loading...

I should really be reading Hume’s An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, but today I decided to spend the afternoon acquiring the above distractions. In other, unrelated news, all the residents in my student halls have had to move out for a fortnight because it was discovered that there may be Legionnaires’ disease in the water. I shit you not.

I should really be reading Hume’s An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, but today I decided to spend the afternoon acquiring the above distractions.

In other, unrelated news, all the residents in my student halls have had to move out for a fortnight because it was discovered that there may be Legionnaires’ disease in the water. I shit you not.

So another friend of mine drew me this awesome picture. Jesus Christ, I have some lovely/awesome friends.

So another friend of mine drew me this awesome picture. Jesus Christ, I have some lovely/awesome friends.

A friend of mine, whose blog can be found here, drew this for me, and holy fucking shit, it’s awesome. It’s also a wonderful addition to my wall.

A friend of mine, whose blog can be found here, drew this for me, and holy fucking shit, it’s awesome. It’s also a wonderful addition to my wall.

I do wonder how many packs of cigarettes Camus got through a day because it seems as though he’s smoking in most of the pictures of him.

My thoughts return to you, Tumblr

If there exist such people that pay any sort of regular attention to this blog, then they’ll have noticed that it has been void of any original content as of late. The reason for this is that any potential post topic which comes to mind almost instantly seems banal as soon as I’m greeted with the blank text post window. Now, I try to keep this blog’s content of relative interest (how successful I am in such an endeavor I shall leave up to you), but as I said, to click on the new text post link is, as of late, to instantly make any thoughts I had intended on sharing seem insipid.

With this in mind, lately I have found that my use of social media has been reduced to mindlessly reblogging pictures of pretty shit on my side blog and making inane tweets (here’s my Twitter in case you’re insane enough to have a gander, even after my self-deprecating description which aren’t put through any kind of mental quality control filter.

Further,even though there are things happening in my life, I often find myself sat in my room harbouring the idea that there is nothing happening in my life. When asked the oh-so-common question “How are you doing?” I often find myself fighting back the urge to respond with “Existing”. Instead, I usually find myself picking from an array of responses, all of which involve the term “tired”. And I that’s a true response in a couple of ways; not only am I physically tired, I’m tired of simply existing.

However, with that said, I do often find myself enjoying life. But give me a sleepless night and a keyboard, and the above is what spawns.

fohk:

"Personality, I mean that’s what counts, right? That’s what keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin, I mean heroin’s got a great fucking personality"
Trainspotting (1996)Danny Boyle

fohk:

"Personality, I mean that’s what counts, right? That’s what keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin, I mean heroin’s got a great fucking personality"

Trainspotting (1996)
Danny Boyle

madamedechevre replied to your post “Yesterday afternoon, I submitted my final essay of my first year at…”

yay you made it!

Not quite. I still have a few exams, which total 60% of this year’s grades.

Yesterday afternoon, I submitted my final essay of my first year at university. I am now faced with a month of simply existing, with the vague thought of revising surfacing at the front of my mind on occasion.

epistemologicalfallacy:

Freud was Austrian….

madamedechevre replied to your photo “I went to Camden today and found this gem for a grand total of £5. :)…”

what is it about?? i’ve never even heard of it.

It’s Camus final novel. He didn’t manage to finish it before he died in a car crash on 4th January, 1960. The unfinished novel, which is a autobiographical novel set in Camus’ home country of Algeria,  was recovered from the car wreckage I believe.

Actually, I’m fairly sure I’ve heard that story more times than I can count.

Actually, I’m fairly sure I’ve heard that story more times than I can count.

I went to Camden today and found this gem for a grand total of £5. :) It’s a hardcover too!

I went to Camden today and found this gem for a grand total of £5. :) It’s a hardcover too!

neongenesisevangaylion:

i don’t know what to say

neongenesisevangaylion:

i don’t know what to say

"

The three metamorphoses of the spirit will I now describe: how the spirit becomes a camel, the camel then a lion, and the lion at last a child.

There are many heavy burdens for the spirit, the strong burden-bearing spirit in whom there dwells respect and awe: its strength longs for the greatest burden, for the heaviest load. What is heavy? So asks the burden-bearing spirit; then it kneels down like the camel and wishes to be well laden. What is the heaviest burden, you heroes? So asks the burden-bearing spirit, so that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength. Is it not this: to humiliate oneself in order to wound your pride? To let your folly ring out, in order to mock your wisdom? Or is it this: to desert the cause as it celebrates its victory? To climb high mountains simply to tempt the tempter? Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge and for the sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul? Or is it this: To be sick and to send away comforters and make friends with the deaf who will never hear your requests? Or is it this: To wade into foul water when it is the water of truth, and not to disdain cold frogs and hot toads? Or is it this: To love those who despise us and to offer our hand to the ghost that seeks to frighten us? The load-bearing spirit takes all these most weighty burdens upon itself: like the camel which hurries well-laden in the desert so hastens the spirit into its desert.

But in the most lonely desert the second metamorphosis occurs: here the spirit becomes lion; it will seize freedom and be lord of its own desert. Here does it seek its ultimate Lord: hostile will it be to him and to its ultimate God; it will fight for victory over the great dragon. What is the great dragon which the spirit will no longer call lord and God? “Thou shalt” is the great dragon called. But the spirit of the lion says “I will!” “Thou shalt” lies across its path, gleaming with gold—a beast covered in scales; and on every scale there glitters a golden “Thou shalt!” The values of many thousand years glitter on those scales, and thus says the mightiest of all dragons: “The values of all things—they glitter on me. All values have already been created, and the values of all that is—that am I. Truly, there shall be no more ‘I will!’”. Thus speaks the dragon. My brothers, why does the spirit have need of the lion? Why does the beast of burden, renouncing and reverential, not suffice? To create new values—not even the lion can accomplish that: but to create the freedom for itself for new creation—that is within the power of the lion. To create freedom for oneself and a sacred No even to duty: for that, my brothers, there is need of the lion. To assume the right for new values—that is the most formidable assumption for a load-bearing and reverential spirit. Indeed, it is preying and the work of a beast of prey. Once it loved “Thou shalt” as the thing most sacred: now it must find delusion and caprice even in the most sacred, so that it may seize its freedom from its love: for this predatory act the lion is needed.

But tell me, my brothers, what can the child yet do which even the lion could not do? Why must the predatory lion yet become a child? A child is innocence and forgetting, a new beginning, a game, a wheel that propels itself, a first movement, a sacred Yes. Yes, for the game of creating, my brothers, a sacred Yes must be uttered: the spirit now wills its own will, the one who had lost the world attains his own world.

Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I described to you: how the spirit became a camel, the camel a lion and the lion at last a child.

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

"
Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra