A place for a


What is power? And the cabinet of lies.

Many people get pissed at people in “power”. And sometimes, sometimes people treat you like you are one of those in power and that means you deserve to be treated badly or be envied.

So how do you argue against that? Not necessarily to them, because they don’t care anyway, but how do you quantify it for yourself?

What is power?

Huh. Bummer. It’s kind of a tough question, isn’t it?

And when you think about it, there is actually a lot of trickery going on when it comes to the PERCEPTION of power.

When we think of power, what do we think of instantly?

Bankers. Rich people. Famous people. CEOs. People higher in the hierarchy.

But when we say “higher in the hierarchy”, what do we really mean?

Well, turns out we mean kind of an abstract intellectualized thing. Almost … not power itself, but a caricature of power. We mean this artificial hierarchy we have established in society. You know … employer, employee, etc yada.

But it only exists in our minds. It’s not the real thing.

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Black lives matter – to whom?

When you assert that something matters, you are expressing a value. But a value does not exist as an objective truth in a vacuum. Rather, a value is something that is held by a person capable of judging.

You can not talk about what matters without talking about the individuals that it matters to.

When you tell me that black lives matter, then I must ask: To whom?

To be realistic, I would expect this to be followed by the loaded question: So you think black lives do not matter?

And I would say: Not to me, no.

And I would expect to be guilt-tripped and shamed a little, back and forth, blah blah yada.

But seriously, why should I – me as an individual – care about black lives? What does that even mean?

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Proof (?) that morals are man-made fiction

I will try and make a logical argument that morals are an exclusively human invention and therefore less important in the big picture than we may think. A part of the argument is of Machiavellian nature, but without the negative connotation.

A fine conclusion from it is that it is okay to forgive ourselves and others even the most so-called heinous crimes. And let go of pain.

My argument is really simple. I will give you the short version now and then elaborate a bit. It goes as follows:

Morals in the way we know them are exclusive to the human species. God likely does not punish animals for acting in a manner that would be considered immoral from a human perspective, nor is it likely that they feel guilt or shame for such behavior. Also very likely, our soul – the essence of our being – is not human. Therefore, it is unlikely that God favors human souls over animal souls, since the soul in itself is not human and is thus equal to any other soul. Hence, morals are an exclusive human instrument, primarily used for intra-species power plays – be that a good or bad thing, if you get the pun.

Well, that turned out to be not quite as clear as I hoped it would, but it should suffice to give you the gist for now.

So now, let me elaborate a little.

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A seminar on interpersonal relationships

I just woke up from a dream that seemed very meaningful and important to me. It happens a lot recently. Here goes:

I was visiting a seminar on interpersonal relationships and I immediately got a bad vibe about it. The people on stage were young people of the scientific type.

So I sat there. A block and pencil on the desk in front of me. And one of them opened her or his mouth and said: Alright, so, ummh. There are three types of relationsh…

This was unacceptable. I had had enough of that shit in my life. Enough of that dead, lifeless, detached-from-everything-real bullshit.

I raised my hand.

Nobody noticed me.

I spoke up and interrupted the speaker. I said loudly, so that everyone could hear me: Excuse me, but before you start, please tell me who you are to teach me about relationships?

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What does it mean to mean something?

Some 10.000 years of human existence on this planet and the Western world is still searching for the right way to live. For the absolute truth. Curious, is it not? You would think that, after such a long time, people would have reached some kind of consensus about absolute truth.

But that is no argument to the religious nuts, of course. Each one of them has the absolute truth. And each one of them absolutely knows that all others are absolutely wrong about it. And hypothetically, it is thinkable that one of them is right. What a conundrum.

Can the reality and life be understood? Absurdists say no. Religious nuts, of course, say yes. The former think the latter are naive and stupid, while the latter actually seem to have some sort of respect for the former.

But then, what does it actually mean to understand reality and life?

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Is waterboarding torture?

This article has been originally published on Return Of Kings.

It’s been some time since waterboarding was in the public eye, so I’m not in the trend right now. Nevertheless, emotionalism and human rights are topics that persist like a chronic disease. Kids who drown in comfort seek escape from boredom by meaningfully protesting against something in the streets of big cities. Every week I am at least once bound to be harassed by zealots of some good cause.

My Facebook feed happened to spit out a joke about waterboarding today and I got curious. For a topic that attracts such huge amounts of verbal incontinence, few people seem to know anything about it. Fat slobs or experts who don’t seem to have much experience with pain go around telling everybody how inhumane it is, so that everybody can be part of being against something so terrible they lack the words to describe it.

But anyway, what much is there to know about waterboarding for such a deep, intellectual discussion? It’s not black magic. You need a can of water, a cloth and you need to lie down. What the hell keeps me from trying this?

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Blue pill, red pill or acid?

I am a liar. I pretended to understand the red pill, but I did not. I spoke like a red pill dude, but I was none. But neither was I really blue pill. So what was I? I was a dude who wanted to belong, believe in something. Truth.

I did not only speak like a red pill dude, I also started to walk like one. Hold eye contact like one. Occassionally, talk to girls like one. Check out asses.

But I felt guilty. The guilt was eating me up. Is eating me up. There is always this voice in my head that is asking: But what if I am wrong? If I am wrong, I am not good. My god, what if I am not good?

When I talked to the initiated, I felt ashamed of the voices who were not convinced of the red pill. When I talk to normal people, I feel ashamed for wanting to believe in the red pill. Yes, I admit it. I am ruled by shame, shame of not being right. And in my head, there is a constant war of voices.

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A culture of heroes

Hollywood and our culture is full of proud heroes who overcome anything, proud heroes who always do the right thing, are always superior. Why is it that such a trite and boring caricature appeals to the masses?

Why is it that the masses flock at the feet of narcissists? And why do they hate and throw them down as much as they need them?

Heroes overcome misery. The heroic journey is one of passing hell and reaching the light.

It is a nation of people whose life consists of constant misery without hope. Hope and pride is the one component that they have dissociated from in themselves. Since they are unable to escape their hell, they need the heroes to at least provide them with the feeling of escape. Over and over again.

The narcissists and the masses complete each other, but both are incomplete. The masses lack pride and the narcissists lack humility. The most distinguished heroes attract the most hopelessly lost souls.

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What is this shit life all about?

Yeah, I know. You are used to better title pictures from me. Police took my computer, so I only have access to some shitty online Photoshop clone. Well so what, shit life deserves a shit picture.

Anyway, question of my fucking life. What is the right way? You supposed to be a worker bee? A Machiavellian? A moral man? A hero and athlete? Or rather a disgusting scoundrel?

Life by now has been a damned series of painful moments interrupted occasionally by the euphoria of understanding and aha moments, moments in which I realized some meaningless bullshit. Moments that seemed like they would change everything. But they never do.

What is the point of this fuck?

Ask somebody for advice and they tell you X or Y. Be happy. Or be social. Or be an asshole. Or a businessman. Seek conflict. Or harmony. Or enlightenment. And when you ask why, they say because of evolutionbecause we are social animalsbecause God saidbecause it is the law, because it just makes sense, because of power, because of desire, because of altruism, because of selfishness, because of money, because of honor, because of loyalty, because of principle, because of Karma.

It is just one big round of circular reasoning, one word brought up to justify another. One sound uttered to bolster a second. But no one to tell you: Why should I?

To be happy? Fulfilled? But what for? Others say the key lies in suffering. Dudes, can you make up your fucking minds?

And in the end, the most honest people – as much as I fucking hate to admit it – are the ones who say: Because I say so. The ones with power who simply force your hand.

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Waking up to madness – and reality

When I mean waking up, I mean it literally. I woke up this morning and I had the sensation that I had lost my mind. That I had been living with my ability to think for so long – yet occasionally, I could not shake off that feeling that I didn’t really know what I was doing. The feeling that there was no real coherent concept behind my thinking, no absolute underlying framework below all my thoughts, rendering them more akin to bubbles surfacing in a boiling soup.

The feeling that my thinking was random and, in a way, pointless. That I very often was confronted with simple decisions and could not make them.

Occasionally, I would be in a sort of flow. That would be when  in an argument about something I had concerned myself with. My intellect would make lots of connections and spit out ideas; in these situations, I would feel great. Yet other times, when idle, I would consider thinking about something and realize that I couldn’t even really tell what thinking was or how to do it.

Sometimes I would have other people agree with me and feel great, yet wonder at the same time why they didn’t dig deeper. Other times, I would argue with somebody and wonder why they couldn’t accept my idea.

Agreeing made me feel safe, made me feel like things make sense. Yet when somebody disagreed, I could not always explain why I was so convinced they were wrong.

All in all, letting these observations sink in, made me believe I had lost my mind. That’s the feeling I went to sleep with yesterday and it frightened me more deeply than much of what I can remember. After having always been told I was intelligent and being proud of it, I had to admit that I was deeply confused and felt like I had no control over my life.

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