Nihilist seeks nothing.


This review of a compilation of LRB personal ads led to the ferreting out of these lovely things, which prove if nothing else that the art of self-deprecation is alive and well:

I wrote this ad to prove I’m not gay. Man, 29. Not gay. Absolutely not. Box no. 2205

Beneath this hostile museum curator’s exterior lies a hostile museum curator’s interior. F, 38. Box no. 13/07

‘Scarface’, ‘Mad Dog’, ‘Pretty Boy’, ‘Baby Face’ – if I had an
underworld crime nickname it would be ‘Screwed by Ex-Wife’s Solicitor
and Currently Sleeping in a Caravan’. Man, 42. Screwed by ex-wife’s
solicitor and currently sleeping in a caravan. Box no. 14/06

My hobbies include crying and hating men. F., 29. Box no. 14/10

All humans are 99.9% genetically identical, so don’t even think of
ending any potential relationship begun here with ‘I just don’t think
we have enough in common’. Science has long since proven that I am the
man for you (41, likes to be referred to as ‘Wing Commander’ in the
bedroom). Box no. 10/11

and finally, compare this three-word classic from the LRB “Misery, seeks company” with a representative example from the New York Review of Books:

“Passionate, stunning, sassy and dynamic maverick with loving heart. Considered adorable and cute. Combines athletic outdoorsyness with easy sophistication. Accomplished consultant and educator, serves on cultural, educational, environmental boards. Willowy, athletic, very physical with slender dancer’s body. Loves entetaining friends, brainstorming, playing with ideas, theater (classical, contemporary, cutting edge), jazz clubs, sailing, skiing, golf, South of France, most of Italy, Australia. Interested in the world – politics, people, the arts, finance, everything on the forny page and more…”

That slice of Italy she doesn’t like must be crying itself to sleep at night (on it’s gigantic pillow.)


links for 2006-11-29


More from PKD:


The pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Parmenides taught that the only things that are real are things which never change… and the pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Heraclitus taught that everything changes. If you superimpose their two views, you get this result: Nothing is real. There is a fascinating next step to this line of thinking: Parmenides could never have existed because he grew old and died and disappeared, so, according to his own philosophy, he did not exist. And Heraclitus may have been right—let’s not forget that; so if Heraclitus was right, then Parmenides did exist, and therefore, according to Heraclitus’ philosophy, perhaps Parmenides was right, since Parmenides fulfilled the conditions, the criteria, by which Heraclitus judged things real. I offer this merely to show that as soon as you begin to ask what is ultimately real, you right away begin talk nonsense.


Fake realities will create fake humans. Or, fake humans will generate fake realities and then sell them to other humans, turning them, eventually, into forgeries of themselves. So we wind up with fake humans inventing fake realities and then peddling them to other fake humans. It is just a very large version of Disneyland.

via :

Why we worship Charlie Brooker


Scientology is a spoof religion followed by several high-profile Hollywood stars, every single one of whom is doing it for a bet just to see how long they can fool Tom Cruise.
Advanced followers of Scientology believe an alien ruler called Xenu brought his people to Earth 75m years ago, gathered them round a volcano and obliterated them with a series of nuclear blasts; their displaced souls are responsible for many of mankind’s ills. This is hilariously implausible and richly deserving of open derision, unlike, say, the belief that a man who got nailed to a couple of planks more than 2,000 years ago is your best friend and saviour.
When not being laughed at, Scientology is viewed with suspicion; many members of the public consider it a sinister cult hell-bent on gathering as much money, power, and influence as possible, unlike all other religious movements, every single one of which deserves forelock-tugging respect and unquestioning indulgence of its every crackpot whim.

from The Grauniad