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What Does It Mean To Be A Conservative? (Article Entry) [21 Oct 2008|04:10am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A CONSERVATIVE?
A Personal Clarification

It's one of the most polarised words in politics – and this is because it is not only misjudged, but it is misread and (most telling, perhaps) it is misappropriated. Below I will discuss philosophical conservatism. First, some smaller clarifications: conservative is not a synonym of Republican or, for that matter, of Conservative Party members. This assertion is not made to merely split hairs: to be a conservative does not mean "to vote Republican", nor is it necessary to be a conservative to do so. The position does not, in fact, involve participation in partisan caucuses or political elections, which is a still wider misconception.

To 'become' a conservative requires only that first act of mere doubt expressed about our over-confidence in submitting to abstractions such as Reason as if they were the absolute bell-wethers of human existence. Conservatism goes beyond simple scepticism, however, because it involves drawing upon well-rehearsed, age-hold heuristics and a ruthless selectivity in the minutiæ of any prospective action, especially where it involves considerations of any increasing scale.

I am a self-identified Conservative, like my father before me and his own father before him. This too, the simple and unbroken chain which supercedes a single lifetime, is an important part of how I'm a conservative, as a way of living which spans the generations is a native part of conservatism as such (as are many of its qualities and when found elsewhere are nonetheless characteristically conservative). I may have easily and justifiably called this article 'Why I Am A Conservative', because it self-evidently appears through my own theoretical-practical frame of reference – and this, too, is very much a notion at home with being a conservative. Take heed, however, for conservatives are not necessarily mere empiricists (for the conservative, as I've said, knowledge so-called must as it were transcend that of a single lifetime). For me, "conservative" is not a label but a way of living. For this reason and those which will be explored below, I consider genuine conservatives in the strictest sense to be on the brink of extinction (and perhaps we must always be so).

The form of conservatism to which I refer below is certainly not the American kind. American conservatism is really too revisionist to be an authentic form. I am not an American, a so-called 'traditionalist', nor a Christian. I am Scottish and I have no creed. Let me draw upon a point I have already made: conservatism is occupied very little with the labels we wear. The relative unimportance of such labels will shortly be established below.

Issues of class and of an order of rank must profoundly and gravely occupy the conservative consciousness. An authentic conservative occupies a problematic place within the class structure and a more unusual role in the de facto class struggle of his society. First, he must avoid the plebeian drive to rebellion, further extended and intensified into the form of the bourgeois concept of 'progress'. Secondly, he must defend stratification as a means of protecting the nobility; for in so doing he not only vindicates conservative sentiments, but also defends the greatest body of conservatives - and, indeed, let it be said that in so doing he defends and exults conservatism itself. The nobility excel in, among other things, the degree and sincerity of their conservatism. The principle is stated simply and insightfully by old Friedrich in Beyond Good and Evil as an integral part of a noble outlook: "Deep reverence for age and the traditional – all law rests on this twofold reverence – belief in and prejudice in favour of ancestors and against descendants, is typical of the morality of the powerful; and when, conversely, men of 'modern ideas' believe almost instinctively in 'progress' and 'the future' and show an increasing lack of respect for age, this reveals clearly enough the ignoble origin of these 'ideas'." (BG&E, 2003 Penguin Classics reprint, pt.IX, §260, p.196)

This principle contains the essence of conservatism, including what it must combat (which it is contrasted with in the above passage). That it is aristocratic and is therefore borrowed from the nobility means that, at some point, it must be paid back to them if we are to call ourselves honourable. The conservative, therefore, must be serious in his belief about class society and consistent in his allegiance to an aristocratic order of rank.

This connection may seem tenuous to some - even spurious. The question is how it's possible to convincingly demonstrate the connection which has so far only been illustrated (and there is a difference between the two). This can be achieved through simple reference to the ancient Chinese philosopher Confucius, whose philosophy could arguably be the celebration of the nobleman (or "gentleman") qua the virtues of nobility. Something even more certain is that the historical, actual inspiration for this entire ethical and political paradigm was the Duke of Chou. To lose attention to rites is, for Confucius, a disgrace to a kingdom and its ruler – likewise, this lax attitude to ritual involves the closely-bound loss of nobility itself.

Where do such disparate thinkers as Confucius and Nietzsche agree? They agree, almost word-for-word, in the assertion that the wretched breed of man vainly seeks from others what the higher breed of man reveres in himself. This, of course, brings us to self-sufficiency, something which we in today's Western world find quite frankly incomprehensible. Whereas other, more arrogant servitors of our system debase themselves by surrendering to society en masse and to imprisonment within its relations of production, the conservative reserves much of his time and resources for himself and his own; he is cautious with his expenses, prudent with his investments and tirelessly enhances the livelihood of his family. The conservative lives upon his own economy.

The conservative as such turns 'back to the land', back to the earth which he can feel for himself; likewise, he turns away from the detached system prevalent in the Western world in the same way in which he turns away from the detached abstractions which it ascribes to its foundation. He thus problematises the future legitimacy of this system and makes of himself a kind of unintended revolutionary. He is, however, not a hippie nor any kind of Leftist. He lives in a world given to him by his ancestors and which he shall carry over to his descendants. The earth and its environment are of great importance to him because they are both his life and his livelihood – also, he has no illusory idols of the abstract to place 'above' and 'beyond' the world in terms of either metaphysics or of value. The earth is all he has and it is conservative in the fullest sense to preserve its dignity.

The maintenance of unverifiable/unfalsifiable traditions is not unusual or inappropriate for a conservative. The ancient Chinese, for example, justified strategic decisions in war through appeals to astrology and omens (and the Romans, also, took omens quite seriously). Those who value logic more highly than esoteric intimations forget that logic has as little grounds for being linked with prudence as do these superstitious exemplars of Unreason. Given our unfashionable habits and somewhat agrarian tendencies, 'earth' religions are more consistent with conservative spirituality (not to speak of leaving open the possibility of the conservative being a materialist – and the seamless overlap between them, to which I can attest myself).

That said, the conservative cannot in good conscience be a Judeo-Christian apologist insofar as it would be a personal and philosophical (not to mention theological) non sequitur to first reject the dangerous assumptions implicit in our broader abstractions and then to go back on one's word to celebrate their source and the site of their highest concentration, the Judeo-Christian worldview.

Conservatism as a minimum condition of being self-consistent and intelligible entails a passionate rejection of blind rationalism as that which disregards established, practical wisdom in favour of dangerous, untested hypotheses. We do as we do because it has worked so far, but this does not mean we must believe what we are told to because it has been demanded of us for as long as we care to remember. That is quite simply dogma, i.e. dogmatism – the most extreme form of rationalism, which entails that we submit to the most absurd a priori dictates with no grounds for doing so.

Conservatism regards ritual as being both important in itself and vital to the condition of the body politic. The ancient Romans, exemplifying this attitude, had the utmost reverence for the mos maiorum (the honoured traditions handed down to them from their ancestors) and considered them necessary for their continued glory. This way of living is embodied and best carried forth by the continuation of uncodified, even unconscious, rites of tradition. This is not because there is truth in the myths surrounding those rites, but because there is (more often than not) sense in following through with their performance. We adhere to ritual because rites are in themselves comforting, habitual, proper and reliable to us. In any case, it is not because we fear the wrath or court the favour of the Absolute.

Conservatism, to me, is merely the pursuit of propserity without the careless acquisition of harmful ideas; and the conservative is one who wishes to live without their bitter taste in his mouth. The conservative dares to dream that he might cherish and preserve what is familiar – and I, for one, aim to do so.


© Scott J. Irving
® The author reserves all other rights to this work as his intellectual property.
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Hail to the Chief! [09 Sep 2008|11:37pm]
[ mood | hopeful ]

Good evening, O travellers,

I've got a two-day period of stories for you. Not quite a saga to you, but it's something quite profound to me. Two days of my life never to be emulated. Tales which shall add to the tapestry of my little clan.

I've been reading into astrology lately. This has not been for any good reason, and certainly not because I 'believe' or whatever, but it passes the time (and it's better than reading the 'current affairs' section). That said, I've included some interesting horoscopes for the dates in question which I found tonight. I won't judge their veracity or relevance - decide for yourself.

I'd like to quote a few lines of verse from Sir Walter Scott with my dad in mind:-

Hail to the chief, who in triumph advances,
Honored and bless'd be the evergreen pine!
Long may the tree in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line.

***
Sunday the 7th of September, 2008

Sunday's Horoscope: "You are feeling sober and realistic about love at this time, and are interested in being with people you respect and can depend upon - your oldest, true-blue friends. Also, reaching out to an older relative or another mature, experienced person can mean a lot to you and be mutually beneficial now."

In the early afternoon I was doing stuff upstairs, oblivious to what was going on right under my nose (as usual, some would say). I go down to get tea or something, walk into the living room and suddenly I'm presented with relatives - I mean lots of relatives. Joan and Brian, Betty Ryan, Paul, Jon and Jackie (Jon's mum). They'd arrived so that they'd be here in time for my dad's funeral on the 8th. I'll address the importance of numbers in a moment.

It gets better. Something along the lines of "oh, the Cunninghams are about to arrive" comes to my attention. So, Rab and I trudge up the road to make sure they don't miss our road-end. Evidently that wasn't a problem. Nice big Lexus pulls up with Siobhan (driving) and Anne in the front - behold, Eileen and Seamus in the back! Not only are they relatives, but this pair of spritely souls are Mark's godparents. This was the first time I'd properly introduced myself to them, so it was cool. They drove down to the house while Rab and myself walked down. Now, for one thing, it's the most relations I've ever seen in my house at the same time - probably because it's the most amount of anyone I've ever seen in my house.

Some time after six, we decide we're all going out for dinner. Everyone leaves ahead of Mum and myself - we end up slightly late because of a camera(!) - and we go pick up Raymond Kelly before heading to Crocketford, arriving at about half past seven, for our meal with the rest of the clan (Raymond sat to one side because he'd already eaten).

It was now that things, for me, got really interesting. I wasn't silent the whole night, but there were moments of outer quiet for me, where I just listened to all these people talking. Some of them I'd only just met the same day - and yet... I realised this was how a family's supposed to be. I felt a kind of warmth and 'over-fullness' which is, I expect, the feeling of immersion in family affairs. I'm talking, in short, about the feeling of family. It proceeded to get deeper still as the night went on. I gained fascinating insights from Raymond and Seamus - who, despite their very different personalities, are both wise old dogs. Don't let them fool you otherwise! Seamus demonstrated to me how easy it is to capture the attention of women-folk with the inborn gift of Irish charm. I'm beginning to really understand what people mean when they say that youth is wasted on the young.

Anyhow, we ended up leaving at around ten and Mum led the way in her car for the Cunninghams to find the hotel they were staying at, the Woodlands House Hotel, not so far from my home. After briefly seeing to things elsewhere, we returned to the hotel where we sat in with the younger folk and had a wee drink and a big laugh.

Family PortraitCollapse )

This day, I feel, went well.

***

Monday the 8th of September, 2008

Monday's Horoscope: "You are capable of forceful, decisive action, and you have the will to carry through on your intentions at this time. Physically, you feel good and your energy is flowing smoothly. Also, your interactions with others are feisty and spirited. You inspire others to take action, and group efforts or joint projects are favored."

The day which had to come.

I think I nearly cut my own throat shaving, because a couple of people (you know who you are!) kept phoning while Mum and I were getting ready in the morning. It was quite cold, but as soon as we got to the Crichton Church, we started heating up really quick. Mum and my brothers did really well. I'm really proud of them all. It was hard walking up the aisle to find his casket lying there, knowing his once-living form lay right before us. There were so many people around, too.

The celebration of Dad's life was conducted by Rev. Dr Bond, who did a really good job of capturing the right mood. The recitations were given in order of age: Paul read out Psalm 23 from the Bible in the traditional form; Mark read out the lyrics of the Eric Clapton song 'Tears in Heaven'; finally, I read Rudyard Kipling's poem 'If—'. At the end of the service, we were about to leave when we noticed my Uncle Joe wasn't getting up and his breathing was funny. Things got worse when I realised his face went the colour of my shirt. Honestly, I thought that was all she wrote for the old wordsmith. I couldn't do much, just standing there and thinking "We're cursed! We're f***ing cursed!" - but there was a doctor on hand, along with people there helping her. Somehow, luckily, he came around again and seemed to regain himself to an extent - it was touch and go for a wee while, though.

Joe was well enough to come to the graveside at Irongray kirkyard ( - which is one of the most beautiful places I've ever had the joy of finding myself in - ) but he was relieved of the duty of cord-bearing with me. Michael Irving was committed to the earth with few words and many on-lookers.

After the internment, we proceeded on to the Woodlands House for refreshments and what became, for me, a little shindig in his memory. There were a lot of emotions brimming, a lot of good yarns being spun and much drink to be had. Most of us laughed lots, which I liked - more importantly, which he himself would have liked. Dougie and I kind of propped each other up after the service. We were in good company (given that half my family tree was there) and I felt a strange measure of happiness about which Dougie said "you don't realise it yet, but that's relief".

The night went so well, I ended up going out for drinks with Mark, Dougie, the lads and all the girls. This came full circle and we ended up back at Cluden Lodge, where the celebrations in Dad's honour lasted until breakfast-time today.
 


***

I had an adventure today, too, which I shall reveal in another short post. For now, that's all I really have to say.

Beyond this, I wish only to toast my father in his absence and to bring honour to his name.


Rest in peace, Chief.
 


----------------
Now playing: Peter Gabriel - Father, Son
via FoxyTunes   
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The Curtain Falls, And So... [25 Aug 2008|01:19am]
[ mood | indescribable ]

Hey, empty world out there,

Before I provide an update for this month, I wanted to show you all - that is, all of you who are aware, listening and furthermore who care (this is a real stretch I'm asking for, right ?) - something I was going to post in July or early August that is now pointless. This is to say, that, in discursive terms at least, it is worthless.


============

On Friday the 15th of August, in the year 2008, at around ten to eight in the morning (c. 7.40am-7.50am), the only man I truly, fully, lovingly respected - the only one I would ever call "the Chief", the only one to whom I would kneel and whom I would follow even if it were through the gates of Hell itself - passed away. Verily, he was murdered on the 11th of May, but it took him this long to finally let go. The catastrophic injury caused by the murderous attack upon him was such that his brain was not allowing the rest of his body to take in sustenance or hydration. We were told that the fact he lasted as long (i.e. over two weeks) without the water which he could no longer tolerate indicated that he must have been an extremely, inordinately fit man. I don't mean like some pussy who goes to the gym to become artificially 'built', but someone who was made fit through hard work all over the country and elsewhere, along with regular, moderate activity around our home - as well as, of course, other contributing qualities which could only be described as innate. Indeed, lesser men would have died at the scene, or at least on the same day, without a doubt. As it is, he fought and groped for life over a period of fourteen weeks, until he quite simply couldn't go on.

The only person who, to me, was actually heroic is now gone. - And with him, so too the things that give me a care are gone. I mean to say that I am no longer bound by the civic, traditional, social and pathological forces which imprison and diminish other men. I bemoan my condition, for it is a cruel freedom.

I lost the only person to whom I could genuinely look up to and I have, in subsequence, ascended to such a level as to look up to - myself. The tragic mood which rises in me is compounded by the fact that all my anger, sadness, disbelief and grief are mixed with this ascendant feeling to which I have just referred.

What can I say which will communicate the joyous comfort surrounding me that whole night leading up to the greatest robbery which could ever be committed against my family, the greatest injury which could ever be perpetrated against my person ? How am I supposed to feel when the same night I had proven that I didn't need my dad to protect me, the night I demonstrated that I wouldn't be cowed by anyone or anything, was the very night my father himself ceased to be able to protect me in a conventional, physical sense ?

The truth is that some time before this great cruelty of fate my father had bestowed upon me gifts such as no-one in this pathetic town has received hitherto or, perhaps more importantly, could ever understand. My father had instructed me with such a complete education in manhood that I shall never again ask the total protection of - and thus be totally protected by - another. Rather, I have become myself a shield, a shroud, a bastion and a darksome plain. My 'nature', such as we believe ourselves to have 'solid states', is undergoing the most painful and confused transformation it could ever conceive, and so I am - finally - myself.

(A note aside: The pangs and regret-tinged twists of this situation are that I could never return the gifts granted. Instead, I must take upon myself the mantle of responsibility crafted and borne by my father - and by him, left behind (through no fault of his own, of course) - in such a way that none of the others will at first realise or even suspect it, for they shall be inevitably too dumbfounded by even the very possibility of this assumption on my part.)

What else is there for me ?

Signing off duty,
Scott J. Irving

============

To my father: Michael Irving, Esq., you shall never see completed the creations of mine with I sought to impress, comfort and honour you; Dad, you will never know the great scale on which I will repay you, nor will you know my mother as lives on in years to come, with my consolation, devotion and protection, nor will you know my brothers as one lives through his thirties and the other approaches his with the passing of time, with my guidance, assistance and steadfast support to them both. In short, you left the richest boon and the most considerable challenge to your youngest, strangest son. Yet, I would never call you or your legacy a burden, nor have things any other way in your wake: perhaps this is your final, most everlasting gift to me, Dad.

I'll miss our late-night conversations, watching films with you and, quite simply, your full and genuine friendship, for you were the best friend I ever had. Dad, I love you so much. I hope I'm wrong and that there's a Heaven, or some kind of afterlife at least, and that you're there with your folks and with Mum's mum (my Nanna), having tea, and that you're looking after my Uncle Kenny. God, I miss you so much already. I wish I could see you again some time.

Despite these unachievable aspirations, that I'll be strong for you and do my best for myself. You should know that I love you and that your love has carried me into this world, invincible.

Michael Irving (or, wee "Mick"),
Rest In Peace

With incomparable love,
Scott Joseph Irving, your son


----------------
Now playing: John Mayer - Say
via FoxyTunes   
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Cold, Hard Determination [27 Oct 2007|06:30pm]
Things've been weird; even since I got this permanent account I feel as if I've really wasted it. Moved yet again, which is just one excuse I've got for avoiding the LJ. Just over two weeks ago, I wrote the most mind-numbing little mini-essay for Higher Philosophy ( - let's not even touch the other Highers - ) and I figure I'll put it here in order to have it ripped to shreds by my 'base'.

So, here it is, courtesy of a fancy LJ cut. My philosophy tutor at Langside keeps forgetting to ask for it - and for some reason, this makes me glad. Please make sure you have a sick-bag close to hand if you click on the cut.


I know. Reading to slit your wrists by - but fear not, faithful reader, for my wholehearted work yet continues! Yes, in my literary life I keep a wide berth between myself and such banality.

The book's coming along quite well. I've covered almost everything I'd like to and there are a few finishing touches still to be made, perhaps an additional chapter to wrap things up.

Fare thee all well!

:Scott

PS. No-one has been able to read Montesquieu properly since Althusser. That is something which needs to be remedied, if you ask me. It is almost as large a problem for us as not being able to properly interpret the classical texts of Antiquity properly.
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Winning Bread [22 Jun 2007|05:52pm]
[ mood | busy ]

Well, I'm about to go "re-connect" with material existence in the form of being away working - for a week, give or take a couple of days. I know that means basically nothing here, given my lack of daily updates and what-not. I actually have better things to do. Right now I'm packing: working out just what really needs to go with me. This should all be very interesting, given that I'll have a chance to be away and writing a good bit of the time if I get enough free time. There's still so much to say.

A writer's life doesn't have to be a poor one, if he can pick up a job or two along the way. Of course, that says a lot about cultures around the world. Are we not witch-doctors of a sort, especially in my 'field' of writing ?

Anyhoo, onto less 'lofty' things.


I hope to provide an update on things soon. My master-project is now very much defined, so I foresee a publication date in the near future if a publisher will handle it. More on that later.

I'll probably edit this post next week to add more in - of course, that's if I don't just make a new entry.
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'The Individual' as a Negative Value [22 May 2007|11:34pm]
[ mood | relaxed ]

Which would you say is more important: individualism or individuality ?

We understand individuality to be the condition of being singular, unique in 'form' and 'content' as it were and, of course, primarily independent - the diversity of traits and persons. Some feel a protective pride as they boast of their individuality, others simply live it, but there is that tendency also to use individuality as the prison of an ideology: individualism.

We understand individualism to be the advocacy of 'the individual' at any cost: this belief proceeds from fundamental presuppositions such as the doctrine of free will; human agents being of positive, equally valid judgement; 'human rights', 'individual rights', et cetera; and the most overlooked presupposition - the existence of 'the individual' as a substantial unit of being.

'Free will' is, of course, a fantasy - taken up by religion, by those all over the political spectrum (that is to say, in reality, 'those of the political persuasion', who are all very much the same upon inspection). Trying to argue for or from a free will position disproves more of one's points than it proves.

Of course, equally valid judgement (a value of democracy and pluralism - often of individualists also, as is implicit in their credo) may be rejected out of hand as a reductio ad absurdum fallacy. It validates all propositions, including the proposition that not all people's views are valid; this argument is self-eliminating, thusly it requires no further refutation from me.

'Human rights' are at best an invention - this is not to say that they have not been beneficial or that the values we encapsulate in such abstractions are not valuable to many of us, but that does not whatsoever make them true. 'Individual rights' are therefore a similar invention, founded upon yet another invention, the latter of which I shall now endeavour to explain.

The individual is a modern phenomenon. It is a quaint idea which has arisen due to the peculiar material conditions of commercialism in the Western world, which has over the generations made itself appear synonymous with the autonomy of singular organisms; the grammatical function of the linguistic item 'I'; the metaphysical invention of the separate 'identity'; and perhaps most absurdly, with economic benefit itself.

The 'individual' is, in fact, not a property, but where properties end - it is where the person's power ceases, just as rights are granted where a person's power fails (that is, it places a cap on their ability). One becomes an individual where limits are reached (or imposed), therefore one's consciousness takes on the features of 'the individual' as a form of imprisonment. What does this say for 'freedom' arguments ? I've explored this theme in my book and I thought I would share it with all of you as a little tease pre-publication, whether said teaser will be received positively or not.


With goodwill to the worthy,
Scott

PS. Please keep in mind that I have no political desire for this entry. I am merely forwarding my criticism on philosophical grounds. So, compañeras y compañeros, rest easy - there is no statist or collectivist agenda behind what I say, merely critical inference on ontological grounds.

That said, this thing's here to be commented on. Have at it!

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SHE'S FANTASTIC (Let's hope it lasts... forever!) [19 May 2007|03:43pm]
[ mood | bouncy ]

Nikki - she's fast, she's furious, she's as FUN as all Hell!

...And now, she has a new profile. Wow. Girlfriends - they don't get much better than this, folks. You know that buzz you get for the first, like, seven weeks of a relationship ? Yeah. This isn't that. THIS IS "SCOTT AND NIKKI 4EVR".
(Please see 86nikki's new LJ if you'd like to make a sacrifice.)

Anyhoo, a newsflash for my (non-existent) fans:

My book's nearly finished. I've yet to do a comprehensive word count for keeping the relevant parties appraised of how much is done, but that'll happen soon. There's a lot going on with this book - it branches off everywhere, but all for the sake of the subject-matter.

Anyhoo, I've submitted my essay for my Alcohol & Drugs Studies module ('Policy & Prevention'), so here's to hoping I get somewhere with that. Also in the pipeline, I'm catching up with certain parts of secondary education - I might take on a few highers... but all that's still under consideration.

I've got a lot more to make known, so until next time...

Goodwill to the worthy,
Scott

PS. Happy birthday, Mum!

PPS. Belated 'happy birthday' shout-out for my brother, Mark (16th May). You're already 23 now - freaky, huh ?

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Life/Lifestyle Update! [03 Mar 2007|06:29pm]
[ mood | bouncy ]

So, it's the third (3rd) of March. This means my birthday, the fifteenth (15th), is less than two weeks away.

Also, I got myself roped into the spirit of giving (and as a sidenote, fellas, watch what you say to that beautiful gal on your arm - it's far too easily turned in their favour!)  - not only for the 6th anniversary (March 25th) of my proper relationship with Nikki, but also for what I insisted was "exactly six standard months" (the 11th of March).

I've nearly finished writing my book. This will be the greatest singular achievement of my nineteenth year for me alone.


I'm also going up to see "my wee chicken" (Nikki!) tonight, so I'm quite relieved. I expect we're going to bring each other another little piece of joy.

(PS. This is Nikki's oppurtunity to introduce herself to my lack of journal-scanning friends should she so wish.)
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Small Inspiration and Favourites [29 Jul 2006|10:00pm]
[ mood | indescribable ]

There's not much I feel like saying, believe it or not.

Things have been hectic leading up to Graydon's arrival here in Scotland (which happened on the 23rd instead of the expected 22nd). Regardless of the hustle and bustle - along with the severe lack of updates - I've been engaging in my own productiveness.

======

Inspirational thought for the day:
"Love is like a friendship caught on fire."
- Bruce Lee

======

My Number One Prospective Bride - Delvin

My Number One Philosophical Muse (due to extreme phonage) - aztrinity

My Number One Amazon Friend (due to extreme cleavage) - baobh

My Best Imagined Past Life - Genghis Khan

My Favourite Water Feature - Volcanic Pool

======

So, compañeros and compañeras, we come to the end of this entry. I'll update you again when it is prudent to do so. Adios for now.

With irrepressible good will,
Scott

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Productiveness and Reproductiveness [03 Jul 2006|05:46pm]
[ mood | calm ]

I've had a restless day. I churned out the day's earlier entry and only got more restless and more productive as the day's gone on. I've finished the best part of a chapter (writing, not reading), so I'm feeling accomplished. More importantly, I'm pacing myself. I've done well, but I'm not going to push my luck.

I've been tweaking my LiveJournal profile amongst the day's other activities (which include clearing things out of my bedroom in preparation for Graydon staying with us).

It's probably time for more God damn tea, although it's more important that I find me some brides... and very soon. All this virility is going to waste and it's depressing. Regardless of such woes, I hope you all have a good day today.

Scotsman's Final Thought: you don't need to be LGBT to be proud of your sexuality. Straight men can sodomise their victims too, y'know.

Scott
xxx

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A Divulging Day [03 Jul 2006|05:28am]
[ mood | passionate ]

Good morning, my precious guests.

Okay. Where to begin ?

Firstly, I've just made tea. It's brewing in the flask, so I'm all set to sit down and rattle off a quick entry on this soul-sapping cyber-journal.

Secondly, the compañeros shall soon be reunited - that is to say, Graydon shall be here in the homeland just nineteen scant days from now.

Thirdly, a small Journal adjustment I made about twenty-four hours ago had paid off by the time I got up and checked the compy was okay. I added "fantasy modelling" to my interests for a couple of reasons, those being that:-

1.) It's a noble and creative vocation.
2.) It was in a somewhat intimidating warrior-woman's interests and no-one else's, thus it was not hyperlinked as many interests are. So, I added it, waited and then felt very satisfied with myself when it automatically became a hyperlinked interest. Get it up ye, LiveJournal.

The third of the aforementioned revelations is my good deed for the day.

Lately, I've been seriously thinking about what makes "a people". It's a huge problem for a nation rapidly losing itself and it's a subject of increasing importance to me. I suppose this is the sober, intellectual subject to this entry, but it's also a very practical, immediate and urgent subject.


Hopefully, I'll have more to inform and entertain you with later (if anyone's listening). In the mean time, take care of yourselves.

With warm regards,
Scott

PS. I've previously written about crimson-haired characters stalking the Lowland moors of my surrounding landscape. Never did I think the REAL fiery-maned threat would be a Nordic giantess.
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The Official Return to My LiveJournal [29 Jun 2006|09:11pm]
[ mood | confident ]

The all-new, all-different Scotsman has returned to take his rightful place.

There is so much to say and I have so little time to say it. Ahhh, the noble art of reading through old LiveJournal posts and turning ice cold with embarassment. Too much bitching! Too many quizzes! It's better, however, to vent weakness in order to leave a much higher concentration of strength.

What to say ? That, I suspect, I shall soon be in a position to tell you.

With hearty regards to you all,
The Scotsman

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VeriCon (and affiliated local conventions) [14 Jan 2005|11:16am]
[ mood | HUZZAH! ]

¡BÜLA!
Now we come to the issue of conventions - we must organize local conventions. Grassroots, got to be very grassroots. Anyhoo, hopefully our Phoenix chapter will be a matter of simple integration. Toronto should be simple enough for recruitment, given the correct platform. Hopefully, I'll be able to designate my successors here at home before we call THE Convention.

More on this later.

This name is,
Scott

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The Anti-Wonders of Misanthropy [05 Dec 2004|10:35pm]
[ mood | Misanthropic ]

I could give you all pages and pages about me and the anguish of my life... but why should I ? Why should I give you ammunition -- especially when you can already get it yourself ? My story has been told many times. This kind of enforced solitude, this lovelessness -- this existed before your stupid gods were ever conceived of. I'm bitter about this to be sure, but I have never denied it and I could certainly be a lot more bitter. How can I hate every single stupid one of you when I can't help but love you all to pieces ? The truth is, there will come a time when I am consumed by my incomprehensible despair, but I will have served my purpose by then. That's all that matters to you scumbags. Our species is a social animal, after all -- one's recognition comes from contribution, not from how good one is on the inside. I don't even know why I'm talking to you honourless dogs right now, all you and your pathetic kind have ever done is bring me pain.

From one filthy animal to another [at 22:45, how timely],
Scott

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