There is no compromise with the Devil; either you win, or he does. Intellectuals resist this truth, with their instinctive fear of absolutes, while fanatics, in their contempt for ambiguity, snatch it up too eagerly. But the fact remains that watered poison and poisoned water are the same.
Groups – all of them, political, social, and religious – convince their members to put up with them, to ride along on their acts of unreason, violence, and injustice. Many of those individuals disagree with the acts in question, but defer to a collective morality they hope is greater and wiser than their own. But just one dissent, one shaking head, explodes the illusion of finality.
That's why power must kill every seeker to triumph. It's the logic of resistance: it takes thousands of repressors, striving constantly, to enforce uniformity, but just one of us, merely existing, to destroy it. Power crows, "We've won! Give up!", but those last words are telling: if you don't, it can't.
So oligarchies obsess over enemies, earned and invented, and the wicked wallow in witch hunts. Because no matter how large the majority, how positive the polls, leave one independent thought zapping between two ears, and dominion is denied.
Therefore, evil is collective; good individual. Never – never – surrender your autonomy to any group, movement, or leader.
(Photo courtesy of Juan Gatica and Wikimedia Commons.)
Why are you unhappy?
Because 99.9 per cent
Of everything you think,
And of everything you do,
Is for yourself
And there isn't one.
Wei Wu Wei
(Photo of redundant analyst's couch courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
The hermit Hyung asked:
"What's the difference between a monastery and a prison?"
Wu Ya's commentary: "Fuck you for asking."
(Photo of Nelson Mandela's cell window courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
When I was a kid, my dad had a mess kit he'd made out of old food tins. As I recall, it consisted of a small pot, maybe a pint in capacity, nested inside a larger one. Both had lids with wooden knobs made at my dad's bench, and coat hanger bales. In the middle was a cup made from a pineapple tin. Try as I might, I can't remember how he attached its handle.
But it's the lids that really make the stunt difficult now; in my dad's time, the food tins that have plastic covers in our day, had fitted metal ones that made fine pot lids. Filling this deficiency is a challenge, though some of the new "safe" can openers are promising: they cut the top of the lip rather than the bottom of it or the inside, leaving a lid that mates back in place.
Nor has the Internet – which generally solves such problems for me – been very helpful. Most of the short list of examples I found aren't worthy of mention; they're tiny or weirdly-shaped ultralight gear, and/or have no lid, rendering them unusable for practical cookery.
But this week I found a good one. Fittingly, it's made by a metalsmith, and features a (very nifty) cup that requires specialised skills to fashion. But the pot is within reach of even a clumsy tinbanger like me, and the sort of thing any self-respecting hermit would be proud to cook in.
So without further ado I'll send you off to see it. Note how he's solved the lid problem. I considered a similar approach, and am gratified to see I wasn't completely dim, although his design is much better than what I was imagining. (His wok, though beyond my needs, is also terrific.)
Anyway, have a look. It's a great job. Be sure to scroll down for details.
PaleoPlanet > Metal Working > Tin Can Cookware
http://paleoplanet69529.yuku.com/topic/49489/Tin-Can-Cookware
(Photo courtesy of the fellow who made the kit, Photobucket, and PaleoPlanet.)
There is no compromise with the Devil; either you win, or he does. Intellectuals resist this truth, with their instinctive fear of absolutes, while fanatics, in their contempt for ambiguity, snatch it up too eagerly. But the fact remains that watered poison and poisoned water are the same.
