The Smile of the Unvanquished

All right. Meditate on this! In allegorical terms, the question could be put as why a given forrest, ancient and with an established inner coherence and specific ecology, has to make way for a replacement, turning the land into an arboretum or any other botanical garden with an assemblage in the collection that has little to no relation with the previous and eradicated biotope... The former is a natural and spontanious outcome of biological and climatic, geological processes and their interaction, while the latter is project-wise, goal-orientated, man-made and hence non-authentic...invasive.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Left-libertarianism Pretty much sums up most of my own viewpoints, barring ideas on equality of race and ethnics. I think that in small-scale communities and primitive, pre-urban cultures the answers are giving how to manage a society in terms of ownership and subsistence. The problem with some libertarians/anarcho-capitalists is that it lauds too much the polito-economic constellation as it is and defends economic strongholds which actually have claimed a near monopoly on economic affairs and are de facto detrimental to free market schemes. In their lectures, they appear rather to take side with banks and corporations in stead of small businesses, workers and other categories. I left some of my old socialist persuasions, but not my altruism for the underdog and less fortunate echelons of society (except the dregs and chavs, which are as despicable as the posh toffs). Where in our current society you are obliged to either find work in either whatever job

... having been in close range to the mauling talons of Death, I would say that two painful regrets, overshadowing the physical torment, might hit your right in your face... the regret to leave people behind, a strange kind of guilt, while it's obvious that it's not your fault that you can't reach them in your dying moments, you feel as if you abandon the people who mattered so much to you and to whom you were an important part of their life... ... and the other is... well, borderline self-pity in part, but as you sense that things are out of your control, your strength and resistence growing anemic, the emaciation of your will and sovereignity, you feel that slippery path into ultimate surrender as a failure to yourself, and it gets worse, when angst and sadness moves into your mind, plodding themself up from some forgotten bog of commiseration and the shame to leave your loved ones behind (alone), tugging you in their stiffling flumes, while in your isolation, despite any

I am used dreaming of crazies, pod-like people, zombies and my own old folks acting entirely out of character, vicious, double-faced and sometimes with a sad tragic demeanour... while I am on the run, but when confronted with adversary, I take a stand and fight back, or even play along, pretty much as in a chess game, apparently giving up pawns readily, only to change the action of the game, to win... So, one morning I dreamed of our world surrendered to the dominion of Reptilians from Outer Space (yes, I hear you giggling...now stop that!) made out the the higher echelons of a rigidly class-structured Society, which basically was cut in half between citizens living in urban agglomerations and the peasantry. Seemingly the treatment of City Folk was fairly better and more tolerant, allowing them to pursue their daily life in a measured level of freedom, pretty much the reality where in now, while out there in the Country but also in this in-between zone of Suburbia humans would be perio

The theme of perenniality is fundamental in the religions and the mythologies of primitives and ancien (urban)civilisations. They show adversity in respect to History, the primitive mind according to Mircea Eliade , shuns a notion of individuality (they replace it by the "archetype", in a boutade one could say, the primitives invented sociological labelling; in a way, the rethoric pattern and spirit of contention behind factional adversary, be it political or religious often evokes mythological pathos) and a sequence of irreversible events captured in a historic and thus evolving framework. Rites and cermonies, aka " repetition of paredigmatic gestures", help to abolish the context of time and reconnect with the primordial and only true and truth-extracting state of our Existence. The course of History must be annihilated, repetition of the acts and deeds of the initial beings or archetypes secures perenniality, since what is actualized is the very birth of our Cosm

WHITE NOISE He heard an inner voice ingress his mind, a mind in dragging fever from days spend in front of a pixelled radiation hearth. No sleep, no dreams. Thrilled by an exhaustion that defeated l'ennui by straining the very same exhaustion and lust to burn up oneself in greatest labours of a scorned spirit to unbearable limits. A smile fashions his face, an irresistable grin actually...like the Cheshire cat in Alice's story. Engraved forever in the event horizon of a darkening self-complacency of one's time and space. A dank, dark dungeon...no! A womb! A womb and a new quickened Life created by Stimmung . Stimmung : our true en personal religion to cross over and make meaning and quality out of a quantified, apathic and crumbling alien world. It sounded familiar and what it quoted was the pinnacle of witty ingenuity and a logical beauty fixed by supreme rules and intonations. He had worked all day. Dried tears of eyes exposed to blazing microwa

Well, amidst the dales of glumness there is always space for a hillock from where laughter blares into the air, though its level might be lower than the one of a dale itself.... :) They found a fly in South America which is wing-less... It hops usually monotuously up and down a short strip of soil, or along a tree branch... hence they called it the zipper ...

Remember this song? Mankind’s wishes may thousands of years in the future show its execrable, most large in abominations degraded face; a posterity devoid of the wet gleamy soulfulness as one can meet even in the smallest creature, of lower berth than animo acids which lead from a pre-biotic world to trees of life shooting out barren grounds, and strayed far off from the faculties of wisdom, moral excellence and quietude which crowns in any known epoch an individual to seigneur. The current trend of a cut for pleasure, the body plastinized and recycled in a rejuvenation frenzy, the scavenging of the dead and the comatose to harvest the life essentials in a bid to efface the second and last security in one’s existence, the recoil from dank gloomy ugliness to embrace shiny orderly symmetry, could descend into bizarre and forlorn manifestations, ravaging what made life a fire in men to strive for great creative achievements of the mind and of hands. But the transgression of the will and

UFO-Related Homicide in Brazil: The Complete Story [from International UFO Magazine] By G. Cope Schellhorn If this case is authentically UFO-related - and at this time I have no reason to believe it is not - then all of us are going to have to reevaluate to one degree or another our tentative conclusions as to the possible specific intentions, moral perspectives and general agenda that some of our extraterrestrial visitors may have. There have been rumors of homicidal, UFO-related, human mutilation cases for some time now but hard evidence has been lacking. Until, perhaps, now. Brazilian ufologist Encarnacion Zapata Garcia and Dr. Rubens Goes have recently presented a series of sensational photographs, obtained from police files which mimic the wounds of countless UFO-related animal mutilation cases that have been reported in Europe and North, Central and South America since the 1960s. On first glance they would seem to be ufology's worst nightmare. What is more disturbin

Within the circumvallation of one's private hamlet where one laughs, daydreams and sleeps, from the humming clammy void parallel worlds are created from construction materials of the hunting heart and despoiling wailing sighs. Worlds evermore adventurous, bathing in a spree of unknown lights and landscapes at full trot rejoicing to cross the wildest frontiers. Beyond the window, another world, a shadow world, improvised from synthethic middens and foul breaths, puffs out the hankering and romping eye, makes it glaucous. To survive is to grow up, decoy to usher in the silent munching death for an usurious price.

A faint star half-obscured by dark solemn night clouds, a humble flower with petals drooping wet after a shower that almost blades of grass almost overrun and a hide-away pond under a majestic canopy of oak leaves and boarded by impenetrable shrubs... delicate, indistinctiveand vulnerably shy; but in ways little understood unless one shuts out the traffic of the day, the resistance ofthoughts, the rumblings of emotions, one can perceive them as torchholders of forces and ideas of a force that can empower the awkwardly lonely wanderer in the Acherontic hours of his life, so that success and defeat hardly matter but that the man walks tall because he can't do anything else than staying true to himself -forever and ever.

The body twined in a Pietà slept deep in this finespun silken night, prey to the fever of exhaustion, arrogant in its dismissal of the burgeoning ceremony of a new day. Meanwhile, beyond this clever guise of innocence and repose, the mind was under fastidious and crooked assault by accidental pod people who popped out in this tuft, jumbled and morose labyrinthic mirror version of our daily existence,where the action was of high octane and rattling noisy, but the performers spiritless with their drown faces and advertisement smiles. They wanted to claim me for their own. They attempted to seize, tame and condition me. They hoped for another trophee to their confectionate omnium-gatherum. In fact, they counted on me to jump the shark butthis time I reversed the triumph card trick to my behalf. Recalcitrant and gruff in demeanour, against type, pushing aside the sunny side up compliancy, I outwitted them, a clubbing fist and some work with the limbs, cleared the area, and kept me in a gre

in the end, asphalt and green jungles look all the same, the same monotony and the same hustle and bustle... the same stench of putrescence and the same perfume of mirth and colour.... only that if you demolish one, it threats a way, a style of life, the other the basic foundation of life.... now that's an idea: to destroy nature (which with all cosmic ongoings and panspermia could be breathed with new life), then render mankind so dependent of its technology and gluttonous luxurious life style till someone removes the plug and let it crumble away so mankind will perish by resorting to the worst display of inhumanity and lack of survival skills and ancestral knowledge plus a planet gone almost inhabitable beyond the shielded vestiges of the urban complexes doing the rest to extinction to happen...

Where to start, what to give out?.. There's a flush of sadness and gloom bedded into the description of oneself, an improvisation harked together from a jumble of thoughts, ideas, impressions, turmoils and quietudes, hear-says and reports, all around impoverished statements, like rambling voices lacking, from which is distilled a Leitmotiv, a supra-egotic signature that entails origin and destiny of a living being in its most authentic and yet indefinable, elusive, if not even furtive denominator... like the wind, eternal, fleeting, ubiqitous yet unsubstantial... Identity which like a weed flower rocks dainty in exhibit and sturdy in resilience from the debris of a lichen-clad withered and forgotten tomb.... Now perhaps imagine life, somehow sidetracked to the periphery of life embraced ordinarily, bustling and ever-effacing in the routine mechanical drumbeats of genic and societal infrastructure. Close by facing this spatial blandness,where the horizon and the relative axis of one