Misinterpreting Nietzsche

Very often, as often as we often do, we take a few lines (out of context) and we dare to commit the blunder of maligning the very nature of the person who spoke by highlighting the parts sans understanding the whole.

Friedrick Nietzsche, said to be a devil, an anti-Christ, a wicked man who was supposed to have said, "God is dead" actually did not say (just) that; yet if people had (only) read the whole, would have perhaps understood that he said just the opposite of what we remember him for. Here are the infamous lines that made him famous...

Said Friedrick Nietzsche, “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?” 

which is not the same as "God is dead." or is it?!

One more misunderstood person manipulated in History by a maligned lot.

The Isolation Chamber

The history behind this actuating, rusting, rotten metal sheath is that this is through which you would have been fed just enough to keep you alive if you were a brown Man caught fighting for freedom. It was hard not to feel the pain while there thinking that when thrown into one such cell, the movement of this solid iron piece was the only thing one could see or hear besides one's very own movement (if any) as the rest of the people roamed outside, shamelessly unmindful of their slave-like condition, living a life as ever-obedient slaves to their masters and traitors to their very own. 

Looking from where I stand today, I realize that this dreamy freedom that some of our so called "brown dogs" got us in exchange for their lives they gave up with a smile when the last tight noose smeared with shrapnel tightened around their hearts, they perhaps hoped that we and the generations to follow, might be able to experience the joy of such a freedom they could only dream of then.

If we peruse on those lines, that dream of theirs was better than the reality today. The aliens who were here to mine our wealth in the name of a company, are back and this time, from several quarters and cleverly disguised, to mine our poverty in the name of corporate, multinational companies and other foreign and international organizations and institutions to capitalize and optimize on our vulnerability-the basis on which MoUs and contracts are signed. These are neo-capitalists, who see us nothing more than a Return on Investment (RoI) and our lives, our communities and the problems we deal with as their Unique Selling Point (USP) to reap, pack and sell outside our borders to nurture profits and dividends back in their homes out of which a portion found fitting for us to keep us alive is thrown at us for which we are busy fighting among ourselves to take a grab of the morsel. Oh! didn't they know well and perhaps too well that when divided, they rule?!...

We are being silently and systematically plundered, ruined and tagged and we are carrying these imprints yet it is not such a rarity that these isolation chambers are what many walk into these days willfully and voluntarily giving up pride, respect and dignity which some of our earlier brown dogs refused to exchange for the rationed morsels of life thrown at them. Slaves, traitors and betrayers still live on and long amongst us. Yet it moves...

This Is Sexy

People who write regularly sometimes say that they reach a point in writing when they cannot get anything out, cannot write any more, atleast temporarily; this is what they call 'the writer's block'. To overcome this they say you have to have a muse; a muse is someone who springs lust within, lust that makes you chase, the chase that inspires creativity, an inspiration that lasts only till it ends in sex; once the muse is attained like in the case of sex, it ceases to be a muse too.
Recently I could not write. This had nothing to do with a writer's block nor did I need a muse, atleast at this moment. I often ensure not to invest time in anything that does not affect me... "if something does not affect you it is not worth going through" I always say. Yet, this that I saw was a little too much to digest. I saw the war crimes caught on tape from the island nation submitted to the UN and other agencies that promise justice for the victims. Victims, people with skin, bones, heart, mind and soul, just like everyone else; it easily could have been you and me, had we born there and spoke the language for which they underwent this torture. Women being killed, stripped and their naked bodies teased... in the same order; children screaming from bunkers unable to reach the bombed bodies of their parents lying right in front of them fearing the awaiting bomber above them; girls raped along with their mother; people paraded naked, blindfolded and then shot point blank; lifeless bodies of children and mothers swamped in blood carrying them crying helplessly, asking, "what did these children do?"; unanswered, some old people already suffering the mercilessness of time being ripped to pieces, torn and bleeding, hardly whimpering nevertheless cry; truckloads of bodies heaped and to get more space stamped to crush them to make way for more space to crush in further more bodies; all this happening as the military who commit these acts against unarmed people cover these acts in their mobile phone cameras with laughter and a sense of pride.
The international community is quiet. Quiet just like me because it did not happen at my door step and thanks to the remote control and choice of channels, switching to a song and dance sequence is easy and healthier. These people, the victims of war and crime, in the mean time will be quiet, too weak to cry any more; hurt beyond repair, lifeless and voiceless. After water reaches your nose, why bother if it reaches your eye or covers you whole?!
Now, would anyone bother to read this post if it had been titled any different? Its hard to write when some things affect you beyond repair and it feels like being killed under water, with mouth closed shut, unable to scream, with no one to hear even if I did. Now the buck stops there even with me! Such unworthy, self-obsessed, selfish bastards we all are.

p.c: http://www.ashleyb.org/archives/001437.html

The Shortest Telegraph In History

The shortest telegraph sent so far sounded quite smart and assertive... the Spartans were sons of war; born tough and rough. Once while a rival conqueror was in his mad pursuit, a messenger was sent to the Spartan King to scare them to their bones and weaken their spirit in a telegraphic language that read, "If we march into the boundaries of Sparta, your wives will become widows, your children will be orphaned and your land brought to dust." Now, the Spartans were not just brawn alone they had the brain to go with it. Soon the rival conqueror saw his messenger bring back a reply from the Spartan King and to his surprize found the same telegraph he had sent earlier brought back to him with the word "If" duly underlined.

Thus the shortest reply in history which read more than what was said. If only we learn to speak less!

p.c: http://doitlikeadude.wordpress.com/2011/01/24/are-you-more-tough-guy-or-spartan-warrior/