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Amateur dramatics

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  • louise
    How futile is freedom of speech, in the absence of either (or both) moral or intellectual conscience. How neutralised is conscience by disturbance of sanity.
    Message 1 of 2 , Aug 13, 2009
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      How futile is freedom of speech, in the absence of either (or both) moral or intellectual conscience. How neutralised is conscience by disturbance of sanity. So far as I recall, my fellow-countryman, Merlin of Exmoor, once remarked that I was the most intelligent and polite of regular writers at this list. This generous statement overlooks the general inconsistency of my output, as well as several coarsely-worded tantrums in clear breach of moderation policy, but it can scarcely be denied that among a small assortment of intelligent fantasists, I am the least sane. Some here are even responsible realists. Frankly, now that the ordinary life of the people around me (the visible, dithering typist) begins to take on the appearance of intelligible behaviour, I am ready to acknowledge my lack of responsibility, and the brutal insensibility to others' feelings which my frequent delusions involve. History keeps repeating itself in sickening fashion, at least in my besieged imagination, and I have no wish to keep such pseudo-psychopathy in public view. There has been no change in my conviction that the BBC is engaged in a conspiracy so bungled that even those who are hard-headed investigators of political conspiracy would not think it worthwhile to take seriously my claims that I am the only paranoid schizophrenic in the world who really is* being watched by the media. My husband knows that I am totally convinced, and we can at least laugh together, sometimes, in synchronous good faith, at the absurdity of it all. Clearly I am not cut out for social adaptation, and am quite unable to pretend effectively with strangers. As for faith, it is a piece of mangled wreckage. That is not to say that I do not value more highly than I used to, the honourable Christian institutions of the land. Communism, however, remains a lurking horror. I am too weary to be capable of the hatred which would act as some defence. My revolutionary dreams are not of relevance to anyone else, and concern only the authenticity of perception and will. Nietzsche remains my beacon of hope in a grey depressing landscape. If I am unrepentant as I leave the list (really, in earnest, since it is not possible to consider a return in the short term - the change required of me will take years, not months), it is because I must make my departure in literary form, as a pseudonymous character, not as a self, nor even as a consciousness.

      Cordelia [double agent]
    • tom
      Louise, Whatever you decide. Good luck. Tom ... From: louise To: existlist@yahoogroups.com Sent: Thursday, August 13, 2009 8:26 PM Subject: [existlist] Amateur
      Message 2 of 2 , Aug 13, 2009
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        Louise,

        Whatever you decide. Good luck.

        Tom
        ----- Original Message -----
        From: louise
        To: existlist@yahoogroups.com
        Sent: Thursday, August 13, 2009 8:26 PM
        Subject: [existlist] Amateur dramatics


        How futile is freedom of speech, in the absence of either (or both) moral or intellectual conscience. How neutralised is conscience by disturbance of sanity. So far as I recall, my fellow-countryman, Merlin of Exmoor, once remarked that I was the most intelligent and polite of regular writers at this list. This generous statement overlooks the general inconsistency of my output, as well as several coarsely-worded tantrums in clear breach of moderation policy, but it can scarcely be denied that among a small assortment of intelligent fantasists, I am the least sane. Some here are even responsible realists. Frankly, now that the ordinary life of the people around me (the visible, dithering typist) begins to take on the appearance of intelligible behaviour, I am ready to acknowledge my lack of responsibility, and the brutal insensibility to others' feelings which my frequent delusions involve. History keeps repeating itself in sickening fashion, at least in my besieged imagination, and I have no wish to keep such pseudo-psychopathy in public view. There has been no change in my conviction that the BBC is engaged in a conspiracy so bungled that even those who are hard-headed investigators of political conspiracy would not think it worthwhile to take seriously my claims that I am the only paranoid schizophrenic in the world who really is* being watched by the media. My husband knows that I am totally convinced, and we can at least laugh together, sometimes, in synchronous good faith, at the absurdity of it all. Clearly I am not cut out for social adaptation, and am quite unable to pretend effectively with strangers. As for faith, it is a piece of mangled wreckage. That is not to say that I do not value more highly than I used to, the honourable Christian institutions of the land. Communism, however, remains a lurking horror. I am too weary to be capable of the hatred which would act as some defence. My revolutionary dreams are not of relevance to anyone else, and concern only the authenticity of perception and will. Nietzsche remains my beacon of hope in a grey depressing landscape. If I am unrepentant as I leave the list (really, in earnest, since it is not possible to consider a return in the short term - the change required of me will take years, not months), it is because I must make my departure in literary form, as a pseudonymous character, not as a self, nor even as a consciousness.

        Cordelia [double agent]





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