefore that which has traditionally been associated with God (the risen or crucified Christ) when, in truth, it would be of Heaven the Holy Soul, the soulful fulcrum of the metaphysical context which, as supreme (because non-existential) being, would lie beyond godfatherliness as the 'outer face', as it were, of heaven, thereby transcending even the crucifixional paradigm of metaphysical bound soma in the 'Son of God' (or son of godliness) coupled to the 'Holy Spirit of Heaven', as lungs and breath equivalents respectively that have always been beyond the Christian pale by dint of the danger, from a Creator-deferring standpoint, of transcendental meditation and a degree of lungs and breath-utilizing godfatherliness and heaven-the-holy-soulfulness in metaphysical free psyche that would necessarily be independent of the God of the Old Testament, meaning Devil the Mother and/or Virgin duly hyped as God (the Father) as monotheistic anchor, in 'the Creator', to the Christian extrapolations, both Catholic and (subsequently and more directly) Protestant.

Such independence would have been denigrated as 'atheist', and consequently a truncated and effectively twisted concept of metaphysics, as of God, was all that the Christian tradition would, in its Catholic manifestation (and hardly at all in terms of the axial shift from metaphysics/pseudo-metachemistry to metachemistry/pseudo-metaphysics with the Anglican apostasy), make allowances for, thereby depriving people – and males in particular - of knowledge of God in relation to experience of Heaven, or Divine Truth in relation to Sublime Joy, the context conducive, with existential being, towards one's becoming, as a male, a real human being and therefore prepared, at death, for the experience of supreme being with the non-existential being of the grave.

Even Catholicism was hamstrung, as it were, by allegiance, if less directly, to metachemistry/pseudo-metaphysics and thus by worship of doing and pseudo-being in the guise, effectively, of the Virgin/pseudo-Father, the cosmic vacuum and pseudo-plenum of a kind of stellar/solar distinction having both natural and human equivalents (as discussed in earlier books) that, in more recent times, have been overhauled by cyborgistic equivalents along the lines of monochrome and polychrome films, or silent black-and-white movies and sound-oriented colour films.

Verily, beauty and pseudo-truth, love and pseudo-joy (to cite only the 'bound somatic' aspects of the metachemical/pseudo-metaphysical dichotomy) continue to 'call the shots' and to 'pull strings' that have nothing whatsoever to do with metaphysics/pseudo-metachemistry, or truth/joy and pseudo-beauty/pseudo-love (to cite only the 'free psychic' aspects of what would appertain, in metaphysics/pseudo-metachemistry, to a kind of Father/pseudo-Virgin dichotomy along the lines of Saint and (neutralized) Dragon or, for that matter, 'lamb' and (neutralized) 'lion', the latter of which would have more reference to the bound somatic or, more correctly, pseudo-bound somatic aspects of pseudo-metachemistry (pseudo-ugliness and pseudo-hatred) than to any pseudo-free psychic parallelism, after the manner of pseudo-beauty and pseudo-love, with metaphysical free psyche in truth and, especially, joy.

In the upper-order (noumenal) axial antitheses between what, in a general kind of way deriving from Christian terminology, has been called Virgin/pseudo-Father and Father/pseudo-Virgin, it could be said that whereas the former distinction traditionally favours female monarchs at the expense of males, not least in England, the latter will favour male monarchs, as in Catholic Europe traditionally, at the expense of females.

Hence the Catholic predisposition of monarchs to be male, in contrast to what has become, especially in Britain, the Protestant (Anglican) predisposition towards female monarchs, as though in reflection of the Virgin/pseudo-Father dichotomy between metachemistry and pseudo-metaphysics, space and pseudo-time, with the former a plane above the latter at the northwest point of the intercardinal axial compass on what, in consequence, is a state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axis. Even Queen Mary ('Bloody Mary') profited from the Protestant reforms of Henry VIII ostensibly to rule England in the Catholic interest but, ironically, as somebody whom that king would never have envisaged as a suitable heir, less on the basis of her religion (which he himself shared at one time) than of her gender. After all, did he not wind-up being excommunicated from the Catholic Church by divorcing Mary's mother, Catherine of Aragon, in the hope of securing a male heir from somebody else – namely Anne Boleyn? And as a Catholic, Henry would have had legitimate grounds for wanting a male heir.

But then came the Reformation in England and, with an effective switch of axis, the justification of a male heir became – although Henry would not have known it – less important, one might even say less relevant, as subsequent events, including the irony of a Catholic Queen (his daughter by Catherine) superseding the young Edward VI but effectively ruling from the standpoint of Virgin rather than (like Henry) pseudo-Father in what, to my mind, removes the claim to rule by 'divine right' from the realm of (truncated) metaphysics in relation to the Father or, more specifically, the 'Son of God' (Christ 'On High') to that of metachemistry and a justification less subjectively divine in relation to repetitive time than objectively diabolic in relation to spatial space, closer, in Western terms, to the Judaic concept of God as 'Creator', 'First Mover', 'the Almighty', and other cosmic variants on 'the Virgin', or what I have also, and in relation to free will, more specifically called 'Devil the Mother' (duly hyped as God, even in Christian usage as 'God the Father'). No small change!

In fact, more like a revolution than a reformation. And one which was to have fateful consequences for England in particular and Great Britain in general in the centuries to come, as female monarchs continued to dominate the throne at the expense of their male, or perhaps one should say pseudo-male (pseudo-metaphysical), counterparts, whose right to rule would more derive, I believe, from the 'pseudo-Father', or pseudo-God, than from 'the Virgin' (in the general metachemical sense to which I am applying that term), thereby being paradoxically closer, if on an axially antithetical basis favouring sequential time at the expense of repetitive time, to the dieu et mon droit of Catholic tradition, which has tended to favour male monarchs, corresponding to 'the Father', at the expense of their ('pseudo-Virgin') female counterparts, who could not have risen higher than pseudo-metachemistry, rather like the prone Mary at the foot of the so-called 'true cross' of truncated – but Y-chromosomal-intimating – metaphysics upon which hangs the 'Son of God' as a bound-somatic shortfall from what, in free psyche, could properly be identified with God or, more specifically, godfatherliness in relation to Heaven … the Holy Soul, the actual fulcrum of the metaphysical context which has always been beyond the Western and, in particular, Catholic pale by dint of its ongoing allegiance, through the Old Testament, to metachemistry in the netherworldly rear of things Christian.

Not only gender, then, but also axis is a significant factor in the status and justification of monarchs traditionally, and that is something worth knowing, however reluctant one may be, in this day and age, to endorse monarchism of any description. For monarchs are fundamentally autocratic, not theocratic, and no amount of rhetoric can disguise the fact that monarchy and papacy are two entirely different functions, as different as state and church, whether or not the state is hegemonic over the church or subordinate to the church, depending on the types of state and church in question, neither of which would have any applicability to 'Kingdom Come' and an entirely different type of relationship between the state-like and church-like aspects of a society characterized by religious sovereignty in what I have tended, in previous texts, to call 'the Centre'.



The pseudo-Infinite pseudo-Death in pseudo-metachemical pseudo-bound soma (pseudo-ugliness and pseudo-hatred) which is the subordinate corollary, in pseudo-space (spaced), of Eternal Life in metaphysical free psyche (truth and joy) as the hegemonic element corresponding to time (repetitive) and, hence, to the saint who co-exists with a (neutralized) dragon, as to the lamb that co-exists with a (neutralized) lion and/or wolf in the metaphysical/pseudo-metachemical dichotomous gender structure of 'Kingdom Come'.

I write not of the bound soma of metaphysics, nor of the pseudo-free psyche of pseudo-metachemistry, of illusion and woe in the one case, and of pseudo-beauty and pseudo-love in the other. For, corresponding in the superlative to the 'least' as opposed to 'most' ratio aspect of both the hegemonic element and the subordinate pseudo-element, they are much less significant of what actually constitutes Eternal Life on the one hand, and pseudo-Infinite pseudo-Death on the other, since akin to Eternal Death and pseudo-Infinite pseudo-Life respectively.

In the 3:1 ratio aspect of positive to negative in metaphysics and pseudo-negative to pseudo-positive in pseudo-metachemistry, it is only the 'most' ratio aspect (3), whether in relation to free psyche or to pseudo-bound soma, that allows for a generalization – for that is what we have - after the manner of 'saint' and 'dragon', or 'lamb' and 'lion', etc.

Do not 'over-sell' pseudo-free psyche (pseudo-beauty and pseudo-love) to females at the risk of under-prioritising pseudo-bound soma (pseudo-ugliness and pseudo-hatred), effectively over-emphasizing the church-hegemonic aspect of pseudo-metachemistry at the expense of its state-subordinate aspect. For the consequences of doing so could only be detrimental to metaphysics if pseudo-metachemistry were to be misjudged or somehow underestimated in respect of what is actually necessary and salient to the neutralization of the predator, be it metaphorically conceived as 'lion' or 'wolf' or whatever.

It is surely one of the great ironies of English history that Henry VIII, while still a practising Catholic, was no friend of Continental reformers like Luther, against whom he railed, castigating a number of his 95 theses, or beliefs. And yet Henry, though he knew it not at the time, was destined to institute, if reluctantly, the English Reformation and have the Bible translated into the vernacular, the very thing he would have regarded as sacrilegious at an earlier, more fortunate time.

Luther himself translated the Bible into the vernacular, removing it from the grip of a dead language (Latin) appropriate to the worship, through the Crucifixion, of death and to preparation of the soul for eternity, thus paving the way for the Protestant vulgarization and gradual retreat from religion in the West, which has continued down to our own day, not least, in my opinion, with the ordination of women.

The decline of the West, about which Oswald Spengler wrote so eloquently and, if I may say so, cogently, paved the way, with gender equalitarianism, for the rise of globalization (out of Western imperialism) and thus for the barbarous/philistine realities of the ignominious present, including, not least, the dominance of females in social and so-called cultural life. It is their will to live and will to give which characterize our age, an age dominated by will and spirit to the detriment of ego and soul.

In such an age, alpha dominion causes the corruption and marginalization of omega-oriented criteria, so that even knowledge – when not overly carnal – must be presented in an apparent way, through TV-like screens and the like, and made to serve a practical or empirical end.

Rest assured, however, that such periods in history do not last for ever, even if it appears they might. Something analogous to an early-Christian and decidedly pre-Renaissance rejection of paganism, as of Graeco-Roman criteria, is just around the corner, and it will lead to a time when males will once again be hegemonic and capable of using ego, or a bovaryization thereof, to further soul, a procedure necessarily requiring the suppression, not least in females, of will and spirit, the will to live and the spirit of giving, both of which may well be analogous to what I like to term a XX-chromosomal cosh, as germane to a double-edged objective assault on male sensibility.

Such a time will bring globalization to a cultural peak commensurate with what is properly civilized and effectively germane to 'Kingdom Come'.

Hitherto the sensual and the sensible, corresponding to outside and inside, nature and, for want of a better term, urban civilization, have co-existed on a similar, if antithetical plane, not least axially. In the future, however, sensibility will be driven underground in its determination to survive reaction, and will gradually get the better of an increasingly untenable above-ground sensuality, preparatory to the day when sensibility can 'come out' in terms of a celestial city-like apotheosis set somewhere in space, a supersensibility, as it were, around which – and outside of which – there would be no sensuality, except the raging supersensuality of the distant star bodies in the cosmic hinterland of what would be a universal consummation analogous to Bunyan's 'Celestial City' or de Chardin's 'Omega Point'.

Desire underpins life as a general form of willing, whether it be the desire to live (will), the desire to give (spirit), the desire to take (ego) or the desire to die (soul), the first two of which kinds of desire are basically female and the last two ... essentially male.

The desire to live contrasts absolutely with the desire to die, as doing with being, whereas the desire to give contrasts relatively with the desire to take, as germane to a worldly contrast between giving and taking that is flanked, above, by a netherworldly and an otherworldly antithesis corresponding not to chemistry and physics, like spirit and ego, but to metachemistry and metaphysics, like will and soul.

Got up this morning (03/06) in an extremely embittered frame-of-mind, no thanks to the vulgar persistence of the unspeakable noises being generated by the returning workmen – doubtless foreign mercenaries for the most part – next-door, whose brutality in one small area close to my bed is now so predictable as to be beyond belief and frankly ludicrous! Now I am once again at war with the world and with these infernal sons-of-bitches most especially!

God, how I detest the hypocrisy of the British! The cultured person is constantly beset by barbarism, and if you have any real talent for anything profound and original, rest assured you will not be encouraged to develop it! On the contrary, they will put as many obstacles in your way as possible, whilst still boasting of opportunity and fairness and potential and other such platitudes that reality daily spits in the face of.

The worship of life leads to certain death. The worship of death leads, paradoxically, to the possibility of Eternal Life. What a contrast! And yet that is precisely the distinction between heathen and Christian, alpha and omega, female and male. No two approaches to 'the world' could be more dissimilar.

As soon as you introduce the vernacular into religion, the worship of death becomes regressively more undermined by forces, not least female in character, committed to the worship of life through the will to live and the spirit of giving. In other words, people reading or listening to the Bible in their own language will insidiously be drawn towards the Old Testament at the expense of the (shorter and exclusively Christian) New Testament, thereby abandoning the religion of Christ – including the injunction to leave females, family, etc., and 'take up the Cross' – for a pseudo-religious Creator-worshipping authoritarianism and autocracy superficially disguised as theocracy but fundamentally heathen, if in so-called monotheistic rather than polytheistic terms. The road leading to death and resurrection will most likely be abandoned in favour of the one which leads backwards to Nature and the will to life of the primeval life-force. For the Old Testament considerably predominates over the New in the so-called Christian bible, the greater proportion of which is fundamentally Hebrew if not Judaic in its fixation on 'the Creator', the so-called 'Father', 'the Almighty', the 'One God', etc. In fact, the reading of the Bible in the vernacular seems to culminate, on the downward path from Christ, in sects like the Jehovah Witnesses which, with a New World engine-room free-enterprise bias towards all that is most alpha-oriented or alpha-stemming, strive to reconcile Christ with the Old Testament, making of Jehovah, the Jewish God, a vehicle for Christ's teaching, if not a mouthpiece for Christ himself!

Could anything be more paradoxical and, within the context of Christianity, more scripturally degenerate? Protestantism paved the way for that, as for its own vernacular shortcomings in relation to a bias – arguably more so in the case of Anglicans – for the Old Testament, as for all that is scientifically, politically, and even economically closer to life in one or another of its life-worshipping guises than to the worship, via the Crucifixion, of death, and not for its own sake but as a prelude to the possibility of existential being, of becoming fully human (as a male) and, beyond that, the inevitability, for those males who have prepared themselves in advance, of non-existential being commensurate with supreme being, with some degree (within a Christian burial context) of Eternal Life.

That, traditionally, has been the Catholic orientation through the Christ 'on high', and one which it will be the duty of the coming religion to step up, as it were, and take to an entirely new level of realization, a level, I mean, of existential to non-existential superbeing characterized by a superchristian integrity determined to ensure that 'man is overcome' (to use that Nietzschean expression again) in the interests of some kind of approximation to a superhuman if not supra-human destiny governed by supermasculine criteria in respect of the degree of cyborgization motivated by certain substance-oriented rights that would be conferred by religious sovereignty in the event of a majority mandate by the relevant electorates of certain countries, especially those whose axial predilection towards church-hegemonic/state-subordinate criteria, stemming from a Catholic tradition, predisposed them to the possibility of such an ultimate sovereignty. Then and only then will the prospect of Eternal Life, reinterpreted in suitably synthetically artificial terms, become truly eternal.

Equal rights between people who, for reasons of gender or class or anything else, are manifestly unequal, that is, dissimilar if not opposite … what is that if not an illogicality? Unless, of course, you limit the concept of equal rights to equality of opportunity or equality before the law or some other type of equality that has no bearing on the fact that people, for reasons alluded to above, are manifestly unequal and therefore deserving, in certain circumstances, of unequal rights. Which, not surprisingly, is what tends to transpire in practice, irrespective of equalitarian rhetoric from vote-hungry politicians or the theoretical presumption of equality when, in reality, an unequal approach to the solution of one's problems is what ordinarily occurs, not least concerning the distinction between 'rich' and 'poor', or indigenous (if that word still has any meaning these days) and immigrants, or upper- and lower-class interests corresponding, as they invariably do, to a kind of predator/prey dichotomy for which equality of rights is a wholly illusory concept, since the respective situations of those on either side of the dividing line are completely … unequal.

As for me, I have never believed in the equality of anything, least of all rights, when all the evidence of experience points to the contrary.

Father, how come I never got to know you? How come you turned out to be such a complete failure as a parent? A virtual nonentity? I'm sorry to say, but mother has dwarfed you all these years, never once having forgotten my birthday or to send me Christmas or Easter cards. From you, on the other hand, I received nothing! To me, you are nothing, and I have never desired to propagate your surname, which has done me no favours, in this accursed country, whatsoever!

Some of those who attend open-air rock concerts, even with groups as musically sophisticated as Yes, make so much noise, hollowing and shouting, that the term 'audience' would seem to be misplaced in relation to them. More like the subversion of an audience by a crowd-like clamour of raucous elements whose only interest is to rival the band(s) and perhaps get themselves recorded.

Another of my six-weekly appointments at Moorfields Eye Hospital today (06/06) to have a routine examination of both eyes, to which I shall go with my customary reluctance in view of the extent to which one's patience as a patient can be tried by the time spent sitting around on plastic chairs waiting, in between check-ups, for something fairly predictable to transpire. But what is one to do? Myopia-related macular degeneration, compounded in my view by other factors, is no laughing matter, and you never know when or where the next symptom of failing eye health might occur in either eye. Thus far it is only the left one that has been afflicted with this type of macular degeneration. So I shall hope for the best this afternoon. One thing is clear: you certainly know when something has gone wrong!

Have just finished reading the ‘Insight Guide’ to Germany which, though not without a fair number of unfortunate typos (typing mistakes), must be one of the best general books on this immense subject ever to have been published, what with a plethora of well-referenced readable colour maps, many interesting colour photos, useful practical information, historical background, cultural highlights, and so on. Needs a new edition with corrected typos, though.

It's curious to think that the former city of West Berlin was actually deep inside East Germany. So if you were a West Berliner during the Cold War era it must have been difficult to see yourself as West German when surrounded by so much East German territory, giving you something of a paradoxical if not schizophrenic mental disposition. For what was West Berlin but a tiny island of Western culture within a divided city surrounded by East Germany and the Communism that prevailed within the East Bloc context? Phew! The mind simply boggles at the thought of it!

One can imagine how relived West Berliners would have felt to be released, with the collapse of the Berlin Wall in November 1989, from the schizophrenic predicament in which they had lived for over four decades in sordid isolation from the West, not least West Germany, and surrounded on all sides by the ideological opponent, hemmed-in, as it were, by hostile territory access to which would have been difficult if not impossible for the majority of West Berliners even after the 1972 Berlin Agreement allowing travel to the East.

Verily, West Berliners suffered more, it seems to me, than their East Berlin and East German counterparts, even given the fact that the Ossies lived under the shadow of a Communist regime hell-bent on imposing all manner of social constraints and travel limitations upon its citizens.

They've transferred me from the regular Retinal Therapy Unit to the 'Stable Clinic' at Moorfields today (06/06), so at last, despite the tedious waiting around earlier this afternoon, I have something to crow about. What this means is that my routine appointments – presuming nothing else goes wrong in the meantime – will now occur on a three-monthly basis which, if all goes well, is at least an improvement on every six weeks. Whether I shall ever be officially discharged from that hospital, on the other hands, remains to be seen …



One of the biggest lies of conventional religion maintains that we are all equal before God. Nonsense! When, with godliness, you get closer to Heaven, you realize that gender discrimination is crucial to maintaining male peace-of-mind in metaphysics over, a plane apart, pseudo-metachemistry (out of anti-metachemistry), corresponding to the (neutralized) 'dragon' under the 'saintly' heel, as it were.

Concepts of God or godliness which are not centred in metaphysics, on the other hand, are simply bogus and allow, in consequence, for equalitarian error of the type alluded to above, at least when you get to a kind of democratic 'bovaryization' of the concept 'God'.

Twelve years of the Third Reich, six of which were spent in peacetime (preparing for war), six actually at war. Six of one, half-a-dozen of the other. Some kind of weird balance and even logistical if not exactly logical symmetry, wouldn't you say? Twelve years, it seems to me, also has religious connotations, like some vast experiment in terms of a crude approximation to 'Kingdom Come', with all the eschatological implications one cares – or dares – to imagine.

They have rejected soul, and therefore accountability to self, in order to give the will free rein in relation to some autocratic diktat (covert or overt), and the result is only too predictable and, in a sense, inevitable. The 'creatures', as an old Irish lady of my acquaintance used to call them, have little or no conscience in consequence of – and even in proportion to – the degree to which they have 'sold out' to some alien will which holds them subject to its ungodly rule, precluding the possibility of self-respect. No wonder they espouse secular values within a so-called 'open society' context!

Alcohol sends you not to Heaven but back to Hell.

Beer is undoubtedly (if we except cider) the lowest form of alcohol, beneath wines and spirits.

One of the worst deceptions played upon people by the producers of alcohol is to give it some kind of religious gloss, as though the fact that monks or others of an ostensibly religious disposition had been instrumental in its manufacture somehow rendered it morally acceptable. But it still leads, even in the guise of beer, on a downhill path towards Hell. So much for the sanctity of alcohol whose origins derive from some Christian association, whether Catholic (more usually) or Protestant, which often tends to be a distinction between wine and beer, southern and northern European climes.

People become weaker, not stronger, from the consumption of alcohol. It is as if they were imbibing a devil or demon in liquid form. Sooner or later their minds will be 'taken over' and as though possessed by this liquid fire, with predictably diabolic consequences. Don't believe me?

Alcohol certainly provides an escape route from self, from mind, into body and behind the body … sheer hell! It is as though the male, in particular, were engaged upon a process of changing gender … from mind over body to body over mind, regressing from self to not-self, whilst the female simply becomes, with drunkenness, progressively more body over mind, the former freer and the latter correspondingly more bound (to the body) proportionate to the amount or type of alcohol imbibed. The end result, either way, is an intensification of female criteria to the detriment of anything male, including, not least, self-respect.

No wonder religion has usually been against the consumption of alcohol – at least when to any degree genuine and committed to the possibility of male liberation from female dominion. Taking a 'dim view of it' would not really be enough (you could expect as much from the state under certain circumstances), especially in circumstances where alcohol consumption by the religious themselves is somehow condoned and regarded, within prescribed limits determined by ritual, as morally acceptable. Which, in truth, it can never be, though with traditions predisposed, through scripture, to hyping Devil the Virgin and/or Mother as God … the Father, you can see how they might want you to believe otherwise.

The Irish, not least of all peoples, would probably be less disposed to drink, not excepting the probable influence of persistent rain, were there no recourse to alcohol by the clergy during the celebration of the so-called Christian Mass, when the officiating priest honours the 'body and blood' of Christ with the wafer and wine (for himself) of Eucharistic convention. Even Christ, who supposedly requested he be remembered at the Last Supper by the partaking of bread and wine, cannot be exonerated from the encouragement of alcohol consumption, since he himself apparently identified the bread with his body and the wine with his blood, thereby encouraging his followers, including though not limited to the 'inner circle' of his immediate disciples, to follow suit.

When the consumption of alcohol is legitimized not only by the Church but by Christ himself, then you can quite understand the reluctance people feel to remain entirely sober, since sobriety or abstinence could be construed as being contrary to Christ's injunction to honour and remember him in the manner described, a situation applying more to Catholics than to Protestants, whose general preference for beer over wine would, in all probability, have little ecclesiastical support. But neither, for that matter, would the drinking of white wine, spirits, or any other form of alcohol not associated with Christ's blood. And as for total abstinence, even that would appear too puritan for Catholic taste, since contrary to Christ's injunction at the Last Supper that he be remembered through the partaking of bread and wine, which for the believer is akin to the body and blood through substantiation.

So you see, one way or another, religion in the West, whether Catholic or Anglican, is at the roots of the consumption of alcohol which, by extrapolation, plays such a large role in Western society, both traditionally and, even in our ostensibly secular age, contemporaneously, and I fear that there will not be an end to this unfortunate predicament while religion in its traditional guise continues to exist. You cannot just stop or ban the consumption of alcohol when the main Churches are perforce obliged, through the celebration of the Mass, to condone it, whether through the priests themselves (Roman Catholic) or through dispersal to the participating congregation (Anglican). If you want to transcend alcohol consumption in the West, and thus a tendency, contrary to appearances, for people to be dragged back and down to some kind of living hell, then the Churches will also have to be transcended, which is to say, democratically consigned to the rubbish bin of history by responsibly radical authorities at some propitious time in a more enlightened future, in order that a better and more religiously-efficacious, gender-sensitive pattern of substance consumption may be officially instituted in its stead, a pattern compatible with the 'saint' and (neutralized) 'dragon' structural requirements of 'Kingdom Come'. I believe a majority mandate for religious sovereignty would pave the way for this very process, and thus the liberation from alcohol in all its various permutations.

They kneel there like so many flesh-eating cannibals and blood-sucking vampires, celebrating the Eucharist with the 'body and blood' of Christ which they believe, through faith in a miraculous process, will make them more akin to Jesus Christ and therefore more inherently Christian. They believe, implicitly and as though by ethnic compulsion, in the transubstantiation of wafer and wine into the body and blood of Christ, for otherwise there would be little or no point in their partaking of it in the first place. How credulous!

But they are still akin, in the Mass, to flesh-eaters and blood-suckers – at least when offered, in addition to the consecrated wafer, a sip of wine from the chalice held out to them by the officiating priest. When it is the priest who alone drinks or quaffs back the (red) wine from the chalice, then it is he who qualifies for the role described and not the participating members of the congregation, who are at least spared the Christ-mandated consumption of alcohol in the form to which he himself would have been accustomed, under Roman rule, to drinking it, since the Romans were climatically-disposed to the cultivation of wine.

On gender polar state-hegemonic/church-subordinate axial terms, man (physics) is anti-Devil (metachemistry), whereas pseudo-woman (pseudo-chemistry) is anti-pseudo-God (pseudo-metaphysics), axial stability being achieved through the fact of same gender polarity on the female side of the sexual divide (primary state-hegemonic/church-subordinate) between pseudo-woman and the Devil (pseudo-chemistry and metachemistry) coupled with same gender polarity on the male side of the sexual divide (secondary state-hegemonic/church-subordinate) between man and pseudo-God (physics and pseudo-metaphysics), so that man is not able to directly threaten the Devil, who is in any case noumenally sovereign over the axis in question.

On gender polar church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axial terms, by contrast, God (metaphysics) is anti-woman (chemistry), whereas the pseudo-Devil (pseudo-metachemistry) is anti-pseudo-man (pseudo-physics), axial stability being achieved through the same gender polarity on the male side of the sexual divide (primary church-hegemonic/state-subordinate) between God and pseudo-man (metaphysics and pseudo-physics) coupled with same gender polarity on the female side of the sexual divide (secondary church-hegemonic/state-subordinate) between the pseudo-Devil and woman (pseudo-metachemistry and chemistry), so that God, despite being noumenally sovereign over the axis in question, is not able to directly threaten woman.

Therefore, in general terms, man is no more than anti-Devil and God no less than anti-woman. Man alone is incapable, in his physical disposition, of advancing or championing God. God alone advances and champions what is godly (in relation to Heaven), though not without being anti-woman. Yet if he is to defeat woman, it can only be indirectly, through the medium of pseudo-man, whom he would save from his subordinate gender position under woman (pseudo-physics under chemistry), whose destiny, by contrast, would then be the pseudo-Devil of counter-damnation (in pseudo-metachemistry under metaphysics), the hegemonically 'first' thereby becoming subordinately 'last', and so on.

'All the old gods are dead,' claimed Nietzsche. 'We want the Superman to live.' Wrong! For most of the world, not excepting what used to be Christian Europe, all the old gods are very much still alive. So much so, that their worshippers don't want the Superman to live; they want man to die. For man is the enemy, after all, of all the old devils hyped as gods.

JB (of Spiritual Beggars) was born to die … as a man. After all, life's a bitch, as Lemmy Kilmister (of Motörhead) reminds us. Amen to that!

Without a woman, the embodiment of life, you pine for death or … Eternity, which is pretty much the same.

In peacetime women come to the fore and life thrives. In wartime, by contrast, men come to the fore and life dies.

Men make history, not women. Women, as is well known, make babies.

Bourgeois civilization is built on the basis of the most barbarous destruction and/or construction techniques, as even this relatively outer-city environment (Harringay) proves in no uncertain terms, the workmen constructing ever-more intensely built-up piles of urban crap and destroying one's peace-of-mind in the process. Not that they 'give a shit', as the saying goes, since working at the behest of the developers and landlords and other exploiters of the common weal.

One can only be extremely reluctant to live in such worker-infested environments, where the slaves of capitalist overlords do their masters' bidding or, more correctly, dirty work. Both, however, are if not equally then most certainly unequally guilty of disturbing the general peace, and should be judged accordingly.

Christ is reputed to have said: “Judge not that ye be not judged.” or words to that effect. And yet, this is the same Christ who, within the Catholic-inspired context of eschatology, 'sits in judgement' over the world on Judgement Day, separating the 'wheat from the chaff', the 'goats from the sheep', until, as I would add, a structure equivalent to metaphysics over pseudo-metachemistry, time over pseudo-space, is established (constructed), to the Eternal advantage of the Saved and to the pseudo-Infinite disadvantage of the counter-Damned, who would, after all, correspond to the 'chaff' and/or 'sheep' or, in my preferred eschatological terminology, to the (neutralized) 'dragon' under the 'saintly' heel, a plane apart (at the northeast point of the intercardinal axial compass), as described above.

The molecular bases or preconditions of life descended to earth, it would appear, from outer space, as from exploding stars, for what eventually became Nature to make what use of them, these molecules, she could, from the development of plants and insects to animals and men (not forgetting the dinosaurs and related primeval creatures of land, sea, and air that would not have figured in the Garden of Eden myth). Devolution from stellar bodies 'on high', evolution from 'down below' on the earth, pretty much akin to 'six of the one and half-a-dozen of the other'.

But that is the world as against the netherworldly alpha and the coming otherworldly omega, the latter of which would be beyond devolution, and thus all forms or interpretations of 'Creator-ism', in its extreme evolutionary integrity, since committed to what I have in the past called an 'Ultimate Creation' within the eternal messianically-sanctioned remit of 'Kingdom Come'.

In the end the centripetal defeats the centrifugal, the anvil defeats (or outlasts) the hammer, gravity defeating nuclear fission, the Omega Point indirectly defeating, via the world, the Alpha Point(s), Truth indirectly defeating Beauty via the salvation of pseudo-knowledge or, more correctly in relation to pseudo-bound psyche, pseudo-ignorance.

In the end, God/Heaven (God in Heaven) is victorious over Hell/the Devil (Hell in the Devil). The laughing clown will be consigned to the rubbish bin of history as a sick joke.

'The worst', if we are to believe the poet Yeats, 'are full of passionate intensity' … for a while. Eventually, the 'best' acquire the 'conviction' to defeat them and either put them in their place or consign them to oblivion.

Anyone who reads this text and fails to recognize the significance of my contribution to free philosophical thought would have to be either a fool or a scoundrel, if not both at once!

And with that, penned on 13/06/13, I shall reluctantly leave off the writing of this literary-cum-philosophical journal to concentrate, circumstances permitting, on something else, though what, as yet, I haven't a clue … other than that it will have to have the necessary gravitas to overcome my reluctance to write.


London Dec. 2012-June 2013