Lokasenna
Card-carrying Medievalist

Can anyone understand these things? It seems so farcical – that man can be so inventive, so creative, and yet a slave to the physical self! Is it perhaps because my mind so often conjures up mighty vistas of the imagination, never needing banal sight, that my eyes have wasted so? The sheer power of inherent wonderment is often enough; why then am I still so reliant on these weak orbs? Can human craft beget nothing more profound than flimsy plastic plates and tender wires to keep me truly in this

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A few thoughts on the debt we owe to Hell.

Satan was the first democrat. In all creation, he was the first to rebel against hegemony and tyranny - indeed, the great hegemony! Of God Himself! The ineffable plan was exposed, a declaration in a world were disagreement and discord had never previously appeared, and Satan took it upon himself to disagree. How revolutionary - how human! Power to the masses, not just the One! The first ever example of something so important: not just discord,

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Out, out, brief candle!

Ah yes, the flickering flame, such a symbol of ourselves, and of our world. Almost every religion attributes some symbolic meaning to this item, representing some form of synergy with a higher power to our mutual improvement - bringing, as it were, illumination to our personal darkness.

But is it an accurate representation of our situation? Is our existence, our personal reality, a flame? A single burst of energy in an otherwise eternal darkness?

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With Madonna attempting to use her 'fame' to adopt yet another African child, and being aghast at the media coverage of this event, its time I climbed on to my soapbox once more, and have a rant about modern celebrity culture:

'Celebrity' is such an odious term, and a repellent idea, at least in its modern application. Everywhere I walk, its soulless stink surrounds me. All men are not equal - this I freely acknowledge - but the distinction is not a meritocratic one. Rather, it is

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What are we? We humans! Elements and chemicals, atoms and molecules that move in such wondrous concert, such harmony. Yet my clothes move in concert with me - are they not me? There is no special property that differentiates the molecules in my skin from those in my shirt - yet I feel no pain if my shirt is torn. What are those molecules to me? We are such closeted ideas, so entirely cut off from the world around us, and yet we think we see! The irony! How do we justify calling ourselves alive,

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