Thread #25114459
File: 1663443670225.png (424.7 KB)
424.7 KB PNG
"The true and the genuine would easily find a place in the world if those who are incapable of producing it did not conspire to prevent it." — Arthur Schopenhauer
Dear reader, my mother, the author of my days, who should be the guardian of both my physical and psychic integrity, has decided, in yet another of her hysterical surfeits, that I should—for the first time in twenty-four years—seek employment! I, who have always been a man given to reading, to thought, to good taste, to the arts, and to philosophy. I pass my days in intense ponderation and meditation upon the fundamental problems of our time and of human existence.
My mother, whom I erstwhile also considered a woman of letters and free thought, now deports herself as a miscreant, making me the primary target of her puissant and derealized misology, thus demonstrating once again the female susceptibility to mental disorders (for more information on female susceptibility to mood disorders, see Neuroscience: Exploring the Brain, PART III – chap. 22).
My presence in the world at large is not entirely new; upon venturing into the world, I have always had the displeasure of having to interact with beings of the lowest order—that is, the rabble—falling victim, oftentimes, to scoundrels, charlatans, prosaic souls, the impious, and the boorish. In the clashes of our worldviews, these individuals would ever plot new ruses to disparage my unattainable being, demonstrating, once more, my superiority over these poor souls. Since then, I have dedicated myself exclusively to free thought and the arts, activities with which the educators of the species have always occupied themselves.
Consequently, my imposing and complex worldview, the decency and good taste implicit in my attitudes, and the decorum with which I present myself before today’s decadent standards frighten away those of low spirit, forcing them to form camarillas against the few thinkers of our times. Given these facts, I fear for my physical and psychological integrity, as previously stated; to wit: my pyloric valve has constricted with such force that I can scarcely move, my bed now resembles a bier, and from so much pondering of alternatives, I have ended up fustigating my intellect. I am now despondent, suffering from intense cachexia in my room, awaiting my death. Perhaps my mother, in her lubricous and impudent delights, wishes to drive me to my death: that is, the external world or utter alienation.
Can the free spirit produce an eternal work when oppressed by the whims of the society in which it dwells? Have we reached the pinnacle of squalor, where men of knowledge are depreciated in the name of unattainable progress and productivity? I sorrowfully conclude this account.
Tião, the contemplating hermit
8 RepliesView Thread
Showing all 8 replies.>>
>>
>>25114567
God help me, I thought I was in a sanctuary of free spirits! But it seems I have been cast into a lions' den—men who see my complex worldview and the compatibility of geometry and theology as mere fodder for their lubricous envy!
>>
>>
>>
>>25114583
Not quite. Ignatius was genuinely intelligent (or at least, not a complete retard, as shown by his manipulation and lies throughout the novel that actually work out for him) but Ignatius' flaw was that he "learnt everything, except how to be a human being"
Also his dad died when he was 8 and his mother was to weak willed to do anything until it was far too late. Moral of the story? People without proper father figures end up being slobs and assholes
>>
>>25118168
>Miss Annie reached inside the neckline of her housedress to find some strap that had slipped from her shoulder. “Lemme tell you
something. I gotta be fair. That Ignatius was okay until that big dog of his died. He had this big dog useta bark right under my window. That’s whenmy nerves first started to go. Then the dog dies. Well, I think, now maybe I’ll get me some peace and quiet. But no. Ignatius is got the dog laid out in his momma’s front parlor with some flowers stuck in its paw. That’s whenhim and his momma first started all that fighting. To tell you the truth, I think that’s when she started drinking.
>So Ignatius goes over to the priest and ax him to come say something over the dog. Ignatius was planning on some kinda funeral. You know? The priest says no, of course, and I think that’s when Ignatius left the Church. So big Ignatius puts on his own funeral. A big fat high school boy oughta know better. You see that cross?” Mr. Levy looked hopelessly at the rotting Celtic cross in the front yard. “That where it all happened. He had about two dozen little kids standing around in that yard watching him. And Ignatius had on a big cape like Superman and they was candles burning all over. The whole time his momma was screaming out the front door for him to throw the dog in the garbage can and get in the house. Well, that’s when things years. His momma almost went broke. She even hadda sell the piana they had. Well, I didn’t mind that. You oughta seen this girl he picks up at college.
>I says to myself, ‘Well, good. Maybe that Ignatius is gonna get married and move out.’ Was I wrong. All they done is sit in his room. It seem like every night she and him was putting on a regular hootenanny. The things Iuseta hear through my window! ‘Put down that skirt.’ and ‘Get off my bed.’ And ‘How dare you? I’m a virgin.’ It was awful. I went on aspirins twenty-four hours a day. Well, that girl done left. I can’t blame her
Have you been drinking? Mrs. Annie herself gives some clues as to how he became this way. Ignatius had his first disappointment with the world when he faced the death of his dog, and since he was unable to mourn, this caused him to develop part of his distrust of modernity, the world, people, and even the Church. I'm not surprised he can't have a healthy sex life; he probably still feels guilty about the dog's death.