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Below is the most recent entry of the Abyss series. Start here, if you wish to read from its beginning.

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I fear for my country, my friend. I wish you were able to care, or to sympathize in some manner. Alas, no.

There is an ignorant autocrat whose rage at the prosecution of his crimes will fill every office in the land into which he is able to thrust it, and naturally there are millions of uninformed drones who believe his lies.

Perhaps a trip to Thailand is in order. .

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I was compelled to laugh, my friend, when I read a question. It was the title of an article one finds on a cell-phone. It asked if those who gaslight know they are gaslighting.

Are they aware of their transgression? You ask such a question? Do you believe that only one gender gaslights? You may as well believe that only one gender in a binary world engages in denial. Gaslighting is an invitation to participate in one's denial, even as the denied event takes place. That is one genesis of it, anyway. The different "I"s make their invitations.

I did not cheat you out of an interview!

I did not steal that position from your section!

I did not accuse you of something you did not do!

I did not subvert an election and accuse my rival of doing the same!

I did not hit you!

I did not emotionally assault you!

Many genders gaslight their partners, but do not "discuss" the event with them. They keep their privileges; you relinquish yours.

And do it now!

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It seems, my friend, that there is as of this writing some concern about the state of the population. Those who want the economy to grow continually wish for more humans, without concern for the consequences. As we have seen, these are the humans who claim responsibility as their own.

Those who have nothing, or those who have just enough for subsistence, must produce more children and thus more financial obligation, but they are very much discouraged from development. What is this reproduction, really?

It is, among other things, a truncation and it lives in denial. Commonly, though not always, there arises a desire for and surrender to reproduction. It is, of course, a biological imperative, for every gender. Yet, it is not what humans must do. Reproduction is replacement, if it is done in any way responsibly. One reproduces by the end of their thirties, typically, and the child becomes more important than the parent, again if the parenting is done responsibly. It then produces a failed creature, one who lives long enough to bring another human onto the economic...

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Steve Says II.jpg

Steve says he wants you to know that he knows some things. He is aware that he does not know absolutely, or universally, but he has noticed some patterns, and he can say some things. And by the way, he is talking to you, that one person who actually reads this blog, not the abyss.

Steve's thought today centers around a musing he had in a moment between Ocean Whitefish and Duck and Chicken Liver. Steve says the thought was fleeting, since he needed to bother this guy who controls things for food, but Steve recognizes what it is to have a need for conquest, for mastery and physical control in the form of playful destruction. He has captured little spies in the place where he lives, these little furry things. He was unable to keep himself from batting them around and occasionally stabbing them with his nails. He bit one once. But Steve also recognizes what being prey is. He is a smaller animal and sometimes there are others who are simply too large for him to bat or to control. These creatures must be avoided or charmed, and it is the charm that he suggests for you, since you...

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Steve Says II.jpg

My friend Steve wants to talk to you. He thinks that you and he have some things in common. Certainly, there are differences between you and him, but Steve has little regard for most things besides food, and some comforts. There are no barriers to forcible appropriation or displacement of others in order to obtain what he wants. He is pure in the sense that he has some needs and those needs are primary. Otherwise, there is nothing. He believes you would understand.

On the other hand, Steve has affection for others. He knows where and somewhat how his Ocean Whitefish pate is distributed. He is independent, but he knows how to charm the humans, with his mere presence at the correct moment and with a nudge or two. So, he has some affection and sentiment...that may disappear at any moment.

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How I will continue without my friends, the cats, I do not know. They are here with me always, and while they have no choice but to tolerate me, they do so with affection and care. They sleep beside me, and they know when I am distressed, which is often. One, Molly, is vocal, while the others say almost nothing, unless they see what attention can be had from the noise that another cat makes.

They are not replaceable.

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Here is a suggestion:

Find your way into a punk bar in the city. Also, find a way to play whatever kind of songs you please. The ability to play any song is important here, and you may need to change the venue in order to perform this task. When the music begins to play, be sure to dance in whatever way is acceptable to the crowd. Wait about an hour, and be sure to act as punk as possible; you want to be a part of the crowd.

Then, play a love song, something that is about as conventional and pop-culture as possible. I suggest "Silly Love Songs" my Paul McCartney or "Annie's Song" by Bob Denver, but you can produce the desired effect with any conventional love melody. Be sure as well that you go out onto the floor and dance in as formal and again conventional manner as possible.

Watch for the reaction...

...and be sure that you have some way of defending yourself.

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I have said it before, but my words bear repeating. You are always with me, my friend. I am lacking in support at every level, but you...you are here for me. I help those who need it when I am able; I contribute in a meaningful way; I take a fair portion of resources.

And I live in a sea of corruption, the taking of vitality and resource from those who desperately need it.

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Today I will teach five classes at three different schools. Four of the classes are what the academics call preps, so I am essentially teaching two classes twice. The effort required is not enormous mentally, but I awoke at 4am and I will find my way home by 10pm, having taught during sections of the day. I will rest well tonight, a rare occasion when sleep comes easily.

I realize you have no way of caring, my friend, but still it is good to say something, even if no-one hears.

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I have always claimed that should all of my livelihood collapse around me, I would still read and as they say "do philosophy." It seems as if I will have the opportunity to prove that assertion to be true or false.

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The most common male is the one with the worst ideas, such as the one who believes voting for the candidate who admires and emulates Mussolini is a good idea or the male with the antique car business located in the lot he inherited on the other side of town, the endeavor that he never tends. These are, most times, simply stupid ideas in stupid humans, and when you become somewhat desperate, you settle for these males, and you reproduce with them.

What is it that you think you are reproducing?

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It may be self-evident, but it bears repeating and remembering that cowardice is as destructive and corrosive a force as predation or apathy. The committee member who accepts nepotism doing the committee's work is as lacking in character and morals as the nepotist whose corruption occupies the decisions made.

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The lack of development that one witnesses among human beings is astounding. The notion that somehow a businessperson makes a good leader of state is one example. Everywhere there are persons whose lives revolve around ludicrous ideas and fantasies. The virtual world has exacerbated this problem, naturally.

Having ordinary living experiences, one would think that there is a very small percentage of any given population that is developed even in a rudimentary way. Plato would be appalled. But then, I suspect he would not be surprised.

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The medical profession has delivered me from my visceral ordeal; now it is time for another, just as visceral.

The nurse at the station that night explained that there is a "co-pay", the conception of which escaped me at the time. I was in no condition to complain or analyze, but she reassured me that such a payment would complete the transaction. Now that I have returned home for a few weeks my comfort level has risen and for the most part my life has returned to its ordinary rituals. A week ago I received a bill from some other division of the hospital, apparently, for some certain outrageous amount. One is tempted at such times to believe that paying this new bill will end my ordeal finally, but then I received another , equally outrageous, bill from still another division of the hospital.

I decided to wait. I wanted to learn just how many bills I would receive from different divisions of the emergency room. I received another. And then I received still one more. I am losing count, but I believe in the pile of rejected mail resides four separate bills from...

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It is early in the morning and one reads what one will say later when one teaches. Naturally, the learning never ends, and the messy, irritating politics remain. A good educator always grows nervous before a class, but that anxiety is brief, fleeting and the regular, comfortable ritual follows. There is not much this morning to say, only that this mixed feeling and regularity ought to continue.

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I told you that I would relate the story of my absence and of the most incredible pain. Today, I will tell you, attempting to keep the story brief.

On a Thursday morning during the last portion of my winter break I felt a movement near my stomach, on the inside of my body. It felt as if someone took a small stick and ran it lightly across my skin. The sensation was uncommon, but I did not think much of it. I moved around quickly in my living-space, as I ordinarily do, and as suddenly as I moved I felt a keener pain, a strong sensation that resounded in my viscera - growing sharper and more terrible by the moment.

I thought I knew what it was.

I was unable to move very far after a time; I could not think or read; I was unable even to find a comfortable enough position to lie on my futon in order to rest and wait for the magnificent agony to cease. I waited for a time, vainly hoping that the situation would change, but decided to call my doctor. I was unable to speak to her, but some assistant of some kind took pity on me, or charged me I do not yet know which,...

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Being is an illusion that has substance; it is not a substance that lacks itself and so is not truly there, lacking its own substantiality. It is not without a real ousia.

Yet, it does not remain.

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Greetings, again, my friend. I want to tell you what has been happening, but I am pressed for time. Time is, of course, no concern to you, and one day it will be of no concern to me.

You must hear the story about my trip to the emergency room. I will tell you this weekend, I hope.

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The nepotism in my part of the universe is flying high. How about you? I wish it were some kind of corruption that benefits me, but it is nothing of the kind.

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