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Messages - Perennial_Man

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Interzone / Re: Archaic video games
« on: July 25, 2012, 01:38:28 AM »
Yo! I'll just drop some excellent gamage here. All these games are fairly intelligent considering the programming.

I noticed Rome: Total War, but Sir Umbrage did not mention the fantastic Europa Barbarorum mod which totally fucking kicks ass and can be played online through ip.

The only other games I'll mention are more online real-time strategy created by the brilliant Paradox Interactive.

First up is Hearts of Iron 3. You can play out all of your zaniest Nazi fantasies if you can stop the world from destroying you.

Probably the most in-depth strategy game created, Europa Universallis 3, covers nearly the entire world from 1399 to 1820!

The final game I will share is [v2.1]]Victoria 2: Revolutions. Be the Supreme Dictator of the Confederate States of America and annex the entire Union establishment, then establish slave states through the Caribbean as you rise in status as a global power, then kick France's ass for succumbing to liberalism!

I tried adding a good torrent for Vicky 2, but the syntax causes the link to break. http://thepiratebay.se/torrent/7004463/Victoria_II_A_House_Divided_[full_setup][v2.1] (and there again, just copypasta this whole line including "[full_setup][v2.1]" -- plus serch in piratebay for the House Divided 2.3 patch)

Interzone / Re: How do people cure their addictions?
« on: July 22, 2012, 04:42:24 AM »
A culmination of sorts as Gandhi and this Victor Hugo. in his les Miserable the Valjean would surely have killed himself if he pondered stopping his acts in the past. As for women with puny testosterones they are basically dead.

Interzone / Re: "The poor": kill them
« on: July 22, 2012, 01:03:12 AM »
There are so many useless regulations to "help" the poor, I'd rather be left without any government intervention. Poor folk really need to be let go. Then chaos ensues as they freak over how they can't be fed directly by food stamps and such, and then the true weeding out and enrichment of the poor strata begins.

Our regulations to help poor people are set up that to benefit, you really must have nothing to your name, and these regulations in health care, food, and job industries do nothing to alleviate any problems.

Interzone / Re: Sociology
« on: July 21, 2012, 02:48:51 AM »
It is terrible that they generalize ancient writers. Though most people honestly think these guys are fucking dumb, but yeah, colleges need cash. The best they are is "imaginative."

Interzone / Re: Colorado Batman Massacre
« on: July 21, 2012, 02:44:33 AM »
It is like how Gandhi once said, "It is all too easy to kill one's self."

Interzone / Re: Love songs
« on: July 17, 2012, 11:16:32 PM »
You could probably choose Dreaming of Love off of Absurd's Facta Locuuntur. She'd probably take the music as playful punk and you could steadily indoctrinate her into NS if you're into that. For classical I'd suggest opera, though I haven't actually known any besides Gotterdammerung, but fuck if I'd know when it starts talking about love.

Interzone / Re: Henry David Thoreau
« on: July 14, 2012, 09:20:13 AM »
'What are you doing up there?"

"What are you doing down there?"

Said Emerson to Thoreau.

Is this similar to Aristotle versus Plato? Celestial versus Earthly? Are they not ultimately the same? I hav'nt red enuff uv Emurson or Thurhoh.

Interzone / Re: Growing up... is remembering.
« on: July 14, 2012, 09:15:46 AM »
Reflection and introspection are important parts of maturation. They are more than acts of remembering however. If I had to guess, I would offer these very actions as the method by which wisdom flowers.

Yes, what Scourge said.

Also, remember that the wisdom you gain from introspection may be valid for yourself or a few others. Understanding that few will understand you, because of this narrow insight, will do well in keeping you strong mentally and socially.

 Fuck yeah, be cautious with whom you deal with anon.

Oh! Be misunderstood for validity is only for the few.

Interzone / Re: To Reign in Hell
« on: July 14, 2012, 09:10:52 AM »
We all know how this story started. Just as a hamster, plunged deep into the rectum of an irate AIDs faggit, tears and floods the warped bio hole, thus Satan.

It truly is unfortunate that 77 15-20 year olds had to run in terror from one man with one pistol. I wonder how many actually tried charging Breivik to stop their friends from being murdered.

"When it comes to sexually transmitted diseases and the sexual revolution, it’s actually something that is underreported, and has created major problems in Europe. [This is a subtle and astute observation. Sex, reproduction, and the family together constitute the taproot of race and genetics.—Trans.] The ideal being upheld is to have sex with as many strangers as possible. Instead of focusing on the nuclear family, the focus is on dissolving it, and all the problems which that entails."

I hate to imagine how many children were born out of Woodstock. I think it is ridiculous that not the one veteran Marine decided it would be best to propagate his national ideals and toss a few hand grenades into the crowd there.

Interzone / Re: Growing up... is remembering.
« on: July 10, 2012, 04:36:22 AM »
Well, to start this off, you talk funny.

Anyways, I remember being a child and it was swell. Fucking dope. I definitely was a brat though. I blame men for humanity's lack of care in society and family.

Interzone / Re: No lawn pesticides results
« on: July 08, 2012, 09:25:45 PM »
I've been eating nearly organic meals for months now. I literally only eat broccoli, kale, spinach, beets, and cauliflower cooked in a pan of olive oil with oats, blueberries, almonds, avocado, and eggs. Two things that I'll buy non-organic are blueberries and avocado; I think they are just too nutritious and delicious. The worst thing I've been consuming is cheap whole milk which I should probably substitute with local ground beef eaten twice or thrice a week. I need to cut down on bud expenditure as I get two meals, or more often one meal, a day and my turds are fucking huge from that plant, oat, and almond fiber. It would probably help to divide my plant consumption into three meals through the day, but I've been getting used to eating a fat ton in the morning. I was really hoping for a free ride into the US military, but active duty is being neutered. I can't grow any food now though I still eat better than most retards chugging grease out of their fries. Did I mention I guzzle a half a cup of olive oil before eating?

Interzone / Re: Poetry Time
« on: July 07, 2012, 06:55:52 PM »
http://digitalcommons.iwu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1264&context=jwprc Some thought and plenty more reference for Goethe.


 COVER thy spacious heavens, Zeus,
With clouds of mist,
And, like the boy who lops
The thistles' heads,
Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks,
Yet thou must leave
My earth still standing;
My cottage too, which was not raised by thee;
Leave me my hearth,
Whose kindly glow
By thee is envied.

I know nought poorer
Under the sun, than ye gods!
Ye nourish painfully,
With sacrifices
And votive prayers,
Your majesty:
Ye would e'en starve,
If children and beggars
Were not trusting fools.

While yet a child
And ignorant of life,
I turned my wandering gaze
Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him
There were an ear to hear my wailings,
A heart, like mine,
To feel compassion for distress.

Who help'd me
Against the Titans' insolence?
Who rescued me from certain death,
From slavery?
Didst thou not do all this thyself,
My sacred glowing heart?
And glowedst, young and good,
Deceived with grateful thanks
To yonder slumbering one?

I honour thee! and why?
Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows
Of the heavy laden?
Hast thou e'er dried up the tears
Of the anguish-stricken?
Was I not fashion'd to be a man
By omnipotent Time,
And by eternal Fate,
Masters of me and thee?

Didst thou e'er fancy
That life I should learn to hate,
And fly to deserts,
Because not all
My blossoming dreams grew ripe?

Here sit I, forming mortals
After my image;
A race resembling me,
To suffer, to weep,
To enjoy, to be glad,
And thee to scorn,
As I!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I think these poems are great for the first few pages. They do sum up some fine points.

Interzone / Re: Poetry Time
« on: July 07, 2012, 06:51:56 PM »

by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

TITAN! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Were not as things that gods despise;
What was thy pity's recompense?
A silent suffering, and intense;
The rock, the vulture, and the chain,
All that the proud can feel of pain,
The agony they do not show,
The suffocating sense of woe,
Which speaks but in its loneliness,
And then is jealous lest the sky
Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless.
Titan! to thee the strife was given
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill;
And the inexorable Heaven,
And the deaf tyranny of Fate,
The ruling principle of Hate,
Which for its pleasure doth create
The things it may annihilate,
Refus'd thee even the boon to die:
The wretched gift Eternity
Was thine--and thou hast borne it well.
All that the Thunderer wrung from thee
Was but the menace which flung back
On him the torments of thy rack;
The fate thou didst so well foresee,
But would not to appease him tell;
And in thy Silence was his Sentence,
And in his Soul a vain repentance,
And evil dread so ill dissembled,
That in his hand the lightnings trembled.
Thy Godlike crime was to be kind,
To render with thy precepts less
The sum of human wretchedness,
And strengthen Man with his own mind;
But baffled as thou wert from high,
Still in thy patient energy,
In the endurance, and repulse
Of thine impenetrable Spirit,
Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse,
A mighty lesson we inherit:
Thou art a symbol and a sign
To Mortals of their fate and force;
Like thee, Man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source;
And Man in portions can foresee
His own funereal destiny;
His wretchedness, and his resistance,
And his sad unallied existence:
To which his Spirit may oppose
Itself--and equal to all woes,
And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Which even in torture can descry
Its own concenter'd recompense,
Triumphant where it dares defy,
And making Death a Victory.

Interzone / Re: Poetry Time
« on: July 07, 2012, 05:20:30 PM »
This by Edgar Allen Poe is quite dope and still melancholic. Prose is still very poetic.

The Power of Words

by Edgar Allan Poe

OINOS. Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with immortality!

AGATHOS. You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be demanded. Not even here is knowledge thing of intuition. For wisdom, ask of the angels freely, that it may be given!

OINOS. But in this existence, I dreamed that I should be at once cognizant of all things, and thus at once be happy in being cognizant of all.

AGATHOS. Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of knowledge! In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know all were the curse of a fiend.

OINOS. But does not The Most High know all?

AGATHOS. That (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the one thing unknown even to Him.

OINOS. But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all things be known?

AGATHOS. Look down into the abysmal distances!-attempt to force the gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly through them thus-and thus-and thus! Even the spiritual vision, is it not at all points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the universe?-the walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere number has appeared to blend into unity?

OINOS. I clearly perceive that the infinity of matter is no dream.

AGATHOS. There are no dreams in Aidenn-but it is here whispered that, of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford infinite springs, at which the soul may allay the thirst to know, which is for ever unquenchable within it-since to quench it, would be to extinguish the soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear. Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, where, for pansies and violets, and heart's- ease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple-tinted suns.

OINOS. And now, Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me!-speak to me in the earth's familiar tones. I understand not what you hinted to me, just now, of the modes or of the method of what, during mortality, we were accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say that the Creator is not God?

AGATHOS. I mean to say that the Deity does not create.

OINOS. Explain.

AGATHOS. In the beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures which are now, throughout the universe, so perpetually springing into being, can only be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the direct or immediate results of the Divine creative power.

OINOS. Among men, my Agathos, this idea would be considered heretical in the extreme.

AGATHOS. Among angels, my Oinos, it is seen to be simply true.

OINOS. I can comprehend you thus far-that certain operations of what we term Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain conditions, give rise to that which has all the appearance of creation. Shortly before the final overthrow of the earth, there were, I well remember, many very successful experiments in what some philosophers were weak enough to denominate the creation of animalculae.

AGATHOS. The cases of which you speak were, in fact, instances of the secondary creation-and of the only species of creation which has ever been, since the first word spoke into existence the first law.

OINOS. Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity, burst hourly forth into the heavens-are not these stars, Agathos, the immediate handiwork of the King?

AGATHOS. Let me endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can perish, so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for example, when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, gave vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe well knew. They made the special effects, indeed, wrought in the fluid by special impulses, the subject of exact calculation-so that it became easy to determine in what precise period an impulse of given extent would engirdle the orb, and impress (for ever) every atom of the atmosphere circumambient. Retrograding, they found no difficulty, from a given effect, under given conditions, in determining the value of the original impulse. Now the mathematicians who saw that the results of any given impulse were absolutely endless-and who saw that a portion of these results were accurately traceable through the agency of algebraic analysis-who saw, too, the facility of the retrogradation-these men saw, at the same time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a capacity for indefinite progress-that there were no bounds conceivable to its advancement and applicability, except within the intellect of him who advanced or applied it. But at this point our mathematicians paused.

OINOS. And why, Agathos, should they have proceeded?

AGATHOS. Because there were some considerations of deep interest beyond. It was deducible from what they knew, that to a being of infinite understanding-one to whom the perfection of the algebraic analysis lay unfolded-there could be no difficulty in tracing every impulse given the air-and the ether through the air-to the remotest consequences at any even infinitely remote epoch of time. It is indeed demonstrable that every such impulse given the air, must, in the end, impress every individual thing that exists within the universe;-and the being of infinite understanding-the being whom we have imagined-might trace the remote undulations of the impulse- trace them upward and onward in their influences upon all particles of an matter-upward and onward for ever in their modifications of old forms-or, in other words, in their creation of new-until he found them reflected-unimpressive at last-back from the throne of the Godhead. And not only could such a thing do this, but at any epoch, should a given result be afforded him-should one of these numberless comets, for example, be presented to his inspection-he could have no difficulty in determining, by the analytic retrogradation, to what original impulse it was due. This power of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and perfection-this faculty of referring at all epochs, all effects to all causes-is of course the prerogative of the Deity alone-but in every variety of degree, short of the absolute perfection, is the power itself exercised by the whole host of the Angelic intelligences.

OINOS. But you speak merely of impulses upon the air.

AGATHOS. In speaking of the air, I referred only to the earth; but the general proposition has reference to impulses upon the ether- which, since it pervades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the great medium of creation.

OINOS. Then all motion, of whatever nature, creates?

AGATHOS. It must: but a true philosophy has long taught that the source of all motion is thought-and the source of all thought is-


AGATHOS. I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child of the fair Earth which lately perished-of impulses upon the atmosphere of the Earth.

OINOS. You did.

AGATHOS. And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of the physical power of words? Is not every word an impulse on the air?

OINOS. But why, Agathos, do you weep-and why, oh why do your wings droop as we hover above this fair star-which is the greenest and yet most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream-but its fierce volcanoes like the passions of a turbulent heart.

AGATHOS. They are!-they are! This wild star-it is now three centuries since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my beloved-I spoke it-with a few passionate sentences- into birth. Its brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts.

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