It’s not sex, it’s not your good looks, it’s tenderness that wins a man’s heart, and honesty. You may have looks and style. You may sigh or scream just the way he likes to hear when you come, or something along those lines. That certainly doesn’t hurt, but, by God, it’s tender loving care he wants, just like you. And in keeping with that spirit: loyalty, faithfulness, no matter what goes down. No matter what.
. . . as if the shadows themselves where concrete, and threw shadows of their own, a multiplicity of shadows that threaten to crowd my mind in to insanity. So, if I whine in my sleep and you see my legs moving, you know now what I am dreaming of. I’m not a dog chasing a fox . . . The fox is chasing me, it’s a huge, unholy shadow with fangs the size of daggers. I haven’t the guts to face it, though I know that if I turn around it will simply fade away. It’s my own damned shadow I’m running from. It’s me.
The sublime and the ridiculous are often so nearly related that it is difficult to class them separately. One step above the sublime makes the ridiculous, and one step above the ridiculous makes the sublime again.
– Thomas Paine
Communication, dammit. It’s not easy, but try it. It might just work. Be honest. Damn, I know, it’s complicated b –. (Editors note: forgive the interruption, but Mr. Hellstrøm has just spit a glob of . . . whatever . . . on his keyboard. He’s trying to say something he considers important, and his zeal has got the better of him. Now he has to clean it up) . . . but you can deal with it.
It’s not actually that difficult. Even with the minimal empathy that I am equipped with, it isn’t that hard. I make up for it with – I was thinking ‘intellect’ just now, but that ain’t right – perhaps it’s more like I empathize on a different level. On several levels, maybe, and then it’s too much, and I’d rather attack than feel with you. Nevertheless I try my best to understand. So don’t take it wrong if I wrestle you to the ground and bite you in the throat.
Whatever. We all have our crosses to bear, our balls and chains to drag dismally across the floor, and so on. Besides, some people deserve to be bitten in the throat. But, basically, when I have those feelings, I counter them with perfect politeness. There are ways of making your feelings clear without biting other peoples throats. I’ll nevermind them, those people. Keep them at arm’s length.
Politeness is like armor then. You see how people misbehave, and you counter it with absolute civility. There is nothing that could make them angrier, perhaps, but you force them to be civil in turn. And that is an honest way of communication. You’re telling them very clearly what you think, though it may be masked, and you’re forcing them to deal with you on a certain level, the only level left, at that point, which won’t cause you to bite them in the throat.
So you’re wearing a mask, but it’s an honest mask. Everyone knows what it means. That’s what I mean when I say: say what you feel. Nevermind them. They may hate you for it afterwards, if they even take the trouble to think about it, but most likely they won’t. Even if they do, there is nothing they can do about it. If they do think about it, they will silently admit defeat. You’ve fucked them in the ass, big time, with civility.
Man, I love that. It appeals to my sense of irony. Not to mention the little cynical fuck in me that has a huge laugh at it. Haha, fucked you in the ass, man! Not a thing you can do about it! Aced you out, big time, you fucking asocial ass!
Ahh, I love civility, and politeness.
How many personalities of mine have died? Over the years… I have changed so much. The old me is dead. It’s died again and again. That is one side of the coin. The other side is, I feel young, and it is still me here.
But that’s it, that’s why, dammit, I feel young because I’ve changed, again and again. Whether I wanted to or not, I haven’t stayed in stasis. Sometimes I chose change, more often that not it was forced on me. At times it seemed hard, but in the middle run it always was for the better… because it kept me young, flexible.
And I’ve died a thousand deaths anyway, Billions, more like. The greater part of the cells I am composed of aren’t the same ones that were me a month ago. I am, physically speaking, a new person. Each morning Hellstrøm the zombie awakens anew, shuffling through the day grunting at innocent passers-by who have no inkling that they too are zombies, that they are all gradually dying and being renewed at the same time by a power which they only dimly understand, if at all. ALIVE!
We got laws, and we got mores. Wonts, and taboos. We got things that are mildly disapproved of, things people wrinkle their noses at. We got things everyone says they would never do, but they are done. The question is, can we get away with it? Social coercion at its best.
Every fucking social animal thinks the same way. Every wolf, every chimp, every gnu. The only difference between us and them is that we write it all down. That makes the whole thing somewhat more difficult for those who deviate from the norm. Suddenly, it’s the law.
I’m thinking I’m a tiger. I decide to do something different. All the other tigers are saying . . . What the fuck? Yeach, what the . . . ah hell, a young tiger, they’re all crazy anyway . . . Holy fuck, he got meat with that crazy tactic! Yeah. He got away with it. Aren’t there times when you wished you were a tiger? Imagine all the things you could get away with. Good things.
Social coercion has its uses, but it is also a God damned corset (corset, coercion, uhm, am I being too obvious here?)
I had a great day today, and I was feeling BIG, until I saw this: