User blogs
Today’s news gave me a laugh. A nearly seventy-year-old sexual maniac decided to prey on young female students at the university in Poznań. He put on smart clothes, took a suitcase and introduced himself as a professor of anthropology doing a scientific research. He led naive girls one by one to a secluded place, gave them a survey to complete and then asked them to gradually undress themselves so that he could measure their muscle temperature. Each of the confused girls eagerly took off her clothes and let the bogus professor meticulously examine her naked body. The professor then wrote down the “results” in his papers and kindly thanked the girls for their contribution to the development of science.
It turned out that the guy “worked” at several universities and colleges in and near Poznań. When the girls decided to speak up, the police arrested the predator on the grounds of sexual abuse. Then, some psychologists commented on the whole affair; that we have a natural tendency to conform, that we usually trust and obey the authority, that the guy was very persuasive, that his professor disguise was like a magic spell, that the confused victim is easy to manipulate blah blah blah…
Or perhaps, the girls fancied some anal fisting and simply needed a good excuse.
I'm nihilist and a question people often ask me is "How can you have no morals?" The reason is simple: I can't have anything which doesn't really exist. Once this is realized, the assertions of moralists would be insulting if they weren't so absurd.
A moralist will ask me: "What keeps you from impaling babies on spikes?"
My answer: "Nothing. If that's what I really wanted to do with my life, then that's what I'd be doing."
The next thing the person says is a cue as to whether or not continuing to talk to the person will be a waste of my time:
A moralist will miss the point entirely and accuse me of wanting to impale babies on spikes. (And will be quickly dismissed.)
A non-moralist will ask: "Well, what do you want to do with your life?" Which is exactly the point.
I don't want to impale babies on spikes. In fact, very often the idea suggested by a moralist never occurred to me until the moralist asked me.
No, I don't have morals: I don't have time to go around doing the 'evil' moralists imagine.
"Satan has been the best friend the Church has ever had, as He has kept it in business all these years!" --Anton LaVey, The Nine Satanic Statements
Recently, some douche joined the “sinister” facebook group spamming it with the bullshit and trolling the hell out of it. There would be nothing unusual about it (after all, there are plenty of such types in the cyber space) if it wasn’t for the reaction he caused. As much as I love the online arguments and flame-wars, this time I decided to sit back and watch. To each their own, but debating a person more ignorant than me doesn’t really turn me on. It’s a ROI thing. There is nothing to gain from such experience. You educate the stupid but learn nothing in exchange. There is also no satisfaction from winning the discussion. It’s like smashing a mouse against the wall.
But who am I to judge the kids playing in the sandbox, especially that I enjoy throwing sand myself? It’s all nice and dandy provided all kids have fun. This time only one kid had fun, the others… Well… here is a problem. The guy could have been banned, ignored, laughed off or responded to in a cold, pedantic and unemotional manner. Instead, the “sinister” types threw a tantrum, calling the guy names, telling him how much they hate him, crying he’s destroying the group and leaving one by one in the epic display of butthurt.
I nearly choked on my popcorn. It’s really funny to see the wannabe Satanists or sinister folks stand beside themselves with fury and show self-righteous indignation. And the guy… despite being weak in a fight on arguments, is a master of manipulation, knowing how and when to push people’s buttons. Because psychological warfare is a game to be played without any rules, except one; making your opponent leave the ring with the blood dripping from his nose or his sore butt. The arguments be damned.
Are our ideas and beliefs the fancy hats that we wear and change when the mood strikes us? Or are we like the fat chick trying to squeeze herself in a tight swimming costume? Sometimes, you’re trying too hard to fit in this or that identity label, this or that belief system, this or that peer group. Ideas and beliefs are the mere tools you use to progress and to expand your mind. The time comes when these ideas are no longer useful, you discard them and move on. Just like you throw away the old clothes. You are not your ideas or your beliefs. It would be a folly to cling desperately to an old party dress and scream “No, I won’t throw it away! It’s me! This dress is me!”
There is so much talk in Satanism about an adversary and herd-conformity, but one would be surprised how many people need the approval of others, the praise and respect of their peers and belonging to some exclusive and elitist club. It’s nicer and easier this way, because everyone, without exception, prefers praises to criticism. It’s very hard to thrive when confronted with opposition and loneliness. But how illusory are the temporary laurels you get from your fans.
Should I bend to your standards? Should I conform to your house rules? Should I satisfy your expectations? Yes, of course, as long as I live in your hotel/motel. But when I check out, damn you and your rules, and your expectations. Your hotel or motel is one of the many I’m passing by on my way home.
So coming back to our little motherfucker. He knew whom to troll;
people who worship the tools, who think they are special snowflakes
because of that, that they are the elite. If you worship a pentagram or
an O9A sigil, then you can as well go to church and prostrate yourself
before Jesus. Does it really matter where you sing your Hallelujah?
“You said you were a fairy princess
You said you were a shooting star
You said we’d go to Bora Bora
Now look at where the fuck we are”
Please, come in Mr Smith, said the doorman taking my coat and hat, Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Miss LaVie will see you in a moment. I looked around the shabby room bewildered. The golden chandeliers and Persian carpets, this is how it looked like in the advertisement. Dreamland. Let your dreams fly on wings. They must be fucking kidding me…
Thank you, I’d rather stand. I began pacing round the room. When she calls me in, I’ll be ready. Excuse me, when is Miss LaVie going to call me in? I asked the doorman after an hour passed. I have no idea, sir. Could you ask her? Of course, sir. He came back in a minute. Miss LaVie will see you in a moment, Mr Smith. Meanwhile, please make yourself comfortable. I was sitting in an armchair while the clock on the wall was counting hours. Its sound was getting louder and louder. Finally, I rushed into her room infuriated…
Oh Mr Smith. Welcome Mr smith! Here you are at last. I was waiting for you, thought you changed your mind, she said smiling. I… I… I…I’ve been here all the time, I stuttered confused. Never mind, I have a brilliant offer for you. Let me see… and she began searching through the papers on her desk. Fuck! Where did I put it? She looked in her drawer. No, not here, perhaps on the shelves… Finally, she came back to her desk. Mr Smith, I don’t know how to say it. So damn awkward. There’s been terrible misunderstanding. I’m so sorry, but but but…. I don’t have anything for you. Perhaps, if you dropped in next month…
You fucking stupid bitch.
I’m sitting alone in my quiet empty bedroom. My grey face is looking at me from the mirror. Once again the king is naked. I wanted you to tell me how great I am. I hoped you would comfort me and say I’m someone special, better than anyone else. You shut the door on me, you cruel life. You called me an average Joe, gave me an ordinary job, ordinary friends and common pastimes. You made me look like anyone else. I worked so hard; studies and three part-time jobs only to see my dreams shattered. Mirror mirror on the wall, how can I even look at you now?
The easiest way to escape from oneself is to become someone else…
Bravo! Bravo! Bravo for our star! People are clapping their hands, cheering and throwing confetti. My Mistress is whispering praises to my ear. I’m everybody. I’m everything. I’m special. No gain without pain. I had to pay. The price was well… reasonable.
"This must be another book about my celebrated bird," he said. But it was not a book. In the box was a work of art, an artificial nightingale most like the real one except that it was encrusted with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. When it was wound, the artificial bird could sing one of the nightingale's songs while it wagged its glittering gold and silver tail. Round its neck hung a ribbon inscribed: "The Emperor of Japan's nightingale is a poor thing compared with that of the Emperor of China."...
"Now let's have them sing together. What a duet that will be," said the courtiers.
So they had to sing together, but it didn't turn out so well, for the real nightingale sang whatever came into his head while the imitation bird sang by rote.
"That's not the newcomer's fault," said the music master. "He keeps perfect time, just as I have taught him."
Then they had the imitation bird sing by itself. It met with the same success as the real nightingale, and besides it was much prettier to see, all sparkling like bracelets and breastpins. Three and thirty times it sang the selfsame song without tiring. The courtiers would gladly have heard it again, but the Emperor said the real nightingale should now have his turn. Where was he? No one had noticed him flying out the open window, back to his home in the green forest.
"But what made him do that?" said the Emperor.
All the courtiers slandered the nightingale, whom they called a most ungrateful wretch..."You see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all Your Imperial Majesty, with a real nightingale one never knows what to expect, but with this artificial bird everything goes according to plan."...
The real nightingale had been banished from the land... (from "The Nightingale")
Can a bird sing only the song it knows? Or can it learn a new song? Many people sing the same old shit over and over again, usually the same old shit they were programmed with. Sometimes, they call it education. Education, as they mean it, is stuffing your mind with other people's ideas. So they leave their schools and mindlessly repeat the stuff they were taught.
Such minds rarely change even if they change the label. So you have former Christians replacing their God with a new god, be it science, experts or whatever. The same old song, the same old shit, the same old habits and the same mind bowing to the authority in the utmost display of conformity.
If you're not the author of the music and lyrics, then whose song are you singing? Sure as hell, it's not yours. Many would wish you to conform to their so-called standards, to sing what they want you to sing. A mechanical bird is more predictable and easier to control. It doesn't have moods. Would you sacrifice your freedom of thought for someone's approval?
The Chicken Yard
There is this saying "Sticking feathers up your butt doesn't make you a chicken." I would choose a less mediocre bird here, like a peacock or an eagle. A chicken can pretend to be an eagle or a peacock but the mask falls off when you ask the motherfucker to fly. It's a sad spectacle to watch.
Is a label important? What does changing a label mean without a change in your life, without getting rid of the stuff you were programmed with? There is a price to pay for living your life the way you want and for trying to think for yourself. That price is most often the disapproval of others and rejection. Sometimes, it can mean losing your friends, your job, even family and in some shitty circumstances even your life. However, if you swim with with the current, you'll never be a good swimmer.
