I had a blog in this domain a few years ago.   Aaron here and not Sylvia.   Thoughts.com wasn’t aiming to be life-affirming and inspirational, before the last time the whole domain went down.   As a result, just the way the dice roll, the sort of stuff I posted, two times out of three, was too dark and grave for the place it’s become now.


Like this is that sort of stuff, toned down a little, and with a more wholesome perspective.

The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.   So said the Son of man.

In the gospels where it is written that He said that, of Matthew and Luke, it ends the same, though the previous matter is different, another matter.

Though Jesus was talking about what it takes to follow him, and how life is so important, and getting a greater, more abundant life, requires the sort of monkish priorities that approach those the Buddha had, if less here and surpassing them there, the same quote could come, with a different meaning, from a multitude of man’s sons.

Man, in the image of his Creator, with his hands and initiative, is supernatural, whether or not he believes in such things.   No whale, no ape, nothing else you can encounter on earth, has the power and initiative of man.   Does that justify arrogance, or humility?   Yes.

Man, like the little god he can be, can be like a raging fire laying waste to the forest, or like the trees themselves, doing what some of them would do, if they had the intelligence, the power and initiative.

Where is man’s home?   Not around here.   On a great throne?   In a dark cell in a hermitage?   Yes.   Man’s home is everywhere and nowhere.   That’s how it is, when a humble beast is dealing with the management, with the executives.   Or even a great and powerful beast.   Even a bear or tiger knows that Man is a potentially fearsome creature.   Like it says in Genesis, dreadful.   The son of man makes shoes and canals, the son of man makes bullets and nuclear reactors.   The son of man watches lots of TV and drinks lots of beer.   A great friend, a great enemy, a bum fit to avoid, a saint.

The great beings have more culture, more mind, more subtlety, when it comes to what it takes to truly recognize their home, than lesser beings.   For the followers, the kindgom, power, and glory, are God’s.   Blessed are the faithful.

Well, imagine what I may be so deluded as to believe, if I can play square and write that.   If I’m just playing, I could be Yazid.   Or something out of an old pulp horror story, in an evil underground cult like in the second Indiana Jones thing, like the Thuggee were never wiped out.   Extraterrestrial passing for native. Et cetera.

Where shall I dispense my sweet poison?   Vanilla WordPress?

There’s something about a blog site with a flavor to it, not so vanilla.   As a scientist, I’ll take vanilla, but as a deviant, it’s like I’d rather be staying in a nice hostel that’s like a motel, with a roommate of the moment who’s an anorexic gay transvestite junkie vampire, pounding on death’s door with a broken electric guitar, than pay twice as much for a motel.

Oh, bother, life.   What’s with this AMP stuff?   I’d like html.   I find it personally classic.   Is that an oxymoron?   And my favorite Charles Manson site went down like 20 years ago.   I’d never follow a nut like that, so please don’t exile me.   I’m not rambling, it’s implicit juxtaposition.   Just imagine what I’d write, adding spice all my own to the vanilla, about things the vanilla world is repelled by.   But the vanilla world, hallelujuh, is history.   No one’s going to burn J.K. Rowling alive.

Oh, I just saw the “edit as html” feature.   A mile closer out of light-years.   But you can’t do all the paragraphs as one block; if you could, it’d be all the same shade of red, but as it is I’m too cranky to note a shade from a GUI non-field.   And it’s not from a homeostatic backlash or ’cause I just got my scales done up in bronze with an acrylic topcoat.   You can trust me, I never eat your kind, yours may well be the richest planet.

Just because uncle Fred Nietzsche said God is dead, that doesn’t mean the Wizard of Oz is.   What god is truly dead?   They come back like hellrats.

Is there a manual or something for this site?

If anyone has a blog site to recommend for posting some gothic material, I’m one to listen.


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