Cornellius

giancoli You're making me realize I need to move to Montreal not only possibility of meeting up with FDR guys, but also PLENTIFUL JOBS! Ah, at least before next winter.

Sorry I meant Web life of the average philosopher, repetitive and usually concentrated in comment sections.

You sound like someone whose life is stable and content. But I know it doesn't have jack shit to do with your communistic jovial baloney.

I'm lazy. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMISS4KGvoc httboobsp://www.putlocker.com/file/2SDBJ6S5NSYSCGS I'm lazy.

I disingage.

I think you're taking the piss.

Dsayers, "Eat a cactus" would've been a superior reply.

http://money.cnn.com/2014/01/17/technology/innovation/google-contacts/ BOOBS!

I just don't think you experienced the same thing as I did. Avoid him? Yeah, that's pretty much what I've been doing for a year. I don't have a problem with choosing the right course of action. As I said, I was pushed to commit the slap. I was governed by an unsatiable desire to appease a great anxiety that was making me unstable. If you don't feel that's possible, then at the very least be curious about it. I've been struggling for months to introspect on what was behind my deed, I'm definitely not here to lie about it. With all due respect, you're just being supremely annoying.

Haha, I'm glad. There's a Molyneux quote though.

I've been working on self-knowledge for quite a few months now. Nobody ruins their happiness? Well, not consciously they don't. But I appreciate your thoughts.

Wait - I just located a word in your reply I don't really approve of after all. Blow. blow 2 |blō| noun a powerful stroke with a hand, weapon, or hard object: he received a blow to the skull. What kind of picture were you trying to paint?

Seriously, whenever I'm happy about an interaction or something in general that I've done, I develop this inescapable and lingering compulsion to look at myself and try to put myself in the skin of those who were in contact with me. Would Alice Miller say it's a case of narcissism? I think it is very "narcissistic", not in a bad way, just not good at all. It does remind me of the book Drama of the Gifted Child. Am I one of those children with volcanic borderline personalities? Well, I think so. I usually escape using... intense and relentless entertainment. If you want, I can give you specific examples of that. I have a whole metal dumpster of examples lying in my apartment. It's been a while since I've been happy in the company of somebody else, but I'm guessing that in my mind there's something intolerable about being happy at all. Do you think you can help me with that?

If you mean literally out of order, then yeah it was told out of order just like Pulp Fiction. No problem. I know it's a convoluted set of events. Maybe I have to be more courageous and straightforward here. My father made me lose my mind intentionally, and whatever the exact goal, the overall goal was to make me do something drastic, and I ended up responding with blows. I feel that sums it up pretty well.

If I had to name it I'd name it "If philosophy had access to photo editing software..." Wait, I'm already starting to wonder what I should change in the picture.

The title is pretty concise, but here's the situation. Back in April 2013, I've been denounced by my father for assault to a sadistic policeman who told a prosecutor to set proceedings into motion. It is so, and the court date (after four formal mandatory appearances) is February the 3rd. Whether or not people understood that my father had gravely aggravated my deed, the truth is that people opted for the story that I'm a dangerous person on the basis that I was found face in the grass, a stranger and my father twisting my limbs and completely constaining me, then handcuffed by the police. For almost a year now, I've been trying to get to the bottom of things to gain evidence and reason mainly about the level of consciousness and responsibility within my actions during the incident. One of my concerns was to really get to the bottom of things and nail the real, concise explanation of what made me do it. Now.. well I won't hang over it anymore. You can fill in some of the gaps. I was in overwhelming anguish, before and after the conversation with my father on the phone. And that the person with the most visceral authority on me refuses to soothe me with calm attention and rationality, and instead mocks my despair was humiliating enough, but his ignoring that despair with great passion, joy and anger when he finally sees me in person was so unbearable that I lost my mind. When he walked up to me making the face I didn't want to see, my hand was summoned by my amygdala to commit the act that would save my soul from an imminent threat: implosion. I unleashed violence on my father for one minute: two slaps, several insults and a push as he hanged around, signing my own death warrant. Eventually, he started to snarl, and went into psycho mode for the following ten minutes with the law seemingly behind him. I was saved by dissociation and later, despair and a little bit of human contact. I'm shaking and having a hard time relaxing right now. p.s. - the story was edited a lot. I'm tired, but I wonder whether that means anything.

Wow, frankly I'm blown away, I thought nuclear energy was much more black and white. Thank you, you give me a lot of hope for the betterment of mankind.

All kidding aside, I had a sort of creepy revelation tonight, upon examination, about the probability that my parents have pulled despicable utilitarian deeds on me in the past. The first time I think I uncovered a conspiracy within my family was when I realized that my father had stolen extremely valuable things from me with no intent of using them. Two small, easy to hide and easy to lose pieces of technology that had become part of my everyday life. Not many years ago, at his house where his second girlfriend and my sister also live, the wi-fi internet dongle I recently bought for my 360, worth 50 dollars, disappears. It has simply left the back panel of the console where it's been consistently clenched for a long time and is never found, and as I search for it for days, nobody seems to find a valid explanation, but notices I'm playing a lot less Xbox by now since I can't log in to Xbox Live. I end up burying the experience in my subconscious. Things just... disappear. Months later, we're living in the same place, but my father's girlfriend moved out in tears, and my iPod Touch has disappeared. Over time, I end up purchasing a second one. Weeks pass, and one day, my father is holding my first iPod Touch in his hand. Here's the story: His girlfriend, who happens to live at the other side of town, was taking a walk nearby and found my iPod lying on the sidewalk, recognizing it mine, and passed it to him. I again buried the experience in my subconscious. The laws of physics and reality don't apply to iPods or real estate. At 18, as my relationship with my mother was nearing its assertive destructive climax as I was becoming more mature, she was becoming more desperate to retain control over me. October 14th 2012 in the night, I'm sitting on the couch in the basement and my mother's upstairs doing her business in the kitchen. Out of nowhere, my digestive system is sending me a faint, nearly invisible signal: nausea. I'm afraid. I look back at what I ate earlier. I had dinner with my mother. No ingredient in there was put into question, although I wasn't there the whole time during cooking. She has no symptoms. I've had an iced cappuccino over three hours earlier at a mainstream café, which solid residue is probably far down my intestines. Several minutes later, as if in a self-fulfilling prophecy, I'm vomiting a constant stream of matter into a large 2L bowl. I nearly fill the 2L bowl with vomit. My mother piles on the are you okay's and the sympathetic poor you's and I tell her to shut up as I almost ran out of air since the vomiting action was so relentless, and she's treating me like an infant. She grabs the bowl filled almost to the brim and rushes up the stairs to empty and clean it as I'm weeping. Minutes pass in her company and I fill half the bowl again with fresh vomit. I spend an all-nighter alternating between resting and loud, stifled and screaming vomiting and my mother cycles in and out of her bed, coming back again and again with the same pity. Every time I'm about to vomit I'm slightly panicking. I need my mother because I'm existentially terrified of death, and I know I could be dead if it happened to me in the wild but at the same time I'm hateful of her attitude. I go through the night vomiting about eight more times, with increasing strenght smaller amounts of liquids and solids. The sun gets up, and she comes back with some supplies to help me regain vitamins, hydration and calories. My digestive system is still infested. And every once in a while my throat is squeezing out tiny quantities of water, in other words I'm puking almost nothing at a time. Are my bowels literally EMPTYING THEMSELVES?!?! I'm still really scared because I'm under the impression that if I'm going puke out anything I put into my system and die of a lack of nutrition. I'm becoming light-headed. Eventually, I gradually manage to get some soup in and some Gatorade from the pharmacy and walk away uninjured. My mother comes home from work at noon to check on me and things are improving. The next day I'm fine. So, following the line of reasoning "everyone poops", I recently just wondered whether Vangelis has ever thrown up in his adult life and what that would look like. But then, I looked back at the past year or so I've been on my own in my apartment, complete with several interactions with friends and family in the first few months, and realized haven't gotten even nauseous once, and I'm not even that much into washing my hands after going to the bathroom. Even my apartment isn't extremely tidy, and I've had several risqué experiences with food, for example eating 1+ week old fridge bacon, searing my first rare steaks in one minute, ordering poutine every week from a relatively dirty joint across the street, using butter and frozen berries that have been lying around soft in the heat, all versus my mother's tidy habits, through two wintertimes. I've learned that getting sick is almost impossible for anyone who takes even reasonable care of themselves in a normal situation. The answer is, Vangelis has never thrown up in his adult life. And I believe my mother poisoned my food on October the 14th. p.s.: I can't figure out if it's only my father who stole my ipod and my wifi dongle. Also, I feel totally sick and depressed after writing that.

Fukushima because the tiny plant has become a hotspot of long-reaching environmental damage. Sea life in the pacific is dying at an accelerated rate in several related places, radiation levels are peaking on the west coast. Milk consumption could become out of the question for at least most of west side US for lord knows how long, a reminder of what happened in Ukraine (and in Eurp for that matter) in April 1986. How does such a civilized device as a nuclear power plant turn into an environmental plague that can affect who lives at the other side of the world? Is it just a matter of robotizing operations to make them failsafe (Tchernobyl) or not dumping them near international waters susceptible to earthquakes like an asshole? Is it really civilized, or is it just anti-life tech?

Do you want help with anything in particular?

It would be a failure of self-knowledge; in this particular case I would call it a self-destructive reflex. When the only prior motivator in your life has been fear, you unconsciously self-attack by condemning whatever you were doing before going into action. It occurs in the following way: whenever you're slipping into a relaxed state, you become kind of nervous and scan for potential danger with your mind so you don't fall prey to some disaster of dignitity or of circumstances. It's a matter of identifying the fight or flight response for what it is.

What I mean is that by redefining your productivity as the fruit of force, you're feeding the illusion that you have no control over yourself, therefore there was no locus of control, no happiness for your family and for public schools to snatch in the first place. The same goes for cynicism. There's a time to be oneself, there is a time to make the abuser happy means the abuser is in charge. If you want a bit of clarification, I really think you have been programmed in a certain way. You just said "I'm unsure of how to talk to myself and get to do things". Of course you are, getting yourself to do things feels like shit! It's terrifying cause it's desertic! And when we act in such a life, isn't it always a form of resentful acting out? Getting yourself to do things is the wrong definition of good and your unconscious knows it. What's more, your unconscious knows that you're gonna get violent when you've failed to talk it into "doing things". What I mean basically is stop kidding yourself. You will always procrastinate on obligations and end up whipping yourself. Just give up. Say fuck it, and let your impulse flow for a while, so you can finally have the space to access your inner inclinations. That's what I recently learned. Respect your past self that wanted to lay down and play Halo while eating belgian bread and butter listening to podcasts and music all at once in bed (no projection there). Your mind isn't trained to find enjoyment elsewhere? So be it. As Stef says: "Freedom is now" I'm really glad if I've opened up some avenues for you, and I'm deeply sorry about your distress.

"I'm with you when you point out that there's a fine balance, and an important one, inbetween forcing yourself to do things, and doing them from love of yourself." Dude, I never said that. Go all the way and chuck the notion of forcing yourself to do things right the f--k out the window, there's nothing in it. I haven't seen much serious justification if at all for the virtue of manufacturing danger and coming out on the other side with more stuff than if you extended respect for your emotions in the first place. Meanwhile, I know it's a pretty humiliating exercise, so I see no point in keeping on doing it. Forcing yourself to do things is what you attach to your current productivity, the one that's related to your unconscious and your free will so as to protect your parents, and it keeps you enslaved in a happiness that isn't full. You actually seem quite defensive about it. I'm actually irritated with the thought that discipline is the faithful guard of the golden statue "getting stuff done". Don't touch my freedom you zombies.

It is meaningful that the cold record is set after and not before. If you don't think so, then I don't want you to reply cause I don't really want to talk to you, if that's alright?

Isn't the point of global warming that you don't get to the coldest point of two decades at the end of those two decades?