No matter what we think about the individual personalities of this or that phallic type, it is certain that they are the driving forces of history. The relationships in the macrocosm are the same as those in the microcosm. In order for something new to be born, coitus is necessary; the internal mass must be exposed to sadistic intercourse in order to get pregnant. Here we come to the role of the other two types — anal and oral. They act together. The anal type sees the world and all phenomena in it as an inextricable web of attractive anuses; and now, in order to free themselves of the nauseating feeling that they are the world’s manure, as quickly as possible they attempt — using all possible anuses — through the digestive tract, to return to the mouth, to the light. On their journey, they clear the way for the oral types who follow them like pilot-fish follow sharks. Oral types feel the irresistible need to logically portray that miserable odyssey through the gastrointestinal tract of history. The remaining two types — visual and tactile — do not deserve further attention. They are here so that all of that is visible and tangible.
On the cult of personality
I have to admit that the personality cult attracts me profoundly with its mysticism. When I think better, the personality cult is the only authentic mysticism. Everything else is plagiarism. The troubles come about in the choice of the personality. One of the most widespread prejudices of today is the belief that every person is a personality. That is pure nonsense. A personality is an extremely rare phenomenon. To follow a true personality cult means to turn into Christ and be crucified under the worst possible circumstances. To the masses, and by God to most of the “educated,” this idea is most highly insane. To withstand pain and endure shame, those are the two most edifying things. The trouble comes about because completely unimportant things — food, housing, comfort — are things of exceptional importance to limited souls. Those things perhaps are indeed necessary, but they are completely insignificant.
On Marxism and poetry
In my early youth, I was a Marxist. To this very day, I think that Marxism is an irreproachable doctrine. If I had to return to the doctrinal level, I would be a Marxist again. Things really should stand the way that Marxism proposes, but things fortunately or unfortunately (depending on your point of view) never stand the way doctrines propose, but exactly opposite to them. That is my Law on the Entropy of Doctrines, just as stupid as every other law, like every other law it is full of holes; there is always some doctrine around that evades it, thanks to the unceasing efforts of the phallic types. Still, I never was an extrovert Marxist, it was more like a Platonic attraction, because every vision of heaven is necessarily welcome to a soul surrounded by hell. Later I became a poet. In addition to all the other filth, I was also a poet. That means that I was treacherous, full of nothingness, fantasies and deceit while at the same time I wrote compositions in which I clandestinely attempted to claim that I was something different. What does it mean to be sensitive? Everything living is sensitive. If you touch a worm with the burning end of a cigarette, it quickly reacts and with its fast movements it contributes to the poetic treasury of Weltschmerz. Now, aside from Doctor Freud, who is occupying an ever higher place on the ranking list of my hatred, I despise most poets as incurable hypocrites — as bloated monsters who protest against and pass judgment on the things they do themselves.
There, that proves that I am still a poet in my soul and also an ever greater admirer of Doctor Freud, because then you hate only whatever is in you, projected on others, naturally, for the sake of personal security. Perhaps I exaggerated a bit with my judgment of poets. Why would poets be bigger scoundrels than everyone else? However, that cannot be said about Nietzsche. I hated Nietzsche all at once, at first sight. That arrogant linguist filled me with horrible anger from the first reading to the last, the Superman! How contemptible! What ontological nonsense! A man cannot be a man; a man cannot, if we want to tell the truth, be anything, and Nietzsche would like to be a Superman. That seemed to me to be an indescribable blasphemy of God, in whom I did not believe at the time, by the way. I have met a multitude of guys who were indoctrinated by Nietzsche. And yet, Nietzsche was loved by the Nazis, who are faggots, and faggots love syrupy and bombastic rhetoric. In any case, take note: with his physiognomy, especially with the style of his moustache, Nietzsche looks undeniably like Stalin, though actually like a kitsch copy; Stalin was incomparably more handsome. Not to mention the difference in types: Stalin was a phallic type, Nietzsche an oral type. In any case, he is slowly being forgotten because the world is gaining ever greater insight into its nothingness, and his meanderings are becoming ridiculous.
The irrational explanation of the secret
I do not understand how someone can refuse to believe that the Savior turned water into wine. Today, there is widespread disbelief that water was turned into the finest wine at the wedding in Canaan, unfortunately even among alcoholics, which is pitiful because even we have the ability to transform things, into something worse, of course, because we are depraved. We turn wine, alchemically, into a fluid that is improper to mention in this text.
On the afterlife
Not believing in the afterlife is absurd. It is impossible that one can be further beyond the grave than in this life. I was told that by a ghost with whom, in decadent style, I recently established contact. The supposition that they over there are absolutely dead, arises from the dangerous supposition that we here are absolutely alive.
On egalitarian doctrines
It is interesting that the greatest number of supporters are attracted by the most unreasonable doctrines of the phallic types: fascism and communism. It would be worthwhile to think that through more seriously. One thing is quite unclear to me — the disgust of the humanistic intelligentsia at the rigged trials that are now being held in Moscow and Berlin. What did they expect? The very idea of bolshevism — to make people equal — is unnatural. People are not equal. And since it is impossible to make them equal by raising the general level of culture and giftedness, the equalization is carried out by lowering the level, by the decisive throttling of everything that rises above the grayness of the average. Such a society is stepping out of reality, which anyway is not overly real; it is a virtue to die working, a virtue to report your father for listening to foreign radio stations. How can you expect guiltiness to be real in a country where virtue is false?
However, this phenomenon is not new. We have the Crusades, led with the goal of capturing Christ’s grave, as if the Savior is the God of graves and death, and not of the resurrection and true life. The thing that irritates us most in history is doubtless the cynicism with which evil, in order to justify itself, pulls on the mask of the good.
Epilogue
I have arrived at the following conclusion: whoever does not wish to destroy others must destroy himself. No other choice. If you don’t want to destroy either others or yourself, you will be destroyed by others.