Aphorisms

I am not paid enough to entertain or enlighten you.

We look for love outside to compensate for the love we cannot give ourselves.

On Man - I
If I make no sense, you have not been alone enough, for long enough, or have sat in
solitude under a black sky as much and as often as I have.
If I do, I raise a beer.
Man's true enemy is the cosmos, godly silence, absentee father, his war against his futile
mortality and he is tricked into believing he is his greatest enemy but man's past is just a
proxy enemy; his real enemy Is black and everywhere around, in and out of him.
IT - The Great Black is, Was and Will Be.
Man's every action is to affirm his existence. The thought of ceasing to Exist is the most
horrifying thing he can imagine.
Woman's ... I don't understand women.
Proust leaving behind In Search Of Lost Time is the same as Alexender leaving behind a
kingdom of a frankly, unholy and grotesque, size is the same as a promiscuous lech
leaving behind a horde of women conquered.
Father and Mother laments the death of a child, first, because their greatest achievement,
that would leave them immortal in history, got obliterated.
Second, because they loved the child or something.
All action is phallic.
All the world's a great (stage) battlefield and men are merely warrior puppets, battling
each other.
The strings go up and disappear into a gigantic vagina
of the one who looks, yawns, checks her nails and is bored with men's games.
Nature is Mother and Earth is a she because whatever Man desecrates automatically is
given feminine gender.
Man desecrating women in a war with Man is our history.
Women were at the sidelines, at the turnbuckles, outside the barb wire fence, cheering
men or crying for men - depends.
If you die today, it won't matter. Do not underestimate the human ability to move on. At
one point, you will really 1. tire the person who loved you the most from intruding his or
her thoughts and that person will choose something happy for fuck's sake
Or 2. simply retire, you with your last traces, in memory, quietly and without choir music,
into The Great Black.
By the way, if I sound like Freud, too much penis, let me tell you, never read a word of
him. I like Jung.
Bottom-line: Dear man, between affecting as many people, over as many lands, for as
long as possible, in a socio-culturally positive or negative way and fading away to The
Great Black, he is stuck.