The Wanderer

[i]"My Acropolis

And when all is said and done, I’m still contented by life’s simpler pleasures.

I hope for seclusion in a world of my own making, for a quiet sheltering escape behind a walled garden, for a space to call my own… to call my home.

I dream of a private vantage point, a summit of remoteness, from where I can launch into excursions of physical and intellectual foraging into a turbulent, uncertain and often noisy world, and then return, pollen-laden, back to my nest, and digest it all surrounded by waxen serenity and sweet caches; souvenirs from my many impatient journeys.

That Mediterranean house awaits my Odyssean homecoming and makes imaginings swim through me, rekindling a secret desire.
It inspires me, in my quest, and rests me from my weariness - lost, as I am, in an endless stormy sea.
It seduces me…This, my private Ithaca.

Like an Acropolis it sits there, that Mediterranean temple, waiting for its old master to return and reclaim it, waiting for its missing inheritor to repaint its chipping walls, refurnish its desolate interiors, relight its darkened surfaces, bring life back to its empty promise …and finally…forget.

I once cursed that house on that hill, overlooking all those repetitive orchards and that river which cut through their greenery, like a dark scar, and often dwindled into a murky stream, during the summer’s scorching heat.
I damned it to hell for chaining me to its existence, for tempting me, with Circe’s voice, to settle down, for milking away my energies and igniting within me…an aspiration.
I cursed its connection to my past, its nostalgia for what burdened my psyche, its long memory and many tears.
I wanted nothing more to do with these worldly things and these human wars over foreign lust.

Now I nurture that daydreamer’s wish. I fan it into a dancing flame, within me, and enjoy its warming spectacle as I’ve forgiven its many indiscretions and reluctantly embraced its totality, for what it was and is and will, or not, be.

I accept it as the creation of an old romantic who could not let go and whose soul could not heal from the ache of reality, before the end.
And in his name I dream….

I build imaginary gardens on its waiting soils and I design its interiors, with the mind’s omnipotent eye.

Full of bookshelves and carpeted marble, the interior will be. The pastel walls decked with whispering paintings and suggestive mementos.
The fireplace lit, in the winter, filling the room with the gentle light of glowing emerald along with the slight scent of timbered soot emanating from its crackling appetite.
Around it, lush carpeting full of inviting warmth and muffled ease as the wind whistles a bone-chilling tune outside.

In the summer, the patio doors will be flung open to allow the southern sea breezes to flow through and fill it with smells of oregano and salt.

My basic amenities are all there. Modern comforts that have become necessities in time:
A refrigerator filled with delicacies and gastronomic delights, a small stove to prepare them with, cabinets filled with glassware and utensils, useful knickknacks loitering on the surfaces.

In one corner a wooden computer desk, with accompanying machine, waiting for my thoughts during those nights when passions dwindle and the mind makes sense of itself.
Across from it, a televised window into the world will stand, from where humankind will reach me without touching me.

On the veranda, overlooking the farmlands and with Laconikos Kolpos shining under the sunshine in the distance, a plain table with matching chairs will be, where I’ll take my evening meals as the sun drops behind Tauetos, tinting the sky with red, or where I’ll sip my morning coffee as it rises from behind Parnonas with the golden explosion of a new day.

And there, around its perimeter fence, I will plant ivy, and every sort of creeping plant and shrub, to create a living boundary between my inner sanctuary and the outside world; a barrier of foliage to mark out my little paradise, my parcel of existence, my imitation of Eden.

Inside the fence, above the northern wall, where my mother once stretched her wash to dry, a few rows of lemon, orange and grapefruit trees, with a few olives in the mix, where I will plant tomatoes and cucumbers and green peas and watermelons, when they are in season, and all kinds of different vegetables, perennials and fruit plants, at their base, and I will garnish their perimeter with flowers to complete the aesthetic scene.
There, during the day, I will trim and pamper and stimulate them into fruition. And I will marvel at their cycled creativity and thank them for their sweet gifts.

Below the northern wall, I will plant a row of grapevines and knit them into thick canopies to cast a shade over the concrete driveway, just like my father dreamed of doing, and wait for their bounty to savor the sun’s joy from beneath the cooling cover, and toast the gods in his name.

On the western side, I will build a small chicken coop with cages for rabbits, ducks and turkeys and all kinds of domesticated beasts, which I will harvest for my sustenance and enjoy their antics and personalities as they roam free within my enclosure.

On the eastern side, facing the road, rows of flowers and an assortment of budding plants to ease my eyes, fill my soul with wonderment and my breath with joy.

And I will invite a few friends over after sunset, from time to time, when I am done with my daily chores and I have washed the grime from my fingernails, for dinner and a quiet communion, sharing bread and red wine for our sacrament.
I will serve them my own produce, sweet and pure, and feed them my own assortment of viands, fresh and clean, harvested with my own two hands and nurtured with my own labors.

And I will listen to them speak of everyday things, as if they were imbued with infinite meanings and transcending purposes, and enjoy the simplicity of it, the reassuring ease of it all.
And I will eavesdrop on their hopes and fears and comfort them with my selected words and delight in their talents and distinctness.
And if the mood arises, music will echo from my summit and my voice will rise to greet eternity under the starlit darkness, no more in resistance but now with a harmonic submission to its flow.

But these seas have unseen currents and some dreams are better left unrealized.
The boat creaks, the sails are torn and the weather threatens to cast me against Polyphemus’ island.

Yet, still……I dream."[/i]

written by Satyr… and there is more at:

Please go to this site and read what this man has to share. I find it so beautiful.


In seeking out my essence I’ve often peeled away each layer of my Being and held it up before my minds-eye for closer inspection, like an onion skin.
The realization that not one, on its own, could totally define what I am has been disconcerting, to say the least.

I am thought and I am instinct, I am gender and I am race, I am social status and spiritual essence, I am national and I am cultural, I am product and producer, I am my job and I am my heritage, I am personality and I am property, I am physical and I am mind - I am all these things and many more in unison, yet none in particular.

These layers I wear like garments against infinite possibility, their interacting influence becomes the premise out of which ‘I’ arise.
They cannot be denied as being determining - some creating the limitations of my Becoming, to various degrees, some guiding me with their labels - but they cannot adequately explain me.
They merely create my premises and designate my potentials.

So I dig deeper still, in the hope of finding something more substantial, something – anything - that can define what I am.
I go all the way down to where the layers become smaller and more tightly packed; down beneath ego and thought, where naked Need dwells closest to my center than I would like to admit.
Here I pause, uncertain, before I strip each Need away cautiously, in turn, and see now that all my preceding surfaces were but reflections of these inner skins - each Need becoming the premise for an outward persona.

But I remain unsatisfied by my discovery, the very Need which forces me deeper I leave behind in my quest for a core of purity.
I must look behind it too, if I am to remain true to my quest.

And there beneath it all, beneath the pretence and the acting, beneath my natural and social manifestations, beneath my Needs themselves, I am confronted with a simple and disturbing truth: Nothingness - an empty space at my core.
I am nothing but these Needs out of which my many public personas arise, as a method, a strategy of fulfilling them.
These Needs not only define me but they distract me from discovering what I am.

My mind riles against its own realization, it seeks out a different answer within the preceding stratums of self, a persona which could suffice for a lifelong commitment.
If it finds solace there, amongst its superficial appearances and if it becomes motivated by its own terror it will settle there, into a public role, as if it were enough, as if this alone were its true-being.
It will play its part, as it is expected by the many others, and save itself from insanity and from the terror of self-realization.

If it cannot, it will lunge outwards into the external unknown seeking itself out there amongst the material world of representation or behind the curtains of the unknown; it will find identity in objects or in the reflections of itself upon alien surfaces, or it will submit to dread and imagine a higher Self, whose image and substance is its own.

But I cannot deny my own awareness for long without succumbing to the very Needs that produced my superficiality.
Despair grips my thoughts, a deep longing for more than just this. I give my mind to it, allowing it to wash over my delusions.
I try to accept my own insubstantiality and grapple with the loss.

And there, through my emotional haze, behind my needful nature, I sense the release loss offers; the liberty of accepting the emptiness for what it is, the possibility gained through the nothingness.

This despair must be what freedom feels like – the spirit unfastening itself from its material manifestations, soaring above its own necessity.
For through that vacuous core I am liberated from all definitions, but not for long.
Need grabs me again and pulls me into my skins.

If I am merely animated Need, as the closest encompassing foundation of my emptiness, and if all other definitions are but manifestations of this insufferable desire to find essence, then I will decide which Need will be placed first and which will be placed last, constructing myself anew around the same inner void.

There I choose to place no other than this, the very driving force of my starting exploration, the very motive behind my Need to become master of my self; there I place this very obsession with self-determination.

This digging for Identity is what constitutes my Dignity.[/i]

I have a secret. I read this blog every day. It has changed me. It has helped me to grow; to think. To become more aware of who I am and why I am here; what moves me, my joy, and my anger. You may not agree with all of it, but, please take some time to read it.

a clapping emoticon is simply not enough

[size=67]De BaStrdz GoTt sUM rEaL nIcE ShiTz![/size]
Even reading this thread took me a while…

ah, but Dan… you mustn’t read it just once.

By the way, you can buy it at




1- More alcohol, less talk. More alcohol, more talk.

2- Wear more color. Continue wearing black.

3- Leave stupidity complaining take its natural course. Hypocrisy Life is a gift.

4- Spandex. God, yes

5- Chew my food more before swallowing. Eat slower.

6- Smile more. Think less. Smile less, think more.

7- Frequent bowel movements urination. Walk on the wild side and drink tap, not Evian.

8- Pretend 2005 never happened. Remember every moment clearly.

9- Indifference. Make a difference.

10- Treat people the way they beg to be treated. Just make the bastards beg.

11- More victims, less martyrs. More good deeds, less prayers for good deeds.

12- Learn how and when to keep my mouth shut. Learn how and when to keep my mouth shut.

13- Become “normal”: Laugh, when crying is appropriate. Cry, when laughing is appropriate. Never become normal. NEVER.

14- Allow for the unpredictable. Be more pragmatic. Be less impulsive. Consider taking the trash out.

15- Feign interest when boredom takes its hold. Be less bored when alone.

16- Live. Live.

17- Expect nothing, demand much. Expect nothing, demand nothing.

18- Daydream more. Yes. And make it feel really good.

19- Vengeance through example. Never hold a grudge.

20- Breath. Breathe one long, hard deep breath before forgetting how.

Additional resolutions:

(Satyr, please add your own)

  1. I will always turn off my msn messenger when I am finished chatting for fear of copied and damaging evidence presented in a future court proceeding.

  2. I will sleep outside at least two nights a week when the weather permits.

  3. I will read for 1 1/2 hours a day.

  4. I will read literature at least once a week.

  5. I will put the portable phone back on its charger (notice the word its, JT)

  6. I will not argue with anyone in my band about their punctuality. I will simply arrive too late far too often —> as Satyr says, “vengeance through example”.

(I will add more as I think of them. Feel free to add your own.)

more from the Wanderer:

[i]Human Lucidity
Here are the levels of human lucidity as I perceive them.

LEVEL 1-Individuality-Specificity-Superficiality-Materialism-Ego-Self-I-Gender-Love/Hate-Isolation-Uniqueness-Selfishness-Logic/Reason- =Slave

LEVEL2-Culture-Society-Religion-Tribalism-Uniformity-Conformity-Instinct-Reality-Us-Nationalism-Racism-Evil/Good-Generality-Consumerism- Social/Economic Ambition-Selflessness-Morality/Ethics-Law-Procreation =Master Slave

LEVEL3-Nature-Universe-Spirituality-Wholeness-Unity-Intuition-Completeness-Multiplicity-Spirit = Master[/i] (Bess adds: selflessness, tolerance, patience, kindness, nurturing, self love, self knowledge. lover of life, humor/happiness/joy,)

LEVEL4-Transcendence-Immortality-Timelessness-Perfection-Symmetry-Beauty= God

Search your hearts for where you really are within these levels. I consider myself a level 3 - master, but am going for the gold - I mean the God.

It’s the least I can do

27- Be more patient with stupidity
28- Master controlled retardation.
29- Enjoy ascetic suffering.
30- Love myself less.
31- Try to read less than 3 hours a day.
32- Dance.
33- Be aware of beauty.
34- Seek out quality over quantity.
35- Learn to master my contentment.
36- Learn to master my discontentment.
37- Be still, more often.

“Normal” is about as good as “natural”, and the final goal is to return to the forest and run around naked eating squirrels and mushrooms. :laughing:

ok, here is my general resolutions:

1- Slay the demon of indifference with a caring blade that cuts through false peace, then resurrect it all under my control.

2- Heal damage through the momentary pain of understanding evil and allow [some of] my dreams to die for the sake of efficiency.

3- Stop loosing faith in the eternal future for so many humans on earth including myself.

4- Attain level four psytrogation and qwn Buddha (lol)
level1 = periodic psytrogation.
level2 = enthused psytrogation.
level3 = patient psytrogation.
level4 = consistent psytrogation.

5- Become the… (wait thats too private)

Thee seeks mere balance and a better future?
All we ever wanted was to live and not die, was that too much to ask!?
…but that “controlled retardation” thing sounds aswome! :D/
woooop wop wop wop wop.

While God of one, thee be slave to another.
Finaly if thee does die, thee realizes no justice present.
I never said: “Ok i wanna be born a mortal human.”
And i can only “say” because a mouth has been giving me.
:confused: … shit…


Bessy, I agree with you that Satyr is an interesting writer, but I thought you were grown enough to realize he hasn’t “found out” anything you couldn’t find out by yourself. Oce there aren’t “original” thinkers, there aren’t also “original” thoughts…nothing we can say wasn’t said by other people before, even if the words were different.

Satyr is not so original as he could or should be, most of his thoughts are simply a repetition of what was said thousand years ago by some ancient thinkers and some decades ago by Cioran. The words change, the “essence” is the same.

Don’t make an idol of anyone…that’s human enough. Meanwhile, I’d take a look at his book with a lot of pleasure. But I would read it with the same skepticism I read Nietzsche, the Bible and Jean-Marie Guehénno (La fin de la Democratie)

and “happy new year” to you.

Ah, but I don’t idolize anyone here, except for myself, of course. Hey, I got you to read it, didn’t I?

Mission accomplished.

(maybe I AM Satyr. This is, after all… the bloody internet.)[/size]

Say it ain’t so, Bessy ….say it ain’t so.
What about my cult?

It is fascinating when some use the old “you are not unique” angle to deal with a perceived threat and their own insecurities in relation to it.
A very human strategy.

But I never claimed to be “unique”. I don’t think uniqueness is possible in the way many speak about it.

Ideas (memes) are prone to the same evolutionary forces as genes are.
In evolution a genetic general type is replicated, over and over and over again, each time with a slight divergence from the one before. These slight differences, if they offer an advantage within a particular environment flourish and become the new ‘general genetic type’ which is then repeated over and over and over again.
Change in the universe happens slowly.

Same goes for ideas.
Ideas are repeated, over and over and over again, each time with a slight difference in style or a slight divergence. If the difference offers an environmental advantage it becomes established.

In a world of 6 billion, with many more billions that have come and gone before us, it is strange to speak about ‘uniqueness’.
No thinker or philosopher or scientist has ever proposed anything that was not influenced or guided by someone else before him.

All we can do is offer our own personal perspective, our own individual journey through life.

ALL humans are unique and we all have something wonderful to share. Read My Acropolis


bowing to the cult-master

There has been a bit of a lull over there with 759. I will do something fabulous to kick it up, master.

“I sit here mesmerized under the influence of harmony, tears welling up in my eyes and wondering if it is, at all, possible to capture the moment with a sentence.”

—>Know Thyself<----

I wrote that… :^o

Thanks….my child.

So, I guess you didn’t like my ‘Postcards from Purgatory’.
A bit too harsh?

We are unique and we are at the same time equal to eveyone. We are absolutely alone and at the same time we are never really alone. Satyr is a genius and at the same time a complete stupid. He is absolutely right and at the same time absolutely wrong. Isn’t my “vision” more reasonable than yours? I’ve become more humble recently…

can you see why these guys here are never tired of discussing the same subjects as if they were “new” subjects? They don’t accept the “answers” they want don’t really exist, not in the way they would like…nothing to do with Satyr’s thoughts, I know, but what can I do…

O’ father of darkness,

I have collected my profound thoughts on yon hard drive not yielding to my temptation of uttering a mere… “I liked it”.

Patience, O’ Wandering One of Blackest Despair.