Mankind is more of a soil than a species; to all intents and purposes anyway. Perhaps even a primordial soup. From it in any case things can be tor, such as cultures, in which such pseudo-isolated beings as personalities can exist. But the schizophrenic is simply honest here, this is madness.
In reality we are part of a larger scope of beings, some of us are more like apes, others like tigers, there are many different types of man-kind. There is a richer tapestry than this pyramid of evolution. Not all men are more powerful than an Eagle. Very few in fact. Very few are able to determine their own course. Nietzsches final word is a pledge of brotherhood he is the first to make, inviting others to make it too, facing the earthly side of the horizon. No hypocrisy; where the chin goes up the jaw comes forward. And the rest follows from the curve in the back.
In genealogy is is matter of becoming animals, so as to reveal our godly powers.
Because man is only a bridge from ape to superman, the superman is really the Superanimal.
And thats exactly what it feels like to know the will to power inside out. And we all know this. There is hope at last; man will overcome his frugality at one point in time and become the god of all animals amidst a thriving jungle of truth, and the book will be the king of the animal kingdom.
This is chapter one of such book. The first bit after the introduction, which was nice and succinct was long and dreary. Heidegger is where Tolkien goes on about Tom Bombadil, The Pentad is the Council of Elrond. All narrative is metaphor. I wish to do the Brits the courtesy of recognizing their great storytellers. To connect all good things to each other, build a fellowship of good things.
[i]It was a slow day
And the sun was beating
On the soldiers by the side of the road
There was a bright light
A shattering of shop windows
The bomb in the baby carriage
Was wired to the radio
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That’s dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don’t cry baby, don’t cry
Don’t cry
It was a dry wind
And it swept across the desert
And it curled into the circle of birth
And the dead sand
Falling on the children
The mothers and the fathers
And the automatic earth
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all, oh yeah
The way we look to a distant constellation
That’s dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don’t cry baby, don’t cry
Don’t cry
It’s a turn-around jump shot
It’s everybody jump start
It’s every generation throws a hero up the pop charts
Medicine is magical and magical is art
The boy in the bubble
And the baby with the baboon heart
And I believe
These are the days of lasers in the jungle
Lasers in the jungle somewhere
Staccato signals of constant information
A loose affiliation of millionaires
And billionaires and baby[/i]
(Paul Simon, the Boy in the Bubble)
All solid threads are woven together in a basket of truth, in which the infant form of a real human culture is sent along they river of fate.
“The difference between fate and destiny is preparation.” IV
Give the Earth her leverage and she will share it with you.