Posts Tagged Nietzsche

The Men From Outer Space

view from the moon

“King Christ,this world is all aleak;
and lifepreservers there are none:”  -ee cummings

 

There is no Overman…only an Outerman.

We are The Outerman. They are The Innerman. Made from the same material. Subject to the same illusion. The two share nothing in common beyond circumstance.

The Outerman does not stand above the world of The Innerman, rather we are mired in it. We watch its absurdities not from a distance, but from a terrible proximity.

We bare the scars of The Innerman’s creations. We live in the demented cesspool of their need for acceptance. Adoration that will never come from the other Innermen. They are blind. Each alone in the company of Others. Each pantomiming human form. Each actors on a stage that stretches from dawn till death.

Both The Innerman and The Outerman are prisoners of the same sickening carnival, the only difference between the two is The Outerman recognizes it to be what it is. No superstition can save him. No machine can revive him. He walks to his fate with the dignity and honor of a man who will not accept the debasement of delusion.

The Outerman looks in the mirror and sees a product of alienation. An alien in a world of aliens. A jigsaw piece that does not fit. Awake among dreamers. There is no Hollywood ending for him or anyone else. There is only decay.

The Innerman looks in the mirror and hopes somehow to mold his face to the reflect the blank stare of the other Innermen. He can never get it right no matter how hard he tries. Never fast enough, never strong enough, never smart enough. Everyday he hopes he’ll see a different image in front of him. If he could just find the formula. The Man With The Answer. But there is no Man and there is No Answer.

The Innerman’s world is one of violence. Violence not in the sense of harm towards others (although some choose that path), but a violent ignorance that turns a blind eye to the suffering in their midst. The Cause portion of the equation forgotten. The Effect always a mystery.

“Why do they hate us?” they wonder aloud, never seeing the answer apparent to anyone not forever trapped in fantasy. Violence is the righteousness of the provincial and the tyranny of the obvious. The world of the Innerman is a dream inside of a dream inside of a dream, with a waking nightmare always somewhere in the corner of his eye.

The Innerman is doomed. Even God won’t save him. Why would He bother? He is too busy poisoning children with cancer, creating horrors like ebola and teaching his followers to hate that which makes them human.

He is the God of letting good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. He is not The God of Love, He is The God of Pestilence. The best thing God could be is a fantasy. For if he is not, He is a sadist.

Both The Outerman and The Innerman are bound together. They walk to the same gallows, suffocated by the same rope. The Outerman calls it a hanging. The Innerman calls it salvation.

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Thus Spoke BlaK Dan

(translated from the original grunts and pig noises by Walter Kaufmann)

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I.

When BlaK Dan had turned 37, he put down his autographed Burzum album collection and left the comfort of his basement and went into the mountains.  He was alone.  He waited for the one pure note to emerge from his body, uncontaminated with the essence of those creatures he had survived being around all these years.  He did not tire of the solitude, for it is all he had ever wished for.  But, at last, a change came over his heart, and one morning he rose with the dawn, stepped before the sun, and spoke to it thus:

“You great star, what would your happiness be if you realized you had to shine on all those who rest below you?  If you realized that your light was illuminating the way for others, would you not extinguish yourself in a lake of tears?”

“Behold, I am weary of my own purity.  These chumps at the bottom of the mountain, they spend their time waxing poetic about how much weight Snooki lost and what Jessie James Dupree will do for an encore.  Even the ones that try to be pure of the world end up owning Metallica’s Reload on vinyl.”

“Bless the cup that wants to overflow and drown those at the bottom of this mountain with the righteous torrent of nothingness.  For I am BlaK Dan and I am full of emptiness!”

II.

BlaK Dan descended down the mountain and came upon and old man.  The old man was wearing a Dio shirt.  Blak Dan sneered.

“It has been a long time since you passed this way, BlaK Dan.  The last time I saw you, you were carrying the ashes of the church burned by Samoth.  Do you fear that arsonists do not get all the girls?”

“Out of my way, you old fool.  I have no time for your false metal jokes or your tales of pits gone by.  I have no time for women.  Nor men for that matter.  I have a world to cleanse of humanity.  For I am BlaK Dan, and I have come to philosophize with the blastbeat.”

III.

When BlaK Dan arrived at the next town, he found many people gathered together in the market place; for it had been promised that Black Sabbath would be performing a cover of N’Sync’s “Tearin’ Up My Heart”.  And BlaK Dan spoke thus to the people:

“I teach you the Overman! For you people are something that is to be overcome! Ten years, ten long years, I sat in that cave at the top of the mountain pondering how to escape you forever.  For even ten years of solitude couldn’t cure me of the memories of watching you simple-minded beasts jump from trend to trend in the name of impressing other people with your metalness.  Well, I am here to tell you that I am the most metal.  And I know this, because I am the most empty.”

“Behold, I cannot stomach any of you anymore, so I teach you the Overman.  This one time I will tell you how to live correctly.  Because I am bored.  You will probably ignore it, because you are animals.  But, at least at the end of your sorry, pitful existences, I can proudly tower over your coffin, telling anyone who will listen “I told you so!”  But they will not listen either.  Because they too are morons.”

“A polluted stream is metal and you donkeys lap it up as if it were the best thing you’ve ever tasted.  One must be completely empty of all moisture to truly be metal.  And I know, because I have emptied myself of all that is moist.  All that is caring.  All that is kind.  I spit in the face of all that come to me seeking solace.  I turn my back on humanity.  I have emptied myself of melody.  Of harmony.  Of style.  Of substance. I am the Overman, because I am Post-Everything!”

IV.

“And you say, ‘But what of God?’  And I say “God is dead!  There is only me.”  And you say, ‘But what of the joy music brings?’  And I say, ‘But what of the mud a pig wallows in.  If the pig is happy, is that mud, in fact, holy?’”

“Once the sin against God was the greatest sin; but God died and now you’re stuck trying to piece together who you are from a bunch of copies of Slayer records.  And so you replace your old God with Slayer and perform the same old silly rituals, only this time with the knowledge that you are a unique and clever fellow.  You jump up and down and repeat evil words and think you are something special.  You are no different than the idiots who came before you.  The only difference is you buy more stuff.”

“You ask me what meaning has life.  It is a contest that is already over.  I got there first.  You lose.  Sucker.  For you are still winding your way through Megadeth’s early discography and I am on Z.  I have heard it all.  I have done it all.  That which I haven’t done isn’t worth doing anyway.  I have come to the end of the road.  You are a bunch of pimply-faced kids trying out your death stare on old people in the mall.  I am the end point of history.”

V.

Then, something happened that made every mouth gape open and every finger point.  A cute puppy wandered into the center of the courtyard.  The adorable animal jumped up and startled an infant.  The infant giggled wildly.  People pulled out their phones in order to record what was left of this magic moment and send it to thousands of different people all over the world.  Finally, after all the commotion had died down they turned back to BlaK Dan.  They all had forgotten what he was saying.

VI.

BlaK Dan left the town muttering under his breath.  He found an uncomfortable place to sleep and lay down for what seemed like a thousand hours.  At last, however, his eyes opened and gazed into the distance.  He rose quickly, like a drunkard whose CD player had begun skipping, and announced to no one in particular that he had discovered a new truth.

“An insight has come to me:  ‘People are perishable!’  Sure, everything about them disgusts me.  They always want to play you the songs they like and use your mini-refrigerator to store food.  They ramble on and on about useless ideas.  They make funny noises.  They smack their food when the chew.  They fall asleep during the best part of Headbanger’s Ball.  Will it not be better when they are all dead?”

“But I did not pay attention in Biology class, so I know not how to create a plague to wipe them all away.  And I have neither the training nor the patience to seek out members of terrorist cells.  And I have not the time nor the funding to buy weapons grade uranium.  But I know this one thing.  Eventually, they will all die.  Sure, I too will die, and that will be a sad day, but I can take comfort in the thought that the rest of them will experience a fate at least as bad as my own, in some cases worse.”

“Some may outlive me, yes, but they too will eventually yield to their own mortality.  Everyone on this earth will be dead at some point.  Maybe even soon.  As I ascend back to the top of the mountain to look down upon this tainted world, I can finally rest in the knowledge that no one ever gets what they want from life and it all ends brutally.”

“Life is a curse of which I hope they are soon cured.  But, until then, they can have their dumb little lives.  Let them bounce from one dumb crisis to another.  Let them anxiously wait by their computers for news on who will be playing drums on the next Doro Pesch record.  Let them get worked up over what Dave Mustaine thinks about the customer service at Men’s Warehouse.  I am cured.  It no longer matters.  They are dead to me.”

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BlaK Dan Reviews Ketchup

My brother-in-law, BlaK Dan, is at it again.  If you’ve been following his saga here at Tyranny, you already know that he lost all his money investing in Amway products and is sleeping on my couch until he “gets on his feet again”.  He was living in a cave until a park ranger kicked him and his pet ferret out and now we are stuck with him.  He does nothing but parade around our house wearing a Burzum tee-shirt and eating cornflakes out of a Qwik Rabbit mug he’s had since he was 8.  

The man has no dreams, no goals other than one day managing a metal message board and playing one note black metal songs “whilst alone in a forest”.  In order to keep him busy, my wife has asked me to let him write an occasional metal album review for the blog.   Here’s where it gets tricky…he’s now refusing to listen to any metal.  He’s decided that he will only write reviews of inanimate objects, because metal music is “unworthy of his talents”.  So…here’s another in the endless, intolerable and ever-changing series now known as “BlaK Dan Reviews Ordinary Household Items”.

 

BlaK Dan Coming Upstairs After A Late Night Cornflake Binge

People who put ketchup on food are idiots.  They have no idea of what food in its purest form tastes like.  They are animals.  They do not have the right to exist.  When I am at a diner and a see one of these “people” consuming food with ketchup on it, I know they are sub-humans unworthy of the oxygen that Odin and I provide them with.

This blood-colored ooze spews out of disgustingly shaped bottles and pollutes our food with its hideous sweetness.  If you are ever curious as to which amongst you are inferior, here’s a simple test.  If they have defiled a perfectly good and pure  lump of meat with this syrup of sickness, then you can rest assured that they are degenerate parasites who are wasting the flesh, bone and will that they were born with.

If you use ketchup, it is because you are weak.  I refuse to tolerate your weakness.  If I had my way, they’d bring back the guillotine and behead each and every one of you cowards.  You violate all that is decent in our world then have the temerity to call me intolerant or unclean or in violation of local health code standards or someone who can’t live within 500 yards of an elementary school.  It is you that are a pox upon our world, Ketchup-eater.  And it is you that should pay the ultimate price for your life of decadence.

You befoul our forests and streams with your civilized blandishments and then wonder why your world is repulsive and depraved.  The essence of life is being destroyed by an endless flow of ketchup.  Ketchup in the mountains.  Ketchup in the valleys.  Ketchup in our seas.  Ketchup in our forests. Ketchup in our oceans.  Ketchup everywhere you look.  Ketchup in the name of progress.   You have contaminated the world and destroyed all that is sacred.

You think you are so clever.  You eat your ketchup and you laugh and laugh and laugh.  Ha, Ha, Ha….look at civilized me with my ketchup and my Italian leather shoes.  Aren’t I something else?    Look at my fancy ketchup eating wife and my two well-dressed ketchup-eating children.  Aren’t I unique?

You think because you eat ketchup you have the right to judge me.  I am above your judgments.  You are slime.  Like Zarathustra, I am surrounded by fools and idiots spewing a ridiculous ketchup-soaked morality that is meaningless.  MEANINGLESS!   I hear your snickers, I see your scorn, but it is you that are vile and you that are impure.  If you hadn’t allowed ketchup to taint your world, you would know me and understand that you are unworthy to be in my presence.  Instead, I am stuck here in moron hell watching you wallow in ketchup and despising every minute of it.  I hate all of you.

FILTH!!!!!!

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