Abrazaderas Offline

shameless egotism

i'm going to start filling these out. it'll help me line things up in order in my head. i'm not going to edit, arrange or proofread it. i may be wrong about things. some of it may be stupid. just like in music, the plan here is to exert fully, follow through, come to a complete stop. One take wonder. This does not excuse me the responsibility of having said any of this.

I've read tons of words about mysticism, magick, occult, religion, philosophy, transcendence, meditation, the supreme brahman buddha-mind oneness of the universal mind of all existence in which we are all one in it's singularity which is the something important or another ... all manner of esoteric paradigms, systems, and paths to salvation - some sort of release from habitual, chronic stress, anxiety, dis-ease, worry, dis-satisfaction, under-achievement, neurosis, etcetera.

(as a corollary, only people experiencing some sort of unhappiness gives a damn about, seeks out, or creates,any body of knowledge which professes to diagnose the error implied in the... lack of excitement? dopamine shortage?... which leads to said unease and also, - thank god! or non-ego! or the power of positive thinking! or quantum leaping that can change your life! or the law of attraction! - and also, professes to possess the means by which one may egress to a state of less stress.

Now lets filter the material in question by the amount of moral content it contains concerning selfishness.

on one side we have eckeart tolle, which, while i'm sure he's at peace, has all the appearance of a village gimp and a morbid affection in his physiology. you look at his posture and see ill health expressed by his body language. he and his ilk of yogis, Christians, Buddhists, social liberals, communist young people, and those people in trailer parks that read tabloids in dead earnestness and forget whatever madness they think about instead of their squalid, pointless lives just in time to get a fresh batch of bullshit the next day.

in the middle we have a handful of people whose advice shouldn't be judged by the criteria against which we are balancing these idea's.

on the other side, we have people like aleister crowley who benito mussolini called the wickedest man alive, and who suggested that you sacrifice male newborns to satan. its a metaphor, he says, as well as, "it is the LAW that you must do what you want to do". people like peter carroll who unabashedly revel in the heights of any experience, be it hatred or love, murdering or rescuing. he just wants a complete and terrible freedom in which 'nothing is true and everything is permitted'.

what i see here is that on the wicked side, we have people expressing the idea that by self-empowerment we can come to... empowerment. the roads of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. on the other side, i see people that deny the self in order to mitigate the amount of pain that self can feel.

one is a striving of the organism to be able to DIGEST pain, to burn in hell, more, higher, farther, deeper, harder, colder, crueler, more passionate, more convicted, an ideal of dominance and struggle. 'inner peace' 'salvation' 'the fruits of the spirit' are not the goal here. If you would fain notice that most rich people, most powerful people, most extremely driven and exceptional people, regardless of their moral stance, have this very same APPETITE for the damage and resistance that life offers us.

the other i see as soft suicide. to deny the self. to not place others underneath you, to submit meekly to those that demand of you, to turn the other cheek. Pride becomes a sin. there never was a man that was both worth a damn and incapable of Wrath, but it's a sin. Lust, the love of something to the point of single minded pursuit, the only sincere form of devotion, is condemned as sin. Revenge is denied. i'm sure i'm missing something here.

i had a thought, the difference between a poor writer and a good writer is that the poor writer rambles. the good writer never ceases rambling. i'll consider it further.

So. Ego.

what is it? i'm going to say something many people will take exception to. sure, you can call everything in your head an illusion. i hold that Ego is the form of Self. the self will be unapproachable by you, because that'd be like a snake swallowing itself completely. god, ultimate reality, all that jazz? my recommendation is just forget about all of it. anyways. Egotistic people would wear pea-cocky clothing. egotistic people get more girls, a blazing ego gets saliva all over it. the people on jersey shores are very egotistical. obama is very egotistical, so was steve jobs, carl marx, george washington, axel rose, james hetfield, beethoven, mozart, bach, schubert hayden handel berlioz scarletti paganini sor terregra paco, julius ceaser, patton...

If you want to classify the mind by id/ego/super-ego, super-ego would be non-ego to the nice, fluffy, sad people i described first. in that case imagine thinking esophagus-stomach-intestine. "the stomach is evil and the cause of your problems. remove it and you'll be fine".

perhaps i'll best be able to relate this to my own life. i was raised a hardcore christian lost faith read books worshipped satan for a bit yadda yadda don't believe jack shlt presently. i took Christianity very seriously, and by the letter. meaning you don't think about yourself you think about others. "you are not here to be served, but to serve others" as one evangelist put it. cough up the clams when the plate goes around. you're a worthless sinner who can't do anything by himself. you require someone else to save and guide you.

the days when my ego is absent, which luckily are growing fewer and fewer, i don't have any motivation to do anything and i'm miserable because its like you expect there to be some reason why everything is OK how it is or something. there isn't of course, and i'm only happy when i'm in pursuit of something. desire is a fire. hell is a fire. they warn you about the dangers of hellfire all the time. about how nothing on earth matters.

but this earth is my home, and i understand love as desire, lust as passion! i'll not mitigate these glorious and magnificent drives! i'll instead fan them. so everything is meaningless. what of it. sit in a hole if you want. i'm going to go put some nice clothes on, be cool, get girls, and make a name and a place for myself in a competitive world that does not give a flying fuck about me. when i die, all my legos fly apart. shrug, oh well, what can you do, ya win some ya lose some.

Acting! to take Action! all these black religions and philosophies deny the fruits of knowing, defining, deciding, who you are as separate and unique from others. they damn all action. to not act is their prime command. you must either Act, or be acted upon! one is either living in a state of action flowing from a conscious and willed ego, or one is reacting to those that are writing the script as they go. a reactor is just a slave, a cypher, a donkey, an electric dildo at best. an actor drives, creates, destroys. his is drama and passion. All the world is a stage, god damn it, i am going to act, and take my little opportunity to strut and fret my hour before the lights go out. leave a mark! i was here!

i was born and raised in the complete and utter opposite of what i know to be the road towards the maximum amount of self-control and influence and artistic damage i can inflict upon the environment. how great my wingspan and breadth must be. I'm a Bimoral amphibian, on one hand, i've hated myself at times to the point of psychic suicide, a stack of discarded Me's. when i am through with who i am, when it has served my purposes, i can simply change clothes, and when i require high-speed low-drag maximum efficiency impact, i take my clothes off and go berserk like you'd think i was smoking PCP.

i suppose there's no way to end. so at some point i just have to stop.