- Thread Author
- #1
The complexity of our manifold heralds a new light of life.
Sol washes over us, and we smile at him, for his light signals a new dawn.
To have our primordial souls bound to these vessels of flesh is not any source of misery but the greatest delight. Basking in the complex multiplicities of novel sensation is the truest source of pleasure. Our crude Tabula rasa, besieged by all that life endows—there is immense beauty in this moulding process. The engrams that comprise us end up sprinkled in the stars.
Being a human is just exceptional.
There is an exceptional quality in the complexity of our humanity.
Our histories, they are rich, grand and splendid. Our historical figures are so exceptional that we cast upon them the image of deity; it is a testament to the richness of human spirit, which is so beautiful that it labors, incessantly grasping for that chance to forge its destiny, and in that glorious desperation bursts out a coruscation that sanctifies or slaughters the coming age. Every page of our past is dripping with details and intrigue! Living is the process of carving your part into the cosmic tapestry, and whether you feel it or not you are part of the grandest, most complicated and most exceptionally interesting narrative in existence.
Every relationship and every blinding, white-hot hope and every dream and every frozen hatred rattles our neurons and every tip of every synapse crackles madly with the motive to etch our will into the real. People will often remark that we are mere flesh golems piloted by brains – no more than hubristic monkeys that festered up a denser neocortex – to that I say that whomsoever attributed this perceived drollness to flesh, brains and monkeys in the first place; they are wrong! Unimaginably decadent is the richness of lore in our lives, yet so many will prefer to take a reductionist stance based on their unique oversocializations and self-imposed limitations. The brain is incredibly malleable and is the most complex calculating machine that exists, it is the representation of entropy ensnared into exponential order!
To live a life identical to others, or to yearn for the same blasé tropes of others is in utter opposition to the point of life. To take the entire point of life to be reproduction is to pervert its essence entirely; it is a mere precondition. Pursuit of uniform desires is the gripe of the unambitious. We are in the age of Aquarius! Like sparkling fruits, our grandest epochs of knowledge and light lay ripe and ready. The true whitepill is that the blackpill is a malicious cognitohazard that sabotages the blessing of abberant life by warping the frame of reference.
Sol washes over us, and we smile at him, for his light signals a new dawn.
To have our primordial souls bound to these vessels of flesh is not any source of misery but the greatest delight. Basking in the complex multiplicities of novel sensation is the truest source of pleasure. Our crude Tabula rasa, besieged by all that life endows—there is immense beauty in this moulding process. The engrams that comprise us end up sprinkled in the stars.
Being a human is just exceptional.
There is an exceptional quality in the complexity of our humanity.
Our histories, they are rich, grand and splendid. Our historical figures are so exceptional that we cast upon them the image of deity; it is a testament to the richness of human spirit, which is so beautiful that it labors, incessantly grasping for that chance to forge its destiny, and in that glorious desperation bursts out a coruscation that sanctifies or slaughters the coming age. Every page of our past is dripping with details and intrigue! Living is the process of carving your part into the cosmic tapestry, and whether you feel it or not you are part of the grandest, most complicated and most exceptionally interesting narrative in existence.
Every relationship and every blinding, white-hot hope and every dream and every frozen hatred rattles our neurons and every tip of every synapse crackles madly with the motive to etch our will into the real. People will often remark that we are mere flesh golems piloted by brains – no more than hubristic monkeys that festered up a denser neocortex – to that I say that whomsoever attributed this perceived drollness to flesh, brains and monkeys in the first place; they are wrong! Unimaginably decadent is the richness of lore in our lives, yet so many will prefer to take a reductionist stance based on their unique oversocializations and self-imposed limitations. The brain is incredibly malleable and is the most complex calculating machine that exists, it is the representation of entropy ensnared into exponential order!
To live a life identical to others, or to yearn for the same blasé tropes of others is in utter opposition to the point of life. To take the entire point of life to be reproduction is to pervert its essence entirely; it is a mere precondition. Pursuit of uniform desires is the gripe of the unambitious. We are in the age of Aquarius! Like sparkling fruits, our grandest epochs of knowledge and light lay ripe and ready. The true whitepill is that the blackpill is a malicious cognitohazard that sabotages the blessing of abberant life by warping the frame of reference.
