Payne, There's Something in the Water.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

We have our own Gods now. Bespoke, perfectly turned out for our needs. You, yourself, are a God. And the pinnacle of your Pantheon is The Truth. A harsh master. It's a hard road you travel. The Lost Highway where Curly is always round the next bend. A man has to watch his own back when he is under the gaze of The Truth and the soles of his boots kick up the "dust" on that bleak strip of cracked and faded tarmac. The dust of those who were weaker, who looked back, who had plastic in their bones.

Yeah, but I'm tired, Payne, and I need a rest...but there's nowhere to pull over, and I can't remember how to stop, and The Truth - while it may be the only thing worth having - is overrated.  I can demonstrate that.  I WILL demonstrate that.

The Truth is, there's nothing in this desert but more desert.  There's nothing at the end of The Lost Highway, because it's the goddamned Lost Highway.  It killed Hank Sr and Johnny Cash and James Brown, and it will kill you and I, the moment we stop moving.   The Truth is, Curly died for nothing.  He was a sap, and he crossed that police line for morons who didn't care.  The Truth is, Verthaine isn't coming back.  I can't blame him.

Ho ho!  How's THAT for a revelation?  Does that make it all worthwhile?  

What, you want more Slack™?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Have you tried saying words to the effect of "I know I pissed you off and I understand if you'll stay mad at me, but I hope you don't"?  You know, not in those words (because then it would sound fake) but in your own way.

That usually works, if you happen to mean it.

Who is this for?  If it's for me, Vincent gave me a thumbs up after the memnoch debacle at eb&g...but I still feel bad for what went down.  That's my own personal fuckup.  Vincent stays away for his own reasoning.  But he knows there are folks who respect, love and miss him here and at Bella's forum as well.

No, Roger actually.  I hate hearing about people losing good friends over arguments that, in perspective, don't matter.

But, as general advice, it has mileage.

Yes, I tried that.  But this isn't just a case of one person being wrong...if it was, I'd take the hit no matter which one of us was at fault.

[Captain Utopia]

We make each other think.  It hurts to think.  At least it hurts me.  Invariably it leads to a conclusion that I was fucked up all wrong about something I held dear.  And I do not like this feeling.

The other monkeys hoot and jabber but they get what they want.  On days like today, I find it hard to call that out as abject stupidity.  The mob reinforces its will and American Idol spunks up another season for everyone to enjoy.  And you must enjoy what they show you, otherwise you might end up with a thought in your head which will gnaw through your precious preconceptions faster than a pack of cartoon termites.

I used to hate celebrities and that faux culture, but I am all that is false in a world like ours.  A deer gets caught in the headlights, and it doesn't take much more in the way of shiny bright things to stupefy most but all of us.  And you know why we throw spotlights and glitter at our disposable Gods?  If we didn't nail them to that fucking cross, Roger, they'd run away from us and we'd be left with our own thoughts.

I have this mental image of a game of chicken played on a dark road empty save for two oncoming cars, except it's deer doing the driving, and we all know how it will end.  I think I need a sabbatical.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Hell, let's face it.  I know that I'm just as guilty as anyone else.  Independent Evaluations are really hard work, and dammit, I just don't want to deal with that sometimes.  And I know that when my back is turned, that the demons, and the spiders, and the Cities™ slink out and envelop me.  Then before you know it, you're blinking in the harsh daylight, fangs bared and a handful of poop ready to fling at the nearest sentient object.

169% Truth.

TGRR,
Forgot how to breathe again.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

We make each other think.  It hurts to think.  At least it hurts me.  Invariably it leads to a conclusion that I was fucked up all wrong about something I held dear.  And I do not like this feeling.

The other monkeys hoot and jabber but they get what they want.  On days like today, I find it hard to call that out as abject stupidity.  The mob reinforces its will and American Idol spunks up another season for everyone to enjoy.  And you must enjoy what they show you, otherwise you might end up with a thought in your head which will gnaw through your precious preconceptions faster than a pack of cartoon termites.

I used to hate celebrities and that faux culture, but I am all that is false in a world like ours.  A deer gets caught in the headlights, and it doesn't take much more in the way of shiny bright things to stupefy most but all of us.  And you know why we throw spotlights and glitter at our disposable Gods?  If we didn't nail them to that fucking cross, Rog, they'd run away from us and we'd be left with our own thoughts.

I have this mental image of a game of chicken played on a dark road empty save for two oncoming cars, except it's deer doing the driving, and we all know how it will end.  I think I need a sabbatical.

There's a reason most civilizations worshiped idols, FP.  Idols don't make a sound, they just sit there for generation after generation, getting progressively more blood-soaked or moss-covered.

Real Gods, on the other hand, Never shut up.  They jabber at you and jabber at you, natter natter natter, until they drive you so fucking crazy you turn into a prophet, just to get some peace.  And we all know what happens to prophets, right?  Remember John the Baptist?  Neither do I.

The reason I respect LMNO so much is that he seems to have some sort of white noise generator turned on, and he doesn't seem to be plagued by random deities (you know, Tlaloc, General Motors, Barack Obama, Simon Cowell, etc), and he seems to have a pretty solid grip, which is pretty fucking rare these days.

I could use a little quiet, you know?  Just for a little while.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I sometimes feel partly to blame for Vincent leaving us like that, but then I remember that The Verthaine is too mighty to be put off by a mere fly like memnoch buzzing around everyone's asses.

You should have banned that fat piece of shit the moment he showed up.  That jackass poisons everything he touches, while he jabbers about "personal responsibility" from his mother-in-law's basement (literally).

[LMNO]

I have no time for graven images, TGRR.  I worship two gods, who stand supreme beyond all things.

1) The audio waveform.

2)  Mrs LMNO.


They're both so damn complicated to figure out that it takes most of my time and concentration to make sure I know what the hell is going on.  Everything else just fades into the background, most of the time.





Although, it doesn't hurt to have a sense of humor dark enough to creep out Beckett.

[Captain Utopia]

I'm not certain LMNO, but finding purpose sure looks like cheating.  Eschewing the false dichotomy of stopping to get eaten by buzzards or speeding yourself into the sausage creature - it sounds like you've got some passengers and are actually enjoying a roadtrip on the lost highway.  I'm not sure if this is sacrilege or wisdom.  But I like it.

Not wanting to be too spaggish, but it reminds me of this:

[Payne]

We have our own Gods now. Bespoke, perfectly turned out for our needs. You, yourself, are a God. And the pinnacle of your Pantheon is The Truth. A harsh master. It's a hard road you travel. The Lost Highway where Curly is always round the next bend. A man has to watch his own back when he is under the gaze of The Truth and the soles of his boots kick up the "dust" on that bleak strip of cracked and faded tarmac. The dust of those who were weaker, who looked back, who had plastic in their bones.

Yeah, but I'm tired, Payne, and I need a rest...but there's nowhere to pull over, and I can't remember how to stop, and The Truth - while it may be the only thing worth having - is overrated.  I can demonstrate that.  I WILL demonstrate that.

The Truth is, there's nothing in this desert but more desert.  There's nothing at the end of The Lost Highway, because it's the goddamned Lost Highway.  It killed Hank Sr and Johnny Cash and James Brown, and it will kill you and I, the moment we stop moving.   The Truth is, Curly died for nothing.  He was a sap, and he crossed that police line for morons who didn't care.  The Truth is, Verthaine isn't coming back.  I can't blame him.

Ho ho!  How's THAT for a revelation?  Does that make it all worthwhile? 

What, you want more Slack™?

The Truth is heavy, but The Truth is only the pinnacle. It is a God over Freedom, Happiness and Knowledge and many other things in the same way that a Capstone is the top of a Pyramid.

The Truth is, Curly died for nothing.  He was a sap, and he crossed that police line for morons who didn't care. But it was NECESSARY.

The Lost Highway is a road that MUST be travelled. Many choose to drive along it. Many find themselves there quite by accident. Many will never find themselves upon it, or on the wrong road mistakenly identified as The Lost Highway. But there are those of us who are here because it MUST be so. Not "for" anything, not "against". There is no reward, and all must become dust in the end no matter where they stand.

however:

This is for all of you out there who have shit going on, in your life, and can't deal. Can't vent. Can't defend yourself from.

There are times when you must be seen, heard, felt. And even the most apathetic or the most cynical of us do it. There are times when you must stick your head over the trench wall and see others toiling away, and take comfort from the fact that you are not alone.

So I am here. I am listening.

Some of us take up the pen, the sword, the megaphone, and turn negativity into a positive. Some of us create temporary monuments out of the shrapnel that rains on us.This is why: if we do not shit our hate, we will die.

Your tasks are your own, what you do, you must do alone, but what is done, will be seen.

The best will be remembered and emulated and refined, it is true, but the best will fade as fast as the worst.

There is nothing permanant. In the space of a life time, we build many monuments, and we tear many down.

There is respite, though. There is a moment of hiding in a shell crater as you run across no-mans-land, sharing a knowing glance with another refugee, leaving your mark, before you jump up again, and run to the next bit of scant cover.

There is that assurance that what we do will have meaning, for a fleeting time perhaps, but not an empty gesture.

So friends leave us, comrades become fractious, Truth leaves an empty and coppery taste on the tongue. There is yet something that connects us and binds us together, that makes our toil worthwhile. In a world where we have nothing to hope for, but hope itself... That's precious.

[Jenne]

I sometimes feel partly to blame for Vincent leaving us like that, but then I remember that The Verthaine is too mighty to be put off by a mere fly like memnoch buzzing around everyone's asses.

You should have banned that fat piece of shit the moment he showed up.  That jackass poisons everything he touches, while he jabbers about "personal responsibility" from his mother-in-law's basement (literally).

Yeah, except I totally invited him.

It was a horrible miscalculation on my part in getting memnoch over there to troll him (memnoch, not eb&g or anyone there).

Yeah, that was a wrong turn alright.

ed for clarification

[Dimocritus]

This thread is truly a great read.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So friends leave us, comrades become fractious, Truth leaves an empty and coppery taste on the tongue. There is yet something that connects us and binds us together, that makes our toil worthwhile. In a world where we have nothing to hope for, but hope itself... That's precious.

The game isn't worth the candle, to use an old phrase.

I need to do something.  I gotta breathe.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

That's the thing, mate - we aren't something evolved from monkeys, we're just monkeys with an extra bit. You don't stop being a monkey just cos you've learned to walk on your back feet. Trying to ignore that fact is why this "evolved civilisation" of ours ended up such a decaying pathetic fucking excuse for an existence. You need to embrace the monkey, it's what you are first and foremost. Throw the dog a bone, have a swing in some trees, eat a bananna, smash another monkey over the head with a stick... Cos, until you've satisfied those filthy simian urges, the monkey won't give you peace to think.

I reject that in its entirety.  We may be built like tall, weak monkeys, and we may be WIRED like monkeys, but we can think rationally when we care to, so our monkey heritage is no excuse.

That's our real problem.  Laziness and excuse-making.

You think?

I've seen a gorrilla use a stick to see how deep a river is.

No offense, GI, but you're pissing the wrong kind of blood here.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Heard from my friend, and my worst fears are confirmed.

I'm heading out for a while.  Gonna go 4 wheeling in the mountains until I feel better.

[P3nT4gR4m]

The truth is, we're all of us fucked in the end. Such is the human condition but the part that rankles, that really sticks in my throat is that, in the end, we're no more or less fucked than any other primate on the surface of this meaningless ball of biology floating through space.

Like Payne said, the natural instinct is to make up some gods, some convincing fairy tale that gives the whole thing meaning and perspective. But, no. Us smart fuckers saw right through that bullshit. When we looked down, through the cracks in the highway, we saw there was nothing but dark, neverending void.

Unlike the ignorant savages who have something to look forward to we, for all our hard work and dedication, get nothing and fuck if I can see how that's fair. Some mythical wunderkind said "the truth will set you free" but the author lied. All the truth is ever going to do is piss you off but fuck it, it's the truth and there's no way in hell anyone who's shared it with us is ever going to forget cos everytime they do, every time they start slipping back into the American idol coma, one of us will be there to shake them by the throat and scream, "WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKER YOU AINT LEAVING ME HERE ALONE WITH NOTHING BUT VOID CRACKS IN THE HIGHWAY TO AMUSE MYSELF!"

The truth is misery and misery needs company.