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Tara Carreon
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Tara Carreon
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Joined: 25 Sep 2008
Posts: 988
Location: Tucson, Arizona
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 Posted: Wed May 02, 2012 6:25 pm Post subject: |
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In the movie "Parsifal," the King has this obviously symbolic wound -- apparently he succumbed to a woman -- apparently, even a kiss will do -- and he is condemned to a life of torment. He wails and moans "Oh woe is me -- Pity! Pity! -- Can no one measure my pain?"
which seems to be mostly centered around having to officiate the Grail ceremony -- I can understand that pain, the pain of being a guru -- what a bunch of bullshit! -- definitely those people are condemned -- and it seems the only solution is Death. That must be the reset button. Then he can come back and try to be more chaste, and next time only give little hugs and kisses on the forehead.
And pour all of his penis and menstruation energy into the Cult of Holy Death.
If it doesn't make sense, that's not my fault.
So the King has no power at all to make things better. If the King doesn't have power, who does? I used to look at that skull with the crown on his head as being a king-kill symbol, part of the ever-renewing cycle of Spring energy where the king gets killed and reborn as his son, like a corporation. But now I see it as Death IS King. It's not about a cycle of death and rebirth. It's about the ultimate truth.
There's this weird obsession with mourning and yearning. The whole movie's like a death procession: nothing good can ever happen in this life, only the end to it through lovely, peaceful, yearned-for death. And there are skulls all over the floor and on the table-tops! They walk over them, and cover them in plastic.
Can no one write a good story in this world? If not, I'm going to go back to my dreams.
Here's a good story: I am bopping about in a foreign land. I meet this boy and girl, and the boy does torture art. He apologizes, and says he guesses it's a boy thing. I tell him I'm the very best at torture art, and go looking for an Internet connection so I can show him how it's done.
In a chic, street cafe, I find a computer, and while organizing the machinery, I look over and see a gorgeous woman sitting at a table, attending to her studies, sort of. She is Swedish, and has a wide face like Anita Ekberg.
She looks up and smiles at me, and with thick, broken English, with her big, wide mouth, she says something unintelligible. I am immediately in love. Suddenly, the paparazzi converge on our location and start taking pictures of her. I invite her over to another cafe where some friends have gathered, and she says yes. In getting ready to go, we jointly struggle with our clothes, which are of a see-through nature, and some skin and breasts are exposed. The paparazzi go wild, and take more pictures.
After getting our shirts on, we walk together to the cafe, and when we get inside, a bunch of misogynistic men converge threateningly, and want to make a hideous example of my beautiful, Swedish companion. They are going to teach her a lesson for being so beautiful. They tie her up in the middle of the room and start whipping her. All the ugly men come out of the recesses, their heads and faces scarred by so many fights, and move aggressively to get in on the action. One guy has a bald head that looks like it's been hit with a brick, so I look for a brick to hit him again. The policemen threaten anyone who would interrupt the torture session, and all of a sudden, a miracle happens: all the women, who have heretofore been so stupidly passive, are suddenly inspired to fight back, and not let this travesty of yet another female sacrifice occur. The dishes and tables start flying. No woman cares for her injuries or safety. They fight like Amazons. I free the beautiful Swedish woman from her ropes, and we flee through the streets.
We go to a house that I've been renting that is situated on the most beautiful bay. It's not a real bay, but a dream bay. The tide is flowing in, and as we look out of the huge waist-level window that spans the entire length of the house, we see an island floating in the gorgeous blue-green water that is flowing slowly over the sand. It is covered with cactus, like mini saguaros growing all over the ground, kind of sideways. Actually, more like succulents than cactus. A boat floats by that is filled with people laughing and drinking drinks that aren't alcohol. The boat is all done up in a kind of art nouveau style, with lots of glass incorporated into the architecture. A woman-architect explains to me the origin of arched glass borders. |
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Tara Carreon
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| Posted: Wed May 02, 2012 11:42 pm Post subject: |
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These pious Rosicrucians, like Rudolf Steiner, the Super-Nazi, are like, "Oh, a mistake happened. Those big, bad Grail Knights of the Round Table and Sir Arthur turned the Grail mystery into a materialistic abomination when they made the Grail hold the bleeding head, whereas WE PURE, PIOUS Templar Knights know that only the blood which FLOWS RIGHT AWAY, that is purified in the sacrificial death of sensual desires should be drunk from the Chalice -- and of course, all those people with sensual desires polluting their blood, i.e. all non-Sephardic Jews, Indians, and Blacks, MUST DIE." As best I can figure it, the only way that non-pure blood is purified and "sublimated" is through death. Crazy fuckers. Sounds a lot like holocaust to me. But generally, their argument is, "movies aren't real life," and "war games aren't war." Oh, really? Isn't that what 9/11 was? Another War-Game-Crusade? Better not to play games of blood.
| Adolf Hitler wrote: | | Behind the absurd externals of the story, with its Christian embroidery and its Good Friday mystification, something altogether different is revealed as the true content.... pure, noble blood, in the protection and glorification of whose purity the brotherhood of the initiated have come together. The king is suffering from the incurable ailment of corrupted blood. The uninitiated but pure man is tempted to abandon himself in Klingsor's magic garden to the lusts and excesses of corrupt civilization, instead of joining the elite of knights who guard the secret of life, pure blood.... |
I remember when my son was an adolescent. He would pretend to kick his sisters. If sometimes his kick hit the mark, it was a mistake. He didn't mean it.
Who are these guys? Is that Karl Marx there with the white beard? Friedrich Engels on the far right? Looks like Trotsky in the middle. A bunch of Communists, like Kurt Eisner. |
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Tara Carreon
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Location: Tucson, Arizona
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| Posted: Fri May 04, 2012 2:20 am Post subject: |
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What kind of "cure" is this? This so-called "science of split-brain physiology" looks like it's being done by Dr. Mengele. If I ever get epilepsy, don't split my brain, I'll deal with it some other way. This should NOT be happening. "Science" can be so ugly.
| C.G. Jung, Lord of the Underworld, by Colin Wilson wrote: | | In our own time, the science of split-brain physiology has discovered that these two selves correspond roughly to the left and right cerebral hemispheres of the brain. When the commissure -- the knot of nerves -- joining the two halves of the brain is severed (to cure epilepsy, for example), the patient turns into two people. One split-brain patient tried to hit his wife with one hand while the other held it back; another tried to do up his flies with one hand while the other undid them. Moreover, it seems that the person I call 'I' lives in the left hemisphere (which deals with language and logic). The person who lives in the right hemisphere (which deals with patterns and intuitions) is a stranger. A split-brain patient who banged into a table with the left side of his body (which is connected to the right brain) did not notice the collision. If a split-brain patient is shown some object with the left eye (or, more precisely, the left visual field) connected to the right brain, he cannot state in words what he has just seen. But he can write it down with his left hand. |
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Tara Carreon
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| Posted: Fri May 04, 2012 2:26 am Post subject: |
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God, I hate Colin Wilson. He is such a hack. This is typical of his kind of unreasoning. I would argue simply that we're not split-brains if the two sides of our brains haven't been surgically, sadistically severed. They obviously have a way of communicating with each other, which means they are whole, not half. Just like we are one, not two. These nihilists either want to cut us up in pieces, or multiply us into many. Anything to cut into our identity. So then they can be our master.
Their reasoning is that if you have a right and a left, an up and a down, a back and a front, a north and a south, an east and a west, a center and a circumference, that means you're divided. But that's only "true" when you run the script. But they see the unity in the whole, because they're Communists.
Colin rushes in to tell us of Jung's innocence, when the guy is obviously wracked by guilt. Colin calls guilt "prophecy," like Jung himself to cover his crimes. Just like there were a lot of prophets at Deutsche Bank who invested in United and American Airlines' put options in the days before 9/11. Just like the guy who is planning to rob a bank is a prophet. Just like anyone who is planning to do anything is a prophet. The fact is, our species is absolutely infested with prophets. Like roaches in a slum. Who can make it anywhere these days in the "big-time" without pretending to tell the future? It's absolutely disgusting.
| Colin Wilson's C.G. Jung, Lord of the Underworld wrote: | | It may be objected that most of us are not split-brain patients. Yet in a vital sense, this is untrue. Except in moments of deep psychological awareness -- perhaps of crisis, or excitement, or inspiration -- we do not have much contact with that 'other self'. Mozart once said that lengthy tunes were always popping into his head; he obviously meant that they came from the realm of the right brain -- which is man's 'artistic' half -- into the left brain, the personal ego. If Mozart, with his intuitive genius, was a 'split-brain patient', then the rest of us certainly are. |
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Tara Carreon
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| Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 3:29 am Post subject: |
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| Carl Jung wrote: | | 'Within the soul from its primordial beginnings there has been a desire for light and an irrepressible urge to rise out of the primal darkness.' |
What the hell does that mean? What would he, or anyone else know about the "soul" in its "primordial beginnings." This guy is so bullshit. If the "soul" is so into light, why does it go in and out of death? Why are we talking about "things" of which we haven't a clue?
While we talk about stupid things like "soul" -- who gives a shit? -- the world is going to hell in a handbasket. That and a buck-fifty will get you on the bus. |
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Tara Carreon
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| Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 9:03 pm Post subject: |
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I hate this "Psychological Types" business http://www.naderlibrary.com/lit.jungpsychtypes.toc.htm They're not talking about any specific person, they're talking about a Frankenstein, an artificial creation, a "general" thing, giving the general thing life, taking away our individuality, making us a Communistic mass. They are profiles for us to fit ourselves into, not the other way around. Stereotypes. Horoscopes. Racism. Things.
| Psychological Types, by Carl Jung wrote: | | The Introverted Woman: She has quiet manners, and a character not easy to read: she is occasionally critical; even sarcastic ... but though bad temper is sometimes noticeable, she is neither fitful nor restless, nor captious, nor censorious, nor is she a "nagging" woman. She diffuses an atmosphere of repose, and unconsciously she comforts and heals, but under the surface emotions and passions lie dormant. Her emotional nature matures slowly. As she grows older the charm of her character increases. She is "sympathetic", i.e. she brings insight and experience to bear on the problems of others. The very worst characters are found among the more impassioned women. They are the cruellest stepmothers. They make the most affectionate wives and mothers, but their passions and emotions are so strong that these frequently hold reason in subjection or carry it away with them. They love too much, but they also hate too much. Jealousy can make wild beasts of them. Stepchildren, if hated by them, may even be done to death. |
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Tara Carreon
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| Posted: Thu May 10, 2012 3:21 am Post subject: |
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Now for a fun answer to all this nonsense. Mark Twain is one in a trillion.
http://www.naderlibrary.com/lit.lettersearthtwain.htm
| Letters From the Earth, by Mark Twain wrote: | Letters From The Earth
The Creator sat upon the throne, thinking. Behind him stretched the illimitable continent of heaven, steeped in a glory of light and color; before him rose the black night of Space, like a wall. His mighty bulk towered rugged and mountain-like into the zenith, and His divine head blazed there like a distant sun. At His feet stood three colossal figures, diminished to extinction, almost, by contrast -- archangels -- their heads level with His ankle-bone.
When the Creator had finished thinking, He said, "I have thought. Behold!"
He lifted His hand, and from it burst a fountain-spray of fire, a million stupendous suns, which clove the blackness and soared, away and away and away, diminishing in magnitude and intensity as they pierced the far frontiers of Space, until at last they were but as diamond nailheads sparkling under the domed vast roof of the universe.
At the end of an hour the Grand Council was dismissed.
They left the Presence impressed and thoughtful, and retired to a private place, where they might talk with freedom. None of the three seemed to want to begin, though all wanted somebody to do it. Each was burning to discuss the great event, but would prefer not to commit himself till he should know how the others regarded it. So there was some aimless and halting conversation about matters of no consequence, and this dragged tediously along, arriving nowhere, until at last the archangel Satan gathered his courage together -- of which he had a very good supply -- and broke ground. He said: "We know what we are here to talk about, my lords, and we may as well put pretense aside, and begin. If this is the opinion of the Council -- "
"It is, it is!" said Gabriel and Michael, gratefully interrupting.
"Very well, then, let us proceed. We have witnessed a wonderful thing; as to that, we are necessarily agreed. As to the value of it -- if it has any -- that is a matter which does not personally concern us. We can have as many opinions about it as we like, and that is our limit. We have no vote. I think Space was well enough, just as it was, and useful, too. Cold and dark -- a restful place, now and then, after a season of the overdelicate climate and trying splendors of heaven. But these are details of no considerable moment; the new feature, the immense feature, is -- what, gentlemen?"
"The invention and introduction of automatic, unsupervised, self-regulating law for the government of those myriads of whirling and racing suns and worlds!"
"That is it!" said Satan. "You perceive that it is a stupendous idea. Nothing approaching it has been evolved from the Master Intellect before. Law -- Automatic Law -- exact and unvarying Law -- requiring no watching, no correcting, no readjusting while the eternities endure! He said those countless vast bodies would plunge through the wastes of Space ages and ages, at unimaginable speed, around stupendous orbits, yet never collide, and never lengthen nor shorten their orbital periods by so much as the hundredth part of a second in two thousand years! That is the new miracle, and the greatest of all -- Automatic Law! And He gave it a name -- the LAW OF NATURE -- and said Natural Law is the LAW OF GOD -- interchangeable names for one and the same thing."
"Yes," said Michael, "and He said He would establish Natural Law -- the Law of God -- throughout His dominions, and its authority should be supreme and inviolable."
"Also," said Gabriel, "He said He would by and by create animals, and place them, likewise, under the authority of that Law."
"Yes," said Satan, "I heard Him, but did not understand. What is animals, Gabriel?"
"Ah, how should I know? How should any of us know? It is a new word."
[Interval of three centuries, celestial time -- the equivalent of a hundred million years, earthly time. Enter a Messenger-Angel.]
"My lords, He is making animals. Will it please you to come and see?"
They went, they saw, and were perplexed. Deeply perplexed -- and the Creator noticed it, and said, "Ask. I will answer."
"Divine One," said Satan, making obeisance, "what are they for?"
"They are an experiment in Morals and Conduct. Observe them, and be instructed."
There were thousands of them. They were full of activities. Busy, all busy -- mainly in persecuting each other. Satan remarked -- after examining one of them through a powerful microscope: "This large beast is killing weaker animals, Divine One."
"The tiger -- yes. The law of his nature is ferocity. The law of his nature is the Law of God. He cannot disobey it."
"Then in obeying it he commits no offense, Divine One?"
"No, he is blameless."
"This other creature, here, is timid, Divine One, and suffers death without resisting."
"The rabbit -- yes. He is without courage. It is the law of his nature -- the Law of God. He must obey it."
"Then he cannot honorably be required to go counter to his nature and resist, Divine One?"
"No. No creature can be honorably required to go counter to the law of his nature -- the Law of God."
After a long time and many questions, Satan said, "The spider kills the fly, and eats it; the bird kills the spider and eats it; the wildcat kills the goose; the -- well, they all kill each other. It is murder all along the line. Here are countless multitudes of creatures, and they all kill, kill, kill, they are all murderers. And they are not to blame, Divine One?"
"They are not to blame. It is the law of their nature. And always the law of nature is the Law of God. Now -- observe -- behold! A new creature -- and the masterpiece -- Man!"
Men, women, children, they came swarming in flocks, in droves, in millions.
"What shall you do with them, Divine One?"
"Put into each individual, in differing shades and degrees, all the various Moral Qualities, in mass, that have been distributed, a single distinguishing characteristic at a time, among the nonspeaking animal world -- courage, cowardice, ferocity, gentleness, fairness, justice, cunning, treachery, magnanimity, cruelty, malice, malignity, lust, mercy, pity, purity, selfishness, sweetness, honor, love, hate, baseness, nobility, loyalty, falsity, veracity, untruthfulness -- each human being shall have all of these in him, and they will constitute his nature. In some, there will be high and fine characteristics which will submerge the evil ones, and those will be called good men; in others the evil characteristics will have dominion, and those will be called bad men. Observe -- behold -- they vanish!"
"Whither are they gone, Divine One?"
"To the earth -- they and all their fellow animals."
"What is the earth?"
"A small globe I made, a time, two times and a half ago. You saw it, but did not notice it in the explosion of worlds and suns that sprayed from my hand. Man is an experiment, the other animals are another experiment. Time will show whether they were worth the trouble. The exhibition is over; you may take your leave, my lords."
Several days passed by.
This stands for a long stretch of (our) time, since in heaven a day is as a thousand years.
Satan had been making admiring remarks about certain of the Creator's sparkling industries -- remarks which, being read between the lines, were sarcasms. He had made them confidentially to his safe friends the other archangels, but they had been overheard by some ordinary angels and reported at Headquarters.
He was ordered into banishment for a day -- the celestial day. It was a punishment he was used to, on account of his too flexible tongue. Formerly he had been deported into Space, there being nowhither else to send him, and had flapped tediously around there in the eternal night and the Arctic chill; but now it occurred to him to push on and hunt up the earth and see how the Human Race experiment was coming along.
By and by he wrote home -- very privately -- to St. Michael and St. Gabriel about it.
Satan's Letter
This is a strange place, and extraordinary place, and interesting. There is nothing resembling it at home. The people are all insane, the other animals are all insane, the earth is insane, Nature itself is insane. Man is a marvelous curiosity. When he is at his very very best he is a sort of low grade nickel-plated angel; at is worst he is unspeakable, unimaginable; and first and last and all the time he is a sarcasm. Yet he blandly and in all sincerity calls himself the "noblest work of God." This is the truth I am telling you. And this is not a new idea with him, he has talked it through all the ages, and believed it. Believed it, and found nobody among all his race to laugh at it.
Moreover -- if I may put another strain upon you -- he thinks he is the Creator's pet. He believes the Creator is proud of him; he even believes the Creator loves him; has a passion for him; sits up nights to admire him; yes, and watch over him and keep him out of trouble. He prays to Him, and thinks He listens. Isn't it a quaint idea? Fills his prayers with crude and bald and florid flatteries of Him, and thinks He sits and purrs over these extravagancies and enjoys them. He prays for help, and favor, and protection, every day; and does it with hopefulness and confidence, too, although no prayer of his has ever been answered. The daily affront, the daily defeat, do not discourage him, he goes on praying just the same. There is something almost fine about this perseverance. I must put one more strain upon you: he thinks he is going to heaven!
He has salaried teachers who tell him that. They also tell him there is a hell, of everlasting fire, and that he will go to it if he doesn't keep the Commandments. What are Commandments? They are a curiosity. I will tell you about them by and by.
Letter 2
"I have told you nothing about man that is not true." You must pardon me if I repeat that remark now and then in these letters; I want you to take seriously the things I am telling you, and I feel that if I were in your place and you in mine, I should need that reminder from time to time, to keep my credulity from flagging.
For there is nothing about man that is not strange to an immortal. He looks at nothing as we look at it, his sense of proportion is quite different from ours, and his sense of values is so widely divergent from ours, that with all our large intellectual powers it is not likely that even the most gifted among us would ever be quite able to understand it.
For instance, take this sample: he has imagined a heaven, and has left entirely out of it the supremest of all his delights, the one ecstasy that stands first and foremost in the heart of every individual of his race -- and of ours -- sexual intercourse!
It is as if a lost and perishing person in a roasting desert should be told by a rescuer he might choose and have all longed-for things but one, and he should elect to leave out water!
His heaven is like himself: strange, interesting, astonishing, grotesque. I give you my word, it has not a single feature in it that he actually values. It consists -- utterly and entirely -- of diversions which he cares next to nothing about, here in the earth, yet is quite sure he will like them in heaven. Isn't it curious? Isn't it interesting? You must not think I am exaggerating, for it is not so. I will give you details.
Most men do not sing, most men cannot sing, most men will not stay when others are singing if it be continued more than two hours. Note that.
Only about two men in a hundred can play upon a musical instrument, and not four in a hundred have any wish to learn how. Set that down.
Many men pray, not many of them like to do it. A few pray long, the others make a short cut.
More men go to church than want to.
To forty-nine men in fifty the Sabbath Day is a dreary, dreary bore.
Of all the men in a church on a Sunday, two-thirds are tired when the service is half over, and the rest before it is finished.
The gladdest moment for all of them is when the preacher uplifts his hands for the benediction. You can hear the soft rustle of relief that sweeps the house, and you recognize that it is eloquent with gratitude.
All nations look down upon all other nations.
All nations dislike all other nations.
All white nations despise all colored nations, of whatever hue, and oppress them when they can.
White men will not associate with "niggers," nor marry them.
They will not allow them in their schools and churches.
All the world hates the Jew, and will not endure him except when he is rich.
I ask you to note all those particulars.
Further. All sane people detest noise.
All people, sane or insane, like to have variety in their life. Monotony quickly wearies them.
Every man, according to the mental equipment that has fallen to his share, exercises his intellect constantly, ceaselessly, and this exercise makes up a vast and valued and essential part of his life. The lowest intellect, like the highest, possesses a skill of some kind and takes a keen pleasure in testing it, proving it, perfecting it. The urchin who is his comrade's superior in games is as diligent and as enthusiastic in his practice as are the sculptor, the painter, the pianist, the mathematician and the rest. Not one of them could be happy if his talent were put under an interdict.
Now then, you have the facts. You know what the human race enjoys and what it doesn't enjoy. It has invented a heaven out of its own head, all by itself: guess what it is like! In fifteen hundred eternities you couldn't do it. The ablest mind known to you or me in fifty million aeons couldn't do it. Very well, I will tell you about it.
1. First of all, I recall to your attention the extraordinary fact with which I began. To wit, that the human being, like the immortals, naturally places sexual intercourse far and away above all other joys -- yet he has left it out of his heaven! The very thought of it excites him; opportunity sets him wild; in this state he will risk life, reputation, everything -- even his queer heaven itself -- to make good that opportunity and ride it to the overwhelming climax. From youth to middle age all men and all women prize copulation above all other pleasures combined, yet it is actually as I have said: it is not in their heaven; prayer takes its place.
They prize it thus highly; yet, like all their so-called "boons," it is a poor thing. At its very best and longest the act is brief beyond imagination -- the imagination of an immortal, I mean. In the matter of repetition the man is limited -- oh, quite beyond immortal conception. We who continue the act and its supremest ecstasies unbroken and without withdrawal for centuries, will never be able to understand or adequately pity the awful poverty of these people in that rich gift which, possessed as we possess it, makes all other possessions trivial and not worth the trouble of invoicing.
2. In man's heaven everybody sings! The man who did not sing on earth sings there; the man who could not sing on earth is able to do it there. The universal singing is not casual, not occasional, not relieved by intervals of quiet; it goes on, all day long, and every day, during a stretch of twelve hours. And everybody stays; whereas in the earth the place would be empty in two hours. The singing is of hymns alone. Nay, it is of one hymn alone. The words are always the same, in number they are only about a dozen, there is no rhyme, there is no poetry: "Hosannah, hosannah, hosannah, Lord God of Sabaoth, 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! siss! -- boom! ... a-a-ah!"
3. Meantime, every person is playing on a harp -- those millions and millions! -- whereas not more than twenty in the thousand of them could play an instrument in the earth, or ever wanted to.
Consider the deafening hurricane of sound -- millions and millions of voices screaming at once and millions and millions of harps gritting their teeth at the same time! I ask you: is it hideous, is it odious, is it horrible?
Consider further: it is a praise service; a service of compliment, of flattery, of adulation! Do you ask who it is that is willing to endure this strange compliment, this insane compliment; and who not only endures it, but likes it, enjoys it, requires if, commands it? Hold your breath!
It is God! This race's god, I mean. He sits on his throne, attended by his four and twenty elders and some other dignitaries pertaining to his court, and looks out over his miles and miles of tempestuous worshipers, and smiles, and purrs, and nods his satisfaction northward, eastward, southward; as quaint and nave a spectacle as has yet been imagined in this universe, I take it.
It is easy to see that the inventor of the heavens did not originate the idea, but copied it from the show-ceremonies of some sorry little sovereign State up in the back settlements of the Orient somewhere.
All sane white people hate noise; yet they have tranquilly accepted this kind of heaven -- without thinking, without reflection, without examination -- and they actually want to go to it! Profoundly devout old gray-headed men put in a large part of their time dreaming of the happy day when they will lay down the cares of this life and enter into the joys of that place. Yet you can see how unreal it is to them, and how little it takes a grip upon them as being fact, for they make no practical preparation for the great change: you never see one of them with a harp, you never hear one of them sing.
As you have seen, that singular show is a service of praise: praise by hymn, praise by prostration. It takes the place of "church." Now then, in the earth these people cannot stand much church -- an hour and a quarter is the limit, and they draw the line at once a week. That is to say, Sunday. One day in seven; and even then they do not look forward to it with longing. And so -- consider what their heaven provides for them: "church" that lasts forever, and a Sabbath that has no end! They quickly weary of this brief hebdomadal Sabbath here, yet they long for that eternal one; they dream of it, they talk about it, they think they think they are going to enjoy it -- with all their simple hearts they think they think they are going to be happy in it!
It is because they do not think at all; they only think they think. Whereas they can't think; not two human beings in ten thousand have anything to think with. And as to imagination -- oh, well, look at their heaven! They accept it, they approve it, they admire it. That gives you their intellectual measure.
4. The inventor of their heaven empties into it all the nations of the earth, in one common jumble. All are on an equality absolute, no one of them ranking another; they have to be "brothers"; they have to mix together, pray together, harp together, Hosannah together -- whites, niggers, Jews, everybody -- there's no distinction. Here in the earth all nations hate each other, and every one of them hates the Jew. Yet every pious person adores that heaven and wants to get into it. He really does. And when he is in a holy rapture he thinks he thinks that if he were only there he would take all the populace to his heart, and hug, and hug, and hug!
He is a marvel -- man is! I would I knew who invented him.
5. Every man in the earth possesses some share of intellect, large or small; and be it large or be it small he takes pride in it. Also his heart swells at mention of the names of the majestic intellectual chiefs of his race, and he loves the tale of their splendid achievements. For he is of their blood, and in honoring themselves they have honored him. Lo, what the mind of man can do! he cries, and calls the roll of the illustrious of all ages; and points to the imperishable literatures they have given to the world, and the mechanical wonders they have invented, and the glories wherewith they have clothed science and the arts; and to them he uncovers as to kings, and gives to them the profoundest homage, and the sincerest, his exultant heart can furnish -- thus exalting intellect above all things else in the world, and enthroning it there under the arching skies in a supremacy unapproachable. And then he contrived a heaven that hasn't a rag of intellectuality in it anywhere!
Is it odd, is it curious, is it puzzling? It is exactly as I have said, incredible as it may sound. This sincere adorer of intellect and prodigal rewarder of its mighty services here in the earth has invented a religion and a heaven which pay no compliments to intellect, offer it no distinctions, fling it no largess: in fact, never even mention it.
By this time you will have noticed that the human being's heaven has been thought out and constructed upon an absolute definite plan; and that this plan is, that it shall contain, in labored detail, each and every imaginable thing that is repulsive to a man, and not a single thing he likes!
Very well, the further we proceed the more will this curious fact be apparent.
Make a note of it: in man's heaven there are no exercises for the intellect, nothing for it to live upon. It would rot there in a year -- rot and stink. Rot and stink -- and at that stage become holy. A blessed thing: for only the holy can stand the joys of that bedlam. |
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Tara Carreon
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Joined: 25 Sep 2008
Posts: 988
Location: Tucson, Arizona
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| Posted: Thu May 10, 2012 6:26 am Post subject: |
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And here we have the reasoning for the Afghani-Iraq war: supposedly someone bad did something bad in those countries, and so everyone must die. That's a reasoning people are familiar with from the accursed Bible. Who cares that innocent people die? Not most Americans.
We have got to take down religion. It is a curse on the world.
| Letters From the Earth, by Mark Twain wrote: | He killed all those people -- every male.
They had offended the Deity in some way. We know what the offense was, without looking; that is to say, we know it was a trifle; some small thing that no one but a god would attach any importance to. It is more than likely that a Midianite had been duplicating the conduct of one Onan, who was commanded to "go into his brother's wife" -- which he did; but instead of finishing, "he spilled it on the ground." The Lord slew Onan for that, for the lord could never abide indelicacy. The Lord slew Onan, and to this day the Christian world cannot understand why he stopped with Onan, instead of slaying all the inhabitants for three hundred miles around -- they being innocent of offense, and therefore the very ones he would usually slay. For that had always been his idea of fair dealing. If he had had a motto, it would have read, "Let no innocent person escape." You remember what he did in the time of the flood. There were multitudes and multitudes of tiny little children, and he knew they had never done him any harm; but their relations had, and that was enough for him: he saw the waters rise toward their screaming lips, he saw the wild terror in their eyes, he saw that agony of appeal in the mothers' faces which would have touched any heart but his, but he was after the guiltless particularly, that he drowned those poor little chaps.
And you will remember that in the case of Adam's posterity all the billions are innocent -- none of them had a share in his offense, but the Deity holds them guilty to this day. None gets off, except by acknowledging that guilt -- no cheaper lie will answer.
Some Midianite must have repeated Onan's act, and brought that dire disaster upon his nation. If that was not the indelicacy that outraged the feelings of the Deity, then I know what it was: some Midianite had been pissing against the wall. I am sure of it, for that was an impropriety which the Source of all Etiquette never could stand. A person could piss against a tree, he could piss on his mother, he could piss on his own breeches, and get off, but he must not piss against the wall -- that would be going quite too far. The origin of the divine prejudice against this humble crime is not stated; but we know that the prejudice was very strong -- so strong that nothing but a wholesale massacre of the people inhabiting the region where the wall was defiled could satisfy the Deity. |
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Tara Carreon
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Joined: 25 Sep 2008
Posts: 988
Location: Tucson, Arizona
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| Posted: Thu May 10, 2012 6:35 am Post subject: |
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And here's the justification from the Bible for the U.N. protected child-prostitution rings operating in Bosnia. "Whores of War," they self-righteously call them. To service our soldiers. http://www.naderlibrary.com/lit.lettersearthtwain.htm
| Letters From the Earth, by Mark Twain wrote: | | The heaviest punishment of all was meted out to persons who could not by any possibility have deserved so horrible a fate -- the 32,000 virgins. Their naked privacies were probed, to make sure that they still possessed the hymen unruptured; after this humiliation they were sent away from the land that had been their home, to be sold into slavery; the worst of slaveries and the shamefulest, the slavery of prostitution; bed-slavery, to excite lust, and satisfy it with their bodies; slavery to any buyer, be he gentleman or be he a coarse and filthy ruffian. |
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