Oops! Did I Hurt Your Feelings, Baby?

I wanted to test people and see how easy it was to push their buttons… they fell into every little game that i started.

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What would this blog be without cats and online douchebaggery? So let’s go. Here it is:

Recently, some douche joined the “sinister” facebook group spamming it with the bullshit and trolling the hell out of it. There would be nothing unusual about it (after all, there are plenty of such types in the cyber space) if it wasn’t for the reaction he caused. As much as I love the online arguments and flame-wars, this time I decided to sit back and watch. To each their own, but debating a person more ignorant than me doesn’t really turn me on. It’s a ROI thing. There is nothing to gain from such experience. You educate the stupid but learn nothing in exchange. There is also no satisfaction from winning the discussion. It’s like smashing a mouse against the wall.

But who am I to judge the kids playing in the sandbox, especially that I enjoy throwing sand myself? It’s all nice and dandy provided all kids have fun. This time only one kid had fun, the others… Well… here is a problem. The guy could have been banned, ignored, laughed off or responded to in a cold, pedantic and unemotional manner. Instead, the “sinister” types threw a tantrum, calling the guy names, telling him how much they hate him, crying he’s destroying the group and leaving one by one in the epic display of butthurt.

I nearly choked on my popcorn. It’s really funny to see the wannabe Satanists or sinister folks stand beside themselves with fury and show self-righteous indignation. And the guy… despite being weak in a fight on arguments, is a master of manipulation, knowing how and when to push people’s buttons. Because psychological warfare is a game to be played without any rules, except one; making your opponent leave the ring with the blood dripping from his nose or his sore butt. The arguments be damned.

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Richard Moult

Are our ideas and beliefs the fancy hats that we wear and change when the mood strikes us? Or are we like the fat chick trying to squeeze herself in a tight swimming costume? Sometimes, you’re trying too hard to fit in this or that identity label, this or that belief system, this or that peer group. Ideas and beliefs are the mere tools you use to progress and to expand your mind. The time comes when these ideas are no longer useful, you discard them and move on. Just like you throw away the old clothes. You are not your ideas or your beliefs. It would be a folly to cling desperately to an old party dress and scream “No, I won’t throw it away! It’s me! This dress is me!”

There is so much talk in Satanism about an adversary and herd-conformity, but one would be surprised how many people need the approval of others, the praise and respect of their peers and belonging to some exclusive and elitist club. It’s nicer and easier this way, because everyone, without exception, prefers praises to criticism. It’s very hard to thrive when confronted with opposition and loneliness. But how illusory are the temporary laurels you get from your fans.

Should I bend to your standards? Should I conform to your house rules? Should I satisfy your expectations? Yes, of course, as long as I live in your hotel/motel. But when I check out, damn you and your rules, and your expectations. Your hotel or motel is one of the many I’m passing by on my way home.

So coming back to our little motherfucker. He knew whom to troll; people who worship the tools, who think they are special snowflakes because of that, that they are the elite. If you worship a pentagram or an O9A sigil, then you can as well go to church and prostrate yourself before Jesus. Does it really matter where you sing your Hallelujah?

The Cold

You bathe in the sunlight of spring,
While I’m forever stuck in this dreary autumn.
Like a flower that will never bloom,
Forever in this dreary autumn…

This dreadful emptiness,
The cold, cold world.
You slammed the door on me,
you locked me in the cold.

Every person in Lyra’s world has a daemon…it would be very strange for people to see someone without one. It’d be just as strange as seeing someone without a head. Someone without a daemon would be considered horribly mutated — missing something essential.

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I’m at the train station when it suddenly dawns on me that I left my baggage at the hotel. I can’t come back home without my things. I rush to the hotel, hoping that I’ll just grasp my bags and manage to catch the train. I explain the matter to the receptionist, she takes a bunch of keys and I follow her upstairs. She opens the door and lets me in. I pick up my things, among them such important stuff as money, documents and an identity card and pack them to the suitcase. There are also some old useless newspapers, which I throw into a dustbin.

I’m just about to leave when I notice a small box on the shelf. I reach for it and open…

I can’t even find the proper words to describe how I feel when I open the mysterious box. There is an animal in the box, a chinchilla, thirsty and in agony. I took it with me on a holiday, put it aside and forgot about it. For three days I was having fun while it was locked in the dark box, suffering, without food and water. It bites me while I try to touch it. I’m crying when I’m holding it under the tap and it is drinking.

The same nasty tiresome dream, repeating itself over and over again. The details vary, but the message is the same. I discover something I forgot about, a nearly dead animal in pain, hungry, thirsty, neglected. The remorse I feel is overwhelming. I never felt like this in all my life. I feel so bad about myself and about what I did that I would prefer it were dead so that it wouldn’t remind me about my guilt.

I hope that one day I will find my poor suffering pet, my lost Self. I hope that one day I will learn what I’ve been doing wrong all my life. I’m sure I won’t like the revelation.