Nepārtrauktās eksternalizācijas ceļš

urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs Nepārtrauktās eksternalizācijas ceļš Nepārtrauktās eksternalizācijas ceļš Nepārtrauktās eksternalizācijas ceļš laimes.beerns@gmail.com Nepārtrauktās eksternalizācijas ceļš 2026-09-13T00:04:49Z 2026-09-13T00:04:49Z urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2319143 2026-09-13T03:04:00 2026-09-13T03:04:00 2026-09-13T00:04:49Z 2026-09-13T00:04:49Z Man no Dakša repertuāra tā patiešām patīk tikai 2 dziesmas: Pasaules Gaisma un Idiots. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otSW05Q1t3Q">Idiots ir sasodīts hits.</a> psychopompós urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2319029 2026-09-12T15:58:00 2026-09-12T15:58:00 2026-09-12T13:00:55Z 2026-09-12T13:00:55Z Psihopomps (grieķu val.&nbsp;psychopompós jeb ψυχοπομπός), mirušo cilvēku dvēseļu pavadonis.&nbsp;<div> </div><div>Lovkrafta rīmju stāstiņš par šo tēlu:&nbsp;</div><div> </div><div><a name="cutid1"></a></div><div><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><tbody><tr><td>I am He who howls in the night; <img src="https://www.hplovecraft.com/pics/PixelClear.gif" width="25" height="1" alt=" ">I am He who moans in the snow; I am He who hath never seen light; <img src="https://www.hplovecraft.com/pics/PixelClear.gif" width="25" height="1" alt=" ">I am He who mounts from below. My car is the car of Death; <img src="https://www.hplovecraft.com/pics/PixelClear.gif" width="25" height="1" alt=" ">My wings are the wings of dread; My breath is the north wind’s breath; <img src="https://www.hplovecraft.com/pics/PixelClear.gif" width="25" height="1" alt=" ">My prey are the cold and the dead. In old Auvergne, when schools were poor and few, And peasants fancy’d what they scarcely knew, When lords and gentry shunn’d their Monarch’s throne For solitary castles of their own, There dwelt a man of rank, whose fortress stood In the hush’d twilight of a hoary wood. De Blois his name; his lineage high and vast, A proud memorial of an honour’d past; But curious swains would whisper now and then That Sieur De Blois was not as other men. In person dark and lean, with glossy hair, And gleaming teeth that he would often bare, With piercing eye, and stealthy roving glance, And tongue that clipt the soft, sweet speech of France; The Sieur was little lov’d and seldom seen, So close he kept within his own demesne. The castle servants, few, discreet, and old, Full many a tale of strangeness might have told; But bow’d with years, they rarely left the door Wherein their sires and grandsires serv’d before. Thus gossip rose, as gossip rises best, When mystery imparts a keener zest; Seclusion oft the poison tongue attracts, And scandal prospers on a dearth of facts. ’Twas said, the Sieur had more than once been spy’d Alone at midnight by the river’s side, With aspect so uncouth, and gaze so strange, That rustics cross’d themselves to see the change; Yet none, when press’d, could clearly say or know Just what it was, or why they trembled so. De Blois, as rumour whisper’d, fear’d to pray, Nor us’d his chapel on the Sabbath day; Howe’er this may have been, ’twas known at least His household had no chaplain, monk, or priest. But if the Master liv’d in dubious fame, Twice fear’d and hated was his noble Dame; As dark as he, in features wild and proud, And with a weird supernal grace endow’d, The haughty mistress scorn’d the rural train Who sought to learn her source, but sought in vain. Old women call’d her eyes too bright by half, And nervous children shiver’d at her laugh; Richard, the dwarf (whose word had little weight), Vow’d she was like a serpent in her gait, Whilst ancient Pierre (the aged often err) Laid all her husband’s mystery to her. Still more absurd were those odd mutter’d things That calumny to curious list’ners brings; Those subtle slanders, told with downcast face, And muffled voice—those tales no man may trace; Tales that the faith of old wives can command, Tho’ always heard at sixth or seventh hand. Thus village legend darkly would imply That Dame De Blois possess’d an evil eye; Or going further, furtively suggest A lurking spark of sorcery in her breast; Old Mère Allard (herself half witch) once said The lady’s glance work’d strangely on the dead. So liv’d the pair, like many another two That shun the crowd, and shrink from public view. They scorn’d the doubts by ev’ry peasant shewn, And ask’d but one thing—to be let alone! ’Twas Candlemas, the dreariest time of year, With fall long gone, and spring too far to cheer, When little Jean, the bailiff’s son and heir, Fell sick and threw the doctors in despair. A child so stout and strong that few would think An hour might carry him to death’s dark brink, Yet pale he lay, tho’ hidden was the cause, And Galens search’d in vain thro’ Nature’s laws. But stricken sadness could not quite suppress The roving thought, or wrinkled grandam’s guess: Tho’ spoke by stealth, ’twas known to half a score That Dame De Blois rode by the day before; She had (they said) with glances weird and wild Paus’d by the gate to view the prattling child, Nor did they like the smile which seem’d to trace New lines of evil on her proud, dark face. These things they whisper’d, when the mother’s cry Told of the end—the gentle soul gone by; In genuine grief the kindly watcher wept, Whilst the lov’d babe with saints and angels slept. The village priest his simple rites went thro’, And good Michel nail’d up the box of yew; Around the corpse the holy candles burn’d, The mourners sighed, the parents dumbly yearn’d. Then one by one each sought his humble bed, And left the lonely mother with her dead. Late in the night it was, when o’er the vale The storm-king swept with pandemoniac gale; Deep pil’d the cruel snow, yet strange to tell, The lightning sputter’d while the white flakes fell; A hideous presence seem’d abroad to steal, And terror sounded in the thunder’s peal. Within the house of grief the tapers glow’d Whilst the poor mother bow’d beneath her load; Her salty eyes too tired now to weep, Too pain’d to see, too sad to close in sleep. The clock struck three, above the tempest heard, When something near the lifeless infant stirr’d; Some slipp’ry thing, that flopp’d in awkward way, And climb’d the table where the coffin lay; With scaly convolutions strove to find The cold, still clay that death had left behind. The nodding mother hears—starts broad awake— Empower’d to reason, yet too stunn’d to shake; The pois’nous thing she sees, and nimbly foils The ghoulish purpose of the quiv’ring coils: With ready axe the serpent’s head she cleaves, And thrills with savage triumph whilst she grieves. The injur’d reptile hissing glides from sight, And hides its cloven carcass in the night. The weeks slipp’d by, and gossip’s tongue began To call the Sieur De Blois an alter’d man; With curious mien he oft would pace along The village street, and eye the gaping throng. Yet whilst he shew’d himself as ne’er before, His wild-eyed lady was observ’d no more. In course of time, ’twas scarce thought odd or ill That he his ears with village lore should fill; Nor was the town with special rumour rife When he sought out the bailiff and his wife: Their tale of sorrow, with its ghastly end, Was told, indeed, by ev’ry wond’ring friend. The Sieur heard all, and low’ring rode away, Nor was he seen again for many a day. When vernal sunshine shed its cheering glow, And genial zephyrs blew away the snow, To frighten’d swains a horror was reveal’d In the damp herbage of a melting field. There (half preserv’d by winter’s frigid bed) Lay the dark Dame De Blois, untimely dead; By some assassin’s stroke most foully slain, Her shapely brow and temples cleft in twain. Reluctant hands the dismal burden bore To the stone arches of the husband’s door, Where silent serfs the ghastly thing receiv’d, Trembling with fright, but less amaz’d than griev’d; The Sieur his dame beheld with blazing eyes, And shook with anger, more than with surprise. (At least ’tis thus the stupid peasants told Their wide-mouth’d wives when they the tale unroll’d.) The village wonder’d why De Blois had kept His spouse’s loss unmention’d and unwept, Nor were there lacking sland’rous tongues to claim That the dark master was himself to blame. But village talk could scarcely hope to solve A crime so deep, and thus the months revolve: The rural train repeat the gruesome tale, And gape and marvel more than they bewail. Swift flew the sun, and winter once again With icy talons gripp’d the frigid plain. December brought its store of Christmas cheer, And grateful peasants hail’d the op’ning year; But by the hearth as Candlemas drew nigh, The whisp’ring ancients spoke of things gone by. Few had forgot the dark demoniac lore Of things that came the Candlemas before, And many a crone intently eyed the house Where dwelt the sadden’d bailiff and his spouse. At last the day arriv’d, the sky o’erspread With dark’ning messengers and clouds of lead; Each neighb’ring grove Aeolian warnings sigh’d, And thick’ning terrors broadcast seem’d to bide. The good folk, tho’ they knew not why, would run Swift past the bailiff’s door, the scene to shun; Within the house the grieving couple wept, And mourn’d the child who now forever slept. On rush’d the dusk in doubly hideous form, Borne on the pinions of the gath’ring storm; Unusual murmurs fill’d the rainless wind, The rising river lash’d the troubled shore; Black thro’ the night the awful storm-god prowl’d, And froze the list’ners’ life-blood as he howl’d; Gigantic trees like supple rushes sway’d, Whilst for his home the trembling cotter pray’d. Now falls a sudden lull amidst the gale; With less’ning force the circling currents wail; Far down the stream that laves the neighb’ring mead Burst a new ululation, wildly key’d; The peasant train a frantic mien assume, And huddle closer in the spectral gloom: To each strain’d ear the truth too well is known, For that dread sound can come from wolves alone! The rustics close attend, when ere they think, A lupine army swarms the river’s brink; From out the waters leap a howling train That rend the air, and scatter o’er the plain: With flaming orbs the frothing creatures fly, And chant with hellish voice their hungry cry. First of the pack a mighty monster leaps With fearless tread, and martial order keeps; Th’ attendant wolves his yelping tones obey, And form in columns for the coming fray: No frighten’d swain they harm, but silent bound With a fix’d purpose o’er the frozen ground. Straight course the monsters thro’ the village street, Unholy vigour in their flying feet; Thro’ half-shut blinds the shelter’d peasants peer, And wax in wonder as they lose in fear. Th’ excited pack at last their goal perceive, And the vex’d air with deaf’ning clamour cleave; The churls, astonish’d, watch th’ unnatural herd Flock round a cottage at the leader’s word: Quick spreads the fearsome fact, by rumour blown, That the doom’d cottage is the bailiff’s own! Round and around the howling daemons glide, Whilst the fierce leader scales the vine-clad side; The frantic wind its horrid wail renews, And mutters madly thro’ the lifeless yews. In the frail house the bailiff calmly waits The rav’ning horde, and trusts th’ impartial Fates, But the wan wife revives with curious mien Another monster and an older scene; Amidst th’ increasing wind that rocks the walls, The dame to him the serpent’s deed recalls: Then as a nameless thought fills both their minds, The bare-fang’d leader crashes thro’ the blinds. Across the room, with murd’rous fury rife, Leaps the mad wolf, and seizes on the wife; With strange intent he drags his shrieking prey Close to the spot where once the coffin lay. Wilder and wilder roars the mounting gale That sweeps the hills and hurtles thro’ the vale; The ill-made cottage shakes, the pack without Dance with new fury in demoniac rout. Quick as his thought, the valiant bailiff stands Above the wolf, a weapon in his hands; The ready axe that serv’d a year before, Now serves as well to slay one monster more. The creature drops inert, with shatter’d head, Full on the floor, and silent as the dead; The rescu’d wife recalls the dire alarms, And faints from terror in her husband’s arms. But as he holds her, all the cottage quakes, And with full force the titan tempest breaks: Down crash the walls, and o’er their shrinking forms Burst the mad revels of the storm of storms. Th’ encircling wolves advance with ghastly pace, Hunger and murder in each gleaming face, But as they close, from out the hideous night Flashes a bolt of unexpected light: The vivid scene to ev’ry eye appears, And peasants shiver with returning fears. Above the wreck the scatheless chimney stays, Its outline glimm’ring in the fitful rays, Whilst o’er the hearth still hangs the household shrine, The Saviour’s image and the Cross divine! Round the blest spot a lambent radiance glows, And shields the cotters from their stealthy foes: Each monstrous creature marks the wondrous glare, Drops, fades, and vanishes in empty air! The village train with startled eyes adore, And count their beads in rev’rence o’er and o’er. Now fades the light, and dies the raging blast, The hour of dread and reign of horror past. Pallid and bruis’d, from out his toppled walls The panting bailiff with his good wife crawls: Kind hands attend them, whilst o’er all the town A strange sweet peace of spirit settles down. Wonder and fear are still’d in soothing sleep, As thro’ the breaking clouds the moon rays peep. Here paus’d the prattling grandam in her speech, Confus’d with age, the tale half out of reach; The list’ning guest, impatient for a clue, Fears ’tis not one tale, but a blend of two; He fain would know how far’d the widow’d lord Whose eerie ways th’ initial theme afford, And marvels that the crone so quick should slight His fate, to babble of the wolf-wrack’d night. The old wife, press’d, for greater clearness strives, Nods wisely, and her scatter’d wits revives; Yet strangely lingers on her latter tale Of wolf and bailiff, miracle and gale. When (quoth the crone) the dawn’s bright radiance bath’d Th’ eventful scene, so late in terror swath’d, The chatt’ring churls that sought the ruin’d cot Found a new marvel in the gruesome spot. From fallen walls a trail of gory red, As of the stricken wolf, erratic led; O’er road and mead the new-dript crimson wound, Till lost amidst the neighb’ring swampy ground: With wonder unappeas’d the peasants burn’d, For what the quicksand takes is ne’er return’d. Once more the grandam, with a knowing eye, Stops in her tale, to watch a hawk soar by; The weary list’ner, baffled, seeks anew For some plain statement, or enlight’ning clue. Th’ indulgent crone attends the puzzled plea, Yet strangely mutters o’er the mystery. The Sieur? Ah, yes—that morning all in vain His shaking servants scour’d the frozen plain; No man had seen him since he rode away In silence on the dark preceding day. His horse, wild-eyed with some unusual fright, Came wand’ring from the river-bank that night. His hunting-hound, that mourn’d with piteous woe, Howl’d by the quicksand swamp, his grief to shew. The village folk thought much, but utter’d less; The servants’ search wore out in emptiness: For Sieur De Blois (the old wife’s tale is o’er) Was lost to mortal sight for evermore.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><a name="cutid2"></a> par Kosmisko mīlestību urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2318375 2026-09-12T12:50:00 2026-09-12T12:50:00 2026-09-12T09:50:16Z 2026-09-12T09:50:16Z "Kosmiskā mīlestība ir pilnīgi nežēlīga un ārkārtīgi vienaldzīga" - Lillijs par ECCO jeb "Zemes sakritību kontroles biroju", kuru viņš iepazina, peldot izolācijas-flotācijas tankā, aizpeldot prom no sava ķermeņa un nonākot dažādās vietās, kas atbild par planētas Zeme (Gajas) apziņas mehānismiem. Šos vārdus es vienmēr esmu izjutis sevī rezonējam kā augstāko patiesību. Lielajai Kosmiskajai Mīlestībai nerūp tas, vai tu iemācīsies dzīvot vai pakārsies. Tu esi tikai puteklis, kas aizplēnēs nebūtībā tieši tajā brīdī, kad tu pārstāsi apzināties sevi. Tu pazaudēsi sevi mirklī, kad pārstāsi rūpēties par savu templi un pārstāsi būvēt citus tempļus. Taču reizē Kosmiskā mīlestība ir ABSOLŪTA PĀRPILNĪBA. Ja tu līdz kaulam pieņemsi to, ka tava jēga ir niecīga, tu iegūsi iespēju palielināt šo jēgu līdz pat tādam līmenim, kad kosmoss sāks rūpēties par tevi kā par īpašāku putekli. Kā par to putekli, kam lemts ieslīdēt Kosmiskajos zobratos un malties tur līdz bezgalībai ar smaidu, kas atvilkts līdz ausīm. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2318304 2026-09-12T12:25:00 2026-09-12T12:25:00 2026-09-12T09:25:13Z 2026-09-12T09:25:13Z COSMIC LOVE IS ABSOLUTELY RUTHLESS AND HIGHLY INDIFFERENT new fav word urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2317595 2026-09-10T18:49:00 2026-09-10T18:49:00 2026-09-10T15:49:43Z 2026-09-10T15:49:43Z Babby. [ˈbæb - i] urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2317491 2026-09-10T17:43:00 2026-09-10T17:43:00 2026-09-10T14:43:11Z 2026-09-10T14:43:11Z Cilvēkiem ar šādu neirofenotipu. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2317273 2026-09-10T17:28:00 2026-09-10T17:28:00 2026-09-10T14:32:26Z 2026-09-10T14:32:26Z Tsiba, the only outlet where I let my shadow roam free. Labāku darbu ar sevi grūti iztēloties par šo. Pasaule, kas netiek pierakstīta, neeksistē. es liegi nīstu tavu būtību, jo tā ir sūds urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2316977 2026-09-10T13:37:00 2026-09-10T13:37:00 2026-09-10T10:44:03Z 2026-09-10T10:44:03Z Es atzīstu, ka my hubris is that I look at the unwoken masses no elevētas perspektīvas. Paskatos uz cilvēku, kurš ir novītis un redzu, kā pasaule ir spiedusi viņu PIELĀGOTIES. Žēl, ka pielāgojoties tu apslāpē savu autentisko liesmu, kas arī atbild par veselīgu psihi. Es noskatos uz viņiem no augšas ne jau tāpēc, ka būtu labāks. Tādās kategorijās sen jau nedomāju. Noskatos uz viņiem kā uz nožēlojamu biomasu, kas radīta lai kalpotu konkrētai elles mašinērijai. Katra mentālā kaite ir neatrisināta pamatstāvokļa apslāpētā balss. Varbūt palūdz psihiatram, lai viņš vienkārši ielaiž tev lodi pasaulē, jo tu tāpat neesi rūpējies par sevi un nerūpēsies, jo tev tik izmisīgi svarīga ir citu cilvēku percepcija. Tu esi un būsi sūds līdz tam brīdim, kad pateiksi “nē”. Pietiek šarādes, es elpošu brīvu krūti - vienalga, kāds es nebūtu. Es varbūt esmu vislielākais kroplis, taču savā universā es būšu visburvīgākais kroplis tieši sev, savai dzīvesdziņai. Galvenais varonis savā mazajā pasaciņā - limitēta realitāte, taču vismaz VAIRS NAV VISLAIK JĀRAUSTAS NEIROTISKI! school of lyfe urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2316691 2026-09-10T11:59:00 2026-09-10T11:59:00 2026-09-10T09:01:53Z 2026-09-10T09:01:53Z Mans kolēģis, kuru 3 gadus "skoloju" par jūtīgu cilvēku-vīrieti, kurš nebaidās analizēt neko un spēj runāt par jebkuru tēmu. Esmu diezgan lepns ar rezultātu. Viņš vakar mani patīkami pārsteidza ar vārdiem: "Bet kā tas ir, ka es tagad, kad esmu tik tālu pavirzījies uz priekšu, joprojām jūtos tāpat, kā kaut kad pagātnē - man nāk virsū trauksme par dzīvi, par to, ko es daru ar sevi ikdienā. Par to kā dzīvoju." Un es viņam ar smaidu atbildēju: "Bet tas ir tieši tas stāvoklis, kuru tu tik ļoti ilgojies atkal sajust! Tu atkal jūti! Un tu redzi, cik sūdīgā vietā mēs esam kā civilizācija, kā indivīdi. Tu apzinies savu stāvokli - redzi, kā vide, kurā uzturies, tevi degradē. Tavs dzīvoklis, tava istaba, tavs darba galds. Par kādu cilvēku tā vide liecina? Tu beidzot vari atkal konstatēt, kas tev ir LABS un kas tev ir SLIKTS. Šis arī ir tas SMADZEŅU PLASTICITĀTES stāvoklis, kur veidojas jauni neironu tīkli - iztēlojies to kā kņudoņu smadzenēs, lai piešķirtu domai materiālu elementu, tādējādi iekustinot to ar autoritāti." gnosticisms 101 jeb salauz sevi, lai beidzot sāktu just urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2316391 2026-09-10T11:55:00 2026-09-10T11:55:00 2026-09-10T08:55:29Z 2026-09-10T08:55:29Z Es kļuvu par gnostiķi, kad sapratu, cik dziļi sakņojas šīs pasaules ļaunums. Tas nav cilvēka ļaunums. Cilvēks ir nevainīgs savā būtībā, jo tāda ir Dieva Tēva dāvātā pleroma - dievišķā dzirksts katras dvēseles pamatā (arī dzīvnieku dvēseles!). Tā ir vide, kura paredzēta cilvēka mentālai un fiziskai degradācijai. Jo katra mūsu ciešana ir kā nektāra lāse, ko uzmanīgi savāc ahonti. Kāpēc viņiem tas ir tik būtiski? Jo viņi ir būtnes, ko Sofija (kristietībā to dēvē par Svēto Garu, bet reāli tas ir HIPERDIMENSIONĀLS VIEDUMS) un JHWE (falšais, greizsirdīgais dievs, kurš ir inflitrējies Ābramiskajās reliģijās; DIEVA TĒVA pretstats) radīja aiz neuzmanības, un viņiem nepiemīt pleroma jeb dievišķā dzirksts, kas, savukārt, ir katras cilvēka dvēseles pamatā. Tāpēc viņi ar greizsirdīgā, dusmīgā, falšā dieva virzību kolekcionē visas pasaules ciešanas. Smagi, blīvi emocionāli stāvokļi, piemēram, terors, bēdas, izmisums, fiziskas sāpes un traumas, rada augstas intensitātes enerģētisko rezonansi. Arhonti patērē šo enerģiju, lai uzturētu savu apziņu, hierarhiju un klātbūtni fiziskajā/ēteriskajā plaknē. Varētu teikt, ka falšais dievs viņus izmanto kā savus rokas puišus, lai darītu šīs "cietuma planētas" melno darbu. Saucu to par cietuma planētu, jo gnostiskā literatūra akcentē, ka, kamēr cilvēks savu realitāti iekārto pēc arhontu freimworka (kas reizē ir arī Holivudas, Netflix, visu lielo alfabētorganizāciju utt. freimworks, jo infiltrācija ir sena un pastāv visos iespējamajos civilizācijas kastu līmeņos). Galvenais mērķis ir padarīt tevi nejūtīgu pašam pret sevi. Pret vidi. Un tad tev var iebarot jebkuru mēslu. Jo tu būsi tik distants no savas iekšējās dievišķās dzirksts, ka tu nespēsi veikt analīzi - tu vienkārši pieņemsi šo stāvokli, jo tas ir tas, kas mums ir mācīts no bērna kājas - TEV JĀINTEGRĒJAS SABIEDRĪBĀ, NEATKARĪGI NO TĀ, VAI TAS ATBILST TAVAI MORĀLEI, PRINCIPIEM. Un sabiedrība - formēta caur kultūru - ir iekārtota tieši tā, ka visjūtīgākās būtnes tiek iznīcinātas pirmās. Kā noskaidot, ka JHWE ir falšais dievs? Jo viņš pats to atzīst vecajā doktrīnā (kas vairs nav aktuāla, jo modernajiem kristiešiem rastos pārāk daudz jautājumi): Izceļošanas grāmata 20:5 - Desmit baušļu ietvaros: "Nenoliecies to priekšā un nekalpo tiem, jo Es, Tas Kungs, tavs Dievs, esmu dusmīgs [vai: greizsirdīgs] Dievs..." Izceļošanas grāmata 34:14 - "Jo tev nebūs lūgt citu dievu, jo Tā Kunga vārds ir Bargs [vai: Greizsirdīgs], Viņš ir bargs [greizsirdīgs] Dievs." Atkārtotā Likuma grāmata 4:24 - "Jo Tas Kungs, tavs Dievs, ir rijīga uguns, Viņš ir greizsirdīgs Dievs." Atkārtotā Likuma grāmata 5:9 - Desmit baušļu atkārtojumā Moabā. Atkārtotā Likuma grāmata 6:15 - "Jo Tas Kungs, tavs Dievs, kas ir tavā vidū, ir greizsirdīgs Dievs..." urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2316080 2026-09-10T02:42:00 2026-09-10T02:42:00 2026-09-09T23:46:55Z 2026-09-09T23:46:55Z Jāpatestē <a href="https://poe.com/">https://poe.com/</a> - bezmaksas online aplikācija, kur par brīvu var lietot maksas AI (claude, utt). urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2315723 2026-09-09T17:58:00 2026-09-09T17:58:00 2026-09-09T14:59:17Z 2026-09-09T14:59:17Z Es vēlos noskatīties filmu NAKED (1993). Stāsts par kādu mančesteras iedzīvotāju (nesaprotu, kāpēc tas tiek uzsvērts, visiem pohuj par Mančesteru; ā, nu, labi, 90tajos nebija pohuj), kurš ir dusmīgs. Ļoti dusmīgs.&nbsp;https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107653/ konspirāc-jā! urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2315448 2026-09-09T14:17:00 2026-09-09T14:17:00 2026-09-09T11:18:04Z 2026-09-09T11:18:04Z Agrāk kopējā rietumu domu laukā konspirāciju teorijas bija nonākušas līdz banalitātes kategorijai. Cilvēkus pamatoti apsauca par šādu ideju apspriešanu. Pamatoti tāpēc, ka visiem jau zajebala, ka runā par kaut ko tādu, kam nav pierādījumu. Kāda jēga runāt, ja pēcāk nevar pārbaudīt. Taču tad Epstīns tika izlaists no cietuma. Vēlāk tika publiskoti viņa apsūdzības lietas faili, protams, cenzēti. Taču cilvēki mobilizējās un izķemmēja tiem cauri galveno info - ka lieta, saprotams, ir lielāka par to, kā tas izskatās no malas. Un ka kaut ko tādu Rietumeiropas monarhi ir darījuši vienmēr (human trafficking, ritual sacrifice). Es izaicinu papētīt Beļģijas pedofīlijas skandālus. Valsts vienkārši klaji aizsedz pedofīlus-trafikerus, jo beļģi visos sabiedrības līmeņos bija iesaistīti tajā shēmā. Jo galu galā bērnu pišanu redzēja tikai pisējs un pedofīli safilmētajos materiālos (un izmeklētāji). Cilvēki "parastie", kuri darbojās tajās shēmās, vienkārši skatījās citā virzienā un saņēma prāvas piemaksas. "Ja es to neredzu, tas neeksistē". Kopā ar ASV parlamentā notiekošo NLO disclosure cilvēki vienkārši sāka sev uzdot jautājumu: "Klau, gadījumā nav tā, ka tas viss lielā mērā bija psyop, lai mēs nerunājam par šīm tēmām?". Jo runāt ir ievērot un domāt. Smadzenes tomēr evolucionēšanas caur pattern recognition. Taču viņiem ir EKSELENTS kontroles mehānisms: SABIEDRĪBAS INDUCĒTS KAUNS! KAUNIES! KAUNIES PAR SAVĀM DOMĀM! KAUNIES, KA VISPĀR GRIBI IZTAUJĀT AUTORITĀTI! MAITA, NOSPRĀGSTI, OKŠĶERIS TĀDS! lack to understand urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2314770 2026-09-08T11:58:00 2026-09-08T11:58:00 2026-09-08T08:58:32Z 2026-09-08T08:58:32Z You lack the depth to understand. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2314573 2026-09-08T11:28:00 2026-09-08T11:28:00 2026-09-08T08:28:52Z 2026-09-08T08:28:52Z Diez kāda melnā maģija turpina reanimēt Donalda dzīvo līķi. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2314389 2026-09-07T20:28:00 2026-09-07T20:28:00 2026-09-07T17:45:34Z 2026-09-07T17:45:34Z Karalisko apvienoto spēku institūta (RUSI) lapā publicēta precīza krieva "organiskā pāķisma" militārās priekšrocības analīze attiecībā pret NATO "profesionālo"/uz augsto tehniku fokusēto armiju. Info palīdzēs tiem, kuri vēlas saprast, kā atšķiras NATO un Krievijas militārais potenciāls. Galvenais punkts - krieva nenovērtētā pašrestaurācijas tēma, kas proponē, ka viņi vēsturiski ir izkopuši "hardy and tardy" kultūru, tādējādi spēdami būt funkcionāli pat tad, kad rietumu komandierim varbūt šķitīs, ka haimarsiki piebeiguši visu kaujas grupu. Tas tā, hipotētiskais scenārijs, kur kaujas lauks stiepjas simtiem kilometru, ir vairākas uzbrukuma un aizsardzības avēnijas un armijas nespēj pienācīgi izlūkot kaujas lauku, lai efektīvi piebeigtu ievainotu kaujas grupu. Mūsdienu dronu kaujas laiks principā iznīcina šo "kaujas haosa uzbūvētais plīvurs". Komandieris 70km aiz kaujas lauk bunkurā niansēti var piezūmot ienaidnieka kājinieka sejas vaibstus, lai mentāli iespļautu viņam sejā. Un digitalizācija-robotizācija-dronifikācija jau tikai samazinās iespēju karot tā, kā mēs to darījām tūkstošiem gadus. Cilvēka gaļa ir pārāk jūtīga. "The future contest may be disruption tempo vs. restoration tempo - NATO must create and exploit cascading failures faster than Russia can rebuild essential functions; Russia’s goal is to make destruction temporary and therefore less operationally decisive." - <a href="https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/russias-most-dangerous-military-adaptation-recovery">https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/russias-most-dangerous-military-adaptation-recovery</a> Pievienojos galvenajam secinājumam. Krieva spējas būt "good enough" esot degradētiem, nozīmē to, ka bandinieki, zirdziņi un laidņi nevar tikt mainīti 1:1. NATO jāturpina spiest uz tech edge un kara lauka kopbildes real-time analīzi (šeit palīdzēs jaunās AI battlefield menedžmenta sistēmas, ko 1.x praksē plaši testēja ASV veiktajā Venecuēlas dekapitācijā), kas teorētiski ļaus apzināt, analizēt, visefektīvāk izmantot un tādējādi kāpināt letālo seku potenciālu. Un tad izmantojot šo priekšrocību, cīnīties ar "asimetrisko" krievu tā. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2313828 2026-09-07T10:21:00 2026-09-07T10:21:00 2026-09-07T07:21:18Z 2026-09-07T07:21:18Z Es vēlos kļūt no mākslas drauga par mākslas ienaidnieku. par kultūru urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2313172 2026-09-06T02:59:00 2026-09-06T02:59:00 2026-09-06T00:01:00Z 2026-09-06T00:01:00Z <div>Kāpēc mūsdienās vairs netiek dibinātas mākslinieku-intelektuāļu "konceptuālās" grupas?&nbsp;</div><div> </div><div>Piemēram, tā pati <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Situationist_International">Situationist International</a>. Vai <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dada">DADA</a>. Vai <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluxus">Fluxus</a>. Internets un dzīves pārvākšanās no fiziskā plāna uz virtuālo ir mainījusi cilvēkus tā, ka zudusi nepieciešamība organizēties zem noteiktu domu, skatījuma, ideju kupola. Taču tā ir šaura doma. Jāsaprot, ka konteksts, hiperkapitālisma laikmeta gars, definē realitāti tik atšķirīgi, ka visi laiki, kas bijuši pirms 20. gs. 2. puses Lielā Komodizācijas Skrējiena, var iet ieskrieties: neviens pagātnes tēls pat nespētu iztēloties to unikālo (cilvēka dabiskā stāvokļa kontekstā, kroplo) HEDRŪMU, kādā atrodas mūsu apziņas. Tā pavisam noteikti ir pastarpināta realitātes pieredze. Tā pavisam noteikti ir it kā dzīvošana, bet reizē it kā nē.</div><div> </div><div>Pasaki man, ka es kļūdos.</div><div> </div><div>Šeit būs pāris 20. gs. lielā domātāja Terensa Makennas citāti no lekcijām par tēmu kaut kad 90. gados:</div><div> </div><div>"Culture is putting on the brakes. We are running out of themes. Culture is becoming a self-referential loop. We are now reduced to recombining the past because we can no longer originate genuine novel directions."</div><div> </div><div>"We have transformed culture into a Museum of History, where every decade is recycled, repacked, and resold as something 'new' to create the illusion of progress."</div><div> </div><div>Makenna uzskatīja kultūru par sintētisku operētājsistēmu (culture is your operating system). Kad reālā pasaule kļūst pārāk sarežģīta un tehnoloģijas attīstās eksponenciāli, kultūra patvērumam sāk pavairot jau zināmus, drošus un patīkamus tēlus.</div><div> </div><div>Varam nonākt pie secinājuma, ka hiperkapitālisma kultūras "hedrūms" ir reizē mūsu patvērums un mūsu krišanas punkts. Tad pietiks, bļ*ģ, nu, blenzt uz visu kā uz to mūžīgo izrādi, kas radīta tavu smadzeņu izklaidei. Nokritis cilvēks uz ielas, un tu paej garām, jo tā nav tava realitāte.&nbsp;</div><div> </div><div>Tu esi kļuvis par skatītāju svešā izrādē! Pietiks spēlēt novērotāju: iesit sev pļauku, ja nesaproti, par ko es. Plaukstas cirtiens pa vaigu pamodinās tevī pirmatnējas ķermeniskas asociācijas. Turpini sist, līdz saproti. Ar dievpalīgu.</div> urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2312705 2026-09-06T02:32:00 2026-09-06T02:32:00 2026-09-05T23:34:10Z 2026-09-05T23:34:10Z Skaties, kā es iznīcināšu savas sabieroto grupas jēgu ar šo enciklopēdisko kopsavilkumu par viņiem (paldies, ģeneratīvais intelekt; info pārbaudīts ar 2 citiem intelektiem - cilvēka un vēl vienu ģeneratīvo): <div> </div><div><h1 style="font-family: &quot;Google Sans&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">The Situationist International &amp; The Art of Détournement</h1>Active from 1957 to 1972, the Situationist International (SI) (Internationale Situationniste) was an avant-garde alliance of European revolutionaries, artists, and theorists led by French philosopher Guy Debord. They argued that modern Western society had been transformed into a passive, media-saturated spectacle.<h3 style="font-family: &quot;Google Sans&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Core Philosophy: The Society of the Spectacle</h3>In his landmark 1967 book The Society of the Spectacle, Debord argued that modern capitalism had shifted human experience from being into having, and ultimately into appearing.<ul style="padding-inline-start: 32px; font-family: &quot;Google Sans Text&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;"><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Passive Consumption: Authentic social life was replaced by an endless stream of representations - TV, Hollywood film, advertising, and corporate propaganda. Individuals became passive spectators rather than active participants in their own lives.</li><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Recuperation (Récupération): The SI warned that capitalist culture constantly neutralizes radical subversion by absorbing it and turning it into a marketable commodity.</li></ul><h3 style="font-family: &quot;Google Sans&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">The Weapon: Détournement</h3>To shatter this media trance, the Situationists created détournement (French for "rerouting," "hijacking," or "misappropriation"). Defined by Debord and Gil J Wolman in 1956, it operates on a simple principle: it is cheaper and more effective to turn the enemy's weapons against them than to forge your own.Détournement takes pre-existing media artifacts - corporate ads, comic strips, political posters - and alters them slightly to expose their hidden ideology. For a détournement to succeed:<ol start="1" style="padding-inline-start: 32px; font-family: &quot;Google Sans Text&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;"><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Loss of original meaning: The source material must lose its intended promotional or authoritative power.</li><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Creation of new meaning: The altered piece reveals the systemic contradictions or absurdity behind the original image.</li></ol>The group practiced minor détournement (altering minor elements like comic panels) and deceptive détournement (re-contextualizing major works of art or iconic films).<h3 style="font-family: &quot;Google Sans&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Secondary Tactics</h3>Along with détournement, the Situationists introduced other experimental methods to disrupt consumer routine:<ul style="padding-inline-start: 32px; font-family: &quot;Google Sans Text&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;"><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Dérive (The Drift): Unplanned walks through urban environments, letting the spatial layout and emotional contours of the city dictate movement rather than commercial destinations.</li><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Psychogeography: Studying how specific urban architecture consciously or unconsciously shapes human behavior and feelings.</li><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Constructed Situations: Designing temporary, real-life moments that forced active participation and snapped people out of automated daily routines.</li></ul><h3 style="font-family: &quot;Google Sans&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Historical &amp; Modern Legacy</h3>The SI reached its political peak during the May 1968 uprisings in France, where their slogans ("Never Work," "Under the Paving Stones, the Beach!") were spray-painted across Paris. Their tactics trickled down through decades of counterculture:<ul style="padding-inline-start: 32px; font-family: &quot;Google Sans Text&quot;, sans-serif !important; line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;"><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">1970s Punk: Artist Jamie Reid defaced official portraits of Queen Elizabeth II with safety pins and ransom lettering for the Sex Pistols.</li><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Culture Jamming &amp; Subvertising: Groups like Adbusters redesign corporate logos - turning billboard ads into anti-consumerist messages.</li><li style="line-height: 1.15 !important; margin-top: 0px !important;">Internet Memes &amp; Vaporwave: Modern "shitposting" hijacks mass-media IP to express existential dread, while Vaporwave pitch-shifts corporate elevator music into late-capitalist satire.</li></ul></div> urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2312566 2026-09-05T06:05:00 2026-09-05T06:05:00 2026-09-05T03:06:02Z 2026-09-05T03:06:02Z Pase uz Magoniju. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2312245 2026-09-04T00:10:00 2026-09-04T00:10:00 2026-09-03T21:12:06Z 2026-09-03T21:12:06Z Noskaties True Romance 1993 <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108399/">https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108399/</a> WOW SO MENSCH urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2312190 2026-09-02T17:59:00 2026-09-02T17:59:00 2026-09-02T15:06:27Z 2026-09-02T15:06:27Z <div>THE LITTLE FUCKLING NIETZSCHE</div><div>IN ALL ITS SPLENDOR</div><div>(THE GUY NEXT TO ME HAS BIGGER BALLS<img src="https://i.ibb.co/fGT8T97V/ww3faktwo0nh1.jpg">(WOW SO UBER) SO YEAH, LET' JUST GET THIS OVER WITH)</div><div><div> </div></div> urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2311822 2026-09-01T14:43:00 2026-09-01T14:43:00 2026-09-01T11:43:15Z 2026-09-01T11:43:15Z <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/nextfuckinglevel/s/p7xe5Ypr0K">Video, kā tiek novākti duriāni</a>. Tikpat labi tā varētu tikt novāktas cilvēku dvēseles. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2311668 2026-09-01T10:05:00 2026-09-01T10:05:00 2026-09-01T07:10:46Z 2026-09-01T07:10:46Z Gaismas ātrums ir šīs simulācijas maksimālais refresh rate / procesora ātrums. urn:lj:klab.lv:atom1:ulvs:2311398 2026-08-30T19:24:00 2026-08-30T19:24:00 2026-08-30T16:25:31Z 2026-08-30T16:25:31Z Paldies Laurai (precīzāk viņas ex-) par dziesmu. Dievinu šādus "hedrūmīgos" miksus. Uh. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DixgL1byj_k">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DixgL1byj_k</a>