Maybe the reason that religion works is this:
It is philosophically impossible to disprove something just because it has never been observed.
Of course, there is no reason to believe it either.
But then, our human nature seems strongly influenced by fear.
That is, even when there is no real reason to really believe in the existence of God, evolution has “programmed” us so that the mere possibility of the existence of a threat (hell) motivates us to avoid it, even if we may err on the side of too much safety.
Continue reading “My “philosophical” explanation of why religion and other oppressive belief systems are successful”
You are in a big prom hall. You hear beautiful fairy tale songs from your childhood. Everyone seems in ecstasy and full of joy. Your grandparents are around you and you remember being with them while you were small. And the almost Christmaslike innocent kitsch music fills the room with childlike wonder.
Now a group of men walk in. They carry axes and swords. They start killing and ripping apart all your loved ones.
If this was a normal avantgarde movie, that in itself would be provocative enough. The music would now switch to some weird horror music.
But not in hell. No.
In hell, the innocent childlike music keeps playing, lulling you into feelings of comfort and joy. And at the same time you see the horror before your eyes … and since you are so nicely conditioned to be hypnotized by beautiful music and let it dictate your judgment and mood ….
Continue reading “A vision from a weird kind of hell …”
Man is not meek nor does man fear his own cruelty. But he fears that if he admitted his own cruelty, he would validate the cruelty of others, which would put him in danger.
Thus hiding his own cruelty he convinces others that he is meek, thus winning their trust and resources.
Many who pretend they are meek then so find together as a community.
Thus community is something born entirely out of selfish interests. Pretending to be meek is the best way – at least in our society that I know – to ensure safety of the self. Selfish satisfaction.
And when one stops pretending, he is shunned. Not because he is ‘worse’ than the others. But because someone else who doesn’t feel obliged to pretend is an inherent danger to the self.
Ironically, you can not ‘explain’ to that person why he should be pretending. So what you do is – you unleash your own beast on that non-pretender. And he ‘learns’ that the pretense is better. And on the surface you may say to that person ‘You have been bad and this is your punishment.’ But that’s only the surface. The real communication is through pain and that one doesn’t lie. It says: I am a beast and I will keep hurting you until you do as I wish you to do.
Unfortunately this contradiction between verbal and non-verbal communication leads to madness. Classical double bind. It creates a disconnect between the mind and the body. And the result is what we all know as ‘hypocrisy’. It is a man whose mind doesn’t understand his body and whose body doesn’t understand his mind.
I really never understood why people thought ‘altruism’ was not selfish…
To spoil the fun in advance, I did not find the shooter, so if you want to read a heroic story, don’t bother reading. This is more of an intelligent rant about stupid sheeple and an infantilizing and incompetent government.
I would not even have noticed anything about the shooter if someone had not asked me about it. It made me curious and I took my bike and drove to the shooting site.
Weird thing is, despite having been there, I had difficulty finding the place. I was almost under the impression that the universe was trying to keep me away from it. Like glitches in the Matrix, I came to all kinds of strange places and a sense of surreality gripped me, surely fueled by the fear I felt. The fear which was the reason why I wanted to go there. That morbid curiosity of mine.
As I came within two kilometers of the place or so, dozens of police cars and vans, special units in black cars and a handful of ambulances drove by with sirens.
I had to ask for the way a few times. Man, those fucking sheep. I would ask them for direction and they would usually tell me reluctantly, pointing out that there were closed down streets by the police. One guy condescendingly called me crazy after I freely admitted that I was curious what was going on. Fuckin cowardly snob. One guy, some type of park guard, even deliberately pointed me in the wrong direction after mustering me. Aside from knowing it was the wrong direction, I could see in his face that he was lying.
Gawd, how I hate people who are assholes out of some bullshit good intent. The most despicable type of arrogance of all.
Continue reading “I went to look for the Munich shooter”
Paul got a letter from his daughter. He hesitated to read it. He put it away for a long time until he brought up the courage to open it. It said:
I had this voice in my head all my life. A voice that was telling me that I am a miserable piece of shit. That I don’t deserve love, don’t deserve pleasure, don’t deserve a fulfilling sex life.
Once the voice appeared in my dreams. It was the devil. A horrifying black cloud of terror. In that dream, I tried to fight him. Was it a him? Or was it an it? I tried to fight it, but my limbs were frozen. I could not move, as much as I tried. It ridiculed me and said You are mine. I whimpered and kept repeating to myself, No, no, no, oh please, god, no! Reality was disintegrating.
I woke up shaken and out of my mind. I pushed it all away, it could not be. I forced myself to forget about it.
Continue reading “A letter from his daughter”
Anger. Anger so strong it seems to tear your muscles. Anger so strong it makes you want to throw up. Anger so strong it makes you feel dead. Anger fueled by shame, hatred, fear and time. Anger you can not contain, anger that takes you over and makes you its slave. Anger that makes you think of murder when you see beauty. Anger that burns, anger that freezes. Anger that isolates you, anger that makes you enjoy misery. Anger that violates your senses, anger that radiates, anger that consumes love and spits it out in disgust. Anger without trust. Anger unspoken of, anger not allowed to exist. Anger braking joy, anger breaking toys. Anger that destroys gods. Anger that belongs to a god. Anger in the shadows, anger burning meadows. Anger that does not forgive, anger that is unforgiven. Anger that attacks itself, anger yearning for hell. Anger seeking justice, seeking cause. Anger that is lost. Anger never born, anger full of scorn. Anger spreading terror, anger that is an error.
Anger that is a stranger. Anger that is a friend.
Beloved anger, forever mine, I am forever thine. Goodbye.
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?
Continue reading “A seminar on interpersonal relationships”
I remember this one time that I almost had a girlfriend. After that one, I completely shut off my heart I think. Not that it was not my fault to a large extent, as I was damaged goods already, but it was enough to dishearten me enough, because subconsciously I must have known that the cause for me being rejected was one that would not fade away anytime soon.
Anyway, we were in cinema and I was holding her hand. And she said that it takes a lot of trust to put one’s tender hand into another. She was a violinist.
Sure, there were many components to the whole situation. But the most important one was that I seemed very afraid of touch. Afraid to touch her. Today, I see that a large part of that fear was the fear to hurt her. The fear to do one wrong move and with that move reveal something dark within myself. I was so overly careful that she rejected me the same evening literally for being bodyless.
Those articles about rape I wrote, that all men are rapists. I wanted to believe it is true. Wanted to believe that it is just me who is too afraid to kinda be one. But secretly, even if everybody approved of it, I think I would still have trouble with the whole rough sex thing.
Continue reading “Afraid of hurting women”
I have always lived with this quiet conviction that this world belong to the crazy monsters we call women and that men have no real place in it. I protested against it, but deep down, I felt it was futile and against the natural order. Their madness was destined for victory.
And real men? For whatever reason, they scared the hell out of me.
I avoided masculine men and when I looked into the mirror, I did not see a real man. Sure, I saw all the parts of a man. I saw a beard, a masculine face, all that. But I did not see masculinity. Could not see it. I saw a face that should look masculine to me and likely looked masculine to anybody else, but my sixth sense told me that it was a face totally and utterly devoid of masculinity. As if cursed.
Something inside me told me to call this blog Man Without Father a year ago. But I did have a father. Not the biological one, whom I never really emotionally cared about, yet that is something I did not understand. My real father was the man who took care of me until he died around my age of 2. I intellectually knew he had been there, but it meant nothing to me.
Continue reading “Fare well, long dead uncle, the only dad I ever had”
When I see a confident and relaxed man with his girl on the street, I just know it. I know there is something wrong with me. I know that this man has something I lack. It hurts. It makes me feel lost, inferior, fallen, alone.
This man has trust in himself.
I have been running from this feeling my whole life. I thought if I could just imitate that man, do whatever he does, act like he acts, move like he moves, speak like he speaks; if I could convince everybody that I am in fact that man, I could start believing it myself.
I wanted to believe that everybody is just faking it, because I was. I wanted the world to be a show, so that I could run from that deeply seated, but vague notion I call inner emptiness for lack of a better word. Run from my overwhelming shame for not being who I should be, shame for that leaking wound in my soul that surely was my own fault, a wound that was an abomination and an insult to they eyes of everybody I dared to show it to.
When a girl I desired told me that I was not confident enough to be attractive, I knew she was right. But I did not even have enough confidence to acknowledge this. I did not even have enough trust in my own judgment to acknowledge the obvious truth. Instead, I hated her. I still hate her. I hate all the people who pry open my soul and expose it to my eyes, to my eyes that want to look away in terror, look away from the monstrosity I carry inside myself, that steaming graveyard of emotions.
Continue reading “Why I do not learn game”