| bipin ( @ 2006-10-11 11:08:00 |
rant

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high... - Rabindranath Tagore
If we didn't exist, would love?
No. This is not a rhetorical question. I really want to know your answer. Before you go on. Think.
If the world in its magnificence stood, with pillowy clouds and fleeting birds perched on them; with marble sculptures yet to be scraped out from desolate stone and summery winds atop; and all that was missing was you and me and her and him and every single human. If we all disappeared, would the universe still house love?
Ok, let's twist the question a bit. Since you're so full of shit and are convinced that you do know the answer. Would 'good' and 'bad' exist if we didn't? Would the fiery lava burning out the ant-hill down the slope be bad? Would you term the dark sweeps bringing rain onto parched land as being good? Would the lion twisting the neck of the gazelle, punching holes into its cartilage, squeezing the sorry pangs of air out of its prey be bad? Would the Universe label any action or any consequence as good or bad?
I'll tell you. If you've got an ounce of sense in that befuddled head of yours, you'll be with me here. No. Good did not exist. Not until we invented it.
And then we return to what we'd started off with before. If we didn't exist, and neither did good, could love?
Love can be defined only in the context of good and bad. Listen carefully. Again: any action that we perceive as being good to another entity is defined to be an act of love. And an action to its contrary - an act of hate.
If we didn't exist, and neither did good or bad, love fails to be.
And entrenched somewhere in this complete nonsense, architected by the sissy, trembling pillars of love and hate is your 'sense of morality'. That some actions are worthier than others. That some ideas are worthier than others. That murder is wrong. That the gods decried that eating pussy is far holier than sucking cock. That throwing acid on a lost love is protecting your honour. That flashing your tits is obscene and we should have moral-laws against it. That being forced to hide your face with a veil however is a violation of human rights. That fighting a man is worse than going behind his back and cussing.
That she's not yours if she's not yours.
That some people are more moral than others solely because they adhere to some of those abberant notions. Of good. Of love.
Love cannot exist. And morality wholly dependant on love does not exist. Morality is a construct in your head, twisted and forged and beaten, cast in iron-shingles and convinced to be a part of you. Just because you believe it exists; just because you can't imagine life as being amoral; just because your pathetic vision of reality relies on a grandiose purpose, according to which you'll be judged for eternity. Just because you want to believe that we have a base morality that we're born with.
If every single human was convinced that at the centre of the Earth, was a giant, humongous over-sized diamond, would it spring into existence? If ever single human in this planet was convinced that morality existed, would morality spring into existence? I repeat: morality is a construct in your head. It does not exist.
Anything - love, hate, good, bad, morality - that dwells exclusively in our minds is just that - a long winded fantasy that your motherâs other breast fed you.
Worse, morality's got this sickeningly mediocre after-taste to it, forcing you to live your life by a deranged, inconsistent, illusory mental image of rules which make little sense outside of your sick head. You’re ill, I tell you. Delusional at best. You've got now to live. You will not exist further, and you've not existed before. Go out. Be one with the universe. A universe which has no such rules. Do what you desire.
Bite her lip until warm, dark red blood spurts out, trickling down into your sinful tongue. Make love to her until you can't go on, until she can't breathe. Until you can feel your soul being ripped out from you. Until every single cell in your body is in utter and complete pain.
He does not exist in your love story. It's you. And her. For eternity. Go on. Be strong. Be your hero.
And then be thrown into prison or a mad-house for acting against ephemeral lines of morality conjured by a deranged, trapped humankind.

If we didn't exist, would love?
No. This is not a rhetorical question. I really want to know your answer. Before you go on. Think.
If the world in its magnificence stood, with pillowy clouds and fleeting birds perched on them; with marble sculptures yet to be scraped out from desolate stone and summery winds atop; and all that was missing was you and me and her and him and every single human. If we all disappeared, would the universe still house love?
Ok, let's twist the question a bit. Since you're so full of shit and are convinced that you do know the answer. Would 'good' and 'bad' exist if we didn't? Would the fiery lava burning out the ant-hill down the slope be bad? Would you term the dark sweeps bringing rain onto parched land as being good? Would the lion twisting the neck of the gazelle, punching holes into its cartilage, squeezing the sorry pangs of air out of its prey be bad? Would the Universe label any action or any consequence as good or bad?
I'll tell you. If you've got an ounce of sense in that befuddled head of yours, you'll be with me here. No. Good did not exist. Not until we invented it.
And then we return to what we'd started off with before. If we didn't exist, and neither did good, could love?
Love can be defined only in the context of good and bad. Listen carefully. Again: any action that we perceive as being good to another entity is defined to be an act of love. And an action to its contrary - an act of hate.
If we didn't exist, and neither did good or bad, love fails to be.
And entrenched somewhere in this complete nonsense, architected by the sissy, trembling pillars of love and hate is your 'sense of morality'. That some actions are worthier than others. That some ideas are worthier than others. That murder is wrong. That the gods decried that eating pussy is far holier than sucking cock. That throwing acid on a lost love is protecting your honour. That flashing your tits is obscene and we should have moral-laws against it. That being forced to hide your face with a veil however is a violation of human rights. That fighting a man is worse than going behind his back and cussing.
That she's not yours if she's not yours.
That some people are more moral than others solely because they adhere to some of those abberant notions. Of good. Of love.
Love cannot exist. And morality wholly dependant on love does not exist. Morality is a construct in your head, twisted and forged and beaten, cast in iron-shingles and convinced to be a part of you. Just because you believe it exists; just because you can't imagine life as being amoral; just because your pathetic vision of reality relies on a grandiose purpose, according to which you'll be judged for eternity. Just because you want to believe that we have a base morality that we're born with.
If every single human was convinced that at the centre of the Earth, was a giant, humongous over-sized diamond, would it spring into existence? If ever single human in this planet was convinced that morality existed, would morality spring into existence? I repeat: morality is a construct in your head. It does not exist.
Anything - love, hate, good, bad, morality - that dwells exclusively in our minds is just that - a long winded fantasy that your motherâs other breast fed you.
Worse, morality's got this sickeningly mediocre after-taste to it, forcing you to live your life by a deranged, inconsistent, illusory mental image of rules which make little sense outside of your sick head. You’re ill, I tell you. Delusional at best. You've got now to live. You will not exist further, and you've not existed before. Go out. Be one with the universe. A universe which has no such rules. Do what you desire.
Bite her lip until warm, dark red blood spurts out, trickling down into your sinful tongue. Make love to her until you can't go on, until she can't breathe. Until you can feel your soul being ripped out from you. Until every single cell in your body is in utter and complete pain.
He does not exist in your love story. It's you. And her. For eternity. Go on. Be strong. Be your hero.
And then be thrown into prison or a mad-house for acting against ephemeral lines of morality conjured by a deranged, trapped humankind.