Lucysnow:
Why would you want people like that around you anyway? Surely there are better human specimens to choose from
Damn it, Lucy. Come come now- can't you see its precicely these kind of people
I don't want around me? This whole thread is about this.
Xev:
That's it, though.
To achieve the mental cleanliness required to break past bad methods of thought, one must be extremely careful in whom one admits to one's circle. Unclean or simply mediocre minds can be educational to deal with, but camraderie and love are such dangerous forces that the strictest discipline must be observed in their use.
Ultimately, clean thinking requires clean surroundings.
The 'kidnapping' clause was a joke. The ideal is not stupid.
Dangerous indeed. The humble I'd be a vicious maggot to put out only becuase of humility.
The careless egoists I'd be a silly girl to let in becuase they'd crush me and I'd let them.
Only with restraint and discretion can I expose myself- not cheap gossip or fyi's but the things inside never seen before, I'm talking My Self- expose that completely to one I'd fear otherwise, a hard lesson, believe me.
Only an extremophile would do.
Wanderer:
Barbie doll with fangs? Interesting.
“Battlescarred” muneco:
How nice for you. A vagina and a penis in one?
So a hermaphrodite you are.
Thank you.
A blooming hermaphrodite…bingo. Its precisely this that makes you easier the more I deal with you, yet you don’t see this.
Observation number one: age only became relevant after
you chose to make it so.
Observation number two: sex became an issue only after
you chose to throw out a line only lonely, pathetic, perfectly gullible carrion we call women would buy and play into
just for you and those watching.
Observation number three: my disillusionment with you is nothing by proxy- you gave it to me, no one else.
Observation number four: there’s more truth in you
liking the idea of my being a little girl then there is real truth in me being one. More truth in an ego safely putting another ego away with quick labels than there is in the solace the first ego always employs to tell himself the alarm is a false one.
Observation number five: I don’t care what you look, smell or sound like, the money you have or how old you are- and don’t care if you did of me likewise.
And last observation: you’ll get nowhere and fast with your cute
‘little girl in need of a spanking’ and
‘young one’ looking your nose down where you damn well cannot. We can sit here like two little Bobs playing hopscotch with pedestrian insults and get nowhere- and if that will be the case then this is my last post to you, you syphillized monkey.
Kidding. Now, let us begin:
Look behind you dear, death is creeping up and beauty is only good for so long before it turns to shriveled emptiness. Then you’ll look next to you, and if there’s someone there you’ll wonder if he was the best that you could get or if there were others you scared away with your make-up and insane mental gyrations.
Do you have what it takes for the later years? Do you have the courage?
According to you, I’ve placed all my faith on the superficial.
According to you, I’ve never seen past the pretty nose or the fingernails.
According to you, I actually have fingernails.
Accroding to you, I’m the perfectly canned piece of trash turned out by Revlon each year
Or
the perfectly canned piece of trash turned out by death metal and Rice novels- those goth chicks with fashionable scars on their arms basing all that they are on the puppies and dirty old men drooling all over their hard-rock persona.
Look at you- so full with no room to breathe. What did I say about walking away from a house on fire? What did I say about using it for warmth and nostalgic amusement? What did I say about having to put up with the nosy neighborhood simply insisting on knowing why I’m standing there, prying into business it has no right to?
What did I say?
Like you, I hide what I have. Remember the monopoly game? I’m right there next to those slavs watching them twirl the dice in complete ignorance of how foolish they look to me. They’re the burning house – and the “little girl” walks away how? Flashy nails and make up? A Lilith gimmick?
Who said this?
Not only does indifference not bother me but I prefer it. I freely urge others to ignore me. Inconspicuous observation is clearer, being under-estimated gives me an advantage and I never was one for being the center of attention anyways. Difficult to believe, I know, given the circumstances here.
But if you knew me personally you would see how little attention I try to attract and how little I talk about myself. Despite this I laways get noticed.
Intelligence nor beauty can be hidden for long.
Who? Me....or you?
Little do
you know, because you too don’t know me personally either. I either hide or ignore my outside and there are periods where you’d swear I was either Amish or homeless.
You think flashy nails and lipstick is going to push away the neighborhood? What’s the matter with you, think I’m actually sitting here thinking nobility comes from calling attention to oneself? In case you didn’t know its worlds harder for a woman to hide herself in all things, and no matter how loud she cried and how big her sword was, how steeped in the complete, innocent faith of her cause or how pressed down her tits were Miss Joan of Arc was
probably still sexy.
And that’s what makes it easier to underestimate what you see before you- the superficial you’ve just tried preaching to me about that I damn well know will one day betray me.
Only here, in this world with all the benefits of society and yet not one can I actually see gendanken where everywhere else, my reality as in yours, you find people so quick to pry you open, cut it out and spit on it by assuming.
And you dare ask if I have what it takes for later years. I’m living timelessly, Wanderer.
You’d find my mind in a nursing home as you would a college dorm and a sandbox.
Hmmm you sound like someone that needs a spanking.
Tell me, does the fact that others buy into your little ‘nasty girl’, female intelligencia bit make you believe I do so also?
The day a little girl, like you, intimidates me with her snarling, red- painted nails and supposed fierceness is the day I chop off what’s left of my limp aging member and serve it up to a German cannibal.
Ask yourself if I care what you buy and don’t buy. Ask if I care that you came down my aisles one day, picked up some merchandise and walked out without purchasing. Ask me if it matters a damn if on my deathbed I realize there was a wandering vulture once that took me for carrion and didn’t like the meat in his mouth.
Vultures, last I heard, aren’t cannibals.
Ask yourself all of that and answer your own questions. Then realize it was
you that put out his merchandise- not I.
Some things get better with age and female beauty is not one of them.
Male beauty, on the other hand, is something that can be appreciated by those having the right tongue and discirminating taste
Another obvious for my basket.
You assume I haven’t seen the universe and been saddened by it. Depressed, enraged, enraptured and put off by it- taken a plunge in the cold and learned how to swim. You too are a joke to me in the face of oblivion and nothingness. You could even be my essay in times such as those.
What you call aged I call experienced.
Reading great deeds in books and sharing vicariously in their honor is different from being there, now isn’t it?
You speak of war when you’ve never survived its horrors.
You speak of fighting when you’ve never been cut or felt the blood pouring out of you.
A warrior needs a place of rest, young one; a place to recuperate and forget the battle for a while. A warrior is forced into battle by honor and nobility and never enters it will soft heart and gay song. Only the inexperienced crave war for wars sake.
But you speak of it with the naiveté of one that has never lost or been defeated.
Time will cure you of this.
But what battles does a young lady indulge in when she walks behind her favorite warriors shield and then speaks of nobility and honor?
A flash of her smile and a peak at her ankles opens doors for her and makes her way smooth and uneventful.
A man must earn his way.
What do you know of manliness? You are barely a woman.
So many ideas and images.
So quick to narrow his options.
So quick to grab the world and fit it with shoes Made By Wanderer, t.m.
So quick to harness shadows and try fitting them in his categorical imperatives.
Little does he know I envy his battlefields of experience, envy this idea I have of him building his own home with his hands. Envy his years of living in a world that would let him live it
completely, one that doesn’t part in the middle like crowds do for invalids and wheelchairs trying to make it through doorways.
There’s not a scratch on my hand and why? Because in younger years this silly girl was too busy taking the shortcuts put out for those fucking invalids while
he was sweating and knowing what it feels like to build things and not buy them, think them and not be taught by them. But in trying she’s robbed of every
last luscious piece of experience so easily come to him in this pampered, perfectly spoiled little world we call America.
Yet I’m not even American, I’ve been incredibly poor and grown used to the scraps meant for peasants so eat it- I know
both loss and defeat. You’d think all this would have bitchslapped me sooner but I’m glad it did not. My slap is harder and I’ll never forget it.
You ask what I’ve done and I ask that you look around- Russia declares war tomorrow and the world’s fattest soldiers will take up their little flags and kill those reds off with buttons and radar.
Food cooks in seconds.
Virgin soil is a myth now.
All stones have been turned to see what’s under.
Phenalynine and cheap fads have completely uprooted exercice.
The planet has become the lazy, fat, foul, boring, perfectly ignorant piece of work Bob is.
You tell me what I can do other than deny myself food, warmth and society to keep myself clean. Tell me what else there is other than the cheap ploys of those pompous ~romantics~ that became farmers so they could write about it when they came back home to their luxuries.
You’re making a lot of mistakes with me. You’re more of a woman than I am.
Hey look she's read a book. Good for you.
“In order to understand your questions you should first read Nietzsche after you’ve read Schopenhauer and the pre-Socratic Greek philosophers, especially Democritus”
…….so have you, yes?
Odd silence.
But I’m poking little girl, just for the fun of it.
No need only curiousity
Like, * flips hair in Bellsy moronic fashion *, you, like, assume, I didn’t know this?
Mankind is my study as well. We’re like sisters, Wanderer.
And what have you done lately?
Oh, I see the endless pursuit of knowing how the mind works or what consciousness is, is your chosen distraction.
But even if you could know this, what then?
Consciousness is only important if you know how to apply it even if you know nothing about where it comes from.
Let’s debate free-will until we get bored, while we avoid applying free-will altogether.
Let’s talk forever about the unknowable and forget the knowable
Precisely.
And can you see now why it is I completely ignored your ~analysis~ on the transmutation of matter in your Bob thread? If you don’t, I can point it out with my broomstick.
Speaking of which:
Do young boys fear you little girl? Do they gasp at your stare and forked tongue?
Gasp! You mean I’m
not a hairy little amazon? A Sycorax? Not even a Joan Rivers?
Surely you jest.
Next thing you’ll do is write a bad review for my book and destroys my dreams of fame and fortune.
Book reviews are for spectators.
I loved your essays at first- but people, like fish, strike of their bad odors with overmuch.
You, on the other hand, will live in infamy in my mind dear. A tender woman pretending she’s a man, a fearful girl searching for a nest to lie in and finally rest.
Cute.
I love hummigbirds, yet never seen one nesting.
I choose who stands next to me not you.
You choose corpses and cadavers as your lovers I choose flesh and blood and only use cadavers as sign posts and direction finders.
Do your books feel soft when you cuddle next to them at night, does your significant other recoil at your coolness and indifference or that flash of a sneer?
Poor bastard.
I choose me, not books.
There’s something to be said of those people that wrote them, though- they knew the world and turned it over in their voluptiousness, not their sickness. These bon vivants were my catalyst, Wanderer- I let them in and by opposing or tweaking them perfected my vision. And don't think I'm only talking storybook characters either.
The ugly ones are like mold, slowly growing on you in the twilight. You yourself called you a fungus- not I.
“
What did I tell you about Greeks, dear?.....I grow on people like a fungus and my effects are noticed months after first contact.
Which is as it should be, ego takes time to appreciate another ego.- Wanderer
I let light, truth, and those with earnest motives seeking to make me more than I am
in. No one freely welcomes a parasitic infection.
You’re sadly mistaken to think my world is paperbound.
Is this supposed to be a display?
I'm only mildly impressed.
Nope. This is:
“The bane of existence is a question apropos and is not, according to Hebrudious Punctilious, the metempsychotic meme concordant with the Greeks of old. Rise up! said Quinzubro, charge the status quo….....all these paradigm shifts are to be found, if one puts one’s effort into finding them, culminating beautifully in one shining masterpiece, known the world over in those famous dictas of Ptolemycious, third edition, chapter four, paragraph 6 starting with 'The'......”
If you like displays look up Tiassa. I call him Tessie. I was only showing you the difference between free spirits and those I feel like to borrow their feathers. Nothing less, nothing more.
Beauty fades wisdom never. It perishes with the mind.
But my beauty is not skin deep, like yours, it lies in my character and my will.
Neither is mine.
