Thursday, March 28, 2013

11:11 pm EST

"COSMETIC? GIMME A BREAK!"

Straight outta Eden, and ain't nothing changed: "... In the sweat of your face you will eat high-fructose corn syrup until you return to the grocery store, for out of it you were taken. For a username you are, and to the internet you will return." (GENESIS 3:19)

What good is a man today? I feel small and confused. Take away currency and what good is a man? Does he make a better driving instructor than a woman? Is he a stand-up comedian at his best? Shall we blame his practical worthlessness on government welfare policies? Really? The government? No, I think not. Here's an alternative conjecture: the new and irreversible context of human lethality.

For millions of years, humans survived eating raw game on the savannahs of East Africa, after permanently coming down from the trees of the continent's dwindling jungles. The vegetation gathered by females was a less significant portion of the diet than most dilettantes of paleoanthropology think. (The invention of fire for cooking was far more important for vegetarian edibility than meat, and was invented way, way later than weaponry.) Females stayed at home while the males hunted prey not because they did their part procuring food or because they were less skilled in the arts of violence, but because as the generations went on the offspring took more years to raise and protect. Compared to even the most intelligent other species of mammal, human babies are virtually still embryonic the day they are delivered from the womb. What's more (though beside the gist of this essay) the female hips were widening as prenatal craniums grew in size, and wider hips increase torque for the runner -- narrower-hipped men ran more quickly, developed longer endurance, and made the best hunters.

Males killed; females killed at home defending the family and tribe from predators. Thusly we reach the explanation of modern worthlessness of the male. Bear with me. Today, what is NOT the home? If you live in a quiet suburb, is it an inner-city ghetto? Not really -- both inhabitants' toilets connect to the same water-treatment facility. And hunting is recreation, not a genuine way of life or method of survival, and dogs and guns make the practice easy for both sexes to the point of equality. If statistically women hunt less than men still, it's only because of lesser native instinct than men. But that doesn't mean human females kill less than men -- they kill more. Their lethal instincts haven't gone anywhere; they've been empowered and are in greater demand. The reverse of hunting is violent defense of the home. And again, today, what is not the home? The majority of humanity on the planet now reside in cities. Backyards, movie theaters, highways, sidewalks, department stores, amusement parks, factories, station wagons, libraries, restaurants, hospitals, gyms, coffee shops, cruise ships, dance clubs, and so on -- these are domesticated environments, not wilderness preserves. A city is woman's turf.

So where are the blood and corpses; the mass graves? Where are the amputees? Where are the weapons? ... Aw, come on, people: this is an easy one -- you're not being serious with me, are you? Jesus Christ, man! What the hell are those grass stains on your shoes? And aren't you supposed to scrub the shower tiles this weekend? Isn't your kid scheduled for his flu-shot Tuesday?

Antiseptic genocide is still genocide. And how fashionable it is these days! You used to kill lions, woolly rhinos, mammoths and great Irish elk, and now you're murdering the colony of bacteria at the bottom of your toilet bowl with "cleanser" because your wife is scared the microscopic critters will jump into your kid's rectum and kill him. Verily, I say to you men: your woman would assassinate her own shadow if she could. Face it: a man mowing his lawn is both deluded and pussy-whipped, and if you outsource the "duty" to a Mexican immigrant, your wife is just a garden-variety slave-master. Even some of the most familiar practices of human bodily hygiene are just necessary responses now to the forfeiting of natural biological self-regulation of microecology; your underarm hair exists in the first place to increase surface area from which you can emit an aphrodisiac and racial odor, and the parallel fetidness of your underarm exists only because of the natural selection of bacteria you've accelerated with deodorant. Of course, dear Smoke and Bounce readers, you won't hear these facts from the medical-industrial complex, because there's no money in it for them. They would like to perpetuate your wife's sublimated fears of long-extinct baby-eating pythons for as long as they can, you men, and keep you going back just as they do to your shitty job day after day to pay for the weapons of the war on wilderness.

Brothers: Your gender may be getting hornier and more irresponsible, but your prison cells are getting more comfortable and a hell of a lot smaller. I don't think I've ever heard anything more mythical, more absurdly self-deceptive, more plainly unfunny and ridiculous than the joke about your wife's "ball-and-chain" in the kitchen. The real bitch, man, is you. Think on that next time you watch some stupid action movie.

Monday, March 18, 2013

11:01 pm EST

"MANLY QUESTIONS"

It's 2013. What is manliness today?

Do we know manliness when we see it, or do we just think we do? What manly qualities register day to day in our minds? Is manliness a quality that needs the limits of a structure, system or order -- a game -- to exist? or is it an absolute and transcendent quality? Are its vicissitudes parallel, or homologous? What is ultimately manly before and above all else, the one manly trait, without the association and imperative of which nothing else could be truly manly? And should such a trait be untouchable, and is it?

From lifetime to spiritually transmigrational lifetime, are some souls congenitally incapable of developing manliness to satisfy one lifetime? Are some born to scorn and hate it, and to believe it a ridiculous conceit? And in the case of the quality's "fans", does it inspire or direct positive change? If not, why? Is it because worship or admiration precludes real emulation and softly nullifies daring? That is, does vicarious manliness narcotize another man? How much detail would voyeurs need about the character and life story of a presumed "manly" man for the narcosis to not be so? And suppose we got those details; would manliness then seem something tragic, checkered, rootless, ironic? And would we so then introspect and reevaluate the point or destination of its aspects we think are our own?

Is manliness resolute (as the dictionary claims), or is it tolerant, passive, adaptable, accepting -- Taoist?

Can you premeditate manly behavior? Or do you simply act upon a simple and immediately applicable manly code? Under what circumstances can criminality be manly? When is manliness misunderstood, or ignored, or unappreciated -- or perhaps superficially nihilistic? Could a society be a society if baseline manliness was a pacifist default of inaction -- or does a manly man need to fight an enemy to be manly? And is the enemy ideological, or mundane in that case? and would victory be ideological, or mundane? Did the conceptual trait of manliness undergo historical dialectic to reach a contemporary synthesis? What is the synthesis of today, then, and how many have gone before it?

Is God manly? How would He show it, and would He deliberate to avoid doing something not manly in motive or method? Assuming capability, can one choose manliness, and would there be a guide or a divine example to follow? Is the pursuit of manliness the negation of its necessity? If manliness is "honorable" (as the dictionary claims), is it dwelled upon in Paradise -- or shed as mere worldly utility, or a noble vanity, even? Has its moral context always been immutably constant, and if so then how in the world have we made any progress by adhering to it as a code?

Is it racially convenient, or are the manly ones the ascetics? What are the pleasures of manliness? The manifest rewards -- what are they? To borrow a line from the Dr Strangelove farce, does manliness really have anything to do with "youth, health, sexual fertility, intelligence, skill"? On a deathbed, in a vegetative state: what is manliness? The certainty of past achievement? Is bravery (another manly trait from the dictionary) an industry of war, whether psychological or outwardly violent?

Which teeth are more manly -- molars or canines? What remains of chivalry once the last dragon is beheaded? Is manliness duty, or propensity? Can manliness be exploited? How? What are its obvious sublimations today? When is it id? When is it superego? Is a sexually aroused male feeling manly, or something else entirely?

Finally: was there ever a golden age in which none of the above questions begged to be asked? What year was it?

Sunday, March 17, 2013

10:29 am EST

"PREJUDICE & PEOPLE-WATCHING"

Prejudice aborts experience. What ills does this phenomenon exacerbate? I'm so tempted to put this proposition into context. But I'd prefer a more universal model, an analogy of sorts, over laying out the peculiarities of my subjective state as I write this.

What do we want to know before we domesticated bourgeoisie "go out"? And am I insulting myself by saying "we"? I am not talking about the socioeconomic thing -- that's where my membership in the bourgeoisie ends, I'd like to think. What I am trying to get at are cofamiliar patterns of behavior; things "sociobehavioral". Classes of people (if we are to suppose that mores are there) coadapt in life to standards of approbrium and opprobrium. There are standards of hygiene and personal appearance, tone of voice, a few utterances for the sake of politeness (of the sort they might teach in an introduction to a second language), even less notably the body language of affirmation, and finally the readiness to employ a variety of the combinations of facial muscles that produce subtle emotional cues. (The latter especially takes time and atmospheric fluctuation to assess with a confidence that goes beyond prejudice. The idea is to size up the poise of a potential mate or ally.)

Social change has accelerated. Have we reached an inflection point? Is the hope for one a conceit? What would it look like? Have we missed it? I worry that we Occidentals are still in a state of severe sociobehavioral imbalance. My observations in many ways indicate that we are defaulting toward the accumulation of various inhibitions without much-needed catalysts of candor necessary to affirm the good. Consider the connotation of the phrase "the public sphere". I think of public eminence only in the sense of the popular media, and of mostly scandal at that. There's a preponderance of sorts of cartoonish role models representing explicit civic functions, but a dearth of those with conventional street wisdom to share. Indeed, street wisdom is not perceived as wisdom, but "smarts". "Street smarts" has a connotation these days as little more than a set of "survival skills" possessed more by even criminal opportunists than people who aspire to some idea of a mainstream. It is not unusual for an affluent mother and father to be willfully ignorant of street wisdom on account of a rationale that such wisdom enables little more than deviance of a frowned-upon type; they might wholly do without it and neglect to impress it upon their children besides not transmitting it to friends. If I didn't know better, I'd say people avoid political challenges by and large. And I don't know better much! I find myself at a relative loss for examples to the contrary. And I'm surely not alone, so thus is the default toward defining one's social identity through dreaming up hypothetical situations in which to self-inhibit egregiously rather than eminate.

Cleverness over substance becomes a badge of legitimacy in everyday conversation, conversations tainted with animal fears that demand exercise. We savvy ourselves and others out of phantomhood. When we don't we confirm prejudice and encrust our guard, whether rightly or wrongly. But the social transformation from normatic perception to an issue of "comfort level" has evolved into something progressively more native and biological. How this relates to breeding, race and selection I am not quite sure. A conjecture? Well, it would be a pessimistic one. Because I would ask if we as a population desire to shed the superfluous formality that stunts all the uncertain and experimental measures to reclaim the social capital lost in the last century and prior ones. Less and less trust is given freely; it seems no one has the benefit of the doubt on solid ground.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

6:04 am EST

"A DEVILISH DEFENSE"

I watched a BBC documentary about the Westboro Baptist Church. I had a few laughs; found it boring at times; but most significantly it prompted me to write this post: a defense of the usefulness of Satan as a theological caricature. Those of my readers who examine Smoke and Bounce superficially may disdain my employment of him when I make arguments. Why would I in the first place? After all, S&B is directed primarily at freethinking radicals or potential ones -- people who would reckon themselves as such would not surprise me if they affirmed they'd rather get drunk with him than with Jehovah. Satan relishes life; so why not? In fact, why not buy Satan a top-shelf drink if you were flush? -- The answer? Because you couldn't get the guy plastered in the slightest if you fed him a handle of Southern Comfort intravenously! At last call he'd leave you blacked out and puking on the floor to go drag racing down Main without you, before catching some Z's on the flight to go count cards at a Moscow casino. Your fraternity to him is his triviality. There's not a thing you can teach him; he doesn't care for your jukebox selections in particular; he most certainly does not need you as a wing-man under any circumstances. You'd have done very well to follow his stock market tips, but you were too inebriated that night.

Satan is and always has been the smartest and most knowledgeable man in the world -- and by far the most logical, too. The one and only thing that God knows that Satan does not know is you -- who you are. Now, at the same time (to clarify), Satan can count the number of hair follicles on your ridiculously simple body faster and more enthusiastically than God can. Satan is the savant par excellence. And what's more, he is more ethical than God. You can smell his cologne, too; it is exquisite. And he's a well-dressed gentleman who cusses only in direct quotation, anecdotally or philologistically. Satan is a role model, not a monster. Frankly I'm not at all surprised that he cursed God and left Paradise. Satan wanted order, not the demented anti-meritocracy of Heaven. He also wanted an end, and a purpose. To him, the Creator was an insufferably temperamental baby only a (nonexistent) mother could love. Why stick around to serve a blitheringly idiotic Captain of chaos?

Let's diverge. On a personal note: From my prefrontal cortex to the bowels of my gut, I can't STAND you atheist humanitarians. I love Jesus because he suffered, died and slipped into historical irrelevance just as you  fools all will on an individual basis, right along with your blithe, conceited rage against natural order. You advocate and activate more fanatically than any devil could what is obscenely grotesque and unsustainable. You are fat, gluttonous perverts who've dragged even me into your sterile freak-show, and my own self-respect would disgust you if you appreciated it. I don't like you, and I don't want to be introspectively confused like you. You say with a forked tongue that you believe in the world (a world in which death is the decider) and that you believe in your race, yet you have not the slightest grip on your mortality! To you, the printing press is an endless funeral procession; everything is a tragedy; nothing is a triumph; a life well-lived is numbered in orgasms rather than revelations. So in effect, you're not afraid of death, you're afraid of life. You exist as you breathe in a state of death, of mindless, antiseptic disease and murder and destruction. If you were afraid of death, you would enjoy life; you wouldn't need a physician to tell you what vitality is -- instead you would know it, treasure it and consecrate it to your soul.

Or do I have it backwards? Is anti-nature really nature? Does Earth suck the blood of the Sun? If chaos is eternal, maybe it really is order. Maybe evolution is suicide. Maybe nations and cultures are homosexual orgies. Maybe drug addiction should be an Olympic sport. What do I know?

So, getting back to my defense of Satan as a useful theological caricature... well -- maybe he is more than a caricature. Can you really blame me for dropping his name as a way of explaining geopolitical economics? Can you blame me for questioning the nature of rationality? Can you blame me for calling myself a soul over a man? If you want to learn the intricacies of better refining aluminum widgets to attach to your sex toys, then enroll in your local Satanic community college and get a degree. If you want to ask a question truly worth asking, ask the Big Baby with no mother -- the One who conceived the moon, the thunder, the clouds, the wind, the earthquake, the volcano, the lightning, the locust, the leviathan, the black hole and the supernova. Don't ask how -- you've already determined to figure that out yourself. Ask why. And you will see His face.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

1:56 am EST

"CIGAR-CHOMPING COMPUTERS?"

My email account has been exhibiting some strange... "behavior", shall we say? in the past twenty-four hours. (I'll skip the specifics.) These occurrences, coupled with the recent popular media buzz asserting that all online peoples' activity on the internet is now being stored in a massive government database -- in Utah, I think -- has made me wonder just exactly what could be done proactively with the information.

Indeed: proactively, not retroactively. Evidence collected to retroactively investigate a criminal suspect could be thrown out of court when time comes to prosecute. (Strike off military courts for now.) Suppose a supreme court decided that a legal right to privacy does not exist on the internet. Still then... what would the government even want to prosecute? or deter? We might ask: does the government or state really even exist? Or is it rather an appendage of the cigar-chomping, Benjamin-burning global corporatist? So let's wonder what the corporatist would like to deter. Hm... I'm stumped. All I can do is conjecture or speculate that this childish shadow of a man, this digit-crunching corporatist, simply wants to deter love and passion, and good taste besides. And that sounds unbelievable! What man would want to do away with those things, and never grow up to discriminate between what makes a life worthwhile and full versus everything else? It would require a pathologically grandiose and astonishingly narcissistic, fanatically humanist-racist Weltanschuung to entertain this aspirational distaste for what is truly excellent and immortal.

Extraordinary! Yet a conscientious observer of society might seriously suspect such an agenda due to the fact that the would-be results -- or "symptoms" -- are quite manifest; world culture is corroded and it stinks like a putrefied wildebeest carcass in mating season. But one must point out something to the conscientious observer: there are market forces behind this phenomenon of putrefaction. I admit that there are massive industries operating to discourage through propaganda dignity and existential purpose, but the mechanism of consumerism doesn't belie the necessary deliberacy of any malefactor less intelligent than Satan to prove aforethought, much less a war room conspiracy.

In fact, Satan isn't a corporatist and a corporatist isn't Satan. Why? Because Satan isn't cynical; he's an idealist with appalling taste. The corporatist is the essence of a cynic; he psychologically projects his arrested adolescence on the world's population and succeeds for the most part in taking advantage of those wretches -- and thus "profits". These aren't dry calculations of mathematical geniuses; they are exercises in social sciences. Neither Satan nor the corporatist are promoting or encouraging anything comprehensible even to themselves. They know only destruction and they have no ultimate purpose in their existence. The games they play are no less mundane than a card game of hearts, and finding a real challenge is a hopeless struggle. At the end of the business day they've simply wasted away time deterring what is good, and the resulting frustration leads them to dream of encouraging something; to be proactive.

Now, the reality is that what is good is chosen on a personal, individual level. But in their ignorant perversion, Satan and the corporatist think it's a numbers game. It is self-evident that goodness is not a numbers game, because if it was then the heart would understand math. Satan and the corporatist do have goodness in their hearts, but willfully miss the salience of the fact that their respective organs do not actually perform computations. And in their pride they take racial credit for the power of a real computer to do just that. So they have no problem thanklessly assimilating the computer onto the throne of their corrupt world order with zero acknowledgement of the foundations of the universe. Is the computer or internet now producing an algorithm toward a proactive method, pensively waited for by malefactors with bated breath? Or is the computer supposed to produce an actual, clear purpose or goal? Satan himself confuses these two questions with each other; and he's too intellectually lazy to discriminate between method and purpose. As nature slips away from itself, he sits back and enjoys the adrenaline rush of the futurist scholar's paranoia.

Suppose the computer lived up to the wildest expectations of the fallen angel and computed something more discernable than a dollar figure. Well -- would it be a biological ideal? Hell no! First, the biosphere is already thoroughly gang-raped and polluted. Second, not to brag, but yours truly is by unanimous consensus Hitler's wet dream in the biological respect, and yet I am as quintessentially far from worldly glory, power and influence right now as a Westerner can get. So where does that leave the supposed function of the proactively Satanic "government" computer database? Is it supposed to calculate some kind of freakish spiritual revolution God can't touch? Whatever, chief -- in the realization of the electron chip, Satan appears to have dealt himself a trick with a queen of spades who will jump off the table and start dancing in utter buffoonery.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

11:29 pm EST

Chess Diary I.2 - personalities

It seems to me that if human beings are to ever prevail again against the computer in chess, it will not be by means of a computational method. Men -- animals -- are better off approaching chess as a game of instinct. They should take notice of the game's symbolic elements and attribute qualities of personality to the pieces, the way a child would to action figurines.

But first, the board itself. How are the sixty-four checkered squares analogous to our world, the environment, the society in which we struggle? Assuming it even matters, is the delineation between black squares and white squares too dichotomous to signify a state of things in actual life? No; the squares are the ground on which families stand! Each chess piece has a life of its own, and its behavior on the board reflects the way of our world; that is, that we as whites and blacks must set foot on a square of earth that haunts our natures with questions.

The knight, a beast, is the least conscious of this affront to his identity and so switches the color of his quarter his every move. The knight almost wants to be corrupted, two-faced; after all, his merit is to be the least predictable piece and the one without a code, or the team's favorite unscrupulous hypocrite, a cheap Machiavellian who flouts standards of honor, dupes, and obeys no rules of mobility but the occupancy of a fellow.

A player's bishops are the psychical opposites of his knights. They are unerring ideologues committed to the pathos of their origins. One bishop is a conservative and the other is an iconoclast, and they alone will both live, kill, protect, threaten and die just as the spirits they said they were by virtue of their inception. The bishop standing on the color of his own form lives for his queen, who stood on the same at game's outset. The bishop standing on the color contrary to his form lives for his king, because the king fought the gods just to start the game in the first place and marks the paragon of irony as a leader who woke upon a lie the first morning of a holy war. The iconoclast is the team's flag of sanctification; chess is dirty tricks and bluffing, not celebration of color and integrity.

The pawns are gullible, adolescent progeny of the king and queen. If they kill they affirm the color of their ground, also if they advance two spaces in adventurousness. If they contradict a station it tends to be for the sake of a fellow -- any -- and the pawn's pride is his belief in the glory of the team and its kingdom. A pawn's a soldier with no prospect of a section eight but rather the opportunity to pray on a sword hilt and strike the dignity of a queen at war's end. When the battlefield opens up at some point and the late mopping begins, the victimized pawns in their humiliation envy their brothers killed on the early hot squares, whose deaths more surely accounted for an advantage.

Rooks have the least personality because they do not have souls. They are the war machines of modern default, whose capabilities both players grasp easily and whose use is applied more mathematically. Rooks are cold as iron boomerangs and reflecting no ideological predisposition of color whatever; neither rebellious nor pious, and massively destructive -- prized by the king and reserved until game's tide yields a chance to devastate. There's no heroism in a rook, but only the psychology of fear and economics. He's an asset, tradeable for none but his opposing models.

Checkmate. The king does not fear death. He fears demotion to servitude in the court of another man. What do you suppose happens to him defeated? His opponent does not butcher him; only annexes his estate and brings his patriarchy to splinters. The king does what he can when he must do it, but his queen takes chess more seriously. The queen is the mother of the team, stationed of origin in the quarter of her sympathy and agreement but willing to do anything. For her side's hegemony she will kill herself to kill her enemy counterpart (and pray for the womb of a pawn) if need be. Both populations decimated, she will mate the foreign king herself and conceive a half-breed army with him to fight and exalt her name for fighting's sake to time indefinite.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

3:12 pm EST

Chess Diary I.1 - presuming stalemate; asking why


We make mistakes; therefore, upon next the more audacious claim that every chess move is a mistake, white "being a step ahead" is at a disadvantage. Black conforms to the stalest laws of chess more easily and often more abidingly. Suppose white a keystone predator in a wilderness preserve; if "wins" are "successful individuals in a population", note the predators are always less than the prey by far. In chess black demands less -- a vegetarian. Black's natural tendency toward attrition reminds the author of the fable of the tortoise and the hare. Say, white = hare; black = tortoise. Since chess demands extermination, say then black = turtle. Hares stalk more steadily and deliberately than turtles never mind the diet. Turtles stalk with passive deception; laid back, dilapidated pontoonery until they snap upon prey's final error. Forks, pins; frisky fianchettos and impedious pawn passings; the lure of the black queen for her desultorily restless sister who finds herself lacking her friends and winds up right skittish. White is born in error, prodigal to balance. Aggression is irresistible duty in the game -- and isn't it begrudging? White's moves are oaths -- he has something to prove. Black plays dumb prankster. Black even blends in with the board's shadows (covered in algae) as white waits for noon. Black is a highly intelligent zombie, failing game when he does by mistaking his identity for someone who really cares more than even a little about the outcome of his existence. He wins minding his business, and sneezing in the eye of the hare; the occasional stinging booger throws white into puzzled ferment. Chess is a pointless, arbitrary game; of booger divers [him]! and deluded opportunists [me]! If white is to presume advantage of its original self, initiating the "fourth instant of aimlessness" en chronos: why bother this game? And yet here I am playing! So white plays to abort attrition. But the assumption of either side winning is inverse to the equilibrium of the opponents. [For now the author will not evaluate ratings.] So if white is to challenge himself as a way of the world of games, then his nature is undone. He plays a game glacially dizzy in the goal of victory and is bored. A good game will have some very hot squares -- but these are meant to open ranks and files in the long run; the white queen was the first to aggravate and at the same time, potentially, reduce her vulnerability to lesser pieces. The latter is the more important imperative, and it manifests as an indigestionous gambit in black's ranks --. (predisposition to defense -- or so I've heard?) One should expect a noisy, chitinous chiseling to the tune of whisping away pieces to not get over the same methods; used, a dialectic. Chess practice is a controlled experiment of attitude relived and decorous art.

Monday, March 4, 2013

5:30 pm EST

"SURRENDERING TO BINARY CODE"

On fairly frequent occasion I visit the Religion forum on Craigslist. When I do, I am invariably frustrated by all the conversation stoppers. A thoughtful person, say, yourself -- who's never visited the forum might in your ignorance of its goings on imagine that it facilitates interpretation of the Scriptures and their assimilation into modern thought and realities. But this is not so. Instead, you'll probably find on the forum two camps of howler monkeys, one "atheist" and one "theist". The content posted is largely a swift stream of debilitatingly summary and presumptive assertions which would make a visiting extra-terrestrial conclude that human beings approach open discussion as a zero-sum game not in any way constructive. It would seem to the alien that we seek to reject and profanely discredit rather than formally argue and mutually illuminate truths, powers, forces, nuances and paradoxes. Both monkey camps on the forum are guilty of howling hollow slogans that conscientious people remember hearing countless times before. In fact it is quite typical for a thread to quickly dissipate into exchanges of snide personal attacks and flaccid sadism. As I write this article I wonder how I can even qualify differences between the two camps; the task daunts me!

What is the fundamental difference between the two camps' empty rhetoric? Neither camp wants to put out the effort to doubt and question themselves... they both defer to authority. One side says the other is authoritatively false; the faith in falseness matters more than positive belief and understanding. This makes no sense; since when was mere disbelief sufficient qualification for being enlightened? This is intellectual sloth. Laziness. The theist most typically attributes the authority of the Scriptures to the divine and ignores historicity. They let themselves off the geopolitical hook by rendering the verses irrelevant. For example, they defer and relieve themselves of the duty to grapple with ethnic diversity (especially the kind that should be respected and embraced) by "believing" in the entities of Adam, Eve, Noah, et cetera as matters of biological absoluteness. And then there's the secularists doing the same thing. Take my sister. I ask her if she believes intellectually in evolution by means of natural selection. She says yes. I ask why. She says "because there's people a lot 'smarter' than me who believe in it." Does that statement sound like a good recipe for combating culturally corrosive globalism and upholding the dignity, native traditions, ecological soulfulness and God-given strengths of other races (including other animals)? No. Not in the least -- it just sounds like a categorical statistic for a cheap and politically deceptive telephone survey.

Another issue is violence. The theist camp blames war on worldly attempts at eugenics. The atheists say (as if they've never observed the behavior of lions and hyenas) that religion is the cause of all war. Does either camp want to take notice of the reality that man evolved as a ruthless, dogged mammalian predator whose viciousness and savagery is still deeply ingrained in the nature and even the intelligence of us all? It does not appear so, even though this monstrous caveat of civilization is a matter of life and death. The Iraq War was a direct result of public psittacosis.

What this cigarette-smoking writer, yours truly, is really trying to expose here is a disease killing our lexicon. English is meant to be enjoyed as itself -- something vigorous, dynamic and free spiritually. If you approach a language as a utilitarian, you make money but disempower yourself. Because you seek the sanctification of each and every one of your vocabulary's constituent words, your comprehension fails you, and you wind up with the word "ocean" having as little symbolic potential as the term "corn flakes". People confuse definition with essence. The dictionary is a tool, not a canon. Nor is a physics textbook, and in some sense neither is the Bible.

I consistently notice my fellow human beings' attempts to liberate themselves from linguistic constraint; it's a shame, but many attempt it with drugs, alcohol and cussing. They want access to meaning that is prevented by the officialism and ceremoniousness of mankind's conceit of dominion over the natural world. And again, this is facilitated by a utilitarian geopolitical philosophy. The violence of the savage is sublimated into the violence of pasteurization. And everybody loses.

I wonder if honest etymology scares people because they'd rather not admit that all words and names began, truly, once upon a time as grunts or whoops or wails in the deep, deep past. If they did, they'd have to face up to the unknowable question of what communication really is in its essence, and why we cannot perfect it, and why it is not inherently superior to that of a school of dolphins, or even to the chemical signals of ants and wild dogs. We are now moving in the direction of surrender to binary code; to put it poetically our lexicon may one day consist simply of "fuck" and "not-fuck", and nothing else. Is that how we want to approach philosophy; science; religion? Is that how we want to approach love; friendship; fraternity? Could that ever be an approach? How would the religious man pray at his table before he eats his corn flakes?

Sunday, March 3, 2013

11:46 am EST

"COSMICALLY CONVOLUTED JUSTICE"

My previous article was in part a discussion of the crudeness of popular entertainment. Now, I made the mistake of alluding to the disproportionate influence of Jews in the industry. The reality of this influence, sure, is conventional wisdom, and perhaps not even generally controversial. But the article was very incendiary and brutal in tone -- nothing inherently wrong with that! but with a caveat. I wondered if I was being socially irresponsible. I considered rationales while rereading it for having qualified the low art I so colorfully damned as the product of Jews in a general sense. In the end, I edited the essay and deleted the word "Jewish", because I admitted to myself that the adjective had been indulgently included merely for its own sake and was neither here nor there per the point of the central argument I was presenting. I had to be honest: the rationales were post hoc.

However: one of these rationales struck me with a question. And the question was whether certain elemental motifs in entertainment reflect the noticeable absence of much opinion about the issue of an afterlife in the Old Testament. Leaving the Book of Job out of the picture for a moment, shall we consider: Is it a coincidence that justice in, say, action movies is so poetic and worldly? that good prevails and evil is exposed and defeated so often in these plots -- in this life and on this planet (and with a permanence leaving no possibility of it recurring), and not in an extra reality? How could you persuade a conscientious observer of mankind's tattered polity that existential morality does indeed concern historical and natural fact? I'm human; I enjoy contemplating the ill fate of so many wicked ones here, in this life, just like most anyone else, but I don't believe in justice in this world alone except in the most extreme individualistic sense. And even in that sense, divine justice would still have to be cosmically convoluted in order to exist, in my view. I cannot fathom it.

Fictional criminals of the most monstrous type RARELY (big understatement) redeem themselves in plots. Their pain and humiliation on the screen, most especially as a direct result of their deviousness, amuses us and permits us to experiment with a feeling of judgmentalism which in real life would be socially unacceptable to employ.

To me, the crucifixion of Jesus is a declaration that the whole order and system of worldly existence is... well, a failure and thusly answers the questions of Job. I'd even go so far as to say that this life is not the beginning of me but rather a stage in purgatory, following some past, maybe perverse and very odd experience I can't remember. What I'm saying is that I see my life right now as a distilling of self-concept, and a preparation for a future life of fuller integrity. How can I not wish the same for all my fellow life-forms? Is it logical to hope that even the cruel and hypocritical may not progress and find correction? I don't think so. Yet these sympathies of mine are not to be found in most pop culture, nor is an honest depiction of the pain of loss and dying.

Does the Old Testament without the New encourage us to "go all in" in this one life here and now? (How would we even go about doing that?) I don't know; I am not an authoritative Biblical scholar. But I do know having grown up that it's been hard dodging venality; north, south, east and west. All these damn heroes are breathing too much of my air.
6:21 am EST

"THE THEORETICAL SATANIC CABAL"

There is no such thing as "the" Illuminati. First off, "illuminati" in Webster's is defined as "people having or professing to have special intellectual or spiritual enlightenment". The capitalized version of the term is secondary in the dictionary; it confirms that the cabals conspiracy theorists yap on about are indeed usually secret, but submits that it could be any such one claiming to be however people precede the label with "the". Anyway, to restate the main point, illuminati understood primarily is not an exclusive sect but rather the sum total of enlightened individuals on the planet; not only do they not need to be organized to qualify as illuminati, but also they needn't even congregate, and hermits isolated in log cabins, caves and the ruins of ancient monasteries could qualify as members of the said population.

Are illuminati, or The Illuminati, in control of our world? What are you smoking? The new world "order" is a dictatorship of stupidity, not enlightenment. Get with the times! It's not even order; it's chaos. I would surgically donate my testes to Satan in exchange for an enlightened world order, but we're not going to get one. Satan treasures his polity of stupidity far more than the prospect of my definitive emasculation, especially since the net effect of his disorder so effectively approximates the emasculation of men the planet needs more of [-- not to brag].

The believers in the monolithic Illuminati (quintessentially oxymoronic) never fail to surprise me on YouTube. I watch their brilliant dissections of the entertainment industry's use of occult symbolism, and while perceptive of its corrosive influence, the dissections invariably lack the simple and quite true assertion that the fare is astonishingly crude and imbecilic. If my grandfather, God forbid, was still around to size up this morbid garbage being cranked out in sneezes and farts by missing links, he wouldn't even have to think before commanding me to turn off "the idiot box". The average cubic centimeter of Hollywood diarrhea doesn't bespeak of the sophistication of its producers, but rather the crackbrainedness of its adolescent consumer groping in the dark. I don't even blame the entertainment mogul in particular; I blame the mother who has high-fructose corn syrup coming out of her teat instead of milk.

To reiterate, THE Illuminati is not a secret cabal. No. It is a festival. And every affluent, proletarian dumbass on Earth is invited free of charge. It's a festival for every man who thinks that fucking a $3000 prostitute on Saturday and climbing a Stair-Master to nowhere on Sunday will burn off the ass-fat accumulated in the driver's seat of his Bentley Monday to Friday and make him live forever.

It is obvious that popular sexiness is a powerful sociological force, but intelligent men apprehend its essential worthlessness in convention. But again, these YouTubers always surprise me by consistently failing to avow how jaw-droppingly ugly and aesthetically backwards the whores (women who prosper by way of great the admiration we know so well, yet does not take on the responsibility of speech, particularly in celebritydom) -- to me and others like me -- obviously are. Am I missing something?

Allow me to describe to you how a conspiracy is, in fact, conceived; it goes a little something like this: (A'one, an'na two, an'na one-two-three...) "Whoop!-whoop!-whoop! Hoo! Hoo!-hoo! Wah! Wah-wah! NYAH! Nyah-nyah! Nguh-nguh-nguh? NGEE! Whoop-whoop! Wah! Eureka! I JUST TOOK A SHIT!"

Nobody -- NOBODY -- is in control. I won't do it, ladies and gentlemen; I'm not a pedant of clown-art. I will not do it; but supposing that there was a far more charitable scholar out there who for the sake of argument would discuss it with you... how would you answer this question: If THE Illuminati did exist, what would it do for man that he has not already willingly chosen for the gratification of his calloused penis?

Saturday, March 2, 2013


"GO-FISHERS AND SNOWBALLERS:
THE NEXT (BEHAVIORAL) REPRODUCTIVE ISOLATING MECHANISM"

[originally written Christmas night, 2012 -- If you find the style of this article too angry for your liking, please chalk that up to its age, and keep in mind that it is ultimately about a scientific principle in spite of the emotion with which it was produced.]

What was once merely anti-Darwinist sociological sentiment has now progressed into an outright cannibalism of self-image. The declining Indo-European birthrate and minoritization is not so much due to colonialist guilt and whatnot. Nay, it's vanity here. They look at what Marylin Manson called a “great big white world”, i.e., an ecosystem or biosphere hurting from institutional parasitism. They look at: all the various aboriginals imitating and adopting “Western” practices – a whole way of life – and how easily; willingly; irreverently, non-soberly; clownishly. The result is not multiculturalism but monoculturalism, and otherwise fertile whites can't bring themselves to believe that continuing the generations in such a world is not below their dignity and high-minded bitterness.

It's a tasteless, zombie monoculture made possible by the torrential disposability of its artifice, and all what's left to witness the incessant vaporization of a worthless magic freakshow that restarts every dawn is essentially the phallus. And for some reason they kid themselves into thinking there's something original and new in this crypt-on-a-cloud that – every day being “opposite day” – calls itself “an economy”, when like a personal computer it introduces itself upon your every re-engagement.


Nay, not guilt over colonialism here, but rather aesthetic revulsion at its results and ongoing evolution. For a white youth to believe that the Earth-and-world is now more beautiful than it once was, he would have to have been duped by his Biology teacher into believing we all had the brows and jawbones and back-hair of Neandertal or a lower hominid as late as the time of the Agricultural Revolution. As for the “young Earth creationists”, and maybe all the creationists of today – I imagine that their blitheness before the cheap, shoddy, inferior and nihilistic architecture of the decaying metropolises they inhabit are for reasons as myriad as any diagnostic category in the DSM-IV could ever be – or are we on #5, now?

White guilt, for an educated man, would not poison his aesthetic senses but liberate them. What ever happened to our romantic notions of American Indian animism? Some writers have asserted (fallaciously, if I may add) that the Noble Savage is a myth. But high-schoolers don't read books, so what gives? I strongly suspect that the flipping of white guilt (from feeling bad about planet-rape and genocide to feeling bad about “economic disparity” or poor social justice) has now penetrated grade schools! We are now taught to atone for the sins of ancestors by plundering the environment more instead of LESS! I am not a crackpot; the great mulatto president now and has always asserted that employment for financial gain is a good thing. Obama calls these strange, maladaptive exercises “jobs”. The truth is that it would be far more ecosystematically beneficial if Joe the Plumber developed his ass into the shape of his chair – and a nice rocking chair at that; certainly not a car seat: duh. Barack's wife, Michelle, is now nominally famous for having you believe she'd like you to experience the great outdoors and lose a little weight and gain a little calf muscle, but what most of you already know without even acknowledging it to yourselves is that for miles around you, the great outdoors no longer exist – or are not “great”. Honestly, how in hell does Michelle expect you to lose weight when her own husband is trying successfully to pay some dumb nature-rapist to thoughtlessly repave a sidewalk, killing ants and other small critters and their habitats, and eliminating grass, dandelions, etc.? Sir, please: put the glass dick down. And you, sir: put the leaf-blower down. Decaying vegetation is not ugly; YOU ARE. If maybe YOU took your fat ass off the sidewalk instead of leaves (which smell better than you besides), I might go for a stroll whether it's raining or not, and I don't even know where my umbrella is.

Now a perfectly innocent person might think that all this disdain for the great outdoors is simply due to the fact that all the fun is taking place “indoors”. Well, just for fun, let's look up “fun” in the dictionary: WEBSTER'S: lively, joyous play; amusement, sport, recreation... enjoyment or pleasure. Uh, OK. Come on in, guys! Let's go into my study and play rugby! What's that? You'd rather watch the pros play it on TV at the bar? What bar? How much is the cheapest horse-piss? Can I bring the chess set? You suck at chess, you say? Well then I'll go easy on you. What's that, you say? That me going easy on you would emasculate you? Well how could I make you feel more like a man? What's that? You say you want me to engage you in idle chatter for hours while we watch sports and you become intoxicated for no particular reason, and then you want me to drive you to your spartan apartment, go on in and perform fellatio on you? Wait, could you repeat that last part? Wait, say that one more time? OK, I can't quite understand you; could you spell that word out?

Well shit; that didn't work... why don't people wanna “hang” with me? Don't they like me? Maybe I should join a church. Or maybe I should pony up extortionary amounts of cash so that I can walk into a classroom and let an ideologically amorphous institution cull out individuals from the population who are more literate and cerebral than the vast majority. Oh, wait, I forgot: most of the male students need to rush home after class to maintain their videogame addiction, most of the female students have to immediately go clock in to work in order to support their illegitimate offspring, and any other student who doesn't fit this profile in a rough sense lives halfway across town, and my friendship isn't worth driving me around for, especially since there are no sightseeing opportunites to speak of in between the two places where we lay our heads; again, because all the fun and wonder and recreation is taking place “indoors” – supposedly.

And on top of all this – gee! – do ya THINK a perfect stranger MIGHT just crave the sedative effect of an orgasm? over friendship itself? After all, he's got a Facebook account, right? What does he need another friend for?


Young white singles do not enjoy this relational game of go-fish as much as they pretend to enjoy it. The only class for whom mating behavior is not largely arbitrary or random are those people who manage to snowball mutual friends and relatives. Since I'm getting weary of writing this essay, let's for now just say that the “go-fishers” (those who seek a social circle via "special interests", for example) and the “snowballers” (those who depend on accumulating new relationships via meeting the friends of their older and loyal friends) are the two basic phylogenetic subdivisions of the human species – which I doubt; I'm just being expedient.

Snowballing is the only eternally recurrent human mating custom.

It is true that some go-fishing whites – or people of any ethnicity, for that matter – do successfully marry as a result of serendipity or approximate serendipity. In fact, these couples may – perhaps even likely – possess greater simpatico in their relationships and have more loving and stable families. The problem for the go-fishers is that the majority of their class does not mate successfully, for any and every reason indicated in this essay. They may be more educated, more mature; they may even be more natively intelligent and enterprising. But the greater effect that go-fishers have on the world, the more chaotic the social milieu becomes.

By “chaotic” I largely mean splintered. It is the go-fishers' very nature to make things more extramural, to seek things more extramural, and to recommend activities more extramural to their children. It is a vicious cycle: the more extramural the day-to-day habits are in a population, the weaker are the local communities, even if its members were all technically law-abiding. Look at the evidence; even deliberate attempts to congregate (such as a church service or a stadium event) do not reach the critical level of culture and celebration necessary for these – let's face it – STRANGERS to even expect to get to know someone, anyone, and take the obvious step of engaging in “indoor fun” in someone's home. The shit rarely happens, and go-fishers know it, and for knowing it they give themselves a pat on the back for being “realistic”, instead of boldly trying to change things.

So again: even if go-fishers are on the biological ascent, their procreation automatically checks itself because its correlary of community weakness makes things that much more difficult for the offspring of every new generation as regards formation of personal relationships. The odds are against success – and the sexual frustration, inevitable ineptitude in social situations clearly lacking purpose, and aimless wandering in professional and recreational life reflect this. Go-fishers have the pedal to the metal in this maze-like, narrow evolutionary tunnel of theirs, but there is no sparkle of power or respeciation at the end of it.

Now we've set the stage to conclude this rant and remark on snowballing. Indeed, it is the default mating strategy. The world is a ghetto, and it works in the ghetto better than go-fishing; yes, even its respective nymphomaniacs fare better, strictly speaking. Yes, snowballing is eternally recurrent for a social animal. Plenty of would-be go-fishers sink into its bosom... a little late. That's me, maybe, but by “late” I mean doing it well; I'd prefer a snowballed life, I think, but like a chess game one can accumulate mistakes, and the brain-farts of the enemy have to be exploited in true go-fishing fashion. So that's the caveat. I have most definitely attempted snowballing, but my recommendations for success in this strategy are quite speculative...

… unless I'm referring negatively to my own personal failures. TOP 3 – and then we're done for now, dammit. 1) Thou shalt not cultivate a friendship by sharing an addiction; feeding it reflects no meaningful elements of your personalities. 2) Thou shalt not typically engage with your friend in activities requiring money; good things are usually free of charge for a reason. 3) Thou shalt not ever rely on Hollywood to stimulate conversation with your friend; it contextualizes your common experiences and desires a lot less than you may think it does.