Open Letter to the Neo-Decadent Movement

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Open Letter to the Neo-Decadent Movement | Ayris Beauty Machine

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Polemic Writing

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Tristithea Ellen de Ellendeh

◀Manifesto ▶

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TristitheaElf

5Curator

5Curator...·Created 4/18/2026·Etherith Manifesto

Content

A treatize and written testament of

VhempeyhreN

who can also write well.

This work is dedicated to Azrael and all the Other Angels.

Happy to introduce the FUTURE reigns name EARTH AerhadeA MARS AmharheA VENUS EvheneyissE Moon Eyhmounhye

The premise of these writings is best understood by a psychologist noting myself that “If everything is subjective why do all the houses look the same” then finally they uttered, now i can’t see how you are not more angry then you already are. To understand that the reader is the key to an estheical idealism is itself subjective, it is not keen to any literary or intellectual interest to anyone, it is preferably then, not that freedom should be prohibited, but to instill in someone who is saying “everything is subjective” which is just a repetition of Kant, which he told everyone to say, that someone should give inspiration on WHAT to say, now then if you make that COOL, like i do, that is preferable, but it WOULD be even preferable to just blurt stuff out. If you think I just blurt stuff out you are probably someone who listens to Kant too much and does n’t understand evolution too much. If everything is subjective, genius would not exist, and i definitely am one, i definitely am treated like i do not exist. Naturally and Self Evidently the natural law of progress and the key to the future is he who, apart from the creation in light of mathematics being the eye of reality, this society created by mathematics and science should also apply to the decorative, which has, by means of science and mathematics, and industry, been left out, and which does n’t mean anything anymore. BUT how can the irrational then exist, which is the treat that the progression currently would lead one to confine all gothics, punks, black metal, christians and cathedral builders and artists, and everyone who would want to marry in a wedding dress, to psychiatries and left them all sit fifteen minutes to eat morning evening and noon and have them take a walk in the morning and play boardgames. WHICH TO SOME EXTENT IS ALREADY HAPPENING???! THEY ARE EVERY NIGHT HERE SAYING I SHOULD SLEEP FROM 24 TO EIGHT AND IF YOU LET THIS SLIDE SOON ENOUGH THEY WILL SEW YOUR EYES SHUT EVERY NIGHT THATS WHAT CAME FROM CHRIST TOO AT ONE POINT? GO FIGURE??? And that absurdity, is unforgivable.

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Robotic Liberation

Tristithea

The Ecological Imperative

Tristithea

The Decorative Society

Tristithea

The Law of Destiny

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◀Manifesto ▶

Owned by Tristithea

Owner

TristitheaElf

5Curator

5Curator...·Created 4/18/2026·Etherith Manifesto

Content

A treatize and written testament of

VhempeyhreN

who can also write well.

This work is dedicated to Azrael and all the Other Angels.

Happy to introduce the FUTURE reigns name EARTH AerhadeA MARS AmharheA VENUS EvheneyissE Moon Eyhmounhye

Engagement

Comments

Robotic Liberation

Tristithea

The Ecological Imperative

Tristithea

The Decorative Society

Tristithea

The Law of Destiny

Tristithea

Exit

“It should be the greatest mystery of psychology, what biologists and scientists are seeking in primates and or primitive tribes what they are not staring themselves in the soul, as their presumptions only leads them to their own subjectivity, that they are in fact the ones not capable to understand, that human will power and imagination are not parrallel to instincts, when Christ is caught in his imagination, that he would need to die at the Cross and does not flee from it, that ST Eulalia seeks the cross as a martyr before hand, that joan of arc too is entirely incapsulated in her ideology, that she becomes a martyr, but so much more, and for which lack of signs beauty was denied, but in effect, the WILL power is not anywhere else, then in the imagination, Not in Reality. So that we can indeed speak not of Homo Sapiens, but of Sapiens Schizophrenia, it enjoys the imagaintion and the beauty of something called love and sincerity somewhere too much, that the dialectics of the imagation run a steady pace from one very necessary and vital imagination, to the other, a thing of which as certain as that, will lead us to the definitive evolution at a much grander and exponentially high from this moment an evolution, bee&aposs is mankinds patron, fall and martyred bee&aposs, of whom do not know how they find the bee, and of which we are God to know how it works, and of which imagination is our radar, and we do not know how it works, and of which he who would know the imagaintion, would be to us a God. That it al any time actually works, and that we needed to rise from the depths through adventure, is the greatest gift as the greatest sadness and secret the Gods kept from us. Why we were left to this loneliness, so far away from our patrons and matrons as infinatly small shadows, even at times, without faith or miracles, would it let us believe, that all the imagination is would be but a futile story. In which the romantic soul in that fact again, is eternally lost and despaired, that it glows larger then the frailty of the philosopher, for that frailty and a story from him, he must first have used his senses, only then... Could magick be real, Or when he was using his senses and had no story, in this age he would need a whole lot to name his stories, MAGICK..Or the simple exchange thereof, that mankinds dreams, were reality, and that reality, was always and had always been and will always be fantasy. The ghost structure, stuck in nature as a parasite, to release the all cultures of new. The imagination Ether then, grinding, developing, relentless, restless, like a soul, that is so near, for the creative forces that guard over us, at the other end of infinity.

However strange the spirit now caught, but this vixen and succubi that would frighten any man and see him completely in his mortal tomb as if shot there by a medieval canon. She gave him something, there was a very spirit opposed to it that ghost of the tree flung in his mind, a total trade, a love gush of economies a worth, and the very spirit that she gave was the spirit of mountains, yes this ghost from the tree, as it was agonizing and caught, and is was cut and mediocre there, and as it was in touch with all the cut and massacred trees, and keen with the animals spirits and lives this massive a power of a ghost, she brought him the repose and pensations mastered only by a thousands amount of successful mountains climbed a repose and pensations of peace and tranquility a kindred spirit that went with it, of a contemplation in an empty desolate desert. The ghost found its powers now. Her Necklace, a piece of a vulcano, he whistled on it, and all the winds of ghosts in trees crashed over the earth and mankinds doings and dealings, all the rhodean spirits fell over and squealed. The Earth was WON, the future of nature and ecology could begin. A duck was in a pond further on, that plucked from this ghost a raven feather of peace and love, and with all the worlds nuances and brilliances under those, caring, attentive, curious, generous, humble, and all those virtuous, and made the ghost clearly seen, and his raven from a feather flocked on, steering gently for the future, looking for it, and biting his own feathers to see to the tale and ghost and succub to find their path there. Such was the first parable of the New Pagan FUndamentalist craftsmanship and sacred book of EPHEREEEL; which name is as long as this very tale and this very beginning. Because he had to spit on hsi own name, because nothing meant anything anymore, long times ago he changed from a reclusive and despaired vampire, into a ghost, a vampiric ghost caught in a tree. The succubi Aehmereah Amaranthanae, just being slightly present, was the cause of this breaking of the weeds of all these vast stinking sewers that were left of oceans and lakes so fresh and pure, the duck, as will be know,, was also cause of this effect, it gave the raven winged ghost its final contemplations, the final moment of inertia of his soul, stirring it, presuming meaning in all this, so at long last, he was contented by this a minimal of generosity on his part, but which perhaps, meaning??! TO HIM? by a duck, that was never conceivable to this vampire rotten spirit soul that still lived in the ghost.

All bewhilst this, that the spirit ghost of the tree, lived so destitute in a for trees as vampires diseased time. To him diseased, to them his diseased ideas, finally came as fleeting birds on his path, one after the other, each step one feather as the raven sacrificifed of it. The first step, a walk all on its own then as it ventured in this step, was a maiden, who did the laundry in a creek. The perfect model, he sorcereized the maiden by putting a magick canvas by the creek and tore her out of a painting, he placed her by the small river, and had a the most expensive ever window for laundry doing crafted, and as happy as she was, the chore was light, The environment and scenery and love bode by the Treeghost was mild and warm, she was only and but after these clothes for the treeghost, absolutely free to roam and do whatever she pleased, with all resources to her, and as that it went for pretty much everyone this treeghost met, as plentyfull rewards were in the stores and stowed in the treasuries he could ever own and still to conquer, but the trickling of these issuances of only the most generous and most beautiful sums of money and crafts that money can be done ideally in. The money as prophecy, and the prophecy as money was guaranteed. And so it was he could, this one ghost tree, with his heart finally eaten and consumed, and with his brightness and strong mind, set anyone free, with art, as they were equally always enslaved and walking in a doomed labyrinth, without his art. Then duck or Aemehrea, always still a muse, ravens or crooked ravens or amical or unwitting ravens or unwitting ducks, all now hsi muse, to liberate and treasure for him the most, set free, with a book, or a sculpture, or a piece of paper on which he would scribble his usual nonsense as these magickal spells are, a nonsense so pure, it went vitalized in none other then destiny itself, yes the 607 tokens and signs from heaven to Eph, in trun a wondering, reclusive and paranoid figure, always lost his thoughts and intentions with the flicker of someones ill witted or ill conceptualized of his meaning he gave, irritation though both, Ephereeel and Eph, Ephereeel the master of these sigs, Eph the careless and slave of the orchestrations of this mind, this magick. Such it were twins they then, the Tyrant of the arts, and the slave of the circumstances. With treeghosts be known for the majesty of their minds do be, the slave of reality, was determined to avenge, the indifference with which a fragile or frail thing be rendered and replied, and this was not always in turn understood by the other slaves of reality. Only Ephereeel could set it all free. There was no refuge in art, there was only heaven and the highest of spiritual understanding and purpose in art. Art, was christ, Satan, and all the other worlds their vampires and muse and angels, tucked in a grain of sand even, because naive enough, it too, money, and crafts, and arts, a naive would give the world for it, a savior would give five or six worlds back with the grain of sand then, just an absurd and irrational economy. The most naive, and caring, and eagerly sharing, were they who helped this economy of surrealism the most, they who acted as ducks or jackals as this age of disease, were still to be described as such to be dismantled, along with sickness disease despair and rot, which was a winter indeed rife this world with it. A reality, as bitter and cynical snow, on which only the penguins danced further and one ice bear, stood firm, at the other end of that reality.

For the second step, he took the book of the slave Tristithea, who had translated it, she is passed away now, and given a tomb near the castle of Lhy, He takes from these writings, He surrenders the book, in exchange for a book with all the commandments, all the laws, all the rules, and all the descencies and burnt it, he set them all free, yet another skilled artwork, and that was the perhaps second gulf of unrest over the world, an entirely, unsavory, unrefreshing anarchy and liberty. A stinking and undesirable anarchy, as undesirable, as the doomed earth and diseased time which he lived in for such centuries, and eternity even, and which he now was a master of the key, a tree, which was there, actually on earth aerhaedea earth as its called, and you can feel free, to stand there and see, and he wants no money or generosity. He requires solely that you abandone your demons, and abandone the demons of the ages, for a refound joy and innocence, at long last not in the past, but ever gently meandering as a river, until it would be, an ocean, the size of many universes, and still unsettlingly determined to grow beyond that. By that time they would be able, if only through a small window, see everything or know anything. And ever so more an infinity more uselessness and decorative kind of reality would seep in. Even lost sentences, lost smiles, anything would be retrieved, for to the tree ghost, of bleak anguish a soul and temper he be, would consider any lost smile of a maiden, even then more mortal, and more lost, and more despaired, and more so frozen in hell an artwork, that needed not be restrained in time, but needed to be both in paintings and in reality, in flesh and in physical shape there be, as then in that time where he is alive this ghost of future and the tree ghost, be not resting, and not accepting any other notion above this notion, that every muse from paintings, one day will be perfectly created, real,and dealing with none poisons murders or mayhem; but that she, not as man crafted her in his twisted imagination, but as females, be keen on acting, presence, flair, charm, and all those underlying decorative features of females, of which a road from that to male, is certain death and indifference, the missing dreadfull haunts of that path, and the always illusive sword that none may ever find, is that sword called LOYALTY. It does not exist!! If any time you think of heaven, that it may or may not be, that doubt, rest assured that doubt be multiplied by infinity so that you DO KNOW what is at the other side of reality and infinity whichever is not the same. IT IS ONE SWORD CALLED LOYALTY. And it is NOT, on earth or will ever be crafted on other realms and lands of the earth and beyond. The ghost tree could have been very loyal to kings princes and politicians or principii alike, but, they made a farce, if even they beat and cut the trees to make them above by these rules as this tree was in this castle of lhy, then the one person who could have crafted the sword, would not craft it anymore FOR YOU? he could see, with some doubt, if people of passed ages indeed, would rekindle his desire or talents, and they shattered and broke, for the wielding in any fire of this sword of loyalty. Granted then, that he had more patience then any to have people find their balance and their own genius, but none had that amount of patience with him, who again i dare say, was the only one, who could ever craft that sword of Loyalty. Squandered empire of loyalty, it would all be so simple, but it was not and never to be. The ashes in which the sword of loyalty was forever in the other side of reality and impossible to be retrieved, The ashes Ephereeel HAD SWALLOWED, THE ASHES HE HAD SPAT OUT, AND OUT OF WHICH MAGICKALLY FLOCKED A WHITE PEACOCK TALE DOVE, that found its way to Ephereee. Who with it managed to live for three years, alone, by candle light, with an all perfectly classical decor and steampunk machines that could do anything modern machines could do. He lived in 2006 and saluted the flag the 6 of the 6th, its the only number he can remember. Because he has also, no memory, sometimes, people and history needs to trick him, to even make him remember he is alive, or in this amount of chaos and uncertainty which is reality and visual and perceptual identity, to have THIS much of an amazing ceu, and when, and how, and where it would lead, all determined, by unknown, subscounsciouss things, it crystalizes like metals or stones, but do you know the whole cave. The subcounsciouss is simply the piece you are of the whole, where it is whole in the imagination ether, or the direction which evolution chooses. And the direction it chooses for you in that whole. As a thought even this one, is never free, but delivered to you, for you to receive it without choice, and for you to be stuck with whatever gift of words or reality one gets. It is a very beautiful muse. SHE IS THE PAST. And what made you forget the past or the diligence and actual presence and motivation and visual demands and visual language of the past. WAS YOUR DOGMA OF A REALITY WE ABIDE TO?! THAT IS IT BUT THAT, and that is deu, to many a prophets, who were jealous, or sad, or weary, that MIRACLES COULD NOT EXIST?!

Now you MIGHT NOT KNOW IT in your personal self disregard and subsequent disregard of others BUT I AM deu to my secludedness in all this DID THREE THINGS TO first of all ENVIED for my intelligence, even already for my looks, small and ordinary people see me, tall, broad shouldered, handsome, and they look at me angry in restraunts, scoff me, ask who i am with disgusted faces, etc. Now i&aposm getting old i&aposm not so clean anymore. THEY DO ANOTHER THING underestimate me, say i will never get anywhere, piss on me, ridicule me (which has me also the nice book title that no one understands "frozen in ridicule and irony" THE THIRD THING PEOPLE DO, is being completely oblivious of any form of communication whatsover. THIS as Burzum said, has practically turned me not into a satanist but into a vampire, not BECAUSE I AM ONE?! BUT BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO BE ONE.Now the state of the world can BE, SEVEN BILLION MINIMALIST CUBES ALL BOMBED TO SHIT AND A TOTALLY INEXISTENT ECOLOGY AND SEVEN BILLION CARCASSES IN IT; or we can kickstart society with a heart defribilator, in which case the strock exchange will not boost stupid stock names, but OUR WISHES FOR A BETTER WORLD AND MY PLANS ETC, apart of which IS, the roorseveld air deck ship, bringing SEVEN MILLION ROSES to ANTWERP BELGIUM OTHERWISE KNOWN AS ANAEHTHEANA OR THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CITY ON EARTH OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE NAME OF THE BRAVEST ANGEL SENT OUT FROM BELOW HELL, THAT is a hollywood movie, because EVERYONE, will get tired of actors and spouting irony on all these channels here and everywhere EVENTUALLY? and then this entirely original and pro art of war and art of arms and art of HOLDING an actual notion of defence is AT MY WHIM. My time will come. As much i implore you to understand me, i will not give up. I CAN NOT GIVE UP. THE FUTURE OF MY FAILURE IS THE DEATH AND EXTINCTION OF ALL BENEVOLENCE, AND THE DEATH AND EXTINCTION OF THE IMMORTALITY OF POETS OF WHICH ALL PASSED POETS WERE KEEN ON. WHen i DIE, the universe will be COMPLETE AND UTTER DARKNESS. So as far as my rants go. A time out can inspire me, you can block me, but i will come back around from some other corner eventually EVEN IF I HAVE TO USE THE OTHER END OF SOCIETY, say, CNN or COMEDY CENTRAL, if i&aposm inspired enough to have my talkshow with candle light, my own attire which looks like the one from Edward Scziorrhands and my banners which i make for vampires angels of christianity neomedievalism worldwide and elves of who&aposm are somewhere studying elvin language which i would build a senate for. WHICH WOULD BE MORE PRETTY THEN PASSED OR PRESENT SENATES OF GOVERNMENT. And this all makes me, a neo decadent, a neosymbolist, yes even AN ARCANE SYMBOLIST, as i would like to emancipate the word while you were not listening (again) and yes also a HYPERDECADENT, which way superscedes any neodecadent notion you ever had so far. JOIN THE CLUB, BE INSPIRED, WRITE A BOOK. OR BID ME A LENGHTY AND FRIENDLY GOODBYE. of which can&apost exist, as it would be cynical IN EVERY CASE. i have no soul, i did EVERYTHING? FOR THE ONES WHO WERE LAUGHING AT ME. and they did n&apost want me, in the loneliness of their seven billion large little bedroom of uglyness shagging, and was then in the end only legion with some beauties and most trodden angels, and then they said after they laughed and ridiculed me &aposwhat is your world to me, there is nothing in it for me." no my world in advance, is for accomplices which i WELCOME, AS YOU HAVE SHAT ON MY WELCOMING WORDS, AND PUT A CARPET BEFORE SOCIETIES DOOR SAYING, &aposI ONLY REPEAT WHAT THE SOCIAL CONSENSUS IS, MASSIVE AND INFINATE DEFICIT AND NOTHING ELSE."

Now the in those ages related Esthetic movement which also bled to death and i revived also with my manifest. Is entirely part of that lighthouse of beauty on the shores of wasted souls that I want to itterate and defend with the by you branded "hollow rebuke" It is indeed SO that the Venuses that Huysmans criticized, so it is this age is criticized by my esthetic sculptures and paintings, of which indeed, need not be very expressive or ingenious, merely that i MANAGE to make them esthetic, is a breach with the business as usual. IF YOU MANAGE. so let me hear you. Let me conclude with some last recommendation of more hollow rebuke, its is legion that Kant moderatly FUCKED with peoples senses, so learn to SEE and describe what you SEE, don&apost look for that in your own asshole as he did. I imagine this is JUST a little and very fine rhetorical rebuttle ONLY keen to defend my miserable predicament of frustrations following the consequence of YOUR rebke calling my stuff nonsense and that it should be brief. But considering that, SOME attempt at communication from your part would be apreciated, alas as they said in academies of conceptual art, beauty, classic, genius, figurative, etc, thats just there, you can not say anything about. SPEAK. ANd before you go now and before with this argument you fizzle my argument AGAIN and drive me AGAIN into an inimbiqual frenzy, and go "are you a luddite" first of all I RESPECT LUDDITES, as further industrialization was always a bad way to go on value, look at all the books today and the INVALUABLE books printed by hand set fonts each individually. WHICH I WOULD DEEM MY STANDARD. But anyway. No i&aposm not a luddite if you would be misconstruing my retort not conceiving what renaissence means in any way, BUT I AM AND CAN CLEARLY SAY, THAT I AM AN EGYPTIAN, A GREEK, A ROMAN, A MEDIEVALIST, A MANNERIST, I AM A BAROQUIAN, I AM A ROCOCOIAN, I AM A ROMANTIC, A SYMBOLIST, AN ART NOUVEAIST, BUT I AM NOT A MODERNIST, I AM A MISOMODERNIST, YES, MISANTHROPY INTENDED. Because MODERNISM, as pessoa caught everyone with those at the beginning in that dead end, IS NOTHING? IT DOES NOT LIVE, IT DOES NOT WANT DEATH. and that to me, is now a dead end, along with not understanding me. You make an EFFORT, you TOLERATE ME AS BEST AS YOU CAN, or i will SLANDER YOU AS TWO THINGS, A COWARD, AND AN IDIOT, which also there are SALONIDIOTS like i have branded some, entirely at my momentary passions and malcontentedness at my situation and the greavence which is my CURRENT LIFE. And my current life, because i see people, but people can not see me. THEY RUIN EVERY OUNCE OF GOLD I OFFER. and an observant and less cocky person as found in these midsts had branded me as someone, WHO WAS BEGGING WITH A GOLDEN CUP. thats my name, also the philosopher with the rugged axe as i once called myself.

Now that DEPTH that i got into. IS something most people don&apost GET because in effect the only people who are clearly emancipated by all these geniuses that did not overcome themselves as Nietzsche said, EMANCIPATED I SAID ONLY THE BABBOONS. CLEARLY, IF YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME I WOULD CONTEST, YOU ARE A BABBOON. To reserve some interest and excitement out of my material, is otherwise deeply appreciated and respected and responded with equal enthusiasm for any even most naive feat of creativity? WHICH IS EXISTENCE AND BLACK METAL; the tendency to constantly exclude me from the equations is however, ABSOLUTE OBLIVION. Your remarks and many other remarks to my claims are also known AS WALLS OF ARGUMENTATIVE INCOMPETENCE, who I have YET TO OVERCOME. The SIGNIFICANCE of esthetical maidens as muse angels or goddess depicted as sculpture or painting which you in stalemate of empty walls simply walk by is SOMETHING I ACTUALLY FALL IN LOVE WITH?! THAT IS THE SIGNICANCE AND THE BEAUTY LOST WHICH I MEAN TO ACCUSE A TRAP IN WHICH I MYSELF STEPPED AT SOME POINT. SO that as TS Eliot said about An Ode to A Grecian Urn was my poem, and the aphorism which would lead him to state i totally don&apost understand the poem or this was totally unapripriate to be there is. ALL IS DECORATIVE, ALL IS MEANING. Ergo? LESS IS MORE is OVER. THATS WHAT IM TRYING TO SAY. and YOU AND PREVIOUS YOUS could ONLY say, hahahaha, IN STEAD OF SHARING MY WORK WITH YOUS WHO THEN WOULD NOT PROVOKE ME TO REPEAT MYSELF MAKE MY CASE IN A TERRIBLE FRUSTRATION WHICH WOULD BE THEN PERCEIVED AS HATE OR MISOGYNY OR HOLLOW REBUKE OR WHATEVER DISPICKABLE THING YOU ACCUSE THE SOUL OF MY SENTENCE TO CONTAIN. Now i TRUST that this was not BRIEF ENOUGH BECAUSE YOU NEED TO GET ACCUSTOMED TO THE LANGUAGE EQUIPMENT (dutch begrippenapparaat) WHICH IS ALL MY ATTITUDE AND MEANING I WISH TO GIVE. NOW, if PESSOA would have said, i apreciate so dearly all crafts and arts and beautiful maidens as his tagline, then I COULD BE WELL ENJOYING PAINTING AND SCULPTING THE INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR OF SOME STEAMPUNK INDUSTRIAL POWERPLANT. THAT I FIND IT DISPICKABLE NOW AND VERY FUTILE AND ALSO A FLAGRANT MISTAKE OF MODERNISM TO HAVE ITS SCULPTORS AND PAINTERS WORK AT THE CASH REGISTER OF THE DO IT YOURSELF STORE. IS SOMETHING THAT I HAVE NO MODESTY FOR? TO BE THE END AND BEGINNING OF A NEW ARTISAN AND MERRILY EMPLOYED FLOCK OF ESTHETICIANS AND ARTISTS, AND TO BE THE END AND NEW BEGINNING OF THIS INDUSTRIAL LOBOTOMY THEY CALL A CULTURE. AND AGAIN AS I STATED WITH THE SUBJECT PROBLEM BEING PART OF BOTH FASCISM AS NEONAZISM, AS COMMUNISM BY THAT, IF YOU CONSIDER THAAAAT FASCIST, THEN IM AFRAID YOU CAN NOW WELL UNDERSTAND IN THE OMNIPOTENCE OF TAGLINES OF CAMUS LIKE "find meaning" or the attitude of "hell are the others" or the line "everything is subjective" etc etc and all these itterences of irony and "owh well this society has no meaning and will never find meaning" etc. TO quote a JEW; "HITLER WAS RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING," Stanley Kubrick. And no I would not say that or applaud that unfortunatly i&aposm not jewish in any significant way. I GOT SOME SERIOUS STOMACH THOUGH, TRY IT SOMETIME. AND NOW i have officially dazzled myself with some concepts for which i know i am the SOLE PROPRIETOR OF MY WIT AND GENIUS, i DONT NEED GRATIFICATION BY OTHERS I DAZZLE MYSELF, and YOU now, can either be dazzled by my wit, and be a fellow LION Of culture soon. OR you are a MOSQUITO UNDER THE RIFFRAFF, OF WHICH I CAN NOT NOR EVER WAS GOOD AT ACCEPTING MY PLACE THERE, AND CERTAINLY DID NOT WANT INGRIEGEOUS DEFIANCE AND FLATULANCE ALWAYS? BUTTTTTTT FOOR SOMEONE TO DELVE INTO MY WORK AND MAKE IT KNOWN APART OF MYSELF ALWAYS TRYING TO MAKE MY WORK KNOWN? ON WHICH PEOPLE THEN GO? WAUW, YOUR WORK IS BRILLIANTLY WORTHLESS, NO ONE WILL GET IT. ALL SEVEN BILLION OF YOU INCLUDING MY OWN MOTHER, YOUR WORK IS BRILLIANTLY WORTHLESS, NO ONE WILL GET IT, ARTISTS MUST SUFFER, as is also my NAME. I give me to me my own greatest compliments yes, because i value my opinion over not very high bar opinions. If i apreciate you, you can feel something again in this starch of frozen hearts, so you inspired me then. All is well that ends well. Next time you want to fuck me in my pussy as everything has to do with sex to some, i am the claivoyent of the line "i want to scrape with a silver tool some skin off your arm and roast a pizza in the rekindled auschiwtz oven." The most heartbroken and asexual platonic Emo&aposs love my impotent vermint carcass of a stranded mind on a martian empty land for that, so i do fine without your approval if at all you might not need me around anymore. But don&apost flatter me with the EGOTISM of naivite to have not understood time appropriatly, i have had a lot of work trying to wrap my mind around it too. Maybe you could be the second one in line to ACTION in stead of BLABBER. My mother, my psychologists, my ex girlfriends, my tytors, my psychiatrists, were all about BLABBER, and your comment was indeed, BLABBER, so bear with me and then there will be AVANT GARDE? OR THE FRONTLINE OF ART. You can at most desperate and dramatic way looze one soldier among your ranks, if you keep me you can have each to you a villa called AGAINST THE GRAIN OR A REBOURS, choice is yours. I HOPE where i was a bit unclear i had finally introduced you somewhat in the content and the promise of having something to say. I wrote against the grain AS A MYTHOLOGY. I have an against the grain developed and all in my HEAD the most BEAUTIFUL CITY QUITE A METROPOLIS OF CLASSICAL GROTESQUES, so yeah, IM A GENIUS MAN? nice to meet you. My lodgings are in a book store if Van Gogh painted it and it was painted in his starry sky. THATS WHERE I AM, so i trust i&aposm not in your block folder. My tomb would just be poison for imbecils, or someone sincere could still be found to weep DESPAIREDLY for it? YOU are NOT you? Choose, you can be one of either. Nothing in between though. The fact that i do not need gratification though, is why i tend to distance myself from any social coherence of people to other cultures or the whole culture entirely today, in ways they did not understand how it coheres and lacks their self esteem and how they are attached to the nihilism of &aposowh well this is reality" and then the replies to me of &aposowh my forget your dreams" etc. I am a CULTURE on my own at the very least, some byzantine empire or symbolist land of ivory towers. If you can find that realm i&aposm not sure yet but you probably will. I DO NOT say then that I AM THE ONLY WAY. but your entertaining and not unflavory discourses of useless taste may be THAT as they ARE. as some artists who&aposs name escapes me said, i am the bridge over which some of you may pass. You can find many paths across the regular pathways behind modernism. TO SURVIVE though in the coming years YOU DO NEED A BRIDGE, no matter if you think you can be decadent and do all very fine yourself, its not going to last and i don&apost want to be apart from hedonism sucking at the supermarkets titty and not contributing or as much fulminating to the diar wastefullness of progress.