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.::z. 8/8.

elegantly wasted.

the concept of self

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

whatever a man’s position may be, he is bound to take a view of human life in general that will make his own activity seem important and good. people usually imagine that a thief, a murderer, a spy, a prostitute, knowing their occupation to be evil, must be ashamed of it. but the very opposite is true. men who have been placed by fate and their own sins or mistakes in a certain position, however irregular that position may be, adopt a view of life as a whole which makes their position appear to them good and respectable. in order to back up their view of life they instinctively mix only with those who accept their ideas of life and their place in it. this surprises us when it is a case of thieves bragging of their skill, prostitutes flaunting their depravity or murderers boasting of their cruelty. but it surprises only because their numbers are limited and – this is the point – we live in a different atmosphere. but can we not observe the same phenomenon when the rich boast of their wealth, i.e. of robbery; when commanders of armies pride themselves on their victories, i.e. on murder; and when those in high places vaunt their power – their brute force? we do not see that their ideas of life and of good and evil are corrupt and inspired by a necessity to justify their position, only because the circle of people with such corrupt ideas is a larger one and we belong to it ourselves.

[leo tolstoy, 'resurrection']
posted by zul, 10:32 AM | link | 2 comments |

i love everybody

Thursday, May 07, 2009

And now the buildings change. Now the people change. Everything changing. Spirit and matter most apparent. Realised there never was anything to worry about, to doubt was insane. The limited, callow, isolated individuals living on housing estates in Chingford, large detached houses in Kew, tower blocks on the Tottenham marshes, become my gods. I see an accounts clerk from Tooting, I see Zeus. A sanitary inspector from the London Borough of Haringay, and Brahmin stands resplendent before me. For five minutes I love everybody. There is only love. All action ceases. The Mile End Road, once a blood-stained battleground of Bacchanalian excess, becomes the Garden of Gethsemane. A bitter, 72-year old ex-docker becomes the ever-compassionate Buddha. A Cypriot minicab driver becomes St Francis of Assissi. The 22-year-old Glaswegian checkout girl is the divine mother. I love everybody. My spirit is free. I am limitless in space, time and matter, simultaneously the planet Neptune, part of the structural support to Vauxhall Bridge. I am your left breast, I am Stepney, I am Peru, I am divine and so are you. I love everybody. I am nothing except a mere cluster of notes, a road sign in Skelmersdale. I ran the Roman Empire. I was a lavatory attendant in Hull. I am everybody and everybody is me. Spirit. Who put the spirit in matter? Love.

[Jah Wobble, 'I Love Everbody']
posted by zul, 11:41 AM | link | 1 comments |