I'm human, I think.
I have come from http://jyte.com , where whimsical intellectualists and pedantic elitists engage in the competitive sport of massaging each other's egos in a spam-ridden nexus of the http://bit.ly/1n73rn37. Fun stuff. As yet, it is "veritable ghost town", which is precisely why I'm here.
Stuff that you might come across while reading my contributions:
w/r/t "With Regard To"
CTS "Chuckles to Self"
HTH "Hope that helps / Happy to Help"
HAND "Have A Nice Day"
CTSASHFIF! "Claim That Sh!t And See How Far It Flies!"
The avatar is not me. It's a funny picture of 20 year old Thomas Slinger aka "Gemini" who, for some reason, looks like he needs more cowbell.
"Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which [Black and White] cease to be perceived as contradictions." -André Breton, ed. Me
Comment: That's because there _is_ a certain point at which Black and White cease to be perceived as contradictions. The realisation is probably mind-independent, or OBJECTIVE, but the philosophy of mind investigates the sapient ability to "see beyond" a mere illusion of inherently incompatible physical and metaphysical properties.
Imagine a simple photo-mosaic made of black and white units. If one were to study it from the "bottom up" like any myopic reductionist, she would eventually perceive an anomalous contradiction: a completely self-contained unit that is 100 per cent unlike the other(s).
On the other hand, if one were to study it from the "top down" like any hyperopic holist, he'd get a much different picture. He would not see anomalies. This is the point at which black and white cease to be perceived as contradictions, as each unit is fully dependent on the other to form the cohesive whole that is the Big Picture.
Rococo Y Yo
To the other one, to "Rococo", is to whom things happen. I browse amirite.net and I delay myself, perhaps almost mechanically, to scan the Homepage; from Rococo I find out through feedback and I see his name on a bunch of posts. I like esotericism, the Milky Way Galaxy, calligraphy, the taste of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers® and the prose of Woody Allen (namely, the Insanity Defense); [Rococo] shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor.
It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Rococo may post his thoughts on the Internet, and these thoughts justify me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid posts, but those posts cannot save me, perhaps because what is "good" belong to no-one (cf. Luke 18:18-19), not even to him, but rather to the One Who Causes Himself to Become.
Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, although I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things. Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being: the stone eternally wants to be stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in his writing than in many others or in the laborious manipulation of synthstruments.
Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythology of Christian Primitivism to games with ontological and teleological epistemology, but those games belong to Rococo now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belong to oblivion, or to him.
I do not know which of us has written this page.
http://bit.ly/OriginalProse , ed. "Me"