16-25/11/12
My writings have survived several changes of
address since when I first began back at 'Bankside' in Merstham, Surrey, where
I wrote poems (some of which were published via the so-called 'vanity press' in
poetry anthologies to be found even in so reputable a bookshop as Foyles in
London's West End) before moving, in 1974, up to the Stroud Green Road in
Finsbury Park where, at my mother's address, I continued to write poetry. When,
later that year, I moved to Elm Grove in Crouch End I added a journal (since
lost or destroyed) to my poetic endeavours, but by the spring of 1976 I had
moved over the hill to Western Park where, after a few months, I began to write
my first novel ('Michael Savage'). When, in the autumn of 1979, I moved (more
accurately was moved by the landlord) across Crouch End to Elder Avenue, I had
already written several titles, philosophical as well as fictional, and I
continued for the next twelve years to deepen my approach both to literature
and to philosophy, so much so that by the time I moved just up the road to
Hornsey in 1991 I was almost exclusively committed to writings of a
philosophical order – a process which has continued ever since with, I
think, greater success in respect of the achievement of metaphysical truth as
the true goal of philosophy.
So from poetry in Merstham to philosophy in
Hornsey via literature with either a poetic or a philosophic bias coming
in-between in both Finsbury Park and Crouch End. That is the history, to-date,
of my writing career or, rather, vocation, which has remained independent of
conventional publishing (hardback and/or paperback) and thus of a world I
despise for its axial irrelevance. For it would have stymied if not precluded
me from writing as I did and, for that matter, continue to do in relation to a
radical church-hegemonic axial disposition, the fruit, I believe, of my Irish
Catholic heritage.
Me and him – the person I was born as and
the person – not necessarily persona – I vocationally elected to
become over the course of several years, who is not necessarily the person I
present to the world, even though the vocational person often takes priority
over the natural person, the person I am (height, weight, skin colour, build,
accent, eye colour, hair colour, etc.), who nonetheless persists in exerting an
unmistakable influence – as he should – upon the life I lead, both
as a person and as a writer/thinker or, as I prefer to put it, philosopher
– perhaps the foremost thinker of the age.
One thing is for sure: the closer the
relationship between the natural person and the vocational person (which some
would identify with the persona), the more integrated and, in a sense,
interdependent they are, the happier and, as it were, more fortunate one is,
since at the end of the day the natural person has to be able to get on with
the artificial person, the vocational person, or else there will be trouble
– big trouble!
Anyone who reads this journal will discover
that the vocational person that overlaps the natural person is if not exactly
one and the same as him, at least close enough to him as to be a reliable
reflection of how the person actually thinks and feels, not someone hiding
behind a mask (or persona) that is so far removed from the person as to be at
variance with him in some kind of fanciful or dramatic falsehood likely to
deceive the reader as to the person's true nature or identity.
Such a situation I would consider not only
intolerable but, frankly, futile and a waste of time, akin to a form of
prostitution. With me, the journey of the one may transmute into the journal of
the other, me into him, but I can confidently say that they are really one and
the same person who is both man and philosopher, and philosopher precisely
because he knows the importance, the experience and expectation, of being 'true
to self'.
For the self is corrupted every time you depart
from it in such fashion as to bear false witness to it. When you are being
'true to self', then what is projected, halo-like, is a reflection of the self
which, as the innermost aspect of the person, is commensurate with Heaven or,
more precisely, with Heaven the Holy Soul. Therefore any reflection of this
self is commensurate with godliness, be it philosophical or musical or, in this
case, a journal reflecting the experiences of the journeyer.
Despite Christ's dying to the flesh on the
Cross, the flesh is both strutted and worshipped, these days, as never before,
and one feels, sadly, that the lesson of Christianity has not been learnt or
was wasted on the will-flaunting and flesh-worshipping generality of persons.
Even Schopenhauer, that much maligned but great philosopher, knew that to
achieve salvation, or its equivalence, you would have to deny the will. What he
didn't say was that, despite appearances to the contrary, the principal
embodiments of free will and, as a corporeal corollary, free spirit are
females, and that to gain release from the twin holds of will and spirit upon
life you have to deny females, else have soul and ego co-opted to and corrupted
by their objective sway.
Now for the salvation (of males) it takes more
than ego, ever axially beholden to the will and thus to a kind of Faustian pact
with the Devil, that is, Devil the Mother. It takes soul and, hence, truth to
self to ensure that the will is defeated and, ultimately, neutralized,
pseudo-females taking a subordinate place, a plane down at the northeast point
of the intercardinal axial compass, as pseudo-metachemistry under metaphysics,
pseudo-will (pseudo-bound will) under soul, pseudo-space under time,
pseudo-infinity under eternity, like the proverbial (neutralized) dragon under
the saintly heel, he who, corresponding to the 'lamb of god(liness)', alone
inhabits Heaven as the One who is 'God in Heaven', truth in joy, forever
hegemonically triumphant over the (neutralized) lion and/or wolf whose
pseudo-bound will corresponds to pseudo-Devil the Mother, the pseudo-ugliness
in which dwells the pseudo-hate of pseudo-Hell the Unclear Spirit, in
counter-damned, counter-cursed subordination to the blessed Saved. Amen!
A caretaker is a person who 'takes care' of
whatever needs to be 'taken care' of in places like schools, colleges, hostels,
hospitals, etc. In other words, an important, not to say versatile, kind of
person.
The captain wore a baseball cap.
The Titanic was a Titan-like ship that had the
gross misfortune to sink on its maiden voyage from having struck an iceberg.
There could be no ecology, conservationism, or
wildlife protection in 'Kingdom Come'. On the contrary, it would be a moral
necessity to have wild animals – lions, tigers, crocodiles, snakes,
elephants, etc. - put down by special squads of animal hunters. Thus the
savagery of wild animals, beasts of prey, etc., would be consigned to the
rubbish bin of alpha-orientated and/or alpha-stemming history. For if, in going
elsewhere in a different guise, we leave this planet to the animals, it will
revert to savagery and the predatory barbarity of the jungle, which would not
be the kind of legacy to leave behind, assuming – which is doubtful
– we were ever destined to entirely depart from the Earth.
Music is, or can be, easy to listen to on the
radio, where talk programmes would bore or even exasperate one. Unlike them,
music doesn't have any opinion. It just is.
To have abandoned the flesh only for the blood,
the will for the spirit, may well constitute a change of axis and, in a sense,
class, as from the upper-class northeast point of the state-hegemonic axis to
the lower-class southwest point of the church-hegemonic one, but it would hardly
be constitutive of salvation for males (as pseudo-males) whose pseudo-physical
deference to the spirit (of chemical females) precluded them from being other
than pseudo-egotistical 'sons-of-bitches' – a not untypical mass Catholic
situation.
Clifden is a neat little town with an air of
urbane civility and even superficial culture, but despite its minor art
galleries and occasional bookshop or video store, it is really too small to be
particularly interesting, and so one quickly tires of it, making haste, having
traversed the main streets a few times, to return to Galway City.
The Clifden Arts Festival, held during the last
two weeks of September, is a worthy but fundamentally provincial and even
philistine affair likely to bog down in poetry and folk music when not overly
deferential to some kind of drama, more usually theatrical. More film and less
theatre, please; more rock and less folk, please; more … but no, Clifden
is, after all, a provincial town that endeavours to belie its most westerly location,
on exposed headlands the far side of the Connemara mountains and lakes, with
pretensions to culture. That, at least, is admirable!
Athenry, by contrast, is a town (even smaller
than Clifden) without any artistic pretensions, but kind of stuck, if not
marooned, in an historical past stretching all the way back to Norman times. It
is as if the substantial remnants of a once-proud and mighty castle, bastion of
English power, has stultified growth in the town and made it overly dependent
on cattle-, I mean, castle-oriented tourism, to the detriment of what is truly
modern. Athenry is not a nice place to be in the rain, and even on a hot
summer's day – precious few as they may be in the West of Ireland - the
'green fields' are more apt to deliver the acrid stench of farm animal dung
than to entice anybody to dance and cavort amongst the buttercups. I had a
strong sense of olfactory oppression the last time I was there, back in the
late-summer of 2008, and was only too relieved to catch a train back to
These days Eyre Square is less airily
delightful, even with pretty flower gardens and relatively close proximity to
the sea, but that is because it has been chopped-up into several contrasting
sections bisected by wide gravel paths and no longer presents a unified face to
the noisy and smelly traffic whose pollution streams around it on three sides,
the only side free of traffic congestion, including buses, having
pedestrianised access to the stylish but recession-hit shopping centre of the
same name.
Barna in the pouring rain on a Sunday morning
in September (I write retrospectively) is no joke, but was for me something of
a major disappointment that offers little or no shelter or entertainment
(unless a supermarket is your idea of either) but, rather, confirms a kind of
Marian inevitability about the general state-of-affairs in the West of Ireland,
whereby the world is indeed a 'veil of tears' shot through, however, with a
vicious wind (kind of like Irish humour) that blows right through one, leaving
one shivering with cold. I tramped nervously back to Salthill, the popular
seaside suburb of Galway City, angry at myself not so much for having got a
gratuitous soaking as for having lost my sunglasses (not that they would have
been needed) somewhere along the way or even in Barna itself, where they must
have fallen out of my jacket pocket.
Therefore Barna, for me, will remain the place
where I lost my black plastic sunglasses on a rainy day (what day in
The gulf that exists between the genders is one
that you cross, as a male, at your own peril, because what exists on the other
side is not only antithetically different, but fundamentally hostile to
encroachments from beyond. 'Mother Nature' both creates and destroys, like
certain 'gods' which barbarous peoples still worship. But what most men don't
seem to realize is that she destroys in order to create, and in the case of
adult males it is their destruction as males which makes the creation of new
life possible. Yet such life will be a whole lot closer to the adult female,
during childhood, than to her male counterpart, further isolating him from self
and thus effectively securing his downfall.
Galway's Salthill had acquired a new fish &
chip shop or, rather, café since last I was there in 2010, and what a
pleasure it turned out to be eating there, served by what looked like a guy of
Arabic extraction. Even Eglinton Street, in the heart of the city, had acquired
a flash new café/restaurant selling, amongst other things, doner and
shish kebabs, and I gladly tucked-in to the former under the watchful eye of
Arabic-looking guys whose ceiling sported colourful Islamic stars that appeared
to hover above one in their absolute splendour. Clearly, Galway was becoming
ever more cosmopolitan, like any other comparable city in
I was glad for a chance to have witnessed, at
first-hand, this further evidence of global encroachment, no matter how morally
or socially regressive, at the expense of seemingly outmoded Western or
nationalist traditions.
The declining sun peeled away the last thin
layer of sky to reveal the vast star-studded space of night, which sparkled in
the flickering rain like so many jewels of what some would have regarded as
majestic splendour but which I, turning away from the window in disgust,
resolutely drew the curtains upon, as upon the fires of hell!
When so-called adults are not adult enough, or sufficiently
mature, to chastise their children, the only result is that the children, with
nothing to fear from their parents, proceed to behave in any manner they fancy,
no matter how boorishly, disruptively, nosily, violently, or what have you. The
children become, in a sense, a law unto themselves over whom the parents have
little or no control – a not untypical outcome of our time, a time that,
having gone to the barbarous dogs of regressive globalization, allows children
to get away with virtually anything in what is an overly permissive climate in
which the parents themselves are often too socially immature to wish to behave
more responsibly as parents and instil respect for adults into their children
through whatever form or degree of chastisement, including physical correction,
is deemed suitable to the occasion.
A bourgeois civilization that sank into
equalitarian decadence, including, besides women, the principle of treating
children equally, as if they were adults or even especially deserving of a
hands-off-attitude to parenting, is now being eclipsed and outdone by a
barbarously proletarian stage of devolved globalization in which kids – I
don't feel the term 'children' would be entirely appropriate here – are
increasingly getting the better of adults because the so-called adults refuse
to act like adults and take responsibility for the behaviour of their
offspring, allowing if not actively encouraging them to behave in a blatantly
aggressive manner that mirrors their own thirst for aggressive and, especially
in the cases of peoples of non-European origin, broadly anti-Western, if not
anti-bourgeois and counter-imperial, sentiments, in the false hope, no doubt,
that the next generation, when it 'comes of age', will be in a better position
to brutally overthrow the system than themselves.
I fear it takes a lot more than brawn and
physical aggression to overthrow a system as old and much-tested as the
state-hegemonic one that exists in and typifies Britain, much less replace it
with anything better, and the current generation of anarchically-reared
youngsters are going to be in for a rude awakening if they persist in their
thoughtless and arrogantly mindless ways.
We speak rather glibly of the English Civil War
of the seventeenth century, quite as though that was the first and only civil
war that
But the earlier civil war, in which the House
of York eventually lost to the House of Lancaster, was in some respects
bloodier than its more widespread counterpart a couple of centuries later.
Since then, thank God, there hasn't been
another civil war in
When I sit down to work or write at my desk,
particularly when using the Internet, I don't just sit down and work, as
presumably most persons who identify with writing would. On the contrary, I
have to constantly struggle against Bangladeshi-inspired neighbour opposition,
whether in the face of tapping noises upstairs that appear to mimic or act as a
retort to my own computer use or, alternatively, in relation to doors being
regularly opened and slammed by persons going in and out of rooms too frequently
for either my or their own good, or even by persons – more usually a
female – shouting up and down stairs to someone irrespective of the fact
that other people, including rent-paying tenants, also live in the house, or a
kind of retarded loud-mouthed autistic kid stomping about all over the house,
above as well as below my room and on the landing of my own floor (first), and
so on, ad nauseam.
One of the oddest occurrences is a kind of
thumping retort to occasions of my thinking, as though the person or persons
concerned were somehow allergic to thought and, not given to thinking
themselves, sought to censure and, if possible, inhibit if not terminate any
predilection of mine towards occasional thought by reacting in such a seemingly
Pavlovian manner – an occurrence I have always been both alarmed and,
frankly, scandalized by, since it seems to me one has a perfect right to think
one's thoughts in the relative privacy of one's room without anyone elsewhere
either being aware (after a fashion) of it or, in that event, feeling obliged
to censure by retorting to it in the manner described. That females will do
this, from time to time, I have come, through bitter experience, to realize;
but in this house it tends to be others as well, nominal males whose chief defining
characteristic is that they are of Bangladeshi origin and seemingly allergic,
as it were, to thought, or to me as a particular individual of Western origin
who thinks with a mindset and possibly even brain structure different to
theirs.
This is yet another example of what it means to
be living in circumstances afflicted with ethnic incompatibility in which one's
blood, as a person of Irish Catholic descent, is confronted by alien racial
opposition by persons of Moslem ethnicity, and one cannot, in consequence, take
anything for granted, least of all living one's own life and thinking one's own
thoughts which, god knows how, I persist in doing willy-nilly, if only because
a solitary man of some intelligence can do little else. No thanks, however, to
the neighbours, whose ethnic opposition to me is incontrovertibly evident and
never a day goes by but one is grossly conflicted by incompatible criteria,
standards of behaviour, customs, etc. This multiculturalism, as it is
euphemistically called by its supporters, really sucks, being an instance of
regressive globalization that is never so unpleasant than when it directly
impinges upon one and brings one up short, as it were, in a startling
realization that one is living with peoples of an alien disposition who don't
or can't take one for granted.
Two male Bangladeshis – one a creep and
the other asleep. Another, a door-slamming female with very large hands who
lies through her teeth with no shame, and the fourth, a loud-mouthed kid who
stamps around all over the place while spurting some idiosyncratic babble that
seems to me a kind of infantile parody of Moslem religion or prayer or some
audible study and recitation of scripture. I find nothing to admire or like
here.
I've heard it said: Don't let the bastards wear
you down. But in my experience it is the bitches who are most guilty of doing
that!
The hijacking and corruption of religion by
women – a sad but inevitable fact, particularly in the West.
Come Christmas they'll be worshipping the
Nativity – ugh! How conventionally familial and somehow indicative of
female dominion!
Who or what is Joseph, apart from being a
shepherd? Surely not a divine cuckold who stands by while Mary is miraculously
impregnated via the Holy Ghost with God's seed, and then continues to play
father without any justification for doing so? Mystical nonsense aside, it
seems to me that Joseph is Mary's husband and thus, in effect, the father of
Jesus. Otherwise why stick around?
But I guess this 'father' is vis-a-vis the
Virgin Mary, who would have started out metachemically before descending, in a
kind of regressive transcendence (of beauty) to chemistry, where she would
correspond to the mother of Jesus. So Joseph would presumably have started out
pseudo-metaphysically before descending, along with his wife, to some kind of
pseudo-physical position a plane down from chemistry at the southwest point of
the intercardinal axial compass, the kind of position also occupied, though
obviously in a different way, by the baby Jesus.
But what, in religious terms, is
pseudo-metaphysics under metachemistry? Apart from being germane to the
northwest point of the aforementioned compass at the head of what eventually
becomes a state-hegemonic axis, it is analogous, I believe, to Satan under
Jehovah in the Cosmos (a stellar/solar type of differential), not to mention
David under Saul in Nature (a blossom/fruit type of differential on, for
instance, orange trees); that is to say, to an eyes/ears type of parallel in
mankind, the broadly humanistic precursor of the contemporary camera over
microphone type of differential
that would accord, if superficially so, with a
cyborgistic stage of evolution in which the American differential between First
Lady and President would not, I believe, be entirely irrelevant, still less one
between Republican and Democratic politics (the former not untypically starry
and looking for 'reds under the bed', so to speak – the 'bed' presumably
according with a Republican disposition).
Be that as it may, this Joseph may not have been
as much of a saint as Christian convention likes to portray him, since germane,
in my estimation, to a 'fall-guy' category that is always bested by the First
Mover a plane up, in metachemical free will, at the northwest point of the
intercardinal axial compass who, in absolute contrast, tends to play or be
identified with God.
Now isn't that convenient for all those
'sons-of-bitches' who end-up being adjuncts to a female will, not to mention
spirit, that persists in ruling over them virtually their whole lives long?
A people so backward as to be not just
unintellectual but anti-intellectual and determined, by whatever form of
brutality comes most natural, to stamp it out and effectively put an end to
civilization or, rather, to what is best in civilization – namely the
ability to think for oneself and to remain culturally aloof from a world that
worships barbarism from a philistine standpoint.
Intellectual independence, privacy, reflection,
solitude, thought, and other ingredients of culture are not part of the make-up
of backward peoples still bogged down in some form of communal existence that,
like the extended family, is overly dominated by females, with or without,
though usually with, the inevitability of arranged marriages.
Only trouble comes from persons who use
reference books, scripture, critiques, and other seemingly authoritative texts
as a substitute for free thought. Sooner or later they will defer to
metachemistry, that is, to Devil the Mother hyped as God the Father, as though
in a Faustian pact with all that is most contrary to Truth.
Ideas that come to one 'on the wing' have more
in common with the mind than with the brain and are usually closer to the soul
in consequence.
The metaphysician, who is a thinker, will
normally have more ideas than the physical reader, the chemical writer, and the
metachemical speaker. This is because ideas, being thoughts infused with
meaning, are germane to the sphere of Being, not to the competing spheres of
taking, giving, and doing or, rather, Doing (with a capital 'D'), granted its
noumenal (ethereal) status above giving and antithetical to Being.
Ideas, which pertain to the realm of thought,
are ever more regressively dissipated by the realms of reading, writing, and
speaking. In fact, speakers, who are antithetical to thinkers, often say things
that would strike a thinker as meaningless, or without logical validation as
ideas. One might suppose that the more inebriated the after-dinner speaker, the
less meaningful will his speech be, since whenever the will intrudes into
thought you get – speech. And a will compromised by alcohol can only
result in speech that is least meaningful and correspondingly most meaningless
– in short, a typical after-dinner speech.
Class and race vis-a-vis occupation and
ethnicity are rather akin to will and spirit vis-a-vis ego and soul, or power
and glory vis-a-vis form and contentment, or space and volume vis-a-vis mass
and time, or metachemistry and chemistry (on the female side of the gender
divide) vis-a-vis physics and metaphysics (on the male side of the gender
divide). In other words, the body and the body's mind, flesh and blood,
vis-a-vis the mind and the mind's body, the spinal cord of the central nervous
system and the brain.
Whilst the state-hegemonic axis is ruled, autocratically,
by class, the church-hegemonic axis is led, theocratically, by ethnicity, the
gender polarity to which is race, which is axially antithetical to the
occupational polarity to class on the state-hegemonic axis.
In Ireland, the Roman Catholic/GAA (Gaelic
Athletic Association) axial tradition has tended to deny class and occupation
(profession) in the interests of race and ethnicity, whereas in Britain the
Protestant axial tendency has been to deny race and ethnicity in the interests
of class and occupation, a situation more conducive to a rugby/football
polarity than to a Gaelic/hurling one, as in Catholic Ireland where,
traditionally, class and the occupational exploitation that goes with it have
tended to be identified with British imperialism.
Communism's obsession with class, albeit on
largely anti-bourgeois and pro-proletarian terms, was always going to be
unattractive to an ideology like National Socialism in Germany, rooted in race
and unilaterally aspiring towards an Aryan ethnicity centred in the Germans
that left little or no place for occupation … in the sense of a civil
administration of capitalist free enterprise. In Nazism we find a Germanic
racial integrationism inimical to communism's obsession with class and
occupation which, though less specifically worker-oriented, also finds an echo
in Britain and America, the Soviet Union's main allies in World War Two.
The aims of National Socialism were
fundamentally twofold: to eliminate 'Bolshevism' and gain 'lebensraum' for the
'master race' in the conquered East, and to save ethnic Germans from the threat
of atheistic Communism within the framework of the Greater German Reich itself,
so that, both externally and internally, the existence and consequences of Marxism-Leninism
would be countered and effectively negated.
What Nazism couldn't do, despite the efforts of
persons like Himmler, was to establish a new religion transcending race; for
race was fundamental to National Socialism, whose religious orientations were
ideologically coloured and compromised forthwith. The irony is that an ideology
disdainful of traditional religion would not have materialized without some
degree of Catholic foreshadowing and even historicity which, largely stemming
from southern Germany, was bound, in the nature of things, to take a dim view
of Protestantism, the mode of Christianity axially furthest removed from Nazi
ideology, as from the person of Hitler, who was of Austrian Catholic descent,
not to mention other leading Nazis like Hess, Himmler, and of course Goebbels,
who were of German Catholic descent. It is precisely this kind of ethnic
precondition, one might say, that was bound to put Nazi Germany at loggerheads
with predominantly Protestant countries like Britain and America, as well as
give rise to internal contradictions and suspicions largely deriving from the
traditional north/south divide between Protestants and Catholics in Germany
itself.
Race is fundamental to the achievement of a
higher or more genuine ethnicity, without which foundation there can be no
religion but only a science-worshipping, class-obsessed rule of a society
typified, in its majoritarian instincts, by profession and/or occupation along
bourgeois/proletarian lines. Instead of deferring to culture from a broadly
philistine standpoint, the civilized elements of what I term state-hegemonic
society paradoxically defer to barbarity, as to the autocratic rule of
aristocrats.
He said: the so-called Lord's Prayer sucks,
because it references power and glory, those two female attributes of will and
spirit, and does so, moreover, in relation to 'the Lord', which some would
equate with 'the Father' and others with 'the Son' and yet others with 'the
Holy Ghost' and still others – evidently more atomic and kind of
religiously liberal – with all three rolled into One; a kind of composite
Godhead comprised of 'the Blessed Trinity'. Whatever the individual class
and/or gender case (and one mustn't forget the importance attached by many
Catholics to the Marian 'Mother of God' at the expense, to varying extents, of
'the Son'), the 'Lord's Prayer' still sucks for referencing power and glory,
those twin alpha attributes of a female, or objective, disposition at the
expense of (the excluded) form and contentment, or ego and soul, those twin
omega attributes of a male, or subjective, disposition which would have as
little in common with this formulaic prayer as they do with the Mass, whether
Anglican or Roman Catholic, orientated, one could argue, towards power in
relation to the will or towards glory in relation to the spirit, that is,
towards either 'the body' or 'the blood' of Christ, neither of which (as noted
above) would appeal to anyone, least of all when male, who preferred to deny
the flesh (body) not merely in the interests of spirit (the mass Catholic
position) but, more significantly from a religious standpoint, in the interests
of 'the mind' and, hence, soul, the fulcrum of metaphysics which, in the guise
of Heaven the Holy Soul, has always been beyond the scope of Christianity and
its 'Three-in-One' take on God which, frankly, is no more and no less than a
worldly, atomic intermediate compromise, so typically Western, between the
Judaic Jehovah, the One Creator God, which I identify as Devil the Mother hyped
as God (the Father), and a Buddhist and more than Buddhist (post-Eastern)
rejection of 'God', whether pre-atomic or atomic, Judaic or Christian, in the
interests of a post-atomic focus on Heaven achieved through the cultivation of
metaphysical soul, the soul-of-souls whose 'outer face', so to speak, is
commensurate with God in a sense independent both of Devil the Mother and any
worldly, atomic extrapolation of a Christian order such that, in its focus on
either if not both Woman and Man, inevitably falls short of the heavenly
requirement of 'Kingdom Come' in which the concept of 'God in Heaven' only has
meaning in relation to what has been stated above about the religious fulcrum
of metaphysics being soul and godliness no more than the outer manifestation,
or presentation, of that inner experience which, being truly of the self, is
justifiably sublime.
In 'Kingdom Come' there could be no power and
glory, much less form, independent of contentment and the service thereof. For
Heaven the Holy Soul would be the supreme ideal, the supreme mode of being, to
which everything else, whether pseudo-female or administrative, would have to
be subordinated.
An age beyond both the 'One God' and the
'Three-in-One God' can only be partial to the 'One Heaven', being effectively
atheist with regard to the 'old gods', as Nietzsche would say, yet not on that
account settling erroneously for a 'new god', even if given a more literal
interpretation (see above) than one owing anything to traditional
'thingfulnesses', or female-dominated 'false gods', since only the 'One
Heaven', a 'new heaven', will prevail whose outer manifestation, as it were, is
God or, better, godly, but not on that account independent of the heaven of
which it is an aspect.
Such it will be in 'Kingdom Come' for the metaphysical,
the saved males, whilst for the pseudo-metachemical, the counter-damned
pseudo-females, it will not be soul but pseudo-will (pseudo-bound will) which,
compliments of the metaphysical hegemony a plane up from pseudo-metachemistry
at the northeast point of the intercardinal axial compass, is the fulcrum of
the pseudo-metachemical context, and therefore we can – and should
– speak of pseudo-Devil the Mother as the subordinate corollary of Heaven
the Holy Soul. For it is not in free psyche but in pseudo-bound soma that the
absolutely predominating ratio (3:1) exists in which the fulcrum of
pseudo-metachemistry is to be found, in absolute contrast to the metaphysical
fulcrum such that, when both factors or positions have been taken into account,
inexorably leads to an analogue of the type saint and (neutralized) dragon or
lamb and (neutralized) lion and/or wolf, as previously discussed.
Without 'self-overcoming', to use a Nietzschean
phrase, in respect of the will, the spirit, and the ego, or the flesh, the
blood, and the brain, or power, glory, and form … there can be no
contentment in the 'true self' of the soul, whose mind (superconscious) is the
godly reflection of heavenly feeling, the underlying supersensibility of the
soul.
Therefore you must, as a male capable of
metaphysics, 'die' to much more than 'the flesh' in order to achieve salvation
from the world and, not least, that which rules over it from a netherworldly
vantage-point 'in back', whether directly, in relation to the state-hegemonic/church-subordinate
type of worldliness, or indirectly, in relation to the
church-hegemonic/state-subordinate type of worldliness more identifiable,
traditionally, with mainstream worldly criteria as germane to a mass catholic
orientation latterly subjected to republican socialist secularity.
Even if the netherworldly position is the
fulcrum of 'the flesh', as of the will, the blood and brain, the spirit and
ego, are no guarantee of salvation but, on the contrary, attest, in their
opposite ways, to a Christian, worldly, atomic shortfall from such a
possibility, only likely to materialize or, more correctly, transpire, if at
all, within 'Kingdom Come'.
My scepticism as to the relevance or
desirability of what I buy or consider buying in relation to clothing, footwear,
computer peripherals, CDs, etc., is such that I am usually reluctant to buy
anything. No doubt, a sign of advancing age. Perhaps even of wisdom?
Relations between myself and the Bangladeshis
in this house are so strained that I can only expect the worst. Never in my
life have I had to endure so much systematic torment largely stemming from
Asiatic criteria as here!
