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Archive for the ‘Imported piece’ Category

The Failures of Christianity~

April 27th, 2008

Frankly, when I think of religion, I think of the word restraint. You can’t do this. You can’t do that. You can’t see this, watch this, listen to that, and you certainly can’t do this on this day. Not to mention the endless contradictions, the reconstruction of powerful ideologies such as ‘ego’ and ‘dominance’ into some form of ‘bad word’ that must be pooh-poohed into a corner, and that only through suffering and submission can we achieve some form of lasting reward (that hasn’t even been proven it exists) AFTER we die.

Modern Religion, to me, is working mythology. The difference between our mythology, and say, Grecian mythology, is that they had stories about their gods, as they happened. “ahahaha, Zeus must be hurling lightning bolts!” and shit like that. we’ve got some five thousand year old fairy tale that says, “Stuff happened, and there were boobs.”

Judeo-christian ideologies effectively state that only through suffering and selflessness, willing subjugation to God and our Fellowman, servility and an abandonment of independent action are we able to achieve a lasting immortality.

But Wait There’s More! Act Now and you get your own set of Ginsu knives! There’s a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. Let me tell you about it. This criminal was on the cross when christ was up there . Common story, I’m sure you’ve heard it. He’s like, “Dude, You’re God. I believe you.” and Jesus is like, “Dude, seriously. I tell you this: You’re going to heaven.” The murderer dude is like, “Score! Blarg I are dead!” Did you catch the sekrit message? Check it out: Fuck up all you want. Kill jews by the millions, shit on your neighbor, fuck his wife, rape his dog, and drown his children in piss. willingly and intentionally participate in the exploitation of children. When you die, repent, and boom- straight shot into heaven, free of charge, “your sins are forgiven you”.

Contradictory, no? even if you live your life as sin free as you possibly can, some cock-choking shmuck will be able to get in anyway.

Imported piece, Rant, Religion

On Televangelism~

April 27th, 2008

It’s funny.

I didn’t believe in God until a guy on TV told me to.
I didn’t believe a faceless, sexless, shapeless, and nameless (except for ‘God’) being loved me until a guy on TV told me so.
I didn’t know I led a sin-filled and wicked life… until some guy on TV told me so.
I didn’t know that God needed my love and generous charitable tax-deductible donations to keep this guy on the air… until the guy on TV told me so.

Frankly, dude, I dunno what you’re selling, But I’m not buying.

Dissertation, Imported piece, Rant, Religion

On Muslims~

April 27th, 2008

Today I saw an article on Muslims and the Middle East, and all this Jihad crap everyone goes on and on about, and seems to have been going on about, at length, for some time now. To be honest, I can’t think back and remember a time without hearing that there was some form of shit (usually religion based) going on in the Middle East. I span several decades, mind you. Think aobut hat for a second. That’s a long grudge. It doesn’t start after nearly thirty years, this bullshit they have against each other apparently goes back hundreds, maybe even a thousand years. Everyone’s mutually fracked off about each other, and for what? God? their Church?

It’s time I stepped up on my Soapbox.

As I understand it, to be Muslim is to have a Charge, a Commission. “Go out and find those that are not Muslim. If they are not Muslim, get them to become Muslim. If they refuse, kill them.” Well, in extremist cases. But we’re talking about those extremists, right? Let’s direct our attention to this faith.

I believe, that to some extent, religion is a comfortable blanket that you wrap yourself in before going to bed in an eternal grave. It’s like breeding: a bulwark against mortality. People are afraid to die. We want to know what will happen to us after we die.

Hold the fucking phone right the fuck there.

If Religion is supposed to be a comfortable thing, something to soothe our fears, something that helps us come to terms with our short lives and even shorter ambitions, calms and comforts us against some of the frustratingly obtuse and aggrivating things this mudball of a planet has to offer us, Shouldn’t it also keep us from wanting to kill each other and stir the hive? Instead of kicking over anthills, shouldn’t religion be a personal experience? It should be something that brings you peace in the long watches of the night; Something that makes you feel more at ease standing in the line at the grocery store; or something that helps you sleep in a long trans-atlantic flight.

Those radical followers of a defunct and malignant religion, they’re not happy. They’re not at peace. They’re not comfortable. These people, for whatever reason, are fucked in the head. You want my opinion? There you have it. If you have to be a prick and be unnecessarily violent because your God(s) told you so, I say that you’re a fucking fanatic and whatever it is that you believe in, it’s not anything that’ll bring you or anyone else peace.

I think every major religious trunk out there has been responsible for a variety of atrocities, violence, and theocratic hate against those it determines to be “heathen”, and I think that again, violence spawned from religious intent defuncts and destroys any religious credibility. In other words, it’s all bullshit. (:D)

I’m not here to tell you what you should believe. I’m not going to beat you down because you’re Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or fucking Revival in the Holy Field with Mother Mary jerking off the Sacred Donkey in Tijuana. What I am going to do is I’m going to tell you that if you really believe, if you really have faith in (whatever), you’re not gonna be a prick about it. You’re not going to feel compelled to beat me down for the sake of something that is essentially a valium against death. You’re going to die. Deal with it.

My faith? My beliefs? I have faith that we will inevitably evolve beyond the need for comfort foods, comfort religions, comfort blankets and comfort zones. I believe that we all will evolve beyond archaic fear-based ideologies and will explore the human condition and achieve our next level in thought and expression. I believe that as long as there is science and art, mathematics, poetry and music, Philosophy and sculpture, discussion and passion, logic, reason and constructive emotive expression, there will be fucking progress.

Nestor: Hanging out in Tijuana watching Holy Mary and the Divine Donkey~

Dissertation, Imported piece, Objectivism, Rant, Religion

On Democracy~

April 26th, 2008

An Allegory:

Democracy is a society of robots. The robots all know pretty much how they should be governed, since they’re all robots. However, since they’re robots, they’re not terribly bright, and when it comes time for election, they elect for themselves a ruler. Not a robot, but instead, an iguana.

That’s democracy. Thanks for playing.

Dissertation, Imported piece, Rant

On Masculinity~

April 26th, 2008

So I was back in college when this happened.

This ‘pagan’ guy who was fairly and reasonably articulate gave me this book to read which was all about this neo-modernistic ‘future warrior’ crap, where it systematically called for the pacification of the modern man, that aggression was a negative and destructive art; passivity was the way, a ‘go along to get along’ attitude was so ingrained, I couldn’t help but be amazed as the words HERD MENTALITY seemed to scream from between the lines.

Where did anyone get the idea that an aggressive, proactive personality was a hotbed for negative (violent) and destructive frame of mind? After some careful thought and a little bit of research, I’ve found that the roots could very well stem from around the sixties/ seventies, right around the time of the Vietnam war. You see, when draft-dodging started up, there was a flurry of support from the female community; there were even bumper stickers that said, “Women say yes to men who say no.” meaning that if a man were to dodge the responsibility of serving God, his fellowman, and the Government, then he was deserving of sex. Now, back then, this defiance was practically sacriledge; the idea at the time was that a man who was well thought of in his community was a man that spent time in the service, served his country, and spread the glory of democracy to the god-fearing heathens around the world. back then, it was perfectly fine to use ethnic and racial slurs in reference to ‘the enemy’. An interesting use of the Almighty Vagina to control the (relatively) simple minds of the men who were just coming out of high school with no real idea of who or what they were.

So, this blind pacifism was spread through the male community; nay, not just a pacifism, but a embracing of the so-called ‘feminine side’ of men. It was suddenly required of us to cry. To feel things. To gaze at sunsets and make long, dolorous sighs at paintings we held no real reverence for.

Mankind has lost its face. How can you define someone as a man when there is no genuine male characteristics, when they have literally been drowned in the Estrogen of ignorance? The death of the male, testosterone charged, assertive, agressive attitude went with not a bang, but instead a whimper at a lovingly patterned drapery that matches well with the upholstery.

Now, I’m not saying that stereotypical visages are a thing to embrace. But I will give you some food for thought.

A college professor divided a room of men and women, and handed out long strips of red cloth. He told everyone to tie a cloth around a scar, an injury, the site of a broken bone. Every man had to request more than the initial five strips. a majority of men were almost swathed in red from head to toe. women, on the other hand, yes, they did have their uses of the red strips, but the thrust of the result was this: The men had substantially more red than the women. What makes men court injury, damage and accumulate scars more than women? Why are men more prone to damage than women?

A young porn starlet was interviewed, and she said, “I believe that the men are the backbone, and the women are supposed to support the backbone. And you don’t want your backbone breaking on you, do ya?”

I believe in traditional gender roles to a point. This ties strongly to my affinity for D/s, but it also encompasses more.

The face of Mankind should not be a beast, but instead a Warrior. A Warrior has a motive, a cause, a drive, and also an incentive. A Warrior truly has a sense of duty, of responsibility, and the strength to achieve every goal he sets. He knows when it’s time to take no for an answer, but he also knows when that simply won’t do, and to put his foot down and step up to challenge. He does not emphasize sensitivity or collapse through effeminate behavior nor does he adopt a blindly stoic attitude that precludes the expression of emotion, but instead works through his emotions as strengths, rather than debilitations.

Passivity is not a strength. Go along to get along is not a strength. effeminate simpering and abandonment of your male roots is not a strength. Dedication, confidence, resolve, guts, responsibility, drive, ambition and aggression are not things to shun or live in fear of. Rather they should once again be embraced and adopted back into the circle as they once did. Timothy Leary once said, “Think for yourself. Question Authority.” and you should not accept the movement to abolish the iconoclastic ideals that define us as men. That define us as individuals.

That sick, pathetic simpering, whining, crying part of you that lies awake at night, quaking in tremulous fear at the shadows, at life, at the unknown is not yours. It does not belong to you. That’s why it does not feel right, feel normal, feel healthy. It was put there by the movement to ‘go along to get along’. It was put there by the all-seeing, ever knowing Crowd. The blind indifference of conformity and self-debasement for the sake of societal gain. Ego is not a negative word. It has no negative connotations whatsoever.

God gave you feet so you could stand up. A wide flaring pelvis so you could stand upright, and vertebrae in the neck to hold your head high.

God also gave you the ability to cow your neck, to kneel down, to lower yourself, but not for self degradation; but instead so that you could help others stand for themselves.

Dissertation, Imported piece, Rant

An open letter to fucked up women everywhere.

February 9th, 2008

Dear ladies. Nestor here.
It seems as though we have had some problems in the past that I’d like to clear up before we can move on. You see, I love women very much. You are soft, cuddly, sweet, warm, friendly, sociable, funny, amusing, whimsical and altogether delightful creatures. I delight in enjoying the female figure with all five of my senses. I love the way you look, the way you sound, the way you smell, the way you taste, and the way you feel.

However, there are quite a few of you out there that are just straight up fucked in the head!
Here’s my open letter to those women who may be fucked in the head, or sitting on the fence, wondering whether it’s okay to be fucked in the head or walk the path of the enlightened adult.

Dear women,

Some tips:

1. Your chaotic personal life is none of my business. (By this I mean getting into fights, arguments, drama, and general asshattery)
2. Your traumatic past is none of my business. (It’s none of my business, I can do nothing about it, and all you’re doing is making me feel like shit.)
3. Your past relationships. (None of my business. I don’t have a want or a need to know, especially if it didn’t work out. Pssst. If you’re with me, your past relationship didn’t work out. just, you know, FYI.)
4. Your problems with people I know. (None of my business. If you have a problem with a particular associate, friend, colleague, co-worker, whatever, please take it to them. I am not a middle-man, nor am I a dumping ground for your problems.)
5. Your problems with people I don’t know. (None of my business. See above.)

If you cannot get through your day without telling me anything from any of those categories, then I’d rather you simply did not talk to me at all. So just, you know, internalize that list. Think of it like a game. the rules are simple:

1. You want to talk to Nestor.
2. Pick a topic.
3. Does it fall in the above five categories? If yes, see #4 in this list. If No, see #5
4. BAD END. Don’t talk to me! In fact, take 24 hours as penalty and try again tomorrow!
5. TRUE END! You’ve Won! Your reward is to talk to Nestor and have him talk to you! Be entertained!

Dissertation, Imported piece, Quick Post, Rant

On Writing~

June 15th, 2007

I don’t know how it is for anyone else, and I don’t claim to know, either- but when I’m writing, I have to shut everything else off. strip away everything else, and roll up my sleeves. It’s almost a holy process, I think. When you watch the Televangelists on TV in the heights of their sermons and they jump and sweat and writhe and suffer it’s alot like how I feel. there’s this… I dunno, tremendous energy within me and if I don’t shut everything unnecessary off, I’ll never get anything done. I’ll stride around, punching my fist into my palm, hit walls, slap people, chainsmoke, drink, fuck, whatever, but I won’t channel that energy where it wants and needs to go- from my brain to my hands, from my hands to the paper.

My best writing comes at the exclusion of everything else. I ignore everything except the most basic processes. Drink. eat. smoke. shit. I shut off all the viewscreens, turn off all the sensors, hunker down, zone out, and work. I wrote maybe twenty pages of collateral information, had maybe eight windows open, plus three windows of Olf’s forum open because it had references. and I wrote about eighteen pages of story. I have a prologue and two chapters written already, and I’m planning Chapter three and four as we speak. I stayed up until 3am this morning, just writing.

Some of what I’m having to do is dulled because I have to write out for myself information that supplements Olf’s world- He’s a busy man, and he can’t be at my beck and call all the time, so I have to gather information on my own. It’s not even anything he’s written, it’s an amagalmation of what I want, corresponding with his world.

It’s like this: I know what I want to write. Olf’s world has some restrictions and limitations that make what I want to write a challenge. So i have to write things out that fall within his parameters. It’s like this: “I want this. It would behave like this in his world- okay, so let’s work it in.” It’s that side-work that I want to ignore, but important details like this cannot be overlooked.

But oh man. It feels so good to write like this.

Dissertation, Imported piece, Quick Post, Rant

On Aspies, Ass-burgers, Ass-pies and incompetence~

April 16th, 2007

Aspergers Syndrome is nothing more than a ‘disease’ that’s been created to define the degradation of societal structures. Fifty years ago, we didn’t have kids with ADD, ADHD, bipolar, depressives, manic depressives, and all sorts of other wacky, kooky, easily solvable ‘social problems’. My own hypothesis is that these are symptoms of a larger societal issue, the manifestations of sociological decay. I can’t even care. to me it’s a fanciful and imaginative excuse to define subculture laziness and parental irresponsibility without actually laying blame. So sit back, jerk off into your sister’s cereal, and keep entertaining me with these whimsical manifestations of stupidity.

“But Nestor! You’ll never know what it’s like!”

I don’t give enough jack to give a fuck. Guess what I fucking did when I was unliked in junior high? I didn’t go fucking begging for medication, attention, and approval from complete fucking strangers (lol intartubes?) I fucking dealt with it and fucking GOT ON WITH MY DAY. I didn’t go around bitchwhoring myself for attention. If I can grow up without guiding parental influences and come out all right, then by fucking satan’s flaming asshole, so can you. Stop being the fucking bleeding fuck tampons and remember where your fucking balls are.

Shut the fuck up and get on with your lives. No one cares about you or your fucking feelings.

Dissertation, Imported piece, Rant, Sociology

I hate you~

February 19th, 2007

“Dear Nestor,
I hate you.
Love, The World.”

“Dear World,
Choke on my boner.
Nestor”

You sycophantic parasites are symbiotically feeding off each others’ shit and it makes me fucking sick to exist cheek-by-jowl with shit like you. You make travesties and horrors the evening news and force us to gargle it all down like some minty fresh cocktail- I can remember throwing up, over and over again when I was seven years old, after watching the Challenger space shuttle blow up, over and over and over again on the nightly news. How many fucking weeks did we shovel gob after gob of fucking Columbine, watching the fucking kids jump out of fucking windows because they were so fucking terrified? 9-11?
Fuck you, I hate you, I hate what you’re doing to the human race. You vote in preassembled and mass-produced politicians, it doesn’t matter if it’s democrat or republican or even the Flying Purple People Eater Party, you’re still getting your ass ripped while the waxy, chemical smell of vaseline seeps from his plastic lips and glad-hand. You use stupid fucking slogans like “Vote for a Better Tomorrow” and have the temerity to bitch about today, when you should be doing something now. Tweenty fucking years ago you told my bright-eyed and hope-filled generation that we would control the world and we had a duty to fix it from the previous generations’ fuckups, but we’re just as fucking powerless now as you were then because you dumbfuck cockshits keep doing the same shit, day in and day out. How many times did you vote for TV, unreal reality shows that show just how fucking depraved and disgusting humanity is, when your own shit lives were equally fucking shambles? Voting for plastic breasts and vicadin, child-molesting popstars and ritalin, voting for Dr. Phil and Montel, instead of fucking solving the goddamn problems.

What sickens me more than you are your vacant eyed and slack-jawed children, pumped full of meds and told they’ve got a bunch of (perfectly solvable) mental problems, justifying shitting all over the place when they don’t get what they want. When Little Johnny fucking shoots up a goddamn store, instead of saying “Where were the fucking parents” we yell “Violent Video games are the cause!” No. It’s because Mommy and Daddy were jerking themselves off to another shitty fucking episode of Survivor and couldn’t be fucking arsed to tell Little Johnny that fucking little girls in the eyesockets is fucking wrong. Take fucking responsibility! Take fucking ownership! I hate you all and you’re a sickening disease. Seriously. No lies, no bullshit, no cutting corners: Kill yourselves.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

There are three kinds of people in this world: victims, survivors, and heroes.

Victims are the collective ashtrays and toilets that get shit on. worthless wastes that’d be better off getting killed off by predators. The ones that can’t cope with reality.

Survivors are people who’ve learned to keep their heads down when the shit of the world starts to fly. their creed, motto, slogan and catchphrase is “get through the day”. Better then the semicatatonic ands mildly concussed victims, but not by much, in my opinion. They’re “armchair politicians”, sports coaches, and whatever, sitting on the sidelines and bitching about everything. They bitch that they can’t take calls because there’s no cellphones and then they bitch because cellphones are starting to cause more and more auto accidents every year, they take stands on stupid shit like how chemicals used to treat boats kill snails but can’t figure out why their ten year old daughter is a alcoholic prostitute. they bitch that their food prices are going up and they bitch about genetic modificaztions that increse food production and they bitch that things aren’t fucking perfect and they never lift a fucking finger to do shit.

Heroes take what they fucking want. They grip the world and squeeze the juice down their throats. They’re the fucking players that get up there and fucking raise the bat and drive one out of the fucking park. They stand up and say “no.” without fear of recrimination. They take stands on shit that fucking matters. They get up on national TV and say “You’re a dumbass.” When they work, they work hard. when they play, they play hard. when they rock, they rock hard. They destroy/ climb over/ walk on things that stand between them and their goal, and accept no substitutes. They know when to prefer quantity over quality, and vice versa. They make informed, educated descisions. They don’t fuck around.

Decide for yourself here and now where you stand on the fucking food chain. Are you some goddamned limp-wristed KY-jelly squirting rubberbacked bedpan cleaning Flaccidor, or are you a goddamed Platinum Plated Pecker, firing wad after burning wad of Justice into the eyes and faces of the damned, screaming I GUARANTEE IT!

…christ. I think I’m gonna puke again.

Dissertation, Imported piece, Quick Post, Rant, Sociology

On Kana: Imouto~

January 22nd, 2007

So I’ve been playing Kana: Little Sister. I’ll wait until you’ve worked the typical “zomg” statements out of your system.

Okay. I’m only about halfway through the first arc or so. I dunno if I’m even making the right choices in the game. There’re times when the choices seem fairly straightforward like “Help her” or “Don’t Help Her” and then there’s completely obscure choices like “Give her a book with substance” or “Give her a comic book” and then there’s the ones that are fucking hillarious, like, “Comfort her” or “Grab her buns, honk honk!”.

It reads alot like Narcissu. you’ve got a younger sister with chronic illnesses and I think she’s probably going to die, but I don’t know for sure. there’re other people you interact with as well. There’s times when the main character comes off as a prick. total asshat. The kind of brazen stupidity where you wanna stab him in the urethra (the Yumi shit so far), and then there’re times when you can understand and relate to his thought process. There’s times where I laughed my ass off.

Kana is like that, too. There are times when I’m like, “So moe I’m gonna die!” where she’s so cute and adorable that you can’t help but go a big rubbery one over her, and then there’re times when it’s like, “Jesus Christ, girl. Where the fuck is your brains?”

To be honest, I’m so entertained by it that I wanted to play hookey from work and keep playing (:P). I’ll probably do that when Fate Stay Night is finished, but don’t tell anyone. I’m looking forward to playing that. I’ve got a bone for Saber.

I’ve seen the ever-popular image that’s spammed on 4chan from Kana, the coffee spitting image.

If you don’t know, you’re all “What’re you reading?”
“A romance book”
“Oh. What’s it about?”
“A brother and sister that fall in love and have an affair.”

I’d seen that image before I played the game, and was all HA HA OH WOW, but when I hit that part last night I was all OMGWTFOTL. The difference is that seeing an image without anything attached to it is one thing, and spending a couple hours getting into the story and getting to know the characters and suddenly BLAMMO! is something else entirely.

but so far, it’s a good story. If I’m not terribly disappointed by it, I’ll give yall a better opinion.

Adult Games, Dissertation, Games, Imported piece, Japanese Games, Quick Post, Rant