Lovely Violent Things by Trisha Wolfe EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Trisha Wolfe
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Suspense
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ALCHEMY OF GODS
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KALLUM: TWO YEARS AGO
“We are our own god.” I open my arms wide and pan the fifteen
ascending rows of college students and alumni. I even spot two
professors in the far back.
“Or,” I say, running my hand down my black cashmere tie as I leisurely
circle the lectern, “we are gods. Is there a difference?”
Hands of eager students shoot up. I don’t call on anyone to answer; it’s a
rhetorical question, and one that’s been posited over since the dawn of
conscious humanity. If the great thinkers of antiquity didn’t have an
empirical, definitive answer, then none of these ass-kissing nitwits will
either.
There’s no way any one person in the course of a forty-five-minute class, or
a whole textbook, or even a fucking lifetime, can summarize over three
thousand years of belief systems and schools of thought, and how our
modern interpretation of it was formed.
So as I stand here, looking out over the sea of lost students, knowing they’ll
likely glean nothing significant from my class, I cherry-pick the details of
history in halfhearted hope they’ll form a semblance of their own opinion.
Maybe that’s almost worth my time.
A series of blackboards line the wall behind me. A projection screen is
mounted between two glass block windows that have been blacked out to
keep the interior of the lecture hall dim for slides.
I drift in front of the large desk and nod to Ryder, my assistant professor, to
change the slide on my laptop. The image on the screen flips to a diagram
of Jung’s analysis on esoteric Hermetic Tradition. I loathe having to fall
back on Jungian doctrines for discussions, but his analysis is more sound in
comparison to Nietzsche—but only because Jung didn’t have the balls to
actually practice what he preached.
Philosophy is a discipline in study. Questioning. Thought. Theory.
Metaphysics. Morality. And more thought and study and questioning until
the end of fucking time itself.
It’s a rare breed of philosophy scholar who gets off the regurgitating merrygo-round and actually jumps into the abyss of the psyche. Becoming stark
raving mad. Should Nietzsche be respected for his self-sacrifice, or pitied?
That’s an existential question for another lecture.
But what it does leave behind is a trail of greedy scholarly leeches ready to
make names for themselves off that sacrifice. One such bloodsucker:
“Carl Jung,” I say, pointing to the screen, “was considerate enough to
provide a diagram for his interpreted process of self-deification into the
Higher Self.” I move to stand in front of the lectern. “Or really, the very
root of which is shamanism. As so many of the modernist fail to attribute
their acclaim, we can do that for them.”
A collective laugh travels around the hall. I’m not intentionally funny.
Snide and mocking, yes. Smug and egotistical? Oh, fucking absolutely. I’ve
earned my notorious reputation. Unlike my peers, all striving, quite
pathetically, to immortalize themselves by reinventing the philosophy
wheel, I’ve already established myself in academia.
Reaching one’s zenith too soon, however, leaves a long, boring trek back
down the mountain.
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