OptoGypsy
Member
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2013
- Messages
- 703
- MBTI Type
- isfp
- Enneagram
- 594
- Instinctual Variant
- sp/sx
Examples of my sense of humor:
" . Money is the forbidden fruit, the light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. It is the entitlement of Zeus, Muhammad and the Buddha vomited out by the sacred mythical beast known as life.
Dear reader you must agree with me that I must not mention the niceties and mannerisms that are expected amongst philistines, small talk is for the weak minded. Give me liberty or give me death, or something along those lines should be how all conversations should begin. Instead of the boorish, “hi, how are youâ€, “isn’t it a great dayâ€, “the lord has blessed usâ€, what shriveled up tongues, almost as shriveled as their – I won’t deliver such a vulgar line but you dear reader get the point. It is lucifer’s bastion, the haven for those lacking in genius, I’m repeating myself and should go ahead and get on with my original point. What was that – yes, my conversation with my younger brother who has decided to take the greatest B.S story seriously. It’s almost as ridiculous as the belief in witches, people are afraid of them without even first checking if it is scientifically valid. Before pastors try to cast out the witch’s demons, they should try out the witchcraft for themselves to see if it is real. Pastors who may be reading this I plead that you show the crazed woman pity, please cut yourself and sign a deal with the devil, you’ll only find out that he is nothing more than a water boy. A figure of your imagination, a Mephistopheles. To tell you the truth (just in case a pastor is reading this) I do believe in witches, truth is nothing more than the way we use words, how we decide to categorize things. There is a group of females who seduce pastors, or guys who seduce them, if the pastor is a homosexual, revealing the pastor for who they really are. What grave magic, we need to burn the witches and create the second trimester of the inquisition. It is ridiculous that there are people out there who believe that there are elite apostates who fly around in brooms, have ugly warts on their face and turn into black cats. I wonder if I’ll be able to find an architect who can build me a house with walking chicken feet. I’ll be able to invite the devil to a ball and we will all wear Jewish masks, worshipping Baal until it infuriates the lord to the point that he has us packing to Babylon. I make myself laugh… for those with a master’s in theology (or preferably a PHD) can you please tell me how the devil and God come together to create a dog – poshlust. "
"He is a riddle that sees angels in coincidences, it’s as if he is trying to use pure chance to tie a knot around his neck and jump calling it faith"
"I find it interesting that he calls her paradise, as if Adam would’ve called Eve Eden after the fall. As if a pseudo Cupid would’ve shot Steve for looking at Adam and bring in the anguish of the Cherubim of the ark as Eve looks back only to become a pillar of salt. What is love, if nothing more than a chemical reaction. It is madness, with a sacred ritual performed in the midst of candles and icons."
"Life is weird, a Gogolian fantasy, a stroll through wonderland. Life is frightening otherwise, a nightmare of bureaucracy. In my world God is the red queen, the devil is the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter is the saint of time, I stroll through the fabric of reality with my bestie the ever-vanishing Cheshire, unsure of my own existence. Yet the eternal flame of my imagination helps me escape as I stroll through wonderland. Wonderland is a place to see ones idealized potential, and to be liberated through a gap in society, the rabbit hole is everyone’s biggest fear, yet it is the most liberating furnace for the spirit.
In the eternal flame of imagination, the world flips upside- down, social hierarchies invert, sexual restrictions disappear, and everyone takes off their masks to the unlimited potential of the bizarre and the surreal promise of self. Life mimics art, and art is life. In other words, staying alive is an addiction, it is having a loaded pistol in your mouth as the angels sing of the resurrection. I am of course being ironic"
". A sullen man of darkness, loneliness and the look of death shadowing his eyes. People that have looked into his eyes for long walk away unable to tell time and differentiate the sensuous capsule that is life from the loneliness of nothingness. The cradle between the two abysses becomes groundless. A loaded pistol grows in the cradle as they can’t escape the unsettling effect that was left from meeting our scientist. It is as if they saw Lazarus come back from the dead and shared in the coldness of the silence that comes from coming out of the sacred, gothic temple that is death. I walk through the roads and ponder on the mystical event that is the lives of these two young men. I walk through a parking lot and see the asphalt’s colorful parakeet on the ground where oil and water shared a relationship and synthesized into pride. "
"Different people seek out purpose and meaning from things that are either inside of themselves or from the outside. Some people after going to a rave seek self-enlightenment as they remember the previous night and thinking that the dancers are copies of each other, lifeless manikins, and in a drunken state and having popped acid look in the mirror and seeing the devil looking back at them for the way they spent their night. The way they have spent their life and teenage years, is there an escape from the devilish gaze, have they become the devil, the world and transcended the party life by becoming a trickster and an observer. Others seek for purpose through other means such as wanting to chisel their bodies as if they were Michelangelo and their bodies were marble just awaiting to be sculpted into the statue of David, in order to be able to get any female they want and if they are lucky a harem, and to some extreme cases their wild imaginations lead them to wanting to be the Genghis Khan of their college campus. If we are lucky then their inner desires are simply to look good and to be healthy for their own good. Here are two examples, examples that can be engulfed from a mind that isn’t sober, a mind being led into a forestry treaded path into discord.
Dear, Reader
The name is anonymous, I am twenty years old and currently seeking the meaning of life, I know I believe in something but I don’t quite know how to put it into words, there’s more Godly purpose in it then there is in absurdism, yet there isn’t enough for it to be labeled evangelical Christianity. I am my own genre, not quite postmodern and not quite modern or romantic, I am the leaf that is going against the wind current known as death, I see Christ, the devil and the spirit in death, call me the Grim Reaper but I simply call myself a passenger in the roller coaster known as life, the wanderer of the desert, perhaps even the grand inquisitor, please don’t make fun of me but here is my philosophy quoted by me, it is low in open mindedness, as it doesn’t look into the backstory and the grey of reasoning and backstory as existentialism would, instead it looks at a black and white example. This is daunting, call me a coward for not wanting to share my philosophy under my name and that I instead use the moniker of anonymous, but I will build up the courage to tell you and to allow you to judge me, but come to realize that I’m right, in this crazy, topsy-turvy world only I have been able to create a philosophy to explain the underpinnings of reality and consciousness. My theory is insane, childish and dark, it’ll probably make me sound like a psychopath, but it pretty much went as we can see and experience consciousness/personality was known through madness: creation through destruction, such as the weak overcoming the strong, and the feeling of being overcome, the ugly destroying the beautiful, and the feeling that the beautiful experiences at the moment of insanity. In other words, imagine a redemptive spiral staircase to the heavens in the mist, with a light bug leading the way, a repetitive cycle of Dostevskian redemption. An example of this is to imagine a freshman in high school destroying herself by losing her virginity to the varsity team and therefore branding herself with a new personality, a new purpose, a new being no matter the underlying causes (as I have already reported I am low on open mindedness) and eventually hitting rock bottom leading her to repentance and reprogramming her mind now to fall into the religion of Christianity, creation through destruction. I myself do not know if I have yet to make that final step in the stage of Kierkegaard’s hierarchy, the leap of faith. If there is a devil and a God, I think that madness, the synthesis of shadows, the lack of light is the greatest argument for the existence of the Devil, and the light that reveals it for the poshlust that it is, is the greatest proof of God, the light leads to the resurrection of consciousness, as the hummingbird looks with a mocking grin.
Sincerely, a fellow sinner and lost soul."
This is what I consider a philosophical idea:
It is strange how a memory will grow into a wax figure, how the cherub grows suspiciously prettier as its frame darkens with age-strange, strange are the mishaps of memory – Vladimir Nabokov
The philosopher was a philosopher before he even knew what philosophy was. An introspective young boy, with a cheerful domineer for adventure, and a loud laugh that can be heard throughout the neighborhood. From a young age he was called ‘philosopher’ as he had a ponderous mind, one that couldn’t help but ponder on the mysteries of the Bible, the complexities of God’s personality, the paradox of mercy and justice coming into one, supreme being, and the subtle cleverness of the prince of lies and his wolf pack of clever deceivers. He pondered and pondered on the inconsistencies of omnipresence, omniscience, how can one know all from alpha to omega, yet have wrath when people disobey, the beauty of freedom in allowing choice through the planting of the delicious fruit from the tree of good and life, and hungering for the tree of life, the philosophical stone which crux was in the cross. He felt that it all came together through the concept of the spirit, but what is the spirit, what is consciousness and what sends us to ponder on the mysteries of life. He was a clever child, one of exuberance and yet the seriousness of a logician. He believed that the spirit is seen in death and it is the transfiguration of the flesh into a new being, the madness that brought chaos into the cosmos, the stream of consciousness into fluid thought, he as a child couldn’t express it in those words but he felt it intuitively, the spirit was the dancing of particles that form the bane of thought, the filtering of the angels versus the demons, the running thoughts that come from the neurons interacting with one another, and synapses directing the senses into action. Dancing particles creating a white aurora like breath in the cold of night.
[MENTION=34313]RadicalDoubt[/MENTION], [MENTION=13550]A Radiant Dawn[/MENTION]
" . Money is the forbidden fruit, the light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. It is the entitlement of Zeus, Muhammad and the Buddha vomited out by the sacred mythical beast known as life.
Dear reader you must agree with me that I must not mention the niceties and mannerisms that are expected amongst philistines, small talk is for the weak minded. Give me liberty or give me death, or something along those lines should be how all conversations should begin. Instead of the boorish, “hi, how are youâ€, “isn’t it a great dayâ€, “the lord has blessed usâ€, what shriveled up tongues, almost as shriveled as their – I won’t deliver such a vulgar line but you dear reader get the point. It is lucifer’s bastion, the haven for those lacking in genius, I’m repeating myself and should go ahead and get on with my original point. What was that – yes, my conversation with my younger brother who has decided to take the greatest B.S story seriously. It’s almost as ridiculous as the belief in witches, people are afraid of them without even first checking if it is scientifically valid. Before pastors try to cast out the witch’s demons, they should try out the witchcraft for themselves to see if it is real. Pastors who may be reading this I plead that you show the crazed woman pity, please cut yourself and sign a deal with the devil, you’ll only find out that he is nothing more than a water boy. A figure of your imagination, a Mephistopheles. To tell you the truth (just in case a pastor is reading this) I do believe in witches, truth is nothing more than the way we use words, how we decide to categorize things. There is a group of females who seduce pastors, or guys who seduce them, if the pastor is a homosexual, revealing the pastor for who they really are. What grave magic, we need to burn the witches and create the second trimester of the inquisition. It is ridiculous that there are people out there who believe that there are elite apostates who fly around in brooms, have ugly warts on their face and turn into black cats. I wonder if I’ll be able to find an architect who can build me a house with walking chicken feet. I’ll be able to invite the devil to a ball and we will all wear Jewish masks, worshipping Baal until it infuriates the lord to the point that he has us packing to Babylon. I make myself laugh… for those with a master’s in theology (or preferably a PHD) can you please tell me how the devil and God come together to create a dog – poshlust. "
"He is a riddle that sees angels in coincidences, it’s as if he is trying to use pure chance to tie a knot around his neck and jump calling it faith"
"I find it interesting that he calls her paradise, as if Adam would’ve called Eve Eden after the fall. As if a pseudo Cupid would’ve shot Steve for looking at Adam and bring in the anguish of the Cherubim of the ark as Eve looks back only to become a pillar of salt. What is love, if nothing more than a chemical reaction. It is madness, with a sacred ritual performed in the midst of candles and icons."
"Life is weird, a Gogolian fantasy, a stroll through wonderland. Life is frightening otherwise, a nightmare of bureaucracy. In my world God is the red queen, the devil is the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter is the saint of time, I stroll through the fabric of reality with my bestie the ever-vanishing Cheshire, unsure of my own existence. Yet the eternal flame of my imagination helps me escape as I stroll through wonderland. Wonderland is a place to see ones idealized potential, and to be liberated through a gap in society, the rabbit hole is everyone’s biggest fear, yet it is the most liberating furnace for the spirit.
In the eternal flame of imagination, the world flips upside- down, social hierarchies invert, sexual restrictions disappear, and everyone takes off their masks to the unlimited potential of the bizarre and the surreal promise of self. Life mimics art, and art is life. In other words, staying alive is an addiction, it is having a loaded pistol in your mouth as the angels sing of the resurrection. I am of course being ironic"
". A sullen man of darkness, loneliness and the look of death shadowing his eyes. People that have looked into his eyes for long walk away unable to tell time and differentiate the sensuous capsule that is life from the loneliness of nothingness. The cradle between the two abysses becomes groundless. A loaded pistol grows in the cradle as they can’t escape the unsettling effect that was left from meeting our scientist. It is as if they saw Lazarus come back from the dead and shared in the coldness of the silence that comes from coming out of the sacred, gothic temple that is death. I walk through the roads and ponder on the mystical event that is the lives of these two young men. I walk through a parking lot and see the asphalt’s colorful parakeet on the ground where oil and water shared a relationship and synthesized into pride. "
"Different people seek out purpose and meaning from things that are either inside of themselves or from the outside. Some people after going to a rave seek self-enlightenment as they remember the previous night and thinking that the dancers are copies of each other, lifeless manikins, and in a drunken state and having popped acid look in the mirror and seeing the devil looking back at them for the way they spent their night. The way they have spent their life and teenage years, is there an escape from the devilish gaze, have they become the devil, the world and transcended the party life by becoming a trickster and an observer. Others seek for purpose through other means such as wanting to chisel their bodies as if they were Michelangelo and their bodies were marble just awaiting to be sculpted into the statue of David, in order to be able to get any female they want and if they are lucky a harem, and to some extreme cases their wild imaginations lead them to wanting to be the Genghis Khan of their college campus. If we are lucky then their inner desires are simply to look good and to be healthy for their own good. Here are two examples, examples that can be engulfed from a mind that isn’t sober, a mind being led into a forestry treaded path into discord.
Dear, Reader
The name is anonymous, I am twenty years old and currently seeking the meaning of life, I know I believe in something but I don’t quite know how to put it into words, there’s more Godly purpose in it then there is in absurdism, yet there isn’t enough for it to be labeled evangelical Christianity. I am my own genre, not quite postmodern and not quite modern or romantic, I am the leaf that is going against the wind current known as death, I see Christ, the devil and the spirit in death, call me the Grim Reaper but I simply call myself a passenger in the roller coaster known as life, the wanderer of the desert, perhaps even the grand inquisitor, please don’t make fun of me but here is my philosophy quoted by me, it is low in open mindedness, as it doesn’t look into the backstory and the grey of reasoning and backstory as existentialism would, instead it looks at a black and white example. This is daunting, call me a coward for not wanting to share my philosophy under my name and that I instead use the moniker of anonymous, but I will build up the courage to tell you and to allow you to judge me, but come to realize that I’m right, in this crazy, topsy-turvy world only I have been able to create a philosophy to explain the underpinnings of reality and consciousness. My theory is insane, childish and dark, it’ll probably make me sound like a psychopath, but it pretty much went as we can see and experience consciousness/personality was known through madness: creation through destruction, such as the weak overcoming the strong, and the feeling of being overcome, the ugly destroying the beautiful, and the feeling that the beautiful experiences at the moment of insanity. In other words, imagine a redemptive spiral staircase to the heavens in the mist, with a light bug leading the way, a repetitive cycle of Dostevskian redemption. An example of this is to imagine a freshman in high school destroying herself by losing her virginity to the varsity team and therefore branding herself with a new personality, a new purpose, a new being no matter the underlying causes (as I have already reported I am low on open mindedness) and eventually hitting rock bottom leading her to repentance and reprogramming her mind now to fall into the religion of Christianity, creation through destruction. I myself do not know if I have yet to make that final step in the stage of Kierkegaard’s hierarchy, the leap of faith. If there is a devil and a God, I think that madness, the synthesis of shadows, the lack of light is the greatest argument for the existence of the Devil, and the light that reveals it for the poshlust that it is, is the greatest proof of God, the light leads to the resurrection of consciousness, as the hummingbird looks with a mocking grin.
Sincerely, a fellow sinner and lost soul."
This is what I consider a philosophical idea:
It is strange how a memory will grow into a wax figure, how the cherub grows suspiciously prettier as its frame darkens with age-strange, strange are the mishaps of memory – Vladimir Nabokov
The philosopher was a philosopher before he even knew what philosophy was. An introspective young boy, with a cheerful domineer for adventure, and a loud laugh that can be heard throughout the neighborhood. From a young age he was called ‘philosopher’ as he had a ponderous mind, one that couldn’t help but ponder on the mysteries of the Bible, the complexities of God’s personality, the paradox of mercy and justice coming into one, supreme being, and the subtle cleverness of the prince of lies and his wolf pack of clever deceivers. He pondered and pondered on the inconsistencies of omnipresence, omniscience, how can one know all from alpha to omega, yet have wrath when people disobey, the beauty of freedom in allowing choice through the planting of the delicious fruit from the tree of good and life, and hungering for the tree of life, the philosophical stone which crux was in the cross. He felt that it all came together through the concept of the spirit, but what is the spirit, what is consciousness and what sends us to ponder on the mysteries of life. He was a clever child, one of exuberance and yet the seriousness of a logician. He believed that the spirit is seen in death and it is the transfiguration of the flesh into a new being, the madness that brought chaos into the cosmos, the stream of consciousness into fluid thought, he as a child couldn’t express it in those words but he felt it intuitively, the spirit was the dancing of particles that form the bane of thought, the filtering of the angels versus the demons, the running thoughts that come from the neurons interacting with one another, and synapses directing the senses into action. Dancing particles creating a white aurora like breath in the cold of night.
[MENTION=34313]RadicalDoubt[/MENTION], [MENTION=13550]A Radiant Dawn[/MENTION]