User:Heathin

--On Chemical Computers--

Some branches may be solemn or melancholy, dressed in thorns. If this is the path one evades, but is the path the self adjoins to: what is discursive to this is void. Everyone is in the competition to the stalk, getting there is battered with facticity. Going to the void is ultimately the eversion of knowledge itself, to renounce that stalk-answer is to renounce that ontological question. To renounce the ontological question is to disregard the emotional state of the self; soon after one realises that they are a chemical computer.

--On Muculent Treasures--

Questions can be mixed, such that they can be interpretations of the question before it. But all inquiries from the inquisitions then become a footstool on top of that grounding. Climb on the footstool and we are closer to the magnified, the previously unassailable, and lustrous truth. What it means to be: we can never be certain, however we are able to add to the concoction the Ego that we are closer to, or that we indeed are. Being the Ego allows us to engage with what aspects of life matter to us, and then meaning is certainly derived from this script. The script is a passive and prosaic document, and in it are the illusion of many signs in one place. If life is a script: then what is percieved as pure by us is what determines what we note as the long expedition through the non-truths that we must go through. These non-truths however, which are seen as but dirt, are controversially the correct for others; for others they may be the boon, where as the boons we bore were as mud to them. Ideas about us entering these values as lofty as the people originally exuding the veneration is a thought entertained on the basis of folly; in my opinion: not a very well grounded thought at all is one that has the occupation of a jester and its most regular customer an equalized loft. How can one not see the lustre of these values as equal if they travel along the same system is a simple enquiry to appease: dirt is nothing, dirt is infinitely applicable. We have been deceived into thinking that the most basic utilities are among the most haggard and tripe-inhaling, they are quite unfortunately the items with the most imaginative strings that we have hitherto discarded.

--Discourse On War And Competition--

Faded enigmas containing small flecks of lustre await all those who dove into a pond at the bottom of the corrosive moor of fragility; the mirror, temporally, was this small fleck of lustre. Those who bolster and swagger their deeds incorrectly think they can seize all other treasures; an enquiry had been made to them, a report filed for them to look into: the frail would never strive with heat at the depth of the cool and turbulent river, flummoxing their soul to an incorrect boundary. Resentment exchanges between them like a caliginous game, whose end would be nothing more than another material addition to the spool of allready established commodity-fusions that swirl around humans. These bolsterous people have amnesia about several other personalities: those who are all brawn, those who are all brain. Tiresome as they are: both can reach beyond any discovery in the pond. Enduring the fact that they will encroach each other but also juxtapose is quite a significant overlapping burden; who can break from the percentage who are paralyzed in one such way to also bring them to another, without inducing the other poison as it is aloof? Conflict can sometimes swim on the back of fallacies like this; a fallacy is, usually, why the first person in the conflict manages to reside drained of life and lustre completely. An agent can inhabit this idea: conflict is a competition of values, and so a competition of traits becomes an organized conflict; they allow the person only to spill as much life from their hands as is neccessary for its completion. It used to be at the price of a whole life, now people are containing it in an adulteration that evokes different sympathies: one to preserve life. Yet, when this sympathy is jovial in its compliment that they may never lose their lives in what has become folly: it is a mask, for the primordial idea contained lions, and lives dangled from a string or were occasionally allowed to run around before becoming terminally ill due to the jowls of a certain outspoken creature. Winning: does that heal one of having to face the leonine, or is it that they have simply halted their success in failing? It is yet worse: winning as healing is a flavoured collision with some kind of simultaneously-nonexistant and yet affirmative entity and , thanks to the wager the people's minds took. Now, you can sacrifice only a bijou part of yourself, enter this bargain: and win something that doesn't even exist. Success has never existed as an organization; the audience have never gained anything. It continues as a personal quest; you succeed by entering into a circular activity, the best of that your victories, which can be boundless and inifinite, though you can also enter into slack and endure non-triumph, but you as yourself can only fail a limited ammount of times; imagining an organization, with exeunting and entering venerators: there are then infinite failures as there jaunt and make sanguine for the floor infinite people.