In the Beginning there was just hydrogen, then, following gravitational compression, there emerged helium, to start a process which led to everything else, including the mineral-rich Earth, so that we have a cosmic scenario, corresponding to conventional religion, in which God precedes the Devil, or Heaven precedes Hell (helium?), followed, millions of years later, by the 'Fall of Man' and 'the World', or something to that Biblical effect. But, of course, 'God' and 'the Devil' would exist, as 'Heaven' and 'Hell', or hydrogen and helium, in the same star, as would the building blocks of everything else, including what became, out of the Earth generally, 'the World' to which 'Adam and Eve' were banished from 'the Garden of Eden'. Which is not a particularly convincing interpretation of all those religious concepts, not all of which would correspond to my use of religious terminology in which God, for example, is a corollary of Heaven in a transcendent context having absolutely nothing to do with stars and everything to do with an ultimate level or stage of metaphysics beyond even human metaphysics and antithetical to cosmic metaphysics that may well be the summation of evolutionary progress when and if evolving life gets to such a summation, presumably cyborgistic in character, in the distant future. Interestingly, while the term 'Cosmos' is very much a scientific term, factual and without religious connotations of the sort alluded to above, the term 'Universe' has become associated with religion to a degree that makes it more congenial to theologians and religious thinkers generally. And yet so many people – and not just those who go to university to study the cosmos – alternate, perhaps unconsciously, between scientific and religious usage without necessarily realizing there is a contradiction involved. But precisely because 'Universe' is a religious term, not unconnected, in my opinion, with monotheistic traditions, it can have evolutionary implications that stretch beyond science and its observational predilections in relation to the Cosmos, as when the term 'Universal' is taken to mean applying everywhere on the planet or throughout the world in a global sense rather than in the narrowly religious, and specifically Judeo-Christian, sense of a worldly age or lifestyle having morally opprobrious implications, so that what, in this higher sense, is universal is also, by definition, global and capable of being expanded, through centro-complexification, into space to exist, in Celestial City-like vein, at an antithetical remove from the Cosmos, like true religion at an antithetical remove from beautiful science – the factual Alpha and truthful Omega of what exists or could conceivably one day exist in such an antithetical fashion.
He said: Do you go to church?
I said: No.
He said: I do.
I said: Really?
He said: But it has to be a certain type of church.
I said: Naturally, this or that denomination.
He said: No, a church on a hill.
I simply smiled and thought him a little odd, though I suspected he had a Catholic Cathedral in mind.
A wicked wind tore into the building and threatened to tear it apart. Whipped on by this ferocious wind, the rain lashed down against the roof and windows of my civilized abode with what seemed like malicious intent, as though determined to avenge itself upon civilization and if possible undo the gains of man, the manifest opposition of man to such barbarous manifestations of Nature. In spite of all this, I continued to sit still and to thoughtfully ponder this experience from the comfort of my chair, grateful to have a secure refuge from the inclement moods of our common enemy which relentlessly assailed my dwelling and caused the external TV aerial to rattle and creak incessantly for hours on end, something with which I was by now all-too-familiar but, sadly, powerless to do anything about. All I could do was wait patiently for this wicked wind to abate.
Have just finished R.L. Dinardo's Germany's Panzer Arm in WWII, a Stackpole Book first published in paperback 2006, and, after some cautious optimism at the beginning, my attitude progressively deteriorated after the first fifty or so pages to a position where I couldn't wait to get to the end of what, like so many other paperbacks to have come my way from one or other of the local libraries in recent months, was a less than comfortable read, given the number of typographical, grammatical, and other blunders which, regrettably, marred what might otherwise have been an engrossing if not enjoyable book. Why can't somebody sit down with these people and actually comb through the text before publication, to ensure that unnecessary and, frankly, counter-productive errors of text are ironed out? After all, who wants a book that is so technically flawed that they cannot respect it? Admittedly, Professor Dinardo is not a literary man, still less an artist, but even so … even historians are entitled to more editorial care and correction than this title evidently received. From now on I shall have to avoid such books, because they rarely escape the curse of technical incompetence, whether because of the author, the editor, the printer, or a combination of all or more. It were better to leave such books on the shelf!
Still the rain falls and the wind blows, heavily and fiercely, on yet another wet and windy day when the weather is, frankly, obscene. How helpless one feels in the teeth of this monstrosity! And yet this is the world we live in! Not one of our choosing, but a Given. It could also be said that the world is too big and too full of people you don't like the look or sound of. Toll!
Surely people who worship some Creator God have sunny weather or come from climates where the weather is more tolerable, if not consistently enjoyable, than do those of us habituated, over long centuries of ancestral perseverance, to northern European weather conditions, including, no least, those characteristic of the British Isles. Europe – and northern Europe in particular – abandoned Creator-ism for Christ several centuries ago, but it was only with the Reformation that, in the sixteenth century, northern Europe finally succeeded in prizing itself apart from the religious clutches of southern Europe in favour of a religious stance more in harmony with the sort of inclement conditions generally prevailing there, which are not only wet and windy but frosty and sleety, icy and snowy, damp and so much else to boot. This religious stance was further removed from Creator-ism, as from 'the Father' and by extrapolation 'fathers', through the humanistic person of Christ, albeit a Christ largely independent of His Mother. For it was only following the Reformation that northern Europe came into its own independently of the Marian shackles of Roman Catholicism, not to mention an undue emphasis upon the Father at the expense of the Son, and of the 'Son of Man' in particular. But even the Son was not to be overly worshipped, least of all as a figure, since worship of an individual removes one, as a male, from the prospect and moral desirability of cooperative collectivism, by making one subject to some metachemical or chemical hegemony at variance with physical and metaphysical predilections, of which the Book collectivism of the Bible, and in particular of the New Testament conceived as the truly Christian aspect thereof on the one hand, and some approximation to if not attainment of the 'heavenly host' in relation (it could be said) to the Holy Ghost on the other hand … would be chiefly characteristic, albeit in terms of the sensibility of two contrasting axes, as far removed from each other as ego and soul, or knowledge and truth, and therefore tending to be mutually exclusive – as exclusive, in fact, as the competing individualisms, for worship, of whatever corresponded to metachemistry and chemistry, as to the scientific and political embodiments of objective concretion underpinning if not undermining the phenomenal and noumenal modes of subjective abstraction that require a cooperatively collective precondition if they are to emerge in anything like a recognizably economic or religious, that is, properly economic or religious guise.
Coming second with the Second Coming, who, like Adolf Hitler, wouldn't be of much use to non-Christians, or the greater percentage of the globe's population, which could only be properly served by a messiah of global character who transcended the narrow confines of any given so-called world religion from a standpoint that, whilst not ignorant of viable religious preconditions in any given tradition, was sufficiently unique as to be globally relevant, and not just another partisan manifestation of what could be called religious imperialism, whereby Christians strive to overcome Moslems, and Moslems strive to overcome Jews, and so on, without any appreciable progress towards an ultimate world religion that was more than the sum of any particular tradition.
She was subject to periodic aberrations which messed with her head and rendered her somewhat unstable and even erratic at such times, so much was her mind in the grip of bodily functions stemming from a natural diktat that overruled the mind and rendered her unsuitable for purely mental tasks.
Equalitarianism from the people's standpoint (as opposed to that of certain intellectuals and so-called philosophers removed from 'the common herd' by at least a middle-class extent): tit-for-tat, or some convenient variation on the unchristian doctrine of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth which, stemming from the Old Testament, considerably pre-dates any injunction to 'turn the other cheek'.
Anything to do with fathers is a taboo subject for me, since my own was a no-show, and I have never felt comfortable thinking about him, much less striving to emulate him.
The mind is the repository of thought and the page or screen the repository of symbols that must be read in order to be turned into words and re-interpreted as thought in the virtuous circle linking author and reader in a psychic relationship.
During the week I do quite a lot of traffic generating for various of my eScroll and eBook websites, so I am something of a surf slave manually engaged in the time-consuming process of amassing a certain number of credits with which to promote them by ascribing a specific number, rarely more than ten, to each of them or, at any rate, to those sites which I happen to be specifically engaged upon promoting at the time.
Moses apparently went up a mountain – though I doubt he climbed it in the sense that we would understand these days – to get away from his people and produce the tablets of what became the Mosaic Law, or Ten Commandments, and was therefore at quite a topographical remove from what subsequently transpired with Christ on his hill of Calvary, who died not only because of worldly sin, so to speak, but also because of whatever stood in back of it as its ruling principle. Some would claim this to be a distinction between the Father and the Son, but I think it more akin to one between Jehovah and the Son (whose Father could not be Jehovah but a kind of attenuated Creator, as previously argued) or, in equivalent terms, between the Old and the New Testaments, with Jehovah pertaining, in Judaic vein, to the one and both Christ and His Father appertaining, in Christian vein, to the other. Be that as it may, the idea of going up a mountain to reach or attain to God has never appealed to me since, to my mind, mountains and godliness are incompatible, like autocracy and hills. I, for one, wouldn't look for God on a mountain, even if it took me closer to the sky, nor would I visit a church that was built on one. Temples may be built there, but Christian churches? He who doesn't find God and, more relevantly from a metaphysical standpoint, Heaven within himself, his inner self, will find something less than if not contrary to Heaven (and God) outside it, like Man, Woman, and the Devil, or the Earth, Purgatory, and Hell.
When Christians pray they are usually still. When
Jews pray, not least at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, they are moving or
swaying (scarcely nodding) their head and upper torso backwards and forwards in
a manner that, to a Christian, would suggest an element of showiness, as though
germane to a more superficial order of praying that presumably emerged from and
pertains to climatic conditions peculiar to the Middle East and to the Judaic
parts of it in particular. For there is evidently and, I think
incontrovertibly, a link between culture and environment, even with the
north/south divide in
So long as Christian churches continue in existence Christianity is not dead and, as it were, on the rubbish heap of history, no more than Judaism with its synagogues, or Islam with its mosques, or Hinduism with its temples, and so on. All the old, traditional religions still exist at this point in time (the early 21st century), and will doubtless continue to do so until 'Kingdom Come', presuming upon the eventuality of a concept which I interpret in terms of religious sovereignty and the electorates of various countries with the right kind of axial preconditions (church-hegemonic/state-subordinate) being in a position to opt, via utilization of the democratic process, for religious sovereignty and the rights accruing to actually being religiously sovereign, including freedom from the 'old gods', as Nietzsche would say, and encouragement to develop and realize Heaven (for males) within in terms that, being pertinent to a further development of global civilization, would have the capacity to overhaul contemporary modes of global civilization and the degrees and types of synthetic artificiality accruing to it from a more evolved standpoint, one favouring the inner at the expense of the outer, and therefore sensibility of a certain order at the expense of sensuality of whatever order. Therefore if there is to be just the one true religion for the entire globe, it would have to be in consequence of the people's express wish, and not something imposed upon them from without. That, for me, underlies the significance of democracy in countries where it is genuine, not as an end-in-itself but as a means or stepping stone to a new and ultimately higher end commensurate, in its theocratic fullness, with 'Kingdom Come'. So with 'Kingdom Come' as a context characterized and defined by religious sovereignty, we have the sovereignty that, primarily appertaining to Heaven/God and, to a lesser extent, to the pseudo-Devil/pseudo-Hell, is beyond all lesser or contrary sovereignties, including those of Man, Woman, and the Devil, which are less theocratic (though they have their theocratic 'bovaryizations' deferring to plutocratic, democratic, and autocratic norms) than plutocratic, democratic, and autocratic, in that regressive hegemonic order. For the context we are alluding to is one of metaphysics over pseudo-metachemistry at the northeast point of the intercardinal axial compass on a stepped-up, or 'resurrected', church-hegemonic/state-subordinate axis, and that of course presupposes, with its soulful fulcrum, the hegemony of Heaven/God over the pseudo-Devil/pseudo-Hell of what, with a pseudo-fulcrum in pseudo-bound will, would be forever equivalent to the wolf and/or lion that, through neutralization, 'lies down', in pseudo-metachemistry under metaphysics, with the 'lamb of God' or, more correctly, the grace of Heaven/God.
To be a 'mind' in a world where the great majority are 'bodies' … is no small achievement, especially when its activities are conducted in the face of those who, taking physical matters for granted, tend to interpret the term 'mental' in a denigrative fashion, and would therefore brand as 'mental' one's ability to think and/or proclivity for thought, further demonstrating their opposition to such mental processes by emphasizing their sensitivity to it whenever, by thinking or even writing, one gives them the opportunity to censor it with some physical disturbance or other.
It is odd that I still live, after some forty
years' removal from Surrey, in the cesspit of north London and, more
especially, in the vicinity of Crouch End, from the overcrowded dinginess of
which I despair of ever getting away. For I have never got over the depression
that first assailed me shortly after moving or, more accurately, having had to
move at someone else's bequest from the leafy part of Surrey I lived in to
north London, where there are always so many cynically-domineering foreigners
and lumpen proletarians that one feels as though
isolated from any prospect of meaningful relationships, so outnumbered is one
by what is alien and, frankly, often repulsive.
They know how to breed, but they don't care to read, still less to think! You know to whom I am alluding, and I have never liked such people, including some of my nearest neighbours, who seem to know when I am reading or thinking, and make what I would describe as periodic efforts, with timely thumps and even ironic ahems, to thwart or hinder me, especially when I am stuck in the midst of reflection or puzzlement or some other hiatus in the intellectual process that, somehow aware of but totally incapable of understanding or sympathizing with, induces them to redouble their efforts to complicate in the aforementioned manner. But they are not going to succeed! Got back at them all yesterday evening with the aid of Deep Purple, Spiritual Beggars, Michael Schenker Group (MSG), and Tangerine Dream. Perfect! For three whole hours, thanks to a cheap bottle of red wine, no-one could put-in on me and effectively make a mockery of my life and life's work by striving to thwart or undermine it. I had them all on the back foot, so to speak, and was determined to press home my advantage with a vengeance!
Anyone who, having listened to and watched Michael Schenker perform on tracks like 'Rock Bottom' on his World Tour 2004 DVD, doesn't think he is one of the technically greatest if not the greatest and most electrifying all-time practitioner of the electric guitar would have to be an idiot. No-one else – with the possible exception of Bernhard Beibl of Tangerine Dream – comes even close, though Jimi Hendrix was of course intensely electrifying if, at times, somewhat over-the-top, like a John Coltrane of the electric guitar who had a personal and/or social axe to grind, as they say, and did so with a vengeance. What spoilt Hendrix for me was his over-use of the word 'baby' in so many of his songs, especially on live recordings, and the feeling one had, as a male, of being excluded from if not irritated by them in consequence.
Don't go quietly into the dark night. Punish the swine! They're the reason one is alone.
God gets peace (of soul-mind) from the Devil only because He doesn't have anything to do with Her. If you're less than godly and absolutely isolated from the Devil you don't get peace (of soul-mind), but either the half-peace (of ego-mind) in the case of Man, man proper, or the half-war (of spirit-body) in the case of Woman, woman proper, who will be closer to if not occasionally eclipsed by Devil the Virgin and Her shortfall, morally speaking, from Woman the Mother, whose half-war on the half-peace of Man the Son usually precludes him from attaining to the full peace, as it were, of God the Father, Who is beyond, in Heaven the Holy Soul, all knowledge of Hell the Clear Spirit in Devil the Virgin, like truth in joy beyond love in beauty, the beautiful free will that, burning up with love, is the criminal root of all evil … in ugliness and hate, the bound psychic corollary of somatic freedom of a metachemical order.
I have gone beyond philosophy as hitherto understood in the West by introducing a theosophical element into my metaphysics which ensures that it is fully metaphysical and, hence, effectively super-philosophical, the product, one could say, of messianic insight in relation to a degree of genius that is philosophically unsurpassed.
For some reason, probably not unconnected with religious tradition, my mind becomes more philosophical and, hence, metaphysical on Sundays than on other days of the week, and I write accordingly, attaining heights of metaphysical insight that few men, even among the philosophers, have been privileged enough to attain to, from where 'the world', torn between physical and chemical adversaries ruled over by metachemistry, appears very small indeed!
Whilst other people are letting themselves go, I am gathering myself in, by taking cognizance of my being as a thinking mind that also feels, and feels deeply enough about certain issues as to write about them and preserve a record for myself and – who knows? - maybe even elements of posterity, should there be a small number of sufficiently intelligent people around to appreciate it.
One thing that can be said about long hair is that it sucks. Thanks to a home hair-cutting kit which I purchased a couple of years ago, I don't have a problem with hair, since I can trim it on a regular basis and keep it very short. But there was a time when my hair sucked, so long was it, and I must have looked like a long-haired sucker to others or, at any rate, to people with very short hair. Ah well.
One of the reasons that common people don't read books, quite apart from the fact that they might regard physical books as too middle class and even 'old hat' (compared, say, to film), is that they are afraid of being confronted by the author's low opinion of them as proletarians, lumpen proletariat, mob, uneducated yobs, violent boors, etc., and would rather keep their distance, in consequence, from the likely criticism of intellectuals, artists, nobs, philosophers, and such like 'class enemies' of ordinary folk. For writers who are any good do tend to 'do their thing' independently of the common people and their want of cultural acumen, and so these people have every reason, it seems to me, to fear the worst and cynically dismiss 'mind improvement' through literature as a bourgeois con.
Writers that are any good tend to write for other writers, if not consciously then unconsciously, rather than for the female-dominated masses of common humanity. Short of being forced, virtually at gunpoint, to write (or paint or compose or whatever) for the masses, as by a socialist dictatorship of some sort, and thereby 'sell out', in a manner of speaking, to what, as a species of anti-art, is intended to praise the shit our of philistines and their barbarous fascinations, they prefer, these artists, to go their own way and explore their truth, and therefore they have a certain appeal, willy-nilly, to others of a like persuasion, who may be anxious to discover if they have succeeded or whether there are areas of common ground in their mutual pursuit of similar ends, ends which necessarily transcend the narrow parameters of those driven by utilitarian motives in their artistic or creative concern with 'higher values', like truth and, from the standpoint of truth, pseudo-beauty rather than some beautiful lie coupled to a pseudo-truth whose sole purpose is to suck-up to it from an inferior class position. Those kinds of 'higher values' are something the true artist, the progressive writer and philosopher, has a moral duty to do without, and therefore he can never be understood, much less worshipped, by the common herd of those for whom the dominance of beauty, as of all that is most superficial and effectively barbarous, over their world is a sine qua non. Heaven protect us from an indiscriminate commitment to 'higher values'!
Surrounded by bitches and the loud-mouthed excitable offspring of bitches, all with their various knives into culture....Which I, as a sensible writer, am doing my best to defend, if not, cautiously and wearily, to advance.
With state religion, they always substitute magic for truth, falling back on miracles and mystical delusions and so-called 'supernatural' events which can be expected to appeal to the masses and not unduly antagonize women.
Hermann Hesse, that most poetic of prose writers who stands closer to Henry Miller than to, say, Jean-Paul Sartre or Aldous Huxley, with their more philosophically-detached attitudes to life which, of course, mark them out as literary beings of a higher order.
Working offline is, for me, nearer heaven than hell, since the Internet usually bugs the hell out of me.
Do not all human beings breathe the same air – more or less? Without the air that the planet manufactures, and that the weather stirs up and refreshes, we would soon be dead. As simple as that. And yet, with what seeming insouciance and blatant disregard people go about polluting it on a daily basis! Are we not sickened by pollution and diminished as human beings? Incontrovertibly! But the heyday, as it were, of being human is long over. We are now increasingly superhuman, but not on the terms of being, alas, but under the female domination of doing and, let's face it, giving.
A concise definition of true religion, which is to say, metaphysical truth: absolute insanity. A concise definition of false religion, which is to say, metachemical hype: absolute outsanity. Worldly religion lies somewhere in between the alpha of scientific religion and the omega of religious religion, or religion per se, the false and the true, like politics and economics, from which they take their respective religious cues in relation to the relativity of either sanity with an outer bias or sanity with an inner bias, the former arguably Marian and the latter usually Nonconformist.
I only like architecture with rounded corners and curvilinear structures in its overall design, because that alone, being truly modern, is jeans/jogger and T-shirt/vest friendly, and should ideally be sited in proximity to tarmac sidewalks or macadamized surfaces in general, with pavements being increasingly reserved, it would appear, for shop-front rectilinearity.
Love is an emotional poison that enters into one's bloodstream and affects one's mental equilibrium in such fashion and to such an extent that one becomes besotted with the object of one's desire to the detriment of one's self and, by implication, one's own moral wellbeing. There is no more dangerous passion than that engendered by the poison of love. Females know how to distil this poison and when to inject it into the male of their choice. For beauty and love are correlative.
I was too long a single tenant in a live-in landlord's house to be greatly enamoured of spiders and their webs, not least in view of the extent to which I felt squeezed and somehow sucked-dry by a variety of predatory encroachments on what was left of my liberty in what could only be a fairly lifeless existence.
Glynn Hughes' autobiography is an object lesson in the destructive power of drug addiction, as well as a moving testimony to the recuperative powers of the human soul, which enabled this major rock singer and musician to rise above his addiction and achieve freedom from dependency. Despite the 2-3 years both Glynn Hughes and David Coverdale spent in the band, Ian Gillan will always be the voice of Deep Purple, in the same way that Ozzy Osbourne will always be the voice of Black Sabbath, despite stints by Ronnie James Dio and others. Likewise, Bruce Dickenson will always be the voice of Iron Maiden, despite the fact that, like Deep Purple's Ian Gillan, whom he both admires and even occasionally resembles as a vocalist, he wasn't their original singer and subsequently left to be replaced by Blaze Bayley, before eventually rejoining and continuing to front the group, which has since gone from strength to strength both as a live band and in the studio.
One of my pet hates: those three-chord bands with their triangular limitations making for a three-chord bash from the Devil's tail upon the body – and sometimes even the head – of musical sensibility. Though they might deny it, their music somehow correlates with the triangular limitations – and implications – of conventional suits, ties, collared-shirts, etc. One of the things I like most about Tangerine Dream, on the other hand, is their joyful if not blissful independence of the Blues and other kinds of music rooted in triangular limitations, even if, ironically, their sartorial appearance sometimes leaves something to be desired in that regard.
I've often wondered how people can keep small animals and birds in cages, depriving them of freedom of movement. I could not look at a caged bird, for instance, without feeling sorry for it, since a creature with wings is intended to fly and cages surely deny it that ability, making for a stunted life.
The wilful enemy of soul and the spirited enemy of ego are alike female, whether literally or in character, and can be regarded as the concrete embodiments of power and glory, which ever war upon the peaceable abstractions of form and contentment – power upon contentment in the one case and glory upon form in the other, as though in relation to a noumenal/phenomenal class distinction between the absolute and the relative. Power-mongers never like contentment in others, especially a higher class of male, and do their utmost to thwart and undermine it. To the average woman, contentment in a male, or self-satisfaction, is nothing short of anathema or, at any rate, is so unacceptable as to be the subject of subversion and mockery.