The turning of the wheels of fate
I wonder, whether I can solve the puzzle.
On January 29, 2013 I became depressed, because I understood that people will never admit to themselves that they lack in personal expression and instead insist that they are the person that their acquired style proclaims.
Then, on February 1, 2013, I interpreted the spiritual torment I had just experienced as the devil's desire to obliterate those, who hold vain things dear.
This is probably more accurately understood as God's unwillingness to surrender to the vain, from which the believer's duty to overcome the vain is derived.
I had hoped back in January 2013 that the world could be won over to live in the light, and I was rather wanting to give up than to consider another approach. And then Ingo Swann died.
In November 2014 I had still hoped that Eastern Europeans would be wise enough to stay out of trouble, but eventually I accepted the conclusion from the situation in the Ukraine. And then Alexander Grothendieck died.
I had started as a poet, so to speak, then became a resistance planner and since have become a prophet. It wasn't entirely voluntary and I suffered my bit in turn. This is the overall shape of events.
I don't know anything about Alexander Grotherdieck's latter years, other than what I've already stated, how he looked like and that he wrote. He looked like this, by the way.
But I have enough information on Ingo Swann. It is a fair statement that Ingo Swann embodied the fascination of the 1970s, which Mary Virginia Carey translated into many an outrageous The Three Investigators plot, with the paranormal. His death is, despite Uri Geller's best efforts, but then Geller's too much of a showman, the death of naive popular curiosity, although I know that these things come in waves, 50 years before Carey it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's turn to alienate his readers with his beliefs.
So I don't think that Ingo Swann cursed me on his deathbed or held on to something that I'd rather see gone. I felt the weakness of a position, his position, and then the change in the tides killed him and tortured me.
On January 29, 2013 I became depressed, because I understood that people will never admit to themselves that they lack in personal expression and instead insist that they are the person that their acquired style proclaims.
Then, on February 1, 2013, I interpreted the spiritual torment I had just experienced as the devil's desire to obliterate those, who hold vain things dear.
This is probably more accurately understood as God's unwillingness to surrender to the vain, from which the believer's duty to overcome the vain is derived.
I had hoped back in January 2013 that the world could be won over to live in the light, and I was rather wanting to give up than to consider another approach. And then Ingo Swann died.
In November 2014 I had still hoped that Eastern Europeans would be wise enough to stay out of trouble, but eventually I accepted the conclusion from the situation in the Ukraine. And then Alexander Grothendieck died.
I had started as a poet, so to speak, then became a resistance planner and since have become a prophet. It wasn't entirely voluntary and I suffered my bit in turn. This is the overall shape of events.
I don't know anything about Alexander Grotherdieck's latter years, other than what I've already stated, how he looked like and that he wrote. He looked like this, by the way.
But I have enough information on Ingo Swann. It is a fair statement that Ingo Swann embodied the fascination of the 1970s, which Mary Virginia Carey translated into many an outrageous The Three Investigators plot, with the paranormal. His death is, despite Uri Geller's best efforts, but then Geller's too much of a showman, the death of naive popular curiosity, although I know that these things come in waves, 50 years before Carey it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's turn to alienate his readers with his beliefs.
So I don't think that Ingo Swann cursed me on his deathbed or held on to something that I'd rather see gone. I felt the weakness of a position, his position, and then the change in the tides killed him and tortured me.
Labels: 24, formalisierung, geschichte, gesetze, institutionen, metaphysik, persönliches, wahrnehmungen, zeitgeschichte, ἰδέα, φιλοσοφία
Eingetragen Am/um
16:49
