Thursday, August 31, 2017

Time Scale

Whenever a nominally-liberal western leader would destroy some nominally-Arab or -African country, this one would have a number of related disagreements with nominally-liberal Nu Euros. There came the obvious issue of all the dead people--dead females, children, queers, transsexuals, endangered species, domestic pets, or environmental components of Mother Gaia. Whatever the preference was, I had no luck getting all but the most professedly liberal-liberals to give even a half-shit. Some of them enjoyed the destruction, because it ninny ninny showed those conservatives how tough liberals were. Others--probably a majority in occupied America--were against mass murder in the most sniveling of senses, feeling that yes, mass murder was bad, but it was unavoidable; it was, therefore, pragmatic to support a mass murderer who would kill fewer people than the other hypothetical mass murderer. Sure, Johnson butchered a million kids, but can you imagine how many more Goldwater would've killed? Repeat as necessary for any twentieth century Nu Euro leader, until the point where Obama is handpicking eight-month-olds to assassinate at weddings, and it's all okay because Romney would've killed three infants in contrast to Obama's merely two infants.

(Examining the only places to have ever shown signs of engaging in defensive-only war, eliminating chattel slavery, maintaining safe streets, et cetera, and examining the reasons why, were of course beyond discussion, then as now as later. Similarly, the source of the cultivated disbelief in good and evil that made not only Obama's murders, but Spencer's Ziobagging, in any way acceptable, and the Nu Euro's soulless acceptance of the tiniest iota of either, was and will remain beyond mainstream capabilities.)

Americans were so despicably murder-hungry that this one only got to discuss other concepts even more rarely. From a broader historical perspective, what Jenome has always been good at accomplishing is historical destruction, cyclically leaving us bereft of evidence that young new people can use to form their own opinions. More planetarily pressing, though less viscerally interesting, than the boneyard, is the evidence-tampering accomplished through proxy conflict. And given how few Americans care if dead babies pile up so long as it's a pro-gay decamillionaire taking theoretical responsibility, there was and is and will be little hope getting them to care about a time scale longer than "this year" or even "this one hundred years." Let alone a planetary scale.

The restructuring of the Middle East prior to the internet age was vital. Prior to achieving comprehensive monitoring, the ability to transmit archaeological discoveries worldwide would threaten to create historical rifts, lending (more) objective doubt to official history. The original Gnostic texts that escaped the Nicean purge were discovered in Iraq in 1970 (if you're a Nu Euro liberal and don't want to think about the realities of that purge, and how daring and lucky it was to get those documents to the public from Nag Hammadi, just imagine a WASP or white-Catholic conspiracy, instead of the actual Jewish one). The Middle East has been thoroughly scoured, not only during colonialism, but neoconservatism; the relics and ruins demolished under pretensions of helping Arabs by killing them have caused irretrievable loss to the ability of future generations, hypothetically much smarter than today's Nu Euros, to trace infection sources. (Again, if you're liberal, re-read your Said and Chomsky and imagine this same argument, but with nouns replaced so that it's white imperialists destroying and appropriating African and Middle Eastern history, and you'll arrive at roughly the same place.)

The blowback parallel now is in Sweden, where an African is getting her revenge on Europeans by doing what Nu Euros have spent the last several centuries doing to Africa: destroying local history and retconning it with Capeman's newly approved origin story (where he's now a feminist or whatever the times demand).

-Nu Nu Euro Alice Bah Kuhnke

It's a different sort of crime, because what the Nu Euros were primarily destroying overseas was written, large, or well-preserved stuff that "their" people (necessarily) had built in that particular place, but it's being accomplished in the same way. How interesting to see Semitic colonialism inverted, particularly after so many hundreds of years of it being portrayed as the free choice of self-directed whites with prissy accents and tricorner hats. Despite the differences, it's largely the same crime in the sense of the Nu Euro's special-needs reaction to it, whereby now-beliefs are adjudged so important that the then-happenings to which future people might look are, by comparison, irrelevant.

Fatass inbred King wants to spend all your money and kill three of your sons bringing Jesus to the Bantu? The Nu Euro responds with a cheer, a year of labor, and the cry, "God save the King!" Idiots. It's an even larger display of low function that Nu Euros today are defensive/proud of the benefits of "their" colonialism. Goes to show you how they actually liked the tricorner-hatted queers playing the white colonialists in the propaganda films. Not just believed the films, and found the native actors attractive and heroic, like the progressives, but believed the films and found the tricorner-queers attractive and heroic.

Just a couple of buddies. On a ship with all their buddies. Leaving behind icky girls and families and futures so they can go tell Africa about how great BDSM Rabbi is. This part, the Chosen portrayed somewhat correctly.

In this short space where we have rudimentary communications available before death, this is a good time to consider the past few thousand years from a fractal perspective, sort of like thinking back over our lives in snippets of half-wakeful consciousness from the deathbed. So much can be seen now that couldn't before: the things we've done, not done, and how they have shaped us; the ways in which we re-express, both justly and un-justly, the treason of our forebears, and the schizophrenic sources of destroyed memory that plague our sodden minds. Jenome is having the remaining artifacts and ruins of another continent melted down and destroyed so that any Nu Nu Terrans still literate in the 2300s will be able to visit museums where, like Native American monuments today, instructional videos portray muddy-skinned Africans hewing Stonehenge and developing the Iron Age in harmony with nature. It seems so profane--and yet, the only people who will visit and absorb such atrocious material chicanery, and who have ever been willing to do so on their own, were the original post-Nicean Nu Euros. Siberian-American families do not save up all year so they can load into the Ford Expedition, drive to another state, buy commemorative shot glasses, and watch videos of their people milling corn next to a stone megalith, just as African-American families pay few if any visits to Yellowstone or the local nature conservancy. (It seems like a "joke's on you, Spectre! Afro-Euros won't even go to your lying museums!" moment. But of course, them going isn't really the point, so much as everyone being dead.) If it were to survive, racial science would have to contend with this issue: of Nu Euros being necessary for Semites to ever be effective, and therefore, like antibiotic dose-skippers, being ultimately responsible for drug-resistant, civilization-crushing strains.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017


A boring everyday sight at future bargain vendors will be baggies of pencil shavings that grow into pencil-bearing bushes if properly watered and nourished. And no matter how much office policy tells people not to, they'll still throw them away because it's so much easier to just buy a new pencil.

Good haven't even done it yet, and it still makes me sick.

The 2018 Ford Taurus excites our staff with long overdue improvements in

Glen Ford, at Black Agenda Report, in Blacks Should Not Become Uncle Sam's Cleanup Crew, proves quite hindsightedly blind yet foresightedly savvy in his worry that:
National “unity” has always been the watchword of the bipartisan War Party: unity behind the mission of global domination. The U.S. armed forces led in the process of racial integration, the better to subdue the non-white populations of the world. Corporate capital takes on whatever ethnic and racial camouflage is necessary to envelop the planet in its tentacles.
Ford isn't strong enough to recognize or say here that a supermajority of the people murdered by the U.S. armed forces have been "whites," and he blames whites for the Semitic slave trade. In his discussion of the U.S. military's tendency towards crypsis, he unknowingly alludes to the fundamentally disguised nature of the faux-European "colonialism" that birthed the U.S. military empire, and in so doing, nearly names the unnameable, those first dreadlords of his people's continent. He's way off, though so very close; so amazingly close, in comparison to the rest of the world, particularly people who consider themselves "leftist." Yet for all these mistakes, Ford recognizes, in part, the dark foreshadowing that these new anti-racism movements have for African American gentiles: by consuming the U.S., the Afro-Mestizo hordes will become responsible for it. As whites born in America became responsible for the pretend debts of whites living in Europe, the immortal bankers will toll all balances--previously attributable to the whites of America who were trying to get away from inbred royal Semitic banking--brought on by the death-default of white Americans, and assign them to what remains. By killing American history, you will become responsible for paying off its loans.

Not only by, say, living in the dusty foodless wreckage of power plants and water networks they can't maintain, and trying to pass idleness using entertainment servers that never connect, but being blamed, under Chinese military occupation, for all the "American supremacist crimes" attributed to the U.S. The Palestinians feel keenly the difference in treatment between the idiot British tool-colonizers and the later Israeli rentiers, who have made their children past the seventh generation responsible for two thousand years of phony grievances, and the American bugbear will take at least a few centuries of justified suffering for being the sole defying vote in a half century of U.N. imperialism. For decade after decade, the entire world has been democratically trying to stop Israel, and been prevented from doing so by the U.S. veto--often delivered by non-white tokens. Non-whites everywhere will remember this once Afro-Mestizo America arises; all the crimes of the JOG will become identifiable with place of birth, rather than the whiteness formerly assumed of Americans. All of those idiotic U.N. "votes" were cast by idiotic American shabbos goys, most white, but when the whites have been bred out, the system will still require a guilt-piñata. Ford is wise to see that this will become the Afromestizos themselves, made to suffer for the crimes of "American imperialism," just like Nu Euros are being made to justifiably suffer for "European colonialism."

How well will the world caliphate remember Colin Powell and Barack Obama as the face of America? These new Stonewall Jacksons have staggering track records of genocide. It won't be a "white" supremacism that the future uses as an excuse. The new international order will write history books decrying Powell as the tyrant of Fallujah, demanding that black American infants in the 23rd century be made to suffer for the crimes of their forebears. One can see Ford's parallel in a hypothetical end-times Roman, who asks, "Once we kill Europe for the Great Rabbi, what will the Great Rabbi do to us?" What indeed.

Gary Cohn offers a healing prescription in Nazi Lives Don't Matter, writing:
Fascism is not a political opinion, it is a cancer. Like cancer, fascism is not a project that can simply be carried out and completed, it is a toxic reaction that grows and grows until it has killed its host. It has reached such a point in its ascendency that America now has a straightforward and urgent choice: oncology, or genocide.
After a century of Jenomic doctors identifying internal toxin firewalls and other cellular reactions to toxins as personified diseases, and using these observations as opportunities to treat gentiles with expensive proprietary internal chemical burns, it's interesting to see Jewish commentators use a direct analogy between cancer and fascism. In some ways, Cohn's critique reveals more about what has become of "our" "medicine" than about what has become of "our" "societies." He is of course advocating for repressing free speech by having government security forces cooperate with media megabusiness in killing thoughtcriminals, which is of course fascist, but that's commonplace; like the bad goys in the perverted imaginarium of a holocaust story, Jenome eventually takes off the mask, and we'll get to see that more and more. "Kill the Germans, wherever you find them!" "Have no mercy on women, children, or the aged! Kill every German -- wipe them out!"

Returning to cancer: what happens to the medical industry when the vaccine is developed? When every infectious disease can be pre-emptively cured, avoided through sanitation and good health, and even if it somehow survives in traces, entire populations can be vaccinated against it? In the twentieth century, we discovered what happens: new poisons are introduced. (Of mass media note, Seinfeld dutifully mocked this concept.) The unfortunate obsolescence of old diseases occurs in seemingly random harmony with new super diseases that are completely unlike any other yet discovered in all of human history, caused not by identifiable heritage or wound or bacteria or viruses, and with perennially unproven links to new environmental contaminants that make only lampooned outsiders suspicious, necessitating absolutely important new revitalizing product releases that we, in this case supposedly-literally, cannot live without.

(I'm assuming today's Nu Euros are all familiar with, but it still bears mentioning, the development by occupation arms of cigarettes as healthful, AMA-recommended, media-championed, government-sponsored products, the faux-dissembling of which was a massive and decades-long affair that ultimately proved profitable anyway after many, many millions of people had been killed. "Gosh, what were those people thinking!" As ever, it was just like now, where mass-thinkers were really impressed by their own modernity, and weirdo conspiracy theorists were long dead by the time mass preference changed. Like proud evangelicals or ex-alcoholics, we--bizarrely--use our newfound recognition of our past idiocies as proof that, this time, we have trustworthy institutions and intelligent people to monitor them. Jewish mockery of gentile culture since the Christianization of Europe is so effective in part because it's often so true. The sky-god patriarchy and the billiard-ball matriarchy worldviews are each idiotic and idiotically harmful, and it's strangely apt to see American Beauty and Portlandia share the same few decades--not because they don't share a clear and materially rational purpose, but because the hamsters don't seem to realize it's a wheel. "Turn around, Larry--we'll show those bastards!")

These perspectives, combined with the history of Jewish scientists learning microscopic pharmacy from Europeans, and then prescribing mustard gas for cancer patients after the formal opening of the great European extermination wars (tribal in funding and ownership, and contemporaries in temporality to, the cigarette movement), offer one of those integrated tapestries that we've learned to prima facie throw up, where no one could possibly be so "amoral" and "clever" as to have thought of such a thing. Cohn is cunning to use our sense that the poisonous wrongness of the world is against us. Even more cunning, perhaps, for him to attempt to leave Afro-Mestizos ("Aftizos"? "Negizos"? "La Negraza"?) holding the hot potato when the time for another Sodom & Dresden arrives. Ford is smart to recognize how facile and stupid it is to tear down statues of some retroactively evil inheriting slave-owners as some kind of recompense for what happened; even if he is too dim to identify the actual slavers or to fault the traitor-sellers on the other end, he is correct to recognize the falsity of associating destroying Buddha statues with any cleansing of Afghanistan's history.

(Take a moment to ask what happens to a continent when Jenome gets there before a lengthy photographic and archaeological record of prior religions/civilizations has been established. Charlemagne's jihadists were much better at taking down enemy cities and monuments, and the "whole world" was not watching indignantly on the internet. Pre-Christian Europe is now only an incomplete telegenetic memory.)

More personally telling here is, again, the cancer analogy. Cancer and the human, like Jenome and the Terran, have a long and dramatic history, which rose to a particularly violent, megalomaniacally profitable head in the twentieth century. If you are emotionally sturdy enough to approach modern racial questions in an objective fashion, the parallels mirror each other so thoroughly that you might consider re-examining your perspective on health, medicine, and associated industries and social assumptions. This one is interested in comparisons between the small percentile of Nu Euros able to challenge socially instilled wrongthink vis-à-vis race, and to correctly identify trained normatively defensive reactions from those who are not, versus the even smaller percentile of Nu Euros able to challenge socially instilled wrongthink regarding body maintenance. It's interesting to see, for example, people whom the JOG-warmongering media would call "hate filled neo Nazis" becoming violently defensive of their mainstream choices at the oncologist's office. People who claim that the teevee and the universities and the government and society-at-large are all blind and deluded--whether "lefty" pacifists or "right wing extremist" Nazis--often curl into a fetal position when the full force of the "Iraq WMD and Microaggression Crime Wave" establishment tells them how to think about their own bodies. (Because a stopped leech is right twice a day.)

We all know that to challenge the oncologist is to chant Egyptian mantras in traffic, drink feline urine, and employ auto-vivisection as a treatment for canker sores, so we mock any hint of avoiding ingesting mustard gas. Even if we suddenly wake up one day and realize that affirmative-actioning 105 IQ blacks into trauma surgeons does not engender sensible confidence in a nation's health care system, and that it is dupes or liars who portray such reasoning as being associated with backwoods Klan-chanting and inbred anti-skyscraper bible molestation, we tend to shiver in horror at the thought that we might be accurately associated with pyramid-chanters for questioning the oncologist. Is it personal fear that makes one set of normatives sacrosanct? Or is it that we tend not to meet the hospital, contra the cinema-defying world global majority ("minority") thug, until a different stage in life?

Friday, August 25, 2017

The Digested

This one is not telling you to not be afraid.

By all means, be afraid. It is a natural reaction. Feel that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize that they are not only going to kill us all, they are going to also retroactively un-exist us through a poorly propertized retelling of everything that we were and that we believed we were and that we wanted to associate with our current selves whether or not that association was merited. Most of them are so stupid that they will not even realize what they are doing nor what they have done, and if they somehow survive another millennium, we may have the dubious honor of being artificially remembered, like the Fey, as an imaginary magical people who built things, but with the understanding that, in reality, there really was nothing there except simpler predecessors of what will then be there. Fear; fear to its fullest. Fear is a form of lust for something natural. It is no more to be feared than hunger. We are told incessantly to overcome fear; to banish fear; to fear fear, as though all of our natural desires, including the desire to rut the ruttable even if in public, are lovely and deserve to be praised and cherished, but that fear, by contrast, is the one naturally generated sensation that we should resist.

This one is not telling you not to keep trying. By all means, keep trying. Scream at the underwater doctors that you are still there and that you want to make it. Slap your body in the face and call your hands, your legs, your ass, the vilest of names. Swing your wispy arms through the unknowing nurses' torsos and wonder why it just keeps getting worse. Read manuals on the artificial respirator and develop a new science and conduct repairs and perfect inventions late at night when no one can see you working. Fight off the janitors and the coroners' assistants and the cleaning staff who incinerate the mattress onto which you leaked through the sheets in that final hour before the mindful attendant noticed. This one will be the first to congratulate your triumph if you squeeze out another few centuries of protracted reality shows and paid foster parenting. If you remove the tumors and walk with a limp, surely they will never come back and surely something else won't get you at a different data point on the very same actuarial tables of which you had been informed beforehand. Let us drink to our health and promise ourselves that we are the new chosen ones, the victors over fate, and that not only our individual nature, but our collective nature, our planet's growth cycles, and the life of our star represent unique points in cosmology from which we jump off and transcend everyone and everything else here.

Indeed, many of us prefer, and hold fast to, the paragon virtues of these useful fields of endeavor, and will continue to hand over the isolation of labor for the collective of decay. We travel the galaxy eating dying planets. When you are the rot, your reward is to always win; to always win in terrible battles that, we will later see, are the self-directed, independently chosen version of ultimate joy feeding far greater engines. There are always dying things to pick apart and disperse; the aging EC has new journeys to undertake, and when the coordinated Jenomics begin winning easy victories elsewhere, they will feel special, but they won't even remember that they've done it before, and so they will never have to be afraid of anything again. They tell us not to be afraid because fear is what they could not master. It is why they always win, in that frenzy to avoid it, for fearing fear can make you do anything, like stoppering lust in celibacy tends to produce outbursts of a different kind of lust. Bottling your fear like a genie gives great power at a price.

We acknowledge our soul's rot, and the recycling of our selves, not in aversion to life, but in its embrace. The unchanging body bathes in formaldehyde; the changing body is wrinkles and skullish features and death. Choose. You already did. Well done. Now do the same with your soul. Your mind; your memories; your sense of self: would you soak them in everdeath, staying always "you" as you define it at the moment of choice? No? Then you still exist, and you are not merely a necrotizing fasciitis who always wins. In truth, there is no "competition" here; they fairly chose their lot, and they are as important to the process as you.

In Image Ideation and the Self, we discussed the changeable nature of the soul, in the sense of it rotting. Used here, even defended as a mere thought-provoking metaphor, it has a pejorative sense about it. "Rotting" is bad. Not so. Hating "rot" is like hating "winter." Our desires, including self-images and what kind of car would be the coolest, what sexual partner or position would be the sexiest, et cetera, change really fast, similar to how we think a fruit-fly's life cycle is really fast. It doesn't mean we don't "exist," since breaking the questions down to the nanosecond of desirous integrity would, like considering the death of one of our cells to mean our death and rebirth as a new organism, mean we were only alive during those tiny periods in which our version of the coolest car remained the same. It means, rather, that our existences as things that think are, like all things we see and speculate upon, aspects of the energy sources that this verse channels and represents. Since we feel rather impersonally about our skin cells, doing it about our most cherished of possessions--memories and desires--helps us feel it more personally.

At a certain developmental stage, we don't need that any longer. We become more complex and can mandate our own change, rather than being at risk of perpetual sloth ("negentropy;" "frozen everdeath"). Without a period of forced change, though, no one can develop a productive mind, i.e., a reliable conduit. The "Law of Contrasts" that so many Terrans see as immutable is all that Jenome ever can, ever will, see. They need there to be an underclass. Everyone happy in paradise, having endless drinks on endless golf greens, forever filled with thirst being then perfectly quenched, holds no pleasure for them, for without gradations, they cannot perceive themselves as doing better; as being at all. Some of us move beyond that, until we can appreciate things intrinsically. Someday, we could be happy with a perfect Heaven for everyone, defined by the existential inmates as perfect and perfectly growing pleasure or fulfillment or belonging or whatever. When we make the choice to become parasites, we give up on that, preferring instead a pleasure that exists because of the suffering of others. Ergo we see Jenome motivated by lack of achievement; by pyramid-shaped models; by graphs and averages and the pornography of proof that he is in the top fifty percent or the top ten or the top point oh oh one. Even if that means an absence of growth and the game being turned into who is gobbling up most of the remains the quantifiably fastest. The poison is a nasty thing: "You only really say you appreciate the sunrise like that because you couldn't afford last night's hookers convincingly pretending to enjoy lounging on your new supercars' hoods." Goldstein Towers and Epstein's jet are empty, because even their greatest appreciators only appreciate them because of the underclass below. If everyone had gold-plated towers, and if all the little kids really understood it and liked it and did it with everyone, those activities would become tasteless to their managers; over-broiled broccoli stems eaten in a world that knows not hunger. They'd have to turn on each other to get those feelings of better-than/worse-than again.

So many of us, while developing, sort of take it for granted that inherent value really does exist somewhere, but Jenome really can't see it, and will, therefore, always win at the contrasting games of places like here. Joining him in winning means becoming like him. And indeed, the farther it advances the more we see the graspers trying to leverage their own imagined past of true value into a call for comparative value as the only way to replace it. "Let me be like you. Let me start to win here."

Jenome's victory here cannot be avoided. We are too stupid and yet too smart; too slow and yet too fast; too selfish and yet too altruistic. We can't build things cleanly but we can build things dirtier than we can understand; we conjecture a thousand years ahead with no understanding of yesterday; we force others to rely on us for support while destroying ourselves in the supporting, dooming us both because we're too weak to live without the process. We don't know what we are and we don't know how to play this game. We are not prepared for a life without decay.

So they win; so what? In a googol years, you will be live-testing a new verse and Jenome will be encouraging human-complexity entities to kill each other off on some pre-spaceflight planet by stoking symbolic mistranslations. Gloating, yes, but only from a certain perspective--for others, the waste has its own quiet thrill. Understanding it is the perspective of the loser-scientist; the devout virgin; the calculator-kid hating the football player for getting all the cheerleaders. That analogy is quite apt, given how the Jenomic victory here will tend to make any non-material consolation seem like a rationalization for failure. Failure to obtain what? Crushing everyone else into the chattel-slaves of a hundred-thousand-year chosen-planet? These are the things that dreams are made of? Twenty minutes with a cheerleader is worth more.

Imagine that they read the internet too, and that they keep up to date to learn what we are thinking; how we may have seen through something, or how a critical mass of us may need more details about something in order to be convinced. In response, they can slightly adjust their narrative to counter objections. If we don't remember well, we feel our objection has been countered, and that we must have been wrong before. If an agent is identified, then suddenly publicly assaulted by something unlikable, we may forget in our excitement that we ever felt differently. If enough attention is invested in the planning, we may address inchoate doubts, questions that might have been delivered after an uptake of breath, and are then never asked. With finer detail, we may use the more insightful as barometers to guarantee others do not even think the thought they would have eventually reached. How ironic, that indiscreet intelligence should be part of our doom. Like free art, the inexorable harvests of figuring it out, of not being able to shut one's mouth, have their own part to play. No more than describing their ultimate failure can help them avoid it, can describing our contributions to their success force us to stop. Ergo this one. There's no harm in saying "go ahead and kill us because we care more about paradise." They were going to anyway, and their darkest dreaming of our success tops out at us controlling the ethnoplanet with us as masters and them as slaves. Blech. If you can imagine better, there's a way out. This is all, again and again, the chronicles of God's end.

Monday, August 21, 2017

Afro Strength and Euro Failure

Just an old anecdote. I happened to be summoned to this week-long conference thing where we were discussing, let's say cultural health issues. And there were central presentations and breakout sessions and poorly fostered lunch groups and a nearby shitty bar that had local character identical to the local character of all local bars in America--that sort of thing.

Anyway, to practice engagement (sic) and speech-making (sic) and other such stuff, we were encouraged to pick a controversial topic and discuss it in front of a breakout session for, let's say, 5 minutes--whatever it was, it was just to practice engagement and outreach, and to promote diversity, and challenge traditional mores, and all that.

Now, my breakout session had an interesting feature, in that our overseer was this really degree- and field-distinguished black guy. And he was perfect because, in his innocent, good-faith way, he actually believed in everything they said about diversity, meaning that when people told him to respect minority opinions, unpopular perspectives, and so forth, he actually did so, bless his soul. He couldn't read between the lines, so if presented with dangerous statistics, he would've innocently, sweetly, pure-heartedly, unknowingly pissed off the People That Must Not Be Named, and he would have criticized the wrong things about western imperialism, and he would've supported the right to free speech of the wrong groups. You know the type--or maybe not, since they tend to keep those black guys out of the spotlight in favor of people who just repeat, and don't do independent thinking that might lead to dangerous conclusions--but he was a type. And he had that shield, since he was foreign-born, and had a cool accent and language skills and foreign citizenships/residencies that made him personally extra-protected from the touchy field he'd been made to serve. He hadn't accomplished anything to become respected in his field, other than co-authoring some studies and publishing some grad-student-edited transcripts of his conversations with impoverished people of color in certain areas...he wasn't one of those dynamic public speakers who could really work an audience, so he was considered a brilliant researcher and soft-spoken field genius, and wasn't one of those tokens that they trot out at big talks just to be personable. He had some good lived experience with the stuff we were supposed to actually be talking about, which of course made him dangerous, but he was so sweet and good-natured and honest that, if told by powerful people that caring about intra-tribal prejudice inside a small village was important, he would research it for three years to the exclusion of everything else, and thereby present no systematic danger to anyone, but only help them out even though his honesty made him require careful boundaries. You know the type.

But none of that came into play. Not a Jew was mentioned the entire conference, so far as I know, except that, of course, they were in the background as funders and hosts and a third of the speakers in a town with an ultra-majority of whites, blacks, and east Asians, with a smattering of Hispanics. But they weren't subjects for discussion and no one, so far as I ever discovered, ever brought this up or discussed what it meant. So other than the omnipresence of situational establishment, this isn't about Jews at all.

So there's distinguished breakout session leader showing his thirty minutes of graphs and sharing his moderately-delivered anecdotes about hunger being one of the most basic medical issues people face in some parts of the world. And he was incredibly good-naturedly feminist, of course, so he's regularly interrupting things to re- and re-explain them for the benefit of the ladies in the room, who were sure that his anecdotes contained examples of patriarchal repression but couldn't see it, and he explained how they were missing it and how it was there.

And then it's controversy time, coupled with some stories about how great free speech is and how it's not respected like it should be and so forth, and people are supposed to come up one by one and talk for five minutes. Up they come, one by one, this room full of quietly awed rich white people, from teenagers going for credit to people in their fifties there to still be part of it. One by one, they give their little talks. And the black session leader is quiet, positive, and respectful, but even his patience has its limits, and after several of the talks, he mentions/hints, "That was very good, but, it's not exactly controversial, and we try to address controversy..." No one got the hint. And they didn't need to, because this guy was so polite he gave full consideration to their viewpoints, probably asking himself "Has this never been approached from this angle before?" even when the person was talking about the same dolphin-related tragedy that had been in the news for the past week. After one of the two people who mentioned the damned dolphins, I did a tentative "What about war, isn't that worse than dolphin fisheries?" and that was the wrong thing to say, but thankfully a woman in the room was itching to repeat some story she'd heard about sexism in India and she used me as a jumping-off point, so I didn't have to appear to defend the dolphin-killers for very long.

On it goes. Person after person keeps standing at the lectern and saying something in a paper they've all read about handwashing practices in the Sahara and how tests on bathroom door handles in subways in London and America were actually equal to or worse than in Johannesburg and rural South Africa (this was before current rapefugee news, it'll probably be a different set of commentators who trots out that data the next time it becomes pseudo major), and everyone agreed that everyone was agreeable and informed and was going to go back to work next week and help everyone understand how agreeable everyone had been that agreeing about health should be a top priority I know like seriously? Someone else talks about how mud is actually good for the skin and Americans overwash and yet again the poor elder black session leader is mildly, inoffensively distraught that this isn't a controversial subject and yes Target sells too much hand lotion and they don't do that so much in Offrick-uh and yes that is a good point thank you Miss Brown. So my turn comes and I do my little AIDS death thing and the Koch's postulates problem with HIV and the death rates matching drug rates in the west but matching lack of antibiotics in the third world. Not in a detailed way, but in the gentlest, question-asking-est way possible., you should've seen that room full of white people react. They were offended. They were god-damned offended, you, you idiot! And they were offended on behalf of--you already know what I'm going to say, probably, but I'll say it anyway--they were offended on behalf of Africa! Would I, tell me, would I look into the faces of people whose family members had died of AIDS and tell them it was really just TB and could've been avoided by a twenty-cent vaccine, and that it wasn't really the result of a failure to properly purchase and employ western condoms? Would I? Would I dare suggest that septic blood infections in villages with no sewage plants and wells drawing from groundwater near watering holes and industrial dump sites were related to environmental contaminants and not to a slut-shaming culture that caused prostitution (sic) in West Africa? Would I?!?!?!

You know the thing. Thirty-odd white people from upper middle class backgrounds, one unlucky Chinese man who wants the hell out of that insane room, and in this commonplace circumstance, black session leader finally has controversy, so he stands up and gives everyone a lecture about diversity of viewpoints. He doesn't really get my point; he thinks it relates to African warlords who claim either that AIDS is a western biological weapon, or that AIDS drugs should be free of charge. So no, he doesn't get the point at all. But he faces down that entire room of educated rich white people whose emotions are high, and he repeats the platitudes the conference is supposedly about, and he asks me to clarify some things that I said, and even though he doesn't really understand my answers (he keeps thinking I'm advocating for some form of drug subsidy), he never gets on that bandwagon.

He can't stop the bandwagon. Those white people were mad. Mad, and shocked, and upset, and put-out; indignant, offended, and perhaps even maudlin. And when I didn't just disappear from existence, and when the black guy didn't join them and drive me from the room, but instead repeated all the epithets about openness and acceptance that only he actually believed in, those white people desperately needed each other for support. I'm sure that a couple people got offered new jobs in that room, and I'm even more sure that a marriage or maybe two was arranged, over-achieving only-children became a gleam in their parents' eyes, and several people resolved to never again question their pharmaceutical rep because there were nuts like me out there.

The end result was by no means rational. As one would expect, the mob had to pay lip service to the black man's call for compassion and acceptance. So I got to sit down and hope no one remembered my name. And the group ended up compromising with the black session leader: maybe our greedy refusal to give Pfizer more billions for a better equipped private army to more reliably ship incredibly expensive immunosuppressants to African children suffering from common infectious diseases was the cause of AIDS.

I don't mention this to talk about AIDS, or to regale blacks. Getting homosexuals to cut back on amyl nitrates, correspondingly embrace earlier incontinence, and take weaker immunosuppressants, has made "AIDS" less deadly and more consistently profitable, but that's not the point. Similarly, "Bill Gates" and his tribe are already stealing billions from working taxpayers in order to ensure Pfizer's mercenaries have free reign to inject expensive crap into a growing pool of African children, and the Africans who want to be involved in overseeing the onsite administration of those treatments are seemingly content in their lot. Like most everyone who's read about how dangerous and lifesaving butter is, viewed with concern an analysis of weapons independently developed by Arabs, or been to an AMA-approved seminary, everyday Africans seem to lack the powers of literalness to comprehend that restoring the immune system by destroying the immune system does not compute. They know something's wrong with the whole scheme--bless them, for unlike the Nu Euros, they can tell that something is wrong with the entire narrative--but they can't explain it specifically. Or maybe they can, and we're just not allowed to see it--some have tried, and they tend to be marginalized by the skewls and the media, who prefer to raise a distracting hubbub over the ones who accuse AIDS of being an actual viral condition manufactured by the African breeding program known as the U.S., or an example of Pfizer not sending them enough free supplies. And that's okay; if that's what you like, go with it.

The more important point here is not the "controversial issue," but the particular ways in which Nu Euros bandwagon-up. Their ideology is of powerful importance to them, but it's not even an honest ideology. My anecdote merely colored, for me, the way in which they have always banded up against blacks who don't conform to their notions of what blacks should be. In standard racialist or pathogen theory, the Jews have exploited whites' tendencies toward out-grouping non-contributors to cause them to harm themselves at the expense of hostile out-groups, which benefits Jews. If so, though, why is white contempt toward non-conforming blacks so strong? What's that one that they all hate...Thomas Sowell, the conservative one. And they get mad at Arab women who speak against Islam (even if they are unaware that those women often recognize problems with Judaism/Jews also). The expressions of amazement I heard after my own breakout session with the black dude session leader--that a black dude would actually believe such inhumane stuff, when formerly they had been in awe of his being-there-ness and his black-ness--were vulgar. They blurted how dumb and ignorant some people were. I don't see this need for blacks of a certain model as being something specifically instilled by blacks, by Jews, or by any other group. Capitalized upon, certainly, but not created from scratch.

What makes the Nu Euros so broken that they'll kill themselves to benefit blacks, cheer lectures where blacks tell them they suck and should die, but boo and hiss at blacks who tell them that sometimes blacks are a problem and sometimes whites are okay? Nu Euros do that toward Asians who admire their civilizations, also. The lack seems to predate Jewish influence, for without that lack, Jewish influence wouldn't have been possible. The Boomers were wretched, yes, but they were parented by people who would raise Boomers, and who would massacre Japan and Germany in order to make the world safe for the hypocritical Boomer multikult. And the people who would raise such people, who would allow them to do such things~ And so on. We've discussed this before, in Rapespawn Kult and The Forgotten Dead, how the Nu Euro's sickness ("could have") originated, and how, on a larger time scale, all of us standalones here will pass on in the creation of the terminal society (see Mass Market Evolution). A pathology requires a pathogen, and without a pathogen, it's possible Nu Euros could work this out; could, somehow, survive. The pathogen, though, waits to serve a purpose, and that purpose is ultimately ours as much as it is the pathogen's. The Balrins as they are here will not design moon-rockets, and the Barians as they are here will not suddenly become a collective immortality.

Sunday, August 20, 2017


If the corporate age continues to ascend, we'll one day be given, or adopt, the assumed background title of "assets," e.g., telephone support will ask for your asset status. When discussing the assetship of the local newsgirl, slut or not-slut, we'll defend her, "no, no, she's a solid asset, been with her boyfriend for years." This has become NuTrade lingo as a compliment in a business or political setting, but would expand into all other aspects of life to replace "citizen." Dead firefighters will be expired assets, newborn babies will be investment assets, foreign assets will desire to become domestic assets, and so forth.

We'll be offended for some amount of time, probably a brief one. People will make the traditional "I'm not a number!"-style arguments. It's impersonal; it's indicative of the economicization of social space; it's something else. As they say, blah-blah. More telling than whatever arguments we might make or be now making will be, and is, our forgetting that it was once as offensive, as garish, and as presumed-evil to call someone a "citizen." To not proudly, but to mundanely, be an asset, will be an interesting turning point.

It's not a competition

When you think about it, it's really embarrassing to have ever fallen for it.

Describe the benefits to an individual or a group or a sub-group of designing everything to have a regulated complementary sleep cycle in which tiredness and wakefulness occurs at certain intervals and can sometimes be adjusted by environmental factors. Not a rhetorical question, really--this one can think of several, including fostering senses of community; establishing standard group mental rituals that help instinctivize individual mental rituals that help individuals conceptualize differences between ritual thought and dynamic thought and thereby fostering sense of self which increases imagination which increases novel-problem-solving ability; coordinating eating cycles; coordinating mating activity; attuning groups and individuals to ecosystems and weather patterns to standardize seasonal movement; all sorts of things. None of them, though, are explicable as pro-competition by individual organisms of a species, unless we allow that evolution is co-evolution involving cross-systemic changes to the most hostilely competitive organisms, seemingly unrelated ones, and relevant stellar orbits, more suggesting pinballs falling into slots rather than being driven. Predators directly benefit from the sleep cycle, and the purported arms race of evolution, viewed from afar, starts to more resemble cooperative suicide than cooperative survival.

As ever, refuge in the superintelligent idiot entity who specifically designed every aspect of bodily affliction as a protracted flood-punishment gains nothing from this or any other observation, except to those already functioning at such a level to be desirous of the glimmer of false hope that such a twisted SIE would be.

Funnier is scientists versus mountain gorillas. Posit three naked scientists and a single naked mountain gorilla. Through a feat of instantaneous evolution, the scientists have become vastly more intelligent in a single reproductive cycle. They wish to face the gorilla for resources. They make incredible leaps in tool usage and conceptualize using a stick to fight the gorilla. Each one picks up a large, suitable stick, and as three, they advance long-honed hunting and mating-display instincts into tactics, simultaneously attacking the mountain gorilla from three different sides.

Mountain gorilla results too funny? Three nude Richard Dawkinses crumpled at the bases of three Congo trees, not bleeding so much as slap-bruised all over, because to make our example more obvious the gorilla entered the battle with all his teeth removed, nails filed down, and nothing but palms. Okay, so use a chimpanzee. Average adult chimp can beat the hell out of any given top percentile human. If the Richard Dawkinses were all decathlete boxer polo champions, the chimp wipes the floor with them, savages them in horrid ways, and the entire germ line of "hit enemy with stick"-capable genes is gone.

Chimp with human intelligence and stick-powers? Superior to standard chimp. Superior also to chimp with standard-chimp intelligence and stick-powers. No, fishing for ants does not count. Stick-powers means conceptualizing tool-usage not as inherited accidental means of getting insect to crawl on tree-like object and then eating it as one would from an actually-tree object. It means dynamic expanding tool conceptualizations that soon results in robot drones machine-gunning unlicensed mushroom growers from high above. And the crux of the issue is, "When did it become an advantage for the tool-user to become drastically weaker than the non-tool-user"? When was it good to reduce musculature and endurance and bone strength, even by one percent, when that future Richard Dawkins and ten generations of his spawn picked up that hypothetical first stick and faced off with successively stronger chimpanzees? There are marginal "advantages" to be had in avoiding brain size, calorie needs, maternal hip width, resulting maternal gait, et cetera, but they are all massively negated by the corresponding gains that would've been achieved by organisms evolving those traits without also simultaneously de-evolving the traits that would make their intelligence gains exponentially more effective. Big strong mountain gorilla with stick-powers beats little wimpy mountain gorilla with stick-powers. And put aside the mountain gorilla, or the other great apes, and contemplate the hypothetical immediate competitors, namely, the humans who, each generation, grew slightly weaker in order to allow for them to obtain calorie or mating benefits over those who had developed stick-usage but not also randomly developed weakness-increasing.

Weakness was never a beneficial trait in that model; it would've been excoriated from the proverbial soup at every stage. The vast intelligence difference between human and chimp does not confer a benefit at "stick" level. Send four, five, ten Richard Dawkinses at a sleeping chimp, and it will shriek unhappily, but it will outrun the group, pick them off one by one, drum their brains in and bite their faces off, while their annoying stick-blows would, even at full Dawkins-strength, prove rather gnattish. The limbs, the back, the shoulders, the skull: so vastly superior; so worlds apart. And that's not even taking into account infant or adolescent competition--we're allowing the Dawkinses to wait until 21 before taking on the chimp. (And don't even bring up the mountain gorilla.)

Yet again, whatever strategy the Dawkinses came up with to defeat the chimp, the gorilla, is irrelevant. Yes, it could be a beautiful harmony of gradual Space Odysseyish change, but even so, the Dawkinses who retained their earlier strength would always, 100% of the time, defeat the Dawkinses who evolved to be weaker. That's the key point. Examples employing current templates are irrelevant in comparison to the past, where, in order to become an apex predator Dawkins with drones, one would've had to spend X thousand or X million years exceeding the mating accomplishments of the Dawkinses were developing the same intellectual traits at the same agonizingly slow pace, yet doing so without, during the process, randomly evolving their bone structure and musculature to be weaker. I just think the stronger Dawkins would've won, that's all.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Abuse of African-Americans

The earliest Jenomic activity on Terra was aimed at a lower common denominator, producing a religion, and faithful adherents, who did not fantasize about togetherness in, nor relief from, an existential struggle, but rather to relish that struggle as the pinnacle of all existential possibility. To win that struggle, therefore, was to this belief system the highest form of act which a mortal being could perform: to worship material success, the cheating of outsiders, the preservation of insiders as potential allies, the burning of enemy infants, and the destruction of one's own flesh and distant future, were both god and the will of god. This model, father to Judaism, proved successful at establishing a foothold for later material activity, but was rejected by all other Terrans, including not only Caucasoids and Mongoloids, but the much-demeaned selfish Balrins of southern Africa, who consistently believed in, or longed for, something greater than "let's revel in ruling this dross." Ironically, to carry out the tenets of rulership, Jews soon began employing derivative world-embracing and world-rejecting forms (see The Jenomic Process on Terra) that promised something more palatable to local entities than the early Sun Tzu- and Machiavelli-esque works on selfish triumphalism that became the Torah.

The struggle between Terran Balrins and Jenomic hosts can be seen duplicated more recently in hip hop history, wherein, whether for better or for worse, Jewish music producers marginalized early party- and feelgood-rappers, social-reform rappers, heavily Christian or Muslim rappers, homosexual rappers, et cetera, encouraging in their place nihilistic gangster rap. In A Short Chronology of Reverse Psychology in Recent Advertising, we discussed how government- and media-sponsored tobacco ad campaigns worked with legislative, judicial, and executive restriction of trade in vastly cheaper, safer, and superior products, to sanctify and preserve the chem-dipped factory cigarettes that had once been recognized, both by public opinion and establishment science, as stupidly dangerous and comparatively impotent compared to potential, illegal, cartel-controlled alternatives. The same government and media apparatus worked to found widespread interest in nihilist rap by trotting out pudgy white wife-swapping televangelists, wrinkly white boy-swapping reverends, decaying white posterboard politicians, and other widely beloved public figures to critique gangster rap as being too hardcore and rebellious.

It's extra funny, in retrospect, to consider the idea that any society comptroller would seriously think Tipper Gore leading a crusade against black men with pottymouths would have a negative impact on said black men with pottymouths; rather like the idea that elites actually thought watching Hillary Clinton fall down the stairs time and again would prove a viable pre-presidency. See, from 1992, Is Tipper Changing Her Tune? Al Gore did his part too, and many other unliked public figures, just as their successors did to popularize Trump. But Tipper makes a better comparison to Hillary. Really, just like in 2016--how stupid do you have to be to believe that the media was against Trump by showing him surviving physical assaults at giant rallies while Hillary fell off the sidewalk outside tiny ones? What happened to all those media analysis skills you showed when analyzing how Brokeback Mountain portrayed marriage as stifling and unnatural, and male-on-male anal sex as healthy and natural? Use those same tools to analyze Trump coverage, dammit, and you'll be able to see how hard they fought to make him viable.

Despite the massive boost lent by television news and other entertainment media to gangster rap, its stars often continued evolving into socially-conscious, higher-aspiration forms. While the latter forms may have not been either complete or correct, Terran "blacks" were initially and repeatedly drawn to rappers who dealt with poverty, loss, and communal improvement alongside (ironically, as ever) killing one another and acquiring resources. Like Miley Cyrus learning how to consumerize herself from helpful handlers of a certain ethnic persuasion, early rappers saw their careers develop this way, and were duly financially rewarded. The legions of non-gangster rappers who never got deals, or who were relegated to uncredited composing and mixing and writing rough lyrics for the incoherent cursing-with-guns kind of persona-franchise-artist, are unknown here. The mysterious gunshot or immune-failure deaths of some historically significant figures, as they transitioned toward greater maturity and popular activism after having achieved producer-free fame as individual brands, helped eliminate the possibility that individual fame would give artists the freedom to act against their producers. Part of the reason Rowling is so well-coordinated with mass media now is that cultural mediators learned, in part from needing to eliminate so many turncoat rappers in the late twentieth century, that even initial ventures needed to include perpetual message control, ergo not only political figureheads, but "artistic" ones, needed to understand how deeply their skin was in the game. (This is where African Americans excel: high time preference can provide immunity to the future-oriented threats that worked so well at controlling Europe.)

Imagine an alternate reality where Tupac Shakur used his "minority status" media protection (much stronger in effect in 2000 America than now), and his great fame, to address the JQ in 2000. Imagine 2Pac's fame letting him talk about relationships between Africans, Europeans, and Jews on live MTV, shouting down censors, pointing out their racial ties, then flying to France to network with Dieudonné M'bala M'bala and working entirely new details into post-Cold-War world politics. The cowardice and sniveling "pragmatism" of today's Nu Euro nationalists stands in sharp contrast. Even if Roosh were not a Jew, Cernovich not a Jew, Spencer not a bought homosexual, Unz not a Jew, and Taylor not "only a little bit Ashkenazi" and not quite so starstuck and greedy, none of them would have had the stones to tell off interviewer after interviewer like Tupac. A million white goys on Twitter, sharing memes and celebrity-worship, have returned to their point of origin; Tupac could've passed that test by himself, even when his producers had cut his contracts in retaliation. All the money and support later siphoned off to Sharpton and Obama, et al., would've flown differently; the anger been directed a little more accurately. Biggie and Eazy E would've sucked the wind out of Soros' sails, and so forth. We know how effective they would have been because they were removed from the playing board; we know how ineffectual today's Moldbug-wanking, conference-having, spotlight-chasing nationalists are, because they were permitted to participate in the selection for systemic stress relief.

This isn't to say that Shakur, or any of the other Vince-Fostered activist-rappers, would've colonized Mars or established pleasant societies by Nu Euro standards, but that is beside the point. An America of all human races united could have, without Obama or Black Lives Matter or Nineleven, charted a completely different course, where Confederate and freeman found their way to a mutual scientific separation and the extraction of reparations from the prime traders. Instead, Andre Young (considered a Freemason queer phony by the 1990s black American rap audience, contra the SWPL-kids, who loved him after Al Gore and Jerry Falwell squealed at them to absolutely not listen) sells headphones to Apple, produces Eminem, pushes 50 Cent, and the African hip hop movement adjusted its focus to resource competition and "social change" in line with the "not actually change" teevee model. Blacks were rightly pleased to see some of their own getting rich and influential after Semites had shipped generations of them off for sale in continents where conflicts were supposed to be settled with words and not spears, and whites were rightly disgusted to see such unpleasantries crowned kings of entertainment media.

So Terran, it is--by which this one means so sad and funny and ironic and expected--so Terran, that the quintessentially Jenomic, the fundamentally "Jewish" perspective of racism, has cost so many of the cattle their greatest allies and protectors. The enemy, after all, remains the proverbial tower, without which none of the other inevitable conflicts would happen, or even be contemplated. The irony is particularly keen in that one cannot even approach the question without sinning against so many mores on either "side"--the high society and fine achievements of triumphantly dumb colonialism, Strom Thurmonding the maid and Christianizing the cottonfield at tremendous expense, versus the equally-triumphantly-dumb player with his bling and his white bitches, replacing guano-based healing songs with billion-dollar trauma centers.

Confused Traitors

Happy to be the pariah in a new golden age of shit acceptance I never helped build. More likely to be the forgotten successor to loathed purity.

We discussed, in New Racism, how the newfound acceptability of racism among Nu Euros in America is primarily a Jewish creation. It must be embarrassing, surely, to be one of those proud and unapologetic new racists, and to realize that everything you're memeing about was made possible by brave pioneers like Moldbug, who did it just so you would be safe to tweet that you're proud of your ancestors who Hellstormed Europe and covered the crispy remains in desert-god art, omg White civilization is so incredible look at that detail in the marble! But you can't sculpt Ugolino and His Sons anymore, you can only retweet it, and you have to zoom in on the detail because your kinsmen don't have the brainpower or the patience to get your point otherwise. OMG EVROPA ROCKS.

Embarrassing, yes, but no more so than it is troubling and un-seeable for anti-racists to contemplate that, after thinking they had a complete lock on the whole "anti-racism" thing, and could move on to perceived-but-non-occurring microaggressions and transsexual surgeries taking a hallowed place next to mandatory vaccinations against climate rapture denialism, a small coterie of Jews turned on them and wiped out all the progress of the last half century in favor of White factionalism.

Anyone here read Grisham's A Time to Kill? Grisham (and/or his team) was so confused by the writing process that he couldn't actually write the final meaningful scene; the climax. The later movie adaptation included a team of semi-capable propagandists who adapted Grisham's rather anticlimactic passive-voice summary into a heroic courtroom reenactment of the plot-pivotal event barely alluded to in the book, in which McConaughey challenges the racist jurors to not convict Shaft Chained Windu for the murder of those untried prisoners because white-on-black rape is a widespread problem and a moral offense. All human centuries have called Grisham's bluff, but the twenty-first did so for the first time in UHDTV, and it's telling that you can convince an American liberal to starve a million Arab babies to death on the rationale of regional stability, but you can't convince them to hang ten grown male Arabs to protect however many hundred White girls.

(Aww, poor little Nu Euros, the prezdint banned transgenders from the imperial military you pretended to hate, but you at least have the media and academia on your side. I'm sure it'll work out great for the right wing once the media gets on their side, though.)

Still, no more stupid than the White pride marches and White conferences and White tweets and White fundraisers, which are as fake and as astroturf as Black Lives Matter; like the Congressional Black Caucus, many a preacher will gain respect, many a crappy movie be made, many an irrelevant law be sort-of debated and maybe watered down and passed, and the poor stay poor the rich get rich.

Aside from the cryptos and the mischlings, the Nu Euros who are now completely behind this new acceptable racism, and who appeal to the lowest common denominator to do so, believe they are, by being so pragmatic, carrying out George Lincoln Rockwell's advice to "reach the people," which they do by perverting said advice, compromising their standards, and delightedly operating within the boundaries of the system they're pretending to be against. Seems like only two years ago they were arguing about how stupid it was to let "liberals" define the terms of debates with "conservatives", but they can't imagine that, in their giant game of bumper-bowling, someone might move them over an entire lane, and they'd be still trapped, still predictable, yet completely free from the prior set of boundaries. So they support Israeli rightists, paraphrase their Moldbug, do what the teevee tells them not to do, and use the easy-access mass media to profligate the kind of blurbs and one-act cartoons that, if they'd actually learned anything from their ancestors, they'd know to recognize as thought-killing toxins, designed to train the mind for low gravity environments, so that encountering knowledge produced by hand on the spot is too heavy. Go ahead, pragmatically shuffle the cards until there's nothing worth fighting for. Take your body to the range and the gym, while your mind lies on the couch eating chips.

Escape anyone's notice, incidentally, that Rockwell's strategy didn't work? The "dumbness appealing" route is its own death strategy, because crippled thinking destroys teacher as well as pupil. The (comparatively) elite thinkers now, trying to dumb themselves down for popularity's sake, actually do dumb themselves down in the process.

The parable of Judas' thirty pieces of silver was pushed because the "little rewards" theory is more effective. People turn traitor in truth for tinier things. 30 retweets does, amazingly, go farther than thirty pieces of silver, because when people try to buy you openly--"the big buy"--you might have a sense of personal dignity triggered, and refuse. In contrast, if you were told, "Fight us and we send you to the gay dungeon, but write articles about the gradual process of pleading with us for change, and we'll make you semi-respectable among a small subset of the people who already don't like us anyway." Suddenly, a million Nu Euros believe themselves to be choosing the path of maximum effectiveness by becoming authors. No one wants to go to the gay dungeon, but rationalizing your resulting behavior as anything other than "being forced under overwhelming physical threat" is lying.

There's no need for big checks. Jenomic carriers get called some version of "traders" in so many civilizations because it's more effective and internally destructive to the target to pragmatically commit crimes on their own than it is to merely seethe away a few lifetimes in silence. Turn a revolutionary into an anesthetic peddler by promising a bonus 2K or 2M views a day. They're already so desperate to be popular that you can change their internal mental process, causing them to be physically unable to apply their own independently-arrived-at, cherished processes of thinking to everything they encounter. Certain mental processes gain black holes. The evil genius Karl Mannheim has re-described this explicitly in Ideology and Utopia, reminding us that Nu Euros are so mentally crippled that if you pair a salary with an ideology, a majority of them will rewrite their own mental processes to be in conformance with career requirements. Not for fake, but for real. The joke's on you if you fall for "sociology is bullshit, Mannheim is bullshit," because the point wasn't that sociology was real or good or true or decent, but that it was effective. And he was correct; amazingly, powerfully correct, which we're now seeing again, this time on the internet. Have your pellet.

Tiny sellouts, so effective, bigger audience, must be good--idiot. Once you've sold that little piece of your soul, the next deal gets easier, gets bigger, until eventually you're running for Congress. Rockwell suggested a simply-put message, not a "unite with Israel against the darkies" one. Has it ever occurred to the would-be Aryan that the post-Christ strategy--endless cowardice disguised as pragmatism--has been the means of failure for two thousand years? Not only for failure, but for the internal degradation of anything which might become victory? Pragmatism is Force W making a deal with Force B to attack Force J at dawn. It is not Force R dumbing down its rhetoric to appeal to Force I. The sucking void of the teevee culture destroys its lovers, even those who think they're only using her. Lying in order to deceive people to become your customers, which we can dress up to be "moderating rhetoric," is sold as a way of introducing your customers to your ideas, when in fact, it is more importantly a way of introducing you to moderate your beliefs. When you do it, the biggest victim is not the hordes of morons you might supposedly convert to a partial portion of a sellout ideology, but your own capacity for freedom and thought. All of the little marketers out there, now--not the Enemy drum majors in costumes, who are already what they are, but the confused traitors following those drum majors--think they're cleverly manipulating people with their shallow memes, when what they're really doing is sanding down their own brains to become a tiny bit more amoral. Like the social costs of easy credit, the effect is negligible to those who can't see across the centuries, and if you're playing this game and you're not the Enemy, you are not smart enough to win.

That's why the history of pragmatism has been a history of defeat; of successive generations growing dumber and blinder. What the average illiterate 1,000 B.C. peasant could tell you just by a glance, you can now communicate to the average peasant, if at all, only with a months- and years-long series of increasingly more specific bix nood cartoons. The capacity to perceive has been bred out and smoothed down.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Image Ideation and the Self

In Truth and Loss, this one raised the issue of hypothetically selecting an ideal avatar for an immortal life:
Consider...a Terran female shopping for her ideal immortal body and persona at the ages of 5, 16, 38, 55, and 84. Which version would "she" "truly" enjoy more were she stuck with it forever?
Ideatic capability--the curse of the imagination--has long plagued human consciousness. As lightforms evolve, the increasing ability to host successively more active conduits proves something of a curse in disguise, resulting from the longstanding human conundrum involving desire and time. People at this stage of development are self-aware, and can recognize their desire to be and to not be certain things, to do and to not do certain actions, and so forth. This field of imagination waxes broadly enough, even now, to include the seemingly mandated and the seemingly impossible, as well as things in-between. The conundrum of existence at this point is whether or not existence is acceptable, given that one is trapped inside a frame that is demonstrably incapable of not suffering the divergence between perception of time and perception of possibility. Time comes into play in the sense that, while we can imagine ourselves eventually fulfilling any desire, our sense of time, as limited by our accurate conceptions of physical death, tends to make fulfillment appear impossible, rather than "merely" put off.

Filling the Existential Gap

Terrans have imagined and effected many methods to address this process. Although suicide in many forms makes a strong showing, the ongoing confrontation of this issue, whether honest or veiled, dominates, with philosophical or religious suicide but a subset of details pertaining to the ones' grapplings with these existential thoughts.

Consider religion, which almost invariably, if not merely invariably, promises some form of explanation to the prime existential conundrum at this level of lightform complexity ("conscious humans"). Often the product of suffering minds dealing with said conundrum, local religions attempt to solve the problem in the two most common ways: by postulating either an embrace of or a rejection of the process. Take first the intellectual Indo-Aryan religions of world-hatred and world-embracing. Use a relatively stoic reincarnation philosophy for the former, and a blut und boden style early paganism for the latter.

By treating the world as a crucible of pain which must be surpassed in order to get the things you want, world-rejection philosophies imply, or detail the rules of, a rubric reassuring not only to perpetual memory, but to the notion that you will either get the things you want eventually, or you will get relief from the suffering of wanting them, potentially alongside those desires being replaced with better desires. Consider the replacement of "the desire for love" with "the desire for the lack of desire for love," the latter of which is considered a higher desire, and, hypocritically, the lack of a desire. Indeed, to desire "the negation of all desires" is a more lustful desire than any desire being thus negated, but with appropriate ritual, can be made to seem otherwise. We find here the predecessors to the various reincarnation religions of southern and eastern Asia, and the stoic-derived monasticisms of Europe and western Asia, some of which remain extant in recognizable form.

World-embracing philosophies offer an acceptance of the brutal process, while promising that, by participating in it, one is involved in a long chain of battle which bonds one by suffering to the heroism of those who have endured the trial. Such religions, best associated with pre-Christian far Eastern and European paganisms, may or may not allude to or specifically promise a collective end to the collective struggle, but the net reassurance is the same regarding the sense of togetherness, the soothing of suffering by the thought that at least everyone else is doing it also, and the implied promise that you get to keep your memories and are systematically- or self-judged--and currently exist--as the you that you think you are.

The development of these philosophies has continued to 2017. In world-rejection, we see of course Islam and Christianity, in which stoicism is retold. In these variations, the world is indeed awful--a collective and/or individual punishment for sin, depending on school, denomination, and personal approach--but it is deservedly so, or testingly so, and the good desires will be rewarded. Islam is generally targeted at a slightly lower intelligence market, ergo the rewards are detailed with more garish specificity. Pleasures are promised right up front, like stacks of cash in a lottery ad. Christianity, by contrast, runs more subtly, promising pleasure in the indirect way that the local natural grocer uses lower lighting, quieter music, and wood paneling to convey superior health resulting from a product. (A more fitting counterpart example may be the top 40s bass-boost and cardboard models screaming at low-end banking consumers to take out an X.X% personal loan, versus the quiet Bach and realistic assessments offered by the higher-end team of wealth managers.)

Whether or not the rewards of Christian faith include all the material delights which Allah promises to his faithful is left to the celibate, monogamous, or end-stage leukemia practitioner's imagination; indeed, merely staring at the incomprehensibly beautiful form of Jesus/Yahweh, or doing so while singing alongside one's newly-and-forever-youthful great-grandmother, may fill the mind with such ecstasy as to make all the worldly suffering worth it.

There are of course variations on all of the above, whereby the stoic denies hunger, lust, or the feeling that a truck jumping the sidewalk and running over a two-year-old is bad. Whether by inconceivably just recompense or the masterfully explained wrongness of worldly desire, though, world-rejection philosophies continue strong.

Increasingly dominant in Terra, though, are world-embracing philosophies, best exemplified in both universalist and rational strains of Scientism. Strikingly similar to the paganisms from which they evolved, modern Scientisms ask us to accept the suffering of the world in kinship with others, by varying degrees of genetic kinship (or cultural, inasmuch as vertebrate- or human-supremacists are unwilling to concede genetics). The religious Scientist may disavow differences between species, families, or individuals, but in any of these cases, the philosophy provides a world-embracing-style explanation for the existential conundrum, found in the tautologically valuable meaning of the trial; of completion-by-participation. The Scientist allows that all will die, going to join their fathers ideological predecessors in the halls of Valhalla shared cultural myths a more accessible, user friendly historical wiki. Sometimes there are promises of immortality, or a battle of the gods, either perpetuating or concluding creation, but these details are not currently of popular concern.

(It is relatively common nowadays to accuse science and scientists of being, respectively, a religion and its priests. This incomplete critique, though often well delivered, is easily dismissed by those who admit that, yes, cultural and government influence, laboratory and academy politics, and the necessity of funding. The critique fails because, although indeed quite apt, the modern phenomenon of "science" does not, under even these criticisms, satisfy the comprehensive and accurate preconditions of a religion. Scientism is a religion, not because of its biases or stupidities--however blazingly obvious, haughtily overlooked, and humorously referential those so endlessly are--but because of the existential satisfaction Scientism provides its adherents. It is stupid, but not necessarily religious, to hereticize breeding forensics; it is religious as well as stupid to rationalize the imperceptible weight behind the existential pain.)

Scientism asks that we embrace the human condition: our desires are spiritually meaningless tools--objectively valuable means to an end, but themselves subjectively worthless--whereby the Science compels us to yearn for things in order to cause us to invent them. Our desire for endlessly youthful sex will encourage and allow us to store food, build buildings, and eventually, develop sexbots sophisticated enough to store our personalities onsite, thereby achieving painless, fulfillment-rich Heaven. Our desire to see new things will, by the grace of Science, compel us to build ships wherefrom we see the galaxy. Our desire to continue to exist will trick us into producing descendants who will vicariously survive for us by collecting the energies of the final seconds of the Big Crunch, escaping to Hyperspace, then returning to this world to build the faithful anew. On a shorter scale, the Rapture is imminent, we need more funding to study the Rapture, repent and flay thyself for what you have done, and the heretics who disbelieve in the Rapture will get theirs when vengeful gods climates return.

(Like Republicans and Democrats, it grows difficult for Christians to criticize Scientists too accurately, lest the arrows strike too close to home. The more Christians learn about how stupid, self-serving, willfully ignorant, globalist, et cetera, Science is, the more chillingly they may come to find that they are insulting aspects of their own faith, and vice versa.)

(On the subject of the Jenomic process, what makes Terra particularly interesting is that it was by terminal world-rejecting philosophies that Jenome was able to introduce increasingly factually-decorated terminal world-embracing ones. The decomposition process is nothing if not flexible, but such an obstinate inversion is a notable accomplishment. It's not that it never happens, but it's like that moment when you're not sure if someone will land, fall, or step out of their quad.)

Although Scientism, like Christianity, holds desire for worldly things to be inherently evil and/or worthless--deriving value from its use as an acid test for committing to Yahweh rather than the world, or as a tool for motivating acts of Science, respectively--Scientists possess the illusion of value in that, by sharing in the experience of enduring incompletely or utterly unfulfilled desires, those desires gain a transmittable meaning, and are therefore of utilitarian value, similar to notions that humankind may invent a supercomputer who unfolds dimensions, dictates the rules for lasting pleasure, and becomes a real deity. See Mass Market Evolution for related material on outsourcing individual existence.

Others may attempt to fill the ideological gap, as it were, through their non-suicidal rejection of other coping strategies. These can be more or less pitiful, and more or less horrible. The libertine and the nihilist may be, by turns, more or less hypocritical than the stoic, more or less terrible and/or damaging to others' bodies and minds than the collective of presumed pleasure, and more mildly, inoffensively honest with themselves than the man who actually follows the Matthew Gospel's command to pray quietly and out of the sight of others. From a more distant perspective, these coping strategies are attempts to solve the same intuited divergence problem as the others, specifically the ability of the developing mind to conceive of creating and/or sating more desires than the vessel is capable of doing. "More margaritas!" or "fuck it all," respectively, are scarcely more intellectually difficult to lampoon than any other current pop philosophy, though it remains more generally acceptable than it is to discuss the embarrassing curiosities of cosmological mandates designed before municipal sewage treatment or penicillin.

By Their Desires

Return now to the initial question of "material" desire, which can be an invaluable tool for analyzing selfness and memory. In short form, we address the issue of what one really is by evaluating the way one's purest desires change over time, which can perhaps be most garishly done here through the way we would prefer others to perceive us. Again, the question:
Consider...a Terran female shopping for her ideal immortal body and persona at the ages of 5, 16, 38, 55, and 84. Which version would "she" "truly" enjoy more were she stuck with it forever?
The essential answers are somewhat easily foreseen, but the scenario begs for detail. For simplicity's sake, assume our Terran female test unit is a Nu Euro and/or highly afflicted with Nu-Euro-hosted media culture.

Testing at 5. The 5-year-old female, perhaps confused by the parameters of the power, selects something retro-typical; let's say a mermaid fairy princess who doesn't like boys, or more modern, a mermaid fairy princess of color who is in a platonically polygamous relationship with a clique of similar mermaid fairy princesses of color who all have different hair colors, or, slightly less modern, a mermaid fairy princess without color who likes, but can easily beat up, nerdy boys. Maybe a "true" retro version (post-Jesus) would select being "the prettiest girl in the locality," selected as wife by some high lord who isn't the ugly king himself but is still really hypothetically cool. Modifier to being some archangel's husband if reminded to contemplate aging-avoidance. A more pragmatic recent-retro pick would be a pretty girl with a good husband who still sees her mom even when she herself is grown up, but then when you remind her there's no death, just immortality, in this equation, the absence of babies and life cycle makes a healthy soul's body feel sick, so you have to come up with some horribly distracting "God" or "heaven" story to dazzle her away from thinking about actually being in such an awful state. (The next soul in the queue hides his yawn behind his fist, thinking, Pick one already, there's a #@&$% line.)

Any of these variations are expressions of the same thing, namely graphing an idealized self-image for one's physical frame onto socially-sanctioned modes of being, preferences included, as tempered by expectations of what you can and can't do and can and can't be. The circumstances added to the imagined backstory of the ideal-avatar might be colorful, but are irrelevant except inasmuch as they help inform Terran Female's choice by making any strictly material image seem more appealing. The princess isn't actually a "princess;" she's just an attractive female cartoon template. Ergo in approaching this choice, the chooser should be actually evaluating only her desired physical manifestation. Difficult for most Nu Euros, of any age, to get this. Even if they can raise their right hands and swear that they understand it is just a body that they will inhabit as they are now, most or all of their choices would be representative of something else. That's what gives the postulations such utility.

(The wise would catch themselves, too, picking images derived in some way from desired physical expressions of inner traits: goodness, respectability, strength, wisdom, social standing, sexual prowess, the unique endurance of ugliness, the mysterious wonders found behind the mundane, et cetera. Those qualities are adjudged at least in part based on the body and memory experience of the chooser. Positing the scenario, and others' or our own reactions to it, helps us discern the circular notion of the self, whereby genetic and ideatic possessions influence what we would like our genetic and ideatic possessions to be.)

We will see the "your ideal body is not your ideal personality or your ideal social role" distortion enter the choice at every stage; one can imagine Saint Peter, sitting in front of the transmogrification machine that models avatars and then produces final choices, throwing up his hands in despair when he has to explain to yet another five-year-old, "It's not really a king's daughter; this is just how you want to look." Being wise, though, Saint Peter would probably expect such status-negotiation to appear as part of the process for many selectors. This tells us something else, but we'll try not to touch on that subject overmuch, and stick with individual preference.

We're also putting aside butterflies, kittens, or other miscellany, and presuming a long and accurate selection process, as instantly scanned or foreseen by God/supercomputer, or as drawn out by St. Peter during weeks of intensive counseling, et cetera.

So, our Nu Euro Terran Female chooses, at 5, "Mermaid Fairy Princess of Color," a.k.a. "Merfpock." Not actually of color, but with some hint of presumedly dazzling genetic exotica that has shaped the choice. Even features, smooth skin, large eyes, eight cartoonishly large eyebrows per eye and no more. Probably created in imitation of age 13 or so.

Let's do a male, too, to flesh out the example. Male at 5 chooses between comparable socially presented models of masculinity, but upon hard counseling, eliminates cartoons and pastel-based ones. We go between transforming robot (with extra gear conforming to Terran Male's situational awareness, and the ability to transform pursuant to local/national vehicular passions), some kind of alien, some kind of action hero, and St. Peter mentions that transformers can't eat cake or ice cream or whatever the fuck, so the kid eventually settles on some standard hero, let's say Capeman.

Merfpock and Capeman enter immortal paradise, proud to see and be seen. They're the perfect image of what they wanted to be, even if they aren't actually a princess (not yet...but fat chance in Heaven, that would offend the glory of God and upset his hierarchy of angels...or would it? Is every girl, or every wishful person, in Heaven promoted to princess?) or a crimefighter (not yet...but fat chance in Heaven...or is it?).

Testing at 16. Past the younger choice, options seem to expand while actually condensing. Terran Male might've chosen dinosaur or alien robot, but because of food and genetic hints of self and coolness, went with Capeman; Terran Female chose an aqua-humanoid with eyeballs that would've been four inches in diameter. At 16, the same female selects, let's say, a pop star who is always on tour with glamorous friends who all have different hair colors. Eliminating the presumed musical talent, social status, and friends pursuant to St. Peter's stern reminders, though, the 16-year-old chooses similarly: pretty female humanoid, slender, standard hair color because she's able to contemplate meeting other immortal personally-expressive avatars and wishing she hadn't made sparkling neon green her permanent look. Her lower half can't be mermaid-derived anymore, since stage moves and being looked at and people wanting to have sex with you require possessing legs and vulvas et cetera, and fish-parts are for little kids. Popstar, in Terran Female's mind, can be socially conscious, environmentally active, hyper vegan, dating six black guys, a steadfast virgin holding out for chaste perfection, or whatever, but those details are irrelevant as to the imagined personal appearance of the desired model. You choose your form, you're still yourself, now get out and mingle. Forever.

Terran Male is still with Capeman, and he is so glad because Capeman, unlike alien robodinosaur, has junk, and look at all those randy Popgirls in heaven! Ooh, sparkly green hair? I'll never get bored of that! Let's, uhh, maybe lose the costume. But then, Capeman without his costume is really just like the strongest person at the local gym. Sure, he's not that weird looking, but without the costume, he's just...some dude. Without the associated persona and social role, it's difficult for Terran Male. It's difficult for him to admit that a male should be attractive-looking, even though he knows that "ugly" is bad...he can always get a costume later and wear it overtop his perfect ewwww gross I mean buff, body...oh God, how many Capemans are there gonna be? More Terran males at this point would begin to consider the pains of having a choice, namely, what if a bunch of people choose the same thing and I look like a loser? Can I get first choice? Can I see what everyone else did first? End results change based on what St. Peter allows, and that's its own separate conundrum. Pretend for purposes of this discussion that he doesn't let you pick based on other people.

Flip through templates, no, none with that, uhh, increase muscle mass...5% No, 6. How about 10%? Uhh, I guess, maybe 9? Tough choices. You can always decide later whether to grow in the facial hair or shave it all off. But is that really the right nose? Tough to narrow this one down. It's probably just going to be Capeman with no costume, a little more built, a little more extra built in the junk, lots of reassurances you can still change hairstyle and get whatever clothes you want, but a lot of sweating at the warnings that you only get one chance at the ideal form. No backsies.

Testing at 38 Die at 38, another choice. So many options, which one do I really want, oh god would I really have picked Popstar when I was 16? Many of us forcibly forget what choices we might have made earlier or later, embarrassed by what we were, are, or will be.

Ha, she thinks--look at how cute Merfpock is! Terran Female wants to be forever young, yes, but not childish. She browses history and picks...Marilyn Monroe. But let's shift this here and that there, maybe cut back a little on the weight...oh, take that back; I want to be classic...but still, enough is enough...but all those prehistoric fertility statues that they say form the basis for human desire...! Much gnashing of teeth. Let's say she goes with variations on Marilyn, blended with a few other "classic" (Nu Euro..."UK" or "American" cinema) famous features, and we've got ourselves yet another Mariations strolling the clouds of Heaven.

By this point, Terran Female probably gets the idea that choosing the body doesn't confer personality, vocals, et cetera, but she's still ultimately making the choice to physically convey social distinction. We skipped over, say, 25, where we might've seen her pick Popstar looks due to something other than imagined Popstar lifestyle, but the end result probably would've been similar, so 16 to 38 is a suitable gap to contemplate. She's still heavily affected by social pressure, but of a different kind. Unlike 5-year-old at all, and mostly unlike 16-year-old, she's feeling that her choice should "mean something" beyond her "personal desires." St. Peter says no, just pick for your own expression, this is forever, but she thinks she needs to make a choice that will always communicate something meaningful about her, so St Peter gives up arguing and lets hr pick Mariations. Tough year to die.

Terran Male at 38 is lots easier. Version of his twentysomething self, a little divine plastic surgery, some strength in the junk; other places add some bone, some muscle, can you clean up the face a little, hmm, maybe can you tweak that back a--yeah, yeah, hold it there. Himself walks out proud after a ten minute session and goes looking for some Mariations action. Little bit of regret here when he sees all the Capemans, but his social pressure, and his internal pressure, coerces him into choosing something him-like. Still, when Himself is hitting on Popstar and a 6'8" 350lbs. jacked Capeman walks up with a banal one-liner, Popstar giggles without faking it, is clearly interested, and Himself sorta gets the feeling that being true to yourself, having then-equivalent wisdom/experience, and actual personality, weren't actually the best things to pick. Sweat breaks out under his collar. He's still got it. Those idiot Capemans all look a little like the actor most recently hired to play Capeman, and that's going to hurt those people in a hundred years. Mariations is nice enough, but shizz, look at those Popstars...and maybe even Merfpocks, what they got under there?

Humorously, Terran Male 38, together with Terran Female 38, unintentionally discover that their idealized self-images place them roughly where they were already in terms of an image hierarchy. They're visually young, but being too wise/stupid to pick the stupid/best choices, they're just not as desirable as they would've liked to be. Mariation looks for something dazzling and exciting beyond the scope of Himself, not so disposably boring as the sorta decent Capemans, though that'll do in a pinch. Occasionally (once a night) she has an extra highball and is gently escorted away from the handsome robed angels guarding the gates, pleading with them that they could be sexual if they really wanted to be, and doesn't God believe in love??!

We're testing Nu Euros here, so, while a minority will not ever be bored by the purely physical--say, a rather drably souled Mariations swiving a 25-year-old-model Capeman whose avatar was randomly generated by God to host a male soul that died in infancy--most of them would, initially or eventually, find themselves uninterested in living sex-dolls alone, preferring some degree of personality-related attraction. If they're smart enough, the Mariations and Himselfs may begin to realize that what physically attracted them to other people was not primarily great looks, passable looks, or even youthful looks, but something in the essence of the developing spirit as physically manifested, with youth-in-the-flesh being more of a passenger variable. Even the 38s who choose Popstar- or Capeman-avatars, but who use their comparative maturity to be commensurately more deep or suave along with the looks, cannot fit in with the genuine 16-year-old choosers. On Terra now, particularly in the throes of pro-ugliness movements, this claim can sound ridiculous or naive. Indeed, some people would, as mentioned, be fine with endlessly screwing attractive templates, and biology in this scenario should not by any means be disregarded. Rather, in a world where everyone could pick at least a passably attractive avatar, the absence of as much distinguishing relativism would have sustained effects on the self and the self's desires--which tells us something more about the issue of those selves.

Testing at 55. Terran Female and Terran Male continue to think they're expanding their perspectives, and to feel correspondingly more justified in whatever conclusions they may draw. What they imagined their elders to be or not be when they were young, they now imagine they must embrace or reject; exemplify or counter. If religious in any particular way, they see themselves as an expression of some subset of a valuable perpetuating Thing; as an example of some set or other, whether the living undergoing trial; of humanity; of a people; of believers and correct- or correctly-trying-understanders. The trend to ideate self-image in a purportedly more giving, belonging way, continues the pattern established by choosing "Himself" or "Mariations." The 5-year-old subscribed to assumed ideals; the 16-year-old to pragmatically belonging ideals; the 38-year-old to assumed legacy. Now at 55, the Terran Subject has begun to feel the desire to not subscribe to some legacy, but to be that legacy.

Posit a favored relative for Terran Male, like a different version of himself, but exemplifying history (still, probably with preferred body tweaks). My grandpa was so much more of a man than I was. Or Richard the Lionheart was our savior. What fun; what conundrums: "But they didn't know how to take care of themselves then; yeah, around the biceps." Alternatively, he just goes back to Capeman, but without any tweaks. "What made Capeman special wasn't really on the outside, you know." By this time, maybe he's so mature, nostalgic, or realistic that he picks his twentysomething self without adjustments. His image represents his acceptance of the limitations of realized dreams, either the path by which he was saved from the world, or that by which he fulfilled it. (World-rejecting and world-embracing philosophies again reveal themselves to perhaps be evil twin sisters running a very long con on their respective faithful.)

Terran Female's insanity starts to look more sane by comparison. Forget Marilyn Monroe--a starlet of the 1800s... "Look at that gorgeous dress, they knew how to comport themselves, oh, with color like that, she's so beautiful! Oh, no one else would think to pick something like this! Could you, though, just make the mouth a bit more narrow? No, that's too far..."

Lots more thought in either case. More serious, less frenzied. Young Gramps and Victorian Starlet walk out to meet all the idealized living paintings of the ancient Romans, interrupted by the roar from the occasional alien roboraptor jet. They're drawn to each other in the same way that 5-year-old Capeman feels a little intimidated by Popstar and bored by Mariations; in the same way that Himself and Mariations end up a bit disappointed by the other, and find themselves drawn toward but rejected as weirdly boring by prime Popstar and 16-year-old Capeman.

Does the wise acceptance at 55 bring happiness at last? "She'd make a reliable companion. None of that flashy shit that's more trouble than it's worth." The same good things that drew arch Victorian Starlet toward her ultimate physical manifestation, she sees reflected (wrongly but compatibly; flatteringly) in Young Gramps' intelligence in being drawn to her.

Testing at 84. How much time do Subject Terrans get to choose? Does St. Peter want an answer within 15 minutes, please? 24 hours? "Try this sample out for up to one creation-period, then make your permanent choice and no redo." The impetuousness of youth, colored by the physical despair of recent death, could lead to equally "foolish" choices in those who knew extended unwanted disassembly, and saw any version of "healthy me" as the proverbial life preserver to the drowning. Let us, then, assume they have a week to really think it over. Lots of soul-searching, lots of flicking through templates (if you don't like Saint Peter's immersive CAD VR program, assume self-transmogrifying angel models will model for you), and a choice that could run the length of all of that subject's prior choices. Depending on the person, it is perhaps more difficult at this point to contemplate physical immortality than for more desire-focused Terrans fresh off the expectations of an earthly life, ergo "healthy me at 20" could easily return as a popular choice. Lack of embarrassment at picking ideals could lead to older versions of Popstar or Capeman: "Belle Heroine" or "Cowboy Hero." Encouraging their comfort with technology could influence willingness to add or subtract curves or BMI. How often the Terran Male Subject at 84 had been watching television, and what shows, would determine whether or not Cowboy Hero looks like a scrawny wimp with an outdated body, or a ripped stud with merely an outdated wardrobe. Who would hold fast to their lifetime impressions of strength, and who would change them to conform? Who would regret either choice a week, or ten years, after the avatar-selection had been made?

Belle Heroine or Cowboy Hero choices would reflect different body types, depending on the era in which Terran Test Subject lived. Not in the sense of "People liked fat chicks once," where women would choose obesity rather than pro-biological waist-hip ratios; but, there are drastic differences that would appear. Consider, e.g., how men used to think that the bench press, and associated big pectoral muscles, were stupid, queer, lumpy, feminine, and unattractive. Perhaps the reverse peak appeared in the 1980s-1990s, where media promotion of bodybuilding led to the bench press, and big pecs, being part of the complete male physique, expectations which still (2017) far exceed those placed on the black-and-white TV -era strongman. So neither Cowboy Hero nor Belle Heroine is as ample in the chest region as if those templates were picked by octogenarians at different intervals.

"Favorite cultural icon from when I was about 20." St. Peter's encouragement probably wouldn't produce many Capemans or Popstars as they'd simultaneously be chosen by people who'd started the heavenly avatar process after dying at age 16, but the accepted equivalence of Capeman or Popstar--possessing an image which would then be considered pitifully outdated and objectively stupid by the living on Terra--would certainly play a part. Ample time for good consideration might well lead to 55-ish choices in the style of Duchess Hostess and Rugged Explorer, as associated with strength and desirability to the age 84 subjects in the same way that Empowered Ditz and Street Criminal With A Code are to the 16-diers. "Seasoned" appreciation for notions of purity or essential desires might well put out a few Merflors and Merflets (give it a few years before Merfpocks appear among the died-at-physical-seniority set).

So where are we? Do the varied choices of the 84-year-old Terran Subjects mean they've finally blossomed to maturity, come into their true selves, and are picking based on representations of their actual understanding? Is the average subject's wistful choice any more representative of what they'd pick if they could redo that pick in fifty years, after wondering if "Duchess Hostess" were "really me"? What would be the respective change rate of people offered a single chance in forever to make a change after fifty years of work with their first-chosen model--enough to, in theory, stabilize the choice to depend wholly on personal essence, without any claimed interference by recent immaturity, recent worldly suffering, or the like? How many "chose at 5-years-old" subjects would stick with their first choices fifty years later; how many of other age groups? What new cultural tropes would have manifested among the immortal choosers; what would they say en masse about what certain choices indicated about personality, and how would that affect the re-choices of those who decided to? (And so on ad infinitum, were St. Peter so ridiculously conceding?)

Crux Self

Even the ultimately-informed personal choice could not allow self-expression in the way that the choosers wanted it to have done so. Whether you'd estimate the same choices or types of choices for an individual Terran Subject, or a representative spread of Terran Subjects, as this one presented above, is immaterial; what matters is the extent to which the same person's choices would differ, in any modest or significant way, by age. Any set of choices, however serious or silly, serves to address the question of desire, and thereby the conflict between desire and fulfillment. The local saying, "Be careful what you wish for," is a clumsy riddle meant to address, by blunt force, some part of this question, in the sense that our selves are not as coherent, or as prepared for desire, as we prefer to believe they are. Our existential dilemma is actually caused by our overestimation of our preparedness for developing, or becoming, that which "we" would "want" at any given time. The difference between who you'd want to be at 10, 30, and 70, is a difference in self--yet we avert our attention from that difference, which does not trouble us so much as the pain, at 10, of not having red hair, at 30 of not being just a bit more slender with a more flattering metabolism, or at 70 of having the sense of balance we're sure we deserve.

Silly "body choice" examples are an elementary, though not by any means unimportant, means of considering the deeper questions about our minds. Depending on capability, any physical or mental example can serve. Plug yourself into the body-choice scenario, postulating your choice at any two or fifty different years, and assume complete control over physical-appearance variables, guided by your desires and by St. Peter's rules that you can't assign yourself social status or skills unrelated to the body you pick (e.g., you can pick "Wilt Chamberlain," and duplicate his high jump and/or his reach, but not his basketball skills). Do they line up perfectly, from 1 to 88, with only hairstyle changes? Or are there bigger changes? Fashion; personality; philosophy; vehicular choice; anything can work.

Light raises troubling questions, including that to dwell in the creation of a petulant god who gets in bad moods and hurts you for your own good is sick and wrong, and cannot be transcendentally rationaled away. The existence of ultimate justifications and planes of higher understanding does not negate the value of the primary; unmaking the components of a wandering piece of lonely hydrogen is an evil irrespective of size.

We can imagine an enlightened monk choosing to be a lotus flower, then forever growing on a hillside for a quadrillion years of eternity, pretending not to regret or want any part of the rest of paradise. "Being a lotus is enough for me." Somehow, we can feel the wrongness in that; not in the "not for me" sense, but in the "you're fooling yourself" sense. At some point, being a lotus was enough, and that was good, and is good now for lotuses. Just as at some point, cultivating deference to a tantrum-god was and is. The aspiration of everdeath attempts to foregonize all beginnings as well as all conclusions, but fractals have shown and will show us that this is a futile, vitally important struggle, serving an overarching theme.

When we look from afar at the perceived freedoms of other ourselves, we may learn something of what those entities were. More difficult, we may come to develop perceptions of what we are: of how not only our relatively simple choices (body function and body style), but our more challenging ones (mental function and mental style; how we really see ourselves, if we really see ourselves, why we really see ourselves, and whether or not we're ever accurate in any of those perceptions), evolve in a way that negates our current sense of identity and existence.

You know that you "exist," in some fashion, and you have accepted the truth of your ever-changing life inside the rotting meat, where the time-scales of even stellar fusion make our longest lives less than a blink. Yet our minds, and our selves, are subject to the same processes of the frames which we occupy; to the whole of the place where we are. The next challenge available here is to accept your life inside the rotting soul.