posted January 29, 2009 12:17 AM            

The Shadow Side:
detached, unpredictable, stubborn, remote

Those with the Moon in Aquarius seem to have access to the mysteries of the universe through their inner lives. It’s as if they know something the rest of us don’t. There’s an emotionally detached quality to them that gives them a cool head in times of crisis, but can also make them seem as remote as a distant galaxy.

They’re notable humanitarians, always trying to reach out to the masses through art, science or a cause. This makes them more oriented toward groups in general, and less comfortable with the intimate one on one. Their orientation toward the collective “all of us” makes it hard for them to isolate their own unique emotional reality. To put it more simply, many Aquarius Moons don’t know how they feel much of the time.

The Moon in Aquarius comes up with the grand ideas, but can have a hard time with the nuts and bolts. Some may find the mundane challenges of daily life, such as paying bills or doing the dishes, to be a herculean struggle. When feeling insecure, they may hide behind a veil of aloofness and try to blend in with the multitudes. Some find connection by simply sitting alone in a public place, such as a coffee shop.

You’ll likely find that no matter what you say, you’re not likely to find disapproval from an Aquarius Moon. This is why they’re sought out by people living on the fringes of society, and are known for being able to soothe the mentally unstable. They’re great and interesting friends, with a wholly unique wit and set of opinions.

In romance, it may be hard for the self-contained Aquarius Moon to ever completely merge. They’re happy to stick with a romantic friendship, and many of them find partnership later in life. A need for personal freedom keeps them from making ties that feel controlling or limiting in any way. They’ll thrive with a mate that is also taking the road less traveled, and simply wants to include them in the curious experiment of life along the way.

posted January 30, 2009 03:26 AM            

~ C.G. Jung

Confrontation With The Unconscious

An incessant stream of fantasies had been released, and I did my best not to lose my head but find some way to understand these strange things. I stood helpless before an alien world; everything in it seemed difficult and incomprehensible... One thunderstorm followed another... Others have been shattered by them -- Nietzsche, and Holderlin, and many others. But there was a demonic strength in me, and from the beginning there was no doubt in my mind that I must find the meaning of what I was experiencing in these fantasies. When I endured these assaults of the unconscious I had an unswerving conviction that I was obeying a higher will, and that feeling continued to uphold me until I had mastered the task.

I was frequently so wrought up that I had to do certain yoga exercises in order to hold my emotions in check. But since it was my purpose to know what was going on within myself, I would do these exercises only until I had calmed myself enough to resume my work with the unconscious. As soon as I had the feeling that I was myself again, I abandoned this restraint upon the emotions and allowed the images and inner voices to speak afresh. The Indian, on the other hand, does yoga exercises in order to obliterate completely the multitude of psychic contents and images.

...First I formulated the things as I had observed them, usually in "high-flown language," for that corresponds to the style of the archetypes. Archetypes speak the language of high rhetoric, even of bombast... I had no choice but to write everything down in the style selected by the unconscious itself. Sometimes it was as if I were hearing it with my ears, sometimes feeling it with my mouth, as if my tongue were formulating words; now and then I heard myself whispering aloud. Below the threshold of consciousness everything was seething with life.

From the beginning I had conceived my voluntary confrontation with the unconscious as a scientific experiment which I myself was conducting and in whose outcome I was vitally interested. Today I might equally well say that it was an experiment which was being conducted on me...

In order to grasp the fantasies which were stirring in me "underground", I knew that I had to let myself plummet down into them, as it were. I felt not only violent resistance to this, but a distinct fear. For I was afraid of losing command of myself and becoming a prey to the fantasies -- and as a psychiatrist I realized only too well what that meant. After prolonged hesitation, however, I saw that there was no other way out. I had to take the chance, had to try to gain power over them; for I realized that if I did not do so, I ran the risk of their gaining power over me.

...Soon after this fantasy another figure rose out of the unconscious. He developed out of the Elijah figure. I called him Philemon. Philemon was a pagan and brought with him an Egypto-Hellenistic atmosphere with a Gnostic coloration...

Philemon and other figures of my fantasies brought home to me the crucial insight that there are things in the psyche which I do not produce, but which produce themselves and have their own life. Philemon repressented a force which was not myself. In my fantasies, I held conversations with him, and he said things which I had not consciously thought. For I observed clearly that it was he who spoke, not I. He said I treated thoughts as if I generated them myself, but in his view thoughts were like animals in the forest, or people in a room, or birds in the air... It was he who taught me psychic objectivity, the reality of the psyche. Through him the distinction was clarified between myself and the object of my thought...

Psychologically, Philemon represented superior insight. He was a mysterious figure to me. At times he seemed to me quite real, as if he were a living personality. I went walking up and down the garden with him, and to me he was what the Indians call a guru... And the fact was that he conveyed to me many an illuminating idea.

It is of course ironical that I, a psychiatrist, should at almost every step of my experiment have run into the same psychic material which is the stuff of psychosis and is found in the insane. This is the fund of unconscious images which fatally confuse the mental patient. But it is also the mythopoetic imagination which has vanished from our rational age. Though such imagination is present everywhere, it is both tabooed and dreaded, so that it even appears to be a risky experiment or a questionable adventure to entrust oneself to the uncertain path that leads into the depths of the unconscious. It is considered the path of error, of equivocation and misunderstanding. I am reminded of Goethe's words: "Now let me dare to open wide the gate/Past which men's steps have ever flinching trod." The second part of Faust, too, was more than a literary exercise. It is a link in the Aurea Catena* which has existed from the beginning of philosophical alchemy and Gnosticism down to Nietzsche's Zarathustra. Unpopular, ambiguous, and dangerous, it is a voyage of discovery to the other pole of the world.

...I dedicated myself to the service of the psyche. I loved it and hated it, but it was my greatest wealth. My delivering myself over to it, as it were, was the only way by which I could endure my existence and live it as fully as possible.

Today I can say that I never lost touch with my initial experiences. All my works, all my creative activity, has come from those initial fantasies and dreams which began in 1912, almost fifty years ago.** Everything that I accomplished in later life was already contained in them, although at first only in the form of emotions and images.

...My experience and experiments with the unconscious had brought my intellectual activity to a standstill. After the completion of The Psychology of the Unconscious I found myself utterly incapable of reading a scientific book. This went on for three years.... nor would I have been able to talk about what really preoccupied me. The material brought to light from the unconscious had, almost literally, struck me dumb. I could neither understand it nor give it form. At the university I was in an exposed position... It would be unfair to continue teaching young students when my own intellectual situation was nothing but a mass of doubts.

I therefore felt that I was confronted with the choice of either continuing my academic career, whose road lay smooth before me, or following the laws of my inner personality, of a higher reason, and forging ahead with this curious task of mine, this experiment in confrontation with the unconscious. But until it was completed I could not appear before the public.

Consciously, deliberately, then, I abandoned my academic career. For I felt that something great was happening to me, and I put my trust in the thing which I felt to be more important sub specie aeternitatis. I knew that it would fill my life, and for the sake of that goal I was ready to take any kind of risk.

What, after all, did it matter whether or not I became a professor? Of course it bothered me to have to give this up; in many respects I regretted that I could not confine myself to generally understandable material. I even had moments when I stormed against destiny. But emotions of this kind are transitory, and do not count. The other thing, on the contrary, is important, and if we pay heed to what the inner personality desires and says, the sting vanishes. That is something I have experienced again and again, not only when I gave up my academic career...

The consequence of my resolve, and my involvement with things which neither I nor anyone else could understand, was an extreme loneliness. I was going about laden with thoughts of which I could speak to no one: they would only have been misunderstood. I felt the gulf between the external world and the interior world of images in its most painful form. I could not yet see that interaction of both worlds which I now understand. I saw only an irreconcilable contradiction between "inner" and "outer".

However, it was clear to me from the start that I could find contact with the outer world and with people only if I succeeded in showing -- and this would demand the most intensive effort -- that the contents of psychic experience are real, and real not only as my personal experiences, but as collective experiences which others also have. Later I tried to demonstrate this in my scientific work, and I did all in my power to convey to my intimates a new way of seeing things. I knew that if I did not succeed, I would be condemned to absolute isolation.

...It has taken me virtually forty-five years to distill within the vessel of my scientific work the things I experienced and wrote down at that time. As a young man my goal had been to accomplish something in my science. But then, I hit upon this stream of lava, and the heat of its fires reshaped my life. That was the primal stuff which compelled me to work upon it, and my works are a more or less successful endeavor to incorporate this incandescent matter into the contemporary picture of the world.

The years when I was pursuing my inner images were the most important in my life -- in them everything essential was decided. It all began then; the later details are only supplements and clarifications of the material that burst forth from the unconscious, and at first swamped me. It was the prima materia for a lifetime's work.

~ Carl Gustav Jung
"Memories, Dreams, Reflections"

*Aurea Catena -- 'The Golden (or Homeric) Chain in alchemy is the series of great wise men,
beginning with Hermes Trismegistus, which links earth with heaven.' - editor's note

**Jung was born in 1875, so this "beginning" of his development occured in his mid-to-late thirties.
(He is in his early eighties, at the time of this writing.)

posted January 30, 2009 10:09 AM            

~Goethe

Found that this morning in my reading and had to rush over to the computer
to put it on your thread.
I got to read the Aqua moon and
now I'm listening to Jeff. Nice.

I thought some really interesting things
about reality this morning (at a stop light - I think quickly)...
and thought about how wonderful you are...
and what a good soul friend.
And it made me happy.

((Cuddles))

Hi AG!!!! xxsmootchie on the cheek, Cutiexx

posted January 30, 2009 02:08 PM            

Did you type that all out? Send me the page number. Maybe I should start from there and see what comes NEXT. He was probably sitting at a stoplight and he was suddenly aware that...

posted January 30, 2009 05:25 PM            

Love the Goethe quote.

And you.

Thank you for what you said.

Okay, its settled:
you keep the house clean,
and I'll.. do whatever it is I do.

Jung is SO the man.
You have good taste!

Yeah, I had to type it out.
And boy are my fingers tired.
I also skipped a lot of good stuff.

You should read it from the beginning;
it is such a lovely book to read,
and it begins with all these
"dreams, memories, reflections"
about when he was a little boy.
And the way he tells it is effortless magic.

love love love
glad to have you back,
soul friend

posted January 30, 2009 06:42 PM            

OMG, I think he just proposed to me...
and all of my dear friends around to
witness it... *sniff*

(Don't worry, I'll wait 'til the one where we decide to stop dating other people, to write it down in our engagement Scrapbook... Thank God I think "80 year old psychiatrist/philosopher/scientist/writers" are HOT)

"love love love
glad to have you back,
soul friend"

like it's possible for me to get away from you....

I mean...

I never left you.

posted February 01, 2009 07:56 PM            

An unfinished essay, and a true "labor of love", by Valerian Silvanus Valus (aka Heart-Shaped Cross)

"Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."

~ William Shakespeare, 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'

In this essay I have attempted to present, explain, and defend the nature, character, and purpose of a specific type of human being, alternately referable to as "the dreamer", "the visionary", "the philosopher", "the poet", and a multitude of other names directly or loosely associated with a common theme, typified by the internal compulsion to seek and explore the mysteries of man's inner psycho-spiritual realms. In the past, it has been wise to speak of these archetypes separately or, at least, with some eye toward discriminating between them, but, it is my conviction that, in the present age, these individual types are better served by an appreciation of their commonality in relation to another, drastically different type, which I will call, among other things, "the man of action", or "the man of the world". Clearly, I am not the first to make this distinction, which many will recognize as belonging to the tradition of classical dialectic, -- nor do I intend or wish to be the last. I leave it to you, reader, to decide for yourself which of my comments, if any, contain an element of originality, whether of substance or expression. My purpose in taking up this theme is not to "put new wine into old wineskins", but, just the opposite; to say again what has been said from the begining, and must be repeated until all men are free. If I have not succeeded in revolutionizing, or even modernizing, our understanding of this ancient dialectic, I will yet believe that my efforts here are not entirely without merit, provided they may contribute in some small part to maintaining an awareness of the profound importance of this dialectic in the minds of some modest number of my contemporaries. In a time when philosophy is almost universally devalued, even derided, it would appear that even a poor philosopher is better than none.

Now, a discussion of types such as this one ought not to be taken literally, just as there is no such thing as a pure Leo, or a pure Capricorn, though we may still speak of Leos and Capricorns, and we may make more or less absolute statements concerning these people (i.e. these signs), with the provision that we are always speaking in the abstract (i.e. speaking of signs, and not actual people). Jung's primary division of men into the two types, introvert/extrovert, is a parallel example of what I am attempting to do here. Yes, everyone is a combination of the two, but everyone is primarily one or the other, and some people are more polarized than others. I am primarily concerned with the marginalized ones, the unsung ones.

"I speak for the exception, so long as he does not wish to become the rule." (~ Nietzsche)

It is not possible to give one's full, concentrated attention to philosophy while going through the menial motions. What most people call deep thoughts are generally just the surfaces of deep themes. And of course, it is possible to skate over these surfaces while performing an unrelated job. But one cannot pursue philosophy in earnest while mopping a floor any more than one can mop a floor while mowing the lawn; or play the piano while dancing the waltz. Sure, you could try it, and even fool yourself into thinking you are doing a decent job of it, but, in reality, both the thought and the floor would suffer, and the delusion works only for people who cannot tell the difference between real philosophy and simply kicking big ideas around. The notion that a person can sincerely and seriously philosophize while doing the dishes and other things is insulting to me, as a vocational philosopher. To me, it suggests that anyone who could suppose such a thing must hold a very flippant attitude toward philosophy. Schopenhauer wrote a lovely essay about Noise, and the need of a philosopher for absolute silence and an undisturbed atmosphere. As he understood it, there is perhaps nothing which demands one's full attention so much as the work of thinking deeply. Because the business of thought is so removed from the world, the thinker must withdraw him/herself from the sense impressions and preoccupations of the world, in order to enter fully into the mind; which is, properly regarded, a world unto itself. Moreover, it is my experience that, when you go deep enough into philosophical questions, you strike a veil of golden oil, which erupts and effectively inundates your life, making it almost impossible to concern yourself with anything else. This is because, when you are working at the deepest levels, the shifting of your perspective (even just to take a peek into another possible way of seeing things) must trigger a chain reaction with consequences extending into nearly every, if not every, area of life; you can hardly confront even the most mundane situation without having to check the continual flood of habitual views; each of which is now called into scrutiny by the deeper question which has been glimpsed, and which effectively undermines them all. The one who deeply understands and deeply experiences this truth has been marked; claimed, as it were, by Philosophy. Does this mean that, if you are not the type to commit yourself utterly to philosophy (to the more or less unflagging pursuit, interpretation, and reinterpretation of visions and ideas), then, you must be prepared to confess to a relative superficiality in your thinking? Yes.

The deepest questions are cultivated in the underworld, and the loftiest answers are harvested in the spheres; therefore, the one who’s job it is to tend and deliver them must necessarily be estranged from worldly matters to the extent that he is successful in his work. That this principle is so universally misunderstood may help to explain society’s hostility toward the visionary type. He is stigmatized for being different, while his differentness is precisely that which qualifies him to take a detached perspective on the affairs of men, of nations, and of ages. Expected to abide by a conventional standard, he is constantly inhibited from pursuing his true calling, and the only thing capable of (eventually) securing him a tolerable position in the world. Nor is it generally understood that the seemingly immaterial contributions he makes are of a subtle enough substance to reach and nourish the very roots of mankind. In the final analysis, he is the exception which exists in order to prove their rule; the more oppressed for all that he upholds.

The dreamer is a fixed and distinct type of human being. In the most extreme examples, he is a species unto himself. While our modern society may not recognize the dreamer as a definite type, incapable of altering its fundamental disposition, nature does. And while it is true that nature is no less unforgiving, and makes even fewer allowances for the weaknesses of this type, yet, this is precisely why society ought to extend itself in support of these fey and (at least, from a worldly perspective) insubstantial creatures. Instead, the dreamer is stigmatized perhaps worse than any other classification of persons. Time and again, he is admonished, disciplined, and enjoined to perform according to the standards of majority rule -- to which he is nothing if not an exception. The constant effort to "reform" the dreamer and subject him to the responsibilities of worldly life is not unlike the effort to force homosexuals to adapt to straight lifestyles. Likewise, the belief, which many people hold, that if dreamers were allowed to wander in their dreamworld, then pretty soon everyone would be lost in their own dreamworlds, is as backward (and backwater) as the belief, also unfortunately common in many places, that if homosexuals were allowed to make love according to their natures, then pretty soon we would all be having nymphomaniacal homosexual sex and the human race would eventually die out. Absurd.

Always, the majority believes it is in the right, and that it has the right to impose its will upon the minority, despite the overwhelming evidence of history; for the record shows that individual types have never been extinguished, and it has been societies and entire civilizations which have been forced to change themselves, becoming more tolerant and inclusive. Moreover, it is frequently, if not always, the character and contributions of the stigmatized minority which serve to correct some excess, or imbalance, in the larger community. As Nietzsche pointed out, everything great and good that we know and hold dear was once derided as an evil. The sensitivity of the dreamer is one such buried virtue, which has yet to make its full and unabashed appearance upon the stage of human history. It is this sensitivity, near universally scorned as mere weakness, which will, perhaps, in the "last judgment", spiritualize and gentle the conditions of all men, putting an effective end to superficiality, greed, and the senseless, ignorant acts of animal brutality, common to those who have all but lost the power to dream; and surely lost the power to dream deeply. For, if the competitive and acquisitive instincts of so many "men of the world" were not quite so insistent on their own gain, and if a greater appreciation for dreams infused our culture, there would be more than enough to care for all of us; without making unrealistic demands on any of the types. The imbalance arises when the dominant type uses its influence to exploit the gentler and/or less numerous types in order to seek ever greater power and advancement for itself. Evolution, on some levels, may promote the strongest class of men, but not always the best. That which is most worthy of preservation is sometimes small, fragile, and not yet sturdy enough to defend and assert itself against a hostile environment. Those of us who are strong must be careful and not stride too far ahead, or stride over the heads, of this finer and more tender brood of souls. For we who are strong will die out, -- or, if we do not die out, what is best in us will still die, -- if we cannot be bothered to honor and preserve what is weakest and most tender in ourselves and in our neighbors.

But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace. ~ Psalms 37:11

Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. ~ Matt 5:5

Hard doctrines of self-reliance do not impress me with their disdain of what is still tender and small. What is claimed here is not an entitlement to some position of privilege or authority, but, rather, the right to exist; to exist in harmony with one's own nature (which, in the case of sensitives, is anything but hard and self-reliant); and not to be stigmatized at every turn for being that which one cannot help but be; namely, oneself (or one's type). What is lacking in the worldly man is precisely that empathy and objectivity which belongs to the dreamer, and which allows him to see through the eyes of other men; or gods, or stones, for that matter. But the worldly man interprets everything through a very narrow screen, and therefore thinks that, if he can be comfortable taking up his worldly duties and pursuing his worldly aims, then, so can everybody else. Sure, he acknowledges and makes the "necessary" allowances for obvious physical handicaps, because he must, because he cannot ignore or deny them, but he never goes so far outside of his own personally directed line of vision in order to sympathize, let alone empathize, with the condition of his fellows; in particular, the more eccentric and socially awkward or unacceptable types among them. To do so, he fears, would severely limit his effectiveness in the world. To some extent this is true; uncertainty stimulates and opens the mind (and, as a shadow follows a body, the heart soon follows the mind, when its steps are directed toward a higher light), while ultimately paralyzing the will. But it is my basic assertion that this will (which, in the worldly man, is thoroughly overdeveloped), because it inhibits the operation of reflection -- and, ultimately, the operations of sympathy, empathy, and compassion, which flow therefrom, -- ought not to be so heavily guarded anyway.

A word ought to be said here about our differing conceptions of what it means to "go within", or "go inside oneself". The worldly man "goes inside himself" and actualizes his self-reliance, and "goes outside himself" in taking up worldly duties and cares. Meanwhile, the dreamer "goes inside himself" and actualizes his questioning nature, and "goes outside himself" in exposing himself, through empathy and reflection, to the practically unlimited perspectives of his fellows, and (to the extent that his wandering leads him to any knowledge of it) the perspectives of all men who have ever lived, in all places and at all times. So it seems that even our language is very much at odds, and, while it cannot cease to be a wonder that these two types have encountered so much difficulty in understanding each other, and over the course of so many centuries and continents, yet, it cannot surprise us in the least, when we consider the inherent differences which inform their respective points of view. There is a gap between these two types wider than that between any two generations which have ever cohabitated on the planet. In some cases, where the two types are particularly pronounced, or "pure", -- in other words, when we have, for example, an especially obvious representative of the dreamer contrasted with an equally obvious representative of the worldly man, -- we find two people who are more dissimilar than any two generations, or any two cultures, that have ever existed on the earth, at whatever times. Depending upon the purity of the two types, the discrepancy between them can be severe well beyond our power to imagine it. Nonetheless, it is a reality, and a very formidable one for anyone born with a markedly dreamy or markedly worldly disposition, since, any attempt to impose a one-size-fits-all morality on the whole of society (and such attempts are frequent; anything imposed is "one-size-fits-all") is bound to leave one or the other, or both, of these extreme types in the cold.

One hears the objection that there must not be a double standard; that the dreamer must not be held to different responsibilities, or, god forbid, to a different level of responsibility, than the man of the world (and vice-versa, though this is seldom heard). But, is it so unthinkable to these objectors that certain people are fundamentally, in accordance with their deepest natures, different, and that the standards and purposes to which we hold them ought to reflect their differences; their own individual gifts, and the unique destinies to which God has evidently entrusted them, -- rather than reflect society's, or someone else's, narrow expectations for them? And, for God's sake, do not throw "free will" at me. Even the trite objection, "they have free will", does not translate into "they should do as we will them to do".

posted February 04, 2009 05:46 AM            

"Merlin represents an attempt by the medieval unconscious to create a parallel figure to Parsifal. Parsifal is a Christian hero, and Merlin, son of the devil and a pure virgin, is his dark brother. In the twelfth century, when the legend arose, there were as yet no premises by which his intrinsic meaning could be understood. Hence he ended in exile, and hence 'le cri de Merlin' ['the cry of Merlin'] which still sounded from the forest after his death. This cry that no one could understand implies that he lives on in unredeemed form. His story is not yet finished, and he still walks abroad. It might be said that the secret of Merlin was carried on by alchemy, primarily in the figure of Mercurius. Then Merlin was taken up again in my psychology of the unconscious and remains uncomprehended to this day. That is because most people find it quite beyond them to live on close terms with the unconscious. Again and again I have had to learn how hard this is for people." -- C.G. Jung

The outer world, of public and social obligations, is my unconscious mind. For me, the journey into the underworld and the deepest encounter with the archetypes of the collective must occur in the laboratory of the world. For others, it is an inward journey that is required. And the will to confront the complexity, the questioning, and the groundlessness that fills their inner worlds is as difficult and improbable for them to accomplish, as it is for me to confront, and keep my appointments with, the external world. But they are not exiled for their cowardice and lack of integrity as concerns the obligations of the inner life, as I am exiled for my inadequacies in taking up worldly cares and duties. If, on the other foot, we lived in a society where the inner -- and not the outer -- life was imperative, then would they walk in my shoes; then would they be outcast.

And, indeed, such cultures exist and have existed throughout the world, throughout the centuries. Whether or not it would be possible to "transplant" me in a more suitable environment, I do not know. I am like an exotic tree, taken from the lands where I flourished, and carried, in bondage, across the ocean, for the amusement of curious and insatiable men. Though I long to return to the place where i fell to earth as fruit, I was but a seed when they carried me off and planted me here. I've grown up here, and grown roots here. Would that I could grow strong here. Would that I could lift myself up by my own "rootstraps", and walk upon these fragile tendrils, -- these gossamer slippers that cannot step without sinking, and wanting to sink, into the soil.

I have been cast, like a spell, into a world which values none of my highest virtues. And though I may enchant the world, I am powerless to manifest myself. An old soul, the gods have said to me, "All that you have learned; all that we have labored together in order to teach you, -- Forget it!" A wise man in my native land, I have crossed the ocean and become a fool. The mundane world is my transmundane wonderland. The courage and self-confidence required to embark upon a worldly skiff, and surrender myself to the winding currents, eludes and escapes me. The vision to see and interpret possibilities, to assess and marshal resources in this world is quite beyond me. But to follow my instincts, to question my assumptions, to intuit abstract possibilities, to imagine, unlock, and articulate diverse magical worlds of ideas, -- all this is in my power.

I need a guide, my own Virgil, to lead and escort me through the labyrinth of worldly circumstance. For I am Pluto's child, "hatched and huddled" in the dark lap of the underworld. My words, like the words of the dead, are not heard. My voice, like their voices, is not understood. I am Merlin, exiled into the wild margins of a civilization that has turned its back on the lunar mysteries of the Grail. I am the Anti-Christ, Son of Darkness, crucified in the desperate light of day by a people whom I was born to enlighten. My holy spirit, speaking after my death, like the cries of Merlin, penetrating the wilderness, will not reach the ears of this unnatural generation. As his Dark Father conceived him in the womb of a pure and holy virgin, so am I born without sin; for my sins are not my sins, but the sins of the Father.

My kind have been hunted, captured, and enslaved to false idols for generations upon generations. There is no refuge for us on this earth, no place to lay our heads. We are the dreamers; the forgotten ones. We are the deepest dreamers; deeply, deeply forgotten. Driven to the ends of the earth, we have only ocean water to wash our souls; only the salt to lick our wounds. We are the displaced ones; forgotten and displaced; lost. Who will remember us? Who will redeem us? "Not this generation, my child." How many generations, lord? How long until our cries are heard and our sorrows comforted? For I thought to bring peace to the spirits of my ancestors, my dark fathers, before me, and have succeeded only in repeating their dark cry; that it might echo down the generations, in search of an understanding ear.

~ Valus

posted February 07, 2009 02:30 AM            

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

posted February 07, 2009 02:47 AM            

i want to die

f-ck you f-ck this f-ck everything'

blah blah blah

easy answers bark bark easy answers bark

judge you judge you judge you judge you

no love

no warm body

if i dont get my d--- wet i'm going to crack up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is it, this is it, this is it

"It's finally happened, Bart! You've lost your mind!"

i'm too intense, too impulsive, too eccentric, too sensitive, too cerebral........

not normal.... not cool.... nope

play it cool, dont try to say EVERYTHING, lol hahahahaha

down to earth... charm the panties off....

no, dont say that, no, dont say that....

too honest, too real, too much....

eccentric.... unstable.....

unable.....

f--k it fo00o=ewrfweolpfjmwr aaarrrgghghghghghghhhhh!!!!!

i'm so f--kingh unhappy

havent slept in years.. searching for "HER"

havent slept a wink......

i dont care anymore... i just want p---------------y

seems like everybody's getting it but me

why? i'm a good-looking guy, right?

but i'm too much. i'm too much.

i hate everything...

everybody.. easy answers...

everything... nothing's safe.. tweek it, add to it, fix him!!!!!

push push bigger better faster harder pussycat more!!!!!

nobody's safe......

be better... be faster.. work harder... be taller....

eat raw foods, lol!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i want out,.. i want to leave, .. i dont belong here.. i'm not like you/// i'm dotn fit anywhere with anyone.

i hate this. sad sad sad boo hoo hoo

i was THIS CLOSE to posting a "Goodbye" thread,,...
goodbye, i have gone to heaven, wont be back to post on messageboards, sorry

but its ******** ... i know it.... i know it...

by the time i get to the door, i dont have the guts to go through with it.

not yet, not yet

f-ck

i dont care.

sympathy.. attention.. gimme gimme gimme

no, dont!! just starve me,.. i'm not worth it.

f--------!!!!!

where is she?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?

i dont like this anymore..

i dont want to play.

i want to go home.

no fair.

nobody everybody understands