Had to re-upload. Here's a working link:
Hey my TOTW is out :) and I’ve already been called boring lol
I might be a few minutes late this week btw!
Just finished a reading of "The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction" by Ursula K Le Guin!
Now to recover my throat by drinking lots of tea lol
It's our final reading group session for Nietzsche and Anarchy OMG!
We will be discussion chapters 15, the appendix, and more!
At 7pm central we will be meeting to discuss chapters 13 & 14 of Nietzsche and Anarchy! See you there?
Rebooting the instance really quick! #mastoadmin
We’ve found ourselves in a rotting, collapsing carnival. And how? Some say we’ve always been here, others say they wandered towards the brightest light from the darkness outside the fence. Almost all pretend it’s still alluring. Fun.
A particular group have become obsessed with the high striker. They theorize, and scheme, and train in hopes that they can hit the bell. Nobody ever has. The game is rigged. But even if it weren’t the bell would not ring. It’s so rusted that each time they swing the mallet the bell disintegrates slightly, currently resembling a spider web it likely won’t last much longer. I wonder if the players will notice.
There are others who buzz around, watching the grid of incandescent bulbs blink and blink and blink but still act surprised by the pattern. They talk about the weight of the life-sized cardboard cut-outs of people with faces that someone once recognized, but we see them rock in the breeze.
We too sit facing the façade. But we’ve grown sick of the games, the empty calories of cotton candy and popcorn, and bored with the thrills but we remain planted here, watching. Are we different than those who buzz around? If we were we would likely wander off into the darkness.
Running your hands over the rings of a tree is a fascinating way by which we've domesticated time. The tree used to be alive, but now we've killed it, and we can run our hands across all its banded years and its an act of control and domination. After all, the tree is dead and we are not. In a war of tree and man, man wins.
Stone does not live. In reading time in the bands of colored rocks, a human action is nothing. A thin skin of carbon rich sediment along the very top. Deep time stretches out before us and makes insignificant even our greatest works. Indifferent aeons await us. We can run our hands along these layers, but there's no lasting victory, in the battle between stone and man, stone wins.
Hi I'm bugs. ni.hil.ist admin. Ⓐ
Cool with most things, I'll let you know if I'm not.
ni.hil.ist is a server run by anarchists who are friendly to a nihilistic worldview.