I’m reading a big thick collection of various writings by various people. They’re all big swanky names, and all the people that see it think that I’m incredibly clever. One piece included is ‘Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right’, by the Messiah Karl Marx.
There’s a wonderful sentence where he says “Led by our shepherds, we never foun ourselves in the company of freedom except once – on the day of its burial”. Pretty cool huh. I like how so many of Marx’s followers advocate a vanguard for the revolution. Hah. Hats made out of tin foil are just silly.
This line is just a few paragraphs down from his famous quote, “Religious distress is at the same time the expression of real distress and the protest against real distress. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people.
“The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is required for their real happiness. The demand to give up the illusions about its conditions is the demand to give up a condition which needs illusions. The criticism is therefore in embdryo the criticism of the calue of woe, the halo of which is religion.”
What a badman Karl Marx was! But isn’t it always the way that when you have an awesome idea, someone else has already had it. Like blowing up cars and planes and hotels and flying planes into buildings and spreading disease with bombs and the postal system and shooting up your school or work place.
But this is why I generally don’t give a toss about a whole load of stuff. It’s not because I’m cool (I am though). It is because I see through the illusions that show these things as important. I like to think that I decide for myself what is important, you know. Independent thought and all that. These things won’t make me happy and satisfied. I know because nothing satisfies me or makes me happy. Not even being miserable and moaning makes me happy.
Only various substances can make me think that I am happy or make me forget about life. The only other thing that can make everything irrelevant, that makes you immortal, that voids time and space and life and death, is falling into the eyes of a woman that you love, as you are making love to her. Those moments are infinity. This is the essence, the one, true point of existence.
Unfortunately I haven’t been in that situation where the love is mutual. I need to stop falling in love with whores, and tricking and drugging them into sleeping with me if I can’t just pay straight up.