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hisexellency
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Name: Solomon
Country: South Korea
Metro: Seoul
Birthday: 8/17/1990
Gender: Male
Interests: Reading deathnote, surfing the web on my PSP, watching movies, and other things
Expertise: Um...drawing my style of manga (Master of Power, anyone?), imitating stupid rap, barely managing A's, involuntarily memorizing and remembering needless information, etc.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Other
Message: message me
MSN: ....Actually... hisexcellencynicolaecarpathia@hotmail.com
Member Since:
5/22/2005
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| No formal system can capture the contingencies of the future. What then makes past experience the standard for our expectations of the future? Habit-- deeply ingrained human practice. Personal identity-- series of experiences. Habit brings all these together to comprise an "inference" of personal identity. That is the best explanation our minds give to create coherence. The question of free will, as answered by Hume: -First of all- He is trying to reconcile determinism and libertarianism (necessity and liberty). The determinists are right-- to insist that everything has a cause. But they fail to take into account that inference is in the mind. And free will right in terms of responsibility-- but mistaken in failing to take into account that everything has causes. | | |
| To my father:
Two years have passed in faraway prisons
Two years my eyes untouched by coal
Two years my heart sending out messages to the homes where my family dwells
Where lavender cotton sprouts for grazing herds that leave well-fed
Oh ( ),
Explain to those who visit my home how I used to live
I know your thoughts are swirled as in a whirlwind
when you hear the voice of my anguished soul
Send sweet peace and greetings to Bumer
Kiss him on his forehead for he is my father
Fate has divided us like the parting of a parent from a newborn.
Oh father this is a prison of injustice
Its inequity makes the mountains sweep
I have committed no crime and I am guilty of no offense
Curbed claws have I but I have been sold like a fattened sheep
I have no fellows but the truth
They told me to confess but I am guiltless.
My deeds are all honorable and need no apology
They tempted me to turn away from the lofty summit of integrity
to exchange this cage for a pleasant life
By God if they were to bound my body in chains
If all Arabs were to sell their faith
I would not sell mine
I have composed these lines for the day when your children have grown old
O God who governs creation with providence who is one singular and self-subsisting
Who brings comfort in happy tidings
whom we worship
Grant serenity to a heart that beats with oppression
and release this prisoner from the tight bonds of confinement.
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| Alcohol has drowned the nerve-sensitivities. Emotional cores are flooded with bright lights: they scream, "Sanity! Sanity! Spelling errors may persist, but you will remain Sane!" And I remain Sane. I had been expecting my condition now to aid me in the development of "creative" works-- the stuff that Hemingway, King, and every other stereotyped writer have been known to inspire in their alcohol-flodded hands to create. Too selfish, however. Pointless because I don't have the courage to pursue creativity after so long a time of inactivity. So I'll wait till I'm stronger and sober to continue my journey on this undocumented road-- the road to creative success. | | |
| Newcomers enter my life through the portal of a chat site. Intriguing female characters with lively personalities. They offer me energy and excited conversation. Days of intermittent communication or frequent exchanges of greetings. No information demanded that breaches historical inquiry: Who are you, what made you, and how have you come to become you? Who they seem to be is equally as ubiquitous as I seem. As fellow Pleasant Strangers we pretend we know each other. First-name basis imposes tacit anonymity.
The value of these beings on my sentimental mind.
My mind refuses to dispose of its trailing satellites, instead preferring to collect affects. Names and faces of people who no longer factor in the dealings of my current condition. As artists and authors whose work have been enjoyed by a younger mind than mine remain on shelves and disks. Similarly these newcomers stay, jointly through sheer sentimentality and a belief in the individual value of mankind.
Of that latter belief:
Each member of our race is dealt with as if its position on this planet broadcasts a non-replaceable beacon. Until its extinction it is treated as if its uniqueness demands personal care. But why? Not for the traits these beings display, for many are repeated among the members of our race, even in me. This assumption is incongruous with the rest of my assumptions, not many else of which comprise the Judeo-Christian tradition I have had previously. So why keep it? I assess that perhaps such belief ties into my own desire for an ethereal sort of personal uniqueness. A value of my being that transcends the commonalities I have with untold millions.
And until this assumption can properly be addressed I shall continue sanctifying each human as I do now.
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| I'd forgotten the feeling of uncommitted self-expression. I haven't visited this site for four months; during that month I have changed little, except in status: I can now call my high school teachers by their first names. Well, except for the married women. *shrugs.*
But why make this place another place among many to discharge my overflowing wit? That sort of verbiage won't do anything for me, not here. I need to find purer expression here. That reminds me of the feeling of writing in a journal-- the flowing need to express, somehow continuing words with awkward transitions.
shit. I waste too much time on trying to connect words together. I can never let sentences be simple; I must salt-and-pepper them with semicolons, double-dashes, and glue them into Frankensteinesque compound-complexes.
Is there hope for me? I can't find the spirit to sound like myself here anymore. I must be very tired. Physically it's 4:32 A.M., but since I have been going to sleep at 5 A.M. and waking up at 2 P.M., it's probably not that late for me. Shit. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I haven't given up typing yet. I'm half tempted to throw this away. But I must mark this page somehow. Let me and you know I'm still here.
Just can't be myself. Give me some time, please...
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http://005fa7e.netsolhost.com/images/13_Life_After_Death_And_Taxes_1.mp3
http://hiryu.icynipple.net/Relient%20K%20-%20MMHMM%20-%2009%20-%20Which%20To%20Bury,%20%20Us%20Or%20The%20Hatchet.mp3
http://www.mp3-host.com/uploads/a6976.afa7d.mp3
http://ia300828.eu.archive.org/2/items/Who_I_Am_Hates_Who_Ive_Been_1/RelientKWhoIAmHatesWhoIveBeen.mp3
http://www.joemarlett.com/Music/escape.mp3
http://www.joemarlett.com/Music/useless.mp3
http://www.selfstarterfoundation.com/stealth/sounds/johnny_cash_the_man_comes_around.mp3
http://www.simon18.btinternet.co.uk/anime/evangelion/music/cruel_angel_thesis.mp3
Hailie's Song - http://mfiles.naver.net/68ba5d8292c8a5133f52/data18/2006/5/27/215/14-8943-mggogogo.wma
http://abesmom.pleasesteezeme.com/New%20Music%20/A%20Different%20Light/09%20The%20Only%20Song.mp3
http://abesmom.pleasesteezeme.com/New%20Music%20/A%20Different%20Light/01%20Song%20In%20My%20Head.mp3
http://radio.weblogs.com/0128644/images/300604_jetty1024.jpg
http://www.weatheranswer.com/public/Best_lightning.jpg
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