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"... there is an idea of [myself], some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I am simply not there."
-"American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis
Originally posted by Greenize
reply to post by silent thunder
His kind of thinking is alien to me. He DOESN'T deserve YOU I can tell you that and maybe he needs to hear that! I can not fathom ever saying anything like that to my children. There will come a time in his life when he is old and all alone that he will regret the way he has treated you and you know what...he DOES deserve that!! He can't see what a truly beautiful gift you are then he is an idiot!! No offense!
Originally posted by Greenize
reply to post by Donnie Darko
I think that we have heard the horror stories, like the woman that killed the cheerleader so her daughter would have a place on the squad...now I would NEVER do something that extreme... There is a balance and fine line I think. I was only trying to attempt to put into words the emotional bond that is felt.... some people are just nuts!
...So what is the way of raising a child, [Tobin asked]?
At a young age, said the judge, they should be put in a pit with wild dogs. They should be set to puzzle out from their proper clues the one of three doors that does not harbor wild lions. They should be made to run naked in the desert until...
Hold now, said Tobin. The question was put in all earnestness.
And the answer, said the judge. If God meant to interfere in the degeneracy of mankind would he not have done so by now? Wolves cull themselves, man. What other creature could? And is the race of man not more predacious yet? The way of the world is to bloom and to flower and die but in the affairs of men there is no waning and the noon of his expression signals the onset of night. His spirit is exhausted at the peak of its achievement. His meridian is at once his darkening and the evening of his day. He loves games? Let him play for stakes...
...The judge smiled. Men are born for games. Nothing else. Every child knows that play is nobler than work. He knows too that the worth or merit of a game is not inherent in the game itself but rather in the value of that which is put at hazard. Games of chance require a wager to have meaning at all. Games of sport involve the skill and strength of the opponents and the humiliation of defeat and the pride of victory are in themselves sufficient stake because they inhere in the worth of the principals and define them. But trial of chance or trial of worth all games aspire to the condition of war for here that which is wagered swallows up game, player, all.
Suppose two men at cards with nothing to wager save their lives. Who has not heard such a tale? A turn of the card. The whole universe for such a player has labored clanking to this moment which will tell if he is to die at that man's hand or that man at his. What more certain validation of a man's worth could there be? This enhancement of the game to its ultimate state admits no argument concerning the notion of fate. The selection of one man over another is a preference absolute and irrevocable and it is a dull man indeed who could reckon so profound a decision without agency or significance either one.
In such games as have for their stake the annihilation of the defeated the decisions are quite clear. This man holding this particular arrangement of cards in his hand is thereby removed from existence. This is the nature of war, whose stake is at once the game and the authority and the justification. Seen so, war is the truest form of divination. It is the testing of one's will and the will of another within that larger will which, because it binds them, is therefore forced to select. War is the ultimate game because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence. War is god.
You're crazy Holden. Crazy at last.
The judge smiled.
=Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian