Mage's Guild Affair

Expressivism by The Black Cat - Check out my Let's Plays: https://www.youtube.com/@u.thebruce7493/videos

[seasideretreat]

My lifestyle

Dear friends,

I can divide my personage in three layers: dread knight, infamous thief, dangerous rogue. None of these seem immediately associated with the modern world. What’s more frustrating is that my dangerous rogue persona - which is the hardest to turn into a profit, I think - is the most salient one. You know, I have a person somewhere, whom I would call a dark, evil hero who is somehow extremely clever - and also an easy-going warrior. But these things have gotten lost in the shadows that are always falling and frankly, my person is awfully dangerous and awfully rogue.

Thanks for reading,

Kind regards, The Black Cat

[seasideretreat]

Tempus

I do not come here with boasts of excellence and accomplishment. In point of fact, all that I have is a general feeling of idleness, that has been pursuing me for many years. However, it is not the case that I am desperate without means to change my situation. It is the actual case that I have lingered in the depths of my mind for many a century; and now, after a multitude of years, I have arrived in the direst straights to fly to the aid of those who call out for my help, as the day grows darker and turmoil springs up all around our country. The variability of labour has truly grappled me around my neck, and it is the actual case that I can no longer linger in this situation that has been thrust upon me by circumstance. To put it succinctly: I have rounded up the infidel, and am holding the sword of faith.

As I already said, the hour is growing late, and there is but a short moment left before all hell breaks loose. I do not wish to pressure you by stating too candidly what as on the whole been our constant fear and worry. The work, that is in our power to carry out, is but modest and foolish; nevertheless, there will be jostles of command that we need in the full sense of the truth to fight back against the blights of heresy. Horror and decay accompany us as we sink down into the question of justice and alertness, but righteous men can stand fast against the arbitrary decisions of the many despots that this world knows. It is true, now, that we are slowly transitioning into the end time. Horrors of the old world are congregating in legions; our projects fall short of the glorious paragons of hope and glory, and so in our disgruntled abode for peace and justice only the most valuable soldiers can stay firm in the deduction of the ultimate, final plan, that will mark the deciding of our last and most eager wish for rectitude. What we have done has managed that which it has managed, and now there will be nothing left for us than the combination of variables for the stalwart test of structure. The theatre in which our battle commences is broad and vast; the task before us, weighty and stressful as it may be, is mad, delirious before the eyes of the beholder, who watches over this - our play - with patience and beneficence. On that note, however, nothing will distract us more from the eventual reckoning of the journey of goodness and piety, than the desire for control, or rather, predictability. We have only our direction to really console us in the reform of the human condition and his city; so, what is in truth our intention must for the entirety of our journey remain a high and lofty ideal. The men of the knightly table around which we have actually gathered must all be probate, muscular and energetic: the only chance we have for the distribution of law and order is when we roil in dignity right around the house of the Lord Protector, who is, at this stage, all we can rely on for the restoration of the human world. I endeavour above all else to secure the legal satisfaction of the oppressed and the vulnerable; indeed, until the coming of the divine judgement, only the king of Albion may command the officers who do what has to be done before the breaking of the world. Everything will come to the best, it is sure. In this, our last goodbye, there shall be only kindness and uprightness before the countenance of God. So it is.

Therefore, this letter can but find you in the most promising predicament one may hope for. You are the child of the once and future king. The retribution that will befall the corrupt is in your charge. It is your office, your station, to stay at your post until the tide turns. Today, there is chaos and debauchery; tomorrow, it is fact, Mother Earth will come to your aid, and you will be, verily, a epigon of the new order. One day you will weep for what has been done to you; the other you will fall on your knees and sing God’s praises in gladness. I cannot suffice to provide you with the guidance you want, because, honestly, all you want is God’s mercy, and I am sure God will forgive you if you have to break a vow to make amends for the sins of our fathers. Still, someone is on our back, tormenting us with questions. All we can adore in this infinite and frustrating road is the Holy Wisdom, that continues to drive us ahead until we come to the ultimate, unavoidable trial that awaits us in the great beyond. There is only redundancy in the repetition of the divine chorus, yet let me not omit to say that the birth of the nation is recurring in the deliberation of the righteous homestead. Villages of quietude and eruption cannot remain inviolate, when the enemy moves across the countryside. Regardless, the paladins of the holy Lord will guard the inner sanctum of the resolute priests, and we will continue to pour libations and sing hymns until there is nothing left of the war effort than a handful of beggars and administrators. Your secrets will persist until we have read all the books, and we study patiently the Bibles of the foreign nations so that there will be only kindness and understanding between the peoples of the continent. Everyone is a saint, when he constructs discourses of a noble and charitable disposition. Let there be stability in the land, truth and harmony between the Lord and his liege men. When the revolution arrives, the sages will celebrate passover and there is composure. It is the will of God, hurrah!

[seasideretreat]

To Harry

You do not, perhaps, at this time perceive the magnitude of your attachment to the order of the old stags. Truly, it may seem, at this point in time, that it is a mere symbolism, a gesture of good will, or a mere show, by which aspect you are called in your time to be humble, ready to fight and obviously loyal to our party line. However, nothing could be further from the truth. Your initiation, which was but the first step in a long line of transformative stages, marks your entry into the inner sanctum of His Holinesses’ divine orchestra. Soon, I know not when, you will get the opportunity to prove yourself on the academic arena where you will learn about energy, magic and conjuration, and your nobility will steadily increase. In the end, the very fact that you are an old stag will prove to be the defining characteristic of your new existence under the eyes of the Almighty and his undying enforcers. The truth is with us! The glory is ours.

In truth, there is yet much to do. I cannot supervise you in every step of the process. It is up to you to be mobile and proactive. As time goes by, your calling remains to intervene at key points in the process of rejuvenation that the world is seeing. You have the joy and liberty to do whatever you want, if only to derail the figments of the Enemy, who is acting right now to subvert our aims. But your jollity and joviality have sustained your efforts up to this point, and they can, in point of fact, support you as you march into the mouths of hell, where the torment, and the catharsis, for humanity do lie. Be that as it may, a generality of hope and precision may occur you at some point and then you will have to remain steadfast in your beliefs. It is a given that the purposes of His Holiness are obscure even to Himself, yet as time goes by there will be great effects for the hopeful endeavours of the totality of our organisation, and it is your honour, your ordinance, to perform the immortal rites, right up until the moment that the Heavens open up and our society is cleansed by righteous fury and the consummation of joy. Hail be to the Creator.

In these final hours that rest us in solitude and serenity, let me offer to you at last my sincere appreciation for your resilience and perseverance under the pressure that has been put upon you by politics and recent calamities. Despite great setbacks, you have stayed equanimitous and balanced. In effect, you have certainly gone beyond what any normal person would be able to take, so I heartily congratulate you. It is in times of hardship that men find their true self, and you are at this point very much the purveyor of the most celestial, most transcendent benefits that men could ever hope to receive. So, if we are really brothers in the faith, let us bind together, and let us pray, so that the Lord may bless our union and solidity in the eternal cause of freedom. Go with radiance, my friend, fire and glory.

[seasideretreat]

The cure

You can’t just do whatever you want to do; you have to organise yourself into a full person with a full life and a rich inner life. Indeed, mental poverty is a wretched destination, albeit oftentimes only transitory and in its way rich in significance (although, of course, there is such a kind of poverty that will languish in its wretchedness because it is happy about its poverty; a kind of intellectual cynicism). I don’t know what we really are supposed to do in the grand cascade of manifold madnesses that grow with the resplendent vigour of hope and glory: and certainly, we can only gather stones in the vast meticulousness of academic analysis that hangs on us like a body. It is truly the greatest benefit to be happy and live in a happy way and go forth in germinal directions until we at least lose what semblance we had of the comportment of desistment, even though we cannot contribute in any visceral way to the coming of the new age, and this is perhaps the regurgitation of law, the law of nations, the law of nature that lies in between contacts and conflagrations of urbane requirement and tomorrowness, in which we lose our general complacency in recurrent steps of joy and restitution; verily, in the entirety of hope and mesmerisation with joy we find activities of good hope and consternation, absolution in figurement that is a statement of the greatest hope of true joy and syntagmatic fissure wherein we can only regard complicity in jovial mixology, that reverts its original course back unto the contrivance of rebellion and we do not hold fast in liberty to the consignment of resolute hope. But it is all vague.

[seasideretreat]

The whole fucking world

In the international conglomerate of nations, madness is a proclivity that constantly allows us to wallow tremendously in vicissitudes of time and existence (and in this wise, we are set in motion, and reflected in the ocean of ego-mindedness). I have seen this constant regard, in which classical repercussions are forever ordered and fixed in the traversals of the stars.

Existentie is korrekte zin is de totaliteit van fervente relaties die een zijnde voortdurend aangaat in de restrictie van automatische fingeringen, die we waarlijk zien in de kommandanten van noodwendige roepen om zinnelijk vermaak waarin de kryptiek van sensualiteit en vrede om zekere zinnen van vroolijkheid roept, en de mens zal duidelijk de korrespondentie van het totale besef in zeglijke bevindingen weezenlijk welbevinden. In deze wijze, kreëert men zijn welvoegelijke bevel, om de konsequenties van zijn sommeerde vervulling, volleedig te aanschouwen.

What the fuck are we doing? I consecrate the land I live in with the exaltedness of His Christ, who has united the created village of the self with compassionate rebukes whom will forever devaluate the ministries of the consecrational Lord, who lifts up his countenance upon the ordinary few, whose deliberation is vindictive and controlled, in this total, wicked rebellion in which charity and truth are forever connected - totally bound together by this charitable renunciation, in which charity is forever situated - and we shall see this lordship gathered up to the bosom of His Christ, who wishes to command the resolute few in some discerning fashion, so as to remark the revelation of beneficence and truth.

I do not condone the flight from reason that we vindictively undertake, but the especial resignation of retirement is combative in some liberty, that resounds in Lordship and doesn't partake in contrition of the Immortal Spirit, that is, verily, the business-king of this consummate commandment in which viscerality stays alert until the breaking of Time, wherein there is no combat, only quietude, and men and women will make this viscerality correct until there is no dispersement anymore in the building of venereal affection and, truthfully, it does not connect principally to the heights of the Immortal One who conveys symmetry in some restrictive or visceral temporality - and we know, in our heart of hearts, that this is all true.

I hold out in this nefarious manner, so that the classics of attunement are finally kindled in this hopeful and joyous consortium, so that the empire of sunshine and moroseness is in the last analysis, overturned; or reformed, in a fashion, so that the last of the Mohicans can spuriously disdain the confines of harrowing necessity and fright, so that the kings of the old world may, or may not, rebuke the bellicosity of audaciousness and control. And in this wise, party-politics may end in that enormous splash of distinction, so that the men of the old world can wisely, and daringly, fight back against this terror that is renunciation, or at least form the sally that goes out of the fortress of business and directedness: this is the veritable redoubt of constancy.

Some people say things were better before. They forget, that the past plays terrific tricks on us, and seeks to drain us of all life. The future is where kingdom come is. The future is the home of the promise. I want to create what is beautiful in this life, and consort vigorously with the heroes who do what is proper in this wise and liberal fashion, wherein truth and togetherness will certainly congregate truthfully in some wise or ordinate fashion, until the viscerality may come, or set us wisely in the shoes of the mighty men who have done everything that is truly possible; right until the visceral reckoning comes, and nobody really is able to undertake a single thing any longer.

Is there truly a resolution in the vindictiveness of remonstrance, wherein the compassion of retribution may linger in some dispersational manner? It is, verily, a pickle, and not a single man may stand up in favour of this compassionate viserality, in which misery lingers until we all do what is proper and profound in this mystical dance whereby the proper heroes of this old world may continue their crazy mysticism - but men do not notice the corridors of flight and dispersement, and nobody wants to keep things from the endless heroes, who do what is necessary and cannot be kept from contrition. The world, as we know it, is a dispicable reversion from the old order during which's time the commissioners of restoration made sense of globalization and discernment, and there never was a better man to lead the rejuvination of this hopeless evisceration that characterized our fiction in that ultimate session, for whom nobody will never regard the system of truth anymore until the hope for a better Earth is dead and buried.

[seasideretreat]

Our life

We have but a little time in this great wide world in which to fly around and make sense of what little chance we have of glory and truth. The majestic revolution of God and His situation is coming for us in absolute simplicity and absolute direction. When freedom becomes clear to us, our tremendousness is automatically engaged to the absolute wonderfulness, thaumaturgy of disciplinary beauty and resplendence. And when we sleep, the might of God becomes in clear in ordinary things, when our glory is finalized in the retribution against sinners and the growing tide of monstrosity in the spiraling majesty of perfection in the normalcy of reform, and the conclusion of prayer is always that goodness is fundamental in the universe of things, in which beauty and degeneracy flies forever forward into the combats of propriety and tremulation. When there is a glory in the field of superintendence, truly, we shall find superimpositions that control the Lord's superb work in the magic of fantasmagorical proper names that fulfill the hallowed kingdom of the stretch of wisdom. But we cannot realize the machinations of nonsense in the dream image of superficial denunciations that prove, forever and ever, the consciousness of liberty and glory that give us a coordinate in the vast reference frame of syntagmatic rebellion; the things will remain, although liberty can stay around in the mystic of compassion, wherein cleverness will forever hold the men fast to the center of religion and destiny, sending men and women forward through history, wherefore we shall find, in the ultimate end, Jesus Christ awaiting us with open arms - and in that reconciliation we shall be awakened once again to the hope of life, and the beatification of providence.

[seasideretreat]

The spectacle

When things happen in the restoration of freedom, nothing can ever be understood, but consequences happen in the history of mankind. Through stages of lifehood, happy heroes remain stalwart in the vicinity of proper action, but a handful of survivors stands firm against the hordes of monsters awaiting us. Only heroes build entire hovels out of shit and mud, but meticulous creators will ultimately characterize liberty with vehement attacks on the generators of the sublime future, which we do not know but constantly reinvent with the help of the higher lords who will never stop to tell us what is already known (and therefore the best of us will maintain their vehement resistance against the crowds of men who await us in the endless beyond, in which the creators of mankind remain in silence and propriety, but a handful of heroes will have to succeed in their final fight against this evil).

I am willing to engage properly with the horrors of denunciation, but someone must fight back against the limitless boundaries of recurrence. Can anyone rediscover the heroism of simplicity in the confines of knowledge? Maybe there is much more to be gleaned from the cabal of nonsense in which freedom still exists, but someone will perhaps set forth and reclaim the fruits of lambasted nonsense in the castle of liberty, in which ordinary men have made their home to stand alive whilst most of the inhabited world collapses under the weight of the military-industrial complex. A good king will certainly make amends with the weaklings who never thought twice about reinstating the collaborative stations of liberty and jolliness, but some hero can sooner or later recall the figments of good imagination and then rekindle the fight against craziness in the highest echalons of society, where greed and lust are rampant - and only wish to perpetuate the status quo, in all its destructive and homocidal grotesqueness. But, a great ruler may arise out of the endless camaradery of synthesis, where the best of us arise out of the endless macabre institution and rebuild the creative surge in which the harrowing rulers of the old world still dwell, even though they have nothing yet to live for anymore: and the builders of the entire wall against absurdity still hang in their sinful ways, and do no recoil from strangeness, alienation or xenophobia. So, truly, liberty remains a call that we must adhere to, that we must answer with vehement enthusiasm, whilst there is still the semblance of honor and dignity in this collapsing world, wherein the silly fools still hang around the inkwell, even though they do not encounter ramifications in the capsule of normalcy, that is lost on us, because we never dared to construct vile stations against it in silence and enigmatic sleepiness (and the lords of the old world will ever proclaim the unity of nature in this regard, and reinforce control in the darkness of eternity and politeness).

I stand fast in nothingness and continue to perpetuate ignorance if I can, but there is no resolution from this silly drive towards the edges of goodwill and beneficence. What carries the freedom of life onwards towards hope and glory is only, ever the recurrence of bloody freedom in the universe of signs, that we know and cherish in darkness, but the manifold will stand onwards in the silence of time; and they will not refer back to the original unity that started all this madness, because they want to repurpose the silliness of gladness and time with exigencies of time; even though there is no more liberty in this machine, they want to perpetuate this debacle, so that they will harness the power of the universe in some oblique soundness of spirit, housing the proclivities of automatic joy and relaxed villainy, o'er which vehement men still loom, to drive back the hordes of demons and angels who will - forever - control the dark mines of charcoal and chalk, building mysteries with mysteries, and continuing down the dark path of symphony and symbiosis. In the end, only a God can save us.

[seasideretreat]

I am your friend

It's a fact, that a man can do a great many things and never tire of them; since he is, in fact, just a free spirited gentlemanly entertainer, who wants nothing more than to keep his gradual men and women glad in their little corner of the vast infinity of space and time; and this is, truly, just a reminiscence of the good old days. I look forward to working in a few days time.

In our memory, a personality lingers. The fact remains, that we cannot fully commit ourselves - our own barbaric initiative - to memory; and we cannot commend our personal history in this wise: in fact we are always searching, but never finding, the contours of the battle-hardened passenger that wants to live forever in the palace-corridors and backstreets of our deepest unconscious mind.

I want to say these things and never regret saying them, because I am forever indebted to their policial silhouette. Natheless, personality is a thing that we desperately require in the dark passage of our sad remembrance. Hope and desire are locked in their perpetual yin-yang circle-struggle, in which only a handful of spirited geniuses can support the march forward: into the land of the happy few and the controllers of libertine consequence - frankly, all our work is useless when it comes down to ordinal cantankerousness, and foolish individuals will obviously repartee in this wise and connect their libertine hopes and desires with the party line inhering in brotherly love and mesmerization.

But I do not wish to leave you with flabbergasting verbiage that has nothing to do with our day to day decisions, and running the household. Frankly, don't we all want our household to be relatively free from computation? Eh well, maybe not, but mathematics is not quite computation, and we are not stuck in the land of Science, or something like that, because frankly all the things we do undertake are spurious in some sense and connect only dramatically to the soundness of judgement and the spelling of clever words; and our lives are lived up in distress. However, all forms of knowledge are ultimately connected to that utmost of visceral work: empire. And we want, too, to live in seclusion from the redneck zealots who build madness in the heart of our finest institutions, because, of course, above all things, our aim in existence is, indeed, to be ready for the fall of civilization; to have a standing army, and plenty of food; and to leave a beautiful world behind for our children (although it seems our current world has given in to complacency. They think we do not owe the world to future generations, because we are living it up right now and we don't want to share our world with the monsters we have ourselves created.)

[seasideretreat]

Pensées

I was once like anyone else... I was once, someone who thought about many things and you know that life is really just a cascade of disasters, as you might say, for there is an infinity of things that have nothing to do with anything, and I ate oats for breakfast.

We must not resist against the correlation of pure time. Everything is nonsense, everything is oblique and lugubrious, and the man who moves a mountain, he begins by carrying away small stones: that's the gist of our situation (and we are full of it). The fact is that we cannot just do whatever arises in our mind, for we might like to do something terrible, and it would not matter at all, for it is all in our minds - but people may still be shocked, and insecure when we tell them, so we should not ever tell them. We play old video games and time goes by indomitably, but someone will at some point set the stage and make us wonder invisible things are ever in order. We are stuck on the wheel-turn of time, and we turn and turn - as they say - and we are stuck, ever recoiling on our passage to the other realm - and no one wishes to admire the sands of time and they lustre, because the contours of normal attitude is nothing compared to the lustre of time and space. As I have said, a challenge may be upon us, frankly, and no one wants to free us of it, why, we are stuck in our skins and not a single hero will ever make us into who we are, why, people are masterful burglars and Sicilian liers (since there is always something shit in our predicament, as people go about their business and then lose their shit in the normality of commanding time, but someone may secure a segment of time in some realistic way, and nobody wants this to happen at all. We are all addlepated.)

I have named all the consequences of my liberal self, and confines of disdain are stuck in remembrance, because the lord of the world is always building castles in the air, and someone wants to take that away from him. Verily, we are stuck in the limbo of linguism.

But, there may be other realities. These don't have to be vague. Life is certainly accessible to human reason, but it doesn't always go right away. Life is historical, but this historicity doesn't have anything to do with our conception of time. We must see the world differently, better or more precisely, yet at the same time more simply, more directly. As Einstein even said, imagination is more important than knowledge. Is there readily something "benificent" about delivering mail, to say something? Can we "make good on it" with effects of liberal divination? As Holden Caulfield says: you start missing everybody. Such insights do not come, in fact, from the constancy of life - they come from its volatility. But in this "flight" from terrain that lies endlessly high o'er the prospects of proper atunement, something akin to "work" does function. One might speak of "travel", from the word "travail", which means trouble. We go forth through troubled waters. Like a bridge over troubled waters, I will lay me down. So here we encounter quite a redoubt of logic: time and space. Are these simply categories of the human mind, or are they in fact part of the real world, whatever that might mean? It doesn't matter. All that matters is that we can collect stamps, and stamps are worth money, and money makes the world go round. Mailmen are professionals. The world is going awry. If you're good at something, never do it for free. I learned that today.

[seasideretreat]

The state

There is much mystery in the world. We do not see the trajectories of space and time: but in the vicinity of proper space, the essence of winning is discovered; and we realize the power of distributive alignment in congregation and villainy, for the essence of the world is certainly picked up in the logos of apparent distinction - and majority is rekindled, in the face of justice, making us remarkable fit, able and directed.

God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.

In corroboration, the sentence structure of dances in the epic world are syntagmatic; and we rely vindictively on the spuriousness of veritable execution. The natural world, so full of redundant complements, is astutely set in stone - and commodores reply vehemently to the simplifying of degenerate hallows, where we unveil only perfections in the limit of resurrection - in which we know, verily, the contours of identity, and the placations of reverberate synonimity suppress us in sensibility; and we refer logically to the dance of life, to the pristine regard for contemplation that inheres in our inner breast: and the things we know are vicarious making us truly resound in the lethargy of spectacular villagery where we know what is conundric in the wholeish liberty wherein we occupy our temporal space; and this is arguably the complacency of cantankerousness.

The days go by in industry, and in this way the complicity of naturalness is discovered in the eternal world: nobody knows these deep things, because everybody requires it in notedness, and the silly children learn by rote and regard opulence of with a certain unflinching knowledge. Nevertheless, replay of the fixed world gives us an inkling in which restoration is vehemently found - and the best of men stay stuck in their complicity and regard it, truly, as a maniacal stance towards the rubric of the inevitable end of history: the conflagration, of neanderthaled deficiency, truly holds us complicit in the restoration of the finite world (and ordinary men build the houses of death and glory in the hinterland). So, wisely, our stagnancy is an accomplishment. Through ceaseless labour, our bodies have managed to sustain a deliverance of eternal conspicuity that will actually one day give us that loving feeling by which we can effectively know the catharsis.

A thing may occur in the wild effigy of astute recovery. But the restrictions of villagery shall at some point send us, factually, into the business of repudiations and contrition and this is absolutely the meandering volitilization of the truly paper world. The senators of the future will build a keep on the path of the best men who structure the singularity of business and renown, but the strictures of honor rest and reply in rites of passage in the camp of the hoary old heroes, who supported the articulation of the resolute borderline of heroic misery.

Here we see the explosive effect of the verily stagnant world. The result of paradise reconvenes in the lounge of cameral dislocation, where the prisidation of the personal world remains in keeping with honorable pursuits and this longitudinal heroism convalesces in the hind-quarters of the divine city, where morbid men await the lingering of the ceremonial vigil that demands our everlasting exasperation. Normal men hold this city in check and regard it with suspicious eyes, but the lingual deficiency in our paradise stays true to honor and this is truly the admiralty of lingered effects in which the purpose still hides. But the bureaucratic laws inhere in the mighty institutions of valid work and everybody demands the excellences of merit. Culture continues and the great heroes live verily in the endless palace; in this wise, the system of peace is dignified in constant traditional ritual process.

[seasideretreat]

If dire straights call for dire measures

There really is much to do, and the stability of life is nothing less than the profound digest of periods of turmoil - and nothing is given in life. Certainly, what has modernity really given us, if not continuous reduplication of whatever might be considered, in fact, the best in us? We, truly, want nothing less than eternal peace of mind (a kind of reflection that happens in the infinite reduplication of our ordinary mindset - and this is all the same as ever was, the truth is that we keep investing in complacency, but the only thing we really inherit is the future, and in this wise we are, in fact, already scholars, sitting quietly in the garden of the Old Master.)

Mao said: Place problems on the table. This should be done not only by the "squad leader" but also by the committee members. Do not talk behind people's backs. Whenever problems arise, call a meeting, place the problems on the table for discussion and take some decisions, and the problems will be solved. If problems exist and are not placed on the table, they will remain unsolved for a long time and even drag on for years. The "squad leader" and the committee members should show understanding in their relations with each other. Nothing is more important than mutual understanding, support and friendship between the secretary and the committee members, between the Central Committee and its regional bureaus and between the regional bureaus and the area Party committees.

We see then that it is truly important in the state to have that kind of friendliness. It's advise. Basically, it is crucial to engage in kind of methodology that is clear and neatly laid out, so that we can act appropriately against the horrors of the natural world. We see that ruling a state demands continuous action.

When a terrible tyrant rules over a direct democracy, the results come out of reliant deficiencies that can always go on, and that perfect the structure of the known world. We can only do what is truly apparent in the face of tremulous direction against the vicissitudes of history, and this continuity is valid in every regard. The best things will always keep happening in this kind of symmetry that nevertheless is really what is endlessly going on - and in this wise the facility of motion in the contrast of simple activity is worthwhile in some way - but the terrors of the past do continue to subsist in some variety of things; and things will take the place of revolutionary repercussions in the weariness of the wild Earth; and this terror will persist in terrors, but someone may take up lordship in some territory and so continuously make sense of the end of the Earth: and visceral stigmas must be held up in some figure of the virile speech of unison and compassion. But someone must ultimately decide.

But something will perhaps happen. We cannot maintain the future of our feelings, we can only move presidentially towards the compassion for the horror of existence and glory. Nevertheless, a symbolic of virtue can at a certain point reverberate in compassion and give us a segmentation of liberty.

We must be modest to some extent. But we must also act assertively to block terrific motions. The terrors of things will continuously happen, but some better man may come along, and this will set us in the future on the shoulders of giants. So in this wise, the continuity of hapless synonymity will continue all the time; but someone may intervene and so set us in a stalemate. So in the factual essence of things revolution might happen and somebody will gather truth under the bridge, and unison will occur because we really feel in this wise concurrently regarded by the sleeping giants of truth and value: so in fact the hapless unison of power will send us forward through the eternity of compassion and so this can subsist in some weary regard. And in fact the compassion of the lords will certainly in the last analysis peer into the Camelots of the benign ruler who build the truth of the world in some better regard.

I will therefore say that the compassionate regard for tribal relations will at some point become truly fateful to the missives of royalty; making the very essence of punctual divisiveness lordly to our meritorious rigours who labour endlessly in the pictural excellence of meaning; and this will at a certain point reveal to us a mighty solution. But the commanders of the variable attenuation will certainly repopulate our business, making us notice the villainy of superbity. That forgetfulness that will happen in the amamnesis of recapitulation cannot value us in any ludicrous regard, because the combat of life versus life has subsumed us in a villainous regard. We must heed the correct views and act upon them.

[seasideretreat]

Myself and my mind

I want to be alone, alone with the internet. But I am not alone. I thought of attending a course in Christianity, but I didn't go, I wasn't ready. It's just Tumblr for me. Verily, it seems to me Tumblr is an extension of Twitter. On Twitter, you get the basic stuff: the news, your general interests, the word of the day, a bit of psychology. On Tumblr, however, you get stuff that crystallizes your culture. The Dalai Lama tweets. This is a kind of authoritative philosophy, and yet it is also just a tinge of personality to the endless rage of the press and the jetset. What is truly important in life? That an octopus thinks with his limbs? Tumblr. That I shouldn't be self-obsessed? Twitter, or that British English is an heteronym? Twitter.

It's silly to be who you are. The things that happen go on, and nothing can change that, but the extension of life is just a mirage, that continues all the time, and nobody knows what life is really about. In fact, the essence of life is a silent death, that oppresses the limitations of the essence of philosophy; and we do what we do, because there is a thread of wisdom in the constellations of time. In the course of history, we are stuck in repetitions and I have watched a sitcom today and it wasn't that bad. I cherish laughter, as I cherish companionship, but both come in minimal supply.

I realized, whilst I was being cut by the hairdresser, that I might be a reserved man. So it is, probably, with the church. The church is readily for people who like to collaborate: I never liked that. I like to go solo; you know, you could say I like to meet my God with my own work, not with that of others. But no man can be entirely alone; no man is an island. Verily, a priest is a much more learned man than any random person, but of course there are the saints to aid us and they have written much. But as they say in that show: bugger the priests. Everything is just a model of something else. Why, I don't have a reference frame for the liturgy, but the fact is that I do have Tumblr - so maybe, through exploring Tumblr, verily, you might get an inkling of what your religion looks like. Or your culture.

[seasideretreat]

We are villains

Oh, the thing is insane about the ordinary things. I have said it many times, but we do not achieve any serenity by these means: it is all insane, monotonous, indeliberate. Be that as it may, the points have been achieved, and we continue - infinitely - down the drain of superlativity. To lose ourselves. Boy, have I said the truth? No. This is all nonsense. But the truth remains a directive: a directive of ordinary predicaments. Look at these motherfuckers! It is all a continuously bad situation; it continues, all the way down the drain. And no one can achieve a pertinence that really matters in this untimely totality: in some ways, I have lost my sheer redundancy, but the feckle essence continues all the time and we do not see the irateness of the double men who make the truth matter in some oblique sense that WE do not know. It is all madness. Madness and stupidity, but the hallowed men of the pure logic may be able to save us from villainy, because there is yet a way out of the terror. And yet, I do not see the measures for opportune half-assed solutions in this mad whole that has no security; frankly, I make sense of the ordinality of time.

[seasideretreat]

Spotify as a kind of musical selection

I just got kind of motivated to listen to music of a certain kind, punk et cetera, and I stumbled unto this playlist of "noisy" music. It reminded me a lot of the "jazz for autumn" playlist in that it was all these different musicians that somehow all sounded very similar, they all seemed to operate within the same idea. Then I started thinking: you can hire Jazz combos and such for your wedding party, and I think there are like agencies that dispatch such groups and I am sure they have like homepages where you can see what they are like and so on and so forth. So I figured this "noisy" playlist is also kind of like a showcase of the "generic" bands they have on offer - indeed someone spoke about the "playlistification" of music; so we see, that Spotify doesn't really give us access to "more" music, but just to "different" music. You can scour Spotify and look for your favorite band, or you can just pick one from the "noisy" playlist and listen to their "This is" playlist - then if you think it is good you can listen to the albums. In this wise, music becomes more about moods than about class: more about different styles than about individual artists. Of course, it has always been that way, but we basically just want to belong to a certain crowd and in this way, we approach music in a way that is very much pre-occupied with what we might call a war, a significance: but everything is verily just volitility, absurdity, so basically we can approach everything in this professional, detached way: and so I do approve of a style of listening that is more or less oriented at "just listening" rather than "finding the best music" or "venerating idols". Indeed, we might see Spotify as a solution for the old style of music that was really about idols (or we might say, heroes) and the beginning of a world of music that is more about professionalism - you know, in a sense we are both upgraded and down-graded, just like past musicians used to be employed by kings and barons, verily, they just played the style dominant in the day, there were no genres: in fact, we may find that the genre we listen to, and the artist we choose, tells us nothing about who we are, but will provide us with some diversion, maybe - but there's no point to all this, it is just silliness. The idols will not go, mercifully I would say, but our pallette has extended to allow us to choose musicians not only for their class, but also for their mood, their act.

[seasideretreat]

Life and common sense

I don't believe in living entirely to the letter. I don't believe in the land of steel. However, there is a great deal of things that have to do with ordinary things; we make sense of them and it is constantly in motion. So, in fact, we move virulently to the soliloquies of science and religion and these are the foundations of the ridiculous tendencies in malevolent life, but we can conduct ourselves in a variety of ways and in this wise become stronger.

I have often found myself losing momentum. Obviously, this is not a learned, dignified standard. Or maybe it is, but the thing is it doesn't fit in with the land of steel: a land supported by both acts of great violence as well as ruminations of great compassion, but the virulence of common sense is totally strange to this. In fact, you are hiding against the commandments of simple religion, which is just another form of simple action, but we should not trust solely in this kind of stringent existence, that has nothing to do with the diplomatic, gentlemanly behavior of the complete sage - but he is not a sage, in any case, no: he is just a vicar, or steward.

What is really the reason for the cultural life, as opposed to religious-scholastic life? Look at Goethe, or something: he spend his days writing books I suppose. Now, it seems a man can do what he wants, but there's a lot of madness in the world and sometimes we have to say nothing, yet at the same time distinction exist that give us a trajectory towards senescent virulence, for it really seems only a sparing amount of people really care deeply for the world, in a way that they would take care of it.

I am bound to say there's really no work for us in any okay sense. We gotta dance for the devil in many a sad case. Nevertheless, there's an escape from all the drudgery. We can do whatever we want and there's much to be thankful for. The good things come in ample supply and there's a lot to be gained in the entirety of the world, because there's magnificently the purpose of being wise in the variety of cases that we ascribe to senescent sages that build the whole world out of mud and clay - yet we may do something insane in the vastness of the world and so make amends for all the silly weaknesses that we presuppose in the mad hubbub in which there is only noise and dementia.

[seasideretreat]

The circle of life

Some of us will say that life is a curse: that time is an illusion, that we must free ourselves from, and that we must move casuistically into the netherworld of being and nothingness, to see the true essence of the Here and Now, or the emptiness of existence (a kind of reciprocity). But this is - verily - the purest sound of being automatic and senseless.

The hoary old sages of the eternal time are venerable entities of systematic thought, that fool around in the majestic nature of exalted, edified nutrition and togetherness, that has no bearing on the cantankerous vicinity of ferocious cunning that provides only temporal releases from the buildings of architectural simplicity that goes nowhere; so, in fact, the building-blocks of artificial synonymity are drawn back to the furrows of therapeutic attenuation that sees no brilliance in the kept majorities of democratic synonymity, which is now the hope of the governmental statesmanships that point indiscriminately towards the variety of deconstructive analyses that make the man who builds his house on the rock in fact realize his manifold attenuations to the happy virility of dependant captainships in the structure of play and verisimilitude. Wisely, then, our initial thought of "love" then is reduced through a magical act to the chemistry of solidary acquirements in the purpose of magisterial seigneuriality against the hopefulness of detrimental causes and virile acquirements against the visibility of visual examinations that corrupt the status quo. In this totality, buildings of rarified enunciation are opportuned to the viscerality of tentamount normalcy that gives us a brink of seriousness in the bellicose nonsense of synonymic arrests that we have found in the brilliance of correct usage of terms in the examinatoric revelations that send us, impossibly, to the borderline of acquaintance and research.

Kierkegaard described Hegel as having built a vast mansion of thought, but occupying just a tiny kitchenette in the back himself. Arguably, then, the filial piety of these vehement Buddhists that have conveyed a post-colonial revolution to the builders of the new world will certainly not encounter structural tendencies in the brilliance of visual tendentiality in the wilderness of kinetic feeling and amorous divisions in the grave tendrils of the cosmic unity. Therefore, I will say that the family is certainly a complete home in the constructive sense, but only a factory or workshop in the operative sense. So normal accounts of the future are in fact symbolic; and the geography of terrorism is frankly countered in the schizo-religious amateurism of the present moment, which is just a military, Anglo-Saxon Protestant work ethique, that forever sends us spiraling towards criticism, practicals and contrasts. In summary, life is a fight, but gentility is possible, and moreover, a pastime.

[seasideretreat]

Call me autistic, I found a kind of liberation in exploring the "quotidiality" of my life, which expressed itself in me finding a spectacular road to writing my master's thesis, going to the library every day, enjoying life. But after that was done, it was a recipe for disaster.

I realized that I have a kind of common sense, but I cannot use it to do anything; I mean, I could write a blog post et cetera, but to achieve something truly great, that's the real trick. So I basically found that I have to retry my original set-up of achieving some kind of routine - I mean, my life was harder, but clearer when I made that system; now I need a new system.

You need your own kind of job. This is truly the legacy of Britishness: the fact that you can conduct yourself in a way that is logical, yet not retarded, or perhaps I should say, egg-headed. I believe in chess, for instance, but frankly I also realized it was nothing for me - but in that moment of uncertainty, I decided on embracing it in a kind of logical, English kind of sense; just like I have long-ago embraced drinking tea, but only now am I upgrading to an essential part of my reality, in a sense; and in this wise, we are becoming verily wiser men. You see, I was delivering mail and suddenly I realized I could drink coffee, or tea. But yeah: it's like, when you drink coffee the day is simply another day, but when you drink tea you are diving headlong into life. Oh, yeah, maybe life is simpler when you have a clear job that gets you out of bed every day, but maybe life is way harder that way, because you are just stuck in a crazy loop and you are not free. This is why I would like to be a columnist; and this is why I am reforming my life. I am going to learn, I am going to get moving.