[-] No. 297626 [PM]
It feels good to be in the driver seat. Just be able to drive, perhaps aimlessly, all around. To see nature, or sundown. Take off your mind and, just like in those posters, ride into sunset with some vaporwave music turned on
That is wat I do frequently, and it helps me with easing a bit. I just like seeing all those trees and shops and gas stations. They remind me of those days when nothing really mattered and anything goes
Snow is going to fall soon. And I havent yet made up my mind on wat I want to do with my life. It seemed not so long ago that everything just kinda went by its own but now Ive suddenly realized that Im stuck. I thought that just having a job and a family and friends is good enough on its own, and it is. Its just that I feel no progress in life
Before, there wasnt such a problem. Straight out of the school I always knew wat I wanted to do, it just come natural to me. I went to study more, as it is the most obvious thing to do. Time passed and now Im here, in the seat of my car, not knowing where should I go
Sometimes, I hang out with my friends. We like to play most boring games, and it was always more fun that way. This week is the second that I skip on it all, whereever theyve wanted to go this time, I just feel that I cant go. Something more important must be done first, but what is it? Dont feel much of a clue
It is depressing, in a way. It is snowing already and everything is beautiful outside. But also it is the most lonely, the pure white snow is just not vibrant enough I guess. With the night time, night lights will be turned on and the town will be lit a light. My favorite time of the day, as it makes soon-to-be-winter more mysterious, interesting, deep…
With a bottle in my hand I go home. Sometimes, it is okay to drink a little. To ease up and take off mind from stuff. Relax and stuff. Maybe couple of beers, it is not a biggie
Then, it is winter already. Now it snows frequently and a lot. I have to shovel the snow but my hands are trembling now. Im hardly fit to do any work at all but when looking in the window, I like what I see. Snow just makes everything look magical
It is quite useless now that it occurred to me, to drink. After the first euphoria of being piss drunk all there is is just stupidity in continuing. If Ive wanted to do something more interesting with my life, definitely wouldnt drink
But I cant stop now for the same reason. There is just no reason to stop now, isnt it? I need that to live now. I cant exist without it now. And stopping now just looks incorrect. At least Im going somewhere with it, and that on its own is far better position to be in
Summer. All the snow has melted away long ago. Ive been stuck at my place for months now. In indecision about everything and anything. What is important and what isnt, Ive been trying to think but that I hardly can do. I crave alcohol and nothing more. All that once was now I hardly can see as important. But here is a devil's twist, now alcohol is wat really is important. Alcohol is definitely the thing that is plainly obvious has importance. Nothing can be compared to it, joy or pleasure, nothing. Alcohol and thats it. Even time is no longer so important as I dont remember half of the things happening to me
Maybe Im too old now. Im afraid, I can die soon. I thought that I was young but it seems that Im not. I dont remember how much time has passed now. Before, when at times I thought about time and death, Ive felt fear and saddness. Now it seems that Im so old that I dont care about it anymore. Indecision has left me, it seems that the problem wasnt that I didnt care enough. But that I cared too much for my own good
No. 297632 [PM]
Bob is one cute zigger
Fortune
Wonderful day. Your hangover just makes it seem terrible.
No. 297637 [PM]
Is this based on trvth, facts and logic or is it purely fictional?
Anyway the problem with alcohol is that, if you have, like i do, uralo-altaic-fenno-ugrian-turanic-slavoid genes is that once you get taste of alcohol its almost, well not almost, but literally impossible to quit. So the best you can do, is just limit the times you drink. Its already an achievement if you dont drink yourself to early grave. Although that doesnt help much, because for fenno-ugrian soul the idea of some thing such an achievement is merely a joke. what fun, what life there is in excellence. No thing… The only aim there is, is action, and the only sin, inaction. what action? doesnt really matter. if there is progress in one direction, whatever direction, then its good enough and moral already.
And dont take this as a depression talk, this is not a depression talk. Its in fact impossible to feel depressed as you fully realize that the act of living lively is good life and any ideas about ideal life of the current zeitgeist are no thing but distractions and way to make you feel less of yourself.
p.s. it was raining ice today. big, thumb sized pieces of ice. very brutal weather.. figuratively obviously, as we surely know that weather cant truly be brutal as it is defined as an intentional act.
No. 297698 [PM]
>>297637It is made to be real as possible, so, perhaps, it is not entirely fictional
I see, so you indeed understood exactly wat I meant to say in this post. The Fenno-Ugric soul is really powerfull… So, yeah, lately Ive been thinking about how to live a life. When I sometimes look by chance at people and see that they are old, I begin to think about myself. And Im young but I still feel as if I should be doing something more important with my life because life is short. Because of this utilitarian logic, that if you dont do optimal thing at all times, I feel guilt to exist sometime. But it doesnt make sense isnt it? Wat is optimal and how my life be dat? Wat is really best course of action if you are fine either way?
Dunno. Maybe it is depression talk. As it literally makes us to stutter in place. I really have trouble of understanding wat a good life is, how can it be achieved, and if I perhaps already have a good life
That is really brutal weather indeed… only in the figurative capacity of course, as nature cannot be mean. I wait for snow but there isnt yet. Perhaps, it wont even snow in September this year… climate change is stupid
No. 297701 [PM]
>>297637I dont think Asians are so bad with alcohol though. I thought alcohol was pure devil and while it is devil, it is not so satan as Ive imagined… Sure some people are predisposed for substance-abusive behavior but they should know dat and be told by their doctors about dat. But not all people are really easy to addict to some thing
Well, it reminds me how white skins used alcohol in wars with native americans. Natives really didnt know, so it had devastating effects on their societies. I think its because in their culture there just wasnt consensus on alcohol so there wasnt an opinion on it that could be enforced, so natives drunk like crazy because theyve never seen such thing before
So, dunno. I think today Asians known more by their alcohol tolerance. So, I dont think it is all about genes because no matter how your genes are, alcohol has one effect on all bodies, so it must be societal problem. I dunno. All time I drunk a lot I had no hangover and no desire to drink more. But thats perhaps because I eat before and during a lot. So, I dont think any one can really be bad with alcohol as in genetically bad, in fact, Asians must be strongest if dat were to be true. But it isnt, stereotypes isnt really true isnt it, but perhaps it is not untrue that perhaps once they were true
No. 298133 [PM]
I wonder how it felt to be a heroic fascist. In the cult of the Duce, in the country that could only worship dead heroes, glory is always in death isnt it?
Back then, at the times of the Romans, dying in battle is the best fate of a warrior and there could be no question of otherwise. The man and the sword share one hand, so to say, and it is only marching forward that is done, with the enemies defeated. In this heroic myth of the old Romans, of the old glory of a soldier that wants to be warrior, new society must be created that is religious in its worship of the Country and the history
In the country of the Duce, the great civilization of thousands and thousands of years, there is nothing more glorious than dying in the war. All the fallen comrades, theyll get their roll call in perpetuity. Monuments will be built to all the thousands of unnamed heroes and all of them will wear the same faces. Faces of you and me, of the disabled and the widows
And in this worship, how can anything be created if there is only death? Soil must be cleansed by the death of the people, like you and me. This insatiable hunger of the soil is immeasurable, and yet, it gets no cleaner and demands new sacrifice. Over and over again, the country of the Duce demands sacrifice and then more sacrifice because only through blood the nation can be purified
Purified by obscenity, by the iron look of the Duce all the sinners will repent instantly. This God in human form, Duce, is everything: a cane to the body, ammo to the gun, father to his son. On his shoulders stand ten thousand vases with widow's tears in them and yet he never blinks and never shrugs, this Duce. He demands only little, your loyalty, and nothing more than that
And this heroic society of the DVCE, creation is forbidden. Nothing is created as everything that is important already has been created, by the ancestors in Rome. And now millions must take up their uniform with pride, get into the boots and salute the heroes. To take the weapon in his arms and charge, charge headlong into the enemy lines. To fight like hell in the undying loyalty towards DVCE, purifying the nation
This system of making people into compost was too efficient for its own good. What did the ordinary soldier, like you and me, felt? Perhaps, fear of dying? Or is it true that there is no fear in dying, for that it is the only way to achieve any meaning to life?
And here, the society of the DVCE, comes to its logical conclusion. It is better to be dead than be facist. Disparaged, with decorum torn right from the chest, dishonorably discharged for disloyalty, but with conviction in the heart, he will see that there are no heroes. Only false idols and the Antichrist
No. 298136 [PM]
>>298133have you ever eaten red cabbage
No. 298137 [PM]
>>298133i have not read dat Codex Fori Mussolini yet :DDDDD
dont spoil it
No. 298217 [PM]
>>298136No, I dont really like cabbege
>>298137Bro wats there to read? Fascism is some mystical bull shit that doesnt solve no problems and offers no solutions. Youll read Duce propaganda and it just nothing but demand of you to be loyal to him. Whole point of fascism is in the name, creating a super strong community through state, but fascism itself doesnt know wat to do with such unity. Like, this unity can only be mobilized against enemies in fascist dogma, not for positive stuff like work or some thing, it is always negative
No. 298218 [PM]
>>298217its here
flt.hf.uio.no/texts/work/147
im reading it rn
No. 298220 [PM]
>>298218Congratulations. If you like having worms in your brain, sure, read dat. Nothing interesting in dat. Reading Mazzini gonna explain far more than fascist "history" about itself, fascists dont believe in history any way
No. 298221 [PM]
>>298220its all in the past now
but there was a movie about his son
it was interesting that
No. 298222 [PM]
>>298221Dunno bro you like most dumbest mystical lalala land bull shit imaginable. Which is not a diss to you, mystical lalala land bull shit is good, it just happen that Im interested in knowing wat fascism is. So, nothing is in the past, Nazi version of fascism is alive and well
No. 298223 [PM]
>>298222Watching you prove FaBear right like this isn’t funny anymore, it’s just gross. Study your society as is ZIGGER, try to protest the “SMO”. Literally Israhell allows for more public dissent.
Fortune
Culus: are you awake?
no
No. 298224 [PM]
>>298223Seeing you like this I feel pity, I wonder wat happened so you became so retarded
No. 298225 [PM]
>>298224You need to work on your “rhetotic”.
Fortune
Save a little money each month and at the end of the year you'll be
surprised at how little you have.
-- Ernest Haskins
No. 298226 [PM]
>>298225Right, maybe you were always pretty stupid
No. 298227 [PM]
>>298222that movie was not a celebration of fascism in anyway
it was about his first not well known son
No. 298228 [PM]
>>298226Need to do better than projection. How about this Lennie, crack open a book by Ivan Ilyin 😹
Fortune
If all the world's economists were laid end to end, we wouldn't reach a
conclusion.
-- William Baumol
No. 298229 [PM]
>>298227Movie? Dont care. Not gonna know no shit about Mussolini's son, are you joking
>>298228You are trolling, but you probably never read What is to be done either
No. 298230 [PM]
>>298228Prove FaBear wrong Bob wallah. Prove yourself not to be a drooling ZIGGER by learning the intellectual underpinnings of ruscism.
No. 298231 [PM]
We believe in you bob, you gotta understand a problem to help dismantle it.
No. 298232 [PM]
>>298230Bro you make of yourself such a fool it is shameful
No. 298233 [PM]
>>298230stop being rude and harassing people here
go somewhere else
No. 299015 [PM]
There is this guy, the Guy. Dude, if you will, he is always right. Knows when to play it fair and when to cheat a little. Knows every sleight of hand, trick professor and strategy general. Nothing stands in his way
They say to him "Mister Guy, you are magnificent and your tricks, sir, are one of a kind brilliance". He is satisfied by this acknowledgement. He knows it himself, all that mastery, and yet feel pride and satisfaction from being lavished praises upon his diamond head
Upon choosing between two, he always chooses right. The cointoss curse, he mustve sold his family into slavery in order to overturn it and gain graces of luck itself. Between two roads, he always chooses the shortest one, the fastest one, the most peaceful one. On his path, there are only two choices given and he is always proven right not by guessing but by deed, by fast action of his, and with it he carves his own way through the dendrite valley that is life, branch by branch cutting barriers on the road to nothing more but naked, obscene power herself
So long, he has been successful. Master in his art, unchallenged and unscathed. Panther roaming around the bushes, a diligent hunter, no matter the situation, it is only by his sheer ingenuity that he pulls the stick and gets the long one. By sheer mystical intelligence he manipulates all: life, death, people, nature, bugs, events, rumours, time. Just like an undefeated champion which is confident in own infallibility, he brandishes his weapon of salient prudence and wears it as a sword above the necks of those who once dared to defy his wishes
The roads he once stepped his fast feet on now have been paved in stone, by the graces of the Gods. Now legends go far and wide about his exalted person, he, who cheated everyone he could, who lied and schemed through roaring waves and snow lavines, now he is legend. A hero, of the people who believed in fate. In love, passion, in eternal bonds of the friendship. He is the icon of cunning, a symbol for the young, inspiration for the artists
And on this road to fame, to infinite radiance, he walked. By now, his legend caught up with the butcheres and gangsters, and in this sacrosanct figure theyve found a mighty patron of their own kind. Guardian angel of both, the police and the criminal, creating no contradiction in his fame he has made it all right, all correct and natural
And on the shores of the inexhaustible sea, he stood. He threw pebbles and watch them bounce before falling deep into the water without any chance to return home, back home. To the land, straight from the depths of the water, on land, the earth that is like a bed of feathers. The place most convenient for the little pebble. And now he has come to realize the true face of his adversary. Eternal rhythm of life which guides threads of stories for mortals, stuck in constant entangling and disentangling of the yarn, they find happiness in it and terror. The gifts that which were given to each of them, are unavailable for him. His fate, his kniving, betraying fate, is devoid of content. No matter which he chooses, no matter what happens, he is proven right. And thats final. No matter what he does, or if he chooses not to, he is proven right. If he to walk into the sea and call it his home, he is proven right and lie on the bottom of the sea he shall. But wat he cant do is to call heavens his home, he cannot point to the sky and on a chariot to ascend above. Now he has had realized that he was cheated, by the unimaginable cruelty of the gods for whom he is an outsider. Condemned by them to be lowliest of the existence, a myth, a phantom without body and shine with light
No. 299034 [PM]
Now that I think about, this place is the hole in the earth. A labor camp of a kind, for toiling internet massess. A kind of digital coalmine for those who couldnt work smart abd have to work hard
Or is it an island of heaven, miniature paradise of freedom? That we are here, bound by something, and we are quite alright with each other. We come to learn how to live with our differences or at least take it as a joke, just not to take serious much and try to just have fun
But it is not possible to just have fun. In these catacombs, in these camps, fun is to be extracted. It is not just instantly available but is fought for, toiled for, screamed over for. So, does this mean that this crevice in the earth can only be an anus mundi?
Or is it an anarchic entropy in which everyone can see something for themselves. And then everyone is just an art object, a fetish object without implied interiority that exist only for the value of being a form, a slave-citizen of the hole, hair on the anus mundi
No. 299135 [PM]
>>299132ur well on ur way to being able to write something u can publish
tho i dunno could u sustain ur interest for a style when writing something longer
No. 299141 [PM]
>>299135Uhm, publishing wat and publishing where? This country of sanction, country of sodomy under pastor's robes and their killer hands do not permit me, I fear, to deviate from the patriotic orientation of the language of cruelty in place of compassion, of the language of oppression in place of freedom, of the stolen liberty not even promised now, forgotten and twisted like a tree branch
In the language of faux vanity, great language of literature of allbodies to nobodies that knows no love, permits no error, condemns people who have to use it, I find no salvation watsoever. It must burn, to the ashes, flashed to a crisp, and maybe then it will be reborn out of tears of absolute joy of those who have now realized that the spoken chains that theyve wear no longer have any power over them. That this virtual metal now signifies nothing, that the newfound tool, or perhaps more appropriately, a friend, has been born and that friend never betrays. Never stutters and always means wat it says. That it never condemns people for wat is natural for them and promotes welfare of all, our wordly welfare
Until then, in this would-be-empire, the state and the language is the one same crooked mirror into which people have to look. The state does not afford spaces for people with nicer mirrors
In short, I would, if I could