To Truly Live Free

It is the summer of my life.

The man I know, of whom I now write, is nearing the end of his autumn. As the leaves abandon the trees, so has his head lost its hair. He sits in his office chair, slumped over and fat. He did not spend his summer wisely or well. I am reminded of the fable about the ants and grasshopper. The grasshopper laughed at the ants who worked hard during the summer, while he contentedly spent his days lazing under the sun. When winter came, he starved to death, but the ants lived on.

The man is dead. He walks, talks, metabolizes and respires, but he is dead none the less. The investments he should have made towards his health he frivolously spent years ago. They are gone now, and he sits, slumped and fat. He lost control.

He complains about his wife almost every day. He is chiefly concerned with the fact that his wife no longer has sex with him. He attempts to water his sexual desert with the false euphoria of pornography. He slumps forward on his desk, staring at the tiny screen in his fat hands. He is compelled to it. Having been raised in the world that existed before the proliferation of mass internet pornography, he never stood a chance. Once he encountered porn, he was hopelessly entangled. He will always be entangled. He watches it at work now. He slumps forward on his desk, staring at the tiny screen in his fat hands. The dopamine dump is too much to resist. The models are expertly presented by skilled camera manipulation and the clever application of garish make up. They are made into exaggerations and distortions of femininity, presented to a world of men on whom the producers do not so much as prey upon, but rather on which they feed. It is too much to describe the relationship as predatory:

They did this to themselves. He did this to himself.

I feel bad for the man. He draws his phone close to himself when his coworkers near. He knows what he is doing is wrong, and he knows it is socially embarrassing. If he were discovered by a female, it could result in his termination. He does not know that I know. I know. I saw the screen he held in his fat hands. I said nothing.

His obsession is having a negative effect on his work. He gives halfhearted responses to questions in an attempt to dismiss the questioner as quickly as possible. When the questioner is gone, he returns to his phone. If he can outright ignore them, he will pawn them off on his coworkers. This creates stress. This is not good. The man will continue to stare at the screen in his fat hands. I will continue to say nothing.

One day after work, I stopped at a gas station. They put screens on the pumps now. The man had been staring at his phone all day. The day light was fading. As the pump clicked to the sound of gasoline being expelled from the nozzle, the screen made inane noise, meant to capture your attention for the brief period of unstimulated time that used to pass between the beginning and the end of the fueling process. A vehicle sales advertisement peopled by actors pretending to be friends, related, or in love with one another attempted to communicate to me that by advantaging myself of the discount they offered on their automobiles, I too could be part of their family, friendship, or love relationship linked by a mutually owned multinational brand name product.

I wanted to put my fist through the screen.

There is no silence anymore. There is no silence, and there is no solitude. Paradoxically, although so many people will void the contents of their vocal chords into the air, they say nothing. Paradoxically, even though there is no escape from the screens and the noise and the advertisements, everyone seems to be suffering from chronic loneliness. They fill the air with their garbage, nothing commentary, I think in an attempt to sate the emptiness and the loneliness. Like how the old man, slumped in his chair, stares at the pornographic screen in his fat hands to sate his sexual longing.

The worst thing about these sort of things is that they weren't thrust upon us, like yokes on oxen. We bore them up to our shoulders ourselves. We voted for this. This cannot be changed. Only a Herculean effort of will and strength would lift us out of this morass, all together. I long ago stopped believing that most of us are worth saving.

But I will lift myself. Someday I will not see the fat man slumped in his chair mesmerized by pornography. But I will remember him. He is honorably added to the list of people I never want to be. I will live free, remembering everyone I know who couldn't free themselves. I will live morally, because that is the only way to live free.

-

The other day I surprised my girlfriend, inadvertently. I told her that I had flight training all weekend, and she took that to mean that she wouldn't see me that weekend. I meant that I had to leave early on Sunday to get to the airport. When I walked through her door, she rose from the couch she had curled up on, startled at first by the unexpected entrance, the ecstatic to see it was me. She rushed over, eyes watering with small tear drops of joy, and she clutched me as tight as her small frame could manage, making the small noises of happiness that a woman in love is wont to make in the clutches of her hearts desire.

It's you, you're here, you're here. I am so happy to see you. I am so happy..

You don't see that every day. Small blessings.

Convenient Answers to Stupid Thoughts, II

"Standards of beauty are oppressive."

It goes without saying that the sort of people who constantly harp on this sort of thing are seldom themselves paragons of beauty. lolz feminists are fat and ugly is not a novel observation. It is curious, however, that Leftism, the philosophical parent of anti-beauty resentment, tends to make otherwise beautiful people ugly when it sinks its claws into them. Case in point, this young woman:

It never ceases to horrify me.

It is impossible to apply a concrete standard to an abstraction. Beauty, being a transcendental value, is by it's very nature abstract. We created works of beauty not as a final goal to judge ourselves by, but as an attestation to something greater than ourselves. Beauty is not a standard in the way neurotic females gripe about the models in advertisements or on the cover of lurid grocery store magazines. Beauty is a goal and a purpose simultaneously. The goal itself is unreachable because of entropy. In time all things fail. The great works of art will someday crumble to dust and ashes, and long before then your body will betray you, bowing you to the ground under the weight of your age and weakness, before you return to the earth from whence you came. The tapestry of the stars will one day fade away as their lonely lights go out one by one. But it is the ephemeral nature of the beauty that we behold and manifest that gives it value and wonder and splendor. Without entropy, beauty would be omnipresent, and therefore impossible for us to notice. Ubiquity is the scourge of value.

But because the goal is unreachable we are mistaken in believing that the journey is not worth the undertaking. It is not the goal that makes us better, it is through each step along this great undertaking that we gain, becoming more than we were the day before. To dwell in and strive towards beauty is valorous in the same way that a last stand is valorous, only stretched out over the collective lifetimes of everyone who came before you, and all who will come after you, who worked to keep that candle lit against the eternal power of entropy. To shake your fist in defiance against an unassailable enemy, knowing that you will lose none-the-less: that is glory. That is beautiful, for the same reason Oswald Spengler thought so highly of that Roman soldier who died at his post when Mt. Vesuvius buried Pompeii. I will be better, even though I will someday die. It is not in merely being attractive that we truly are beautiful, it is in dwelling in beauty and creating the beautiful that we stand on the shoulders of giants to perpetuate the manifestation of beauty in our universe, and therefore ourselves becoming Beautiful, the transcendental by proxy.

But we do not dwell in beauty any longer.

Instead we purposefully make of ourselves an ugly spectacle. Is it any wonder that the rise of solipsism in modern Westerners coincides with the disfigurement of our physical bodies? The tortured fashions and whims of modernity are a thin veneer covering the hollowed out shell of our collective soul. An emptiness that pervades, conquers and occupies everything, turning it into nothing. We flatter ourselves with our simplistic and ugly art, the thoughtless and haphazard creations of the lazy, envious, sullen and weak. In reality, we are nothing compared to what we once were. We have become entropy, and in time enough, we will become nothing in the worst sort of way.

And that is a tragedy.

Convenient Answers to Stupid Thoughts, I

"Wealth inequality should not exist."

In order to reduce wealth inequality to a marginal scale, the range of characteristics a population exhibits would have to be reduced to a similar scale. Assuming that equality is even a worthwhile goal - I believe it is not - serious wealth inequality will persist so long as we have a population with an IQ range of 60-160. The difference in quality among individuals cannot be immediately rectified through legislation, and can only be gradually reduced via a bottom-up engineering approach - eugenic or dysgenic incentives. Or, if you are particularly amoral - liquidation of the population outside of your acceptable range.

Dysgenic incentives are easy: We have a practical model in late stage liberal democracies, where the lowest quality people are given vast incentives through subsidies to reproduce, which has created a bottom heavy society that struggles to accurately identify - much less solve - its own problems. The problem, of course, with engineering a low IQ but otherwise equal society is that without the brainpower to maintain the accouterments and technologies of modernity, we would live in a world similar to the one inhabited by the people of Somalia and Zimbabwe: Poor, dysfunctional, corrupt, fragile, violent and uncomfortable. You cannot send a man to the moon with Zimbabwean statecraft. You can't even farm.

Eugenic incentives are simple, but probably cannot be implemented. You can engineer the gradual reduction of the low through simple trades - cash or other goods for sterilization - but the middle to middle-high IQ population has a strange sense of empathy for the pathetic, and actively seek to stymie attempts to manage or otherwise gain control of the exploding population of low class people (with a notable exception being the fervent devotion to abortion rights, which is used by blacks and hispanics far more often per capita than the white, asian or jewish sub-nations of the late American republic).

The amoral path - liquidation - is only politically tenable under excruciatingly stressful political situations, which we have not [yet] reached. It is not worth considering beyond that, because by the point that we seriously debate such a thing, it is likely that the lights have already gone off and will not turn on again for many years. God help us if it reaches that point.

If there is a strategy to be had it lies in the curious sense of empathy the middle and middle-high exhibit towards the low. In truth, it is not a sense of real empathy but the presentation of empathy, which is an important point to note. Middle and middle-high tier individuals use fervent and public displays of empathy towards the low - which cost them nothing - to virtue signal to one another, which may simply be a mating strategy rather than a true political orientation. Others have noted, at length, that protest culture seems to be as much about shouting and waving flags as it is about meeting people of the opposite sex, and all the fun activities that follow. Most obviously, even the most dull dissident rightists have noticed that male feminism is a rather obviously disguised white-knight strategy, which usually results in awkward or horrifying sexual encounters (see: Louis C.K.).

All in all the idea that flagrant and public displays of empathy are really empathetic are, of course, laughable, but we run into a problem when we realize that public and flagrant displays of empathy for status are cost-free. Since the cost of the hyper-empathic worldview is subsidized by people who are not white liberals, they are forever insulated from the cost of what they are doing. A tautology, sure, but a point that is worth parsing out when we realize how we must approach this from a social aspect:

We must make this cost them something. But what? Obviously, directly inflicting cost vis-a-vis violence a-la Right Wing Death Squads is only funny on paper, but is exactly the sort of situation we are trying to avoid. We have already established that liquidation is unacceptable up until the point where there are no more choices - and at that point, God have mercy etc. Indirectly inflicting cost vis-a-vis exposing Leftists to the consequences of importing 3rd world people is better, but still practically untenable. A few Leftists may experience the reactionary version of "come-to-Jesus", but many times more will simply pack their things and move to safer neighborhoods where they will continue to signal and continue to export the consequences of their signalling on the natives, until they move again. A few conversions gained for territory lost is sub-optimum, especially considering that conventional white-millennial Leftism selects for lower quality white-millennials. We don't really need these people, we just need them out of the way. In fact, at the end of all things, we really don't want these people period. It seems we need not consider that aspect beyond said statement because given their hesitation to reproduce, over time they may simply vanish on their own.

The path that remains then, is to remove the gain they harvest from signalling. To do that, you have to attack their ego. Part of that, naturally, is ridicule, but it must be done from a position of strength. What a position of strength is should be obvious when you take a cursory look at your average college-educated white leftist, and understand how they want to be seen relative to how they actually are:

Become great, build strength, dwell in beauty.