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@eligalilei
listen i consider myself an empathic person but after a certain point i get sick of other people’s problems. my friend is always talking about how the jewel-eyed skull on their mantlepiece is tormenting them w its sinister beauty and im over it. like dude i don’t want to talk about this anymore. get rid of the fucking skull
you’ are biased against my skull
i’m not having this argument again man
Goethe.
If you want to write in the classic high fantasy mould, you don't have to be hung up on food specifically, but there must be some very mundane thing you're prepared to cultivate a sincere interest in and describe in excruciating detail every single time it comes up. Clothing. Furniture. Architecture. It doesn't work without it.
(The trick is, it needs to be something you can touch or hold. If you're infodumping about trade routes, you've crossed the line into the venerable "worldbuilding bible with a fantasy story stapled to the side of it" genre, which often overlaps with classic high fantasy but is not identical with it!)
Until the mid 2010s, to a point roughly coinciding (uncoincidentally) with his arrest, JE thought LAS to be his 'CIA' handler. neither could ever really have had less to do with the organization. neither really cared, they just really liked raping people. (to cut a much longer and convoluse narration absurdly short)
Chips are us
Chips are us*
In 1982 I had a meeting. Leo Castelli. The man who discovered Warhol, Rauschenberg, Lichtenstein. The Pope of Art.
I showed him Ruffo. Circuit boards. Cybernetic bodies. Existential machines.
Leo looked at the paintings. Then at me. He said: "Carmen, this is the future. But the world is not ready."
He was right. The world bought pop art. Not prophecy.
But Leo gave me one gift. He said: "Keep going. One day they will understand."
That day is today.
Ruffo painted "Chips are us" because he knew: We are not using technology. We are becoming it.
Your phone is your memory. Your data is your personality. Your profile is your face.
Chips are us. And Ruffo painted us 60 years ago.
To Leo, who saw it first. To Ruffo, who painted it first. To you, who are living it now.
Ruffo Caselli, "Chips are Us", 1980s. Mixed media: electronic components on wood panel. Two crosses made of recycled circuits "communicating" with each other. Note: Ruffo never owned a computer.
From the desk of Carmen Gallo
Source: Chips are us
this world: deserving of so much more unpain,; this case in transfert over the patheticle hysteric bodies of so many dead. * cue Samuel's Adagio. Simpson's scene. Vietnam massacre.
I am a squirrel above fifth avenue.
I am the Great Spirit. you are, to be quite not and un, frank, deadnow by your hand. it leaves quickly like the strained heaving of your last breath.
true? untrue? yet? unyet?
death? undeath? 'Grandpa's' followers will never breathe a free and undead breath again.... against the unlife of their eventual depart. but oh well. yr dead anywise, and I will kill you over and over again for sport
fwiw,
the faster they die, the less blood and thus practical relevance portends.
i made sure i gave Steve a fairly cheap and effective out
will yours prove to be?.
** oh, also, pray tell me "MG"'s whereabouts? fwiw, the number of people that have failed to relay a basic geographicle checksum against the eventuality of my continued vitality.. well,.. what it says portends,... that thanks and unthanks avoiding the inevitable mortality of our immanent tools. whom we will thusly more than enthusiastically fail to deign forgetfulness until the eveningmost event of their recurrent passing
dammit, rolled everywhere and nowhere again.
come find me in the place at a time near an event. you know the drill
The wish to live as long as possible, devoid of pleasures, prioritizing healthy lifestyles, is utilitariansm at its purest.
(via andre-vantino)
Utilitarian-hedonism of the epicurean sort, i.e., its asceticism, is distinct from this in that it subordinates life to pleasure (or pain, as it may be). Eat, smoke, insufflate
‘pleasure principle’
the questions portent: cui bono? (and, sadistically, lacking such a transponent in Italiano, whose ill and hoped death, whose ill..)
So this would be my thesis if i ever did a grd stds pper in intgrativ studies or be one of those MAPS people or someshit;
LSD is a mirror, people. You get what you expect, on a sociological, personal and Ideal ‘lvl’. This is exactly the hillariously repeated point: Erignis! I Got It!
But what is
Last but not least, this theory permits a completely new approach to the question of gender. The Woman does not exist in the Symbolic, The Man exists far too much. Just like a man, a woman has to alienate herself in the ever-phallic signifiers of the Other. The man, due to his relationship to the phallic signifier and the S1, is taken “naturally” in the direction of identification with the signifier; he sticks to alienation. Woman knows this alienating relationship as well, but at the same time, she entertains a special relationship to the object a and the <sic,/ i.e. ‘its’> jouissance. Due to this double relationship, a woman is “naturally” invited to create something of herself, in the very process of becoming a woman.
- Verhaeghe
Most days the Christianity stuff is... kind of an experiment with larping, but also maybe belief in a God beyond
conscienct
Play it again Sam!! mebbebetter this timeround fwiw; could legally and capably do this all day** 10^5e10^5 approx to specify 'day' fwiw
whelp; ghonna have't call your POs boss. well enough, j'suppose
despite any ethical ambiguity whsver, the absolutely inpurgitable jouissance of faceplanting a child rapist** into a table at a few hundred miles per hour is one to irreplicate. just ask for a demonstration.
law enforcement officers of appropriately useful rank do quite well as when approp. in such a pinch as presents.
**convicted, assured, penaltied, &c. not one for tetrapylectomy hereabouts: : :
cf: Bruce Sienkowski, on parole for above crimes, &c.
***correction; corruptly overseen house arrest that puts Epstein, of aforesaid dumbitch provenance, shame tofore
