I’m sorry to inform you but I’ve been thinking a bit more lately.
Here floweth all blood putridly and tepidly and frothily through all veins: spit on the great city, which is the great slum where all the scum frotheth together!
Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed eyes and sticky fingers —
— On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen- demagogues and tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambi- tious:—
Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow, sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth perni- ciously:—
Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his mouth. —
Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy species disgusted me!
Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thy- self hadst to become a frog and a toad?
Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins, when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?
Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?
I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me — why didst thou not warn thyself?
The issue is that I absolutely detest the way that I write when I feel like I have something to say. I feel like often people first become good at speaking or writing, and the unfortunate thing is that it takes them a long time to come up with something worthwhile to say. Of course, I feel like this because I don’t see the swath of raving schizos who have unlocked the truth of the universe and are unable to convey it’s extralinguistic force with their current writing skills. And in all likelihood I have nothing to say and no words with which to say it.
Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but not out of the swamp! —
They call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool : but I call thee my grunting-pig, — by thy grunting, thou spoilest even my praise of folly.
What was it that first made thee grunt? Because no one sufficiently flattered thee: — therefore didst thou seat thyself beside this filth, that thou mightest have cause for much grunt- ing.—
vengeance, thou vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!
But thy fools'-word injureth me, even when thou art right! And even if Zarathustra's word were a hundred times justified, thou wouldst ever — do wrong with my word!
Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed, and was long silent. At last he spake thus :
I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there — there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.
Woe to this great city! — And I would that I already saw the pillar of fire in which it will be consumed!
For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath its time and its own fate. —
This precept, however, give I unto thee, in parting, thou fool: Where one can no longer love, there should one — pass by!—
In any case, I’ve been thinking in particular about zero feedback. In cybernetics systems are classified as negative or postive feedback (cybernegative, cyberpositive). But in math, there is a third sign, zero, which behaves a bit differently from 1 and -1. I feel like zero feedback is a bit undertheorized because it seems to make for very boring control systems. However, I find that cybernegative systems are a bit limiting, and cyberpositive systems are a bit judgmental, but that cybernetics maybe has not fully run out of steam, and moderation appears to be a virtue.
Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.
AH, LIETH everything already withered and grey which but lately stood green and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hope did I carry hence into my beehives!
Those young hearts have already all become old — and not old even! only weary, ordinary, comfortable: — they declare it: "We have again become pious."
Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous steps : but the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they malign even their morning valour!
Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them winked the laughter of my wisdom: — then did they beth'nk themselves. Just now have I seen them bent down — to creep to the cross.
Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and young poets. A little older, a little colder: and already are they mystifiers, and mumblers and mollycoddles.
Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed me like a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken
yearningly-long for me in vain, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?
— Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent courage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient. The rest, however, are cowardly.
The rest: these are always the great majority, the common- place, the superfluous, the far-too many — those all are cowardly! —
A precursor to this feeling is a worry that the left maybe has a bit of a limited imagination at the moment. It’s fun to talk about chile and the people’s republic of walmart, it can feel subversive to tap into the retrofuturistic semiotic systems (lord knows I do it also…) but really? Must our future be redwashing cybernegative neoliberal command structures by better redistributing the treats?
Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet on the way: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.
His second companions, however — they will call themselves his believers, — will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much unbearded veneration.
To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his heart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not believe, who knoweth the fickiy faint- hearted human species!
Could they do otherwise, then would they also will other- wise. The half-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered, — what is there to lament about that!
Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament! Better even to blow amongst them with rustling winds, —
— Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that every- thing withered may run away from thee the faster! —
"We have again become pious" — so do those apostates con- fess; and some of them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.
Unto them I look into the eye, — before them I say it unto their face and unto the blush on their cheeks : Ye are those who again pray!
It is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me, and whoever hath his conscience in his head. For thee it is a shame to pray!
Thou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would fain fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it easier: — this faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that "there is a God!"
Another is that AI is this massive thing we have to contend with. Maybe it’s the exact same as it always was, nothing ever happens, before large language models, scrolling was communion with planetary computation, before that, television etc… Maybe. But it seems to me that the network is getting bigger and the actor is getting smaller. When I engage with social media, the session is mediated by an algorithm but the interaction is mediated by identities, whereas with AI, there’s a lot more computation happening, and a lot less thought goes into it. And if you think about older forms of media, I think that the network is just a lot smaller, compared to the actors involved.
Thereby, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom light never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thy head deeper into obscurity and vapour!
And verily, thou choosest the hour well : for just now do the nocturnal birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all light-dreading people, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not — "take leisure."
I hear it and smell it: it hath come — their hour for hunt and procession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling, soft-treaders', soft-prayers' hunt, —
— For a hunt after susceptible simpletons : all mouse-traps for the heart have again been set! And whenever I lift a cur- tain, a night-moth rusheth out of it.
Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For everywhere do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.
They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: "Let us again become like little children and say, 'good God!' ruined in mouths and stomachs by the pious confectioners.
Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-
spider, that preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that "under crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!"
Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think themselves profound; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do not even call him superficial!
Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet, who would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls: — for he hath tired of old girls and their praises.
This relative increase in the scale of network computation alongside the relative decrease in the scale of actor consciousness I think is supported by a decentralization of control mechanisms. I think that it is useful to turn around and look at how capital is really this cyberpositive circuit (I didn’t yet read much land, I might be oversimplifying), but I think that on the other side of any positive feedback, there has to be some amount of negative feedback which is distributed that balances the system out. This is just what makes sense to me mathematically. I am biased. I want the answer to be zero feedback, because when you’re jewish, it’s comforting if there’s no god.
Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in darkened rooms for spirits to come to him — and the spirit runneth away entirely!
Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hath learned from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and preacheth sadness in sad strains.
And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long fallen asleep.
Five words about old things did I hear yesternight at the garden- wall: they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night- watchmen.
"For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human fathers do this better!" —
"He is too old! He now careth no more for his children," — answered the other night-watchman.
"Hath he then children? No one can prove it unless he him- self prove it! I have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly."
"Prove? As if he had ever proved anything! Proving is diffi- cult to him; he layeth great stress on one's believing him."
"Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way with old people! So it is with us also!" —
— Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers, and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did it happen yesternight at the garden-wall.
As capital valorizes through macro-positive feedback, at the exact same time it has to create micro-negative feedback mechanisms of price which allow for its continued valorization. The more it grows, the smaller they have to be to allow it to metabolize on entropy: the accessing of temporal-deposits.
To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to break; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
Verily, it will be my death yet — to choke with laughter when I see asses drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
Hath the time not long since passed for all such doubts? Who may nowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shun- ning things!
With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end: — and verily, a good joyful Deity-end had they!
They did not "begloom" themselves to death — that do people fabricate! On the contrary, they — laughed themselves to death once on a time!
That took place when the ungodliest utterance came from a God himself — the utterance: 'There is but one God! Thou shalt have no other gods before me!" —
— An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot him- self in such wise: —
And all the gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and exclaimed: "Is it not just divinity that there are gods, but no God?"
Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is sur- named "The Pied Cow." For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once more his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly on account of the nighness of his return home.
O LONESOMENESS! my home, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived wildly in wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
So this is the same process that I see at play in AI and media.
Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me as mothers smile; now say just: "Who was it that like a whirlwind once rushed away from me? —
— Who when departing called out: 'Too long have I sat with lonesomeness; there have I unlearned silence!' That hast thou learned now — surely?
O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert more forsaken amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!
One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness : that hast thou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and strange:
— Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they want to be treated indulgently!
Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of concealed, congealed feelings.
Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee: for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth.
Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and verily, it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all things — directly!
Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou re- member, O Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead,
when thou stoodest in the forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse: —
Having your consciousness harvested by invisible networks in service of perpetual growth doesn’t exactly feel good, in my opinion, whether or not I’m provided a pencil with a snazzy eraser in exchange.
— When thou spakest: 'Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals : ' — That was forsakenness!
And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine isle, a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and distributing amongst the thirsty:
— Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and wailedst nightly: 'Is taking not more blessed than giving? And stealing yet more blessed than taking?' — That was forsakenness!
And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came and drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said: 'Speak and succumb!' —
— When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence,
O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly c.nd tenderly speaketh thy voice unto me!
We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go together openly through open doors.
For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one than in the light.
Here fly open unto me all beings' words and word-cabinets: here all being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of me how to talk.
Down there, however — all talking is in vain! There, for- getting and passing-by are the best wisdom : that have I learned now!
The other side of things is aligning yourself with cyberpositive feedback. Voluntary surrender, falling in love, seeking out slopes and getting on one. I can’t exactly take issue with various accelerationism because they are all so sexy, sweet fizzy poisons. Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Perhaps. But it seems to me that accelerationism is less love than lust, and it’s post-nut clarity appears tragic. Instead of allowing for an amor fati, it exhibits an eternally frustrated libido fati.
He who would understand everything in man must handle everything. But for that I have too clean hands.
I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so long among their noise and bad breaths!
O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a deep breast this stillness fetched! pure breath! How it hearkeneth, this blessed stillness!
But down there — there speaketh everything, there is every- thing misheard. If one announce one's wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the market-place will out-jingle it with pennies!
Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to understand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any longer into deep wells.
Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and accomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit quietly on the nest and hatch eggs?
Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that which yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangeth today, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of today.
Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what was once called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth to-day to the street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets! Now art thou again behind me: — my greatest danger lieth behind me!
In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human hubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
The structure of accelerationism is millenarianism. Again - god every week nick land this nick land that, I need to just set aside some time, at least this morning I read the introduction to Thirst for Annihilation, you can see it in mu first paragraph… Again I don’t know enough about Land to have an appropriate response, but I can say about Amy Ireland and Maya B Kronic that they see in millenarian edging the plateaus that are opposed to the orgasmic climax that is the object of A Thousand Plateaus. Possibly. I just see it that although I guess there could be a truly immanent accelerationism, climax is still basically the goal of edging, to put it really crudely. If I’m an effective accelerationist, I think that this accelerationist virus, although from an exterior position the purpose of the system is what it does and thus, ultimately is driven by a feeling that at some point in the future, there’s gonna be orgiastic rapture, even if it’s eternally deferred. For this reason, I don’t exactly see it as particularly liberatory I guess.
With suppressed truths, with fool's hand and befooled heart, and rich in petty lies of pity: — thus have I ever lived among men.
Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge myself that I might endure them, and willingly saying to myself: "Thou fool, thou dost not know men!"
One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much foreground in all men — what can far-seeing, far- longing eyes do there!
And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and often even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by many drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to myself: "Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!"
Especially did I find those who call themselves "the good," the most poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence; how could they — be just towards me!
He who liveth amongst the good — pity teacheth him to lie. Pity maketh stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the good is unfathomable.
To conceal myself and my riches — that did I learn down there: for every one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my pity, that I knew in every one.
— That I saw and scented in every one, what was enough of spirit for him, and what was too much!
Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff — thus did I learn to slur over words.
That might not be so satisfying a response as the first one, idk. As I was trying to say last week, you’re always being driven by some positive feedback ideology, and of course, you’re always being maintained by negative feedback mechanisms telling you to eat and not starve to death. So zero feedback at it’s face feels like a pretty stupid idea.
The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish rest bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on mountains.
Freed at last is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, sneezeth
my soul — sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly:
IN MY dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood today on a promontory — beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and weighed the world.
Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me awake, the jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.
Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable by strong pinions, divinable by divine nut- crackers: thus did my dream find the world: —
My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half -hurricane, silent as the butterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and leisure to-day for world-weighing!
Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake day-wisdom, which mocketh at all "infinite worlds"? For it saith: "Where force is, there becometh number the master: it hath more force."
world, not new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly: —
Well first, it feels the most honest. You don’t recieve feedback from god if your morals are good or not. Any naturalism here fails, I think. You can view hunger as a bad thing and that you feel it so that you will not starve, but that presupposes that starving is a bad thing. & you can say that which presupposes that death is a bad thing, presupposing that extinction is a bad thing, etc… So, there is zero feedback from god about morality or meaning. And precisely this lack of feedback is what inspires us to create religion. An interesting passage in Land’s intro to Thirst For Annihilation was that beggars become religious because it is never in the interest of anyone to respond to them, so they “inherit the tradition of unanswered cries encrypted in monastic cells.”
— As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin: — thus did the world present itself unto me: —
— As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong- willed tree, curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers : thus did the world stand on my promontory: —
— As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me — a casket open for the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present itself before me today: —
— Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solu- tion enough to put to sleep human wisdom: — a humanly good thing was the world to me to-day, of which such bad things are said!
How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at today's dawn, weighed the world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and heart-comforter!
And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now will I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly well. —
He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best cursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
Voluptuousness, passion for power, and selfishness: these three things have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest repute — these three things will I weigh humanly well.
Well! here is my promontory, and there is the sea — /'/ rolleth hither unto me, shaggily and f awningly, the old, faith- ful, hundred-headed dog-monster that I love! —
Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and
There are different kinds of zero feedback. First, you can destroy the sensors, the processors, or the motors. I think without senses, you have religiosity. blind judgment from the heavens, blind wanderers in the desert. I think without reason, you might have stoicism. It’s feeling without allowing it to affect your judgment. And I think without action, I think you have something like bartleby the scrivener.
also a witness do I choose to look on — thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love! —
On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth the high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still — to grow upwards? —
Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy ques- tions have I thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.
Voluptuousness : unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and stake; and, cursed as "the world," by all back- worldsmen: for it mocketh and befooleth all erring, misin- ferring teachers.
Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt; to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew furnace.
Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the garden-happiness of the earth, all the future's thanks-over- flow to the present.
Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed, however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.
Voluptuousness : the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness and highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than marriage, —
— To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman: — and who hath fully understood how unknown to each other are man and woman!
Voluptuousness: — but I will have hedges around my
IDK if I have all too much more to say at this point in time. This is just the beginnings of this concept that may or may not bear more fruit.
thoughts, and even around my words, lest swine and liber- tine should break into my gardens! —
Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard; the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy flame of living pyres.
Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every horse and on every pride.
Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and up- breaketh all that is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher of whited sepulchres; the flashing inter- rogative-sign beside premature answers.
Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine: — until at last great contempt crieth out of him — ,
Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which preacheth to their face to cities and empires: "Away with thee!" — until a voice crieth out of themselves: "Away with me!"
Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied eleva- tions, glowing like a love that painteth purple felicities allur- ingly on earthly heavens.
Passion for power: but who would call it passion, when the height longeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or dis- eased is there in such longing and descending!
That the lonesome height may not forever remain lone- some and self -sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds of the heights to the plains: —
for such longing! "Bestowing virtue" — thus did Zarathustra once name the unnamable.
This past week I created my first atproto record through OAuth. There are still some things to figure out with it but I think soon in addition to profiles, channels and messages should also work on xcvr. (this week). After that, I think that I need to figure out how to create records with a normal password, and then I will create the signet mechanism. Once signets work, I just need to hook it up to the jetstream or firehose & then atproto will enter the hyper-real-time.
And then it happened also, — and verily, it happened for the first time! — that his word blessed selfishness, the wholesome, healthy selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul: —
— From the powerful soul, to which the high body apper- taineth, the handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh a mirror:
— The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome is the self -enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self -enjoyment calleth itself "virtue."
With its words of good and bad doth such self -enjoyment shelter itself as with sacred groves; with the names of its hap- piness doth it banish from itself everything contemptible.
Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: "Bad — that is cowardly!" Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, the sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling advantage.
It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever sigheth: "All is vain!"
Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths instead of looks and hands: also all over-dis- trustful wisdom, — for such is the mode of cowardly souls.
Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, che all- satisfied one: for that is the mode of slaves.
Whether they be servile before gods and divine spurnings, or before men and stupid human opinions: at all kinds of slaves doth it spit, this blessed selfishness!
rotpolitics now!
Bad : thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and sordidly- servile — constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning, spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
The spurious wise, hov/ever, all the priests, the world-weary, and those whose souls are of feminine and servile nature — oh, how hath their game all along abused selfishness!
And precisely that was to be virtue and was to be called virtue — to abuse selfishness! And "selfless" — so did they wish themselves with good reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment, the great noontide: then shall many things be revealed!
And he who proclaimeth the ego wholesome and holy, and selfishness blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth: "Behold, it cometh, it is night, the great noontide!"
MY MOUTHPIECE — is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all ink-fish and pen-foxes.
My hand — is a fool's hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever hath room for fool's sketching, fool's scrawling!
My foot — is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and stone, in the fields up and down, and am be- devilled with delight in all fast racing.
My stomach — is surely an eagle's stomach? For it preferreth lamb's flesh. Certainly it is a bird's stomach.
-rachel
Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient to fly, to fly away — that is now my nature: why should there not be something of bird-nature therein!
And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is bird-nature: — verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
be alone in an empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye ex- pressive, the heart wakeful: — those do I not resemble. —
He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he christen anew — as "the light body."
The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who cannot yet fly.
Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so willeth the spirit of gravity! But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself: — thus do / teach.
Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them stinketh even self-love!
One must learn to love oneself — thus do I teach — with a wholesome and healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving about.
Such roving about christeneth itself "brotherly love"; with these words hath there hitherto been the best lying and dis- sembling, and especially by those who have been burdensome to every one.
And verily, it is no commandment for today and tomorrow to learn to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and patientest.
For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all treasure-pits one's own is last excavated — so causeth the spirit of gravity.
Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths: "good" and "evil" — so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we are forgiven for living.
And therefore sufTereth one little children to come unto one,
to forbid them betimes to love themselves — so causeth the spirit of gravity.
And we — we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us: "Yea, life is hard to bear!"
But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoul- ders. Like the camel kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too many extraneous heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself — then seemeth life to him a desert!
And verily! Many a thing also that is our own is hard to bear! And many internal things in man are like the oyster — repulsive and slippery and hard to grasp; —
So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for them. But this art also must one learn: to have a shell, and a fine appearance, and sagacious blindness!