Original 1859 Photograph of the American Vice Consul to Damascus Michael Mishaka holding a bible. He was a Protestant Christian.

Egil at the ball-game

The game began and Egil proved to be the weaker, while Grim made the most of his strength. Then Egil got so angry that he lifted the bat and struck at Grim with it, but Grim took hold of him, hurled him to the ground and gave him some very rough treatment. He said that if Egil wouldn't behave himself, he'd do him some real damage. Egil scrambled back onto his feet and left the field with the youngsters jeering at him.

Egil went to look for Thord Granason and told him what had happened.

"I'll come with you," said Thord. "The two of us will pay him back."

Thord gave Egil a thick-bladed axe he was carrying, common enough at that time, and they went to the field where the boys were playing. Grim had just caught the ball and was racing along with the other boys after him. Egil ran up to him and drove the axe into his head right through to the brain.

"Where did you get that burned-out look? Why did you sell all your favorite books?"

A Book Review

Weird.

12.19.15.16.17

Seating of Kˀankˀin, 10 Kaban, day with Tezcatlipoca's soul and Mictlantecuhtli's shadow. Visit Tezcatlipoca in Mictlan where abstruse god drama is enacted. Tasteful campaign tent decor. Thoth, Kubaba, and Dōgen all in attendance. I come in Quetzalcoatl drag drinking pulque. We revisit the birth of the enemy of both sides—truth—at the fountainhead-rupture on the top of time. The black mirror's separation is real slow and tasty.

Some young artists have navigated the Land of the Dead here. They are alive—have they bypassed the usual perilous four-year journey across Hell? Apparently not. Nevertheless they are optimistic and seem comfortable and even relaxed in the Enemy's presence (μεμυημένοι?).

Tezcatlipoca's foot has now been eaten. The mortals discuss the viability of building a fire with underworld wood to cauterize the wound. We compare various tools and means of creating fire. Talk somehow pushes us to the peripheral regions. Find myself in a café in Serbia.

Re: HAIR

No doubt many of you who have invoked me in seances are aware that my profile picture—the result of a youthful experiment with time travel in which, having taught myself to play the lute, I injected my consciousness into that of the young Caravaggio (expedited by our equivalent age and life experience), great fellow Tenebroso—is badly out of date and that I now "let the waves spin." Yes, such is incumbent on the καλὸς κἀγαθός, as is carrying your own oil for when the bearded fellows are buying.

The dread Tezcatlipoca-Ixquimilli is accommodating and not at all fussy, as far as evil gods go. Surprisingly, the manifest deity's conversation is basically political and economic—a humanistic and pragmatic deity, busily concerned with his slaves (and "We Are His Slaves"). We get on well because I ask little of him and do not meddle in his affairs, and presumably because my occasional visits for smokes and advice with sex-enchantments remind him of happier times when sorcery and divination were affairs of state.

The Death of Romanticism

A bilious screed against love and romance: we don’t call it the death of romance for nothing. It’s strange, “romance”, y’know? Roman see ee, ss, Roman ticism, what’s the deal? When did our conception of Roman became one of love? When the Roman gladiator burst forth from the melee, the blistered sweaty mélange of muscle and flesh, tore through, burst forth, victorious, sword in hand, to stand face to face, breath to breath, in the mouth of a lion. Our gladiator by leaps and bounds soars through the thick Mediterranean air, thick from despicable debased human beings, thick from the humidity that emanates in post-quantum waves from our sea into the sun-bleached spectators and prisoners of the Roman coliseum, to bring the dirtied, bloodied, and terrible blade down across the brow of this starving, kidnapped, king of the animal kingdom; to sever flesh from muscle, muscle from bone, life from limb, and to stand there, breathing heavily, as the whole crowd lets forth an uproarious orgasm of heinousness, incarnate. For surely, this is what is meant by Roman love, this is what is meant by Latin love, this is what is meant by Mediterranean love. In which case, mosdef, one could see the death of romance, it deserved to die, just like the blood-soaked pelt before our gladiator, curing in the hot midday sun.

HAIR

“I will cut my hair for no man, if you cut your hair for other people, it means you’re enslaved to them. That’s why, as a free-man, you’re obligated to grow your hair ass long, and that’s why Sikhs are the best people in the world.”

Vive le France!

Marianne, the national prostitute of the French Nation. Every single French citizen is entitled to fuck her, by law. They just have to wait in line. I mean, she can only take so much at a time, even if they are only French cocks. A nation of bed-wetters, all. Though sometimes, you'll be in line and you'll realize that it's actually a bunch of people together for a gang-fuck situation. I mean, murder is still illegal and all, so there's no death fetishists, like those creepy Americans. Vile Americans, *spit* So when she dies, of whatever she dies of, a search is made for the next Marianne. Usually it's whatever female can be ascertained to have been conceived at the exact moment of the previous mariannes death. It's kinda like the Nepalese Dalai Lama, only she's a prostitute from the day she's born, y'know, to appease all those with, uh, shall we say, more rarefied tastes? Thing is, there's no rape, or sexual abuse in France any longer All neuroses are now affixed upon the person of Marianne. Some would say that it is disgusting, and abhorrent, but who are these people, probably descendents of the 21st century western world? Who are they to judge, at least Marianne is revered, all her escapades captured for all to see… well, save for those men and women who wish anonymity, after all, we're not perverts. You sickening dilettantes, you're so removed from the food on your table, you have no idea the cost, until the cost is brought home to you. Too bad, you've already shown the table your cards, and you've put everything on the line. Your entire gaming philosophy under scrutiny, no one believes you, they all know you're bluffing, you've been caught in a bad bluff. Now you're going to pay for your sins. You can't hide, I've already lain them on the table. I call.

umu explains about Ancient Greek

There's ἔρως, which is sexual attraction (perceived as an outside force that compels you to act)—or rather it is the whole spiritual complex that grows around πόθος "desire". Then there's φιλία, which is the love shared by friends, relatives, and so on—the kind of love it's decent to feel for your wife.

True facts

Homō vīvit, dum spīrat.

Quī spīrat vīvus est, quī nōn spīrat est mortuus.... Cum homō spīrat, anima in pulmōnēs intrat et rūrsus ex pulmōnibus exit. Anima est āēr quī in pulmōnēs dūcitur. Quī animam dūcit animal est.

Get Out The Vote

defined

("Office" is a bathroom where anonymous sex is transacted by a complex nonverbal semaphore system.)

A conversation

God: (singing) People, people, people, I made you out of clay... Ho there, angels! Bow down before my latest creation!

Iblis: Hey! Fuck that, God! He's made out of *mud*!

God: WHAT?! INTO THE FIRE WITH YOU!

Iblis: Awww, Goddddd, can't you at least let me hang around until Judgement Day?

God: Well, okay.

(God transforms Iblis into a jinn.)

Shaytan: NOW I WILL SCREW OVER YOUR MUDMAN AND ALL HIS MUDDY DESCENDANTS. ...er, except your worshippers, obviously.

God: Stay away from my worshippers, bitch.

Shaytan: Not that there'll be that many of them, honestly, I mean, face the facts here, God.

a new breakfast serial

The city. I can give a good description of the city. There are naturally many cities, but there is still /the/ city, and that is, still, the only place that such a scenario could ever truly play itself out; in the past, in the future, the city, but our city is a modern city. It’s unfortunate, it’s not even in the running for greatest, most beautiful. The city is flaccid. It’s depressing and alone, it’s sprawl, like a corpse rotting in the midday sun, people, like maggots, coursing through the festering putrid mass of musk and hunk of husking flesh, translated into a ventriloquists dummy, animated for the amusement of the great supra-structural Baal, or Tlazolteotl, or maybe even some incorporeal Xipe Totec. Welcome to the city of Xipe Totec.

1 picture = 1000 words

COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT, YEEAH!

اربعة

On the origin of species...

"I believe that the human brain may be capable of perceiving the nature of true-reality, what some might refer to as God, but I am doubtful that we as a species are evolved enough to utilize this capacity. I will make allowances for the possibility that some individuals, through random evolutionary mutation, are born with an innately greater ability to perceive true-reality, but contend that even if this is the case, the limits of human language prevent one from conceptualizing such perceptions in words, and attempts to do so invariably lead to intellectual oppression through the destructive tendancies of religious dogmatism, and are thus, in effect, counter-productive to the goal of perceiving true-reality in the first place. I will also make allowances for the possibility of psycho-active chemicals activating the portions of the brain that enable one to make such perceptions, though whether psycho-active chemicals actually allow one to perceive true-reality, or merely mimic the effects of doing so is presently indeterminate."

"Natural selection dictates that as a species we evolved, over monumental passages of time, from increasingly simple and primative forms of life, and this goes for our sensory capabilities as well. At some point in our evolutionary history, our ancestors were without the benefit of the senses that we rely upon in order to effectively perceive our reality, the senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch. In all of these instances, the human brain had the evolve these abilities. For an Amoeba floating in a pool of primordial ooze, the concept of sense-perception does not exist, and having never known the ability to see, hear, smell, taste, and touch the environment, such a lifeform does not miss, nor can it even conceive of an environment any different to that which it has known it's entire lifespan. It would be naive to assume that the human species has reached the end of evolution, that we can perceive all there is to perceive, especially when logic dictates that the human-animal necessarily remain ignorant of anything beyond our limited biological capacities."

"What separates the human-animal from established evolutionary tendencies is the unique ability of the human-animal to affect their environment, to affect their own evolution. We have reached a point, not the necessarily end of evolution, but a point where we can choose, as a society, to mitigate the effects of the environment upon our evolution. This means that we have reached the point where we can now choose to continue, or embrace, the course of biological evolution, or we can choose to resist biological evolution, through manipulating the degree to which the human-animal is forced to reckon with the natural environment."

"As such, the inability of the human-animal to perceive the nature of true-reality must necessarily be seen as only a temporary-condition in terms of our biological evolution. There is no reason to assume that the limits of what we can perceive through recourse to our sensory organs are congruent to the limits of true-reality. To do so would be equivalent to the man who, born deaf, assumes reality itself is without sound. However, only once the human-animal, as a society, begins to foster and encourage a dialog with the unknown will there ever be the possibility of developing the necessary physical apparatus to effectively perceive that which exists beyond the temporary limits of human perception."

Mujo Seppo, or, The True Japanesing

There are thousands of eyes on the tips of the fingers,
There are thousands of eyes of right Dharma,
There are thousands of eyes in the ears,
There are thousands of eyes on the tip of the tongue,
There are thousands of eyes on the tip of the mind,
There are thousands of eyes of the thoroughly realized mind,
There are thousands of eyes of the thoroughly realized body,
There are thousands of eyes on top of a stick,
There are thousands of eyes in the moment before the body,
There are thousands of eyes in the moment before the mind,
There are thousands of eyes of death in death,
There are thousands of eyes of liveliness in liveliness,
There are thousands of eyes of the self,
There are thousands of eyes of the external world,
There are thousands of eyes in the concrete place of eyes,
There are thousands of eyes of learning in practice,
There are thousands of eyes aligned vertically,
And there are thousands of eyes aligned horizontally.

TALENT TALENT

TALENT TALENT
STREET TALENT
STET TALEN

I love policeman

The analysis indicates that the author of http://qadutu.blogspot.com is of the type:

ISTP - The Mechanics

The independent and problem-solving type. They are especially attuned to the demands of the moment are masters of responding to challenges that arise spontaneously. They generally prefer to think things out for themselves and often avoid inter-personal conflicts.

The Mechanics enjoy working together with other independent and highly skilled people and often like seek fun and action both in their work and personal life. They enjoy adventure and risk such as in driving race cars or working as policemen and firefighters.

US Embassy in Tehran

Fun facts

It has been 20 months and I still have nightmares. Faith that is directed outward, away from ourselves is like a fire hose pointed away from the fire. La valeur d'une blanche est le double de la valeur d'une noire.

Note on success

A sure outward sign of success in spellcraft is artistic viability. Does your "spell" constitute an artistically worthwhile performance? Is it a handsome piece of calligraphy? Is it a well-crafted poem? Would someone feel that way without any sense whatsoever of an explicit intent lying beneath it?

Fortunately for most of us, it's worth learning to shoot even if you don't start out as Annie Oakley. Even hack performances provide some benefit. Just don't take that as an excuse to stand still.

Why serve evil gods (pt. 1)

Trained from birth to perceive only the overtly negative results of diabolism, idol worship, and the service of evil gods, most do not think to ask the question posed by today's post title. Demons are "worshipped" out of insanity, naïvety, or sheer misanthropy. There is no "why" of "devil worship."

Well, let's not turn a blind eye to those negative results, because they can be some negative fucking results. But don't forget about the benefits. Gods that demand extreme acts are usually the only ones that can be relied on for assistance. Well... better the other way around. Some gods that demand extreme acts are just plain shits.

But the numen of Dionysus is kindly. Let no ill be said of this terrifying and wonderful god. That just wouldn't be right. ᾄδετε τὸν Ἴακχον ὅνπερ οἱ μεμυημένοι δι' ἀγορᾶς, ἐὰν πείθησθε γ' ἐμοί.

It is a very bad idea to habitually invoke a god without making an effort to get to know its personality or, worse, not so much as acknowledging its individuality. Take for instance the routine ecstatic practice of using mind-altering drugs. Well, very bad idea not to enter into a relationship with a drug, because a drug will shit sure enter into a relationship with you. Worst idea: regard all drugs indifferently as "drugs" and allot yourself the culturally prescribed dose of the most socially acceptable drug—invariably this will be the most expensive and soul-destroying of drugs. In any case, failing to recognize the individual character of any geistig experience like drug use is like refusing to acknowledge a messy, inconsiderate guest sleeping at your house.

The drug gods are almost universally worshipped but are acknowledged by few.

More from Western Lands

What an excellent book this is. Here is a passage with some good, practical advice to expand on what our esteemed ħkʰárwə was saying:

Black magic operates most effectively in preconscious, marginal areas. Casual curses are the most effective. If someone has reason to expect a psychic attack, an excellent move is to make oneself as visible as possible to the person or persons from whom the attack is anticipated, since conscious attacks on a target that engages one's attention are rarely effective and frequently backfire.

This strategy is especially indicated for critics. Leave your name in the phone book, attack writers on radio shows, anything to keep your image clearly in the foreground of enemy attention. Best of all, engage the writer in public refutation by outrageous misrepresentation and falsifications. For example, here is a critic on a writer who has spent six years on a book: "This slovenly potpourri, obviously thrown together in a few weeks."

A rule that is almost always valid: never refute or answer a critic, no matter how preposterous the criticism may be. Do not let the critic teach you the cloth, as they say in bullfighting circles. Never charge the cloth, even if the critic resorts to actual misquotation.

Writing prejudicial, off-putting reviews is a precise exercise in applied black magic. The reviewer can draw free-floating, disagreeable associations to a book by implying that the book is completely unimportant without saying exactly why, and carefully avoiding any clear images that would capture the reader's full attention.

This procedure is based on scientific evidence: Poetzel's Law states that dream imagery excludes conscious perception in favor of preconscious perceptions. And Freud's hypothesis that the neutral character of preconscious perception permits it to serve as a cover for material that would not otherwise escape the dream censor, so that unpleasant affect is attracted to preconscious perception. There is, in fact, a fifty-seven percent correlation between preconscious recall and peak unpleasantness. Charles Fischer says that dreams have a tendency to take up the unimportant details of waking life.

There are other tricks: the use of generalities like "the man in the street" and the editorial "we" to establish a rapport of disapproval with the reader and at the same time to create a mental lacuna under cover of an insubstantial and unspecified "we." And the technique of the misunderstood word: pack a review with obscure words that send the reader to the dictionary. Soon the reader will feel a vague, slightly queasy revulsion for whatever is under discussion.

Birthday

From The Western Lands (William S. Burroughs, 1987):

August 16, 1984, Thursday

The sheer nightmare horror of my position, of all human positions, waiting for some lunatics or conspirators going to ride out on the blast like a surfboard to explode the atoms we are all made of. A lucky survivor, blind, stumbling about in my ruined house, hungry mewling cats underfoot. How about that, Kim? Kill your dogs and cats. Repeat. Kill your dogs and cats. The boiled eggs were just right. Debonair heartless Kim striking histrionic poses on the buckling deck of a doomed planet . . . reflecting a flawed unbearable boy image in an empty mirror. Radiant Kim, the fearless ostrich, escape child of a frightened old man. Anybody isn't frightened now simply lacks imagination. Is there any escape? Of course. A miracle. Leave the details to Joe.

follow-up

* ħkʰárwə poses whorishly

A sound way to learn about the laws of narrativity is to read novels and read them carefully. To some extent this is self-defeating, though, unless your goal is to be bookish and hermetic (and, let's face it, you're turning to magic for help with things that you can't quite conquer by rational means, like fortune and sex, so this is probably not the case—would that it were, however, since bookish hermeticism is a richly rewarding lifestyle).

* ħkʰárwə takes a puff of a herbal jazz cigarette

Well, just trust me when I say it works. You can get as creepily detailed with it as you like. Try it and see(, scientists). Make sure you do it with sincerity, naturally (not to say credulity).

The best possible thing is to record your experiences in detail and revisit them every two or three weeks. Also, your dreams are experiences, too.

message for the younguns

Look, magic doesn't have to be this big song and dance with robes and warbly rhyming couplets and shit. It follows from one simple principle: our world is meaningful and not just apparently so. The trick is: make it make sense that things happen for you.

You cannot fake this any more than you can fake a meal (to paraphrase Hassan i Sabbah). The unfortunate thing is that you are never the only person telling your story. The upshot: everyone loves a strange twist. "He was always so quiet, so reserved."

So none of this sounds especially "magical"—well, rightly so: "magic" is freedom from nihilism, and that's all. ... well, let's clarify that. It's the freedom afforded by a certain species of nihilism.

"Why," skeptics balk, "do so-called magicians not make their livelihood off lottos?"—this arises from a basic confusion over the nature of the world we inhabit. The lives of lottery-winners explain the situation adequately.

None of this is to say that the traditional techniques of ritual magic are not effective. Again the question: does it make sense that this would work? Does it make sense that Kubaba should manifest herself when I intone such-and-such a Luwian incantation? To secular atheists and all their irony: clearly no. (Exceptions exist, but these are not generally predictable.)

This is clearly in violation of many "control methods"—the scientific method, for instance. This is admittedly unfortunate but follows from the essential separation of science not from religion but from art.

Now, children, clearly the time has come for practical advice. Well now... despite the relentless efforts of the mainstream to neuter sex, sex magic remains the most effective practice. (This is certainly true for readers of this blog.) Confirmation is close at hand. I will not tell you how to do it because you do not need to be told how to do it. Think this over: what can you do that a sexual climax (including an autoerotic climax) could conceivably power?

Then decide: I don't have sex anymore; I cast spells.

letter from the editor

Heard today

Okay, I'm not saying you *should* kill him, but if you did, could you lend me a little slice of that fatwā dolla—that fat wād of cash, as it were?

<grisom> I can't tell yous how disappointed I am that "gideous" is not a word.
<tezcatlipoca> Hey, umu, why can't we simply make gideous a word? What would such a word mean, in English?
* umunmutamku arrives in a puff of faggy smoke
<umunmutamku> Well! Let's start from our model-word.
<umunmutamku> It would appear that 'hideous' started out as ME hidous < Old French hidos < hisdos (the further Latin affinities are very unlikely-sounding); the changeover to -eous is owed to some 16th-century wave of analogical refashionings that produced unetymological words like 'courteous' (for curteis < OF curteis < L -ēnsem), 'righteous' (for the phonological outcome of rightwise), etc.
<umunmutamku> So all we really need here is a plausible source of the root gid-, be it native English or French.
<umunmutamku> Luckily, we seem to have a good candidate in OE gidiʒ 'giddy', apparently etymologically *gudīgo- 'possessed by a god'. So we should be imagining a pretentious 16th-century refashioning to gideous, which, given the semantics of the word around that time, would have to mean 'intoxicated, vertiginous, insane'.
<tezcatlipoca> huzzah! You 'intoxicated, vertiginous, insane' prostitute!

Historia Francorum

Bishop Namatius: You gideous prostitute, is it not enough that you infect other places with every imaginable sort of foulness, without your defiling the throne consecrated to the Lord by sitting your revolting body down on it? Leave the house of God this instant and stop polluting it with your presence! Satan: Since you give me the title of prostitute, I will see that you yourself are constantly harassed with sexual desire.

Last night's unpleasant dreams included: the Smashing Pumpkins were playing in Edmonton, but for some reason they completely bailed out, and the Dangereus had to pretend to be them in performance. At least that's how it seemed in retrospect. At the time, it was just like: shit, for some reason they've got me playing James Iha's guitar parts. I've never even listened to the Smashing Pumpkins. I sure don't know how to play the guitar. I bumbled through one song playing a bunch of random notes really quietly, and then I and [Tezcatlipoca] (yeah, you were there too) went backstage to confer about something before the next one. I had a microphone that I was nervously fiddling with, not realizing it was connected to the sound system, so the entire audience heard my nervous heavy breathing and mumbled complaints. We came back out and the entire audience had left except for a bunch of naïvely smiling grannies sitting in the front few rows (who clearly had no idea that this is not what a rock concert was supposed to sound like). I looked around in dismay. Then I decided to propose to the rest of the band: to hell with this Smashing Pumpkins shit! We could either play a really godawful SP concert or a really *awesome* Dangereus show. Strangely, boys, you were pretty hard to convince. Somehow before we played I ended up answering a question from a woman in one of the front rows: she wanted to know whether our music was "dangerous" because we were just sort of making it up and thus at great personal risk of fucking it up or something. Disturbed that she seemed to be familiar with our band's appellation and debut album, I asked her why she chose that particular word—but then I noticed it was [the ex-girlfriend of former Dangereu Garga Wash].

Some ways to write The Knowledge in Arabic script

WAY BEST WAY

I have never been able to quite get the hang of the laam+meem ligature. But this is the general idea.

FOREIGNERS ARE VERY CAREFUL

careful careful not to use ligatures if they do not have to.

Serialization

The following is a selection from the unpublished work, "The Hope Hammer (The Hammer of Hope" (n.b. if you want the footnotes, you'll have to buy the damn book) *** This is an aggressive neighbor bash, this is a knapsack full of hash, this is a fortune million dollar ring, this fortune will a million dollars bring, this subject will verb the object[1], and noun will adjective verb, all over my face, in the plainest English in the place. We are all just like new parishioners, will will we will pray for here, will will stay we will stay, for here. Humidity, glass, clear water, falling water, cross the moonlit sky, across the polish city guy, through the mud, and on the sidewalks, and all the time like the present, this is for all the birthdays I missed. This is for a year of lost pre-valentines. I was staring at the mailbox, sitting on the corner across the street. It’s the same colour as the newspaper stand, the mailbox, I often wondering what the future, if anyone has ever, or ever wanted to just “accidently” think the mailbox was a newspaper stand, and place their stories, and money, into the newspapers… no one will get your letter Fernando. I don’t mean to pick at or on or at him, but he is always there. Screeching out his name with this fingernails along a chalkboard, his future of stock-residing, will surely account to nothing to account with his food-service career. Where people come, and pay him to fuck like a banana would fuck, and come on him for pesos of oh precious pesos, pesos and iron. It’s all back to land again isn’t it Fernando? I know your plans you are watching this white-bred world, waiting for the debt to crush the society, for it’s back to break, and you will be the new nobility now, wont you? But the world isn’t ending Fernando, and you just bought the wrong paper. It’s an easy enough mistake to make, the illegal hashbarns across the streets, the brightly lit café, like of my dreams, is lost inside the street corner, where only my ears, and eyes, and my mailboxes and flies, can discern you, throughout the hubbub, through the cometwebs of feet, and crawling critters all up their legs, these feet, accorded so much space, but travelling so far. Making love with the dust, as it settles in their moisturized cracks in their feetsies, and treatsies, and to adorn this sweet tenor, this nectar is all that is awaiting for you, on this bloomy street corner, of my minds eye. I pray for quiet and solitude, and multi-generational somber dues. A trample wire, of legitimacy, a cracked corrupt and crazy walk in the part, this sparky little end of sin, this mushroom blood, this sonic, this bandaid, this true structured tomb, I guard you with my eyes, my ears, my mailbox and my tears (a newspaper stand—I named her tears, after my sister) a true zealot if ever there one was. So much for this crane bow of good insurance,[2] a liquid, liquay, liquay, liquaqa, period staple. A lost of pinfulal painful in my nevers nerves in my lefts, legs, Transistor failing, reception required. This is not a TV Scramble. Over and out.

thankz and hugs

Apply within

Reject drəguuātā and all the spurious old father figures. Fear not 𒉺𒀊𒊏𒀀𒋫𒅈 in service to Tlaelcuani and 𒀸 𒀭𒌓 shining nocturnally in Hell. All those unafraid of the silence are invited to join us behind the veil.

honey, cock, ass, mouth

Honey in the ass, cock in the mouth. Cock in the honey, honey in the mouth. Honey in the ass, cock in the mouth. Cock in the honey, honey in the mouth.

Roots

New explanation for the dispersion of Indo-European (or at least portions of Indo-European): slavery. The Black Sea tradition of selling their own people into slavery is well known—indeed, ongoing. It strikes me as plausible that, for instance, the Greek language developed in Greece as the result of the massive importation of "Late IE"-speaking slaves from the Balkans and Black Sea by the "Lydians" and Tyrrhenians who previously lorded it over Greece (that the Mycenaean culture resulted from a shift in the balance of power onto the then-majority slave population).

ALBUM COVER ALBUM COVER

from frostfirezoo

6:91

... Say: Who, then, revealed the scriptures which Moses brought down, a light and a guide for mankind?...

Say: God!

Then leave them to amuse themselves with foolish chatter.

Ḫurrrr

ḫr 'Syrian', transcribed in 1st mil. cuneiform ḫu-ra > ḫi-ri 1st mil. > Coptic ϩⲁⲗ 'servant'

Something Cool

Voilà. This post should look more or less like the picture up top; if it doesn't, your browser is disastrously uncool.

If it looks right, try clicking the box at the bottom (with the connected letters in it). Try clicking the equals sign, too.

ا

alif

+

ب

bā

+

ج

jīm

=

ابج

Zeno

The argument used to solve Zeno's paradox doesn't work on half-life, actually, because while in Zeno's paradox the runner crosses ever-smaller distances in an ever-smaller amount of time, with half-life an ever-smaller amount of the substance decays in an ever-constant amount of time. We say in mathematics that the series does not converge.

stop just trying to say something cool,

Talk about diversity/elaborating evolution/through avenues of temporality/lost in some ancient bazaar/carried off by caravans/smoke and dust/and cloth of fabulous elegance/becomes a gossamer shroud/a rose coloured lens/sparkling, and jeweled/the sounded of infinite time/slows the winds ceaseless howl/deserted by your people, your god/a god of wrath, and destruction/of murder, and hate/whose puritan prayer shawl/soaked in blood/surrender your life/embrace true belief, faith/our god is a lonely god/a father without a child/find the future/the sound of a long night/carrying secrets and words/promises, betrayals/the shah sleeps soundly tonight/we of the one true faith know well/the many roads that lead to hell/minarets by moonlight/the sound of an iridescent chant/learn to be one with god in his temple/the sight of sights so sickly sweet/an end, one day, to poetry/to life, to freedom, to art/and to the beautiful/may she outlive us all/preserved for all time/a record of our greatest achievements/have you heard the word?/Is this wisdom?

HOW COULD I FUCKING NOT UPLOAD THIS?

I LOVE FUCKING COFFEE

ثلاثة

*does Aristophanes*

Just thought you guys might want to know that the verb "to jizz yourself" is ἐκμιαίνομαι, as in oimoi ma Di' alla proēn eksemiēnamēn "Jesus fucking Christ, I just cummed myself now" (n.b. my composition, not Aristophanes).

Him, to Me

I WILL STEAL ALL YOUR FUCKING WHITE PERSON MONEY

Fonts

Our illustrious friend umunmutamku has pointed out a page of fonts which the reader may find useful in appreciating our blog. In particular, if you download Analecta you should be able to read our date headers properly (they’re in Coptic).

'Indeed, some of them who are males do not consort with females, but corrupt themselves with their own hands and catch their corruption in their hands and so eat it, utilizing misrepresented scriptural evidence—namely, the passage "These hands ministered not only to me but also to those who were with me" and again, the passage "Working with your (pl.) own hands, so that you might be able to share also with those who do not have."'

The yawning bone the yawning bone the yawning bone the yawning bone

a) 1 his argon his argon his argon of argon in ko'kkalo ko'kkaloy ko'kkaloy ko'kkaloy 1.1.1 b) wakefulness 1.1.1 of the argon ' kkalo kkaloy of ko ko ko kkaloy ' of ko the 1 ' kkaloy of one risoluto argon argon of the argon ' c) wakefulness 1.1.1 of argon ' ko kkaloy of ko of kkalo of ko kkaloy of ko ' the 1 ' kkaloy of risoluto of argon of argon of argon ' d) 1.1.1argons'kkaloy1' Argon of kkaloyko of ko of kkalonessrisoluto of argon of argon 'ko'kkaloykowakUf

اثنان

واحد

GOT NEEDS?

polemics--EAT SHIT... murderers.

I think what the great "conservative" mass fails to realize, or is afraid to acknowledge, is that the reason we can have such a great life here in North America, with our "great set of values", etc. is because we are exploiting and oppressing the rest of the world. The rest of the world doesn't suck because they have different cultural values, it sucks because that's the only way we here in the west can sustain our lavish life of luxury. It's not just that the United States is oppressing various countries (and I made a list today--but just of atrocities committed since WWII) but it's the reasons behind that oppression that are so virulent. Other nations are not allowed, and allowed needs to be emphasized, to try and be "like us", because it is detrimental to our society to allow it. Imagine if we actually had to pay people in the third world a decent wage for their work, or actually allow them to reap the profits of their resources, the world economic system would become untenable, and in fact, the actions of the past month, or so, indicate that it has become untenable. The fact of the matter is, unless we start making hard sacrifices, we here in Canada and the United States will be forced into a position of social and economic subservience by, at least, China and India. It may not seem like it affects you now, but it will, and sooner than you, or anyone in North America, would like admit, and if we continue to destroy the environment it will only be exacerbated. Do you have any doubt that North America would be on the losing end of a military conflict with China, or even Africa? The fact of the matter is, environmental degredation continuing as it is, we will have no choice but to face such an armed struggle as crop failures across the old-world force the massive population of the great eurasian landmass to abandon their arid and un-cultivatable land in favor of the only viable arable land that will remain, namely, North America. This is why the position taken by the United States in international affairs is so deplorable, and if they continue to sow the seeds of destruction, violence and hatred to the rest of the world, then how will we possibly survive even the next 50 years, let alone the next hundred, or more? When we have spent a century raping and exploiting the world in the name of Freedom, Liberty, and Democracy, how can we dare ask for forgiveness, or mercy? Will we deserve it?

That's what the man said

Ah, what a wonderful feeling to be free of hair! Various bits & pieces dangling in the breeze like small watermelons or oranges or something of that nature.

kunnanit wedan pt. 2

13. Fellowship With Men (同人 tóng rén)

Fellowship with men in the open.

Success.

It furthers one to cross the great water.

The perseverance of the superior man furthers.

Heaven together with fire:

The image of fellowship with men.

Thus the superior man organizes the clans

And makes distinctions between things.

Nine at the top means:

Fellowship with men in the meadow.

No remorse.

49. Revolution / Molting (革 gé)

Revolution. On your own day

You are believed.

Supreme success,

Furthering through perseverance.

Remorse disappears.

Fire in the lake: the image of revolution.

Thus the superior man

Sets the calendar in order

And makes the seasons clear.

Frae "The Twa Dogs, A Tale"

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, Thro' Winter's cauld, or Summer's heat; They've nae sair-wark to craze their banes, An' fill auld-age wi' grips an' granes; But human-bodies are sic fools, For a' their colledges an' schools, That when nae real ills perplex them, They mak enow themsels to vex them; An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, In like proportion, less will hurt them.

Garçom.

Então, já escolheram? Que vão comer?

Sylvia.

Para começar, uma salada mista e uma canja.

Garçom.

E depois?

Sylvia.

Um lombo assado e um filé de peixe frito com batatas fritas, arroz e legumes para dois.

Don't Worry Mom .01

I'm afriad that I'm turning this into too much of an image blog.  fuck it, here's one of my favorite Les Edwards pieces.

DO YOU LOVE ME JAMIE STEWART?

kunnanit wedan

nu wattaru māḫḫan iyan?

CHRISTOS ANESTI

Thug Passion

This is a picture of a cat with bacon taped to it.

Death to the Infidel

nu KUR.KUR.MEŠ hūmanta nahsaraz harzi 'fear holds all the lands'

nu IGI-anda ŠA UR.MAH nahsarattan ŠA MUŠ-ya weriteman ka[... 'face to face, fear of lion and dread of snake'

nu-mu nahsarattan tasnumarr-a EGIR-pa DINGIR-YA pāi 'my god, restore to me aura and invigoration!'

(D)U-as karpin kartimmiattan nahsarattan sarāuwar tarmānun mitānun 'Stormgod's wrath, anger, fearsomeness, and rage I have nailed and secured with red wool'

Capitalism is Rape 1.0

From The Edmonton Journal, September 30, 2008. Section A18. “Stephen Harper, seemingly channelling the spirit of Pierre Trudeau, dropped in on Calgary, to announce a surprise plan to ban new exports of Alberta's raw bitumen to countries that don't conform with Canada's carbon emission reduction standards -- whatever those may be. If Alberta bitumen can't be sold on a free and open international market, we can't price it properly. Bitumen is now Alberta's greatest energy asset. If there's no viable external market for it, how can we know what it's really worth -- or be sure that we're selling it for its true market value? If a new Harper government devalues bitumen by trapping it within Canadian borders, Alberta's provincial treasury will never be able to capture its full, maximum value.” Paula Simons, Edmonton Journal Maybe what the woefully naïve Ms. Simons doesn’t understand is that she’s playing with the ability of the planet upon which we live to sustain human life. She is toying with my children’s lives, is it only fair, then, I should be allowed to toy with her children’s lives in a manner I see fit? No, it isn’t. Too bad we don’t live in a “fair” world. Mr. Harper doesn’t want to sell Bitumen to China? You mean the same China who is doing more to destroy the environment than any other country in the world? Why does it matter whether or not we can sell Bitumen for its “true market value” when the cost is our homes, our lives?

A parable

My "favorite" story is the one about a shipload of Jews travelling the high seas, looking for some place to take them in so they wouldn't have to face Nazi persecution. They came to Canada, and then came to the US (and other places) all of which rejected them. It's okay though, because in the end they went back to Germany and got killed.

GET LUCKY

"In the Arab countries, the rich extract of hashish is usually obtained by cooking the plant's freshly culled crowns in butter with a little water.  The preparation thus arising, after evaporation has rid it of moisture, resembles a greenish-yellow pomade and retains the unpleasant odor of hashish and rancid butter.  In this form, it is taken in small pellets of two to four grams.  Because of its repugnant odor, which intensifies over time, the Arabs mix the rich extract into a sweet jam."

I love policeman

1. I saw policeman.

2. I shot policeman.

3. I cut head off policeman.

4. I had sex with inside of policeman throat.

5. I set on fire policeman.

6. I threw into river policeman.

7. Policeman gut spill out. Ew, gross.

The yawning bone is ineffable

(...is ineffable)

Dit திட் dit dit dit dit dit dit dit dit திட் dit dit dit dit dit திட் dit dit dit dit Mslto het gemakkelijk het மேனிங்க்ச்வேர்ச்சில் இஸ் லோச்ட் op. Denk inform far besides that birth gives to my more groove beefing: "the boy receives a work" slightly far moreover in this my birth of more canelura the beefing partitioning: "the young person receives a work >" nebol'sh is distant above the fact in this my generation more canelura so NOP of razdelil beefing: "new persona there wakes by the obtained work >" Nebol'sh beefing more distant razdelil so with respect to fact of this my generation of of many canelura NOP: "The external personality where there is new with the job which is obtained >" it awakes

The Star Beast! The Star Beast! Sturb. Sturb. I just um... No I can't do it now. The bowl is bitched. It's cashed!!!!