Christ is Who?

Her name is Sophia. I'm a Sophia-phile. Another way to say this is "philosopher." But who (worth talking to) is not? My dear dear Sophia, woman most sublime. Truth is a woman.

Umo sells word-power. Umo sells morale. The pen is a sword. Ink trumps steel. Persuasion is force. Do the math (the etymology). To urge is the shove it in, that notion of yours, that seductive command.

For those who paint our picture of the world are our masters. Therefore Marx and his talk of ideology. The slave-class admires its oppressor. The retard does an impersonation of the genius. Both are quite amused.

As energy is to matter, so is faith to action. It's not only in our chatter that courage is manifest.

And what are we without this faith? How, without self-love, can we stand on our own two feet? And without self-love, why should we? Doubters are always servants. The grand narcissists is always a king / queen (the holy hermaphrodite of alchemy).

We are what we believe we are. Perception is reality. Obviously.

A good general knows that faith = courage = victory. This is why the Ancient Jews were forbidden to number their troops. It showed a lack of trust in their war god Jehova.

Words move humans as the wind moves leaves on trees. The word spirit originally meant "breath." Words (and therefore society, religion, meaning) are made of breath. Man is concept. Concept is breath. Man is breath. Man is spirit. God is simply this spirit imagined without the limitations of our human body.

Man is not only concept, though, for man is built on the chimp, which is built on the mammal in general. So man is affectionate, social. Some say feeling is more important than thought. Feeling is obviously more primitive. Our pet dogs are obviously full of feeling.





THE UNSEEN FACE

We seemed to be programmed for religion. But the program is flexible. Opposite causes are powered by the same force, this drive toward virtue, the "ideal".

What is this ideal? We know it many forms. We see the many masks it wears.

In the name of truth. In the name of doubt. In the name of love. In the name of country. In the name of God. In the name of narcissism. In the name of what-the-fuck-ever.

We wear the mask that grins and lies.

Always, always the ideal -- which can be imagined as an unseen face which never appears without some mask.

These masks are all the ways we define ourselves as somehow good, even if we substitute the word "bad" or "evil." These masks are how we define ourselves and our group as ideal, sublime, superior.

This face (a quasi-Jungian archetype) is inferred, not seen. It can therefore be conceived as a positively charged void, a slot that generates its cartridges in relation to the contingent.

"Man is an heroic being." This, at least, she got right (Ayn Rand). This is also the essence of her appeal. She called herself a "man-worshipper" and she worshipped this man in herself. Her conception of man was spiritual, though she might have disdained the word "spiritual" for it's mystical associations.

Back to Kojeve / Hegel. Man is the Concept. Not only Concept but Self-Concept. The being that names itself. The being constantly renaming itself. The being that lives in its poetry. The being that sheds words. The being that shits words.

Time is Concept changing its underwear. Man is concept. Man is time. His dream of future. His revision of the past (history). The unseen face and its endless fashion show, endless masquerade.

History is a succession of heroic poses. History is a sequence is moral fads. History is a series of self-conceptions (the individual and the race, both have their histories).

A man without concept is not a man but only a chimp in man's clothing.

The unseen face is heroism itself. The masks it wears are varieties of heroism.

These varieties of heroism may be contradictory in relation to one another. Hence war.

Group narcissism is the sharing of an heroic mask. The glue of an ideal in common. The flag is a concept. We are stitched into groups via poetry (also known as propaganda or bullshit).

The pacifist (to himself) is a hero. The vigilante (to himself) is a hero. The skeptic (to himself) is a hero. The believer (to himself) is a hero. All are motivated by the same force, the unseen face.

This unseen face is just a myth. A myth is just a theory / metaphor. Theories are tools, toys, teeth.

By "hero" I just mean an ideal or perfect man, the best kind of man --- the conception of which varies from person to person.

What is it we are trying to be? What do we hope to become? What are we already, that we should love ourselves so well? This is my subject matter. How do we define ourselves and why must we do so?

This is why I assume an "instinct" (which only means push or drive). It's built in, like a carrot on a stick that leads a donkey.

To become conscious of this spiritual instinct is to become an ironists, a comedian. If god is just some program in the brain-tissue, the world becomes what Shakespeare said it was.

"All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players." (They have their entrances and exits)

The word personality comes from the greek word "persona." A persona is a mask used in the tragic drama. The greek tragic drama was originally a religious ritual. As their society became more self-conscious and ironic, this religious ritual became not unlike HBO.

But the essence is this. That personality is a mask. Etymology cracks the case.

We are only individuals on the surface. Two inches down we are Generic Human Being. The same 26 chromosomes.

But this crust is delicious. This crust is the maximum. The most beautiful potent humans are (for me) true religion. Give me poets, musicians, dictators, comedians.

Caligula is our common secret stripped bare. All of us are monsters, indescibly beautiful monsters. Indescribably obscene.

Every hero-mask has its villain-mask. The Nazi needs his Jew. The Liberal needs his Nazi. The In-groups needs to exclude, or it is no In-group.

Man likes war. Even if it's only conceptual supremacy, (someone to look down on.)

It seems to yours truly that the hero-myth (or "self-myth") is the only archetype that matters in adults.

The self-myth is the skeleton key that opens all doors.

This self-as-hero myth takes the form of words. Our most important poem is the one we use to justify and glorify ourselves. Sometimes it’s a long and complicated poem. But usually there is the short version, which is sometimes what convenience requires (or sometimes all the small-minded can manage.)

Such a myth reshapes one's life. Life is shaped around such myths / concepts.

Nietzsche -> Zarathrustra. Saint Paul -> "Not I, but Christ in me." Zweydorff -> Onanismo / Umo.

Pseudonyms, the distance of the critical minds. For all is but one slice of me. For I am the bottomless well.

As Zizek says, Woman is a nothingness. And Woman is the truth of Man. Man is the Mask. Woman is the unseen face that can only see, never be. The void at the center of us all. The unblinking eye.

Behind our names and games and gender and race and history and face,
there is "( )"

This nothingness is consciousness itself, which must be inferred. For when have experienced consciousness that was not consciousness of something.

Let us return to the theme of self-glorification. The "anxiety of influence" (Harold Bloom's phrase) is not a problem for everyone.

This anxiety is the hell-hound of poets especially and artists in general.

So much has been said already. Our concept of the hero includes uniqueness, originality. We wonder can we achieve this. Or shall we be yet another bad copy of someone real, someone significant.

Being "weaned" from the mother. Is this not simply the realization that other humans do not want to play the passive, admiring role to our "phallic" displays?
When we try to impress them, we annoy them, for THEY want to impress US. They want us to suck their dicks.

Then again, if the "phallic display" is GOOD, we DO enjoy the passive role. We will laugh at the comedian, be influenced by the philosopher, pump up the volume. But distance helps here, for envy is the omnipresent cancer of relationships.

The Baby is the Phallus is the Star. The wise men bring gifts to Baby Penis, I mean Jesus. Jesus is Dick. The Virgin is perfect dick-love, sublimated trans-carnal dick-love. Virgin = Mind Fuck. For no other reason is her hymen intact. Loveless beings do not ascend into Heaven, become statues.

Jesus is Perfect Cock. Mary is Pussy Sublime. We should all be so lucky. We should all be both. Hard pussy and dripping cock.

If the Star in question is a poet, then Jesus is Virus. (Jesus = Star = Poet = Poem). Good poetry gets quotes. It spreads like a virus.

I hope that the very ideas you are reading share that fate. May this viral verbiage spread like the thighs of an ovulating whore.

What we adopt, we can hardly condemn.

If you want them to love you, make them become you.

Seduce them with theories. Seduce them with new metaphors.

They will love you as they must love a more perfect version of their selves. They must love you as they love their future selves.

For you, if successful as philosopher / poet / moralists, ARE their future selves.

But strong will only take part of you. They refuse to melt entirely on the heat of your verbal cock. They will chip off some useful fragments, integrate these fragments with their own current mask.

It may be that our originally is an illusion, a bluff. Doesn't matter. It's a necessary lie, a necessary assumption. ("To assume the throne.")

Life is a lie. Praise, therefore, the lie.

Persuasion is replication. To persuade is to sculpt the persuaded. This is the Inquisition barbequed heretics. The pope is a jealous god.

To fuck her mind is to fuck her most thoroughly. The pope is an Ideal Penis. The body he leaves to chimpanzees. He wants your soul on his cock (his tall swollen hat).

In chimpanzees we have an alpha male who claims all females (the rest must sneak in an occasional fuck while master sleeps). Despite the monogamy that is culturally recommended among us humans, the chimp way remains. The dominant poets are remembered. The rest are dust.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this, that art today is dominated by chimpanzee sexual politics.

THEREFORE the anxiety of influence. Inferior males must offer up their ass, be inseminated. Be copies, conductors, consumers -- but never (pro-)creators.

Yet all of this is myth. Not 100% true. Not the truth but merely one interpretation.

For my self-myth is complex, ladies in gentlemen. My hero (the holy trinity of me, myself, and I) doesn't get tangled up in his own cord.

Onanismo knows better. (My myth in a nutshell: I know better.)

In the old testament to "know" is to fuck.

Onanismo the Honest. Onanismo the Lie.

All truth is paradox. All paradox is truth. Lies are the only truth. Truth is the only.

The above is 100% B.S.

A dog shakes a rat in its mouth. The rat is a student of philosophy. I am the dog.

And this asshole statement also has its purpose. To shock and eventually awe. To shove this cock in the proper mouth until that mouth has a golden tongue.

Only complete whores know how the cock should be used.

Therefore that strange paradox of ultimate masculinity and its interior collision with ultimate femininity. If man is mask, then who better to invent the perfect male mask than the perfect nothingness / female? The negative is attracted to the positive. The negative paints an image its desire, the perfect man, the perfect something-ness, the perfect lie / illusion / hero.

What is the difference between the Dionysian straight man and the Dionysian gay man? The straight man lusts for himself, prefers his own cock. This doen't mean he will accept no substitute. So, sure, call him (if you prefer) bisexual. But his homoeroticism is merely carnal. His self-myth is DICK / CHRIST. He has no husband but himself.

Christ is Dick that wants to multiply. Even personas breed, non-biologically.

Logos (greek for "word") is Virus. Words like Viruses are neither dead nor alive.

In themselves they are nothing. But they become the essence of their proper host.

These bodies are the slaves of the word - virus. We are the slaves of inherited ideas.

Lucky us that Western Philosophy is so often sweetly Satanic. Which is to say CRITICAL. The Skeptics (whatever their limitations) are TNT.

Doubt is as an Ax That Hacks.

Hack off the phallus of yesteryear.

When it finally occurred to me that I myself was God, that was the End of History. For me, anyway.

Which is not truth but only poetry. The goal is self-divinity. The essence is self-glorification.

I've been to the end of the rainbow. Like Hegel, I figured everything out.

If you hear this statement without its irony, you will surely misjudge me. ("If you read you'll judge")

Onanismo is a fart joke. Onanismo the Buffoon. Onanismo the Con Man.

Onanismo the liberal ironist. Onanismo the Dick of God. Umo the Most Holy, Also Known As the Biggest Hole.

Onanismo the Bottomless Pit.

How nice that the last book in the bible includes the notion of a bottomless pit. How lovely.

"And what I shall assume, you shall assume."

Walt Whitman our American Christ, and a horny one at that. Give him boys girls lepers and presidents.

If a person sees that the secret behind all culture is self-glorification, how can he not laugh, become an ironists, a smart-ass?

He is onto the eternal con, perhaps the eternal nothingness.

It's like that first line in Ecclesiastes: "All is vanity."

All the world's a stage. The zone for moral (read heroic) action. History, including the History of Poetry, is the Poem of such action.

Behind all apparent contradictions, the unseen face, the ineffable totality.

The mysterious union of opposites. That's what Nicolas of Cusa said was God.

All science is conjecture. Nicolas was a man of the so-called dark ages. The dark ages weren't so dark.

It's only the peasants who thought God was just some asshole with too much power.

For others, God was the upper limit of their imagination. God was the name of the Union Forever. God, taken in the best sense, is the supreme accomplishment of the human mind.

Christ is God in Man. Christ is the Union of Flesh and Totality. Christ is Man's realization that He is the Creator of the Creator.

Onanismo if Christ. And Christ ain't Jesus exactly but Jesus was Christ. Christ is the universal God-element, the One Holy Spirit that inflates all heroes.

My best readers, clearly, are also Christ. Else they would not hear of it. Or else false modesty cracks their mirrors.

Lead or follow. And if you lead, you had better have the truth, even if this same truth is also a lie. No faith, no motive. No motive, no direction. What leader worth anything lacks even a direction in which to lead?