State of the World Address: The Apology of Nietzsche. A Noble Revelation. Includes an open letter to Hillary Ariadne Clinton.
In Philosophy-Loving Memory and Inspiration of Abstract. Love is truly the Gravity (Guru) of the Soul.
The religion I bring is the Nietzschean religion of the two paths. The one leads to oneness with nature or spirit; the other leads to the reduction of everything to nothing. And the big question is which is which. Has Western man truly cut himself off from nature? Or is nature rather also the complete embrace of the Modern abomination? Is Nietzsche the ultimate fulfillment or perversion of the Machiavellian-Cartesian conquest of nature? The answer is that he is both. But perhaps I should say He is both, for if I'm anything, any one thing, it's someone who's aspired to be an incarnation of Nietzsche, of the problem of Nietzsche. That problem is the problem of Modernity, or of Modernity and Classical Antiquity. Nietzsche leads to the Classic problem, the problem of Class, but does so through Modernity, through what Modernity has led to, through "Post-Modernity". He shows that true post-modernity is really Neo-Pre-Classical Antiquity. He has led me to the state immediately preceding the imposition of a Class Society. Class is created through War, nay persists through War: it is the Shadow of War, a very bleak but at the same time very colourful Shadow:
This is my Story, the story of as privileged a White Male as any I know. Which is not to say that my Life has not been difficult, nor that I haven't made it difficult for myself. My Privi-Lege is the privilege of looking back on nature, coming "back" to nature, from the perspective furthest removed from nature that this 6,000 y.o. or so World (Vir-Old, Masculine Male Man-world) has yet known. It is to come "back" to nature from the other side, from the Nothing. The Other Shore, New India, Injuh or America or wherever the Occident, where the Sun Sets, goes down. The West is the Best, precisely because--it is too late now to even say "inasmuch"--it is the Worst, in every confused and unconfused sense. I am the Analysis, nay the Crisis of the current world-historical confusion, the slow and uneven Self-RealiZNation of the Western World. There you have it, and I didn't even mean to go there--I never _meant_ to go there, even when I may have ever so slightly almost entirely "meant" to go there--thought I could already go there. Wir--the Philosophically Royal We--Haben Es Nicht Gewusst: my Brand of National-Zozializm is not the 88 but the 66, the 666 of the Abrahamic Faiths. [What I mean by this is that what attracted me was never "the banality of evil" but always "das schöne Schreckliche" (Nietzsche, _Beyond Good and Evil_, aphorism 110).]
15, 1 + 5, the 6--that was suddenly, as out of nothing, a "will-do" as a Holy Number for me while writing the Bridge to my "holy" O Zoëtsa. But it no longer suffices. The 6 out of 10 no longer suffices. It must become an 8. I'm not just, or no longer, the 666--I'm the 888. In hindsight, a milestone moment in my Career, my Icarian Flight, was [my disgust with (the success of)] "...Baby One More Time". But I'm not going to demand the decapitation of Britney Spears, at least not in the way it happened in South Park, not in any literal way--nor in a literally literally literal way. I'm demanding it in the way a Man of Letters demands it, metaphorically. Britney Spears is a White Woman. Even if she's only a 6--and an Iconic 6 at that--, she's a 6! Her 6 points to an 8, to Grand Father 1 Grand Mother 1 Grand Father 2 Grand Mother 2 Father 1 Mother 2 Son 1 Daughter 2. This Order is Extremely Important. I didn't know my Grandfather 1--Grandpa De Waal--for long, I hardly knew him as "grandpa", as Grampa, as Gramps; He didn't live above 80, he was only there for me for half of the '80s [and even then only in the distance]. But One Thing I Knew: He was Venerable, nay worthy of All the Love I could muster--and I always knew I was capable of great love--
15 again. 15 lines in my Gmail. I have to put them to good use. I will start by mentioning my Mother. This Post is among many things a Birthday Present to my mother: a present to her for _my_ birthday: for I was calculated on the 8th of the 8th [the first, full draft of this Post was written on 8/8/'16], in the year 1978--'8 if you will, or '78, or 978 since the Middle Age Knight. The Knightly Ideal was the Ideal of the One Knight, the One Servant, the Christ, the Anointed One, who couldn't help being anointed because He had stopped defending Himself even against That. He stopped defending his Atman, he embraced Nirvana, the Nothing, he sacrificed himself, he let himself be crucified, he allowed the Catastrophe or Catastasis called Christianity to occur. Well then, I am the Second Coming because I will make the Catastrophe, the Apocatastasis occur. I am the Messiah the Jews have awaited because I teach that Jehovah is no more and no less than the Jewish War God, the Jewish Father Figure, the Great Grandfather of the Jews--of Israel, He Who Wars with God, Who Vies with God, who Walks with God in Warring with God--and not in Valhalla, but in this Universe, this Dimensions, this History, this Time. Spacetime: for Time (Maha-Kala) Occupies Space, the Void, makes it that there is no Void in Sight. The Original Occupy Movement, the Movement of the One, the 1%, the 1 as Opposed to the 0, which in the Beginning We didn't even acknowledge as a concept, a number, a Symbol.
The 1 and the 0. My Father's Father--Opa, as I knew him--was so beloved to me that, even only as a symbol, he inspired me to think, while lying awake past my bedtime at night, that if I was granted 1 wish, it would be that Opa was still alive. In Hindsight, I can say that he made my grandmother, Oma, possible. She raised me in great part insofar as my Parents did not raise me, which they did in great part, too, of course--in more basic ways. The most spiritual discipline, I suppose, came to me from her or through her: discipline as in Disciplina Vitae Scipio, "discipline is the scepter of life". This is the Spiritual Rod with which Oma, whom my mother has half-jokingly compared to the Bucket woman, the Lady (the Lordess) of the Bouquet Residence, the House of De Waal, of the Pure Wallonian River (my Father, Pappa, and Opa both carried the name Rein, "Pure [of Heart. That Heart is the Heart of the Jew, the Goddess, Whom every God-Man carries in his heart]"--the Spiritual Rod, I was saying, with which Oma might have given my other Grandfather a beating had he lived long enough. I never knew him, but he was supposedly quite a bit of a tyrant. My mother grew up in Tholen, a strict orthodox Protestant town (which, Orthodox Protestant, is an immense paradox, as Nietzsche decreed). The fringe Dutch Political Party, the Statewise (as opposed to Church-wise) Reformed party, still tends to be the biggest party in that island town. My mother's side of the family is paradoxically the less disciplined side of the family, because its discipline is cruder, less spiritual, than on my father's side. My grandfather supposedly even killed a tiger in Indonesia, where my mother's nuclear family was a colonist family during the last colonial year. I never knew that grandfather personally, but I was blessed to have known his first wife as long as I did--which was as long as 18 (666) years if you count my time in my mother's womb. My mother was too humble to have a Caesarian section, she would never have dreamed of giving birth to a Caesar, so my head had to be extracted with forceps. Anyway, 1996, the year I turned 18, the year in which I went to the 6th and last grade in the highest High School, in Barl School. "School" etymologically means "leisure", and Barl School had a really healthy, really relaxed balance of discipline and the lack thereof. 1996 had an important value for me during the time in which I took writings by William Blake to be prophecies meant personally for me. It led into 1997, the year in which I had my first--and for a long time only--girlfriend, which inspired me to my full O Zoëtsa on 16/7/1997. After this, however, it went downhill, and 1998--which I later found out is 3x 666--was the first year of my 5-year depression or "anti-cyclone". At the end of that, I discovered what I called "Shiva Dancing" as the emergency way to overcome my decadence. But a nozzle was almost immediately put on that flowing in of creative energies, it became a Shadow of Desire, in my embrace of Krishna and thereby becoming Shiva (he who is dear) as distinct from Rudra. I needed to do that at that point, I was not yet strong enough; in fact, I had only just started working out again and the like. But Krishna does not suffice, the true lyric poet is He who dances the Tandava, Bhairava's dance of world destruction and self-purgation in the burning grounds, while warding off the overpowering Sensuality of that dance, the self-destructiveness of that dance, through chanting: spiritualising the energy, harmonizing it through words, reverberations, verbs that become nouns, become formulas, become _Forms_. I embraced Krishna as the Form or Idea of the Good--that is, Shiva's becoming flesh, the cosmic Rudra's becoming a man. But this form is paradoxically much more feminine than Rudra's formlessness, his blackness, his hiddenness. The "pure" form of Rudra is perhaps Allah, who cannot be depicted. Krishna cannot be born among men without the Goddess, the visible Goddess. And if I am to be Kalki, I must be as sweet if not sweeter than he even. So why must Kalki be like Nara-Simha, the Man-Lion, who is the male side of the same Phenomenon of which Sekhmet is the female side?
Precisely because the Man-Lion is the male side. The human male, insofar as he is whole or self-realised, is the Lamb in Lion's clothing. The female, on the other hand, is the cat or cub in sheep's clothing. And that clothing is--evolutionarily--imposed on her by the male, through his lion's clothing, his spiritual armor and weaponry, his attitude (Ge-sinnung, what one has a sense, a mind for). The male likes the cat, not the lioness, because it reminds him of the lamb, which is his natural ideal. The Innocent Child. The Sweet Child in him must grow up to be, to be perceived as, the Evil Man. Nietzsche's Superman or Overman is the Union, the Self-Unification, of the Evil Man and the Sweet Child. It is to choose to be an evil (Hybristic) Man out of sweet Childlikeness. The world is at a turning point. Either accept and, indeed, celebrate the true Alpha-Male, the Philosopher, who has kept hidden all this time; or--but I was meaning to speak of my mother's mother. To have interacted with her my whole youth is a blessing with no equal--unless it be Rein de Waal. I think my mother's mother--Omaatje, Grammalet or Little Gramma, Grannie--must have secretly loved my father's father insofar as she knew him. She certainly loved my father, and me. I was her first grandchild, and I meant the world to her. In fact, it must have complemented for the relative lack of attention my mother gave me after the birth of my first brother. Ol, as she usually called me, was the apple of her eye. And I am still to justify that. I am still to do what would have made her absolutely proud--even if she wouldn't understand the first thing about it. This is my attempt to justify her, to outshine even my fathers' fathers. For many moons when I was 20-25, I'd work from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. on Saturdays, and would then walk along the river Amstel to my parents' house (the doll-house, as my father's mother mockingly called it) where I'd have dinner with my parents and whichever siblings there might be around for it. This was very near a clubbing district in the historical center of Amsterdam, but afterwards, I would not go out but walk home, possibly to have friends arrive there in the later evening; but before they arrived, I would listen to Bizet's Carmen, which Nietzsche had recommended to me. It's a tragic opera in which the male antagonist kills the female protagonist. And from the first notes after the Ouverture, which I often skipped, I would be in tears because of the implications of the very first event, reading along in French as best I could--and I came quite a long way with the actual songs. In order not to cry, I'd start to sing along with them and dance to them--including to "Les tringles des sistres tintaient", that high-spirited war-dance! My secret art was to be a Satyr, a Man who danced and sung for his God/dess. I didn't even like Carmen the person much; I was ultimately in love with Leïla, the Vestal Virgin from Bizet's Pearl-Fishers. I'm a Pearl-Fisher, in the sense required to fathom Heraclitus, but at the same time in the sense of looking for a girl with a heart of gold. I've looked for it in the most unlikely of places--and found it, eventually, in a girl who does everything in her power to appear to the outside world as a black lioness, but fails miserably as soon as she encounters a kitty. Then she cannot repress the girl-child in her any longer. And yet, I would never have got this far with her if she'd been a more normal girl, a less fucked-up girl. I will affirm her personal hard-luck story just as I'll affirm the Jewish Holocaust (but also the Jewish Occupation of the Abrahamic Holy Land!). The state the world is in is necessary for me to come to self-realization. This writing constitutes a breakthrough in my self-realization process. This tale, my story, my legend--this is the true story of Barl, who in his phase of the servus rubeus fugitivus was known as Sauwelios. Even as "Sauwelios" looks like the Dutch "sauwelen", "to blather", so Barl looks like "bral", as in "brallen", to brag (like a private school boy at a frat party). But I'm no blatherer, no barbarian ("barbar" was what the non-Greeks they knew sounded like to the Greeks). Helios is the Sun God, Surya in Hinduism, whom I adopted as a symbol of measure. But now I must burst out, I can no longer keep it in; I must become the supernova Bhairava. When a star becomes a supernova, there's no known way to stop it, it must run its course, generate momentum, gravity, form a new Mariana trench in the forcefield of History. It must swallow its whole solar system, set its whole world on fire. How would my Course have run if I hadn't discovered my parents' Doors records, if I hadn't recognized my higher Self, Shiva, in Jim Morrison when I was 15 or so? Jim Morrison, especially in 1966-'67, showed me the Dionysian implications of Nietzsche's teaching before I ever knew who Nietzsche was. My Shiva-dancing was much modeled on his around-the-campfire Native American dance in the Hollywood Bowl performance of "The End". "The End": that was my favourite song--though formerly, before I hit adolescence at 14, almost 15, I just listened to it briefly, thinking it was basically the same at every point throughout its almost 12 minutes... But yeah, The End, Apocalypse Now--not so much the movie, which I didn't see until years later. My daydreaming, for which I was thought somehow retarded even in elementary school, is the dream of an Apocalypse, of a Revelation. My farewell note from Barlschool said: "If life had a margin [as on a lined piece of paper], we would write rhymes [verzen] in it." I've written incredible rhymes, but will now write mantras instead.
Nama Nama Sauwelio
Jeroen Oliver "Ollie" de Waal
Hieronymus Olive-Tree Elf-Warrior Hosting the Army of New Wallonia, the Battle of New Wallonia
The Sacred-named Olive- etc.
But Nay, in going on like this I make the Walloon look like a balloon about to burst, a parody of his Ideal Self. I am the Dark Comedian of the Ascetic Ideal, the Voyeur of Truth in her Nakedness, the Spiritual Adonis who Happens upon the Virgin Mother "without even meaning to do so": for how could I know she looked like this before driving myself into her sacred grove? The Sacred: that is the Dwelling of the Philosopher in the forests of Truth. But those forests are the forests of Extremity, and nobody knows in advance where the sacred grove of Truth lies among them. All one can do is fumble in the dark for her, until the clearing is found, the Lightening. Where did I find my Light? I found it within my Self, the rubbing my ankles together and making fire that is my Self, my Being, my Becoming, my Warring with myself. It is the Proud Identification with the Creator, my being Willing to be Satan, or Satanaël, the Big Brother of Yaweshwa. My little brother is an ideal within me, the Innocent Child, the Child who is innocent even in his cruelty. Nay, Cruelty deserves a Capital, the Cruelty of Nature, the Cruelty of Nature against Nature. I meant to say above that Nature deserves a capital, but apparently She wasn't ready. The cruelty of Nature against Nature: that's the context in which She deserves a capital (which, by the way, means "head-" or "head-city", like Bhairava's city of Kashi).
The cruelty of Nature against itself: that is especially the cruelty of man against the rest of nature and himself. But man didn't choose to emerge in evolution the way he has. Man's cruelty is therefore a natural product of nature as a whole. And therefore, the first thing to be affirmed is nature's cruelty--metaphorical or not--against man. Only then can man be affirmed as a natural being in his very attempts to conquer nature. But man, or Western man, has conquered nature conceptually, by concepts like an Eternal Soul which came from and will return to a realm "Beyond" nature. Yet there is no Soul other than the World, This World, this bodying world or Life. Enlightenment, human enlightenment, means understanding the world as consisting solely of forces to which we're at some level related--like Arjuna was to the Kauravas. And yet we must conquer them or Master them in order to stay on top, to not be destroyed. Our Justice towards them shall consist in acknowledging this about them even in subjecting them. We may no longer objectify them. But this We is the philosophically royal We. We may not despise those who need to believe in objects, matter, and subjects, spirits or souls. In fact, we understand being as striving after a projected subject-object, a soul atom. And yet we may be the only ones who ever _attain_ their ideal. Must we then not become idols, and must we not make sure that our idolised Personas (masks) do what we want them to? I want my Mask to do nothing else than to be the supreme celebration, the deification, of my embrace of myself and thereby my world. After Me the Great Flow! My Sin is in my tearing myself asunder from the world and then from myself, and so forth and so on, until I am the embodiment of sundering and convalescing in one soul. My penitence consists in building valour, in inscribing my value into the world's heart. I feel that I justify the whole state of the world and all of history. And if you embrace me, you will transcend the West. Brace yourselves.
Post-Script (notes made in the course of writing and polishing my Post):
I had 3 888z, 2 77z and 2 66z in Barl School
Nero-Simian, He Who Apes Nero, the 666 of the Roman Jews.
Amend your ways and keep amending your ways and never stop amending your ways.
_Civil War._--Donald Drumpf is the Clown-Bhairab of the McDonald's State of America; the intemperate Donald Duck of the perverted Union. Hillary Clinton is the fulfillment of that Union, a woman who still looks great at 68--and that cannot just be the make-up, or even a make-over.
My father's father's father was the Inventor (Trobador) who invented the De-Waalpaal ("De Waal-Post").
The Second Best Batman movie, which I watched in the very early morning of 1/2/'3, when I had a Hate Trip... (It snowed so much that night, and yet there was so much fire raging inside my head!)
I am Batman, the Bhairava beheading the Penguin that I am. Catwoman Shall become my Secretary.
"[T]he villain left the paths of ease, to walk in perilous paths, and drive the just man into barren climes." (Blake, MHH.)
I am the Amsterdam Psycho. My role model is not Trump. I do not rape, murder, or torture people. My "Psychosis" is a _Theosis_.
I was born in 1978, the year the first two Superman movies were filmed.
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is also one of my favourite movies. Which reminds me of the New Year's Eve on which I danced to Ennio Morricone's (Morrison's?) "Ecstasy of Gold", home alone.
"[The 'child'] is a _not-being-able-to-act-otherwise_ equipped with all the natural instinctive powers, while the consciousness is always stuck in a supposed being-able-to-act-otherwise." (Jung, _Towards the Psychology of the Child-Archetype_, 3 "The Special Phenomenology of the Child-Archetype", A "The Forsakenness of the Child".)
"O Lonesomeness! Thou mine HOMELAND Lonesomeness!" (Nietzsche-Zarathustra, My Trance-Multatuli-Lation.)
Trump is the Ugly, but Hillary is the Bad.
"Let man be afraid of woman when she loves: then she brings every sacrifice, and every other thing counts to her as without worth.
Let man be afraid of woman when she hates: for man is at the bottom of his soul merely evil, woman however is bad there." (ibidem)
I will endorse Hillary, but only if she obeys me. Otherwise, I will endorse Trump. If Hillary disobeys me, I will command the Horde of Fascism, the Barbarian Horde, to trample the West and wipe out everything the West and Israel have done to make her possible--to wipe it out between itself and the "Islamic State", which may nowise be identified with Khomeini's Iran. And yet, Iran may, like Catholic Ireland, be too much inspired by the Holy-Ghost, the Angry Geist, Ahriman. In me, that spirit is spiritualized through Post-Protestantism, through Humanism, into my brand of Trance-Humanism, Super-Humanism. I will endorse her if she converts to my religion, the first truly or openly Natural Human Religion:
"Eternal return is philosophy's _natural_ edifying teaching; it does not comfort itself or others with the next world ostensibly more perfect than our own; it says of the only world there is, or rather it 'shouts insatiably' (aph. 56) to the world as it is: Be what you are, be eternally what you are!" (Laurence Lampert, _Leo Strauss and Nietzsche_, page 57.)
In the words of one of Nietzsche's last letters, which cannot quite have been letters of total insanity:
"To the princess Ariadne, my beloved.
It's a prejudice that I'm a human being. But I've already lived among human beings often and know all that human beings can live through, from the humblest to the highest. Among Indians I was Buddha, in Greece Dionysos,--Alexander and Caesar are my incarnations, likewise the poet of Shakespeare Lord Bakon. Ultimately I was also Voltaire and Napoleon, and perhaps Richard Wagner, too... This time however I come as the victorious Dionysos, who will make the Earth into a festival day...Not to say that I have much time... The heavens rejoice at my being-there... I have also hung on the cross..."
Dear Hillary, Will You Be My Dionysa?http://www.ilovephilosophy.com/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=185074
Let's paint the White House in all the colours of the rainbow, like the ancient Greek temples used to be! [Also the Statue of Liberty, like the ancient Greek statues used to be.] I think Bill owes it to you, for you to have this brainchild with me.