Why Bicycle People Race, by Dr Wilson.

Discussion in 'Road Cycling' started by Futureworlds, Feb 22, 2004.

  1. Futureworlds

    Futureworlds Guest

    Dr Wilson a well know bicycle racer, this is his vision of life from the
    bicycle seat:

    I have given a pretty faithful version of progress, law, morality and all other fine qualities that
    various highly intelligent men have discussed in so many books, only to conclude that after all
    everyone dances to his own personal boomboom, and that the writer is entitled to his boomboom: the
    satisfaction of pathological curiosity; a private bell for inexplicable needs; a bath; pecuniary
    difficulties; a stomach with repercussions in life; the authority of the mystic wand formulated as
    the bouquet of a phantom orchestra made up of silent fiddle bows greased with philtres made of
    chicken manure. With the blue eye-glasses of an angel they have excavated the inner life for a
    dime's worth of unanimous gratitude. If all of them are right and if all pills are Pink Pills, let
    us try for once not to be right. Some people think they can explain rationally, by thought, what
    they think. But that is extremely relative. Psychoanalysis is a dangerous disease, it puts to sleep
    the anti- objective impulses of men and systematizes the bourgeoisie. There is no ultimate Truth.
    The dialectic is an amusing mechanism which guides us / in a banal kind of way / to the opinions we
    had in the first place.

    Does anyone think that, by a minute refinement of logic, he has demonstrated the truth and
    established the correctness of these opinions? Logic imprisoned by the senses is an organic disease.
    To this element philosophers always like to add: the power of observation. But actually this
    magnificent quality of the mind is the proof of its impotence. We observe, we regard from one or
    more points of view, we choose them among the millions that exist. Experience is also a product of
    chance and individual faculties. Science disgusts me as soon as it becomes a speculative system,
    loses its character of utility-that is so useless but is at least individual. I detest greasy
    objectivity, and harmony, the science that finds everything in order. Carry on, my children,
    humanity . . . Science says we are the servants of nature: everything is in order, make love and
    bash your brains in. Carry on, my children, humanity, kind bourgeois and journalist virgins . . . I
    am against systems, the most acceptable system is on principle to have none. To complete oneself, to
    perfect oneself in one's own littleness, to fill the vessel with one's individuality, to have the
    courage to fight for and against thought, the mystery of bread, the sudden burst of an infernal
    propeller into economic lilies....

    Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Bicycle rider; a protest
    with the fists of its whole being engaged in destructivc action: *Bicycle rider; knowledge of all
    the means rejected

    manners: Bicycle rider; abolition of logic, which is the dance of those impotent to create: Bicycle
    rider; of every social hierarchy and equation set up for the sake of values by our valets: Bicycle
    rider; every object, all objects, sentiments, obscurities, apparitions and the precise clash of
    parallel lines are weapons for the fight: Bicycle rider; abolition of memory: Bicycle rider;
    abolition of archaeology: Bicycle rider; abolition of prophets: Bicycle rider; abolition of the
    future: Bicycle rider; absolute and unquestionable faith in every god that is the immediate product
    of spontaneity:* Bicycle rider; elegant and unprejudiced leap from a harmony to the other sphere;
    trajectory of a word tossed like a screeching phonograph record; to respect all individuals in their
    folly of the moment: whether it be serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous, determined,
    enthusiastic; to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out disagreeable
    or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them - with the extreme satisfaction that it
    doesn't matter in the least-with the same intensity in the thicket of one's soul-pure of insects for
    blood well-born, and gilded with bodies of archangels. Freedom: Bicycle rider Bicycle rider Bicycle
    rider, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions,
    grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE and DEATH –

    Dr Wilson, Jan. 2004 With thanks to T.T.
     
    Tags:


  2. On Sun, 22 Feb 2004 08:13:06 +0100 (CET), futureworlds wrote:
    > Dr Wilson a well know bicycle racer, this is his vision of life from the bicycle seat: [...]

    What in the world was that all about?
     
  3. Psycholist

    Psycholist Guest

    What a bunch of ridiculous drivel. Probably funded by our tax dollars.

    Well, at least you said he was a well-known bicycle racer and not a well-known writer.
     
  4. Howard Kveck

    Howard Kveck Guest

    In article <[email protected]>,
    Ewoud Dronkert <[email protected]> wrote:

    > On Sun, 22 Feb 2004 08:13:06 +0100 (CET), futureworlds wrote:
    > > Dr Wilson a well know bicycle racer, this is his vision of life from the bicycle seat: [...]
    >
    > What in the world was that all about?

    "Don't worry, smoke crack..."

    --
    tanx, Howard

    "We're not laughing -at- you, we're laughing -with- you..) "But... I'm not
    laughing???" Happiness

    remove YOUR SHOES to reply, ok?
     
  5. futureworlds <[email protected]> wrote in
    news:[email protected]:

    > Dr Wilson a well know bicycle racer, this is his vision of life from the bicycle seat:
    >
    > I have given a pretty faithful version of progress, law, morality and all other fine qualities
    > that various highly intelligent men have discussed in so many books, only to conclude that after
    > all everyone dances to his own personal boomboom, and that the writer is entitled to his boomboom:
    > the satisfaction of pathological curiosity; a private bell for inexplicable needs; a bath;
    > pecuniary difficulties; a stomach with repercussions in life; the authority of the mystic wand
    > formulated as the bouquet of a phantom orchestra made up of silent fiddle bows greased with
    > philtres made of chicken manure. With the blue eye-glasses of an angel they have excavated the
    > inner life for a dime's worth of unanimous gratitude. If all of them are right and if all pills
    > are Pink Pills, let us try for once not to be right. Some people think they can explain
    > rationally, by thought, what they think. But that is extremely relative. Psychoanalysis is a
    > dangerous disease, it puts to sleep the anti- objective impulses of men and systematizes the
    > bourgeoisie. There is no ultimate Truth. The dialectic is an amusing mechanism which guides us /
    > in a banal kind of way / to the opinions we had in the first place.
    >
    > Does anyone think that, by a minute refinement of logic, he has demonstrated the truth and
    > established the correctness of these opinions? Logic imprisoned by the senses is an organic
    > disease. To this element philosophers always like to add: the power of observation. But actually
    > this magnificent quality of the mind is the proof of its impotence. We observe, we regard from one
    > or more points of view, we choose them among the millions that exist. Experience is also a product
    > of chance and individual faculties. Science disgusts me as soon as it becomes a speculative
    > system, loses its character of utility-that is so useless but is at least individual. I detest
    > greasy objectivity, and harmony, the science that finds everything in order. Carry on, my
    > children, humanity . . . Science says we are the servants of nature: everything is in order, make
    > love and bash your brains in. Carry on, my children, humanity, kind bourgeois and journalist
    > virgins . . . I am against systems, the most acceptable system is on principle to have none. To
    > complete oneself, to perfect oneself in one's own littleness, to fill the vessel with one's
    > individuality, to have the courage to fight for and against thought, the mystery of bread, the
    > sudden burst of an infernal propeller into economic lilies....
    >
    > Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Bicycle rider; a protest
    > with the fists of its whole being engaged in destructivc action: *Bicycle rider; knowledge of all
    > the means rejected

    > manners: Bicycle rider; abolition of logic, which is the dance of those impotent to create:
    > Bicycle rider; of every social hierarchy and equation set up for the sake of values by our valets:
    > Bicycle rider; every object, all objects, sentiments, obscurities, apparitions and the precise
    > clash of parallel lines are weapons for the fight: Bicycle rider; abolition of memory: Bicycle
    > rider; abolition of archaeology: Bicycle rider; abolition of prophets: Bicycle rider; abolition of
    > the future: Bicycle rider; absolute and unquestionable faith in every god that is the immediate
    > product of spontaneity:* Bicycle rider; elegant and unprejudiced leap from a harmony to the other
    > sphere; trajectory of a word tossed like a screeching phonograph record; to respect all
    > individuals in their folly of the moment: whether it be serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous,
    > determined, enthusiastic; to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit
    > out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them - with the extreme
    > satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least-with the same intensity in the thicket of one's
    > soul-pure of insects for blood well-born, and gilded with bodies of archangels. Freedom: Bicycle
    > rider Bicycle rider Bicycle rider, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of
    > all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE and DEATH –
    >
    > Dr Wilson, Jan. 2004 With thanks to T.T.

    This sounds like either mad lib (ie blah blah blah <insert sport here> blah blah blah) or a computer
    program designed to spew forth this drivel.

    - BS
     
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