intervalo lúdico: modus tollens

Deep Blue versus Kasparov does not constitute the much acclaimed ultimate narcissistic wound. The Mind does not play chess, it plays Calvinball.

yup...should've tried the van goon gambit...most definetly.

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Mïl palavras…


Fritz Lang as the Penguin in F.W.Murnau's first adaptation of The Batman

Fritz Lang como Pingüin na primeira adaptação de Batman por F.W.Murnau

Lovecraft acaba de compor mentalmente mais uma frase com a palavra eldritch

Primeiro campeonato mundial de Sudoku: Marie Curie leva uma coça de Poincaré na partida que inspirou o bestseller "franco-polacas não sabem integrar"

...e elas falavam: michelangelo isso e michelangelo aquilo...

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the lamentable cantos

Canto I

1 what are the odds, what are the odds

2 oh father time, oh nature’s laws

3 of what’s to come that never was

4 arise from out this chaos

1 when evil finally take over the world

2 Shakespeare will be forgotten

3 Hamlet will no longer suffer

4 Julius will no longer stutter

5 His books long gone and rotten

1 when evil finally take over the world

1 what are the chances what are the chances

2 sacred trickster of looming glances

3 of what ’round sacred fire dances

4 and punishing never fails

1 what are the chances what are the odds

2 that we lose the courage and die in awe

3 and evil’l finally take over the world


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Modern kïds or salvation for the dämned moldbug style or my friend, can you heart stand the shocking facts about grave röbbers from outer space?

Ok, first we should note that your kindergarten teacher isn’t entirely to be blamed only because she said that you too are a little star and after all we all are little stars, aren’t we? No, not at all, it is only a matter for further amazement and occasion for deeper inquiry that the philosophy of Aleister Crowley should coincide so glaringly with the encouragements of so dear Misses.

Now your life didn’t turn out as expected and you look back trying to find what exactly did go wrong, and,  if you have a keen sense of honesty, which I think you do, you must have reached the conclusion that things have pretty much never gone right actually. No one ever grew up to be an extraordinary accountant. You have been fighting the wrong fight, son. You’ve been fighting Destiny. By Destiny, here, I mean the Anti-Kindergarten-teacher or, if we want to be concise in words, Truth.

We are not, absolutely, talking about Fate or the Zeitgeist. Furthermore we do not, most diligently pressed, dabble in philosophical technicalities such as the Freedom of the Will or the Infinite Regress. We may deal in soteriology though, then again, I may be lying. Pray you forgive my sounding somewhat threatening, it is my job to engage the audience, yours is to exercise thorough scrutiny upon my every reasoning…and fear for your soul, as a general rule I should say.

Let us proceed, then, with our Study in Crimson or the Road to Damascus Method – you may have noticed we tend towards bluish hues, never green and, apparently, Scarlet’s already been taken, like its Victorian predecessor it asserts very basic facts, the first one being your lack of proper attention, you see but you do not observe. You hear but do not listen, Truth’s been talking to you, son. Like its apostolic predecessor it will light you blind.

The first question to be answered is what, if not a little star, is to become of you? It is imperative, if we want to come up with the best answer, that we should conduct an experiment in devastation. What’s going to be destroyed? Nothing worthy luckily. And what’s to endure? That depends on how firmly supported  are the pillars of your mental faculties, you see ours are shaky grounds and Truth is in for the kill, they will have to endure earthquakes.

We have marked, as the very opposite of the extraordinary, as the paragon of the unimaginative, the good profession of accounting. We said, let us remember, that no one ever grew up to be an extraordinary accountant. We should now find a good specimen of the extraordinary and imaginative, say William Shakespeare. Now, did William grew up to be Shakespeare? Unjust! we hear everywhere, Shakespeare is not a profession! No, he is not, but he’ll serve us right, it seems the extraordinary refuses to be referred as a genus, it cries for a real instantiation always. Now, should we oppose Shakespeare to the good Accountant? By no means. What we have to ask is: could Shakespeare grow up to be an accountant?

No, no, little Shakespeare must have had his way with words pretty soon, he might have tried the army, finance, carpentry, even fishing and you and I, certainly, would not have the slightest idea about Stratford-upon-Avon’s existence. Melville tried the fishing, he thought it suited fine, despite all evidences, to call a whale a fish.

You say we obtain our results by use of hindsight. We do. Hindsight is, to the best of our knowledge, 20-20 always. We afford no mistakes, but we are here to help you, remember? and cause some destruction. By the end of the day you too, son, will be a highly trained, highly skilled, oriental master of Hindsight. Alas, some of you will die in the process. No. You won’t.  Hindsight never killed anyone.

The algorithm, if we have to call it something, is very simple.  Do to you, ruthlessly, what we did to Shakespeare. Question  first broadly, later judiciously, your past for things you might have done or for innate mannerisms and odd habits.

Fear not. I have prepared a few questions and examples just to set the ball a-rolling. They will also tell you if you have, by disgraceful inattention, not seen the signals of extraordinarity Destiny has sent you, that’ll hardly be the case. In case of negative answers segue to more down to earth activities until you reach the realms of Accountdom.

1- Nomen est omen: name is destiny, so if you were  christened with such a name as Phileas, Arsene, or Florizel you might expect to live a life of excitement and danger. On the other hand if you happen to have a name as Ford Madox Ford or William Carlos Williams literary glory might be your thing – believe me, I signed once a poem as Edward Arthur Edwards and weren’t for my inability to actually write the poem (I signed the first Canto of Os Lusíadas) I would have won the Jabuti for sure.

2- Le Rouge et le Noir: or tha red and tha black, as my man Stendhal would put it. Red here stands for a military career, now do you hear that? can you smell it? No? Cause it’s the song of nostalgia playing only to the purest of heart, the smell I guess is of gun powder. Nostalgia for what? For a time when soldiers dressed in red! as in the actually brightest possible color one could use in a battle field to aid the enemy in its aiming capacity red!, or in opposition to contemporary pussy camouflage and unmanned planes . So red , here, stands actually for bravery. There is actually a small possibility that you will act bravely in the future, for remember bravery is only shown in action, it is not a static quality, it is not nurtured nor natural to some men and not to others, you only have to ask: do I feel lucky? Now go read your Clausewitz and experience the fog of war.

Le noir, mes amis, le noir, the black here stands as in the much whispered sentence: “Look at that conspiring Jesuit, his soul’s as black as his cassock”. Not to be mistaken for that other relic of protestant hell spawned libel: “the black casuistry of a Jesuit comes in handy sometimes”. What matters is have you heard God’s call, son? cause He may be calling you, right now, to join the ranks of His army to perform some much-needed Counter-reformation around town.

3- The singularity or Virtual reality will rehabilitate your mind and eventually your body. Not. Again: not. Virtual reality will accomplish nothing for you, if anything computers will become sentient and watch some kind of sick fetish porn forever and ever, amen. Read my lips, nerd: Virtual reality will NOT rehabilitate your mind and eventually your body. Chat Roulette is sufficient, albeit not necessary, proof of my last assertion.

4- you must be double-jointed and you must be hungarian: common sense tells you that, despite all that talk about nurture and nature, the right time and the right place may be just as important to elevate your pathetic life to olympian levels of awesomeness. Common sense is right again but, before you start blaming Lady Fortune, I’m bound to tell you that things are even harsher than you might think. You say Bill Shakespeare was gifted and living in Elizabethan times thus naturally and nurturelly (yup, I have just invented that word) became the Elizabethan playwright we all adore, Bill Gates is gifted and living in Luciferian times thus naturally and nurturelly became the softwarewright we all abhor  ergo…ergo nothing, son. Ergo Schmergo. Destiny does not ask, Destiny demands that extreme success will fall upon only a happy few, endowed not only with the highest talent, provided not only with the best education and culture, and blessed not only with the happiest of fortunes but showing a combination of unimaginable amounts of anyone of these traits in what can only be seen as a F*cking joke,  thus often you have to be double jointed and hungarian to just have a chance at the game. Some accounts on the origins of Sufism date the discovery by esoteric mullahs of the Double-jointedhungarianf*ckingjoke just before the appearance of the first historical records of spinning dancing dervishes. Yeah, the game’s been rigged for like…ever.

5- quarta série: I feel somewhat irresponsible for not telling you all about a little caveat of this preaching business of mine. I’ve been all along addressing an audience to which reason and common sense are major components for anything at least resembling a thesis, though I have scattered around some rather paternalistic forms of treatment, in no way I said all these ruminations were directed towards a male-only audience. I feel like I should atone for past sins by finishing my arguments with a bit of co-education. I’m gonna be slightly misogynistic and condescending but only because you like it, all right, pumpkin?

What are exactly the main forces of civilization stability? Either the truth about humanity is known by all and respected by no one or the known truth is somehow theatrically disbelieved by mischievous laws, lies and citizenry. The former case never happened, the latter leaves us with bad faith and its discontents, in the best case scenario we end up with running water and literacy. It is an observation seldom entertained of when exactly does corruption enters society, we all know it happens by the end of fourth grade . By the end of fourth grade the bulk of humanity still holds as truth a very basic assertion: men and women are very different. You see, it is a common belief held by ten-year old boys that girls are soulless creatures of dim intellect. It is also a common belief held by ten-year old girls that no matter what a boy’s intent is he is up to no good. One observes in any civilization ever tried on earth the greatness of mankind  not in its wars, science or arts but in a return to this simple truth repeated time and again: a woman preventing a man from losing his soul, thus acquiring hers in the process. The negation of such truth, never stronger than after centuries of romanticism, puts men as faithful guardians of women’s innocence, but we’re no good and then lose our souls and you are not innocent and never acquire one. It’s Adam and Eve all over again.

Full disclosure points me to another confession, the ways in which my thoughts have wandered during the making of this very essay led to what can be perceived as a lack of unity and apparent contradiction, and do not satisfy even my standards of clarity. The good reader will note, in the end, that the unity is lost only in expression not in content, perhaps like various branches of the same tree may point in very different directions but stray from the same trunk; the contradiction I maintain is apparent only.  The shift from career management to paradise regained is also one of degree. The lies of our Kindergarten are the lies of the Garden, I’m inclined to believe. So as we can say the same thing about truth, If any truth is to be  gained it is to be regained, but we can look ahead now, let us look to future events that will affect us all in the future.

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Ausëncia ou Die Geburt der Tragödie ou You’re so naïve yet so.

in wich Edward explains, by means of cryptic references to memories of things past, irresponsible quotations, and flagrant plagiarism, the sad appearance of a riddle concerning the existence of a much-anticipated birthday gift, the consequences of spatial as well as temporal distance upon the recollections of men, and proposes what can be thought as the ultimate gentleman-scoundrel solution to the problem.

I have in my suitcase a book, by one very honourable Mr. Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, called “Os anos de aprendizado de Wilhelm Meister”. Now, that’s a bit of a problem, you see, not that I have anything against Herr Goethe or Wilhelm Meister, for that matter,  and I do hope poor Wilhelm has learned whatever he had to learn all those years Johann talks about. I know I certainly won’t. The book was to be given as a birthday present, having as an expiring date this very 4th of january.The recipient a young lady for whom I nurtured, until recent days, not only my best sentiments but some of my worst too, as would be appropriate at the time and the more interesting so. I’m sure she felt the same way about me. Things change fast and slow, for worse and for better, and uncertain are the facts of future. I’m afraid hiatus is too feeble a word to express our current speaking terms, for you see, such word is to be used as a description of interruptions of all sorts having, all of them, the important feature of being temporary.

Perhaps how things have turned up or how they are going to unfold is not relevant, we have in front of us an enigma: a present but no presentee, to put it in an exquisite term. You must now be thinking, a good and thoughtful fella I imagine you are,  why in god’s world should that be an enigma at all? one present but no presentee? keep the damn book, gosh! with that last “gosh” spoken in a very Scottish, possibly sean-connery-esque accent…but, child, bear with me, in keeping the book I would have to reveal myself a very inconsiderate kind of guy. Allow me, please, to be more clear, it’s not actually the lack of recipient that shadows the future of the book but the new, and may I say magical, acquired power of such tome. It acquired the power to elicit memories, and more so than to elicit, to act like sudden breeze on fresh ember, it casts new fire, and the fire , brother!, is in the minds of men.

Memories are bad judges of character, and unlike a court of law where a bad judge is compelled by ancient rules to conduct the trial properly, and evidences are shown all around to assure the neutrality of the State, we have here the corruption of every step of the process, the judge is a crook, the defense attorney sleeps with the district attorney, the jury composed by friends of the prosecution, or family members of the defendant- a majority of women, of course- this court is, indeed, out-of-order, but we, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, are gonna go Pacino style today.

So it’s Edward vs. Edward now. One of them a gentleman, another one a scoundrel, and we are not pretty sure anyone can win this thing but the spoils of war are tasty, if put to testify on the witness box each one would tell a different story based on the same events, very unacceptable, except they’d both be true to their hearts and we can’t separate Dr. Jekyll from Edward Hyde and keep clean hands. Perhaps, you think, I could mediate the trial and see to its good evolution and progress but a narrative is only as reliable as it’s narrator and I’m afraid you’ve lost all trust since I started talking like a Calvinist minister a few paragraphs above – believe me, I’m rather Chauvinist, in no way Calvinist, oh no – besides, here is a transcription of the initial hearings by the court:

Edward the judge (I do contain multitudes, you see): Before beginning a battle over the custody of Wilhelm Meister we are to attempt a more amicable resolution to the situation.

Edward 1: perhaps we’re past the point of amicable, your Honour, perhaps we should start listening to our good sense and get rid of all these bad memories. I mean, one should not let a girl completely ruin Goethe. Let’s keep the book inside a drawer, get a new girl, let the new girl try to completely ruin Valery, or Chekov, save Valery or Chekov inside a drawer, move to the next girl, repeat the procedure until the Western Canon is fairly represented…by the time you’re lamenting the loss of Yeats I’m sure Goethe will be pretty free of bad memories and you’ll have a very respectable library.

Edward 2: Utter nonsense!

Edward the judge: seems pretty good to me, explain yourself…

Edward 2: Your Honour, this man, apart from his charming looks and burlesque intelligence, must be ignored…his considerations on the fate of Wilhelm Meister are a travesty of justice and decency. As I recall Goethe was never so prone to instill such sweet memories as he does now. I, if you permit me so, dare hold such volume in appreciation as Proust would hold his madeleines and tea…

Edward 1 (interrupting): I dare call you a faggot…

Edward 2: what?

Edward 1: A faggot, sir. You heard me..

Edward 2: You remind me of a movie, sir, it’s called Rain Man, the man surely knew how to count but was not that smart after all, was he?…

Edward 1: You remind me of a movie to, sir, it’s called Paranormal Activity, where night after night we see in front of our eyes a girl’s inner demon emerging from her true personality only to finally destroy the life of a poor chap…

Edward the judge: Order! Order!

…and then there was a fight

As you see, gentlemen and – if there is anyone left- ladies, we’ll have to resort to even more exceptional methods. If the surface is clouded by our tricky memories  we tear down the blanket of fantasy to contemplate truth in its strong nudity, we must go, dear sirs, deeper. Now, I may not be reliable but superfluous I am not, if one is to write his own decadence one must at least do it with infinite precision. I’ve put a few hints of things to come here and there and even Chekov up there was something of a chekov gun ready to fire, if I say we’ll have to resort to more exceptional methods I lie, not in substance but in time, the action will not take place in some indeterminate future as it has already taken place…in my mind.

Yes, the only method left of possible resolution was that of unassisted Hypnosis – besides exorcism, but I’m not sure there is much of a difference anyway – and lest you think this is looking too much like the case of Mr. Valdemar I assure you things are gonna get much more interesting, if somewhat nastier. Fearing my audience would suffer from symptoms not unlike those of the first Scanners I decided to record the whole session and put it down on milder terms, I will tell it softly, yond crickets shall not hear it… even so, the first contact to such heavy and mighty a mind may cause unprecedent effects and you should read it at your own risk…

Scene I

A medieval tavern, lots of pirates and modern geeks sing merrily on their tables, some are standing up, others have pieces of boar on their hands and sing while their mouths are full, they all drink Heineken and despite the poorly lit room they all wear ray ban way farer sun glasses. Edward is at the center and the chorus surrounds him, the action follows as a tragedy.

Ed                               My mind’s so dark let’s make it brighter

chorus                        but who’s gon’keep Herr Wilhelm Meister

Ed                               My shoulders ache let’s make’em lighter

chorus                       but who’s gon’keep Herr Wilhelm Meister

Ed                               I talked of music and literature

chorus                         for pms that is no cure

Ed                                I acted nice and then obtuse

chorus                        for pms that’s not of use

Ed                                 I was so fun and then aloof

chorus                        boy, pms is fail proof

Ed                                 I called her fair in prose and verse

chorus                         She’ll call you bloke ’cause she’s perverse

Ed                                Of all the gin joints in all the towns

chorus                        quotations won’t save Charlie Brown

Ed                                 in all the towns, in all the world

chorus                          you better left what’s left untold

Ed                                   in all the world, she comes to mine

chorus                           you won’t be saved by movie lines

Ed                                 the AC’s on and she cries Cold!

chorus                         you should have never grown so bold

Ed                                  the AC’s off and she cries Hot!

chorus                          you should have never gotten caught

at this point they all stop, edward is intimately thinking about who’s to blame and what not, the pirates all speak in hushed tones and some of them laugh, others weep, all of a sudden bill murray enters the room followed by ingmar bergman dressed as death, bergman is saying something to the effect of a chess rematch.

Ed                                  Two men coming, one I reckon t’other not

chorus                         wise they are and have a plot

Ed                                  then come closer, friends of night

chorus                          then they come, the time is right

Ed  (to bill)                  Thee I reckon you’re Bill Murray

Bill                                  you I reckon are in a hurry

Ed (to ingmar             but you, sir, are you a man

dressed as death)

Ing                                  indeed, I am, call me Bergman

Ed                                    Be welcome both and help me please

.                                        be wise and put my mind at ease

Bill                                   your mind, young fella, is at its best

.                                        I fear it, though, will never rest

Ing                                   As long as you keep a frowning look

.                                         as long as you keep the bloody book

Ed                                     Is this a joke, to do things folly

.                                         ignore my past to make things jolly

.                                         her mind is constant as the weather

.                                         she’s not Charlotte I’m not young Werther

.                                         Her soul is wicked her heart is vain

.                                         one is from Poland th’other Ukraine

Bill                                    You’re just a kid do as we told

.                                          you must rethink and let it go

Ing                                     You can’t know better, so naïve

.                                           you must go out and live

Bill                                      Hear us now, believe us later

.                                           grow a pair the sooner the greater

.                                            and by all means be not a fighter

.                                            with grace and poise give Wilhelm Meister

.                                            like Eris did with golden fruit

.                                            to the prettiest one the book will suit

Somehow Edward is enlightened by Bill’s last words and a woman’s voice from afar is heard by Edward alone, it is very sweet and melodious, sun light is now invading the tavern and the pirates and geeks leave the room along with bill and ingmar. Edward is alone and the door is open, he walks toward it and whisper: Let us go then, you and I.

fade to white.

I never said you could understand, did I?

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La Resistance

Just finished watching “To Have and Have Not” and could not withold any longer my precious thoughts on this picture: Hollywood wants us to believe that the entire european resistance, being… huh… european,  depended on the good will of people like Humphrey Bogart… I mean Rick Blaine…I mean Harry ‘Steve’ Morgan. That’d be fine with me as long as you provide us reasons to believe that a steady supply of Ingrids, and Laurens were always available, in wich case the hypothesis gets more credible and a happy ending is guaranteed…even when it’s sad.

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damn you, John Ford, damn you!

Sempre tento perdoar o presente, achar que ser reacionário não tá com nada e que, vá lá, até existe gente bem inteligente com menos de 70 anos…daí vou lá e assisto John Ford essa manhã…pra quê? Próximo passo: Uma aventura na Martinica…ah, Lauren Bacall, Lauren Bacall..

In my mind of all mankind I love but you alone

along with Eva Green, that Hepburn girl and

the early Sharon Stone..

but I digress…

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