Function: nounV.I.T.R.I.O.L.: “Visita Interiora Terra Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem.” By Journeying to the Center of the Earth and Purifying (rectifying), I have acquired the Philosopher's Stone.
1. A: a sulfate of any of various metals (as copper, iron, or zinc); especially: a glassy hydrate of such a sulfate B: oil of vitriol2. something felt to resemble vitriol especially in caustic quality; especially: virulence of feeling or of speech.
If you want to piss me off, and I mean really piss me off, you need only say one thing: “you're thinking too much.”
Sometimes, as the occasional despair kicks in, I worry that I live in a nation of dunces. Sometimes I worry that I just might be one, too. I don't like thinking about it, really, because it unnerves and disturbs me to an extreme degree. Now, don't get me wrong: I know I'm fairly intelligent. I've known that since I was 12 years old and my elementary school teacher engineered it so I had to take an IQ test to finally find out if I was mentally retarded or not. But what inspires venom – sulfuric, caustic words – to drip from my mouth is when someone tells me to stop thinking.
This has nothing to do with meditation to find one's center, or taking a step back and re-evaluating a given subject so that you might come to new conclusions; while I've seen various occultists make such remarks and agreed on occasion, I'm talking about the near-Orwellian nightmare of dealing with the folks that don't think, and happen to think you should stop thinking, too.
(And by right about then, I had already thought over the entire matter, scrubbed it with the baseness of what surrounded the subject, and discovered I was no longer pissed off. And thus no longer had any impulse to finish my intended rant. Fuck. I hate when shit works too well.)