#siegfried needs to get laid apparently

[cherish--these--times]

The way Siegfried dropped that book like a dirty nappy in a bin the second he and Audrey put on their mummy and daddy shoes for Carmody...... Take that, random posh lady.

[sampleminded]

Wiggs Dannyboy’s Theory of Floral Consciousness

"Humankind is about to enter the floral stage of its evolutionary development. On the mythological level, which is to say, on the psychic/symbolic level (no less real than the physical level), this event is signaled by the death of Pan. Pan, of course, represents animal consciousness. Pan embodies mammalian consciousness, although there are aspects of reptilian consciousness in his personality, as well. Reptilian consciousness did not disappear when our brains entered their mammalian stage. Mammalian consciousness was simply laid over the top of reptilian consciousness, and in many unenlightened—underevolved, underdeveloped—individuals, the mammalian layer was thin and porous, and much reptile energy has continued to seep through. When our remote ancestors crawled out of the sea, they no doubt had the minds of fish. Characteristics of mammal consciousness are warmth, generosity, loyalty, love (romantic, platonic, and familial), joy, grief, humor, pride, competition, intellectual curiosity, and appreciation of art and music. Inlate mammalian times, we evolved a third brain...whose principal part was the neocortex, a dense rind of nerve fibers about an eighth of an inch thick that was simply molded over top of the existing mammal brain. Brain researchers are puzzled by the neocortex. What is its function? Why did it develop in the first place? Moreover, neuromelanin absorbs light and has the capacity to convert light into other forms of energy. So Ely was correct. The neocortex is light-sensitive and can, itself, be lit up by higher forms of mental activity, such as meditation or chanting. The ancients were not being metaphoric when they referred to "illumination." With the emergence of the neocortex, the floral properties of the brain, which had, for millions of years, been biding their time, waiting their turn, began to make their move— the gradual move toward a dominant floral consciousness. When life was a constant struggle between predators, a minute-by-minute battle for survival, reptile consciousness was necessary. When there were seas to be sailed, wild continents to be explored, harsh territory to be settled, agriculture to be mastered, mine shafts to be sunk, civilization to be founded, mammal consciousness was necessary. In its social and familial aspects, it is still necessary, but no longer must it dominate. We need a more relaxed, contemplative, gentle, flexible kind of person, for only he or she can survive (and expedite) this very new system that is upon us. Only he or she can participate in the next evolutionary phase. It has definite spiritual overtones, this floral phase of consciousness. The most intense spiritual experiences all seem to involve the suspension of time. It is the feeling of being outside of time, of being timeless, that is the source of ecstasy in meditation, chanting, hypnosis, and psychedelic drug experiences. Although it is briefer and less lucid, a timeless, egoless state (the ego exists in time, not space) is achieved in sexual orgasm, which is precisely why orgasm feels so good. Even drunks, in their crude, inadequate way, are searching for the timeless time. Alcoholism is an imperfect spiritual longing. In a hundred different ways, we have mastered the art of space. We know a great deal about space. Yet we know pitifully little about time. It seems that only in the mystic state do we master it. The "smell brain"—the memory area of the brain activated by the olfactory nerve—and the "light brain"—the neocortex—are the keys to the mystic state. With immediacy and intensity, smell activates memory, allowing our minds to travel freely in time. The most profound mystical states are ones in which normal mental activity seems suspended in light. In mystic illumination, as at the speed of light, time ceases to exist. With an increased floral consciousness, humans will begin to make full use of their "light brain" and to make more refined and sophisticated use of their "smell brain." We live now in an information technology. Flowers have always lived in an information technology. Flowers gather information all day. At night, they process it. For one thing, information gathered from daily newspapers, soap operas, sales conferences, and coffee Hatches is inferior to information gathered from sunlight. (Since all matter is condensed light, light is the source, the cause of life. Therefore, light is divine. The flowers have a direct line to God. Our own nocturnal processing is part-time work. The information our conscious minds receive during waking hours is processed by our unconscious during so-called "deep sleep." We are in deep sleep only two or three hours a night. For the rest of our sleeping session, the unconscious mind is off duty. It gets bored. It craves recreation. So it plays with the material at hand. In a sense, it plays with itself. It scrambles memories, juggles images, rearranges data, invents scary or titillating stories. This is what we call "dreaming." Some people believe that we process information during dreams. Quite the contrary. A dream is the mind having fun when there is no processing to keep it busy. In the future, when we become more efficient at gathering quality information and when floral consciousness becomes dominant, we will probably sleep longerhours and dream hardly at all. Plants collect odors as well as emit them. The rose may be in an olfactory relationship with the lilac. Another possibility is that between the trees a kind of telepathy is involved. There is also the possibility that all of what we call mental telepathy is olfactory. We don't read another's thoughts, we smell them. We know that schizophrenics can smell antagonism, distrust, desire, etc., on the part of their doctors, visitors, or fellow patients, no matter how well it might be visually or vocally concealed. The olfactory nerve may be small compared to a rabbit's, but it's our largest cranial receptor, nevertheless. Who can guess what "invisible" odors it might detect? As floral consciousness matures, telepathy will no doubt become a common medium of communication. With reptile consciousness, we had hostile confrontation. With mammal consciousness, we had civilized debate. With floral consciousness, we'll have empathetic telepathy. A floral consciousness and a data-based, soft technology are ideally suited for one another. A floral consciousness and a pacifist internationalism are ideally suited for one another. A floral consciousness and an easy, colorful sensuality are ideally suited for one another. (Flowers are more openly sexual than animals. The Tantric concept of converting sensual energy to spiritual energy is a floral ploy.) A floral consciousness and an extraterrestrial exploration program are ideally suited for one another. (Earthlings are blown aloft in silver pods to seed distant planets.) A floral consciousness and an immortalist society are ideally suited suitedfor one another. (Flowers have superior powers of renewal, and thelogevity of trees is celebrated. The floral brain is the organ of eternity.) Lest we fancy that we shall endlesly and effortlessly be as the flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la, let us bear in mind that reptilian and mammalian energies are still very much with us. Externally and internally. Obviously, there are powerful reptilian forces in the Pentagon and the Kremlin; and in the pulpits of churches, mosques, and synagogues, wheredeathist dogmas of judgment, punishment, self-denial, martyrdom, and afterlife supremacy are preached. But there are also reptilian forces within each individual. Myth is neither fiction nor history. Myths are acted out in our own psyches, and they are repetitive and ongoing. Beowulf, Siegfried, and the other dragon slayers are aspects of our own unconscious minds. At the birth of Christ, the cry resounded through the ancient world, "Great Pan is dead." The animal mind was about to be subdued. Christ's mission was to prepare the way for floral consciousness. In the East, Buddha performs an identical function. It should be emphasized that neither significance of their heroics should be apparent. We dispatched them with their symbolic swords and lances to slay reptile consciousness. The reptile brain is the dragon within us. When, in evolutionary process, it became time to subdue mammalian consciousness, a less violent tactic was called for. Instead of Beowulf with his sword and bow, we manifested Jesus Christ with his message and example. Jesus Christ, whose commandment "Love thy enemy" has proven to be too strong a floral medicine for reptilian types to swallow; Jesus Christ, who continues to point out to job-obsessed mammalians that the lilies of the field have never punched time clocks.) At the birth of Christ, the cry resounded through the ancient world, "Great Pan is dead." The animal mind was about to be subdued. Christ's mission was to prepare the way for floral consciousness. In the East, Buddha performs an identical function. It should be emphasized that neither Christ nor Buddha harbored the slightest antipathy toward Pan. They were merely fulfilling their mytho-evolutionary roles. Christ and Buddha came into our psyches not to deliver us from evil but to deliver us from mammal consciousness. The good versus evil plot has always been bogus. The drama unfolding in the universe—in our psyches—is not good against evil but new against old, or, more precisely, destined against obsolete. Just as the grand old dragon of our reptilian past had to be pierced by the hero's sword to make way for Pan and his randy minions, so Pan himself has had to be rendered weak and ineffectual, has had to be shoved into the background of our ongoing psychic progression. Because Pan is closer to our hearts and our genitals, we shall miss him more than we shall miss the dragon. We shall miss his pipes that drew us, trembling, into the dance of lust and confusion. We shall miss his pranksterish overturning of decorum; the way he caused the blood to heat, the cows to bawl, and the wine to flow. Most of all, perhaps, we shall miss the way he mocked us, with his leer and laughter, when we took our blaze of mammal intellect too seriously. But the old playfellow has to go. We've known for two thousand years that Pan must go. There is little place for Pan's great stink amidst the perfumed illumination of the flowers. When Western artists wished to demonstrate that a person was holy, they painted a ring of light around the divine one's head. Eastern artists painted a more diffused aura. The message was the same. The aura or the halo signified that the light was on in the subject's brain. The neocortex was fully operative. Maybe, as Dr. Dannyboy has postulated, all these things, including disease and our relationship with time, are merely bad habits. If so, an ultimate victory is possible. For individuals, if not for the mass. And maybe evolution—playful, adventurous, unpredictable, infuriatingly slow (by our standards of time) evolution—will rescue us eventually, according to a master plan. To physically overcome death—is that not the goal?—we must think unthinkable thoughts and ask unanswerable questions. Yet we must not lose ourselves in abstract vapors of philosophy. Death has his concrete allies, we must enlist ours. Never underestimate how much assistance, how much satisfaction, how much comfort, how much soul and transcendence there might be in a well-made taco and a cold bottle of beer. Thus, thou must vow upon this day that shouldst thou be living still when these events transpire, that thou wiltst battle them and refuseth prosperity to any immortalist thrust that doth not rise from man's soul and heart as well as his mind. Do promise me now." Alas, because they fight with reason only, making no advance in the area of soul and heart, true immortality wiltst be denied them. If I am truly immortal, I am my own grandchild, my own descendant, my own dynasty."

[cerastes]

Since you're well-versed in all sortsa mythology, do you have any favourite moments from the Song of the Nibelungs aka man dies from leaf stuck on his back?

YES, I DO, AND IT’S CALLED “KRIEMHILD FURIOUSLY WINS IRON CHEF”. ALLOW ME TO ELABORATE. Now, I’ve said this before, but the Nibelungenlied is what hooked me into mythology in the first place, so it has a special place in my heart, and I just love it so much, so I gotta give an overview that I will accentuate with the grand finale of my favorite moment, when Kriemhild wins Cutthroat Kitchen.

Ok, so what most people know from cultural osmosis is that the Nibelungenlied deals with Siegfried Sigmundson/Sigurd and how he kills the shit out of Fafnir and bathes in his blood and a leaf fucks him up in the long term, we know that. What a decent amount of people also know is that there’s this really hot valkyrie named Brynhildr and that Siegfried had a Balmung in his pocket for her. There’s a couple of versions of how the developments go, but the gist of it is that King Gunther’s sister, Kriemhild, also known by her earlier name, Gudrun, is in love with Siegfried, but Siegfried doesn’t give a damn about Gud because he just wants to carefully cultivate that valkyrie poontang with his dragonoid broadsword, which poses A PROBLEM because Gunther also lusts for the shieldmaiden. 

At one point, Odin tasked Brynhildr to shift the tide of battle in favor of one of two kings that were warring with each other, and Odin clearly preferred one of the kings, and sort of assumed Brynhildr would pick the one he wanted. She goes and doesn’t because No One Controls The Bryn.

This obviously pissed off Odin, however, which is a POOR DECISION, and Brynhildr got slam dunked in the Time Out Corner by Odin because she had been very very naughty, and by time out, I mean he trapped her in a castle in the middle of fucking nowhere that was surrounded by a massive wall of shields, and INSIDE THE CASTLE, she was surrounded by a ring of deadly fire. Odin was kinda thorough with these kinds of silly punishments. Siegfried is like “THIS IS MY TIME TO SCORE BROWNIE POINTS” and rode right into that bitch and he didn’t give a shit because he’s fucking Siegfried,so he gets there and beats the crap out of the shields and disregards the fire and, like the romantic stud he is, does this all Very Quietly so as to not disturb the sleeping Brynhildr. Get you a man like this. He approaches her and removes her helmet and cuts open her chain mail, liberating her from Odin’s imprisonment. They fall in love like the warriors they are and get very very cute with each other. Up until here, this is all fine and dandy, but THEN, UNBEKNOWNST TO SUMANAI, HE REALLY FUCKS UP when he gives Brynhildr the Ring of Andvaranaut as a sign of his love.

OK, NOW WE GET TO THE PART THAT a lot of people don’t know too much: THE RING IS BAD JUJU. The Ring of Andvaranaut is triple cursed and a terrible possession to have. Now, the ring is magical, possessed with the ability to make gold, no questions asked. If you have the ring, you are set for life. However, and this is the part everyone was waiting for, LOKI FUCKED IT UP. YES SIR, LOKI IS ALSO INVOLVED IN THIS ONE. See, Loki tricked the original owner of the Ring, Andvari, into giving him the ring. Enraged, Andvari cursed the ring, so now the ring, sure, it makes gold, but it also bring destruction and misery to whoever owns it, so Loki yelled “zoinks!” and got rid of that mamajama real fast by dumping it into some sucker who happened to be The Literal Fucking King of the Dwarves as an apology for other irrelevant things Loki did before, and that king died when his son, a fellow we are all familiar with named Fafnir, bewitched by the ring’s potential, murdered him and stole the ring from his idiot corpse. This is generally what happens when one deals with Loki. Anyways, Fafnir turned into a dragon and fucked off to a cave, where he kept using the ring to make more and more treasure, which he guarded. Siegfried then kicks his ass and that’s how he came to possess the ring.

ANYWAYS, you now know how absolutely cursed that ring is and you can probably tell where this is going: To the dumpster in a silk ribbon. Siegfried declares his love for Brynhildr and the two arrange to marry, and he says he’ll be back to fetch her, since he had to do some shit at the court of Gjuki, the King of Burgundy and the father of Gunther and Kriemhild, and this is where it gets fuckin’ nasty.

Kriemhild’s mom, Grimhild (HER NAME LITERALLY MEANS “MASKED BATTLE” IMAGINE BEING THIS BADASS) concocted an amnesia potion that made Siegfried forget about Brynhildr. Siegfried then was courted by Kriemhild, fell in love, and they both married. Also, remember than Gunther, Kriem’s brother and Grim’s son, was in love with Bryn, so she sent him to go get Brynhildr. THE PROBLEM: Gunther sux and couldn’t get past the ring of fire. Gunther was like “lag” and “siegfried give me your horse, mine sucks”, and Sieg is like sure bro here’s the keys, and he tries again and PIN PON PUN HE FAILS AGAIN because it’s not a horse issue, he just was terrible at platforming. Siegfried is like “UGH DUDE YOU SUCK PASS ME THE CONTROLLER”, fucking shapeshifts into Gunther, GETS there, courts Brynhildr as Gunther, and then they spent three days drowning in passionate, delicious valkyrie sex, BUT he didn’t take her virginity, because “he laid his sword between them”. In Norse mythos, this is a weird ass phrase that basically means “Siegfried used a Super Condom and the sex didn’t count as far as her virginity is concerned” and we just have to accept it. WHATEVER. Oh, right, in the middle of The Sex, Siegfried retrieved his Bad Ring.

So, he comes back, returns to his true form, and marries Kriemhild and Brynhildr (still a bit confused but otherwise truly in love with Gunther) marries Gunther. Now, say what you will about Grimhild and her morally bankrupt methods, but that is one mom that gets what her kids want, alright, holy SHIT.

And then shit hits the fan. Kriemhild and Brynhildr Did Not Get Along Well, and they often argued about My Husband Can Beat YOUR Husband. So one day, they are doing their bit, and Bryn says “WELL MINE RODE THROUGH THE RING OF FIRE AND GAVE ME THREE DAYS OF AWESOME SEX”, and Kriemhild laughed and said “um, sweaty ;) that was siegfried” and Bryn was like YOU WHAT, and hearing this Jousted Siegfried’s Memories, causing them to return and realizing He Had Been Had. He tried to console Brynhildr (also remembering he was deeply in love with her) but Bryn was having none of this shit. Bryn goes nucking futs (UNDERSTANDABLY) and gets Gunther to become enraged with Siegfried by telling him that Sieg took her virginity in the tower (which he didn’t, remember the Super Condom) and this Got Him Real Mad. Basically, Bryn-san wanted Siegfried DEAD. And DEAD she got him, because Gunther got so pissed that he went and– Wait, no he didn’t, because 1) Siegfried is fucking invincible and 2) Siegfried is basically his BFF and he swore an oath of brotherhood with him, which he couldn’t bear to break. He was still mad though, so he got his younger brother, fed him a potion of fury (they had potions of fucking everything in Germany) and, in his berserk rage, Little Bro went and killed Siegfried in his sleep. Before dying, however, Siegfried threw his sword and killed Little Bro, because fuck you, The Sieg doesn’t go down without a fight.

SO SIEG’S DEAD, and this gets Kriemhild so damn sad that she became emotionally stunted. Brynhildr, on the other hand, apparently hadn’t had enough, so she grabbed Sieg’s three year old by the neck and fucking killed him too. It wasn’t until Kriem saw Sieg’s corpse with her very eyes that she got out of her emotional stupor and cried her eyes out. Reminder: Kriemhild herself had no hand in any of this. Grimhild, her mom, did all the shady deals, which Kriemhild had no clue about. Yikes.

When the day of Siegfried’s funeral comes and his funeral pyre is lit, Brynhildr threw herself to the flames, burning to death alongside the man she truly loved and leaving her mark as one of the first yandere in the history of romantic fuck ups.

So fucking everyone’s dead now and Kriemhild is just confused, like, exactly what happened here? Well, she finds out, and KRIEMHILD GETS FUCKING MAD. Kriemhild was not Evil like her grim mom, but she could be mean as fuck too, and the first thing she did was predict the death of her brother, Gunther, for having had a hand in this. She tells him and then leaves, leaving him afraid of his destiny until it comes fetch him, for fear, my friend, is ultimately the strongest weapon of all, and like poison, it kills on its own. Formidable is the weapon that kills on its own. Unlike Brynhildr’s “direct action” style, Kriemhild was more of a believer of the “I want to see you suffer, for death need not come all at once” school of thought.

Kriem leaves and eventually marries King Atli, AKA Attila the Hun. So you might think “WOW SCORE!”, well, see, no. King Atli, based on Attila the Hun, was Brynhildr’s brother, and Grimhild told Kriem to marry him, and Kriem REALLY DIDN’T WANT TO, because she knew it would end in Bad Juju (Kriem had a lot of prophetic dreams), but she ends up doing so anyways. Atli kills her whole family, Grimhild included. Yikes. 

And see, there’s this thing in us humans, this thing that we don’t quite get it until we experience it, but once we do, it changes our lives: It’s called reaching the breaking point. Kriemhild Reached The Breaking Fucking Point.

Enough is enough. She was done with losing, she was done with having every shred of happiness she could muster be torn away from her, she was done with always being out of loop, yet still having to bear the brunt, the burn, the misery, the consequences from the plans of others.

Enough is enough. 

Kriemhild dons the frilliest, pinkest, cutest apron in the world, murders Atli’s two sons, mutilates them, and makes them food. During a feast, Kriemhild served an unaware Atli his two sons and gets him shitfaced with ale. Once he’s super drunk and super full, Kriemhild interrupts the feast, saying:

Thou giver of swords, / of thy sons the heartsAll heavy with blood / in honey thou hast eaten;Thou shalt stomach, thou hero, / the flesh of the slain,To eat at thy feast, / and to send to thy followers.Thou shalt never call / to thy knees againErp or Eitil, / when merry with ale;Thou shalt never see / in their seats againThe sharers of gold / their lances shaping,Clipping the manes / or minding their steeds. 

Translation: YOU JUST ATE YOUR SONS, SHITLIPS.

Kriemhild then sets fire to the hall, which she had coated with alcohol beforehand, and kills Atli and all of his men, leaving the burning disaster behind her and disappearing.

Moral of the story: Family is cool but keep them in the loop or shit happens and then Attila the Hun burns to death after eating his children.