Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Valentine's Day Lesson On The Decline Of White People

Customary Topical Link Preceding Tirade
From the article:
In the past, students celebrated Valentine’s Day with the traditional exchange of cards and candy. But the district slowly has been phasing out those traditions for the past few years. The new holiday guidelines have not been fully implemented at each school yet, but no schools in the Bethel district will have traditional Valentine’s Day parties — with candy and card exchanges — this year. That prompted some parents to accuse the district of selectively “taking away” other traditional school holidays as well. For instance, Bethel district students no longer wear costumes for Halloween, and Thanksgiving celebrations have been renamed “harvest parties.” 
...
“As a public school system, we can’t intentionally plan events that we know will exclude children,” McGillivray said Tuesday. “Schools (in the district) are thinking creatively about how we celebrate with children and how we can have those activities at school where everyone gets to participate.”

If you are the sort of person who has stared into the abyss for far too long, no doubt you have the sneaking suspicion that somewhere out there a coin clutching merchant is at the bottom of this. Whether that is the case or no is, unfortunately, irrelevant to yours truly because the question and answer do nothing to solve our problems. I would not be surprised to discover a resounding 'yes', but I could also not be more apathetic. Partially this is out of a permanent lack of surprise when I discover certain people of a certain ethnicity behaving badly. Mostly, however, this is because noticing that certain people of a certain ethnicity tend to behave poorly has not moved us closer to resolving the crisis of Western Civilization. Blaming the other forever is the strategy of African-Americans and lesbians, and look at how well they've fared. If we are to avoid a similar fate then we must look inward:
The key is to look at this not as a moral problem, but as an engineering problem. Any solution that solves the problem is acceptable. Any solution that does not solve the problem is not acceptable.
There are a few tells hidden in the piece I linked to that point us in the right direction. Notice that last quoted sentence by McGillivray:

... and how we can have those activities at school where everyone gets to participate.

Does this sound familiar? If you look closely at the above article there are a few sentences that imitate McGillivray, spoken or implied by others. Coincidentally, these ought rationales sound a whole lot like the very obvious resentment you hear from fat feminists when they crab about Stacey Sorority. While they wrap their rhetoric in grandiose moral platitudes, most find it fairly obvious to point out that the source of their 'moral' crusade is that Stacey Sorority is a universal object of male desire, while they are often mistaken for a particularly lumpy potato.

The pretense of high morality thinly coating an obvious core resentment is so ubiquitous today that you can be forgiven for not pointing it out. Behind every screeching soccer mom is a girl who never got invited to the dance, or worse - got pumped and dumped throughout college and high school. The tragedy of helicopter parenting is that it is antithetical to the universal law of suffering: You must exchange in order to gain. Every once in a while life has to punch you in the face. This law is immutable, unchanging, omnipresent. Even if you manage to delay it for a short while, it is merely a delay. The cost, multiplied by the time you have managed to stave off the inevitable, will make the suffering far greater.

Case in point, White America decided that they could give their kid's a jumpstart on the rat race into a good college by forgoing chores in favor of paying Paco and Juan to mow the lawn. As a bonus, Paco and Juan's labor would fund generous pensions for Whitey. The consequence of that seemingly well intentioned plan is that America is no longer a homogeneous nation, societal trust is consequently at an all time low, the state is in financial tatters, and instead of gaining a good job through old boy networks at college, White America woke up one day and discovered that their boy was wearing dresses and makeup and screeching incessantly about the evils of cisprivilege.

Way to fucking go, guys, you really knocked it out of the park.

The solution, naturally, is to cull, by which I mean some form of exclusion is necessary for the perpetuation of civilization. We may, may, be at a point of no return with regards to the extraction and utilization of cheap energy. If we go back we may never reach the stars because restarting the industrial revolution from scratch isn't possible with known energy reserves increasingly requiring advanced, post-industrial revolution technology in order to harvest, refine and use it. Starting back at square one and advancing to tier 3 of the Kardashev Scale is, therefore, out of the question. This is, of course, just a hypothesis, but the risk falls under the theorem of expected value: When the cost of failure is infinite, odds no longer matter.

Culling, of course, brings to mind Social Darwinism - the sort of idea that immediately raises the deflector shields of the fashionable urbanite cohort. Ironically these are the sort of people who gleefully describe themselves as a reality based community or some other drivel, while eagerly excluding certain topics from debate. This brings us to a seemingly unsolvable problem in that the fashionable urbanite cohort, being obsessed with masking their own sense of inferiority with outward displays of unwarranted self-importance are intractable, obsessed with the gaudy trinket called "social affirmation", as opposed to the relatively unsexy rewards of "problem solving". The division among White America - and remember that Whites are unique in that they do not vote monolithically - is so harsh that it seems insurmountable.

In order to think so you must first believe - and this is usually an unconscious thing - that White people should unify.

This is a mistake.

The negative side effects of urbanization and excessive secondary and tertiary education are a blessing in disguise: Those most susceptible to the siren song of progressive idealism are not breeding at even close to replacement rate. In a handful of generations they will be irrelevant. Let them go, and wait for your labor to bear fruit.

This, of course, does not solve the problem of how to keep the insane and wayward soccer-mom types from seats of power, but that's a discussion for another day.

What is most interesting is that one hundred parents stormed a PTA meeting. How many kids do you think the administrators have on average? I'm guessing it's far less than one.

How many kids do you think the meeting-stormers have?


Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Feedback Loop

Everybody signals. Many signals are small, unconscious, or at least unintentional. For example, I speak unaccented English, which should signal to you that I am from somewhere in the Midwest. I don't mean to speak the way I do, it is simply a byproduct of my upbringing. I used to wear band shirts and ripped jeans and uneven haircuts because I was a drummer in a crappy punk band in high school, and I specifically and intentionally wanted everyone to know what clique I belonged to. One signal was unintentional, one signal clearly was not. One I have to this day, one I have long since abandoned.

Everybody signals.

There isn't anything wrong with signals. Signalling is part of communication, it's how we build and maintain our reputation. Reputations help us socialize. Without signals, and therefore without reputation, there would be no interaction beyond a perpetual series of introductions that would fade into meaninglessness once proximity was lost to time and space.

Sometimes people rail against signalling and it sounds to me a lot like the postmodern tears shed over hierarchy. By that I mean that it is pointless and ineffectual and, frankly, stupid to rail against a permanent and ubiquitous phenomenon that is directly caused by the human aspect of being human. You'll never end signalling any more than fat feminists will ever really end hierarchy.

The postmodernists want to obliterate hierarchical arrangement for one of two reasons: either they are personally dissatisfied with their own rank and wish to cheat around the lie of equality by bringing everyone down to a level below where they currently stand, thus allowing them to leapfrog over their natural superiors - or - they are in such an excruciating state of perpetual mental distress (as VoxDay has claimed on several occasions) that they wish for the sweet embrace of nothingness. Reducing the distinctions between unique points interspersed throughout the universe is the same as reducing everything to nothing. The total erasure of time and meaning in a singularity. They long for the release they instinctually believe oblivion offers but are too cowardly to kill themselves. So far anyways - some have claimed that a great millennial die-off is coming. We shall see. Perhaps thots with no marriage prospects will start throwing themselves of tall buildings en masse, but that time has not yet come - if it ever will.

Sometimes postmodernists rail against hierarchy for both reasons at the same time. Never mind that this doesn't make sense, it doesn't have to if you understand that you should not be approaching this sort of thing in a linear, premise premise conclusion format. They certainly aren't.

Slightly downstream from the postmodern camp is the conventional urbanite cohort. Not quite wayward enough to mutilate themselves or dye their hair garishly, but in enough of a state of dis-ease that they will enthusiastically signal their academic credentials. Most frequently this is done by disparaging Donald Trump, as if their collective groan were somehow enough to undo the dawn of the Trumpenreich.

As if.

That part is important in understanding. Kant placed a premium on intentions. The intention of your friend signalling on Facebook is not to bring down Trump through his words and frantic gesticulations against the God Emperor. He may wish it so, but his intention is internal, and yet paradoxically solipsistic. It is paradoxically solipsistic because while his intention is to gratify himself through likes and pats-on-the-back from other thralls of the zeitgeist, he is ironically dependent on positive reactions from things outside of himself. Others. While he may have succumbed to solipsism, the superlative form of selfishness, gratification and relief must come from outside of himself.

You may say something to the effect of this dumb idiot cannot be fucked to pick himself up by his own bootstraps and you wouldn't exactly be wrong. You just wouldn't be telling either of us something we don't already know.

Keeping with that noble tradition, I too am about to tell you something we both already know, but that to my knowledge has not been fleshed out in exact terms.

The tendency of the millennial urbanite cohort to virtue signal is directly caused by the atomizing effect of city life. Cities are no longer centers of economic activity. Cities are high school 3.0 to the high school 2.0 of college. Lonely and emotionally stunted, this last, worst generation is lured to the city for economic reasons and the promise of frequent socialization. While for some the economic prospects do bear the fruits promised, for almost no one does frequent socialization result in genuine, permanent connections. Cheap, alcohol fueled sex and access to euphoria inducing hard drugs reduces inhibitions and long term planning in exchange for immediate gratification. Unfortunately when the high diminishes the user is left with two choices: hangover or redose? When the money runs out and the hangover sets in the loneliness that never really left comes back into view. Hence the pervasiveness of antidepressants and other prescription mood stabilizing drugs. What is remarkable is how nonchalant many people are in this regard. Everyone is medicated and yet no one takes a whole lot of time to stop and marvel at the implications. When you point out the profound and ubiquitous level of unhappiness the immediate answer has to do with some material or monetary want or dissatisfaction. Jobs, free schooling, higher pay. They screech about installing total communism and people who already failed to allow them to sink or swim chide them sheepishly about communism being impossible or killing one hundred million people in less than a century or a million other tired conservative cliches that mean nothing and solve nothing a do nothing because conservatives are tired and useless and cowardly and cretinous. The signalarity operates well inside conservatives' ooda loop, and the bait of virtuous materialism propels their wayward offspring to screech ever more. Each outburst is a feeble attempt at connection, the longing for the lost pats on the head mummy and daddy never ceased, even for a moment, to lavish upon their children lest they hinder their development.

Pure irony.

The rub of the whole stupid affair is that it isn't about installing full communism over the current late-stage capitalism OS. It's about the socialization points - signals - the speaker acquires for saying this, or that, or fuck Drumpf, or whatever. What is said is meaningless. What it results in means everything to a generation that is addicted to the social affirmation feedback loop.

There is a glaring weakness in this system of demented feedback loops hinted at in a (misattributed) G.K. Chesterton quote I've seen bandied about quite a bit recently:

When people stop believing in God they do not simply believe in nothing; they become capable of believing anything.

Something capable of out-turning trickle-down postmodernism in a dogfight is capable of taking the cultural reins and either bringing this insane spiral down to the ground in one piece, or, as they say, crashing this plane with no survivors.

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Lamentations III: There Is No Normal Anymore

The noise never ends. I've noticed the TV is on constantly, and it disturbs me. A decade ago it would have disturbed me because television on that scale was a surefire symptom of sloth. My grandmother has been a thrall of the television since before I was born. She will die a thrall of the television. Her son and daughters took her on a surprise visit to Ireland to visit the home of her ancestors. She stayed in the hotel watching TV the entire trip. This is tragic, but not so tragic that I would move heaven and earth to change it. I cannot. Therefore, it does not matter.

No, here, now, where the television buzzes constantly with the chatter of people saying things, I am disturbed because this is a new pattern of behavior. It is not just the television. Laptops and tablets and sometimes the radio constantly make noise. At first, I thought it was an attempt to relieve the onset of tinnitus. Too many loud concerts.

Then I realized what I was hearing, seeing, swimming in.

Talk radio. The news. Shows with panels of chattering teeth and vocal cords, metaphorically jostling for attention, claiming every microsecond as their own, lest some silence slips by into the void. Lectures and sniveling and talking points that have been hashed over so many times that no hash remains, only a blackened carbonized lump.

Over in our corner, I am quite used to people being jacked up constantly on the politics drug. If you've ever been to a college or university, you have surely become familiar with the constant shrieking of wayward progressives. Even libertarians, such that they remain, are constantly proselytizing. Libertarians are shockingly similar to vegans and cross-fit enthusiasts in their constant need to inform you of their particular identity.

What I am not used to is basic-tier crunchy conservatives being constantly amped up on the politics drug. Sure, I know plenty of weird, obnoxious, or cretinous Republicans. But when it's the guy who quietly reads the Wall Street Journal on his tablet on the train to and from work, when it's the housewife who quietly sighs and rolls her eyes when her siblings bitch about Bush at Thanksgiving, when it's the retired couple who plays tennis on Wednesdays and goes sailing on the weekend...

When you start seeing this from the quiet people who you would otherwise unequivocally describe as normal suburbanites with office jobs and 2.1 kids and a mortgage, you may have your double take moment just like I am constantly having.

Everyone expects this sort of thing out of Millennials. The worst generation of all time must constantly insufflate their own gas while preening incessantly about the virtues of fart-sniffing. More still, they demand that you sniff their farts as well, and they'll demand that your employer fire you should they suspect you of harboring insufficient enthusiasm for fart sniffing. When you see that sort of zeal in crunchy conservative suburbanites, you may pause to wonder.

Some people blame the Crisis of Western Civilization on the Jews. There certainly is no denying that a number of Jews exhibit behavior with regards to their host nations that you might describe as malicious malfeasance if you were the sort of person who tries to be very polite when recounting another's negative traits. Quite frankly, there is enough damning evidence against a handful of them to warrant a serious argument for the sort of wholesale extermination /pol/tards salivate over without twisting yourself inside out trying to square the circle of morality and genocide. Further still, you can't even mention how bad some of them behave without setting off the worst impulses of progressives or Leftists or ultracalvinists - whatever you want to call them. Them. Those people. The other sort of white people.

Still, the counter-Semitic camp is a whole bunch of abyss-gazing by my own reckoning. People seem to readily recognize that Common Filth has stared too long into the void. You may yet come to realize that others on the Dissident Right have as well. This is not criticism, however - I don't blame you if you feel that way. It's almost impossible to not, and only through an intense regimen of isolation from the news and the media and world events have I clawed my way out of that event horizon. I would not definitively say that I am the better for it either.

Still, it lends me some perspective.

Some people blame the Crisis of Western Civilization on other mechanisms. Tied for second best, as far as I'm concerned, is Moldbug's narrative on Ultracalvinism, how the absence of a State religion and a legal prohibition against the establishment of one accidentally created the environment for a particularly hostile and virulent mutation of Puritan Christiantiy to evolve into an anti-religion, or Non-Theistic Christianity, take over our institutions on the sly, and install itself as the defacto State religion. Alongside Moldbug's Puritan Thesis is the narrative in John Glubb's Fate of Empires and the exhaustive work Anonymous Conservative has put into solidifying a biological hypothesis on why our civilization (and, indeed, all successful civilizations) experienced a change in average character before the decline. Professor Bruce Charlton has repeatedly asked if there is a biological answer for our decline and, if you will wait a post or two, I will give you my best shot.

First place is the inward journey. There is something wrong with us. But, again, that ties into Bruce Charlton's question. All of that will be revisited later. While in the interim I can only give you a reasonable guess on why in that regard, I can tell you exactly who to blame for what's coming:

Isaac Newton. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

My general suspicion is that a violent awakening would come from hinterlanders who finally realized the door shut on them and would never open again. Probably the defenestration of Trump (or another Trump-like figure down the road), or a similar political catastrophe. They, of course, are in an actually optimal strategic position even relative to much higher achieving groups like Asians. While not as numerous as the White-Urbanite cohort, they breed faster, are handier and craftier, make up the bulk of our fighting men, own guns, hunt, farm, fish, aren't exceptionally susceptible to postmodern nonsense, etc. They've earned my affection through a slow but thorough assessment of their general characteristics, and despite worrying about them I don't really fret about them. As that one song I've never actually listened to says, country boys can survive.

But now that I consider it, I wouldn't be surprised if the flames of rage reach new heights on the bellows of crunchy conservatives who dutifully paid their taxes and sent their kids to college only to find that their money was wasted on a scheme to exchange votes for handouts to Paco and Jamal and Ahmed and that their kids were somehow transformed into a sick and twisted parody of a human being by Socialist Sociologists and other snot nosed ne'er-do-wells at the ivory tower.

They haven't moved in so long. So long. There's a good screencap floating out there somewhere, where some humble anon ponders the possibility that one day we'll wake up to discover that 60 or 70 million people vanished overnight, lost to the brief but spectacular conflagration of crunchy conservative rage when they finally realize that talking and being civil was just tires spinning in the mud.

Really made me think. I recently came into contact with a progressive I tormented during Trump's ascension. She, and everyone else I gloated at for a few months, are (shockingly) in worse health than before the dawn of the Trumpenreich. Not that I've heard much about Antifa recently, but considering my brief survey of Leftist rank-and-file... Whatever is coming for the Left is going to bring a world of hurt down on their heads.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

The Horror of Hubris

A frequent strategy, for example, is to present the delusion as recondite and counterintuitive, and the truth as simplistic and wrong. This "emperor's new clothes" strategy is a proven recipe for defeating Occam's razor. Who, for example, really understand the Trinity? But if you don't understand the Trinity, aren't you just stupid? Through internal competition, this counterintuitive delusion generates a revolutionary elite deeply steeped in Trinitology. The harder it is to understand the delusion, the more dedicated your cadre will be.


If I were to somehow remove the crunchy reactionary coating from my psyche, the next layer down in the great chain of my mental being would fall under the 'futurist' subheading. Ironic, no? I have a bit of a fetish for theoretically practical space travel. The credit to my fascination with outer space goes to my dear mother, who bought me a telescope when I was young. We'd spend hours looking at fuzzy images of the planets and gazing at the craters on the moon. Funny enough, there's a crater on our dusty satellite that bears my mother's maiden name.

Few people who gaze on the full breadth and majesty of the Milky Way walk away from the experience feeling anything other than small. It is remarkable then, knowing what we know about just how big the universe is (whatever fraction that we can actually see) that the end of history memeplex has taken root. For instance, it wasn't until the 1920s that we finally realized that the Milky Way wasn't the universe, but only one galaxy in the universe. Perhaps we can be forgiven of that because the technology to produce high quality telescopes that can bring you the stars in a decent resolution is not the sort of thing a civilization without advanced, precision manufacturing has any hope of creating. Then again, back closer to home, it wasn't until well after WWII that plate tectonics gained widespread support among geologists. Nothing about that is to say that civilizations without x y or z technological marvel should be castigated for not knowing a b or c fundamental principle of (modern) science that coincidentally enough requires x y or z technology. But there is a curious, and very serious, incongruity in both knowing that only a few lives of men in the past we were astonishingly less knowledgeable while triumphantly proclaiming your generations political soup du jour as the be all end all of all of history ever. Because that is what progressive idealism is. As triumphalist as it is stupid and vacuous. Behold! We have conquered the wild and uncovered the secrets of the universe, and the purpose of life is... bitching about racism and the virtues of universal healthcare. Blink blink. Blink.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. It has become increasingly clear that none of this is going to end well. Perhaps a last, tiny enclave of Wypipo will grumble among themselves that Camp of the Saints was not supposed to be an instruction manual, the way that Libertarians (lol) once tut tutted about 1984. Some dream of a rising tide of Right-Wing violence that will quickly, quietly, and efficiently sweep away the cancer of the modern world. The merits of those thoughts aside (indeed it is hard to resist when you can't get away from the screeching), my nightmare scenario is that the coming conflict, born up to unimaginable heights and tension by the runaway dysgenic effect of modern medicine, modern farming, modern energy and modern comfort, will leave the remnant that survives unable to resume the course of technological progression. It isn't that the oil is all dried up, its that a hard reboot of civilization and technology means that we would be in a catch-22 situation regarding energy: The technology required to reach the oil that remains is paradoxically out of reach because easy access to oil is required to start an industrial revolution which will eventually give you the technological refinement to reach the harder to access oil which you cannot reach because our civilization imploded and no one can reach the information on a hard drive because the power went out one day and never when back on and...

We'd be fucked. And we're serious teetering towards that. The suspicion that this is our last, best and only chance to get off this rock adds a certain sense of urgency to the mission of revitalizing our civilization. The fear is compounded by the aggravation associated with knowing that a deeply unnatural philosophy has come to power and is cheerfully driving us off the edge while it's adherents preach that they are the pinnacle of philosophy, science and the human condition. Blink. Who the hell looks at a handful of billion years of things eating each other and comes to the conclusion that the most sensible method of organization is expending insane amounts of energy and resources coddling those who cant? You are telling me, with a straight face, that doing the exact opposite of the selection method that powered an ecosystem for 3.8 billion years through trillions upon trillions of organisms perishing before they could reproduce and pass on their genes and contribute another generation to the tree of life... will somehow not have serious negative consequences. Oh! The solution to our problems is sooo easy! Just give people stuff! Who the fuck seriously sits down and looks at that and says brilliant! At this point, the answer is either people who are intentionally tricked into a believing something that is degrading in exchange for cheap virtue points - or people who have unintentionally tricked themselves into believing something degrading in exchange for cheap virtue points. The difference between one explanation and the other is the difference between Mike Enoch and Mencius Moldbug. Try this the next time you're at a fashionable party in the city: Tell everyone you know that you hate Trump and count the number of pats on the back that you harvest. For a moment, it feels good, yes? Suddenly people seem very interested in talking to you, yes? Tempted, yes?

And into the abyss we go.

Oil, of course, does not power spacecraft, and human ingenuity is perhaps the only thing comparable to human stupidity in its pervasiveness and tendency to surprise you. The idea that this is the end is probably overwrought, but I cannot help but think, when looking from these heights, that a fall from up here might actually kill us.

Friday, January 5, 2018

Lamentations II: AKTCHUALLY

Some time after I began dating my girlfriend I began quietly divorcing myself from a number of friendships.

People come and people go, but unlike the connections that fade with time but otherwise remain pleasant memories, the people of whom I now think and write about have their memory forever tainted by the impetus for their ejection from my social life: They revealed themselves as zealous devotees of the progressive religion. In my professional and familial circles, and in the circle of those loose associates around which individual faces orbit more familiar ones, I am generally forgiving of theological, political, or philosophical diversity. I even maintain a small, but - as I consider it - elite cohort of friends who are decidedly leftist, yet unaffected by the bizarre, social iteration of rabies that is so ubiquitous among my generation. They remind me of a spaceship that uses a black hole's gravity well to perform a slingshot maneuver, as opposed to disappearing into the event horizon. These people, rare though they may be, are the sort of precious social connection you should hunt for, and in the finding, jealously guard a treasure that will serve as an excellent counterbalance to your own eccentricity: the human whetstone, the perfect foil.

Strange though it may seem for a reactionary to pause mid-thought to give praise to his opposite, I do it in juxtaposition of conventional Millennial ultracalvinism. I have become more and more reticent to refer to the political and philosophical proclivities of the passing era by their traditional markers. Perhaps it is simply an exercise in mindfulness as I remember friends who would traditionally be labeled "de la gauche", but are nonetheless the sort of men I would include in my roster were I tasked with the construction of a working model of civilization. But less on the personal side, eschewing the traditional labels of right and left, conservative and progressive, and even some popular colloquialisms like cultural Marxism, makes sense to me because most of these no longer make any taxonomic sense whatsoever. Some of them never made any sense at all. The nationalist vs. globalist divide makes much, much more sense, but even still I find that less precise than I would like. Moldbug is a far greater thinker than I, and so I bow to his ultracalvinism in deference to his rank above me. Furthermore, ultracalvinism is a good 'stealth' descriptor - the sort of word that can phase through social deflector shields long enough to make a fair point that an otherwise sensible person can actually grapple with, as opposed to rejecting out of hand because heresy. I dislike 'cultural Marxism' because it has the opposite effect. I found another excellent term at the Orthosphere blog the other day. Romantic rationalism. If you stare at it long enough, you may just see the shape of a stiletto wedged through some ribs.

But that's less here than there and I've gone all tangential. The reason my girlfriend is important to this essay is because it was through my girlfriend that I became intimately acquainted with provincial American culture. I admit that I am a suburbanite by birth. My parent's choice of home location was certainly a boon in my formative years, as my childhood was beyond happy, but in the suburbs you're always living on the outside of a city while looking forever in. Everything past you really is flyover country. It wasn't that I consciously harbored any ill will to the people beyond the corn field border, I just never thought of them much, and if I ever did - and I know I did - hear of scorn for hicks and hillbillies and rednecks and the like, I didn't think much of it. I knew zero of them, whatever your word for White ruralites may be.

That changed when I found my girlfriend. My introduction to her "hick-ish" family, to use her own words, was illuminating. And despite the cultural gravity well in my immediate vicinity begging me to throw myself in for the cheap social gains (and easy, albeit B or C grade, women), it was in the corn strewn wasteland beyond my hometown that I finally, finally learned to hate. And it wasn't them that I learned to hate. Getting to know the extremely large circle of small town people intimately bound through blood and friendship that eventually begot the woman I love was both beautiful beyond words and sad beyond reckoning. I have never felt such sympathy, and I owe that in no small part to the quality of the people I met, who, despite their material poverty, were endowed spiritually, communally, and otherwise beyond measure. Where the people I met are not what you would call 'educated' - whatever that means nowadays - they make up for it in handiness, craftsmanship, and earthiness. While I have fished for nearly a quarter century, I hadn't picked up a bow or a gun since - I shit you not - Jesus camp.

(My parents, being naive Catholics, sent me, also a naive Catholic, to an Evangelical summer camp. It didn't end well, but that's a story that was only interesting when I was an angry atheist.)

After a short period of the customary sizing-up of a foreign male romantically interested in his daughter, my girlfriend's dad took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about firearms and bowhunting. He lent me his old bow, somewhat oversized since he is quite tall. Under his tutelage, I took my first deer this year. I am forever grateful to him for that, as I had no one to show me the ins and outs of the ancient art. Someday I will pass that knowledge on to my sons. And while people come in all sorts of flavors, the overall earthiness and communal orientation of the ruralites I encountered puts the spray-tanned, Escalade-driving soccer mom culture of suburbia to shame. I passed out candy maybe once ever 20 minutes this year at Halloween. My girlfriend's parents step out on their door at 4pm and don't step back inside until the procession of kids in costumes ends. And when you go out there, you see the telltale signs of the communal values so many people on the Dissident Right lament the lack of in more populated areas. Everyone knows their neighbors. Families still have large, extended gatherings. Pregnant women are abundant. Etc.

But don't take this uptalk for the idealized vision of a utopian fool. There is a tremendous amount of sadness out there. There's a lot of rust, a lot of poverty, a lot of alcoholism and drug addiction. I had a strange, chance encounter with a young friend of my girlfriend's sister who offhandedly made a comment about her stepfather who used to beat her regularly before her mom dumped him, and was somewhat taken aback by the nonchalant attitude. It wasn't what you would call justification, but it was a sort of shrug at a commonality. The jobs are dwindling, and the town my girlfriend comes from is getting by better than most thanks to a few remaining factories, but for years everyone's been on edge about who will close shop for the penny wages of East Asia next. When I talk to people about their lives out in the sticks, I get a lot of pessimism:

How long have you lived here?
My whole life.
Yeah? Do you like it?
Hell naw, man. It sucks out here.
Why don't you leave?
Everyone I know lives out here. We've always been out here. 

And there, right there, is where you get the gold shining behind layers of shuttered factories and rust. People I know from the suburbs pay lip service to not wanting to leave family and friends behind, but given the opportunity to go elsewhere, they cross country on the next flight out. People from where I've been spending my free time know there's better somewhere, and they won't go. That's some blood and soil shit right there, even if they don't know it's blood and soil, nor do they articulate it as you or I might. They just do, and their stoic resignation to their grim fate as the grand losers of globalism reminds me of that Oswald Spengler quote about the Roman soldier who died at his post in Pompeii.

And that's where the hate really sets in. You go out there and you see what I saw, and suddenly the vitriol piled on Heritage America from the coasts becomes intolerable. At first it was annoying, but then you see the rust and the closed factories and hear about the occasional suicide and your blood just boils. Moldbug once made a passing comment about how despite his decidedly brahmin upbringing, he found himself utterly horrified by the sheer and unjustified hate spewed forth from the coasts against middle Americans. I remember reading that when I first encountered UR, and like my previous disposition about the relationship between the city and the country, it went over my head. Now? Every encounter I have with an urbanite is likely to produce some frivolous yet vicious banality, a conversational trope used to juxtapose the backwards, awful, evil faceless hinterlander against the virtuous, enlightened, beneficent urbanite speaking to you.

You know, the sort of people who hate black people and vote against their economic interests.

There was a time where when I'd hear that sort of thing my eyes would roll into the back of my head and I'd sigh and silently here we go AGAIN to myself. I hear that now and I flash back to the first Christmas after I started dating my girlfriend. We'd been together for barely two months and these total strangers took me into their house, belatedly bought me inexpensive but utilitarian gifts, and lavished me with food and company and the sort of cheer you'd think they'd save for an old friend long thought lost who stumbled through the door. I remember her dad explaining to me, in his particular fashion, how to set up the sights on his old compound bow, where to aim. I remember the farmer who not only let us pass through his land but helped us search while we were tracking a wounded buck. I remembered the small but charming interactions I'd have with strangers in a small town. And I remembered every lamentation from some broke, broken middle aged schlub or old timer as they recalled the respectable prosperity lost to the maelstrom of globalism, and the people alcoholism floated down the drain.

Every time I stumble into one of those AKTCHUALLY conversations with some nu-male soyboy, I am reminded of my own peculiar 'wait a minute' moment. Life is a series of lights going off in your head across the perils of time and entropy, and like Moldbug's comment on his upbringing, this light had a herald some time prior but didn't make sense until I got my hands dirtied myself.

The Dissident Right, by virtue being unconstrained by conventional, suppressive morality, has produced a patchwork quilt of  explanatory narratives that seek to unravel the mystery of the decline of the West. Some of these are excellent - Anonymous Conservative's r/K selection and Moldbug's formalism for instance. Some are less so - the abyss-staring neuroticism of much of the Alt-Right no longer seems quite as edgy and funny to me as it did previously, as I see no resolution to any of our problems coming from that quarter.

That said, for good or ill I sometimes wonder if we're overthinking much of AKTCHUALLY culture. While what I read from the broad Dissident Right is vastly, vastly superior in quality over basic conservative, libertarian and progressive writers, I suspect that the petty motivations and virtue signalling and desperate desire for social affirmation make up 100% of the fuel that drives 99.9% of wastrel progressives. Sometimes I think we see forests and not trees, or the reverse, or however you want to frame it.

I constantly wonder what it is I am missing - I'm always missing something, somewhere.

And ironically, that is what drives me nuts about most people.

They don't.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Quick Reactions IV

Society is judged by how it treats its lowest members.

Some version of this is often evoked in the impassioned plea to bequeath a pet group (and, more often than not, the speaker's identity group) with rents and other resources. This phrase is one of those rhetorical tricks designed to ensnare the ever unwary conventional conservative. They open their mouths, the bait falls right in and without so much an effort the speaker sets the hook. And so, without so much as a word (though much comes after), the argument is lost. The conservative accepts his opposite's morality, which places him in a paradoxical state from which he has no hope of return.

Here's a hotter take on that idea:

Society is judged by how it treats its lowest members, only this judgement is post facto. By distributing rents to the low, without a selection process filtering out the unworthy, we subsidize and therefore greatly expand the numbers of those individuals with the worst sort of qualities. The substantial decline of the quality of African-Americans since the Civil Rights era and the inception of the welfare state is entirely caused by massive subsidies their progressive overlords bequeathed upon them. Whether this was intentional or not is irrelevant, as the result was the same: The elimination of the Black middle class and the conversion of the remainder to profligate chattel.

A common argument used in defense of particular pet causes evokes a naturalistic order. This was particularly evident during the crusade for homosexual rights, although you hear it less now because attempting to pass off transexuals as 'natural' is probably too obvious a baited hook for even the dumbest conservative to swallow (although, God help them, it doesn't stop them from trying). I would gently remind our sneering moralist peers that there is indeed a natural order for us to follow, although this path, unrestrained, is a path of immense pain and suffering. We did not move from primitive, single celled organisms to Homo sapiens in a handful of billions of years without killing off a lot of individuals in the process. Refinement requires that what cannot be saved or molded into a better form be discarded. A society that follows natural 'law' is a society that periodically culls - through some means - the least fit among its number. The idea of exclusion is of course abhorrent to the proponents of popular Millennial progressivism, because exclusion carries the risk of destroying or removing the individual. In the case of Millennial progressives, an overwhelming majority of them are from the bottom half of the fitness barrel. Progressives must lean on the fake glamour of Hollywood for aesthetic credentials precisely because the visibly attractive or at least superficially healthy are so rare among their own number.

We will be judged for allowing the numbers of our worst to swell, but it will likely be by the archaeologists who excavate the ruins of early 21st century Western Civilization.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

The Thrill of the Hunt

I took my first deer the weekend before last. He died well, and I am glad to think that this creature caught a dignified, one-way trip to deerhalla at the barrel end of a shotgun, as opposed to the grill of car. The man who taught me how to hunt told me that you relive a good kill forever. I don't doubt it.

That I took life is not something I necessarily relish. Although I have killed many fish over nearly a quarter century, I've never felt particularly bad about it. They all ended up on a plate, excepting the few bluegills I accidentally killed as a small child, when I didn't exactly know what I was doing. This guy, on the other hand, I felt a little bad for. He never knew what hit him. But like I said, he died well. It was quick, and his skull will forever adorn my wall.
What was thrilling, though, was the process. He moved out of the thick brush at somewhere between 55 and 60 yards from where I perched, and what I kept remarking later to curious questioners was that I couldn't believe how fast the whole process was. Not just his death, which was mercifully quick thanks to one ounce of high velocity lead through his lungs. No, what startled me in retrospect was how all the time I spent at the range snapped into place with zero thought whatsoever. Without thinking it I knew he was walking away from where I was hiding. I knew that with a maximum effective range of 100 yards he would quickly pass out of reach. I knew, without thinking, that he had only a handful of steps until he reached my effective ethical range, where I would no longer risk a shot for fear of causing undue suffering. The entire time he was in view I had my front post on his chest cavity, lined without thinking, the butt of my gun pressing against my cheek without so much a thought. I think it was the best cheek-weld I've ever made. It just happened naturally. No thought, just action. Smooth. Quiet. Still.

Boom.

I barely heard the gun's report, even without ear protection, and I never felt the kick. He made three bounds, collapsed on his side, and continued to gallop for about six or seven more paces without actually travelling. Then he stopped moving. That's when I realized the adrenaline had been pumping hard. I was shaking as I climbed out of the stand, and I cautiously chambered a new slug as I approached him, fearing that  he might rise up at my approach. He didn't. He was still making slight movements when I finally stood over him, and as far as I could tell he breathed his last in front of me.

It was a strange feeling.

The field dressing, of course, is not for the squeamish, and the rest was that and hauling a warm corpse to the pickup truck so we could butcher him. We discovered that the round had passed through his lungs and ended it's traceable path against his opposite ribcage. I never figured out where it went, because it didn't pass through the other side. I guess it lost too much energy over the span between the tree stand and him, plus all the meat it pushed through. There was a pretty nice dent on the other side, but as far as we could tell the slug vanished, and the bits that remained are probably poisoning the coyotes that came for his organs. 

The next week at work I stared at that computer screen and the order slips and the ringing phone and my mind was stuck in those woods. I reached out and touched something primal that day, and part of the excitement once you've controlled for the pure adrenaline rush is that hunting is something men are naturally conditioned to do. Sitting in an office chair, staring at a screen... It will never be the same again, now that I've been to that place where I did what I was always meant to do. Even though I wrapped it in a modern veneer, and even though it's been upgraded with modern technology.

One of my coworkers recoiled when I told her.

You hunt? That's barbaric.

I am a barbarian.

Monday, December 4, 2017

Quick Reactions III

All scientists are liberal because liberalism is for smart people is the sort of phrase you may find hanging over the lips of very smart and very thoughtful people.

Perhaps it is worth noting that at one point in time all scientists were Catholic and rather conservative by today's standards. Actually, since 'conservative' is a word that has lost it's meaning, perhaps it would be more accurate to call the learned men of yore 'reactionaries', a term I lovingly borrow - and gently abuse - to place myself relative to my opposites. The modernist, when confronted with this bit of information, shrugs and says something to the effect of well they didn't know better.

The irony is lost on them.

I have had a number of rather embarrassing encounters with close friends (now mostly formerly close) where it was revealed through the course of the conversation that these individuals had succumbed to the false flattery of progressive idealism. There are a many great and terrible things to wonder about the philosophy-cult as a whole, and there are many interesting, thought-provoking, or otherwise clever observations about progressive idealism made by the great heretics of the current year. Small among them though this may seem, the more often I encounter the surety of progressive idealism's devotees, the clearer the question becomes to me:

What makes you think that someday humans will not look back on what you believe in utter embarrassment, as you look back upon yesterday's reactionaries?

Whatever virtues devotees of progressive idealism may have, I am quite certain that humility is not numbered among those few.

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

A Very Small, Cautiously Distributed White Pill

From Thermidor Mag: A sobering but honest assessment of the organization of the Left and the Right, today.

If I were to give you a tl;dr of an essay I would otherwise strongly encourage the broad Dissident Right to read in full, it would be this: We have reached peak Kali Yuga, because the Right, which traditionally represents order, is wildly out-ordered by the Left, which traditionally represents chaos. Indeed, the sorry state of the Right across the West is something of a curiosity in the esoteric and the exoteric. How did things get so bad? Historians may some day write a book worth reading, but that day is not today and so we press on.

I do my best thinking at work, which is unfortunate because the nature of my trade does not spare me a lot of time to jot down thoughts. Business is busy, and something always requires my attention. In some respects this is fortunate, as I have never felt that what I do is corporate make-work. Perhaps this is because I am in a white collar position that deals with blue collar workers everyday - although this is a bit of an amusing stretch because my office dress code is casual and I wear a flannel and jeans every day. My entire working career up until I graduated, I was blue collar. Mostly labor, although I had a couple of neat specialist type jobs (calibration and quality assurance) while I worked my way through college. I can tell you definitively, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the moment I stopped being a suburbanite miscreant and started to actually become something good was the moment I was forced to do hard labor for a paycheck. I had my "I'm not going to die this way" moment in a meat packing plant, after a coworker was grievously injured. I'll spare you the details, but while this man survived, he was missing a rather large chunk of his body. Large enough that I submitted my two weeks notice, moved home and enrolled at my local community college.

It sucked.

I was halfway to my Associate's when all my high school friends that went to college graduated. Most of them moved into the city (where most of them still reside), and a handful got married and started families. As far as metrics and measurements go, I was barely beyond square one. And it sucked. Oh it sucked. Community college, at least where I was, is a cheerless endeavor. Most of the students I encountered were the sort of late-teens/early-twenties kids who really just wanted to smoke pot and play guitar in mom's basement, but the 'rents forced them to make something of themselves. Maaannnn. Then there were the immigrants, who were usually earnest but either dumb, or spoke very poor English, so communication was... challenging. And lastly, about one student per class was a late thirties or forties something who belatedly was trying for a career change, or to improve themselves, or whatever. Those people, the middle aged American students, were like fucking gold, because when group projects were assigned they would always do their work. I sought those people out for every group project I possibly could, not because I am lazy (I'm not), but because I was tired of pulling weight for the potheads. And I would pull that weight, because at the end of the day that project had to be done and there are a lot of teachers that don't care if the pothead didn't do x y or z assigned task. It had to be done, so I would make sure that I had backup in case someone "forgot", or whatever.

Like I said, it sucked. And the entire time I'm working mediocre wage jobs - thankfully I haven't made minimum wage since high school, an anecdotal shiv between the ribs of the do gooders who ceaselessly remind us that minimum wage sucks and it's not enough and it's unjust and you should feel bad so abloo bloo bloo. And on top of that I would routinely go into the city to visit my friends who all had (seemingly) a lot of money and were living fast and large while I was at home plugging away at... community college. I was constantly reminded of what I fretted away by being an unserious student during college try one. The friendships strained, relationships gone, opportunities that never materialized.

And then I graduated from community college. Well, I never "graduated" like cap and gown. I finished my last test, handed it to the teacher with the smug assurance that it was mathematically impossible for me to fail the course given my average prior to the final, got in my car and I had the strangest sense of elation. I passed from one end of campus to the other on my way back to my house and I realized that I would never look at that community college as a student ever again. It was over.

Now the story doesn't end there because I went on to a state university, but that is a whole different struggle session - figuratively and otherwise. I didn't feel the same elation when I graduated because I had routine encounters with SJWs and I suddenly understood exactly how bad things were. I also learned to hate, and have nursed serious fantasies of ovening the Left, so with graduation came not elation, but relief that I would never see those wretched people ever again. And in any event it's immaterial relative to the Thermidor link.

But this is:

I thought a lot about being at square one, the paucity of the Right's organization, and where I was relative to where I ended up. I don't have any organizational advice off the top of my head, sans perhaps a cautious word against descending into the feral rage that peering too deep down the anti, sorry, counter-Semitic abyss seems to bring upon gazers. That advice has not been particularly well received when I have offered it to peers irl, so ignore it if you can't help but huff and puff about coin clutching civilizational saboteurs.

There are actually two takeaways I offer to you.

First, is the Dissident Right's status as having "no institutional base of operations to call its own, no patrons, no money, few friends, and many enemies", is as much of a boon as it is a disadvantage. I need not reiterate exactly how bad that is because I put the Thermidor link at the top of the page. But in a way it's good because it gives us the opportunity to build. "One pathology of our age is a childlike credulity in the magical efficacy of complaint. Don't complain, build." Having nothing while setting out to do a great thing (saving our civilization is no idle task, as you may have noticed) gives us an opportunity similar to finding a virgin, unspoiled, unclaimed continent teeming with space and biomass and mineral resources. We owe no debt to anyone, and we eat whatever we kill. Its ours, the pathway to salvation rests solely in our hands. No one is coming, the boomers are useless, and previous generations that actually had the balls to fight are long since dead. That's a tremendous amount of pressure, but with that comes a tremendous opportunity for glory. And in the vacuum left by the New Old Right we can build unimpeded if we have the vision, the cunning and the drive.

I dream of an immortal civilization, and the stars.

Second, there is a boon in that the Left is finally consuming itself in earnest. Where exactly the outpouring of sexual harassment accusations among prominent Leftists come from is a story for another day. What is important is that the long predicted fractures are finally bursting, and the Left can no longer suppress its desire to consume itself. It was inevitable. One of the great, inadvertent gifts the Left bequeathed upon us was driving sane and healthy white men away. This doesn't just help us separate the wheat from the chaff, it may also be that non-White Leftists no longer regard White men as threatening, and therefore have focused their attentions on other fronts, knowing that threat numero uno has been subdued... soydued. Sorry. But having noticed that White Prog men are overwhelmingly pajama boy knock offs, I can't help but suspect that Blacks and Mexicans, who are largely only exposed to White men who are pajama boy knock offs vis-a-vis the White urbanite cohort, regard White men as the sort of literal progressive equivalent of Satan. And I don't mean as how we conceive of the progressive religion as a warped version of Calvin's heresy. I mean that White men are slowly, but surely, in the minds of minorities being converted into a sort of omnipresent but immaterial satan to be invoked for bad things but never really materializing as the big bad colonizers that once conquered the planet using steel and sails and muskets. On a long enough timespan, were the minority coalition to hold itself together (suspend your disbelief for a moment), White men might devolve in the same way that devils devolved into imps and hobgoblins and other mischievous sprites. Of course the coalition won't hold together. It isn't. It never could. They're tearing themselves apart because they lost their unifying enemy - strong White people - and all that remains is the steady and sure degeneration of the remaining Left. That the smartest blacks and mestizos do not breed because we send them to schools on our dime where they are forced through the same crucible shredding the White population... its not going to end well for the populations that so desperately need quality individuals. That the weakest Whites are producing fewer and fewer children also bodes poorly for the minorities that remain, as one day they may run headlong into some very angry, heavily armed ruralites.

But that's not my problem. That the Left is pulling an ouroboros isn't either. It is said that the best time to strike is while the iron is hot, but it's also been said that you should never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake. My hot hot take is that its the small steps that will get us places, the little things we have neglected, the small sacrifices that reap large dividends. No one else is thinking about building, they're too busy consuming.

Monday, November 20, 2017

Thot Masks

Customary page link to article giving overview of topic.

Congratulations Alex Jones, you are today's winner of a handful of page clicks courtesy of yours truly. The best part of that article is that image numero uno is Ana "I'm still better than you" Kasparian of the Young Turks. Whatever else you might say about Alex Jones, he is an excellent troll.

App designer Ashot Gabrelyanov inadvertently (actually, he probably had at least some idea what he was doing) unleashed a shitstorm by hitting the thermal exhaust port of progressive women across the West: Aesthetics. Specifically, theirs. My chiefest, and simultaneously most banal, takeaway from interacting with Leftist women in college is that they are overwhelmingly ugly, fat, or disfigured. Honestly its usually a pick-two affair, with fatness vastly outweighing (heh) any other category as a singular trait. These people burn an insane amount of calories imposing academic and bureaucratic penalties on anyone who dares to point out the incongruity of the very idea of "thin privilege" considering that starvation killed one hundred million people in not-real-communist countries, plus or minus some change. But for whatever reason, they can't be fucked to hop on a treadmill.

Not that the men I encountered were any less broken. Speaking of the soyim, how did they react to FaceApp?
Shocking.

There is a particularly disgusting incestuous relationship between female feminists and their (albeit barely) male counterparts. Feminists screech for support, receive it from soymen orbiters, which wildly inflates feminism's perception that what they say is important. The soyman trades his dignity for a few pats on the head, which he uses to orbit slightly closer to his target until he reaches the point where he is just close enough to corner her when she is alone so that he may engage in the beta seduction ritual called "whipping out your junk in front of her and masturbating furiously". I have many questions regarding why male feminists seem to think that male feminism is a winning sexual strategy, but probably the most curious question is why does your seduction routine universally involve unannounced masturbation in front of your target? There's something funny about how ubiquitous that particular act is, and what it means will be revisited at a later date.

Unlike a handful of people who seem to think that FaceApp is a civilization spanning scales-falling-from-the-eyes event, I hold no illusions about the power of makeup, and neither do most men. That the face you're squinting at through the dim lights of a bar and a number of libations you forgot to count doesn't matter when objective numero uno is to fulfill your now uninhibited animal instincts. The morning after may be a little brutal, but you're not thinking about that then. In that respect, FaceApp isn't really all that significant. What is significant is the screeching. The culture war wasn't won or lost overnight, and each wayward tantrum the Left throws is a small but indelible memory for a small but nevertheless significant number of young men. Little lights flickering in the darkness. It is a small blessing, all things considered, to know that they grow in number every day.

Valentine's Day Lesson On The Decline Of White People

Customary Topical Link Preceding Tirade From the article: In the past, students celebrated Valentine’s Day with the traditional exchange o...