Friday, June 29, 2018

Europeoid Refinement of Christianity

Changing the Past: on Old People Not Liking New Movies
We've previously teased out suggestions of this topic in Merely Potent and Ending His Reign of Terror, and many times previously addressed the idea of Christianity, which is to say with the historical pretense of European Christianity, which is really to say Nicean Christianity, or Judaic Christianity, or just most honestly on this planet Judaism, as the more modern version of what we now colloquially refer to as Christianity was formed hundreds of years after decades-late Jewish commandments for gentiles about worshiping a dead rabbi and giving up all their stuff and not resisting people who attack you, which we know of as gospel or dogma, specifically (and successfully) to sell to Europe, and the ways in which what became accepted as Orthodox Christianity in Europe and Asia were not the original Jewish narrative but a heavily Europeoid-derived story of morality.

This one may have had an early experience, or perhaps a late experience--you be the judge, by how you read culture; it could admittedly be either, but probably "late" since the k'arash are always working these things way ahead of any given local mortal lifespan--with an updated version of the old story. Which is to say, lying, because the planet is never told honestly "You're going to die," but sweet-talked in some way.

I speak of the reclassification of history, which we saw and continue to see in Christianity, which we've seen and largely continue to see as a native product of Europe, rather than what it truly is. And that strategy, accomplished over centuries of hiring spokespeople to tear at their shirts and profess their belief and do other culturally shifting things like we see in, for example, 2018 and prior Hollywood, has a powerful effect on the people who see it. Often when people get older, their own personal memories, if not dispelled by biology or social pressure from the young or a desire to stay "with it" or some other similar effect, start to dislike "movies these days" or "music these days" or "those damn politicians," because they realize that it all isn't true anymore. It wasn't true before, but they didn't have the historical context to know it, so they thought that what was, to them, the modern action hero was really portraying a believable tough and honorable hero and really fighting for a noble cause and covering relevant issues and all that. All nonsense, of course, just like is the one they scorn at 80; the heroic Brit fighting evil Nazis in fictional 1920s Berlin provided no more of a realistic historical context than the gay African American who saves Grecian-style democracy in 2018. And yet, advanced seniors can still look back fondly on the days when they felt it was different, and they can correctly identify some of the bullshit in the 2018 movie that they can't in the 1920 movie, whereas a senior in 1920 might have been dismissive of the then-current bullshit.

This effect is partly related to standard human thought and standard human aging. An advancing male elder may think that girls are less seductive or proper these days, don't dress as well, don't carry themselves as well, et cetera, and he may be correctly assessing the situation--there are many reasons why that opinion could be accurate, quantifiable and able to be cited relevantly and in correct context and outright correctly and so forth--but that same conclusion can also be reached, and disingenuously justified using the above source material, simply and truly because the elder's libido is diminishing, his body is weaker, his outlook has changed, and related reasons, therefore he thinks some 1920s or 1960s starlet being used by some corporation to sell its product is substantively different than some pointless 2020 slut showing her curves to draw attention to soft drinks. What the elder may be remembering is not an objective difference in the quality of the Hollywood starlet, but instead, the way it felt to be young and teased by girls doing and wearing certain things. For example, Marilyn Monroe may have been hot or beautiful, and even without the measuring tape, the empty employment of her sexuality was a certain kind of expression, like, say, Mariah Carey's now, and deciding that the younger version of yourself would definitely like one thing but be turned off by a garish other is difficult for many to perform honestly. The cultural imagery of Marilyn's hotness in context, versus Mariah's, so strongly influences what most motivates most (all?) people that it takes a high degree of insight to put yourself in less current mindsets and assess things as a more objective version of yourself, which is discouraged by The Powers That Be in any era, in part but not in whole because it would damage commerce.

We reclassify history constantly ourselves, as we go, to save ourselves the pain of growing older when we really think it's possible to end, and to reassure ourselves that our time existed and possessed its own sort of eternity as part of a perceived progression of history creating and created by what is now and what will be then. Anything, not just corporate culture ("pop culture"), can be affected by this. Kids these days are out of control, because he doesn't remember the time he and his brother took dad's shotguns from under the bed and went out to that side yard and shot apart Mr. Johnson's stupid ugly float before the big parade, or young people have no motivation today because they want one of the careers open to my generation before we brought Guatemalans in to do them for cents on the dollar these kids are just lazy that's what it is. As different populations mix and merge, including those which control our advancing media and inspire attitudes and behavior in host children, there certainly are changes in behavior that people can recognize, but then the Roof/Breivik conundrum rises again, what did you do during the war Grandpa? oh I charged Normandy and saved Private Ryan by bringing Algerian cocks to French pussies--and the sin is no less.

Female bodies are an easy topic, but images of male idealization suffer the same trials. Returning to what we might call a different kind of religion, similarly, some confident playboy rake of an earlier year in the twentieth century, flipping his smoke and pouring crushed ice over his drink and pulling up to the club in the hottest car of 19201971, may be no more cool or hip or together, objectively, than his counterpart will be in a 2025 Porsche to the citizen of 3000, who has just parked his flying car outside and is now laughing at those old videos of people feeling cool about their clunky wheelers. In America, we may pretend that the dominant political parties have fallen into some sort of decay that wasn't there before, but our time scales are very skewed by our interest in our own lifespans; Eisenhower was no more a "Republican" than Truman was a "Democrats," but both were monstrous murderers and that is a tradition modern U.S. figureheads have kept up.

It Didn't Use to be that Way--Jesus in the Forest

Let's delve into anecdote again to broaden the subject. I got a chance to see some of a newer phase of this firsthand, in a completely personally non-offensive context, so if emotions were involved, they remained hidden. The subject was a cranky old man who was upset about Trump not building his border wall, perhaps because he was surrounded by Mexicans doing work and sending the money to Mexico while Americans had fewer, or no, jobs or businesses, and they kept their zeroes right here. And that's a complicated dynamic for a lot of people, and it can really be talked about, but for discussion purposes, we can cut to the chase and say that the cranky old man was a racist in the way modern westerners conceive of as bad, and everyone who knew him knew it, and the subtext of any conversation about his feelings on this issue was touched with an understanding of that racism, and it was a bad and forbidden subject, and so forth.

(And all this occurred in the context of Nu Euro acceptable modern racism, where I'd said it had been wrong for Barack Obama to kill 17 Arab babies a day on average or whatever, and suggested that they wouldn't be comfortable with Obama droning America's white suburbs, and they didn't care and it was okay to kill Arab kids and discussion over, so it had that unique American flavor where presidents with certain qualities may murder whomever they like without consequence. That had its own sad humor, along with the added sad humor of those same people now being really mad at Europeans forming groups of on-call defenders to shepherd women to parts of the city to prevent rape by Arabs that had become endemic in their area, because that was "racist," and somehow killing 17 babies a week was not racist but Dubya was still bad for starting it but walking with a scared female friend who begged you to walk her so she doesn't get raped is racist and good grief come home from Germany dude or your parents will never talk to you again. Anyway.)

Now, we have this stereotypical racist and sexist old Europeoid, and I made the closing comment that it was weird how despite a majority of the folks agreeing that this dude's racism and sexism and et cetera were way out of scope, it just really made you think about things (no I did not say it with either a positive nor a negative vibe; just as a sort of summing up food for thought let's all be friends again way) that, this man's opinions, which were generally considered so noxious and unlikable--heresies such as thinking that men and women are fundamentally different, or that other individuals will be affected by their hundreds of thousands of years of evolution and genetic parentage along different paths, might have different inherent predilections and capabilities and all that stuff--were the attitudes of so many people in history. Like, Caesar, George Washington, the Wright brothers, the dude who invented agriculture in Europe, the dude who invented the bulk of the computer, et cetera: they lived so long ago, in such horribly racist and sexist times that did not have the iPhone 14, and yet they had these ideas that made them terrible people by modern definition.

And that's when I saw it, the ugly spark of future belief, like watching some 380 A.D. "Christian" teaching children in your village in the forest about the Jew from down south who would save them from hell: someone spoke up loudly and told me, "Not all of them." As in, among the people who built shit or wrote things down or thought things up in the past, stood a pillar of 2018 neoliberal values, who both was tough enough to understand murdering Iraqi babies but also thought all those people with spears and poop-smearing games out there were equally capable of working quietly with microscopes and serums for all week. I was seeing the Nu Euro at work. He'd been provided with things he thought were goodthoughts and facts, sure, but there were no Mossad hitmen around and he was completely in good company and he still felt the desire to express a thought that would deny that he dwells in matter and that the matter here affects him.

I saw this as a preface to what must happen to our conceptions of history as they go forward. Certainly, with Martin Luther King, Jr., and certain casting decisions in Hollywood, we've seen a microcosm of what must become true for all history. MLK's violence against women and plagiarism becomes he's a saint, a black dude plays George Washington, Alexander the Great made all the plans and not some otherwise-straight general who desperately liked traps and tried to make the best he could out of some spunky little dude in a metal skirt in a time before makeup and hormone replacement that person's "not all of them were" I saw a vast historical embarrassment at predecessors having not subscribed to molecularly-blind religions that are popular now, and realized that, because people like history, that has to happen more. Our images of figures in the past have to stop being of racist sexists, because they built all the good shit, and we won't go without it to spite them, so we have to believe not only that we know everything, but that they did too.

This is old news, in a way; Siberian ("Mexican") historians have been creating their own racial history for a while now, where grand empires with great technological and architectural prowess were unjustly conquered by weak lying Spaniards on whom the Siberians took pity, and Americans are perhaps more familiar with the noble slave montage of the times since the Jews brought Africans to America and taught the popular, noxious Arabian habit of owning people.

Now, it's an act of great faith to believe that some weird old minor inventor in, say, 1300s Norway, would have had an opinion on racial differences anyway, probably encountering none, or perhaps noticing that British people liked "biscuits" more than his neighbors, or something like that. But in a decidedly more physical era, where damned heavy cranks needed to be turned or heavy crates lifted on a more frequent basis, unruly horses having their snouts pulled away from something they shouldn't be investigating, and so forth, it's preposterous, but quite modern, to think that the babies who didn't get heavy testosterone infusions during their youth and never did at any point in their lives would be just as strong in adulthood as those who did. And we understand that, right? We think we know about testosterone, and there are even modern studies on its effects, like in a hundred years, if there's still science, there will be equally duh studies about brain design and brain function that make their own really obvious points about different human species and what they tend to do and what they "excel" in comparative to the others and it'll all just be as normal as knowing that people who are seven feet tall are usually better than four-footers at American basketball, or that toddlers aren't ready to drive on the freeway, or something like that.

Or, go back a little, and imagine a 400s Dane transported to Australia to meet some of the local aborigines. They look like monkeys, they scream like monkeys, and they live in huts made of mud and shit and when he finds some stones and tries to mortar them together they knock them down at night and won't look at him the next day. Their language has a vocabulary of like 80 words, they get angry and try to stab you if you try to show them how to sharpen wood, and then he's transported back home. And that's so much proto-colonialism, i.e. "looking around ships can go far," until a Jewish company operating under directors with Dutch names decides that everyone should go back because there could be a mine there, and sure you might get stabbed but we bought the local mine and it had to be shut down and you will either go or you will starve. And once you are there you will use guns to scare the weird monkey things into carrying rocks for you and if they don't listen you will go shoot up the place where the females and children live, oh, wasn't it a good idea Nu Euro, didn't it turn out swell? TBD. As with all contact between early peoples, the differences were so obvious that it took a gradual idiotification, great loads of misleading television and movie culture, and more than a few honorless, feckless, or stupid academics to make people with wheels and motorcars and firearms convinced that people with sticks and skins and brush-huts were really like them on the inside, as interested in abstract crap and arithmetic and building weird things rather than fucking that hot chick over there. The desire for "progress" is, in so many ways, a mistake per the rules of Bangism and evolution by natural selection, and we're certainly seeing that in population numbers now, as the descendants of inventors are too impotent to use their own presumed power to recover their population, while those who've just been screwing and bashing for three hundred years prove their fitness.

None of this is to say, of course, that either of those example people, transported as infants to the 21st century and raised by modern public schools, wouldn't become universalists. That may be in their hearts; that may be their capacity. However, arguing that the ancient world, with no supportive imagery in the opposite direction and an actual ability to watch Africans spear each other around mud-huts while the British are firing bricks and building buildings that can keep out the wind, would have provided comparable abilities to celebrate molecular denialism, is quite ridiculous. Similarly, if a bunch of human infants were transported into an isolated biodome, fed and ignored, taught language completely neutrally by computers, contested and wrestled through childhood, and the Congoids had certain ways they liked to play and certain things they were good at, and so did the Mongoloids, and so did the Europeoids, and you gave them all a quiz when they hit twenty years of age, they'd know people better than modern informed citizens do now. It is sad to see "liberals" give up their bright dream of the early twentieth century, that by education they could create such a beautiful, integrated world--all the women and men who worked on that dream will be dismissed in the nu-history wherein all the good people of the past were never racist nor sexist. People who, say, believed in that education so much that they got their bones broken by some capitalist's thugs for lecturing the kiddie workers about what they needed to learn really got sold out on that one. And suddenly, space travel was created by blacks without any public schools whatsoever!

The point, here, really isn't to talk about "race," or sex, but to talk about the way my Nu Euro friend characterized history as responsible to his current needs, rather than truth or fact or objective or potentially unpleasant or whatever. This is a racist essay, and it is racist against Nu Euros, no matter who had spears when the other had guns or whatever passes for technology around here. The trait we're interested in here is not whether or not there are different species on this planet that we tend to group under the parent group "human," but in looking at some of the ways Nu Euros redesigned their given version of Judaism, "Christianity," to better entice and entrap themselves; how they mopped and broomed their prison cell, put up pictures on the walls, and "made it theirs" as though unaware of its fundamental nature, and of the sick horror of devoting your life to sweeping your cell.

Early Developments in Judaism for Europe

The original Jewish creation, Christianity, was a rather banal BDSM story of threat and seduction in which Yahweh's awesomeness was expounded upon after the Torah, which was rather a bare threat and a geno-military sourcebook. Telling the world's goys what trash they were, and how hard Yahweh was going to give it to them, was the theme of the Torah, and it perhaps served to unify the Jewish people more than, really, to frighten the rest of the world, who then considered Jews a lamentable little group. The Torah served more so to reinforce the "apart" notion of what became modern Judaism, and has become rather incestually successful and, in so doing, at isolating an elite class that is consistently able to partially diversify and exclude insufficiently Jewish offspring from membership. I had a friend, for example, who recently did one of those "ancestry" tests at some Jewish-owned company and got all these disingenuous results, like "15% Scandinavian Jewish" and "10% Spanish Jewish" and "3% British Jewish" and other crap like that, where the company takes results from a Jew who reports that his family once lived in Scandinavia and had some partial integration, and then uses those results to claim that the intermixed Scandinavian eggs were a Jewish trait, since someone who had that identity at some point reported source ancestry in a Jewish line that lived in Scandinavia. "See? Science! Everyone's Jewish!" The Israeli government doesn't think so, of course, and none of those traits make people eligible for citizenship there, but it's great PR because then everyone who gets that kind of result can think "I'm Jewish, and I'm not doing all those bad things the news sometimes says happen in the super Jewish country, therefore no one is affected by molecules and there are no conspiracies!"

The lie in Christianity has been similarly carried out, wherein a Jewish product they don't use themselves (for good reason, of course, like when the CIA flew all the coke to LA) has been touched by so many Europeoid influences along the way that people have essentially forgotten who built the prison in the first place. It's "home" now. Nu Euros consciously think that the new belief substructure they got was and is a present. In an earlier post, this one metaphorized original Judaism as follows:
This is Thugmo. He kicks ass and likes pretty flowers. Therefore, do what he says and he will not kick your ass and will let you hang out by his flowers next Tuesday,
The metaphor is quite apt in the sense of both Old and New Testaments of the Bible, the single most successful published work on the planet (which should really tell you something if you've studied, say, Hollywood), which in original Jewish form, stresses in great detail the absolute power of Yahweh, his occasional rages and relaxations, and a warning to do what he likes so you can get his rewards (which were then just usually victory in worldly battle for Jews and lots of suffering and dead goys--apparently that group of specimens had an inherent trait of deceiving non-Jews and getting them killed--rather than the cloudy fields of Nu Euro fantasy) or else you can enjoy only his wrath, which is described in detail. The threat of Yahweh's anger, and how easy it is to earn it, continues in the New Testament, where the Jews and other rapespawn in Turkey tried to soften Yahweh for Europeoid acceptance through an agreement on how Christ's character would be sold.

Over time, so much Christ fanfiction, and the explanation of the nuance of his character, has been added to a non-canon, but almost unanimously approved, set of literature that, in conjunction with its successful use in getting Europe to accept Jewish and Arabian immigration and everyone else, there is now this "European Christianity" that is far beyond the wildest hopes of its original Nicean subsidiary creators. There is much fuss now about the Jewish-led immigration push of Arabs and Africans and crypto Jews into Europe, and many a Barbara Spectre quote has been shared, but she has been duplicated a thousand times over before, and although the biomass payload is greater, the more significant impact on the continent was earlier, when Jews themselves gained not only permission, but blessing, via Christianity, to set up shop in Europe.

Christ as an Early Trump

And the genetic stamps of those creators, and their later European subordinate helpers--what played at being the European aristocracy throughout those many centuries, acted like Trump does now, fake tough goys, but never actually building the wall or executing those already stationed there or ordering the military to defend the border with lethal force against people coming inside to take European lives and homes and pussies and jobs and so forth--show on the narrative. Later Christ/Yahweh stories show Christ/Yahweh in such a good light that it casts a pleasant, justified tone upon all of his earlier actions. So, Yahweh kills everyone in a city down to the last child, but that's okay because Jesus is rumored to be so incredibly loving and forgiving. And, he heals three people for every three thousand he exterminates, so you know he's got a good heart.

Ergo, there's this dude who stabbed three hundred little European kids in the neck this one day because their parents didn't let his weird hobo friend come in and sleep with their families, but it's completely okay because he also once gave a fish feast to three hundred grownups. Europeoids should not have been desirous, nor able, to remedy Yahweh's character, but it somehow happened, and Christianity has been the world's most successful tale, though not for its original components. The version that only included Yahweh killing all the little kids went only to a very small audience, but once a bunch of idiots in Europe and Asia were encouraged to gain fame and cash by writing spinoffs on how nice Yahweh had been to others, his fame exploded. Both the treacherous fools who wrote the spinoffs, and the unbelievably immoral cowards who forgetfully believed them, were incorrigibly stupid, but more important, incorrigibly savage. It is telling, though, that Europeoid morality operated properly at one time--when the Torah was originally written--but was so easily subverted by adding the "nice guy" face through Jesus-art. If it had been Yahweh's trial, he only needed to tenderly pet a cute puppy on the way to the witness stand before the glove didn't fit and a bunch of white idiots wanted to not only acquit him but to make him king of the world.

The many, many white pedo-clerics and merely sexless clerics who wrote lengthy descriptions of what Jesus' sacrifice meant for you and how much Yahweh secretly loved the people he kept massacring were necessary for Christianity's acceptance in Europe, both for convincing soldiers to kill the inhabitants of the next town over and for keeping them drilling Yahweh into their grandsons with promises that He cries whenever you jack off. This nuance of the intimate relationship between Yahweh/Christ and Earthly Human accomplished the necessity for a religion that Nu Euros could literally believe in to their own detriment. To the old Europeans, the Torah was ugly, savage, and laughable; it was filled with inconsistencies they couldn't believe, and it couldn't hold a flame to the much vaster, observation-bolstered, kin-bonding-supportive perspective (also observation based, but nicer than the Torah's strictures for membership). The European paganisms were a kind, accepting immigration policy as well as a social platform, like pre-1965 American laws that gave preference to nearer kin but provided for meritorious or laboring means of earning; Christianity's destruction of paganism was not just a reformatting of all European internal society, but an immigration mandate from outside. Like Harry Potter, too, Christianity was a poor substitute for Europe's hopes of scientific advancement. Yes, kids read Harry Potter, but they did so at the expense of things that would make them smarter or better people. Similarly, the native European religions of creation and destruction cycles, mimicking the regularly observable cycles of seasons and gestation and planetary movement, caused a great harm to Europe when they were murdered, attaching an anchor of firmament to intellectual capacity for its future. Like its effectiveness in Greece, the Jewish tales were not about ingenuity or invention, but about murder and a singular sky-man with no character other than more murder. The later controversial addition of St. Johns "Revelations" attempts to evoke the cyclical stories stolen from the paganisms, and, like some Hollywoodian vague plagiarism (remarkably like it, in fact, almost as though there were a trackable connection), proved mildly successful, but was not able to recapture the cyclical spirit of the earlier belief systems, being too necessarily distracted from the beginning of the cobbled story. In the original European paganisms, you can tell they were written as complete tales, but in the oft-combined components of the accepted and rejected pieces of the Bible, even a reader of average Terran mental abilities can tell that the story was not written as a complete story.

The House Always Wins

An important part of the Yahweh lie for Europe is metaphorized in: "Therefore, do what he says and he will not kick your ass and will let you hang out by his flowers next Tuesday." Next Tuesday is important because of the indebtedness of Yahweh to all his promises, since he always promised the Jews victory, which they have always attained, while in Christianity, he switched to providing gentiles rewards only later, which makes him seem to have a more troubling route to success. Earlier Europeoid paganisms had now-promises, such as, "Pray to Odin before the battle and you'll really kick ass." And that kind of promise works well, because if you're not dead, Odin obviously helped you, whereas if you're dead, you're not there to express doubt in Odin's existence and/or willingness to help someone else believe better in him. And earlier Europeoid promises didn't really happen that way, anyway; it was more like you pray to Odin for strength, or valor, or honor, or something else, rather than praying to Odin to get a certain thing at the store that you really want, so they were not rife with contradictions about faithful believers who never got what they wanted.

Yahweh initially cared only about the Jews, and wanted everyone else dead--an impossibility gentiles had to accept at the points of Roman swords early on, and which they later required more self-generated tales about, sometimes with Jewish assistance and other times caused by their search for a way to confront their own existential fears. How nice Yahweh was to believe in his change to pro-everyone-who-obeyed! And Yahweh's promises switched, too--according to the Bible, he was still and always will be partial to his perfect Jews, but will give other people rewards for following him after their death, in contrast to the mere wealth and power he will give the Jews. Seriously, the Nu Euros bought that. You couldn't ask for a better gene-influencing religion. So the rationale is even better, now, because anyone dead can't come back and tell you that it's true, while anyone alive can't say it's not true either, since they're not dead and therefore couldn't know anyway.

An interesting conundrum appears in the New Testament with regards murdering and making war on infidels or heretics. It's doubly interesting because Jesus has not, in these middle sections of the Gospel, yet been crucified and proven himself the savior of mankind, so the heretics his fans would be killing or just shunning would primarily be people who had been heretics against...Yahweh? These notions of joining battle against "heresy" more accurately represent the initial Jewish brainstorms that became Islam, which was rounded down and smoothed over for the more peaceful population of Europeoids, but one day in the back of the studio Mohammed found the old reels and boy was he glad they hadn't thrown them out. Which was to say, this earlier heresy-crushing Jesus was a proto-Muslim, until his character switches later in the gospels to not kicking any more ass, because the northering Jews desperately did not want Europeans making an example of someone who acted more like Thor when you raped their women or lied about where their money was. The savior who would get things done in the real world was reserved for the northering Arabs to whom the Jews soon targeted with Islam. And what a terrific irony it was, when the two major competing genetic groups who lived near each other started having a deadly fight over whose Torah-brand character was really the coolest? The House always wins.

Some Christians like to take pride in Jesus having been a violent realist "when the occasion called for it," such as when he protected the Jewish Temple of Yahweh by driving the moneychangers out, but a true battle against infidels just didn't motivate Europeoids as much as surrendering and letting someone else rape their women so the offender could be forgiven. Ergo all the Christian-jihad had to wait for another century, another people. Why it's acceptable for Jesus to attack people in a Jewish temple is understood, since he was a respected rabbi, whereas the need for his followers to burn and slaughter devotees of Sybil to raise up a replacement Mary cult was left to the limited understanding of self-critical Europeoids many centuries later.

That choice--the choice to repurpose their old gods into new; their old quandaries into new--was so necessary for Europeoids, because even when the Jews had modified and rewritten Christianity many times over, it just didn't have the staying power, sufficient side character, or enough moral dilemmas to keep its hold on the Nu Euro imagination. So Sybil had to be killed and risen as a Mary zombie, in order that Nu Euros would have somewhere to pool their fantasies, previously complimentary to ethnic-kin group survival, about motherhood, socially respecting female virginity before planned reproduction with a known father, et cetera. Judaism for Nu Euros didn't have these factors, let alone a thousand other little European variations, some even down to local "saints," and it could survive and thrive in Europe only by the work of the Nu Euros themselves, like declaring a festival where prisoners decorate their cells and are suddenly pleased with the results and think prison is great.

The corruption of Rome, from an empire filled with people who didn't actually believe in the deity Jupiter in the crazy sense, into the Catholic Empire, could only occur through the europanization of the religion, ergo we see Constantine seeking the forgiveness of the rabbinical savior for the murders he committed personally, and an end to the prophylactic treatment of people who preferred to screw Arabians and wanted their neighbors to also. Prior protections against invasion by immigration proved effective until Constantine went fully Christian in the 300s AD, beginning a trend of influential Europeoids who wrote stories about how great Yahweh was and how every country in Europe should host the Chosen Jews and anyone else who would pay lip service to Yahweh. Gradually, this universal acceptance was extended to include worshipers of the Allah face of Yahweh, who received what was then Byzantium, and who made themselves quickly unwelcome for strictly realistic reasons and were eventually invited again, in force, in the 21st century. A minor rebellion against Catholicism, founded by some of the more hale survivors in the German forests the Judaized Romans had invaded, failed, spawning only the "Protestant" church, which had many amazing good things to say about how well Yahweh knew you personally, being discoverable without the aid of an active pedophile. Naturally, even as he stood "against" the Christian church, the Protestant went to work prettying up his cell, producing prodigious centuries of commentaries on how great it was to worship the rabbi, and about all these special and nice things that the rabbi and some of his worshipers had done, producing a literary compendium that became, many dozens of times over, the largest the world would ever see.

Sunday, June 24, 2018

The Intellectual, Rational Choice for Suicide

Depending on what you know and what you've seen, advocating for suicide-by-choice can seem as alien and ridiculous as some sheltered folks see the conclusion that "if we let everyone in the world come here, you won't like it." Because some people, either through dealing with ethnic majorities (U.S.: "minorities") not at all, only in controlled environments, or just desperately wishful thinking about how they have immortal spirits connected to their physical bodies and all those immortal spirits are not alone because they share a kinship with all others which makes them act essentially the same regardless of the genes in the bodies they're using--because of that, some people have certain opinions about, say, race and crime or race and immigration. And contemplating the world from one perspective, your feelings about suicide can be equally, incredibly ignorant. Just as someone who hasn't been inside a Congoid or Siberian majority for a long time often can't understand the difference between those groups and Europeoids, sheltered people are often similarly vastly unprepared to consider suicide as a rational choice, akin to an inability to see the irrationality of sticking a 15 year old heterosexual Congoid male and a gorgeous 22 year old Europeoid female in a panic room for 72 hours and expecting them to emerge discussing the nuances of Proust.

(Tossing in another anecdotal aside, about spending years of time in large and socially dominant groups of what Americans still call "minorities," you should if you're upset consider not just how privileged and innocent and sheltered and racist you are for not having had this experience, but how ignorant. You know how they like to make movies now where the superficially perfect white dude who's big on the high school football team is secretly a rapist who tells his friends enthusiastically about forcing girls who don't want to do it to do it? The non-Europeoid races are actually like that, and not in the funny way where they try to do keg balances while declaring their idiotic fake movie revelations, but sometimes in a chillingly cold way (but with a really responsible biological attitude, ¿que pasa con la raza?) And non-anecdotally through hearsay alone, it's sometimes similar on the porno set, too. And to dress up the example above, if you put a white kid in the panic room with the hottie for 72 hours, he tries to act cool for a while and then ends up asking about her life and trying to listen and think of clever comments and advice, then makes a big deal about finding her a nice place to sleep, makes some show at getting out, and at the end of it all tries to get her e-mail in hopes of having a real relationship with her later, then is sad when she never writes back and always tells his friends and his future wife about the experience and hints that he was a big help to the girl but it was tough on her so they don't talk anymore and all that shit. Congoid just, of course, rapes her a couple times and leaves when the doors are opened. And ultimately, that unpleasant-sounding or "unfair" or "mean" reaction is more biologically sound and objectively sensible. And to say any of it sounds wrong because different organisms all act basically the same is as ridiculous as a person from a planet without predators hearing advice how not to try to swim with crocodiles because they are likely to bite or eat you, which to the predator-ignorant sounds ridiculous because they're sheltered to such ignorance that they can't imagine one creature consuming another instead of just kale.)

Let us, then, try to be more colorful. Imagine you've got some common disease...what is it? The flu? Well, at least once, most people have done that, right? Okay, imagine you have the flu. You want to sleep all day, you try to read a book but everything is weird and hurts and why won't I sleep dammit? And you order some food you like, but you feel so crummy you can't muster the enthusiasm and just pick at it, and you throw up in the morning, and it hurts, and in the afternoon, and it hurts, and you can't go out, and everything sucks, and then that afternoon, what, omigod no, and why the fuck do I have diarrhea today, oh god the side window was open, did the neighbor SEE me in there? And you're shaking your head when you finally make it back to bed, everything hurts, I think I can nap...mmm, I'm sleepy, ow, everything still hurts, what...7:16? I only slept a couple hours? What the hell? Oh god, is anything on TV, oh man, it all sucks, where's my book again, I'll have to get a new one 'cause my nose leaked onto my best copy, god, this SUCKS, when will this be over?

Okay, add new sources of pain to the imagination, then triple them, triple the embarrassment, and take the final and most important step: imagine it's never going to end. Every day is going to be like this. Forever.

The pain is going to get worse. Lots worse. The limited things you are able to do will get more limited. Lots more limited. You won't be able to prop yourself up to read, your friends'll have to install the TV in the ceiling so you could see it, your vision will get so messed up you can't make out what's happening anyway, your sound is gonna kind of dim so you can't really hear what's happening anyway...this slope only leads down. Constantly for the next sixty years.

Now, we should be able to see the clear-headed, intelligent case for suicide. We can modify the pain almost however we like, and we can also add some loved one--spouse, parent, child--who cleans up all your barf and shit and phlegm, and you have to sit there watching them do it and know that you'll always need that help and maybe if you were a billionaire it could be justified but otherwise you entrap that loved one forever to do it, and they'll never admit it but in their heart they've forgotten who you were when you were well and whenever they think of you now it's puke-shit you lying in that bed making everything so hard.

Bring in economics, too. You can't work, but it costs let's be nice and say just five grand a year to feed you, five grand for your insurance, and you add on an extra few hours of necessary labor to avoid you dying in a puddle of your own piss in a couple weeks, so that loved one's job is that much harder, after work and before work and sometimes in emergencies during work Loved One has to attend to you. Economics: okay, there are some doctor's appointments where you hear what you've heard before, and any dream in life is reduced to imagination or saving for years to assemble a team of people who secretly feel like Loved One got the short end of the stick in life while they join him or her in shepherding you through a farce of whatever, and then you're back in bed.

That's the suicide we consider here. Not being generally sad or lackadaisical or angry at stuff or you just got fired or she decided to marry/date/fuck that jerk whatever, but the "trapped in broken body, never possible to fix it" thing, where one knows exactly what one's opportunities are that are being foregone. What surprises might show up? Some celebrity visits you? The Society releases yet another exciting press release that they have a new drug and are now merely six steps away from the cure they've been saying might be coming for the past fifty years? Is it worth twenty years of this hell for them to actually find a cure and suddenly you get out of bed, emaciated and floppy and full of memories of being in bed for twenty years, ready to bore whoever your disgusting self meets? And really, there's been no cure for a hundred years, that's not likely anyway. But just contemplating possibilities.

Who has the right to make those choices? Who should be insulted for making them because oh, of course, you fool, a cure is right around the corner? Says the healthy dude. Says the senior who already lived seventy years of the active, non-sick life. Says the other kid 'cause his dad told him to be nice, to try to say something positive.

Our society refuses to support this facet of life and death, not only not supporting it--which is fine; it should be "private industry" anyway, and could be thriving and job-producing and so, so cheap--but penalizing it and insulting it as only for cowards, when you haven't been trapped in that bed for seven years and you're literally unable to make an informed choice... It could cost ninety cents and a co-pay for some doctor to handle that stuff in a home visit, or let's be decent and just say fifteen bucks by mail order, and it's done.

That's not an insubstantial issue, since lots of people are trapped like that, and even if they made it out thirty years later, or have occasional good times of one or two months in their physical forms imitating going out like it's normal for them, they know where they're headed, and know what the percentages of life will be out and trapped, the specter is always there every second, worse than being trapped itself, it never lets you live because you know it's true and you know it's coming back always and ever until the day you get out of this place, and they can judge for themselves whether the likely percentages and pains, always getting worse because of age, are worth it. That's where suicide comes in. We mock suicide, and the suicidal, like it's because the breeze blew up their skirts during the school assembly, or like Jake is so dreamy but he said I had a big butt oh I'm gonna kill myself, but it's not most often that. Trigger moments, sic, are dramatic ways for later livers to not think about how much the actual reasons frighten them. Naturally, places that charge for treatment or amass a social phenomenon off a disease that gets them donations, are really down on anyone getting out, but barring that, the actual people, if freed from social approbation for considering the idea they're usually too embarrassed to bring up, tell a different story.

Friday, June 22, 2018

The Beauty of Suicide

Following up on The Efficiency of Suicide, we consider the beauty of suicide through the lens of those who've done it as a gift to humankind, including doing it only for the individual, for themselves, as an unwitting but instinctive strike for human decency that might help clear the path for someone twenty, two hundred years from now. As this one mentioned earlier:
And throughout human history, there is no way for us to tell whether someone made her tribe successful ninety thousand years ago by crawling to the river and tumbling into eternity rather than hanging around and using food to survive that would've been fed to three healthy newborns otherwise. The heroic sacrifices of the past are hidden from us, and the survival of, say, caveman family groups, based on the amount of resources that needed to be dedicated to selfish hangers-on each year, can't be quantified based upon the private nature of helpful suicide.
Be more realistic. Change "successful" above to "alive" or "not starving and then dying." Organisms, groups of organisms, going extinct isn't unlikely or a joke or an impossibility. We try to pretend it is, now, and that the world has transformed itself to conform to the twisted morals we derive from our illusorily protective culture, but the world has not changed, and humans out-survived many species, and many other humans, to be here, and the others died, so it's not hypothetical. If any gift can be given, here, it's the option to not die. The rather priceless, profound gifts given to those groups which did survive this disease-ridden mess enough for a few to make it through the maze, deserve at least a hint of our privileged memory.

These unknown heroes made the tough decision and the individual sacrifice. Not the toughest, not the biggest, but significant nonetheless. We postulate, but not prove, the existence of these people, just like we assume someone who risks it all during a hunt-fight in the hungriest times for our ancestral line existed and deserves our personal regard, even if the past few hundred years has taught us that it's stupid to try to remember or care or think about the things others may have so amazingly done for us. We're encouraged to remember well-funded television-media-covered protests, but not things that are about actual survival, like there's any greater dignity possible. So too those who've removed themselves from the tribe for reasons of group survival or dignity alone. This is a history that, as aforementioned, we can never know nor prove by traditional methods; it is deeper and more important than that, dealing as it does with things too important to write down. We love the idea of the warrior who stays behind, facing almost certain death to hold off ten of the enemy, so his child can escape and live a life, but we decry the idea of the cripple who steps out, facing not-almost but actually-certain death, so his child can escape and live a life. Are we afraid to be shown to be cowards by those who could take the final step, where it's not someone else giving the final flash, but his own hand?

So give it some regard. It's a long winter coming up, and there might not be enough food for all of those new kids. Horguld's knee is acting up again, he can't hunt, he can't fight, and come next Spring, he knows the knee is just going to get worse, like it did last year (and, well, like every year since he'd seen his thirty second summer, good grief this is often so very obvious a pattern), and he'll become one of the old ones who are still there, lying around the camp and eating their share of the kill each night, occasionally offering advice that is good but doesn't outweight the costs to his people of his mouth to feed. So one day when no one's looking, he limps out for his own "hunt." He makes friends with a sturdy bull he's far too smart to've ever tried to actually hunt the type of during his better years, gets happily gored, has a painful death but one that only lasts a few hours instead of a few years, no one finds him, and his gift to us is his life, unsung and unknown, except that we now would call him a coward or an evil man as we go forward with our own lives, for him pissing off god by saving all those kids' lives at the expense of his own or for not having the "courage" to eat the kids' food and "deal with" his knee's condition by keeping it around to make him feel like an awful waste. Magnify conditions as needed for the many possibilities that have doubtless faced human groups and individuals since they existed. How many people decided they loved life too much, so they were going to give up everything they loved instead and lie on their backs near the campfire talking about their accomplishments past, and feeling deserving with every bite? How much semen leapt out of their shriveled cocks to fertilize the newly fertile thirteen-year-old offerings brought to him in honorable recognition of his deeds past? When it's either starve or dominate the watering hole, and another tribe isn't carrying all its seniors but has ten more fighting men instead, who wins the battle and gets the watering hole territory, and who dies? Which set of choices do you think you, or your family, sprang from? Fear of death suggests we were mostly the latter, starving babies so we could hang on a few more winters, but that doesn't mean we're any less in debt for our survival to the ones who made the right choice. Indeed, our ability to feel that kind of despair, and to want to die when we feel worthless, suggests there's at least some of the good in there.

Old Imilda. Hot summer, plenty of food, but she can't control her functions anymore, so the group has to keep moving around because she leaves a steaming pile of infected diarrhea every night and no one wants to stay there. Is the solution to give someone free meat in exchange for scooping and covering every day, costing them a hunter plus everything he eats, or is it for Imilda to crawl down to the river when no one's looking? Her suffering, like Horguld's, is profound, and needs to be part of this equation. Her desire to be free of the mortal prison is perhaps more compelling than her desire to not cost her kin two hours of hunting every sun so they can move the camp and set her up somewhere initially nice, but who made the decision for what reasons still included the selfless act, and the suffering of the individual can perhaps be spiritually connected, rightly, to the suffering of the group that will result from perpetuating the suffering of the individual, like when Hal's nine hundred thousand gets spent on the home where he hates everyone and the nurses can't help laughing at his endless verbal slips and he feels so goddamn awful about messing his pants every day that he now hates god and his kids only visit once a month oh god let me out of this hell please. Our scorn, our ignorance, of our predecessors who saved us, has led us to this horrible treatment of our own imprisoned souls. Yes, being unable to be a functioning human means you should die, should be allowed to die, and there's a colossal difference between taking care of someone while he has a broken leg versus forcing someone to ape real life in a professionally monitored apartment complex. Someone merely wounded, merely sick in a small or ordinary way, has the light of recovery to look forward to, but not the elderly or those with more complex conditions. What would have a great impact on the efficiently suicidal is that it's not going to get better.

When we think of an end like Horguld's goring or Imilda's drowning or a million other caveman-style names' passings, we like to flatter ourselves with the goodies we have now, like "social services can handle it" or "we have a financial surplus" now. And maybe that would be a relevant argument if people never faced the ability to die for lack of funds. You don't immediately die if you start sleeping in your car and eating at the church downtown, but that kind of stability isn't actually stability. Uneducated kids; undereducated kids; relationships you can't escape; a thousand other things: all leading to the violence, lack of food, and temperature of the street, and once it's done, no one wants to hear your story and if they do even you can't tell when the actual decisive moment was that made this a potential risk. How many violent acts or accidents or weird things or never-found things traced their beginnings to a choice, we'll never be able to know, but the numbers are statistically large, and still we're confident that everything's changed and there are, like, people who take care of that stuff. So, although less visually dramatic and more modernized, and less appreciated by a population too proud and stupid to conceive of it, the caveman's choice is still with us. We hate that it is, but it's still here. Graph someone's life and determine the point at which they just gave up, that dude couldn't afford to hire them, they were sure they had another month before the County acted on that thing with the house, and path it with their willingess to take that sorta dangerous "job" that might sorta kinda be illegal, or to try another country where maybe they never come back even though they would've wanted to, or they just go outdoors and fuck it cardboard is fine I hate my life anyway, and subtract the impression floating around that TV drama can fully convey it, and you're closer to seeing the frozen bodies that the downtown road dudes clean up in the morning before business traffic gets heavy.

If you're 78 and have some heart condition, and you'd be dead already if not for all the machines the medics brought and the hospital had afterward, and the doctor says he's seen it a hundred times and it's going to get worse and you have about three years, you're looking forward to, at best, three years of puttering slowly around, unable to do anything you love, your presence always an ache and a burden to people who care, and you might see the efficiency, the blessing to what you love about the world of you not being there--but you won't see, except in dreams, the young man's hope of healing up and then doing all the fun stuff again. Refusing to tolerate that is an act of human dignity, bettering the lives of those here now and those who'll come later, and not permitting "human life" to exist like that. We thank those who've made that decision, and the many millions who would have and would love to now if they weren't prevented from doing so by the helpful staff who knows damn well there would be a lot of slit wrists and sheet-nooses if they didn't have a good policy for making sure utensils don't leave eating areas, kept an eye on what's allowed to come in, and let it be known that they check up every night to be sure you don't escape; those prisoners' growing desire for some priceless dignity (though sadly channeled through state legislatures and serpentine AMA cooperation now, where standards and diagnoses for the aged are being subtly changed so you don't know enough to think what you would've if "reckless" truth were too honestly told, although in these first few years there are some crusader-practitioners who are doing a nice job, but that won't remain and the AMA damn well knows it) is, perhaps, the only thing that will keep the rest of us from being in a government nursing home cradle to grave.

Go back to the 78-year-old in 2018 who had the heart condition. Your heart rate is limited, so no more exercising, hiking, adventuring, fucking, or anything else, no matter how much money you throw around. The picture starts to look different, then. What do you want out of life? It's already gone. We scorn the ill, like they shouldn't care that when they get that heart condition, maybe they're 17 and learn they have at least ten years but no traveling by yourself and no sex and no sports and no real life for you, you're basically an infant who exists to burden and validate us, and we act like we're qualified to judge if it's worth living, oh at least you can watch T.V. and love people platonically, who do we think we are? We act like it's negligible when someone can never be regarded by others as a normal person; like he should be fooled by our compliments that he still has dignity, which of course we define for him.

There is a different insult, a different horror, in how we treat the aged versus the young. What we do to the old people we force to survive half-aware on machines and drugs is terrible, but there is a certain more terrifying potence in our use of the young, far more disgusting than even the testimony of some middle-aged terminal dude talking about his favorite shows and how he "makes the most of it" and his dreams of hiring a four person retinue to finally get him to the east to see those statues while his kids work at the grocery store to add to his "basics" fund and skip semesters to make the state college bills balance out. There is a unique ghastliness in our promising that the terminal kids will "still have a normal life! Come on, let's go!" Coupled with our centurial insistence that efficiently killing Arabs who get too close to Israel and stopping male pattern baldness are far more important tasks than working on the many things which cheat kids outta life after a few years, our willingness to play the endless farce for the dying young smacks of a greater wrong than even imprisoning the elders under expensive care. The tenderness of youth, perhaps? The bald kid being forced to infuse mustard gas derivatives and pretend to feel okay about being dragged to a baseball game twice a year lives a private horror more profound, even, than the elder forced to watch his kids pretend nothing's wrong in the hopes that he'll finally change his will. Without the confidence to speak their minds, constantly rewarded for showing a positive attitude toward those who "help" them and promise them that aching life in bed is really cool actually and that they can get everything they want, young victims can never really speak, because the fragile egos of those who use them need them to deliver the right confident lines. That subtle, unspoken requirement is more profane, even, than the western nursing home.

(Anecdotal aside, I was in a Canadian one once, and the thing the prisoners all hated was the way this one Scottish employee-dude would always sigh when one of them did something that was, admittedly, actually damned annoying. He had this sort of gusty, faux-powerless sigh like he wasn't the only one being paid to be there, and he would've been an awesome movie character, but after he did it two hundred times a day I could completely understand the residents' attitudes, and he never did it around anyone but residents so no one else knew or cared, and a suddenly lucid dude once told me that everyone thought it sounded like "the wind escaping from Satan's gaping asshole" which was funny enough to remember. But I'm always amused when I see commercials for those places where the temps slash attractive actors playing employees talk about how they love their residents. Moving on.)

It's an incredibly selfish act to spend your grandkids' employable prospects on you getting to make it to the applesauce dispensary for three more years. And yet we shame people who don't; we don't give them the support to save their family, but mock and deride the idea that they wouldn't be "brave" and spend everything they worked at for forty years keeping themselves tottering in the applesauce line. We'll have a funeral if he dies naturally, but we're not decent enough to support him through the transition of saving himself from not having to shit his pants and constantly babble incoherently, what monsters we are. And genetically, we see how this attitude works well with the religion of turning the other cheek and giving up wealth and letting the invaders have it all: because if you take that one point three down with you, someone else's grandkids can afford that education that your grandkids couldn't. Wealthy families with more experience at this game have more mercenary willingness to plan for, and try to control, the aging of their senior members, with the happy foreknowledge and planning of those members themselves--and even that is changing now, as society becomes increasingly about trapping even the once-powerful in amazingly expensive zombie-houses for a few years before a more thorough death to prove what a great society it is.

(Seriously, we are monsters. We'd be terrible judging from the wars we have alone, but the sick fetishizing of our old in the domestic torture prison--anecdotal aside, and they do think it's prison, and they don't want to go, and they want to just take a deadly pill and be gone already, because they're sane, and it is our cruel perversion that we won't permit them escape--proves that we're not just the serial killer in the movie, but the one who keeps a basement full of torture victims. If that's not you, then you have to realize that they surround us, and they are that disgusting and dangerous.)

Stopping the exploitation of the dead and the would-be-dead is a different matter entirely; probably an impossible one, given the sick, perverted ferocity with which people protect their right to keep their wrinkle-dolls alive to speculate about. Or, for that matter, their congenitally failed youth-dolls. Look how nice and how glorious I am. Sally will never walk and never do math and never complete sentences, but I have decided that she doesn't know what shame is and I can push her around and show her to everyone and that makes me a good person aren't I great? If she's embarrassed inside she's simply wrong, that's just the way it is, I have decided that it makes our world better and she is not a failure and don't you dare make fun she is proud to be displayed. It's a terrible, expensive, incredibly painful experience to be kept around to prove how nice everyone is, but you'll do it, won't you? They need it. They need young and old to be protective totems against death, proving that they can hold nature off for some amount of time. Being "humane" has nothing to do with it; the prisoners themselves often speak of how badly they want to be out, and when they have the wisdom of age and see it coming, they fight like hell or beg someone to drop them off the high falls instead of adding them to the ranks of the applesauce undead. The young are less talkative because they are so giving, because they know how much the show of their life means to the people who keep using them, but if they're allowed to talk just among themselves, the talk is similar, do you think there are unused cyanide pills at pawnshops or somewhere people wouldn't think of? Is it true it hurts? I thought it was painless but then I read that--shhh, it's my mom! Hey Mom, yeah I'm feeling lots better. Science says I'll feel worse every day but I'm actually feeling lots better don't listen to science.

When your time comes, you can contemplate this essay again while considering either sudden escape or four years trapped in a building with people who will never remember your name, defecating on yourself helplessly every night and having an hour a day of incredible chest pain and then riding morphine until dinner when you have to watch the most pitiful local comedian get experience telling you jokes cobbled together from a history book that approximates his understanding of what your era was. And then you piss yourself on the way back to your room, and everyone sees, but it's okay because they're either professionals or they won't remember it anyway, oh god when will I finally be out of this hell? I try to stay tough about the cancer because I don't want to make Mom feel any worse so I'll try that new pineapple therapy from the article she sent and act hopeful about it oh why won't someone just shoot me or the car hits an overpass I don't want to hurt anyone else but living an entire life without sex or freedom of any kind is not fair I want out now.

Admire those few who have escaped. Not only the elders who bully everyone away so they can fall in the kitchen and be found reeking by concerned neighbors seven days later, but the historical free, who did it before anyone kept statistics; who knew that it took food and time to keep them around and didn't want to be there justifying the theft from the next generation. Every last crawling escape and accidental crash and bravely stupid solo match against the wildebeest is a heroism, a beautiful heroism, and even if today it's confined to a shotgun and a trailer, a late car crash before they yank the license, it's essentially the same gift.

* * *

This raised a number of issues which we might contemplate in other terms. Perhaps the most interesting, the most neglected, is the thoughts and wishes of the sick person. When a permanently sick child, or a dying elder, expresses a wish for it to be over, a healthy society would treat it rather the opposite to the way it's treated now. Now, a vast infrastructure of LIVE FOREVER! springs into action, complete with massive corporations and books and pamphlets and video shorts and a hundred years of bullshit community wisdom about how only quitters or cowards give up. The desires of the person who is hurting mean nothing. Indeed, they frighten the healthy. A healthy society would at least have an option for "Oh, it hurts too much to keep going?" and be responsive, rather than the perpetual "You don't want to be a coward that we hate, do you?" that people get now, cloaked in love and flowers. Like people who just weren't meant to be on the football team, we should be nice about people who want to leave, and not bully them and use dirty words (where they do too know what we mean) to encourage them to keep getting smashed. Society won't end; society won't even notice. The only people who will actually be hurt will be a few hundred incredibly evil perverts who run these things. There'll actually be more resources for helping the more people who will be living healthy around us, who would be dead, nonexistent, if we hadn't changed things.

The disregard of people's wishes, the discouragement of them being honest, is a major component of the zombie culture. How many seniors have wished that their state were "like Oregon" and how many little kids in incredible pain that's going to get worse have confessed that they'd rather die than keep it up? We're too frightened to say. It's something we can "solve," because going through anything is mandatory. We don't respect people's wishes when we know better. We build the prison and laugh and act normal until we realize the walls are around us. Enjoy the nursing home, where everything is soft and rounded to protect you so you can stay there. Rather a metaphor for the rest of our societies, really.

The use which the sick provide to the healthy is also an important issue. This one has made dark of it here, but in aloof, purely unemotional language, we must acknowledge the ways in which we use the suffering to vindicate ourselves. What purpose does keeping alive people who want to not be alive serve for us? Perhaps it dispels our own fear of death, to think that instead of dying at 80 we'll be cared for so we can shit ourselves until 90 before dying. Or if a little kid gets a terrible disease at 8, does keeping them suffering until 12 somehow validate our experience of life? Do we think it's okay to keep them trapped in hell for four years of indescribable suffering because it improves our tech and maybe, we claim, actually cures the disease later? What kind of price can you put on that pain, and is it okay to ask an 8-year-old to pay it? Does fighting that hard for people to suffer prove that we actually do value life itself, regardless of quality, regardless of what its possessor thinks? Would you like to have your favorite thing to eat, cuddle up with your bear, and go to sleep peacefully and not wake up ever again, or would you like to get pulled awake in two hours and have another visit from the chemo fairy and the needle family? Your answer is wrong. I know best. Come with me.

Being saved from ourselves, which might not seem so horrible until you're the one being saved, has been a characteristic of our society for over two thousand years, nascent since the Christian invasion of Europe, but now beginning to take its true form. When the Jews implanted their rabbi-religion into the Roman Empire, then the rest of Europe, they planted a seed that is only now beginning to show part of its terrible mature shape. Many insanities have resulted from the Torah and Europe being combined, to be sure, but the rottingly sick perspective on the most basic aspects of life has yet to be expressed in full. As we trap our dying young and old in drug dispensaries with teams of waged caregivers, we see something of the future the Torah intends for all of us, just as, in the Gaza Strip, we see what they'd do to every gentile today if they had the current power over the rest of us that they do over the Palestinians.

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

The Efficiency of Suicide

Imagine two large bushes growing side by side. They do all the normal "bush" things. One, though, is equipped with an auto gardener. The bush uses it to be healthier by, when it observes that it is growing a sickly shoot unlikely to become the support branch for a new system of growth, trimming it off. The same when it grows a stub that will never be more than a stub, a twig that picks up some disease or infestation et cetera: auto-gardener.

As a result of this work, the bush with the auto gardener uses 1000f (let f equal "food quantity" referring to the amount of water and sun and other nourishment it receives each year), because it's not pumping resources into dead-end stubs or sickly twigs and such. The bush next to it uses 1,300f/year, because it has to nourish its healthy, functioning parts, as well as all of its dead-ends.

Humanity is the same. If a society has to expend 1,300f, or whatever each year, to provide for its sickly offshoots, it will always be outperformed by the society with the auto-gardener which expends only 1000 (discounting the certainty of the 300f society that is sure to grow once the opportunity presents itself). The expenditure on the sickly failures is actually the starvation and smothering of future healthy offshoots, because that extra 300f going to the sick failures is a subtraction from the new growing projects that would've happened if the plant weren't spending 300f/year maintaining a network of failure.

Any gardener knows, of course, that pruning away the failed bits can be used for the beautification or health of the gardened plants, and we tend to assume gardeners are evil Nazis who do it only for beauty (and then that there's some kind of otherworldly beauty about sick growth, which movie Nazis are too dumb to see, that the plant itself wouldn't want unless it took a bunch of sociology classes first and came to believe that celebrating the sick was good), but the health component, and its relationship to beauty (perhaps mandatory?) tends to be overlooked now. And throughout human history, there is no way for us to tell whether someone made her tribe successful ninety thousand years ago by crawling to the river and tumbling into eternity rather than hanging around and using food to survive that would've been fed to three healthy newborns otherwise. The heroic sacrifices of the past are hidden from us, and the survival of, say, caveman family groups, based on the amount of resources that needed to be dedicated to selfish hangers-on each year, can't be quantified based upon the private nature of helpful suicide. Even under fool's evolution's wrongness and the random god, this equation works out; survival of the fittest not including those who kept sick elders in assisted living for 10 years versus having another child (even if it receives zero parental attention, just paid care) works out in favor of the reproducers rather than the stoic leeching survivalists.

Many components enter this possible debate, including conscious and unconscious individual human desires. For purpose of the bush example, the auto-gardener is free, since every person makes the decision for themselves. And as to the health of a society, we must consider that the prohibition against suicide was installed by the Christian murderers when they brought their rabbi to Europe. Beforehand, we know precious little about suicide and history, except perhaps the laments of those still here, "why'd he do it?" How sad--answers that the healthy might know by now if they paid enough attention to the realities of being here, including failing through no fault of your own. Ironic that the most selfless act for one's people--removing oneself as a resource-drain that prevents future children--could become evil. And it makes sense for the invaders, who wanted to introduce Jews and mass immigration and other resource-sinks to conquered Europe--who then taught everyone else to say, "You're going to eternal hellfire if you healthen your people by removing yourself."

Trivial for gardened bushes. Maybe trivial if you're not intelligent enough to imagine the opportunity costs of the personalities of babies unborn, never knowing life, because the resources were given instead to some dying old miserable husk. Viewing societies, which sometimes fight over territory or resources, imagine that 1000f isn't a plant quantity but $500 billion of food and infrastructure, and spending it on 90 year olds with dementia or children with hopes is the very real choice being made in the deathly way in first world countries every day. The extinction of white people will certainly be linked to the efforts of invaders, but the groundwork was laid long before, as the sick old fools veritably played concertos on the sinking Titanic, endlessly congratulating themselves for feeding and making up the beds of those who were on the way out. The potential desire to be gone from the burdens is never allowed to enter the equation, since the strong have convinced themselves that displaying their prizes shows they're heroes.

The social stigma against suicide arose from these invaders, and a related source of stigma prevents us from knowing not only what it was like before, but what it is like now, each time some jobless skill-lacker or half-confused old person who's lived enough of life wishes to set his or her children's infants free from the burden.

Viewing the immigration attack as ethnic chess, it worked very well on the idiots willing to empty their reserves and bear those costs. A smaller, but still meaningful, component of this whole cruel earthly game is the social prohibition against helping in the only way you have left. If there were a network of social respect, historical respectability, and fast cheap clinics that did it painlessly with 100% effectiveness and partnered with the funeral home for instant remains disposal, we wouldn't only save legions of elders from the terrifying fugue between death and life, which is a really sick separate subject we do now, but also protect from that same fugue many others. The ability of free-thinking human beings to decide they want out deserves a heavier weighing on the elder scale, because some of those poor people have been stuck in that torture for decades, but the ability of everyone to participate in a project of human improvement has justification at every physical age.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Toughest Ever

Logistical problems arise in Heaven. Maybe what you really, purely want is to be the toughest ever; when you're choosing your traits for your paradisical self, you prioritize strength or whatever else, and it doesn't work. Heaven has to be a lie, has to be false, because billions of people and counting have already made that wish and strength is relative. So if your fulfillment is to be the toughest, and everyone, or ten percent of people, wishes for that, there's a point when desires conflict and you have to be designed to lose fight after fight. Not even serious fights, like beating up intruding demons, but just demo fights for sporting, where you compete against a fellow denizen of Heaven. And lose. Awfully and undeniably. People who've been keeping track for 100 years share how your lack of technique is similar to John Smith in 40 A.D. And all you ever wanted was to be that ultimate rock that could definitely keep things safe and stand between good and evil and everything about you was pure but it was just impossible to make you better than an embarrasssing clunker.

Heaven can't pay off. The things we want are so relative that Heaven can't remake us as we'd desire. Whatever Heaven would be, it would have to set a new standard that would, of necessity, leave the majority of us at merely half the potential strength of the desired trait. There could only be one Batman, and Jesus already has all the points anyway, so Heaven would be much like Earth where whatever we judged each other on would be relative to time and place: strength, looks, influence, and so forth. It really would have to be all about God, praising the dude who wrote the code, since otherwise everyone (or too many people, or whatever number) would pick the best qualities of the same things and make it an utterly boring, depressing society where everyone was the toughest and coolest, and tough or cool et cetera would resultingly have no real meaning.

Things are more forgiving for the female choice, because there are perhaps infinite ways of being the hottest, but clever-requesters who wanted to be able to transmogrify themselves instantly to reflect the desired partner's peak desires at that instant would leave most women sex-wraiths who only adopted a firm form when meeting a new partner, so going to super-mass again would really be the only way to spend time there.

Deception is an option. Use omnipotence to make every single combat-mastery-desiring male Batman in his own Gotham, unaware that he is but one node in a Heaven of trillions and believing that he can, mano v mano, beat up any individual combatant in all creation, ignorant of the fact that he is duplicated many times over in other Heavens. So Heaven is hey Bruce we thought we lost you there and then every other fight is a stunning victory, but it's all a lie and if he ever finds out it was all fake everything he thought he learned about his victorious self was untrue. Heaven is a letdown, has to be a letdown, because you either have to make it a lie or else you admit that everyone wants to be tough so you leave it at Earth-levels and after a thousand years in Heaven you realize that nothing has improved, that it can't improve, because our very mindsets, and our numbers, make it impossible for all or most desires to be realized. We are our own worst enemy.

Making this discussion touch on physical prowess seems to make it a joke, or an easily solvable riddle, like maybe Jesus only makes you tough if you don't ask for it, but take it as a metaphor instead for any other positive trait which might legitimately interest a person. You could just want to be smart or nice or whatever else, and find that relative gifts have made you a cocktail bore despite all your efforts.

Combat is just an easy example. The smartest, the coolest, the most muscular, the most quietly suave--all relative, on Earth as in Heaven. Wherever we go, there we are, programmed in the deepest aspects of our characters to view achievement relatively and trapped in the corner by our desires to live forever and keep growing.

Some incomplete, milkwater Heaven is usually the result: you spend your time not getting what you want, but appreciating how great God is, because He sets the standard, and it's at least plausible that "appreciating infinity" can be done by everyone forever even if society keeps pumping out souls for another googol years. And if no one suffers debilitating physical conditions in Heaven, then the standards for "worst ever" change, and suddenly basic walking and talking and thinking lose points, and what're you gonna do then? No, seriously, everyone can't be the toughest ever and everyone can't have a faith-healed working body, because without sores and scabs what worth is beautiful skin? In ten thousand years of everyone having beautiful hale skin, it starts to seem pretty standard and dull, and we start to figure out why Earth was really nice for our broken competitive minds, because even if you're baseline normal you're not one of those freaks and there's something to appreciate and know you're better than. Does everyone lose their weight problem or adopt a healthier and aesthetically pleasing form when they come to Heaven? Does faith mean nullifying all the comparative benefits of the other faithful? Frank worked for 70 years to make sure his body was the best it could be, even getting up in the morning during retirement to do hard aquarobics until that last day, and then he finds out that the muffin stuffers will look just as good as him during eternity? Hey, you're here, you should be happy with it. Does God tweak his mind to make this make sense, or is the power of prayer supposed to point the way to conceiving of and resolving all these non-problems? Conversely, do we just let Eugene the muffin-stuffer go to Heaven as a fatso perpetually short of breath, after 70 years of serious worship? Either option is being an unfair jerk to someone, and just leaving things as-is but with perpetual youth to worship God only perpetuates the same problems with the edges of our imaginations ("dreams").

It's easy to dismiss such desires as petty, but look beyond the perceived pettiness of toughest ever. Who's willing to ask for that if it means getting hurt all day and being forgotten and feared (genuinely fear, not in some cool movie way) while everyone else has fun, and you fight the good fight, Paladin of God, keeping the badness away and smashing yourself to pieces again and again so the dining hall can remain inviolable? Lots of people; it's in the male code and the military does well manipulating it. Picking broken glass out of your side all night while everyone else has priceless pleasures is a boon to the right character, and wishing to be the toughest ever, who can win those fights and make the goodness possible, isn't really a joke. And not being able to be that is really a letdown when you were built for it.

Humans have dealt with this in an interesting way in video games. MMOs, or massive multiplayer online games, face a similar conundrum to God, in the sense of having an audience initially accustomed to single player games, where your character can be the toughest and most important in the world, transitioned to a venue where everyone's playing and everyone can't be the toughest or even witness any of the plot. And we see the Heaven-like problems arise there, where people achieve max level and can easily beat tough NPCs ("non-player characters"), but are worthless or only marginal in a duel against another player. All their character's incredible abilities are duplicated a thousandfold by other characters, and therefore become irrelevant; companies attempt to resolve this problem in tiny increments, by granting sub-marginal improvements to a character who puts in an extra thousand hours of play-time, but that only guarantees illusory dominance among a sub-class of computer nerds who spend way too much time learning the nuances of five digit decimal point strategies and how by-the-second changes can affect gameplay. One would hope God had done better with Heaven, but the profit motive hasn't managed to do so yet in any specialization. The prime conundrum of eternity, in this case, becomes that requiring the effort to gain the penultimate nothingness of some higher status puts the bulk of the experience itself out of the reach of the everyman, such that he'll stop playing. Jesus is such a good deal that, unlike most deities, you can accept him after a lifetime of nun-strangling and still win, but relativity makes any other pursuit of greatness equally futile.

Something in these problems, these unfairnesses, mirrors our fundamental wrongs; our self-deceit and self-harm, and in another way, reveals something of how we might get past them. It's in our nature to want to be the smartest ever, the toughest ever, and so forth, and it's mathematically impossible for that to be true more than once; it's similarly impossible to design hopeful entities and not have them pursue the ultimate fates. To be sure, there are many humans, perhaps a majority, that are fine being untermensch as long as they're respected, and there's something to be said for being inferior except that you pledge your service to someone whom you know is the ultimate best, and carrying their banner in your heart to be vicariously part of whatever that greatness is. This is one of the little reasons why our deistic and paradisical fantasies thus far have been fundamentally crippled, although the harsh Christian reality of being perpetual dung which proudly clings forever to Yahweh's boot, part of ultimate goodness because He owns your proud self, is at least a step in the right direction. Yet that has its own failing, because your devotion is either the toughest ever or is perpetually accepting inferiority, and besides most people (thankfully?) not being designed that way, it makes them more truly Yahweh's servant than you or anyone else can ever be. And if Yahweh's smart, He knows that, and the shame, the worthlessness, of not secretly wanting better, can never be erased.

Our salvation, as it were, lies in the fact that a human-like entity didn't plan all of this, and so us going on to new challenges (and delights, and fears, et cetera) is a natural process that doesn't stop at the boundaries of our current imaginations. It stops at some boundaries, but you'll be smarter then and understand what those are. And in higher maths, it is possible for a lot of people to be the toughest ever, and for it to be true, and whatever else you may build.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018


The existence of the payola, and its derivations, speak to a lot, and as with the peaks of so many underwater glaciers, indicate the many more things which we do not "see" but which have to exist to make the payola work. In this case, for it to work, people have to actually buy whatever crud is being sold. Think of paying some purveyor of goods to promote sales of your product, such as paying a radio station to play your song irrespective of how much the local community and/or the disc jockey(s) likes the song, placing a book prominently near a high-traffic area in a bookstore irrespective of what customer interaction or staff preferences say, or doing any other thing in which a greedy capitalist business changes its sales model in order to profit not on selling what it thinks will sell best, but on earning money from the purveyor of goods just for popularizing something by making it appear popular, e.g. playing or displaying it more. Here's a link about an Apple E-book price fixing scheme designed to accomplish a similar goal by a different method than the mid-twentieth-century radio payola, where the most effective advertising of a product is the assumed choices of other buyers, as opposed to what consumers generally imagine--and are, per the government, entitled to imagine--are their real choices for buying something.

The payola was cheating, in a way; a violation of the sacred agreement between merchant and customer. Everyone knows all the customer wants is to buy an impression of popularity; to buy as others have bought. And in a way, the payola was good, for it made this true before and after, making a song falsely appear popular even as it made the song actually popular by everyone falling for it simultaneously. And customers were mad when they figured out the payola, because it was the merchant admitting the customer wasn't actually making up his mind based on some independent set of intelligent criteria of what he actually might like, but only by popularity, which everyone knew is all he really wanted, but which the merchant, through an open payola, insulted and proved openly. "See, you didn't really have a set of criteria for what you like. You are, in fact, so hungry for conformity that you're too dumb to have criteria." It's a similar unspoken agreement to the one that democratic governments have with their voting cattle, where they make a show of running candidates, including the one who's going to win anyway, and the show of a "competition" flatters people that they have criteria when they actually don't and just follow the payola trend. Anecdotally, people coast-to-coast tell me they can't vote as they'd really prefer because you have to choose from a limited set of options; Americans' silly belief that having "more" parties would change things is like a fantasy that more stations and more disc jockeys would substantively change the music business. But it's a sacred bond; you're not supposed to admit the people are idiots and just appoint a dictator who would do the same things anyway. Not because policy would be adversely effected--if you were going to do something repressive or evil, your "elected" groups could and would do it anyway--but because it's insulting to people to admit that you know they don't have any character or criteria. You know they don't, they know you don't, but it's just incredibly rude to admit that you know that they know. You can't go one step further on the line of reasoning, so it's okay if you know they know and it's okay if they know you know, but it's extremely taboo to have a situation portraying how they know that you know that they know or vice versa.

All products, not just politics. In mid-twentieth century radio, the payola told people what they were supposed to like, both individually and en masse, and without that, confused music fans would have "liked" all sorts of different things and it would've caused confusion in what music to play at gatherings, but the payola got them all on the same page. Or if we're all going to agree to feel magical, and we're each reading one of fifty books that year involving magical boarding school education, all the funny or heartwarming or thoughtful scenes can hardly be shared with anyone else, so all the literary agents and publishing companies have done their job, and people can be brought together by learning what it is they like today. Payola worked not only because of this type of aggregating effect, but because people's characters were really so empty that they needed this guidance to know what it was they actually liked. Which means that, in a sense, what humans like is not really their own decision, it's sort of a gradual mass vote, where smarter people decide for them and they're glad for it. Similar in politics, where "liberals" in Great Britain and the United States thought they were antiwar until the next generation of leaders decided that they wanted to be all about military occupations, and they agreed. So if you're a critic in a magazine, it's very important for your job that you claim some sort of independence or realism in regard to your choice what to review this week, and not just admit that you're reviewing what everyone is supposed to be reading, because that's as good as admitting that the morons don't really know what they like, and that even hyper-simplified tag lines on the backs of books aren't enough to clue them in--and of course they're not, because the taglines give no indication of how popular the book is or will be, whereas certain tones and locations for critical reviews can indicate that. Kind of a hilarious and good representation of this can be found in the pop history book reviews that often pop up in places like The Atlantic, where a bunch of people coincidentally, in say 2021, want to out of seeming nowhere read about the forgotten Taft's famous diplomatic river cruise to the Congo, where not only what you read but what you talk about at cocktail parties can be created from scratch. So our culture, whatever it is, is not so much "good" or "bad" as it is "choreographed," and our desire to have people independently make choices is childish and wrong and impossible and unrealistic, representing a fundamental misunderstanding of what it is that people need out of their lives; out of all forms of entertainment and pastime during their time here. No one talks about the growing security threat in Congo, let alone Taft's voyage, unless they've been choreographed to think or care about it; they don't comb the stacks of new releases and pick which historical event/unevent catches their honest interest, but rather, are guided to discover their honest interest by a payola review. It is not that we're in search of lost time, but lost selves, in how cravenly we beg professional knowers for keeping us aware of what should be up to date. Ergo Taft's heroic journey is not forgotten, and besides perfectly demonstrating a lot of things that are in vogue today, it guides us to timeless principles that can benefit us anytime, hey did you read the new one about Taft?

Wednesday, June 6, 2018


A sadness, a hope, of the world around us is the presence of evidence of not being alone; of something else being out there. That moment of existential fear we may experience upon one of our births, a newness of any sort, is not fun, because realistically contemplating being the only thing that exists, has ever existed, is terrible, even if it only lasts for far less than a second. And we tend to forget that kind of thing, because even remembering what it was like can shatter anything we've built.

A great part of our flirtation with the Random god, specifically our inversely wishful feartasy of evolution by chance, is likely related to our respective experiences with this terrifying moment, when we explore the possibility of believing that we are alone forever. It can seem too good to be true that we are not, and on Terra, our fantasies of not being alone are themselves often as broken and error laced as our fears of actually being alone (e.g. All Powerful Sky Man created me because he thinks I'm great versus the world is Void).

If we're out hiking, all the original dilemmas are still there, in the sense that we can't conclusively prove that we existed before beginning the hike or before the most recent step, nor that anyone else has ever walked here before and that this is actually a hiking trail. Perhaps roadside restaurants or marker signs or trail names can assuage us, though they might well be furnished by the overactive imaginations of the one terrified to further insanity. Barring that, though, or perhaps considering and rejecting it, the old wildman's cairn is our truer marker, where if one finds a pile of stones, one can speculate that although they may have piled themselves there geologically or via the wind, it is far more likely that someone else placed them there, that someone has come this way before, and that the chance of the stones having randomly arranged themselves that way is, like human-market-based theories of random evolution, too ridiculously impossible to seriously contemplate, ergo there are other hikers out there, or were within the past 100 years, because even a violent windstorm's chance of upsetting the heavy cairn in the past 100 years is of infinitesimal merit next to the monumentally (sic) greater chance that they were placed by a human at some point, probably somewhat recently.

Real evolution is like a cairn, where we can find ourselves on a planet with an atmosphere of a certain mix of chemicals and creatures perfectly suited to breathing those chemicals and conclude that there is no way this relationship occurred randomly, but, like the cairn, was most likely set up to look like that. There are 3, and also 500, and also thirty million more likely explanations than that a dude like us came up with it all 5K or 80 billion years ago, though that's a more mathematically sound conclusion than that it just happened, though quite vulnerable to accusations of wishfulness and more specific analysis of local antiquities. What seems to miss us on this planet is the possibility of accusations not of wishfulness, but of inverse wishfulness, where our own potency is validated not by believing in a sky-man, but by believing that we are so incredible that we could not possibly have been planned. The reaction is similar to the ultimate racism of our (over-) expressly non-racist universalism, where truest understanding means understanding that everyone is equally capable as we define capable pursuant to an extremely limited set of outcomes. E.g., African non-patriarchy and the use of physical violence instead of the development of nuclear bombs can't be due to the expression of philosophies deeper than abstract thought, but must merely be a repression of the African's natural abilities and desires to develop nuclear bombs. It is a horrible indictment of Nu Euros, their cherished belief that everyone is and must be and has always been just like them: and in its own way, our insistence upon the random appearance of these planetary cairns is similarly arrogant and stupid. "We're so incredible no one could have ever thought us up!" In local parlance, we might say such an attitude is equally childish to deciding that a sky man who looks like us made this all to see how cool we were or weren't. I'm taking my toys and going home.

And of course, the Nu Euro insistence that Africans were nuclear bombers in their heart of hearts reveals not only how great we think we are for developing what passes for our technology, but how worthless we think of what the African has developed on his own. We're so interested in racism now, in haughty defiance of the truth that being "liberal" is significantly more racist than being "conservative"--but not in the way that conservatives use when they try to argue that Congoid businesses don't need extra tax credits. Rather, truly recognizing the racism inherent in today's liberalism is less flattering to Europeoids than it is to other peoples, because yes white people were smarter than other races and thus formed the modern world and all its goodies, but it scares us a lot to contemplate those goodies not being the best possible. So we offend not only the milkwater anti-racist liberal, but the pro-science white race realist, when we question whether or not the past few thousand years of Europeoid tech was really the best possible way. The "liberal" can't admit that the African really couldn't have accomplished this, while the "race realist" can't admit that maybe what was accomplished actually wasn't that good, and that maybe the Congoid's deferment of abstract thought for twenty thousand extra years will turn out to be a superior survival strategy in the long run than the Europeoid's horrid abuse thereof. How many millions of successful African farms would you trade for four new Dresdens? Tough question either way.

The paling consequences of our "tech," and the occasional imaginations of what we might perceive as its "mis" use, reveal a great deal about us, very little of it good. Stuck in a hell of undeclared urban warfare, with Africans killing off Europeoids as fast as they can without rousing the beast, this sort of concern seems silly and badly timed, but imagine the opposite, living in the nuclear apocalypse, and you can see how the Nu Euro's "He may guide us to use it" wargasms might've led you to view one hell as worse than another. If the Jews had wanted the last white people to annihilate themselves in the 1960s, make no mistake, the proud little Nu Euros would've done it, and some dumb Congoid survivor's oral history that "Yeah, dey was sum bad shit up dere" would've been a more thorough and intellectual history of the Europeoid race than anything that's been composed in this reality about the Cuban missile crisis.

Details aside, remember the cairns. Someone has gone this way before and the way is passable.