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About peter

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    Made you look, now go find something better to do with your time.
  1. :nice: Gotta love that meme.
  2. Thanks for an interesting reply. Before I quit the forum -- just to say I've found this random article useful in unravelling things for me; https://adask.wordpress.com/2012/08/04/democracy-is-a-collectivist-form-of-government-2/

  3. Those were hilarious

  4. accurate analysis. 10000 points.

  5. Then I'd ignore his text. Sounds like your romantic aversion to him is stronger than your platonic attraction. This logically-derived solution has been provided for you by INTJforum.
  6. Hey peter, can you give me a link to the thread?

  7. Good deal Deliberator.

    Why is this (and several other comments) more pertinent to the topic than my comments was?

    I'm waiting for your explanation.

  8. To whoever mentioned the matter, I personally couldn't give a fuck if all my traditions went up in smoke.
  9. My current understanding of Si. I think Si is the interface between cognition and the body. Psycho-somatic. It's not about 'memorising' (any type can have powerful memory), it's about visceral recording of experiences.
  10. Lying around in my blog somewhere -- inspired by some rapper called Aesop Rock and a T'was a bitter day 'neath a sky of slate grey in the year eighteen hundred and two, that Cap'n Aesop of Poole the vainglorious fool did set sail with his motley crew. T'were a wicked lot, that for a few guineas he'd got around the harems and dens of the town. The filth and the scum he'd plied them with rum and tales of treasures as yet unfound. Against an autumn sky lured by Aesop's lie of gold and silver, and a handsome fee, on a noon in October and freshly sober they set out for the western sea. The months went by but no land they did spy no treasures, no gold, no fortune, and though scurvy took hold amid winter's cold Old Aesop bid them keep searching. T'was the the fifth month at sea when close to mutiny on a night when the waves did race, against some unseen shore the ships timbers did roar as they were dashed upon its face. In the pale light of morn ragged and worn Old Aesop looked out and surveyed, the black cliffs that towered and over them glowered o'er their ship now smashed and splayed. In the dawn's cold light t'was such a terrible sight - no life of any description, just blackened cliffs rising sheer from the mist not a sign nor a hint of salvation. And there they died For swallowing Aesop's lie T'was a death so slow and protracted. The weak were carved first and to slake their thirst rainwater in goatskins was collected. The cabin boy's throat their hands it soaked as they slashed it from ear to ear, and faint and weak with no pity to seek the old cook watched and trembled in fear. T'was a fitting end to souls beyond mend a terrible sort of redemption, to die like dogs those lawless rogues A perversion of civilisation. And Aesop the lost soul one night he'd stole down to the wreck and procured enough liquor, and climbed back up the rock and threw himself off having drunk himself to a stupor. Now it's rumoured to this day that when the west winds play and the sea gods do cruelly mock, you'll hear the rattle of their bones from their final home far away on Aesop's Rock.
  11. Power remains the eternal problem. Those born to it, whether by privilege or by character, need to learn a noble attitude to it - one that goes beyond simply the base enjoyment of it.