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The comedian's seriousness.Socrates and Schopenhauer alike may dream of the meaning of being in a world sailing lonely and wantonly through the vastness of space and time, but it is the comedian who whispers their resigned conclusions: c'est la vie et adieu - not at the denouement of their art, but as the introduction to it. It is a subtle différance of seriousness.
The love of Truth.All knowledge, before it is christened or crucified as 'truth', must first be loved. And by this, we mean not romantic love; but jealous love, obsessional love, dangerous love, consuming love, that is; a love of severity. Truth is a love for knowledge, without which it is proclaimed that there can only be ruin: even if ruin is the consequence of such love. How much therefore do we sacrifice in the name of love?
Comedy and the RationalThe comedian, in imbibing, embodying and regurgitating the absurd, the irrational, the fantastical and the surreal; ultimately places their-self within a logos of rationality. By mocking the weaknesses and inconsistencies of the apparently stable, the apparently true and the apparently virtuous; the comedian demands of their subject a perfection of reason, a perfection of means and ends. In this comedy is both the critical art and the senile art for it mocks in demand of some masked and misunderstood idea of the "good" and the "perfect". All too often though both an audience and the artist forget that comedy itself is too such an irrational and meaningless folly. That is, unless it strives to transcend: unless the comedian strives to show what this cloistered demand for perfection can be. Thus, in turn, the contemporary comedian's persona, for all its whimsy and insanity, is for the most part, thoroughly rational and thoroughly senile. Today, the comedian is too often identifiable as a
On Stupidity.On Stupidity - There is no idea today that is more abused than the statement that this or that person "is stupid". Let me clear the messiness of this popular slander for today. Only the greatest people understand what stupidity is, and they understand it not from external comparison between themselves and the rest of their world, or even in comparison with some vague notion of 'the herd' or 'the masses' or 'the majority'. No. the greatest people understand stupidity only in relation to themselves, and it is this knowledge of their own stupidity which brings to them not emotions of shame or embarrassment, but a mischievous smile and a moment of mirthful reflection. For they understand their stupidity only in relation to their-selves and in knowing of their past stupidity, take comfort in knowing in future they will in turn laugh at their current stupidity. The cynic who bemoans the stupidity of the mass, or the stupidity of the public are people who take their misanthropy far too
This is evolution.
This is evolution. This is our creation. Take a bullet, kiss it sweetly, pray for divine justice and shoot to kill. The crucible is born in the archaic fires of history as the plagued horse rides from the west. Beneath the stars of untainted skies we march, divisions formed from the mass, we the good soldier. The hellfire of sin shall be cleansed by this crusade of the right. Like the old gods we shall condemn with impunity, our whore of worship shall bequeath herself to the needy while good men hang from the messiahs noose.
To the young we give our egotistical malice, to the old our undisputed pride, to the future we give birth to the sickly child. Onwards we march, the delusion fuelled by our holy court. Through hellfire and chaos the tributes of the weak willed shall conquer, those unwilling to take the lead shall submit their weakness to the men in black collars and limousines.
Before this visage of the divine, the ground falls away, this one way parade into the rapture the e
A solemn numbness rests within his limbs. Shoulders sloughed and lead light curtains draped over glass eyes. Shifting figures run past frayed memories in the attic while below him, the machine crumbles upon itself. A soft lamp bathes his skeletal hands as the fibre
optic wiring system bleeds the last electricity in the machine. The fuel depot
sifts through the last of the stock, rust expiring upon itself into shades of
dust. The corrosion of the passages, long green with age, heave their last as one
by one the system begins its shutdown, the respective terminals of data blink
their last in resignation, the fragrances of the air conditioning bring their
last gifts of air to the attic and the slowly the room begins to cool.
The century old building smells of decades gone. In the centre of the attic he sits, around him he has collected some items to his side. Here a photo, there a souvenir of good times lost. A collec
The death of the Chimera.Is this my death? Somewhere around me a fire is crackling… twisted metal, burnt rubber. My eyes are closed, I don't want to open them. Someone is screaming. If it weren't for the acrid stench in my nostrils I would no doubt assume I was dead… but am I dying? I realise my right eye is closed not of choice but obliged by swelling, my left however is not… I open it. Everything is shaded and indistinct… someone is screaming. I turn my head to the right, my neck stiff and pained as some form of clarity returns. I see feet. Running feet, people running towards me. I search my mind… but nothing is forthcoming. A lady is kneeling over me… soft auburn hair, she is shouting but I cannot make out her words. I make to move my arm, but like my eye it is motionless, I lift my head as I far as I can and look to my shattered legs and impaled abdomen… shock… the shock is preventing the pain form coursing into my mind… the brain pan.. saucepan…Why did I think of that?
Focus. A chimaera of realisation re
Alone in Apathy at 11:54pm.i don't want to be lonely, i just want to be alone. Why is the 'i' so insignificant when not capitalised? Captivated by a dream, in the late monitor glow, i sit with port and music in tow. Afore me lays the future, whatever may come may come and willingly i must embrace it. But no fear, no thrill of impending change, just a sure footed calm of acceptance. Resigned to fate and deed the mountain top holds such a lone bounty. What is the price of a shy smile flickered in gleeful embarrassment?, having embraced that which they desire – as the pilgrims of Shakespeare so did upon the balcony of fair Capulet, what coin can purchase?
But no, not the sonnet, not the ballad, not the song of joy nor the taste of fine wine. Just the bitter remains of week long dregs strung out over years. What compromise have i blindly signed? The haunted words traced in smoke vapour; i don't want to be lonely, i just want to be alone…
These late nights chase through my spectre's haunt, falling in love with people
Essence.The warm luminescent lamp casts a low light along the walls. The orchestration of light from other islands within the room, embrace overhead and grace the table with its atmosphere. A simple black uniform slides through the room towards us. Supple, graceful like a delicately arranged bouquet, the composer, sultry in glowing praise, lightly lowers the dish to the silk cloth before us. Sold red lips and soft shadows linger as she departs into he recesses of the room.
The platter, white porcelain framed in granite black, offers us its bounty; crisp slices of red apple, slivers of fresh camembert and Dutch smoked cheddar cheese rest aside a light frame of smoked salmon and slow roasted cherry tomatoes. Not to be humbled, laden grapes partnered with fingers of blood plums and apricots beckon with chastity. Then lastly, splayed in semi lunar fashion, a collection of crackers, plain, cracked pepper and Moroccan spice, laid to compliment. I sigh to the fibres of swelling anticipation within, s
In the beginning In the beginning there was nothing, a white page, a blank canvas. The artist sat before the vast emptiness with a lit torch to his left and a clay pot to his right. “Let us create,” he said addressing the pot and torch and rolling up his sleeves. He held up his fingers in a frame as if to imagine how to start.“Aha!” he shouted with a cry of inspiration.
The creator reached into the pot and withdrew some granular dust. He held it up before himself and blew into it so that it scattered before him, forming all creation in its wake. Worlds and universes burst into being and all that was ever created lay before him as if it were a picture. The creator hand selected a few planets, seemingly at random and lit them up before himself.
He reached down and took a hand full of fire from the torch, yet the torch no less lost its flame. The creator held the flame before his face as he had the grains, but this time inhaled the fi
Titanic's Forgotten Sister-Chapter 45Chapter 45~
NO ANSWERS TO STAVE THE CONSTANT 'WHY'...
**Little Hood was an adorable youth. His brother, Nelson, was even sweeter. They watched everything in their wartime world with rapt fascination. Hood's green eyes sparked with delight at the simplest matters. Nelson's eyes, an exact copy of my own amber ones, surveyed everything with a calm interest. He was on the verge of being precious looking, something you wouldn't expect a warship outfitted with heavy artillery like myself to say.
**My heart suffered though from the loss of their siblings Olympic had spoke of. Death will inevitably happen to us all, but when it claims a youth, it is practically unforgivable. I was stricken enough from the loss of Dauntless, and that was many years ago. Now to have lose Rodney and Anson as well... If I didn't keep myself in check, I would find myself traversing down a dark place of grief. A place where I did not want to go....
**When a father loses a child, any child, but especially a son, he l
Death Diary (Entry 49)
Forgive the lateness of this entry. My hands have been full recently, and I am still not done with this business in Ukraine. War has been up to his usual mischief there and his fingerprints are all over the place. I’m always having to clean up that lunatics mess. I will not go into another rant about politics, but do know that I find myself growing ever more disturbed by the backstabbing and hypocritical nature of politicians. But again, I will leave that alone for now. I don’t wish to dwell on it. I only tell you all this so that you know why this entry will be shorter than normal.
Loneliness is a very depressing thing, isn’t it? I’ve been all over the world and seen all different kinds of people, but I don’t truly get to know them. My work is my only companion. I do not make friends with those I meet, but rather carry them onward. It’s a job that I must complete, I know…but it would be nice to have someone to talk to. I supp
ZL - truce[Alix, Aurelio] PAST, over 9000 years ago (bun you requested this i’m so not sorry)
“Hey,” Aurelio says softly as he sets a coffee down in front of Alix’s face and sits on the desk. “Thought you could use the pick-me-up.”
The other looks up from the appalling amount of paperwork he’s currently working (drowning) in. “Thank you,” Alix says simply and smiles at him. “It’s not as bad for today; only three o’clock and I’ve gotten through this much red tape. That’s something to be said, right?”
Aurelio nods-shrugs. “It’s still the same amount of paperwork, either way, and most of it would do better in a fire or a shredder. Or eaten. Like this.” He quickly tears out one of the coversheets and stuffs it into his mouth, chewing almost comically while he waits for his saliva to work. “Y’ see what I mean?” He evades all of Alix’s attempts to rescue the p
Apocalypse Artist - A short story (WIP)I didn't know how to feel about the way the war ended. It felt sudden. Surreal. Sure, there were signs this might happen. Our economy failed almost overnight, it seemed. Chaos shortly followed that. When people didn't have the means to get by in our damaged society, violence became the new normal. What really did it were the raids. I never thought they would come to my city. When we saw the bombers overhead...
Another stroke of white paint here... to highlight the bombshell...
I scratched my nose, smearing some of the paint on my face, and stepped back to look at my newest painting. The wall of the old warehouse now held a fresh mural depicting the war. Bombshells hovered just above the ground. People were running from the impending blast, though they wouldn't escape. Fear was captured in all of their faces in that terrible moment.
I peered over the three buckets of paint I had used for this mural. There wasn't much left, but I could use them again. I placed the lids back onto th
One of the words I’ve been keeping close to the inside of my forehead, almost between both eyes in fact, but like just above that between mark, so that when I blink I can feel the word there…is the word harmony.
It’s a word that I keep in my mind, in that spot aforementioned, not only for what harmony is all about and means and could mean and feels like and gives to me to keep in a spot that binds me to it, but for the fact that keeping one word in mind manages to make a supreme difference to how I think in everything I do and say.
Harmony is something that is. Like if I don’t think about harmony, or am not aware of harmony, it still is. Harmony was, too. I mean harmony was always there in my life, and still is. Yet I never used to hold it in my mind, or even play with its meaning or value, in my mind. So it was like it wasn’t even there, I could say. But I don’t say that, cause it was, simply cause n
Shadow of a memory
Long has the time passed for us. We see our future, a shamble of the illusion we once held. The memory of what could have once been, and now, nothing more than a dream just out of reach. We reach out to the memories of childhood, desperately grasping onto the simpler moments of those times. Oh how we long for those days when the world still held wonder and endless possibilities. But we are grown now, and must move forward. Past the memories and into the shadows of the now. And sometimes I can’t help but wonder; what lies beyond these shadows? Will the light be my salvation, or my own damnation?
From the earth.Still water in clasped hands. A drop, a ripple a perfect illusion. Clasped hands hold still water. A drop a splash a ripple. A perfect moment – shattered.
Cascading stripping away the lines, taking it all away determining my lies. Beneath the raging waterfall I step. Cleansed as I am stripped. Remove the makeup remove the skin. Naked. Naked. Bared. Ferocious and naked I step.
Into the depths I plunge. Aware of this free fall from space. Diving into which I desire leaving all else behind.
Dyed Cloth. Rich in hues of red earth and dust. Below and above the thrumming of the drums of the earth, they grow. Grow. Breathe, swell – destroy.
Ever turning, ever changing, developing this dream changing the wills and re-writing the history in layers of sand. I twist in the womb of the soil. Feeding my passion to live. I race away, stripping the barriers breaking the world.
Still water in clasped hands, a drop, a splash a ripple a perfect illusion. Clasped hands joined. Together holding still
Hath No FearGiving yourself completely up to fear is kinda like falling in love: You can't pin point exactly when it started and by the time you realize that you are surrounded by that sensation it's already game over. Just like the image of the person you are in love with starts creeping out from every unexpected corner, fear never leaves your side when you give it a welcome stay. After a restless sleep, it starts beating anxiously in your heart the moment you wake up in the morning and commands all your thoughts and actions throughout the day. It is nothing short of a prison, except you are the only inmate and the warden never takes a break. Ever.
I do not exactly remember when I let fear occupy my being but I remember the exact moment when I realized I was ruled by it. It was late in the afternoon, everybody was out there 'getting busy living' and I had locked myself inside my bed half awake, not particularly finding any valid reason to get out of it. Then I was awakened from a nightmare by my
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More