Why your soul is dead

We're on the same page, Sydney. Karma or something is possibly at work. Possibly not. It feels like it sometimes. But we could be fooling ourselves. "It is the nature of the unkown to remain unknown."

Biological Speculation

We're just a biological speculation
sitting here just vibrating
but we don't know what we're vibrating about

And the animal instinct in me
makes me wanna defend me
makes me wanna live
when it's time to die

You all see my point?

I don't mean to come on strong
but I am concerned
I believe in something
Though I know that law and order must prevail

But if and when the laws of man
are not just, equal and fair
than the laws of nature
will come and do her thing
she does not think
she just rectifys
she comes and balances the books
you all see my point?
you all see my point.

We're just a biological speculation
standing here just vibrating
and we don't know what we're vibrating about.

and the animal instinct in me
makes me wanna defend me
makes me wanna live when it's time to die

You all see my point?

some of you might not be aware
that some of us don't eat
some of you don't even care

If and when the system
creates hunger and hate
than the laws of nature
will come and do her thing
she does not think
she just works by instinct
survival is her thing
you all see my point?
you all, see my point.




funkadelic

Hmmm interesting. Karam is definetley something I like to believe in

cheers

"There is a theory which states that if ever anyone
discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why
it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced
by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.
There is another which states that this has already
happened."

-The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

__________________
Now playing:
Pink Floyd - Obscured By Clouds

'Excuse me, please,' the approaching man began speaking, with a foreign accent but without distorting the words, 'if, not being your acquaintance, I allow myself... but the subject of your learned conversation is so interesting that. . .'
Here he politely took off his beret, and the friends had nothing left but to stand up and make their bows.
'No, rather a Frenchman .. .' thought Berlioz.
'A Pole? . . .' thought Homeless.
It must be added that from his first words the foreigner made a repellent impression on the poet, but Berlioz rather liked him - that is, not liked but ... how to put it ... was interested, or whatever.
'May I sit down?' the foreigner asked politely, and the friends somehow involuntarily moved apart; the foreigner adroidy sat down between them and at once entered into the conversation:
'Unless I heard wrong, you were pleased to say that Jesus never existed?' the foreigner asked, turning his green left eye to Berlioz.
'No, you did not hear wrong,' Berlioz replied courteously, 'that is precisely what I was saying.'
'Ah, how interesting!' exclaimed the foreigner.
'What the devil does he want?' thought Homeless, frowning.
'And you were agreeing with your interlocutor?' inquired the stranger, turning to Homeless on his right.
'A hundred per cent!' confirmed the man, who was fond of whimsical and figurative expressions.
'Amazing!' exclaimed the uninvited interlocutor and, casting a thievish glance around and muffling his low voice for some reason, he said:
'Forgive my importunity, but, as I understand, along with everything else, you also do not believe in God?' tie made frightened eyes and added: 'I swear I won't tell anyone!'
'No, we don't believe in God,' Berlioz replied, smiling slightly at the foreign tourist's fright, but we can speak of it quite freely.'
The foreigner sat back on the bench and asked, even with a slight shriek of curiosity:
'You are - atheists?!'
Yes, we're atheists,' Berlioz smilingly replied, and Homeless thought, getting angry: 'Latched on to us, the foreign goose!'
'Oh, how lovely!' the astonishing foreigner cried out and began swivelling his head, looking from one writer to the other.
'In our country atheism does not surprise anyone,' Berlioz said with diplomatic politeness. 'The majority of our population consciously and long ago ceased believing in the fairytales about God.'
Here the foreigner pulled the following stunt: he got up and shook the amazed editor's hand, accompanying it with these words:
'Allow me to thank you with all my heart!' 'What are you thanking him for?' Homeless inquired, blinking. 'For some very important information, which is of great interest to me as a traveller,' the outlandish fellow explained, raising his finger significantly.
The important information apparendy had indeed produced a strong impression on the traveller, because he passed his frightened glance over the buildings, as if afraid of seeing an atheist in every window.
'No, he's not an Englishman ...' thought Berlioz, and Homeless thought: 'Where'd he pick up his Russian, that's the interesting thing!' and frowned again.
'But, allow me to ask you,' the foreign visitor spoke after some anxious reflection, 'what, then, about the proofs of God's existence, of which, as is known, there are exactly five?'
'Alas!' Berlioz said with regret. 'Not one of these proofs is worth anything, and mankind shelved them long ago. You must agree that in the realm of reason there can be no proof of God's existence.'
'Bravo!' cried the foreigner. 'Bravo! You have perfectly repeated restless old Immanuel's[19] thought in this regard. But here's the hitch: he roundly demolished all five proofs, and then, as if mocking himself, constructed a sixth of his own.'
'Kant's proof,' the learned editor objected with a subtle smile, 'is equally unconvincing. Not for nothing did Schiller say that the Kantian reasoning on this question can satisfy only slaves, and Strauss simply laughed at this proof.' Berlioz spoke, thinking all the while: 'But, anyhow, who is he? And why does he speak Russian so well?'
They ought to take this Kant and give him a three-year stretch in Solovki[22] for such proofs!' Ivan Nikolaevich plumped quite unexpectedly.
'Ivan!' Berlioz whispered, embarrassed.
But the suggestion of sending Kant to Solovki not only did not shock the foreigner, but even sent him into raptures.
'Precisely, precisely,' he cried, and his green left eye, turned to Berlioz, flashed. 'Just the place for him! Didn't I tell him that time at breakfast:
"As you will. Professor, but what you've thought up doesn't hang together. It's clever, maybe, but mighty unclear. You'll be laughed at."'
Berlioz goggled his eyes. 'At breakfast... to Kant? . . . What is this drivel?' he thought.
'But,' the oudander went on, unembarrassed by Berlioz's amazement and addressing the poet, 'sending him to Solovki is unfeasible, for the simple reason that he has been abiding for over a hundred years now in places considerably more remote than Solovki, and to extract him from there is in no way possible, I assure you.'
'Too bad!' the feisty poet responded.
'Yes, too bad!' the stranger agreed, his eye flashing, and went on:
'But here is a question that is troubling me: if there is no God, then, one may ask, who governs human life and, in general, the whole order of things on earth?'
'Man governs it himself,' Homeless angrily hastened to reply to this admittedly none-too-clear question.
'Pardon me,' the stranger responded gently, 'but in order to govern, one needs, after all, to have a precise plan for a certain, at least somewhat decent, length of time. Allow me to ask you, then, how can man govern, if he is not only deprived of the opportunity of making a plan for at least some ridiculously short period - well, say, a thousand years - but cannot even vouch for his own tomorrow?
'And in fact,' here the stranger turned to Berlioz, 'imagine that you, for instance, start governing, giving orders to others and yourself, generally, so to speak, acquire a taste for it, and suddenly you get ...hem ... hem ... lung cancer ...' -- here the foreigner smiled sweetly, and if the thought of lung cancer gave him pleasure -- 'yes, cancer' -- narrowing his eyes like a cat, he repeated the sonorous word -- 'and so your governing is over!
'You are no longer interested in anyone's fate but your own. Your family starts lying to you. Feeling that something is wrong, you rush to learned doctors, then to quacks, and sometimes to fortune-tellers as well. Like the first, so the second and third are completely senseless, as you understand. And it all ends tragically: a man who still recently thought he was governing something, suddenly winds up lying motionless in a wooden box, and the people around him, seeing that the man lying there is no longer good for anything, burn him in an oven.
'And sometimes it's worse still: the man has just decided to go to Kislovodsk' - here the foreigner squinted at Berlioz - 'a trifling matter, it seems, but even this he cannot accomplish, because suddenly, no one knows why, he slips and falls under a tram-car! Are you going to say it was he who governed himself that way? Would it not be more correct to think that he was governed by someone else entirely?' And here the unknown man burst into a
strange little laugh.

© Mikhail Bulgakov
© Translated from the russian by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky
OCR: Scout
Origin: "Master i Margarita"


I've tried to make it as short as possible, but it is really hard. It seems that each small detail is very important. I don't want to convince somebody of anything or to start any religios dispute. It just seemed to me that this quote would fit this thread

I believe our "spirits" are what/who we really are, what animates this hunk of meat and bone we live in, and that our "intelligence" is a part of our spirit. I believe we (our spirits) existed before we inhabited this physical body(birth), and that our spirits will continue to exist when they leave it. (death) I look at the hunk of meat called the "brain" as more of a resistor, throttle or restriction to our intelligence than as the source of it.

Again, we two schools of thought. One says that the human mind is programmed not to kill other humans because biologically we are social creatures, not individuals. This is also a sort of explanation of serial killers. Most deprive themselves from other human contact and consequently go insane.

The other says that nothing other than our upbringing influences our morals, but this has a flaw as it does not give an explanation to why some people are amoral. But some would argue that serial killers are not insane, but rather amoral.

So, as to which is true, well Im damned if I know.

P.S. While I was typing this I had Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie on in the background when it dawned on me that one of Bowie's lines is "It's the terror of knowing what this world is about.". Right now this seems strangely true.

P.P.S. Perhaps Sydney would be so kind as to explain Karam?

"When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now. The child has grown, the dream has gone."

We all know whence this cometh.

Mother are you trying to be cheeky with me?

cheers

im agreeing with stratman...

Davai vodka! (If I'm correct! )

touche

cheers

Cheeky! Moi? Well I never!







Yes.

hehehe, thought so!!
I know the likes of you I do!

cheers

Ay, to be sure! :leprachaun smilie!:

Never trsted those Leprachauns, I didn't. Read all about you, not to be trusted they say

cheers