discordia23

dawn of a new era, Deutschland
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The chaplain clutched his head with both hands and doubled over in laughter. “Can’t you just picture him?” he exclaimed with amazement. “Can’t you just picture him in that yellow raft, paddling through the Straits of Gibraltar at night with that tiny little blue oar–”
“With that fishing line trailing out behind him, eating raw codfish all the way to Sweden, and serving himself tea every afternoon–”
“I can just see him!” cried the chaplain, pausing a moment in his celebration to catch his breath. “It’s a miracle of human perseverance, I tell you. And that’s just what I’m going to do from now on! I’m going to persevere. Yes, I’m going to persevere.”
[...]
“Are you going to stop me?” Yossarian asked Major Danby, and gazed at him steadily.
Major Danby skipped away from the chaplain and hesitated a moment longer. “No, of course not!” he blurted out, and suddenly was waving both arms towards the door in a gesture of exuberant urgency. “Of course I won’t stop you. Go, for God sakes, and hurry! Do you need any money?”
“I have some money.”
“Well, here’s some more.” With fervent, excited enthusiasm, Major Danby pressed a thick wad of Italian currency upon Yossarian and clasped his hand in both his own, as much to still his own trembling fingers as to give encouragement to Yossarian. “It must be nice to be in Sweden now,” he observed yearningly. “The girls are so sweet. And the people are so advanced.”
“Goodbye, Yossarian,” the chaplain called. “And good luck. I’ll stay here and persevere, and we’ll meet again when the fighting stops.”
“So long, Chaplain. Thanks, Danby.”
“How do you feel, Yossarian?”
“Fine. No, I’m very frightened.”
“That’s good,” said Major Danby. “It proves you’re still alive. It won’t be fun.”
Yossarian started out. “Yes it will.”
“I mean it, Yossarian. You’ll have to keep on your toes every minute of every day. They’ll bend heaven and earth to catch you.”
“I’ll keep on my toes every minute.”
“You’ll have to jump.”
“I’ll jump.”
“Jump!” Major Danby cried.
Yossarian jumped. Nately’s whore was hiding just outside the door. The knife came down, missing him by inches, and he took off.


They passed through towns that warned people away with messages scrawled on the billboards. The billboards had been whited out with thin coats of paint in order to write on them and through the paint could be seen a pale palimpsest of advertisements for goods which no longer existed. They sat by the side of the road and ate the last of the apples.
What is it? the man said.
Nothing.
We’ll find something to eat. We always do.
The boy didnt answer. The man watched him.
That’s not it, is it?
It’s okay.
Tell me.
The boy looked away down the road.
I want you to tell me. It’s okay.
He shook his head.
Look at me, the man said.
He turned and looked. He looked like he’d been crying.
Just tell me.
We wouldnt ever eat anybody, would we?
No. Of course not.
Even if we were starving?
We’re starving now.
You said we werent.
I said we werent dying. I didnt say we werent starving.
But we wouldnt.
No. We wouldnt.
No matter what.
No. No matter what.
Because we’re the good guys.
Yes.
And we’re carrying the fire.
And we’re carrying the fire. Yes.
Okay.



Just for the knife-edge, here in the Rue Rossini, there comes to Slothrop the best feeling dusk in a foreign city can bring: just where the sky's light balances the electric lamplight in the street, just before the first star, some promise of events without cause, surprises, a direction at right angles to every direction his life has been able to find up till now.






Based on the last 3 months. A lovely little tool, I just wish there was some way of getting rid of that pointless generic "electronic" tag.



I shall give you hunger, and pain, and sleepless nights. Also beauty, and satisfactions known to few, and glimpses of the heavenly life. None of these you shall have continually, and of their coming and going you shall not be foretold.



Cities, in Milgrim's experience, had a way of revealing themselves in the faces of their inhabitants, and particularly on their way to work in the morning. There was a sort of basic fuckedness index to be read, then, in faces that hadn't yet encountered the reality of whatever they were on their way to do.



Favourite radio station offline:
Köln Campus






My view on NSBM. Enjoy.



"As the Nasrani Patriarch, +Mar Michai claims to be the Desposyni, Spiritual Mediator or Tzaddiq, i.e. "Righteous One" of the Church demonstrating and teaching a strong adherence to their unique Canon of Scriptures, private Traditions and ever growing Revelations. Presently the Holy See is located outside of Camden, Tennessee, USA, in a Trailer Home owned by the Sar-Patriarch, or in a Family Home in Paris, Tennessee or in a Family Home near Jerusalem, Israel. In order to visit and remain for any length of time in any one of the Mishqanas one must sign a Confidentiality Contract. +Mar Michai is not concerned with the trappings and traditions of the Klal Kristyani and asks that all those who wish to be a part of the Nazarean Orthodox Church of Jerusalem a.k.a. the Yeshuan Assembly of Jerusalem or its International Christian Church of Jerusalem jurisdiction to simply adhere to these Three Pillars of the Church Faith, which are the foundation of their Nestorian-Nasrani Faith: Their Scriptures, Their Traditions and Their Revelations, which are binding upon the membership of this Group."



"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action and over 600 is clearly the work of an ancient Sumerian demon or some shit."



"Investigators filed the incident under 'What the fuck?' which just happens to be conspiracy theorists favorite question to answer."






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rather haphazard stuff about me:

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