The Demagogue’s Son.

He rubbed his weary eyes with one hand, as he forced his body upwards, from the comfort of his bed with the other. After emitting a hushed groan, partially on the basis of the simple physical exertion, and partially due to the overwhelming darkness plaguing his tired mind; he looked around.

A lavishly decorated room presented itself before him.

The chamber held many signs, hinting at the presence of great wealth, full of priceless vases, ottomans, heirlooms, & armchairs; with a large intricately embroidered desk looming at the other end of the space, and portraits of dead nobles lining the walls on either side.

The man’s eyes drooped back down just a slight bit, for a moment, only to pop, almost wide open, and slip across the landscape around his bed, surveying the scene; which, he thought, stood by any means, exquisitely furnished, with a wide vaulted ceiling hanging above his head, and a brilliantly colored Persian rug beneath.

He knew it well.

This beautiful bedchamber was one which held many memories. Indeed, as was true with most places one called home, some of these mental recollections were simply grand, so warm, and ultimately inviting for the soul to revisit, that it seemed easy to get oneself lost inside of their happy confounds; then again, there were also those, which only brought pain upon his typically ironclad heart.

It was the home, which he knew as his own. Yet, the aforementioned was not only just his current place of residence. These lavish quarters, were, in fact, the very home, which he had been raised in, at least throughout his earliest years of existence. It was also the same structure which his father had lived in before him, a man wielding a particularly powerful influence on his sons.

In life, and even now, years and years after his death.

The sins of the father now hung over the man sitting alone in the morning twilight upon his bed, sins which had come to grow into monsters with the passing of years. Monsters, living eternally, all around him, usually remaining in a light slumber throughout the daylight hours, as they were, nocturnal for the most part. Monsters, that survived by feeding off of the darkest recesses of his soul; creatures which, at least for the last five years now, had threatened to consume him whole, evermore incessantly.

Yet; they had not.

…not yet.

He had never wished for his father’s power, and for a long while there was ultimately no reason to fear it’s corrupting weight; the very same load that now pressed down heavily upon the weary shoulders of his soul.

The power of his father, at least as it was processed & understood within the man’s own mind; had been acquired through sinful means, solidified in blood, and held-down by remorseless repression.

In the early years of the powerful son’s life, and then on up throughout his adolescence, the man had, in his own, essentially utterly useless, futile manner, fought with that power, constantly rebelling against his father’s orders. This was a father, like others, which brought his work home with him. The man was truly as much of an authoritarian . In many ways, although vastly different in the scope of things, he had been a victim of his father’s repressions nonetheless, along with the rest of those subjected to much more sinister, and physical, reprisals felt a sense of in years before, drenched his still-developing, young life with the expectations of his paternal master, to become his own. Never, had he, even back then, in those youthful years, viewed his father’s role as one which he wanted, or even held the ability, for that matter, to play himself. It is true perhaps, that he had undeniably held the man in great esteem, even admired his strength and the fear which surrounded it.

In retrospect, he felt this feeling of respect, was, all things concerned, only natural for a young son, regardless of the father’s status, occupation, or general disposition. It was the in the aftermath of his father’s passing, and his own consequent ascent to power, that the painful monsters languished.

He rubbed his sandy eyes one last time, then stretched out his arms in a very human, time-to-wake-up kind of way, and finally readjusted his body, to address the glowing light of an open laptop, highlighted against a backdrop, contrasted by the stark dimness of the room…

At times, this in fact being one of them, tired & weary of his inner frustration, tired of fighting against the tides of happenstance, of the cards whuch we are all dealt, seemingly at random, wave after wave, even if not openly; he concluded that at the root of his own concious torment, as indeed that of any other concious individual, be it the President or the pauper, the same melancholic answer presented itself.

We are but pawns of a destiny, one, which ultimately is granted at birth, and though some will, through Destiny’s tricky sister Fate, be blessed with potential to break from the solid chains of circumstance, even fewer shall be strong & wise enough to reach that Nirvana upon the mountaintop of existance to sit in complete peace at the core, utterely content.

As for the rest of us,

There is a natural tide of torment we must-come to terms with,

if indeed life stands worth living,

and simply carry on,

…once more into the breach.

Inner-Battles Everlasting

There are times in which, try as I might, to brush off, ignore, or even attempt to whole-heartedly resist my own cynical nature; well, it simply escapes my control.

This demon of uncontrollable worldly criticism, is that, which I absolutely detest most in this world; essentially my mind’s very own pessimistic, inner philosopher/psychologist/heckler/douschbag drill sergeant wielding a megaphone aimed at my cerebral cortex. It is a voice of doom & gloom, which only grows louder & louder, until all that there is really left to do, is listen.

It gets too loud to ignore…

These are times of long or short term hardship.

A hardship of many forms, in fact, it would not be a very long stretch of reality, to say that these are times of a all-encompassing general inner struggle. A struggle, which simply leads to suffering, a great deal of suffering in fact, and then ultimately to some sort of self-submission.

In most of the cases which I speak of, the submission is not to any sort of greater good, or a kind of life-changing epiphany, and instead usually tends to simply kick the can down the road, and pretend that, we, meaning I, are or am, done struggling, done fighting the same battle that, I, coming to my senses, have concurred that submission is the only way of proceeding to surviving.

Perhaps this is simply a na√Įve, primitive, all too human instinctual inability to follow my deepest convictions.

In any case, if it has not become evident to you already, dear reader, this battle is not to be the last one, in fact, broadly speaking, it is one of what could perhaps be millions, at this point at least, of similar such inward struggles. Struggles of the self, of the mind, of the we, of the collective, and struggles that seemingly have no clear resolution or definition.

The result of which, leads me to ponder any point to it all…

Well, after a while, I think to myself, what the fuck exactly, is there for me to do?

If I had any clue in the least, any fucking clue at all, what exactly the fucking answer is…

…well, fuck, that’s what we’d be writing about, I’d be writing about, and if you were expecting answer at the end of this here shitty fucking post; well sorry, because you’re honestly not going to fucking get it!

Fact is, I don’t fucking know, and maybe that’s the fucking answer in & of itself; but probably not. All things considered, I’m almost 99.99% fucking sure it’s not the answer, so fuck it, what else do I got to do with my existence for the next duration of my fucking existence.

Yeah, so I guess I’ll just get back to fucking searching.

Oh, and is it just me, or did I use a lot of ‘fucks‘ in that last no fucks given portion of the post?

In any case, have a great night, day, morning etc. yah fucks.

…Oh, and P.S., kindly fuck off.

The Sacred & the Insane

li /cd”Man becomes aware of the Sacred because it manifests itself, shows itself, as something wholly different from the Profane … In his encounters with the Sacred, man experiences a reality that does not belong to our world yet is encountered in and through objects or events that are part of the world.”

¬†Many theories exist at present, which aim to ease the burden of life’s intrinsic mysteries; most of which, if I might add, wholly view the world we inhabit, through a purely physical, materialistic, and scientifically oriented lens of observation.

Unfortunately for humanity, it is through this notably discriminatory¬†lens,¬†through which the various concepts of our current and future reality, are shaped. ¬†In fact, the visions which our species sees through this¬†lens’s tiny¬†window, one, that pervasively laces a thick black vinaigrette over the truest representations of what & why¬†a human -*ing is actually human,¬†began to forcefully manifest themselves into¬†how we view¬†life,¬†and it’s real meaning itself.

¬†In essence, we are, quite undeniably, exactly that. ¬†We are, what our individual understanding of being us, human, really is…

Now, modern man, at least in the majority of cases which we can easily observe ourselves, has a tendency to accept the concepts drawn up by those granted the task of intellectual discovery. ¬†It is, unfortunately, this very tendency itself, which has led to our broadly spanning spiritual detriment, not only in our academic institutions but throughout society at large. ¬†‘WE’, as a species, after millennia upon millennia of struggling to try and truly understand our, inner ‘conscious selves’, along with the countless awe-inspiring feats of human ingenuity thrust ahead from generation to generation, which, undeniably came as the result of this self-exploration; have almost inevitably, become victims of our own inability to accept anything that contradicts the unspoken rule of humanity’s archaically modern, eternal march towards the ultimate goal…

…killing the God which we once died for, and taking his place.

This might sound like something you’d see written on Nietzsche’s gravestone, in which case, if at all interested in anything more meaningful then, let’s say, a totally fucked up video on Facebook, perhaps you might go home later on and look up Nietzsche. ¬†After reading up on him(or youtube-ing him), and his many theories, you may see things a bit more conceptually solid on the matter.

 Man wants to be God.

The √úbermensch(Superman).

Etc., etc.

Well, that’s all well and dandy n’all, especially if the goal is to die a babbling, raving mad lunatic in a manic hardcore depression, with half your brain rotted away at the core… carry on bromigo, looks like smooth sailing ahead brotha.

In my own perception of ‘LIFE‘, I honestly tend to take the¬†√úbermensch¬†idea, with a slight grain of salt(or two).

If you’re too lazy to read up on Nietzsche, or his many works, which I do wholeheartedly embrace as exceptionally composed(although not always in agreement with my own views), well here’s the man himself with some elaboration on that¬†√úbermensch¬†I previously mentioned…


“The word √úbermensch [designates] a type of supreme achievement, as opposed to ‘modern’ men, ‘good’ men, Christians, and other nihilists … When I whispered into the ears of some people that they were better off looking for a Cesare Borgia than a Parsifal, they did not believe their ears.”[9]¬†


Some may unwittingly, or unknowingly agree with Nietzsche in certain aspects. ¬†For example, God, at least the idea of ‘a God’,¬†be it a deity, a spiritual ideology, the afterlife, karma, or any other form of mythic worldviews, are viewed by many¬†modern men,¬†with a certain degree of contempt. ¬†It is a broadly held view, that ‘we are past that‘; that¬†we are now the champions of our own destiny, no longer bound by the suffocating and (what is, within a Nietzsche-que styled understanding)ignorant boundaries of religious doctrine. ¬†There is an underlying misconception among-st nearly all walks of societal life, that religion, mythic understanding, spiritualism, and any other form of non-scientific based concepts; are WRONG. ¬†Wrong, as in not correct,¬†not¬†real,¬†not at all¬†relevant to the modern world, as well as the future ahead…

Plain & simple.

In a way, quite reflective of how we tend to like things.

This is, at least in the eyes of many influential, more open-minded scholars(including myself), extremely unwise, dull-witted, depressing, and completely the opposite, of how humanity, in general, might hope to elevate itself into a brighter, enlightened, as well as further spiritually and physically fulfilled future…

I am NOT, any sort, type, kind, or even variation of, the presently all-powerful intellectual junta, which acts, in many ways, as a gatekeeper of our thus-far cultivated knowledge as a conscious, rational race of men.¬† In all honesty, I have up unto this point, never, at all considered myself to stand within the post-modern elitist class of standardized¬†professional¬†philosophers; nor do I see ANY future inclinations to change in this regard.¬† The plain academically¬†approved¬†specialists of informational gratification.¬† NOT for you, her, him, them, us, or any motherfucker with preconceived perceptions of grandeur, and for that matter, no-one really is, to be completely honest.¬† What am I even writing about? What the fuck am I actually attempting to convey in that, strangely unclear, possibly just flat-out ridiculous, statement above…?

Well, for a start, I do not believe that anyone and I mean ANYONE, actually has the right to stake their claim,¬†in the all-knowing throne of the divine….Once again, THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN…

Well…

The truth, is simply that truth, in & of itself,¬†is, interestingly enough, quite individualistic in mains cases.¬† Essentially, your reality, in a somewhat semi-literal sort of sense at least,¬†is one which¬†you personally craft make it;¬†meaning, that you are, or better yet, the voices of those which you, for whatever reason, find relevant, as well as trustworthy enough of one’s faith to have believe, or perceive as¬†the¬†experts within the broadly speaking respective field in question, manifest into that which you understand to be¬†the truth.

You have no real reason to believe them.  Then again, perhaps, there is a reason.

They tell you to…

Those which you honestly trust; well, also will attempt to tell you such nonesense.

So…why wouldn’t you.

Look at all that noise above. Yes, it is notably, quite fucking confusing. It is not just your possible lack of intellectual prowess, which be, or not be, as it may; ‘should’, be currently undergoing a certain kind of growth in a sense. At least if you are allowing the gears of your personal machine to turn properly. Which realistically, simply comes down to the very basic, and fundamentally mind-altering task of ACTUALLY THINKING on the concepts currently being laid out in front of you.

To say the least…

It makes little sense, in terms of the respective reality which one creates, lives within, and ultimately makes their own. This, in most cases at least, remains one which is very worldly and very-much unoriginal.

Such realities, although commonly overlooked by the vast majority of simple minded folk, walking through life like lost souls in purgatory, is in all apparent truth, not-your-own. It is a reality composed with the millions of jumbled up tidbits, from every corner of your entire pointless lifespan. An ultimately ‘preconceived’ reality, to put it bluntly I suppose.

Now, when taken into SERIOUS consideration, the fact of the matter is, that well, quite troubling to say the least. Due to the fundamental idea that you, as a thinking, living, human being, are, in many ways exactly that. A patchwork of garbage conceptual white noise, exanorated from any form of serious individualism, personal worth, or generally positive spiritual belief in anything other than those, deeply imbedded materialistic world views mentioned above.

¬†In basic terms, you have not understood your own conscious self…

As I rally back to end this little expos√© of man’s modern lack of faith, there was many a time, when I honestly had to refrain myself from drowning out my own damned argument through various unwinding tangents; which, if I may honestly admit, seem to nevertheless unwittingly spin out of control at every turn.

We are, and always will be a spiritual, mystic animal.

Although it may seem, perhaps today more-so than any other point in time of our history, unfaithful to the world of the sacred & the profane, I wouldn’t bet on this inner fire, within each and every human being that has ever lived, being stamped out anytime soon.