Diary of a Madman: Aphorisms, Maxims and Allegories

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This made no sense. – None at all. The bizarre admixture of approval and indignation that was persisting, subsisting, and increasing within me added to the overall nonsensical gauntlet through which I was being put. Just as soon as I would enter a zone of comfort, this region was tactically obliterated; I was left cold and naked in the Super Unknown. Where once there seemed to be knowledge, he would flick it away as if it were a languid fly. This is an awesome authority, ...

What follows is a short story I wrote inspired by the blogging I have done in this forum. Toying around, I sent it to several publishers; and have received notice this morning that Random House would like it turned into a full-length novel with possible screen play adaptation. I do hope you enjoy it.

It is copywritten, so don't get stupid.



That which we now call the world is the outcome of a host of errors and fantasies which have gradually arisen ...

To whom do I owe an explianaton..?

Hilarily! - For he who recognises that which I am - that which I am representative of - I owe so much the little...

For they look into mine eyes - as the are!


- Whoa! - unto those who see me, and my motivation, NOT!


These are the lost one's - who shall - and should! ... - remain forever so!


...For what does one who has seen the entirety care for detractors...?

...

...I see her there,

Swollen from the foreign heat,

She beads-up sweat, and cools the Earth before her,

She leaves her foot-prints in the sands

of time...there is no time.


She waits, and is noticed, in the frolic of her dismissal,

but I see,

I see her,

I know her,

every inch, every, curve and latice, ... my hand beacons,

the water ripples

...

I have been broken - shattered to bits, and rebuilt.

I have been remade in the image and desires of my forebares,

I have known pain such as no other has known; and this pain has a name. - It's name is potential.



I have been lost about the wilderness of thought - and come-through as none other before me.

I am obligated to the Warrior.

I know my place.

I know, my Caste. - And it is Beautiful ...

I would save you the pain of thinking too awfully hard of the theory of altruism: nothing is ever quite just given for no reason other than ‘inherent rightness’. I cackle uncontrollably while saying those words.

We all have an irresistible pull towards something. I am not exempt. You are not exempt. And here, listen close: no one, and yet everyone is responsible for their actions. This is not a very pretty fact; but it is a fact. And yet… wrong turns, if I may, can still be made. ...

"...A lull came. A subtle hush in the dynamic. The undulations of my ire grew to the precipice of rage – which I knew he had the power to snap into fury. He seemed calmer than ever. The why’s and where’s of his clam were imponderable – and frightening. But why would I be frightened? What was ‘fright’ to me at this juncture? As fright is a foreign notion to me now, it was not then…Indeed, it, and my own choler seemed much the same thing, in no way exclusive of one another. And there 'the People' ...

On my first day of Gerechtigkeit Penance, I learned how lazy I was, and how I had released myself to all things "easy."

On my second day of Gerechtigkeit Penance, I learned of that which is possible, for myself.


On my third day of Gerechtigkeit Penance, I learned I was capable.


On my third day of Gerechtigkeit Penance, I knew something greater than what I desired.


On my fourth day of Gerechtigkeit Penance, ...

...To what, to whom, do I owe my capacity for suffering? To what, and to whom, do any of us - the Order of the 'Other'? For that is what, indeed, we are: 'we' fit no mould; 'we' understand no Absolute; and - what is more - 'we' find a vainglorious ring to the sound of the trumpets of "modernity"... what have we to do with the modern? - as recognisers of the Retrogression of the type 'Man'?

We owe no umbrage, nor do we owe a genuflection to what is occurring during the times ...

We suffer, and openly engage in the suffering, of potentialities. We further find that to do so evokes an awareness of that which is necrotic in our willed , and willing essence; which is to say, that which subsumes the ignoble characteristcs that our respective Lines have infused. Whilst the 'operation' is a delicate proceedure, to be sure, we find ourselves with very little concern of that which is delicate. Almost as if the best within us, being the best, commands, "Tear it out! - so what ...