Forwarded from Arbiter, My Beloved (Yasha Skaven 🔜 Nothing)
Would you guys eat a pokemon and if so which pokemon
My choice is electrode. I think ball meat would taste pretty good tbh
My choice is electrode. I think ball meat would taste pretty good tbh
Forwarded from Local Church
Local Church
Sure that was tears of joy
this is also #localmemes. productive. brave. not so popular (niche).
Forwarded from T e c h n o s c i e n c e
By Kahlil Gibran
My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear—a
care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee
from my negligence.
The “I” in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and
therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I
do—for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my
deeds thy own hopes in action.
When thou sayest, “The wind bloweth eastward,” I say, “Aye it doth
blow eastward”; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth
not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.
Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have
thee understand. I would be at sea alone.
When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even
then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of
the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou
canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating
against the stars—and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I
would be with night alone.
When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell—even then
thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, “My companion, my
comrade,” and I call back to thee, “My comrade, my companion”—for
I would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight
and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too
well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.
Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake
say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart
I laught at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter.
I would laugh alone.
My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art
perfect—and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And
yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.
My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee
understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand
in hand."
My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear—a
care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee
from my negligence.
The “I” in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and
therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I
do—for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my
deeds thy own hopes in action.
When thou sayest, “The wind bloweth eastward,” I say, “Aye it doth
blow eastward”; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth
not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.
Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have
thee understand. I would be at sea alone.
When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even
then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of
the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou
canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating
against the stars—and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I
would be with night alone.
When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell—even then
thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, “My companion, my
comrade,” and I call back to thee, “My comrade, my companion”—for
I would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight
and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too
well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.
Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake
say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart
I laught at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter.
I would laugh alone.
My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art
perfect—and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And
yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.
My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee
understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand
in hand."
The Poetry Foundation
My Friend
Poems, readings, poetry news and the entire 110-year archive of POETRY magazine.
❤1
Forwarded from Local Church
Let's put it this way: until you learn by heart the doctrine of flow and the Tao like the multiplication table (which nobody remembers, but whatever), you don't start any Oedipus, phenomenology of the boring spirit and other fancy stuff. That's the base to which everything is going to boil down to anyway. The bricks of existence. Beautiful and core. You want to get fucked: read (decipher) Russell, where he proves for several volumes that 1+1=2 (it's not some joke, and not only that, but we haven't gotten to numbers and symbols yet, read the Doctrine of flux and the Tao, in short).
All that sowing between Russell and the Tao is all simulacra infinitely far from God.
text and image: cool and fun channel @memesshrine
All that sowing between Russell and the Tao is all simulacra infinitely far from God.
text and image: cool and fun channel @memesshrine