atheists of ancient "india" vs modern Indian atheists

mein liebes süßestes Kätzchen,
mein revolutionäres Mädchen...
wie für dich mein ganzes Herz voller Leidenschaft ist! –
welche Etwas jenseits von Liebe und Freundschaft ist –
bist du mein Engel?
oder... mein Teufel?
oh, eigentlich bist du beides!
das Leben meines Herzens...
du bist ein Kätzchen und eine Löwin,
auch meine anbetungswürdige Göttin!
die furchtbare, unbesiegbare Kriegerin.
du und ich, wir werden zum Märchen –
eine Ewigkeit mit dir, mein Schätzchen!

von: Dionysos
an: meri jungli billi

“Nothing is beautiful, except man alone: all aesthetics rests upon this naïveté, which is its first truth. Let us immediately add the second: nothing is ugly except the degenerating man — and with this the realm of aesthetic judgment is circumscribed. Physiologically, everything ugly weakens and saddens man. It reminds him of decay, danger, impotence; it actually deprives him of strength. One can measure the effect of the ugly with a dynamometer. Wherever man is depressed at all, he senses the proximity of something ‘ugly.’ His feeling of power, his will to power, his courage, his pride — all fall with the ugly and rise with the beautiful. In both cases we draw an inference: the premises for it are piled up in the greatest abundance in instinct. The ugly is understood as a sign and symptom of degeneration: whatever reminds us in the least of degeneration causes in us the judgment of ‘ugly.’ Every suggestion of exhaustion, of heaviness, of age, of weariness; every kind of lack of freedom, such as cramps, such as paralysis; and above all, the smell, the color, the form of dissolution, of decomposition — even in the ultimate attenuation into a symbol — all evoke the same reaction, the value judgment, ‘ugly.’ A hatred is aroused — but whom does man hate then? There is no doubt: the decline of his type. Here he hates out of the deepest instinct of the species; in this hatred there is a shudder, caution, depth, farsightedness — it is the deepest hatred there is. It is because of this that art is deep.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche,
Twilight of the Idols (§9. 20)

"'true' love", gender binary

spoken like a true liberal

all these clowns who complain about people being lazy can't imagine a different world; in spite of all their revolutionary aesthetics (LARPing), at most they want a slightly different version of the current system to be perpetuated.

leftists who bootlick dictators; leftists who condemn idleness, laziness, anti-work philosophy, etc

"nobody wants to work anymore" vibe fr

I'll worship you, my Beauty,
but not just for your beauty...
but for everything that you are...
my evil Goddess that you are!

For a moment that lasts an eternity,
and an eternity that lasts a moment...

“I take a single case. Schopenhauer speaks of beauty with a melancholy fervor. Why? Because he sees in it a bridge on which one will go farther, or develop a thirst to go farther. Beauty is for him a momentary redemption from the ‘will’ — a lure to eternal redemption. Particularly, he praises beauty as the redeemer from ‘the focal point of the will,’ from sexuality — in beauty he sees the negation of the drive toward procreation. Queer saint! Somebody seems to be contradicting you; I fear it is nature. To what end is there any such thing as beauty in tone, color, fragrance, or rhythmic movement in nature? What is it that beauty evokes? Fortunately, a philosopher contradicts him too. No lesser authority than that of the divine Plato (so Schopenhauer himself calls him) maintains a different proposition: that all beauty incites procreation, that just this is the proprium of its effect, from the most sensual up to the most spiritual.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche,
Twilight of the Idols (§9. 22)

depression, neo-liberalism
(Byung-Chul Han quotes)

“L'art pour l'art. — The fight against purpose in art is always a fight against the moralizing tendency in art, against its subordination to morality. L'art pour l'art means, ‘The devil take morality!’ But even this hostility still betrays the overpowering force of the prejudice. When the purpose of moral preaching and of improving man has been excluded from art, it still does not follow by any means that art is altogether purposeless, aimless, senseless — in short, l'art pour l'art, a worm chewing its own tail. ‘Rather no purpose at all than a moral purpose!’ — that is the talk of mere passion. A psychologist, on the other hand, asks: what does all art do? does it not praise? glorify? choose? prefer? With all this it strengthens or weakens certain valuations. Is this merely a ‘moreover’? an accident? something in which the artist's instinct had no share? Or is it not the very presupposition of the artist's ability? Does his basic instinct aim at art, or rather at the sense of art, at life? at a desirability of life? Art is the great stimulus to life: how could one understand it as purposeless, as aimless, as l'art pour l'art?”

— Friedrich Nietzsche,
Twilight of the Idols (§9. 24)

“One question remains: art also makes apparent much that is ugly, hard, and questionable in life; does it not thereby spoil life for us? And indeed there have been philosophers who attributed this sense to it: ‘liberation from the will’ was what Schopenhauer taught as the overall end of art; and with admiration he found the great utility of tragedy in its ‘evoking resignation.’ But this, as I have already suggested, is the pessimist's perspective and ‘evil eye.’ We must appeal to the artists themselves. What does the tragic artist communicate of himself? Is it not precisely the state without fear in the face of the fearful and questionable that he is showing? This state itself is a great desideratum, whoever knows it, honors it with the greatest honors. He communicates it — must communicate it, provided he is an artist, a genius of communication. Courage and freedom of feeling before a powerful enemy, before a sublime calamity, before a problem that arouses dread — this triumphant state is what the tragic artist chooses, what he glorifies. Before tragedy, what is warlike in our soul celebrates its Saturnalia; whoever is used to suffering, whoever seeks out suffering, the heroic man praises his own being through tragedy — to him alone the tragedian presents this drink of sweetest cruelty.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche,
Twilight of the Idols (§9. 24)

humor, politics

“We no longer have sufficiently high esteem for ourselves when we communicate. Our true experiences are not at all garrulous. They could not communicate themselves even if they tried: they lack the right words. We have already gone beyond whatever we have words for. In all talk there is a grain of contempt. Language, it seems, was invented only for what is average, medium, communicable. By speaking the speaker immediately vulgarizes himself. — Out of a morality for deaf-mutes and other philosophers.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche,
Twilight of the Idols (§9. 26)

yes, it is I who has expropriated it from my dictator girl 🥰
but you have already seized mine from me

You are an Electron,
and I, your Positron.
We are of the same energy...
our union, a beautiful synergy,
though of the opposite charge…
when with each other we merge,
it would be a spectacular surge
of energy, from which would emerge
our 2 γ-photons of very high energy,
a beautiful testament to our lovergy.

If black holes we were,
which also we both are,
we could do the same,
once our love we proclaim, –
which would last an eternity –
through our enormous gravity,
coupled with our insanity
and indeed our inner vitality…
irresistible as we are,
though we now be far,
unity yet we are,
even from afar.

A pair made in cosmos,
and powered by eros, –
Kitty and her Dionysos, –
driven by our deep chaos

like two crazy wild cats,
you and me, my Schatz,
shall we destroy the world, –
since it's so crooked & old –
and create it anew,
so we can continue
our quest for something new,
my Liebling... just me and you

and when it all falls apart,
that would stir our heart,
as we watch it together,
while loving each other,
with your hand in mine,
our bodies all entwin'd.

us

“Critique of the morality of decadence. — An ‘altruistic’ morality — a morality in which self-interest wilts away — remains a bad sign under all circumstances. This is true of individuals; it is particularly true of nations. The best is lacking when self-interest begins to be lacking. Instinctively to choose what is harmful for oneself, to feel attracted by ‘disinterested’ motives, that is virtually the formula of decadence. ‘Not to seek one's own advantage’ — that is merely the moral fig leaf for quite a different, namely, a physiological, state of affairs: ‘I no longer know how to find my own advantage.’ Disintegration of the instincts! Man is finished when he becomes altruistic. Instead of saying naively, ‘I am no longer worth anything,’ the moral lie in the mouth of the decadent says, ‘Nothing is worth anything, life is not worth anything.’ Such a judgment always remains very dangerous, it is contagious: throughout the morbid soil of society it soon proliferates into a tropical vegetation of concepts — now as a religion (Christianity), now as a philosophy (Schopenhauerism). Sometimes the poisonous vegetation which has grown out of such decomposition poisons life itself for millennia with its fumes.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche,
Twilight of the Idols (§9. 35)