The Hybrid (from "Memoires of a Martial Artist")

As flies to wanton boys we are for the gods, they kill us for sport. Soon the science will not only be able to slow down the ageing of the cells, soon science will fix the cells to the state and so we will become eternal. Only accidents, crimes, wars will still kill us but unfortunately, crimes and wars will multiply. 

I love football! 

(Eric Cantona) 

One night at Flavio‘s, a very expensive Italian restaurant in Totorių gatvė, I saw again the professor Zecharia Najafi.
He was sitting alone at one table and eating. I recognized him. His physiognomy was unmistakable. I was struck by this lonely man sitting and eating one raw steak. A bloody steak. I noticed disgusted faces around him. The other clients were observing him like a strange rubbish-creature should be observed.

- I have cancer. – he said. Apparently, as if he didn't speak to me.
- Pardon? What did you say? – I responded.
- I‘ve cancer. I am following a holistic diet. A fat and raw meat program.
- And this helps?

The professor looked around, sighed and then whispered.

- I am a reptoid.
- Really?
- Yes. I need fat, raw meat and blood to cure my problem. It gives me energy. Body energy. The cosmic energy I assimilate through meditation because it passes through the human body coming from the space. Through the inner eye. You know?

With a perplexed look on my face, I decided to sit down, next to him. The situation seemed so unsettling.

- May I? – I asked for courtesy, but I was sure that he would have said „Yes“
- Yes. – he said – Please sit down, you are welcome.
- Thank you. Do you remember me, professor? I was at your conference, a few days ago.
- Of course, I remember you.
- How do you remember me? We were several people there?
- I have a photographic mind.
- I see. Then...you are a reptilian...you said...
- Yes, I am. I come from another dimension.
- Which one?
- The fourth dimension. It is just one dimension over from your own world.
- You look human, though.
- We reptilian are shape-shifters.
- Shape-shifters?
- We can change our physical form at will.
- I don‘t believe you.
- Why?
- Show me.
- I can‘t.
- Why?
- I can‘t. There is a dogma. I cannot break it. You just have to believe me.
- A dogma? Why, should I?
- Because in this world, truth is just what you believe. This is the dogma.Truth is a tool.
- A tool for what?
- To build (up) reality. That‘s why you have to believe me. Truth in itself doesn‘t exist.

(To be continued...)

Why This hatred? - Part One

Why the leading classes hate the populace? Why this scheme is persisting and dogging humanity since the beginning of the Homo Sapiens? How is it possible that such a scheme never changes, century after century?
Why do the ruling classes show only cruelty and indifference to the dominated classes? Why did they seek, and try to destroy, or wear down (at least), the Catholic church that has always sought (and still seeks) the redemption of the dominated classes?
There is like an agenda that has been kept alive for centuries: a few people control the multitude. There is like a pyramid of control and suppression, from the very beginning of the human race.
David Icke named the ruling classes "Bloodlines".
"Some of these bloodlines can be named. the British House of Windsor is one of them, so are the Rothschilds, the European royalty and aristocracy, the Rockefellers, and the rest of the so-called Eastern Establishment of the United States which produces the American presidents, business leaders, bankers and administrators." (David Icke, The biggest secret).

I was born and raised in a Catholic culture. I believed in Jesus Christ, in democracy, in human equality, in freedom and in love.
Then I stopped believing in Jesus. Besides, I realized that democracies do not exist, that there is no human equality and that hate exists, there is so much hatred in this world. After many years of doubts, I reached the conclusion that the story (the stories) which is officially told, does not exist. For every official story, there are many other stories, which say otherwise Therefore I knew that the world above is not the one below, but that the real world is yet the world below, the one that cannot be seen and that influences (creates) the one above. And finally, I comprehended that this has always been the case since the human race exists. But why?
Slowly I started to find a line, a direction. Perhaps difficult to prove, but the more I investigate it, the more I find it likely. Mauro Biglino with his interpretation (let's pretend that) of the Bible, Pietro Buffa with his book "I geni manipolati di Adamo", opened a new line of reality.

Lastly, I came to the extremism of David Icke, with his theory on Reptilians.

"You will probably have to go back hundreds of thousands of years to find the starting point of this story of human manipulation [...]" (David Icke, The biggest secret). I believe this. I believe that if you want to find an explanation to this hate, to this cruelty and indifference to suffering from the upper classes side (of which September 11, 2001, is the most monstrous example) must be a genetical explanation or, in any case, anthropological.

(to be continued...)

Unsubstantial books - Kurt Vonnegut "Slaughterhouse 5"

I took the decision to not read novels because they are unsubstantial. The 99,99% (against my will I arrived at this percentage given the high number of unsubstantial novels I daily read). I read essays, now, because usually they still persist in giving a better dimensionality about the contents. At least (technically) they have this aim. Novels today are unable to express Any ethical philosophical religious value. The unique law/code they follow is to be flat (i.e. easily graspable) avoiding to engage the human mind of their readers in any sort of conflict this engagement could eventually lead. Novels must be anodyne, FIRST. They have to face reality as a desktop faces the user. Flat, virtual, unsubstantial. Without depth.
One of the latest examples might be "Slaughterhouse 5" by Kurt Vonnegut. A book well structured, a multi-layered-text. With a little amount of presumption to express deep contents. Like the problem of human sufferance, human animality, time travels, encounters with ETs, In reality, after fifty pages the books becomes boring. No change of speed/pace, no alteration of rhythm, same way of plotting, and the irritating repeating of the same refrain ad infinitum "So it goes".
In the end, in my opinion, even though is a well-equipped story, the story remains unable to take off because it lacks the capacity of remodelling itself while narrating itself.
It is a text that has many tools but it is incapable to disclose the deep and harsh reality which would face and remains quite superficial.

Foto via https://fordhamram.com

Pills/tabletės: Family and gnosis - šeima ir gnosis

The family is the first enemy of gnosis. The family gives a subjective and non-objective education. That is, it deprives the State of the right/duty to say what is good and what is bad.
So the family must be destroyed.

Šeima yra pirmasis gnosio priešas. Šeima suteikia subjektyvų ir neobjektyvų ugdymą. Tai reiškia, kad valstybei atimama teisės / pareigos pasakyti, kas yra gerai, o kas blogai. Taigi šeima turi būti sunaikinta

Boring books - "Storia di una famiglia per bene" di Rosa Ventrella.

Thi is my personal crusade against absurd books that absolutely must be denounced as unuseful boredom, or at worst, absolute shit. Too many of these books, too many pseudo great writers who are worth nothing. There is no logic I believe inherent to the publishing market in publishing such shit, other than to keep the cultural and mental level low. At the minimum limits of brain activity.

"Storia di una famiglia per bene" di Rosa Ventrella.

The book starts in the way below and goes on page after page with the same speed/gear and style (primary school style) ad infinitum...unbearable!

"Il giorno che nonna Antonietta mi affibbiò il soprannome di Malacarne non potrò mai dimenticarlo. Pioveva come non mai, selvaggiamente. Una di quelle piogge che capita di vedere rare volte durante l’anno. Quando succede, si sente il vento del mare scuotere qualsiasi cosa con il suo ululato e raggelare il sangue. La strada del lungomare era una pozzanghera senza fine. I campi abbandonati e la vegetazione spoglia nei dintorni di Torre Quetta erano sfatti e proni, come violentati dall’acqua battente. Era il mese di aprile. Una delle primavere più piovose degli ultimi trent’anni, così avevano commentato qualche giorno dopo i vecchi del mio quartiere. Nonostante le raccomandazioni di mamma e nonna, che sapevano interpretare la voce del vento, mi ero ostinata a voler uscire. «Quando il mare fa il verso del demonio, la terra si rivolta», mi aveva detto nonna Antonietta mentre varcavo con aria strafottente la porta di casa. Le avevo guardate tutt’e due, madre e figlia. L’una intenta a grattugiare il pecorino sulla “grattarola”, come tutti i giorni prima del pranzo, l’altra ad affettare una grossa tagliata di pane. Mi ero limitata a fare spallucce ed ero uscita, contravvenendo a ogni raccomandazione. Volevo vedere da vicino il mare in tempesta e soprattutto capire se mi faceva paura.Attraversai di corsa la Muraglia di chianche bianche, salutando con la mano alcune comari ferme sulla porta a scrutare il cielo come gli aruspici di un tempo. Sentivo il vento tra i capelli e sulla faccia, le sue sferzate mi schiaffeggiavano, ma non avevo nessuna intenzione di tornare sui miei passi. Con due soli balzi superai i gradoni lastricati che dalla Muraglia portavano al lungomare. Costeggiai in gran fretta il teatro Margherita per attraversare il molo e la zona dei frangiflutti. Volevo vedere il mare in tutta la sua boria. Quando raggiunsi la costa a ridosso di Torre Quetta, percepii per qualche istante una vocina interiore che mi sussurrava di rientrare a casa. Rividi il volto di mia madre che mi invitava a non uscire. Gli occhi che mi ammonivano con dolcezza e la testa che ciondolava a destra e a sinistra prima di concludere il suo discorso con le solite parole: «Capa tosta peggio di tuo padre». E rividi pure mia nonna che, nonostante i rimbrotti severi con cui sperava di ammansirmi, era docile come la figlia. Morbida pure nell’aspetto. Una donna bassa, con un grande seno budinoso che andava a modellarsi sulla pancia. Scossi la testa perché non volevo che le loro immagini mi dissuadessero dai miei intenti. Tenendomi forte al vestito che mi arrivava ai polpacci e che speravo di utilizzare come sagola di salvataggio, mi avvicinai agli scogli. Le onde gigantesche spumeggiavano, si abbattevano sugli spuntoni di roccia, a riva, per poi squagliarsi in brandelli liquidi. L’orizzonte era sfumato e si confondeva con il mare che pareva una grande chiazza d’inchiostro. Rapita da quella visione maestosa, non mi accorsi neanche di quanto minaccioso si fosse fatto il cielo, tanto che sembrava notte pure se era solo mezzogiorno. Quando la pioggia prese a scrosciare, non ci fu più tempo per tornare a casa. In breve i contorni delle case di Bari vecchia divennero sfocati, avvolti dal cielo buio. Il vento fortissimo squassava la superficie del mare da cui si alzava una specie di nebbia che si sfrangiava in tante goccioline bianche..."

Boring and shitty books - Kurt Vonnegut "The Sirens of Titan"

From today on I will start my personal crusade against absurd books that absolutely must be denounced as unuseful boredom, or at worst, absolute shit. Too many of these books, too many pseudo great writers who are worth nothing. There is no logic I believe inherent to the publishing market in publishing such shit, other than to keep the cultural and mental level low. At the minimum limits of brain activity.

First book.

When you start reading this book after 5 pages you ask yourself "What the hell he writes? Is he serious? What does he say? What is this shit for?"

I think that as a comment it is quite complete. Such a book doesn't deserve many words.

A Change, and underground fights (from "Memoires of a Martial Artist")

Two days after the lecture I went to the Tai Chi class of The
Master. His classes were then attracting a lot of girls. Lately, his classes had become a combination of spiritual and frivolous glamour. In the last months, he had been seen many times on the national Lithuanian TV in several talk shows. He had been interviewed by the most important Lithuanian magazines, which turned him into a fairly well-known personage in Lithuania.
The Master had changed. He was now very vulnerable to female beauty. He was defenceless against it.
He had lost his sense of calm trust in the fate of his mission, in the quiet submission to his stoic composure in the face of danger and in a certain disdain of worldly life.
He now appreciated the worldly life. He loved that kind of life, like never before.
I talked to The Master about his change.
His answer was quite curious.

- A man who has read a little, smells a little pedantic, a man who has read a lot smells even worse.

He realized my blank expression, for he added.

- An intellectual is like a machine. I now consider intellect less important than emotion. I now experiment with emotions. Ethical emotions. Intellectual emotions didn’t drive me where I wanted. I thought about my life…have you ever wondered why I do Thai Chi?
- No. Why?
- I used to combat before.
- You?
- Yes. Here in Vilnius, there is an underground fighting circuit, where anyone can fight. Illegal fights. Extreme fights. No Holds Barred Fighting.
- And you really did this?
- Yes.
- Why?
- I challenged myself. I wanted to overcome the fear I had.
- Fear? You? To fight?
- Yes, fear…that’s it. That’s it. It was what I needed to get over my panic. I needed adrenaline, the adrenaline that would pump in all my body, in every atom of my being. People come to see fighting for adrenaline. They bring you adrenaline. Music shakes the walls. People are intoxicated, yell, bay, get crazy, want to see blood. Jus wait for you stepping into the ring ready to draw blood from your opponent.
- Did you win?
- I won, I lost…but I learned to have a big heart. To combat you need a big heart. If you don’t have a big heart after 2-3 rounds…done. But if you fight with a big heart after the fight, when you live the ring. people surround you, touch you, yell out after you “You are great! You fight so crazy!”…too much, too much of everything. Too much violence. I had to change. I did develop an unbearable hankering for fighting, anywhere ... so I started practising Thai Chi. I had to harness all that energy, focus it on one point. Dominate it. And maybe I became too sophisticated, too whimsical, too freakish perhaps…

Photo via https://www.dailymail.co.uk