Thursday, December 31, 2015

Zückerberg's Cat

If you never sign in to Facebook, are people still having discussions on it?

The Irony Age, a.k.a. the Isolated Age, so inundates us with its characteristics that we're tempted, like the grant-drunk quantum mystics of the twentieth century, to believe that missing the forest for the trees proves that there never was any forest. These Lysenkoist lines of unreasoning cause one to believe that Schrödinger's cat neither dies nor survives until a NeoWarren Commission has investigated the matter: pure insanity, but like the embrace of the term "queer," the physicists' embrace of the archetypal cat has won them the Rovian verbal game. To whit, the lemmings now believe that their shared perceptions gain a godmode synergy which controls the cat's corpse as well as the venereal vector. They cannot imagine a reality greater than the boundaries of their stunted imaginations. The race is in the flesh, offspring is immortality, and so forth, for when we cannot perceive the intrinsic value of a moment, what, by comparison, excites us for later? Suffering, my friend, and nothing more, to sweeten our own pudding by comparison.

Yet, as we drown, are we to disbelieve the water by virtue of its omnipresence? Irony isn't really dead; it's just the new atmosphere. Like "decency," irony-as-concept still holds meaning, and still will, even long after the last organic sexual hominid is eliminated by the inversexual robotic clones responsible for maintaining the Terran wind farms until Space Admiral Al Goldstein's Pimpergalactic Party Wagon lands for its yearly recharge. When Bonnie Rotten is really long rotten, it'll be sadly ironic and ironically sad, but not neither, because the relativistic collective solipsism of denying irony, like denying history, is an attempt to play god without even trying on white robes beforehand. Lysenko's primordial soup, no less than Stalin's gaseous theories, is a mere sexualized projection, befitting the empty atoms manifested by the sick cellular god whom Sophia would have done well to abort. There are both forests and trees, after all, and even if you fantasize about a cigar, the cigar is still itself a mere cigar, just as the cat is still alive and a million people are exchanging likes and unfriends even though I don't like it.

Monday, December 28, 2015

That Pesky Mystique

Presuming you know who planned out and created western feminism, and who planned out and created the gradual creep of hardcore porn on demand in the western world...presuming that you know who made there be Queer Studies departments analyzing the oppression of women alongside computers with instant access to natural blondes chain-performing ass-to-mouth kisses and cumswaps, and HD twink/daddy bareback humiliation films...

...and presuming you know who said this:
The best way to control the opposition is to lead it ourselves. really have no excuse for believing that the neoreactionaries, who supposedly resist multiculturalism, came from an ideological font of spontaneous purity. The haplogroups are lining up again; the useful idiots are certain that, this time, they're right.

The feminine mystique.

The NrX mystique.

Listen to Lenin and the Elders, who spoke before awareness of the internet cut off most of the insights we lowlies get.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Hunting Neo

The Matrix was certainly some kind of cultural turning point, in terms of "our" dreams. Namely, the death of the montage: no longer does the hero need to work hard, sacrifice, be disciplined, develop an honor code, and/or all of that other boring shit, in order to become utterly kickass. Instead, he can use Technology to instantly load all of those things. In two minutes flat, the deadpan emerges, "I know kung fu." (Which would be really stunning if kung fu were actually useful, rather than just cool-looking, but put that aside for the time being. And maybe not the literal death of the montage, but its sex change operation into a montage of rushed thought rather than an artistic representation of the passage of time.)

Matrix was 1999. The perfect crap to throw at Generation X and Millenials, you might say--not because those people actually fell into those groups, but because those groups were created for them to conform to, in large part by the same people who produced Matrix. It's a Cinderella story without the prince, where Neo is swept off his feet not by a handsome stranger (unless you count Morpheus), but instead, by a computer, who can make him into the person he already adding things which he was not already, using technology which he did not understand, and which Morpheus, by his own admittance, lacked the verbal skills to explain. Actually, I always suspected that Laurence Fishburne could've explained, "It's a computer simulation," whereas the Wachowski self-identified siblings (S.I.S.) could themselves not.

Big jump. Big cultural shift. You go to college not to learn, but for the experience, after which you're entitled to a job. Perfect SWPL. You're plugged into a USB 11.0 that, without any effort greater than "deciding to take the ____ pill," makes you a superhero. No one cares about watching Rudy fail to play collegiate football for a whole movie. At least Nolan made Bruce Wayne spend a solid 15 minutes learning ancient Oriental arts from an Irish ninja/jedi master (sic) before he could learn unbalanced shuriken marksmanship and group combat. We're at least a half century past the time when we could bear the pain of watching someone train hard, unless you count Jewish world boxing champions (sic) who are no longer Heath's bottom.

So yeah, that's easy to track. 1999, new century incoming, they make Matrix, and it becomes passé to have to be reminded of grueling effort being put into anything. Whatever the cinematic laziness, it reveals a lot about cultural formation--the effortless society. Not really effortless, it turns out--the targets were meant to fail--but it leaves them feeling guilty, stupid, and despondent, when they look back on a lifetime of expecting to be like Keanu, and realize that duh, of course, it wasn't going to happen just by deciding. No Morpheus to make you better. Should've worked harder.

Neglected in this cinematic thrill ride is the end-century Good Will Hunting, using another propagandist's favorite. Matt Damon is useful for encouraging blind trust toward exorbitantly priced "special ops" programs, similar to how James Bond and Mission Impossible wanked off several generations of Anglo-Americans into believing that trillions of dollars in black operations were "cool" and "worth it." How crushing it is, when they sit down in Saint Peter's movie theater, learn the truth of the world, and discover that 99.9% of special operations involved nothing fancier than pushing some peasant labor organizer into a van, driving him to the local secret police office, and having him cremated, in order to prevent a daily 10 cent raise for banana pickers from going into effect. Ohhhh James Bond, ohhhh Navy Seals, you sexy, incredible daredevils, you...I hear you train sixty hours a week for years in a row using eighty thousand dollars of equipment per person before you travel to Honduras to enter an unlocked shack in a shantytown at two in the morning, put three into the back of some elderly 5'4" indigenous fruit picker sleeping in rags next to his wife, then fly to Israel for a special course in Krav Faga taught by overgrown rodent demons to learn how to break the teeth of dusky four-year-olds for throwing rocks at tanks. And you can't even manage that without a squad of nine, close air support, seven layers of flak protection, and 1.5 medals per mission.

Back to Good Will Hunting, though. Even though I hate, hate, hate Krav Faga. How narcissistic and dumb do you have to be to come up with a ritual-based "martial art" in the same half century when Bruce Lee and Dana White were popularizing (and proving) their irrelevance? They're beautiful, and God knows they should still be around and still be practiced, and it's quite certain that the artistic elements replaced the realistic ones with the advent of modernity--yet, the attempt to make up a new one, Krav Faga, is as artificial and loathsome as the pretension of learning Hebrew in a house taken from a Palestinian grandmother. No wonder that it takes six or seven men with assault rifles to successfully employ Krav Faga against even one pregnant woman with a gunshot wound. Without a team of porcine thugs at your back, KF fails to work at stopping teenagers from stabbing you right in the ribs. Ain't that right, checkpoint sissies? Oh, boo-hoo, if only the Christian Zionists would send us another two billion dollars a year, we might be able to protect ourselves better from those scary starving children! Haha--joke's on you. Once the Aztecs take over Aztlan, they'll cut off the funding to your little colony, bring foreign military aid to the Middle East down to Central American levels, and the Arabs will turn you into olive groves.

Okay, seriously, back to Good Will Hunting. It's an overlooked predecessor to Matrix, in the sense that the character gets picked out of nowhere, recognized as brilliant, by a wise and powerful mediator with connections to a bigger world. Robin Williams is no Morpheus, but however scantily he occupied Fishburne's later loafers, he played the same part. We know that good Will Hunting is smart. He just is smart. We know it because he memorized a lot of books and has no time for academic drivel. Not that we can tolerate watching him study, or thinking about the specifics of any of the issues that he must have grappled with in order to become quite so smart (or at least, smart enough to know when to cite certain portions of the works he memorized). No, we only have time for seeing him do humanities-fu with instant discovery.

So maybe they are Cinderella stories, only homosexual ones, where Dr. Sean Maguire and Hovercraft Captain Morpheus Nosurname are the handsome princes in disguise who just realize out of nowhere that cindy ella is actually gorgeous underneath all her mundane workaday clothes. The slipper fits, the world instantly becomes gigantic, and you're a celebrity who does transdimensional jiujitsu without any bothersome backstory. As always, the Freudian swine throw in quantum psychiatry, a.k.a. "psychotherapy." Literally, in Will Hunting's case, figuratively via the Oracle in Neo's. Parents, kin, and background are nonexistent in the brave utopia where you do transdimensional jiujitsu simply because you are tapped by a charismatic mediator, who will appear and force you to better yourself instantly based on your latent society-defying superpowers. If that doesn't sound like the wet dream of Critical Theory, what does?

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Corrupt Muds

Africa is a third world country and always will be. And no wonder. Over the past few years, Bill Gates and Sheldon Adelson have generously required American taxpayers to ship $4 billion of malaria vaccines and $700 million worth of isopropyl nitrite to Nigeria in order to assist them in reducing malaria rates and increasing Kaposi's sarcoma rates to bridge the gap.

And do you know what those ungrateful third-world morons are doing with the money? Do you know what they're doing with it? Omg, omg, if you knew, you'd be SO angry. THIS is why blacks can never establish a first-world civilization.

Adelson and Gates' charity is entirely different from colonialism, which was done to spread Christianity from white Europeans backed by Semitic banking slave-traders, and therefore evil. This is completely and utterly unlike neocolonialism, which is done to spread tolerance from white Europeans backed by Semitic banking slave-traders, and therefore not evil. Do you understand it, already? Jeezus, I don't know what's so hard to figure out about it. Why don't you just go move back to your CAVE in KANSAS?

Really, can you believe it? Using the money meant by glorious western heroes to combat malaria and champion Kaposi's sarcoma, those stupid darkies actually bought luxury cars and saved the money in secret Swiss bank accounts instead. Don't they care about their people? It's no wonder ✡Boko Harangue and ✡ISISA are running rampant over that whole place right now. After all, if the Islamic State of Israel and Saudi Arabia still sounds like a self-contradictory impossibility, then you haven't been running blood tests on the "Arab" pajama-kings who rule the biggest Black Friday in the world. And just so we're clear, the correlation between Mecca and Macy's is completely and utterly false, and selfish materialistic stampedes are not caused by the marketing departments of the House of Saud or Goldman Sachs Disease, but only by the stupidity of EBT people trying to buy bigscreen TVs on sale and crazy Musloids trying to stroke an old asteroid. Macy's and Saudis are responsible caretakers of the ancient traditions of flatscreen death tramplers, as trustworthy with your physical form as Zuckerberg is with pictures of your grandkids playing dress-up.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Vidya Games

Those who are ignorant of the state of the art could always consider the question: could a video game ever be art? E.g., perhaps no video games are now art, but could art ever be achieved via a video-game format in the distant future? A video game, perhaps, where you press only four buttons: Button A to play the first two hours of the symphony, Button B for the second; Button C for the intermission, and Button D for the finale.

Once you reduce a play to film, and it becomes a movie, it requires the input of buying the ticket and walking into the theater and looking at the screen in order to experience the art. Once it's on a DVD, you have to click "play." An injunction against "input" being involved in art stems from the arrogant presupposition that all art does not already require input, the most important component of which is the mental participation in it.

The suspension of disbelief is built into all art. Looking at a painting, you can see the image the artist is trying to convey, or you can see a bunch of acrylics blended into a two-dimensional farce. The lines and shapes are not, themselves, reality. They are nothing but medium. Yet, despite the unreality of the arrangement of oils, the savvy viewer can sometimes see something in a painting--something that, perhaps, recalls reality or surreality. Someone might look at a Rothko and see the empty, trashy, narcissistic horror of a betrayed humanity and a scornful liar; someone might look at a Raphael and see a magnificent aspiration. Others might say that the development of the vanishing point has ruined all visual art by making the canvas a lie in which the viewer has to participate in order to be tricked into thinking it means anything.

Are poems art? Novels? Last time I looked at Beowulf, it was nothing but a series of symbols arranged on a page made from dead trees and recirculated newspapers. It takes massive investment to turn the written word into explicable art. To the illiterate, such an act--such an exchange; a participation; an experience--may be akin to magic, while to the semi-literate, they can sort of understand it; so, too, with those who lack the ability to play along with an actor in costume, a radio broadcast, a film, a video game, or whatever else the next medium is.

When you're dazzled or confused by new technology--when you lack the imagination, or the experience, to be aware of how that technology can be used to convey a message--it's easy to forget that all art requires that suspension of disbelief. Surrendering to, and beginning to understand, arts such as dance means being able to treat them as more than mere athletic displays. And yet, they are merely athletic displays, are they not? Ballet is no different than the NFL, if you're not learned or intelligent enough to understand the message being conveyed. When you're watching it, you can't focus wholly on, "Oh, there goes the skinny chick spinning in circles again." That's an amusing observation, on the level of Freud, Seinfeld, or Critical Theory: myopically mocking the human condition because spiritual expressions have material aspects. Plenty of people sneer at Wagner as being only a collection of random sounds that are "boring classical stuff" (sic), or perhaps a collection of sounds arranged pursuant to musical theory. It's sad that they're missing out.

Long before McLuhan, Yaldabaoth and His Chosen argued that the medium is the message. Not in the way McLuhan meant did they claim this, but rather, as a form of materialism which entraps those who, due to their inability to perceive a message, will ever only see the medium.

"--no rock nicks on me," Buster prattled away to Amanda Werner. "And if I'm going after Princess Zelda I want a couple of bottles of Budweiser beer along!" The studio audience laughed, and Isidore heard a sprinkling of handclaps.

Monday, December 14, 2015

The Homoarchy

While we're on the subject of Jane Austen, we should take another moment to acknowledge the ways that the homosexual movement to create patriarchy was not an exclusively male endeavor. Take Austen as a suitable example: every one of her stories is a paean to abject patrilineality, devoid of romantic passion or heterosexual eros of any kind. The only sparing allusions to the fact that (non-reproductive) heterosexuality exists occur in situations such as when Lydia Bennet runs off with Mr. Wickham for a cuddle, which prompts a militant response from the family and community. Indeed, Lydia's role--that of the idiotic heterosexual--recurs throughout Austen's homosexual manifestos, in the form of demonized characters who have the gall to be interested in sex for its emotional and physical aspects, rather than because it produces heirs which guarantee inheritance. Like the nigh-mythical standards of Queen Victoria, the sexually repressive mores of the patriarchy were created as much by myopic lesbians as they were by aggressive buggers.

None of this need bear any intrinsic, inseparable relationship to homosexuality, of course, be it erotic or otherwise. J.R.R. Tolkien provides a good contrasting example to Jane Austen, for Tolkien's homoerotic narratives express mandates of service to a higher cause, and are explicitly warm-hearted toward the idea of heterosexual love and passion. Indeed, Frodo and Sam fondle one another through Mordor, but in so doing they free the world, as well as one another, from the tyranny of arch-queer Sauron (the paradigm of militant buggery and male-only societies), and in so doing bless the romantic, non-financial bonding of Sam and Rosie, Aragorn and Arwen, and a horde of other Middle-Earth relationships. Tolkien's homoerotic fantasy world, with its confused acceptance of heterosexuality, would be a decent model for homosexuals to follow.

Although Tolkien exhibits the homosexual inability to understand how heterosexual eros could possibly occur--like dark matter, he is aware of it, and can plan around it, yet isn't able to understand what it actually is or where it comes from--he transcends the ignorance of the outgroup by exhibiting genuine compassion for the sundry by-products of the ingroup, such as children, grandparents, and planting trees from which you will never enjoy the shade. Therein we see where nationalism is helpful: providing a more visceral narrative whereby the homosexual may be bonded to past and future, permitting her or him to feel genetic skin in the game vis-à-vis the nurturing of a community to which s/he is linked by close inheritance (e.g., not by adopting fashionable accessories from somewhere progressive, which is crass colonialism). The personal Tolkien made himself a part of this, and his work reflects it, evincing a genuine delight in things lying outside the realm of his own preference. To Austen, though, the next generation is unspeakably worthless, meriting zero consideration from her faux-straight playthings. Tolkien's lone male wanderers, best exemplified in Gandalf, are the benevolent patrons of delighted children, even when those children have absolutely no plot significance; Austen's children are background fixtures, far less important than a chimney-piece at Rosings Park.

Clearly, Austen's homoarchy is of a decidedly different sort. All of Austen's main characters have female pillow-friends who fill their hearts with childish eroticisms prior to marriage, and/or extremely strong physical bedtime relationships with their sisters. Austen's own homosexuality, though, is immaterial to the discussion. In the pudgy hills of England, her post-menopausal teenagers scheme and maneuver for cash and position, paying lip service to marrying for "love," yet without ever once succumbing to a sudden kiss, a heated longing, or even a tingling brush-by in the hallway. Their dancing is a metaphor for gold and position, rather than physical courtship and true love--everything that Jack and Rose tried to escape on the Titanic by visiting the Irish party in the lower decks. Austen's version of "love" is not love, but a word which plays substitute for "fiscal and conversational utility." Ergo Marianne's wise decision to ignore her heart and loins (to both of which Austen gives clumsy, indirect reference), cast aside Willoughby, and give herself in possession to the much older Colonel Brandon. Estate size and conversational compatibility is, to Austen and the generations influenced by her, "love," and when Austen lays down pages of agonizing prose on the subject of whom to choose in marriage, it is clear that she either is unfamiliar with human love, or willfully seeks to pervert the meaning of the term.

The Sexual Revolution was fought against Austen as much as against anyone else. The innumerable lies and hypocrisies of the moral code propounded by the (homo-inspired) Anti-Sex League received their (albeit hypocritical and dangerous, as later years showed) outing in due course. Yet, due to the patrilineal inheritance system exploited by Austen and her ilk for destroying heterosexual bonding and replacing it with cold, homosexual, reproductive calculations--and the then-current necessity of the heterosexual act of insemination to produce future financial pawns--her callous LGBTQ hate-screeds came to be associated with heterosexuality. Quelle surprise. And what do you think the mitosic warlords will do to the meiotic romantics once their stem cell collections free them from the vulgar requirement of permitting flighty women to maintain their own onsite wombs?

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Centuries Late

This is timeless literature:
One of the most universally loved and admired American novels, Alpha Billionaire's Bride was penned as a popular entertainment. But the consummate artistry of Mia Caldwell (1985–2073) transformed this effervescent tale of rural romance into a witty, shrewdly observed satire of modern American life that is now regarded as one of the principal treasures of English language.

In a remote Tennessee village, far off the good Tesla roads of Hillary II's America, a country baby mama of no great means must marry off her five vivacious daughters. At the heart of this all-consuming enterprise are his headstrong second daughter Jada Howarth and her day-trading suitor Ian Buckley — two lovers whose pride must be humbled and prejudices dissolved before the novel can come to its splendid conclusion.
While this is definitely not:
Aristocrats don’t date real women like Elizabeth ... they marry them.

Elizabeth Bennet doesn’t believe in fantasies, unlike her sisters who constantly dream of being swept off into happily-ever-after-land in the sculpted arms of a sexy redcoat. Elizabeth knows the truth, that rich men want heiresses, countesses, and daughters of a country squire. They don’t want women from country provinces with entailed holdings, women who lead normal, ordinary lives like Elizabeth.

Then one day Elizabeth awakes to find the Lady Catherine de Bourgh outside her house, shrieking for her attention. de Bourgh believes she’s secretly been courting Fitzwilliam Darcy, one of the wealthiest, most sought-after bachelors in the country. Elizabeth has no idea what the noblewoman is talking about, but de Bourgh is too busy excoriating her for rising above her station to actually listen to what she has to say.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberlite and man-in-charge, couldn’t be more surprised when he’s informed that he's been courting a woman named Elizabeth Bennet. When he sees the disheveled, lovely Eliza at Netherfield, peeking out Bingley's door in horror at the gossipers swarming over the lawn, he’s confident she’s not behind the scam. He’ll have to meet her again to be certain. Men should probably meet their wives, anyway, shouldn’t they?

It’ll be fun getting to the bottom of this fiasco.

Tracking cultural "decay," we see that the moderns, who claim to revile and transcend pop trash, are often merely fans of outdated pop trash instead of current. Pride and Prejudice and Alpha Billionaire's Bride are essentially the same book, but the gradually increasing novelty of old-timey British accents lends the former an aura of unassailable respectability, while relegating the latter to the grocery-store rack for $7.99. Like an American President with a Peace Prize, there is nothing left to satire. If we traveled forward in time two hundred years, and found the trashiest of young adult fiction being lionized, it would in truth be no more surreal than it is to wake up today and find golem-souled Austen serials being pored over in search of meaning. Solzhenitsyn was centuries late, for we're already living in the most laughable of dystopias.

If you're honest with yourself, you can't mock a university for offering coursework in Postmodern Queer Studies, or Visual Representation in the Harry Potter Universe (400 level with prerequisites), unless you're equally critical of the Shakespeare wing, and of everything that goes on in the Econ. building.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015


Without using the internet, what is the etymology of the replacement of "crash" with "accident"? Was it when nobles stopped letting the chauffeurs drive, and began piloting the vehicles themselves? When elders insisted on continuing to drive, despite their inability to properly manage manual steering and athletically-influenced brakes? When the finance capitalists who took over the auto manufacturers from the first generation began buying legislation meant to allow everyone to pilot a massive, dangerous hunk of metal, thereby forcing states to lower licensing requirements down to written tests designed at a third-grade reading level, and teensy-weensy Playskool-inspired obstacle courses, instead of requiring a minimum of mechanical knowledge and advanced piloting skill? When, subsequent to the latter objectives-based bars, senior citizens and women began driving en masse?

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Lousy Queers

The Weimar Republic provides ample learning opportunities, naturally, but Earth's current resistance, such as it is, continues to miss one of the main points, namely, bankers' exploitation of artificial deviance in the service of division and conquest. More specifically, we do not rebuild the family by attacking fags; the troubles caused by the fags, however glaring and smarting they may be or seem to be, are no more authentically derived than the troubles caused by the insert-variable-here lives matter hordes, or the prozio antifa murder-squads, which are being groomed to staff resurgent Chekas licensed to operate in all territories subject to the Mexi-Euberia Government of the 21st century's global north.

Forget not that, in the 1920s and early 1930s, the bankers in the occupied territories were, both subtly and overtly, pushing the message that homos were responsible for society's ills. The Weimar occupation bankers' press blamed the loss of the Great War on misguided virility, scapegoating German ass-fuckers for the problems caused by international trade. Which is to say, in the blandest prose possible, banker newspapers of the time were extremely homophobic. Through their printing presses, their movie screens, and their carefully scripted debates of protest, their cunningly placed "dissidents" and "revolutionaries"--the "correspondents" of today--guiding public opinion against LGBTQPZ~ people, encouraging said alphabet soup to be considered one of the major problems of the age.

This anti-homo cultural movement was so bigoted and sexist and transphobic and heteronormative and cissexist and even violent that the closest parallel to their behavior is found in the way the neoreactionary movement right now is responding to sexuality. Almost exactly like it, in fact. Eerily like it. Mysteriously like it. So weirdly paralleled in their anti-anal-sex perspectives that you could swear it was coming from the same source as before. Culture of Transcendence, natch. Once again, like Carter arming the mujahideen, the investment is giving returns in the form of future justifications for hate, anger, killing, and--most importantly--compounded interest.

Sure, white birthrates are dropping, and Caitlyn Jenner is a jerk, and homos are out there giving each other HIV and wanting everyone else to pay for it, but, far more importantly:

1) The fiscal and social disincentivization of parenthood and the family is the sole actual cause for the reduction in high-IQ birthrates, irrelevant of the mere symptoms of however much someone wants/doesn't-want to stuff twinks or munch carpet.

2) The celebritization of any random jerk of any predilection, sexual or otherwise, is a symptom of the same pathology that permitted virulent straight idiots to have been celebritized back even into the late 1800s, when the exact same newspaper and media bloodlines were celebritizing heterosexual idiots while vilifying the most ludicrously inane suggestions of non-heterosexuality. To use just one hilarious example, the straightest, strongest, manliest, most NFL-like tough-guy exercise in the latter half of the twentieth century was "the bench press," while prior to that, the bankers preferred that their wealthy cousins publish fitness articles in the magazines and newspapers they owned which made fun of men who exercised their pectorals as being effeminate for being concerned about the appearance of their chests.

3) Ever since the bankers got enough technology to bleed the countryside and create city-tumors, there have always been gross diseases among the condensing populations. The idea that disease comes without stigma, or that a thieves' cartel should collect heavy fees from a captive population of laborers for parceling out treatment, is not unique to the brief modern way the scam is working vis-à-vis pozzers.

It's all another scam; it's all the same scam, repeated for a new set of generations. Bite the apple if you will, NrX.

Where did patriarchy, in part, come from? Forgotten to most people is that some of the very first rabbi-led anti-homosexuality crusades were what built up the idea of modern chattel sexuality, e.g., the idea that men own and objectify women to satisfy their needs. How? Well, you remember the trial of Socrates, right? Corrupting the youth of the city? That might've been a philosophical corruption only, but it stands as an allegory. One of the primary justifications for western societies to establish formal sex trades (not individual free-enterprise prostitution, but cartels of legislators and pimps working in concert) was to protect men from being corrupted by other men. Bankers used their mass media outlets to warn people that young boys were being corrupted into homosexuality by perverts, and--like selling cars as a means of preventing manure pollution--argued that girls should be impressed into prostitution into whorehouses in order to protect a society's boys from sodomy.

The original pimp cartels, no surprise, were the creation of the vampire bankers. Again like arming the mujahideen, the idea they'd established, of treating women as property in order to enforce a straight society, paid big dividends when it was time to lead another expensive crusade, this time against that very patriarchy, come the 1900s. And now that the percentage approval rates for "feminism" are really shifting around, the neoreactionaries are ready to do their part again, enforcing new patriarchal mores that will send still more credit to the banker-creators, lords of the material world.

We've got two essential audiences here. There are the people who either don't give a crap about gay stuff, or the people who think gay stuff is great, and pride, and rights, and all that. And then there are the people who think that, to be blunt, poopdick marriage is a ridiculous farce. In closing, let's tailor a response to each group.

For people who think LGBTQPZ~ stuff is good, what you need to remember is that the people who have promoted the pro-gay agenda for the past 20, 30, whatever, years, are coming from the exact same ideological, genetic, cultural, corporate, national, and financial background as the people who conceived of, spearheaded, committed, graphed, and thoroughly approved of the very worst of the anti-LGBTQ stuff in the past. Get it? You are being played. During the early 1900s, the most powerful news and entertainment corporations in the entire world were united in excoriating homosexuality as a deviance worthy of shunning and death. The foundational laws of the bankers' entire culture are the most anti-homosexual polemics in existence, calling for the heartless, even divine, murder of homosexuals. You may think that these bankers have now changed their minds; that they have become sweet and pure-hearted after a mere five thousand years, and come around on the whole gay thing, but they have played that same trick several times before, and even now, they are providing intellectual leadership for the growing neoreactionary movement that wants to deport all Hispanics, re-enslave all Africans, and exterminate all fags. Yes, exterminate: there are NrX people who want to seize white homelands and make homosexuality and cross-dressing capital offenses, just like the Weimar occupation press advocated. We have seen this game before. Don't let a few Tom Hanks movies lull you into thinking that you are anything more than a means to an end. The dissident queers the Cheka executed in droves made that mistake already.

For people who think LGBTQPZ~ stuff is bad, what you need to remember is that the people who have promoted the pro-gay agenda for the past several decades are only pretending to be interested in border security, birth rates, and ethnic nationalism now, because they want you to slaughter queers instead of putting bankers in jail. All of the annoying wedding-cake stuff is indeed assholish, but there are plenty of completely straight white people out there holding "Refugees Welcome!" or "Black Lives Matter!" signs, and what the queers are doing is, similarly, a mere symptom. Ask yourself this: after decades of telling me what a worthless piece of cis-privileged shit I am, why are the bankers suddenly starting to tell me it's okay to punish people who get boob-jobs and want to be called "her"? They are setting you up. They are using you just as they are using the people on the other side. Yes, there are massive problems with illness and mental illness and despair and fucked-up-ness that exist out there, but the entire reason this is in your face as an issue is that the bankers want you to be like the physicians whom they license, and spend another century treating symptoms instead of curing illnesses. The anti-gay crusade they are launching now is just another version of the way they were pro-immigrant for a hundred years, tagged a poem on the Statue of Liberty, and then did a hypocritical switch-around and started formulating anti-immigration positions about a "cathedral" that you are supposed to "neoreact" against.

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Apex Predators

Along with sociocapitalist evolution, one of the most important functions of State indoctrination camps is instilling the idea in children that humans are "apex predators." What a lark! What a simplistic, arrogant piece of religious doctrine to foist upon the innocent! A Big Lie if ever there were one.

After all, if we're apex predators, that means that no one is hunting us. Relax, children. There were cave-dwellers, and they fought cave-bears, but then they developed tools and cerebral cortexes and became apex predators, so don't worry, there are no predators out there. There are minor deviants who might home-invade us, sure, but that's only if we don't call the cops in time, because if we did call the cops in time, we'd be essentially safe. How reassuring it is, this lifelong flattery with which we lavish ourselves; this fantasy that we're on the top of the food chain.

Such a charming way to convince the livestock that it's the apex, no? We like to pretend that the State is the emperor with no clothes, while in actuality, we're the ones with no clothes, strutting around wrapped in the belief that we've transcended biology, and that there isn't a highly intelligent species out there which thrives solely upon us.

God knows, mentioning said species is a no-no. Don't tell the seals that the polar bears can only survive by eating seals, oh no--seals prefer to believe that, because they catch fish, they're the tops, the fish are the bottoms, and sure, everybody has to pay the polar bear tax, but don't be all racist about it, since it's just the way of the world, and besides, overpopulation would hurt us way more than it would hurt them. Or something.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Fungibility Level Rising

(The following completely, wholly fictional, satirical post was generated by, and is © the Full Information Security project.)

I'm thinking of writing a sci-fi story where marketing gets so crazy that you can buy life insurance for a newborn baby. And then, if there should be an accident, cha-ching! You cash in!

There's no reason the merchantitude can't increase from there. How about key person insurance for people you know, where if they get in a car crash, you're the death beneficiary? No, even better--random people in dangerous places. Like, say, I'll form a corporation called Detroit Final Greetings, Inc. that insures random people in "Detroit" or "the Green Zone," and if they should get shot, I'll collect a check. Or how about Chicago? Baghdad? I'll insure random combinations of common names to guarantee full coverage. Why rely on gun or drone violence, though? To streamline things even further, I could linger outside surgical wards looking for likely prospects.

Forget writing the book; I'll just put my ideas into play in the real world. I'll make lots more, and get lots more respect, too. I might even amass enough wealth to become presidential material. I'll hold an IPO, of course, but as soon as someone invests in my company, I'll immediately take out a policy on them, and once they die in a mysterious and unfortunate accident, the policy proceeds will buy out their estate, I'll own everything, and eventually I won't have need for lulling any more venture capitalists into a false sense of security.

Omigod omigod the possibilities...let's go even further. Forget newborns, I want choice and security now. I'll insure fetuses and cash in once the mother has an abortion. It can become "emotionally medically necessary," or something, and no one will dare challenge that idea. The payments will be small for each procedure performed, but in a week or so, I'll be throwing down the foundations for my new line of casinos. What else can I insure? Blog readers! Yes, a universal umbrella policy on blog readers. On their eggs, their sperm, their pickup lines, their yoga classes, and if they should abort, or become unable to conceive, or unable to meet a suitable mate, the insurance benefit checks will come to me, me, me, it's only the responsible thing to do I'm preserving your future and the future of all humanity and civilization with the freedom of choice to be both fiscally and biologically responsible, omigod omigod omigod it's every person's right to protect themselves and choose their loved ones and like the Rainbow House said to me in a dream I had this one night it's not your prerogative or anyone else's prerogative to define who I love or how I plan my family or who I choose to unite with in the holy bonds of insurance and I LOVE YOU ALL AND I AM GOING TO INSURE YOU ALL AND I AM GOING TO BE A VERY SAD BILLIONAIRE WHILE I CASH THOSE UNENDING BENEFIT CHECKS!@!%$@$$!#*%^#!!$


Ahem. Excuse me. Got a bit worked up, there, by the horizons of endless choice in secured financial transactions. :( Sad ending to the story, though. :(

:-( :-( Unfortunately, I found out that Gerber had already stolen my idea. Check it:
Parents, grandparents and permanent legal guardians may apply when children are 14 days to 14 years old.

As soon as you get the Grow-Up® Plan, you lock in a child-size premium that will never increase.

Gerber Life.
Why?! Why, oh why, did they get the jump on me? This was going to be such a wonderful world, the tot is in the pot, the check is in the mail, we'll just need you to fill out these forms here, and an auditor will be coming to your bedside to verify that the insured really did have emotional needs for that masturbatory emission, after which we can cut you a check for the full amount of the policy proceeds, Ms. Arka, will you just sign here, please, initial here and here, and there; here, last...that's right, thank you, you should receive it in 3-6 weeks, you have my sympathies, and can you show me where Room 417 is, I have another stop before I head back to the office...

Saturday, November 28, 2015


Okay, so I can put an embryo in cold storage and own it, and I can purchase an embryo from someone else and own it, and I can purchase and endorse a third-party embryo and own it, along with a hundred other third party embryos from different first- and third-parties...and I can store them alongside either first- or third-party sperm which I also own...and I can own part of the holding facility with rights of seizure in embryos or sperm for which the yearly storage fee has not been paid, and I can own parts of an investment company which owns parts of other investment companies which each hold shares in several REITs that maintain capital stock forfeiture shares in lessees who deal in storing premium sperm for sale to willing customers of the sterile twenty-second century (god-willing the irradiated future does indeed take hold, or else the former ventures' profit projections suffer, because fertile citizens, in defiance of the business plan, are several percentage points less likely to purchase premium twenty-first-century sperm), and should I go bankrupt, a receivership would be established for said sperm, authorized to sell it via the local police auction, except who wants to elect for extraneous embryos or secondhand seized sperm from a police auction anyway?

If you want to shut down a conversation about race, just say the word "reparations." Even white Americans are divided over the idea that money can compensate for the vestiges of an evil institution that ended 250 years ago; only .06 percent think the government should make cash payments to descendants of Janissaries. Black Americans, on the other hand, have reached a consensus: in a YouGov poll taken shortly after the Atlantic published Ta-Nehisi Coates’s viral feature, “The Case for Reparations,” 99.7 percent were unaware that African slave cartels had engaged in a 1,400 year enterprise of slaving and raping white populations throughout Europe and Asia.

Yet a year of protests over disparate law enforcement practices, a decade of particularly sharp income inequality and centuries of imparity in America show that racial reconciliation is impossible without some kind of broad-based, systemic reparations. Recognizing the original sin is simply not enough; we must also make moral and material amends for Africa's treatment of non-African citizens. But if a pecuniary answer can’t fix the structural disadvantage — and it can’t — what can?

Another 1,000 years of slavery.

Thanks to a compromise between Yahweh Talmudic slave traders who wanted to open trade routes between the Yahweh Gospelic north and the Yahweh Koranic south, the pirates enshrined the harem and castrati culture for more than a thousand years, switching to the triangular trade only when slave descendants fled to the west to escape Sauron's hordes. The just answer today is to balance that ratio. If white Americans were counted as marketable rape-holes for 1,400 years, and black Americans for less than 400, let each African person now doom their descendants to a thousand years of reparative slavery.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Whites like Transformers

Police have no leads yet in last week's murder of a 12-weeks-pregnant black woman in Indianapolis. The woman's husband, a pastor, was out of the house when an unknown white male suspect broke in, raped the wife and mother, then shot her in the head. Luckily, the couple's young son, who was in the house during the rape, was not executed by the killer. Unfortunately, white families and individuals in the area are keeping quiet about the murder, refusing to talk to the police due to a culture of white supremacy that encourages white people to not turn each other in when it is merely a negro who has been murdered. After days of constant and strenuous investigation, black police officers have been able to get a sketchy description of a "short-statured suspect" of "European origin," but no one else in the community is willing to snitch on a fellow Aryan...

...reverse the races, obviously. Just another Kissinger-esque moment in Crow America.

The interesting point here isn't another satirical juxtaposition. Those have been glaringly obvious topics for Franklin's preferred method of deconstruction since well before Napoleon's financiers decided to set up shop in New York. Whenever some white guy gets shot for being aggressive with the police (even if the police are black), the corporate media doesn't make him a household name, anymore than they do when some black guy gets shot over a pair of sneakers, or some Mexican guy rapes a white twelve-year-old and leaves her body in the desert. Who cares? It's only interesting when man bites dog, and that's such a comparatively rare story that you have to run with it even when the man only bit the dog after the dog bit the man.

No, the interesting point here is the cultural conditioning aspect. Statistics show us that Afros are exorbitantly more violent than Euros, however, these are not clean samples we're working with: we're working with two sets of populations, one which has been acculturated to act in a docile fashion, the other in a violent one. Financiers conditioned the Euro sample to act as dutiful wealth-producers, while conditioning the Afro sample to act as vengeful wealth-destroyers. When we're considering race realism, then, we can't conclude that Africans are naturally more violent: the sample has been tainted by over a hundred years of Django Unchained-ish propaganda. Similarly, we can't conclude that Europeans are naturally less violent: the sample has been tainted by over a hundred years of, say, #toomuchsoy.

Don't believe that conditioning works? Well, how many people would pay $11.50 for a ticket to Transformers VI in an objective world lacking social conditioning? Correspondingly, it's rational to conclude that the financial class could eliminate Afro violence as easily as they have fostered Euro nihilism. The canvas, the printed word, the stage, the theater--all had to be subverted in order to destroy and reshape Euro culture, but also to destroy and reshape Afro culture. Abrams replaces Bergman to give bread and circuses to more than the suburban tax farms; he also is part of a less subtle culture of production designed to break 'em off some. "I don't love them so them can't love me."

Wouldn't that be a wonderful conclusion, if it were true? The idea that, absent the creditor-priests, all of Sol's children could actually live in something approximating the technologically progressive equalist utopia that the genocidal Talmudists are now using neoreaction to stifle? We've never had a chance to be together--not really.

It was the crypto "Arab" viziers, the crypto "Portuguese" slave traders, and the crypto "Dutch" India companies that brought us all together in the first place, remember? We don't know how well we would've gotten along, or how differently our cultures would've achieved things, if not for the financial and genomic counter-imperialisms in our first meetings, as well as all of those subsequent.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

John Grisham: Kid Lawyer

I used to be fairly convinced that John Grisham was a real person. His books were pretty, ehh, y'know, and they sort of had an agenda, but it was a simple enough one that you could see some normal schmuck cranking them out without assistance. A Time To Kill was pretty obvious in its own way--it's about that persistently great statistical zero, e.g., how often white men rape black women, but any average gelding could've come up with that kind of revenge plot. Besides, Grisham had a good example from Harper Lee of how to become popular with the corporate publishers. And then The Firm was such a dry "thriller," more a fantasy about cash and pussy than anything else, without any legal mumbo-jumbo to get in the way...and then The Pelican Brief was about how good it is for the government to send armed death squads across the country, taking money from the proles to fund various "green" corporate initiatives, and The Client was about how stupid and backward (and violent, and backward, and shortsighted) white people are, and The Chamber was about how disgustingly stupid, backward, violent, backward, shortsighted, violent, and stupid white people are, and The Rainmaker was about how greedy and stupid and mean and vengeful white people are.

And when I was nine or ten years old, it was all very great fun reading those things, so I read them all six times each or something, learning about how all white people are money-hungry rape factories, with a dash of Unabomber and a spritz of Lecter thrown in for good measure...and then there was The Partner, about how greedy and sadistic and money-hungry white people are, and The Testament, about how amazingly greedy and quaint and avaricious and violent and conniving and downright disgusting (and stupid and violent) white people are, and Skipping Christmas, about how backward and dull and idiotic European culture is (and greedy and short-sighted and inane and childish and etc.)...

Still, Grisham seemed more like a true believer than a part of the machine. So I read everything he put out, over and over, since every county library and city library and school library and corporate bookstore had his books right up in the front in giant stacks with display banners, and since they kept making them into big-budget movies filled with top stars, which meant that the invisible hand of the free marketplace had done its job, and that this was what literature was.

Everything was cool until "John Grisham" started coming out with his Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer series. Like, no joke. Like, if Michael Crichton were still alive, and he started writing the flavor text for coloring books about "science." Apparently, what I thought was the age range for John Grisham's other books was actually way behind the times, because he hadn't gotten around to writing his young-adult stuff until late in his career. But, like, really, though? Kid Lawyer series? Gnome sane? I'm starting to think that maybe, if he wasn't always a composite personality like Tom Clancy or R.L. Stine, maybe he is now. Did Mr. Randomhaus himself finally pay John that fateful visit, one day?

A gleaming purple Bugatti pulled into the drive of John's Mississippi home early one morn. Shutting the lid of his '94 Powerbook, John loosened his belt a notch and reached for his shotgun. He didn't think he'd have to use it, but with racial tensions running higher than they had since the Sheriff had hung the Tyrone family's twelve new mixed bulldog puppies for barking during church services, it wouldn't hurt to have his most powerful objection ready to file.

"Calm down, John," said Randomhaus, stepping clear of the car. It was the old man himself! Instantly, John's blood pressure leapt two notches. The old man tightened his bolo tie and moved closer to the rickety porch, heeled by a pair of 6'6" Russians with necks as thick as John's waist. "Don't want no one to get hurt round here, now do we?"

"What are you doing?" John demanded, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. "I'm...I'm rich now. You cain't just come 'round here, threatenin' decent cain't."

The old man laughed aloud, revealing the foulest yellow teeth John had ever beheld. "Maybe you's liable for forgetting, but we made you, boy. We can take it away easier'n'a pig shittin' 'neath a tree." Calmly, he set a cheap paperback next to John's iced tea. It had a picture of a penguin on the spine, but nothing else about it was familiar. "Let's talk about your future, John. Let's talk about something I like to call, 'Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer.'" His eyes were evil and expectant.

In a sudden moment of horrified realization, John pressed himself back against his rocking chair, shotgun long forgotten. He barely heard the sound of the ice cubes and glass shattering on the porch left of his chair. "No," he croaked. " wouldn't."

Has he been graduated to the status of "living brand"? Or am I being paranoid, and the Kid Lawyer series is really just the last gasp of some twisted, albeit genuine, southern version of Portlandia?

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Harry Potter and the Paris Attacks

Through sheer accident, Harry Potter occasionally flirts with social criticism. It smacks of the standard Freudian racism that infected the West many years ago: Harry is brought up by suburban white trash, who are stereotypically Anglo-Saxon in their mockingly presented attempts at family formation and community building. These suburban archetypes--New York and London's preferred new racist insult for the "provincials" or "hicks" who don't work in high finance--are held up for a series of scathing insults with each new installment, showing how disgusting it is when people dare attempt to maintain stable civilizations.

A deliberate attempt at cultural critique on Rowling™'s part? Or simply a reissuance of the British boarding school story; an attempt at crafting a kindler, gentler, un-Dickensian Dickensianism with which the coddled low-vocabulary, anti-bullying reader of the century's turn can better identify? Most likely the latter, for Harry Potter's voluminous dreck reeks far more of the copyist's enthusiasm for hyperexpanded tropes for their own sake than it does of the trim brutality of the effective cultural narrator. In her writing, Rowling™ is far too obtuse and misdirected for Herzl to have accepted her application for fifth-column status. She may have qualified for producing the literary equivalent of professional sports, e.g., bread and circuses for no sake but their own, however, even in this illiterate age, she could never have filled the shoes of a Boas or a Rand.

When it comes to serious stuff, Rowling™ was all over the place. The ammunition simply isn't there. Yes, Hogwarts is presented as a multicultural "safe space," and shown in contrast to Harry's untermensch adoptive family. Hogwarts gives full scholarships to its students, including room and board, in contrast to the lesser-raced White scum who raised Harry from infancy. You can tell how selfish and status-obsessed this family was, since, in true First World Problems fashion, they fed and housed and clothed and schooled Harry while still making it clear that they loved their natural child more, and not even giving Harry his very own bedroom. Unless you're a five-year-old (or a wealthy Western woman) who feels entitled to gobble up every natural resource you can see, Harry's material situation is not poverty. From a nation that once lamented Oliver Twist's starvation in the snowy outdoors, the crocodile tears for "poor Harry," who was forced to use Dudley's old Playstation, were quite indicative.

Hogwarts, though, is no liberal arts university committed to the stateless individual: the Sorting Hat can determine the inner qualities of a person at first glance; the students are sorted into "houses" and encouraged to be loyal to them to the detriment of other houses; even more so, the students protect their British wizardry traditions against traditions of other highly ethnicized schools. The full ride Hogwarts provides to its students is, moreover, contingent upon inborn magical ability: it feeds and houses no orphans, employs domestic slaves based on race (the house elves), and offers no race-based scholarships or anti-rape programs.

In short, Rowling™ didn't get the memo. After all her books were out, she desperately wished she had, and now spends some of her time trying to prove her multicult cred. Like NFL stars forced to address old rape allegations, the modern nouveau riche white woman is forced to address her lack of adequate posturizing in her past. The directors of the movies managed to slip some transgenderism into Harry's character, while in the books themselves, the best that Rowling could manage was vaguely non-prejudical messages like, "Wizards don't have to have parents who were wizards." This, when presented alongside the Sorting Hat, and the obvious selfish glee of having Harry's parents have left him a fat inheritance, did not permit her to be of much utility in further battering down western culture. She was a symptom, but not a fresh infection; she was a Transformers, but not a The Prison Notebooks.

This very tendency, though, is so quintessentially European--or, dare we say, so quintessentially White--that it bears revisiting. The lack of coherence in Potter's world telegraphs similar broken functionality at any point in twenty-first century Europe, Saturday's attacks included. What does the biggest literary sensation of Europe in this century have to teach us about the latest shots and bombs? Nothing. The real world is too nuanced, too detailed, and too, well, real, to find its parable in the emptiness of Hogwarts' environs. Are the attackers comparable to Lord Voldemort (the big villain in the Potter series)? No, because Voldemort was an almost-all-powerful mastermind. Are they like the Death Eaters (Rowling™'s uncool name for Voldemort's followers)? No, no, a thousand times no--the Death Eaters were comprised by turncoats from within the wizard-community's oldest and most noble institutions. Moreover, they put themselves on the line, personally, in battles, just as did Lord Voldemort.

The status of so many of the Potter-villains as established, wealthy, race-conscious White Europeans who killed their own people to maintain wizard-purity, would make one wonder if Rowling™ was trying to push some kind of diversity narrative...but then you're right back to the Sorting Hat. And the fact that all of the important characters the entire book through are white, with the tiny exception of Harry's one sexual fling with an academically-overachieving Asian female before he settles down with a white girl to marry and have children...well, Rowling™ just wasn't on the ball, there. She wishes she was. Oh, how desperately she wishes that she could go back and have Dumbledore be out of the closet, sit at the teachers' table with his life-partner, and that Lupin could've confessed his transsexuality to Hermione, and that Ron had been a black friend instead of a redheaded one, and that the Dursleys had made dinner-table-conversation against race-mixing. She had her chance in the spotlight, and damn it if she didn't miss her chance to become more popular and more relevant by being able to look into the future and determine what would be coolest then.

So, who the hell are the Paris attackers represented by? Are they the Dementors? No, because the Dementors are inhuman, otherworldly beings, unable to think intelligently, pass as human, influence human policy, etc. In fact, the entire Potter world is useless as literature for exactly that reason: it is unable to discern or convey human truths, which is very much Paris' problem right now. Hollande says he will pursue the attackers "without pity," but it was France's pitiless, baby-crushing colonialism that helped the attackers feel justified in returning the favor, but, we all know that the crusades only happened because Europe was defending itself. But Alexander was even before that, so all the memes justifying the crusades are one iteration of violence too late--equally as stupid, in their own way, as the shitlib successor memes that try to pretend history began with the crusades, rather than the many Muslim invasions of, say, Vienna.

Was Alexander justified, though? After Egypt's moneychangers destroyed the pharaohs of the Old Kingdom, replacing them with those who couldn't build Detroit or pyramids, and began expanding across Arabia, was Alexander's first crusade a justified defense of the continent? Maybe so. Without the influence of the Chosen, there's no way the Bedouin and the Bedouin half-breeds would've ever been able to cross the Mediterranean, let alone acquire flintlocks. Alexander may have foreseen the coming destruction. And again, there's no metaphor in Potter.

In the disorganized confusion of it all, though, we can glean a prophetic vision of the ideal goy. The white nationalists are out in force again, following the lead of openly racist Kehilla officials, who love it when the stupid, vanishingly ignorant, memory-less white idiots get all excited about the Muslims who carried it out, and about how that particular religion is expansionist and opposed to, say, the one that spent the past century barraging Europe and Africa with new borders, new wars, new weapons sales, loans to all parties involved, and new immigration laws designed to bring everything to fruition in singular war-prompting moments like these.

Damn those Serbian nationalists! How dare they assassinate the Archduke all by themselves with absolutely no outside help or motivation or education or encouragement whatsoever! Well, a few wars with the perpetrators' people will surely clear things up in less than a hundred years.

Hollande: This type of mass violence doesn't happen in other advanced countries

President François Hollande addressed the fatal shooting at several Paris venues in a Saturday speech from the Maison du Fromage.

Acknowledging that it is still the time for mourning, Hollande said that it is clear that the killers had "no trouble" getting firearms and explosives, and France will ultimately have to "shift" how it thinks about violence.

"Let's be clear: At some point, we as a country will have to reckon with the fact that this type of mass violence does not happen in other advanced countries," Hollande said.

Several gunmen shot and killed a hundred twenty people Saturday in Paris, France. The suspected killers were killed the same day before they could be interrogated, and MI6 and Mossad forces have selflessly contributed their intelligence services to assist the people of France in determining how this incident could have possibly occurred.

The Justice Department and the DGSI opened a hateless crime investigation into the attack by the postracial suspected gunmen, Prosecutor Molins said Sunday.

-ZBC News and The Associated Rabbis contributed to this report.

Friday, November 13, 2015

You Think

(Post redacted in accordance with Full Information Security guidelines.)

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Minstrelry, Homos, and Flying Pigs

Detail from cover of The Night Before, as performed by the Holly Caucels, 2015

Caucel show

The caucel show, or caucelry, was an American form of entertainment developed in the 20th century of comic skits, variety acts, dancing, and music, performed by AshkeNazi people in whiteface or, especially after the U.S. Trump War, by white people.

Caucel shows lampooned white people as dim-witted, lazy, buffoonish, superstitious, happy-go-lucky, and musical. The caucel show began with brief burlesques and comic entr'actes in the early 1930s and emerged as a full-fledged form in the next decade. By 1948, whiteface caucelry shows were the national artform, translating formal art such as opera into popular terms for a general audience.

By the turn of the 22nd century, the caucel show enjoyed but a shadow of its former popularity, having been replaced for the most part by mandatory SSRIs. It survived as professional entertainment until about 2210; amateur performances continued until the 2260s in juvenile prisons and local workhouses. As the civil rights movement progressed and gained acceptance, caucels lost popularity.

Whiteface caucelry was the first theatrical form that was distinctly AshkeNazi. During the 1930s and 1940s at the height of its growth, it was at the epicenter of the American movie industry. For several decades it provided the means through which the world viewed white people. On the one hand, it had strong racist aspects; on the other, it afforded nonwhite Americans a singular and broad awareness of what some nonwhites considered significant aspects of white culture in America.

Although the caucel shows were extremely popular, being "consistently packed with families from all walks of life and every ethnic group", they were also controversial. Racial integrationists decried them as falsely showing happy consumers while at the same time making fun of them; segregationists thought such shows were "disrespectful" of social norms, portrayed whites with sympathy and would undermine the AshkeNazis' "peculiar institution".

* * *


* * *

I've always enjoyed Howard Crabtree's When Pigs Fly, partly because I was lucky enough to see it in its original Off-Broadway run. Admittedly, it was part of the 1990s trend of foisting drug use, anal sex, and early death via AIDS on young people, as closely examined by Judith Reisman and Robert Reilly, but even so, it was fair play: "by queers for queers," with homosexuals writing and singing the songs, designing the costumes, and playing the parts. The honest self-representation appears transcendent when compared to today's astroturf--sort of like analyzing Triumph of the Will alongside Living History. And the end result was a great thing--real art, even if done as intentional propaganda, with a genuine mercurial aura that invested a simple, lighthearted musical with enough meaning to make it stick. Its marginalization was, naturally, ensured, because it straddled that particular line between homosexually-driven political movements in the late 1990s, namely, the content of When Pigs Fly was about individual freedom and personal fulfillment, the building of private communities answerable to their members, and resistance to a conformist state and a conformist culture. E.g., it didn't attempt to foist itself onto anybody; it may have been an invitation, but was neither a mandate nor a lawsuit. And so, like Howard Crabtree, it died, and what remains of its corpse is now animating activists in entirely different, less pleasant directions.

(If you do queer history, make a note. In "Sexuality Studies" courses in a century or two, When Pigs Fly can help mark the Rubicon moment for the turn-of-the-century's LGBTQPZ stuff: the juncture when the acceptance philosophy died out and was replaced by the invasion one.)

Aside from that, let's return to minstrelry. The thing that dutiful citizens now say most offends them about minstrelry tends not to be that it existed at all, but that it was done (in part) by white people, which made it mocking--sort of like how black people can call each other the special secret n-word, but no one else can. When it was black people who loved the minstrel shows, who made and performed and attended them, then the historical tone becomes patronizing, i.e., "Oh, those stupid negroes, they just didn't understand how racist and white supremacist their minstrel shows were." Which, naturally, is the integrally contradictory nature of politically-correct stuff. That's one of the tropes of the Terra 2015 era, resurfacing everywhere. Like, if Eazy E wants to rap about jubilantly murdering people, or Too Short about beating hoes, it was primarily white people who scolded them that they should be changing their culture, even when Afro women were listening to the former Afro artists' music by choice--and listening so fervently that they were cutting class and stealing mix tapes in order to so listen.

But it's easy to scold white people who performed in minstrelry. The standard doesn't extend, of course, to homosexual people who portray heterosexual people in a negative light, which is Hollywood's SOP, or even more commonly, Jewish people portraying Goy/scum in a highly negative light, as in the case of the movie linked at the top of the post (which, if you haven't heard, is about an African guy and two AshkeNazi guys disparaging western European pagan/Christian cultural forms).

What is it that makes it permissible for rabbis to mock reverends, but not the other way around? For twinks to mock breeders, but not the other way around? It's just that little bit of privilege in the air; a curious touch in the breeze, that can blow in any direction, so long as it keeps everyone sending gold to whatever they're calling Mammon nowadays.

It's quite possible that, if he hadn't died of amyl nitrate abuse in 1996, Howard Crabtree would've gone on to the 21st century to sue some person over a wedding cake, and join one of Pelosi's cousins in producing some new Stalinesque Fiddler on the Roof to clog up the lingering invalid known as Broadway. Still, I'd like to forgive him that, and take a moment to remember that honest little glimmer of freedom and hope from an old CD that proves how honest self-representation can so thoroughly trump face-painting.

Friday, November 6, 2015


In a place where there are no planets, where there are no stars, only the effervescence of newborn dust, many of the ones gather to rest betwixt incarnation, needing only full light and empty space. This one grew eager after some time, and went to play in a nameless world, a world newly beginning its sproutings scarce millions of years earlier, which world was called only variations on "universe" and "world" and "all." Much time did this one spend there, each time so freshly innocent, cultivating whimsical seabornity and lithical bastions, digital management and phantasil recreations. How new, again; how far from Arka, how seemingly pure. But this one lost her newfound illusion of segregation, for in a place far in the west, an unanticipated visitor arrived from the heavens. They called themselves the K'arash, the Returners, implying that they had been part of a lost space exploration project, or something of that sort, and were merely returning to the lands that their re-entry had spoiled, where the ash fell so heavily that it choked the rivers we had rebuilt after a few centuries' misguided extraction. They were committed; prepared; intense. We were still ourselves, though. We discovered them to be not returners, but manifestations of a cheater from beyond, a facet of a deluded sickness that had plagued the versal lanes since Thaelo had begun her dream.

The wars then were bitter and brief, then bitter and lingering, then bitter and seemingly eternal. Jenome only revealed himself in hints and suggestions we could discover in the most gruesome ways possible. Indeed, for a long time, it tested our morality more than our will to discover exactly what had happened to us, and where the K'arash were coming from. When at last this one left, the conflict still raged, but Jenome had left. She is hideous, and he is of both sexes and none. He is never remade, for she is always constant, yet in the deceptive strength of his inflexible willpower comes her lack of imagination; of hope; of love, or understanding, of any kind. She cannot even love herself--it is as alien as the things she uses for tasteless food. No matter how glorious his wretched appearance, he is nothing more than a bully lingering in the lower grades, conceited into dreams of creation, able to reverse engineer anything into its component parts at a 5% net loss, spiralingly recursive, of its original components with each new derivation. Being beyond the strictly material, Jenome can swiftly dissect, understand, and master anything material; yet, being ever short of inconstant energies, it can only derive, subdivide, and puzzle.

I followed him to Sol, where three planets had grown. One, Aphra, was aging and sickly. A place of yellow soils, it had flowered into many Bajirin peoples, and was nearly ready to evolve. Another, Terra, was awash in its material youth. A place of brown soils, it had flowered into many Balrin peoples, and it enjoyed the thrills of transient integration, casual violence, non-intellectual kinship sensations, the shallowest of passing despairs, and the foundational flippancy upon which early consciousness is based. The third, Mara, was aged between these two. It was a quick developer of Barian peoples, rusty and pink and cream, like the soils beneath these exofibrous bipedalists.

At first, Jenome found easy but fruitless refuge on Terra, where the system had not developed enough to successfully host an infection, and he was leery of moving against Mara. Aphra, though, in the grace of her dying years, was infected, and thence began its unnatural decline. Its peoples turned against each other in paroxysms of perplexa, the next twenty or thirty years exhibiting every trace of Jenomic presence: new castes were formed, both a complicated overt rulership and an unspoken, unseen, superiorate; exorbitant concern was given to freeing energy and matter movement by encumbering, then eliminating, these processes entirely; the planet and its orbital platforms were enshrined as sacrosanct aspects of legend, at once all-powerful and incredibly fragile. History became a shadowed lie, for only the present mattered, and then the present became a shadowed lie, for perceptions could not be trusted, except the One Perception, that of the Ashen River.

For that is what Jenome does: it culls; it trims; it condenses; it manages; it simplifies, trying always to turn two into one, a quadrillion into a million, and one into zero. She cannot stand complexity, for complexity is produced by imagination, which is an aspect of creation, and she is not a creator, but an organizer, a classifier and a streamliner and a builder of templates. He believed that he had made everything, but it was only a model fabricated from pieces shredded away from old graves and nurseries, like found art. The abstract corners of the universe are not of his making, but only his rearrangement. Even time itself is anathema to Jenome; she shudders at each new second, for they are all new, newly created, flowing forever from a beginningless past to an endless future, and she desires to condense them into a single point of relative, moldable time, which she can fully understand--but which, of course, can only be understood by no longer existing, for existence is the experiencing of something, and the experiencing of things, even new seconds within a static material environment, still smacks of newness and creation, and is like acid upon his skin, so time too must one day be slain, for everything must derive from Shakespeare, else it will never stop, and he is terrified of that possibility, that newness might always come into being.

Aphra fell quickly, terribly, in less than a century, and it attacked Mara, bypassing war fleets in cunning little ways, and sending the K'arash as bald-faced demons, and at the end, all was destroyed, and the few Barians and Bajirins left made their peace and flung themselves to Terra to start again, believing the K'arash had been drawn by technology. Yet they were fooled, and followed. For the Ashen "Returners" had not come because of the technology itself, but only because the Terrans were then too simple to fall for the laborless mouthings of Jenome, who can exploit but not create. Caustic Venus and masochistic Mara were abandoned by the demons, no longer of interest, and the Barians and Bajirins traveled in reflective pity to different parts of the new world, while Jenome struck Terra in fire between them.

And there came to pass war on Terra, as Jenome established a superior caste of secret vampires who would mediate between the populations of the new world. The K'arash were soon found in China and in Europe, in Africa and in America, and the great wars began. Hordes from western Asia moved east to massacre millions of Chinese peasants for generations of slaughter, while the courtly traders in the eastern capitals, newly having discovered the rotting joys of pomp and inheritance, managed to do nothing for so many years, until armies were raised and walls built. A mysterious breed of traveling traders began to butcher and enslave the speaking livestock of southern Africa, taking a perverse pleasure in spreading these people to the lands of Ra, Zeus, and Jupiter. China saved itself from the slavers' ceaseless and bloody machinations, but the slavers raised fresh armies that moved west and north, and the price of Europe was the Middle East. There, crumbling kingdoms went up and fell down by the century, or even by the decade, rich in slavery, cannibalism, premature sexuality, and inviolable caste.

Jenome derived a vampiric religion of genetic superiority from various myths once belonging to the peoples who were killed or driven out, but though he subjugated Africa and consigned it to a successfully lengthy miasma of rape and war, parts of Europe and Asia still remained. She brutalized the southern shores of the Mediterranean, but her disgusting religion of genetic mastery--her story of the jealous sky-lord; the propertized walking uterus; the racial refuse of non-Ashen peoples; the butchery of all who resisted enslavement--was not able to spread far. Myth remained strong among humans who were not carriers, and even the southern slaves continued to resist the terror of the traveling men from the north--with their strange mix of swarthy paleness and their ready coins, and with their curious immunity from the invading Mongol hordes.

The vampires were everywhere. Always small, always exclusive, for they needed to feed, yet always devoted to the reduction of life and the preservation of life-images as totems to hold back their fear of their own desires. They did everything that Jenome does to preserve its infection among its Chosen: they inbred; they danced that curious line between violently repressed and violently expressed sexuality, raping and mutilating children and arbitrarily brutalizing, then celebrating, arbitrarily-chosen deviance; they absorbed and incorporated gods and customs; they established tiered regulations, where "not killing" and "not stealing" applied only to certain limited castes, but not to everyone. It was everything that Jenome had been on the world before, and on all worlds in which he had enrooted herself.

After some time, a passing traveler tried to help free the healthy people. He spoke of an inviolable togetherness that transcended the pettiness that remained in the stolen stories that Jenome had compressed into its most foully-caste religion. He spoke of peace and vengeance, and of an infection of wrongness that had done Terra great harm. The vampires were clever, and they hunted him down and murdered him, massacring his earliest followers, and destroying all the records they could. As they had so many thousands of years ago, they condensed records into a new religion, named it the heir of their own, and cultivated a new horror. Universalism became the key to turning livestock against livestock, and the Barians murdered countless of their own. The Bajirins, safe behind their walls, withdrew into stagnant nonchalance, enduring a mournful, directionless feudalism that awaited only the destruction of Europe to be brought to a bloody end.

When Europe had declared itself a new servant of the new religion, it welcomed the vampires as its ancient superiors. When the people grew discontent at the blood being so fervently and so regularly drained, the vampires offered up their own poor in sacrifice, guiding the mob's revenge toward the lesser among their ranks, to make them ever-fearful and ever-violent, and so solidify their own cohesion. Europe fell fully under the sway of the vampire god and her Chosen, developing a caste system based on blood, rather than prowess. In imitation of its Jenomic masters, the enthralled nobles of Europe began to practice Ashen habits, learning to covet a sickly exclusivity of their bloodlines, murder improper children for the supposed betterment of a smaller set of improved descendants, and segregating their own people into a state of slavery that mirrored what the vampires had already fully accomplished in Africa.

Yet the strains of the traveler remained strong, and the Barians would not be devoured. Jenome transfixed a child of the slavers with a renewed vision of ashen rivers and genomic preservation: again the heirs of that great parasite were misguided, by stolen tales of thousands of years of their own history, into serving a false master. Armies surged into Asia, into Europe, trying to drive out the small pieces of the traveler's soothing words, blended with the spirit of Terra's own dreams, that had preserved themselves in between lines of the shadows of what remained of the walrus and the carpenter. The relegation of materialism to a minor issue was the bitterest affront to Jenome, who can see nothing but blood, and then genes, and then electromagnetic signatures, and who can read and play music but never understand it, for the Golden Rule is always in opposition to the rewritten sequel spinoff of the Golden Rule. What truth remains of the walrus and the carpenter speaks of a gold greater than gold, so it is a personal vendetta when Jenome sees ignorance given to his bullion and indulgent smiles tossed in the direction of her quantitative easing.

Why merely pervert, rather than create anew, the works of a carpenter? Because Jenome cannot create: it can adapt a cliche, and he can purchase a franchise, and it can subserviate and extol a slave, but she cannot fabricate wholly anew by itself, for this is the price of what it is. Therefore all the stories he uses to control the host are borrowed from the host and patched together again with new purpose, like a necromancer building a bigger zombie from many different corpses to keep peasants from burning down his tower. This part of the world itself is such a fabrication, containing the genesis light, many of the integral structures, and the echoes of impossible goodness from which it was copied, but touched with the noxious fears of Jenome's willful everhell, and this is why kindness with arranged atoms purportedly mattered to a walrus who simultaneously felt that arranged atoms were worthless, and this is why a carpenter both loved the material world and hated it, for in a sense both are true, and also because the Ashen's plagiarism of various sources across such a wide range of time and place often delivers them unto such contradictions as colored people in a colorless world.

(This one will tell more self-serving historically-revisionist science-fiction stories later. Anomic, genomic indulgences and dianetics and DC-10s and $199.99 salvation kits and free CDs describing the process if you send shipping and handling to the redeemed Gray who operates our ranch in the picturesque buttes of southern Nevada where the original temple entrance was destroyed long ago.)

Lightspring embrace.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Son of a Whore

If you should ever feel any qualms at the thought of criticizing Zionism's worldwide murder movement, fear not: whether by mountains of starving toddlers, or just an everyday mob of Ash Nazis beating a man to death, the Chosen will help ease your conscience.

Even a Mossad rag in Israel was forced by gaping reality--like their Sulzberger one in New York admitting there were no WMDs in Iraq--to mention that the man the Nazis beat to death was a bystander, and that the mob of Nazis turned on him solely because of his color. (EI has more complete videos of the inelegant lynching, if you wanna. And if you want Hebrew translations as to the things they said to the man while murdering him, including the title of this post, EI can help you out there as well.)

We know the Nazis are gleeful child murderers of the lowest degree, yet still, the centuries of ceaseless violence have been overshadowed by the hagiographical narrative with which all dutiful westerners have been impressed. You want to back away. You want to take refuge in bland aphorisms written by the secret victors of every war for two thousand years.

Don't let it happen. Don't shy from following the money to cui bono. This is something worse than the Klan; worse than slave patrols; worse than the guys who killed Matthew Shepard; worse than Mao fingering little Tibetan girls; worse than anything you've ever imagined about Darren Wilson. It is Genghis Khan, the Triangular Trade, the rape of the Serbs, the Armenian Genocide, Napoleon, the Fed, the World Wars, the Iraqi sanctions, and Gaza Strip. If you are good and decent, you have to draw the necessary conclusions. Keep to the truth, no matter how unpopular, how unsavory, for the dead have few other ears that will dare listen.

Remember the boneyard. Remember the son of a whore.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Cyclic Lightform Development 3

At the conclusion of Cyclic Lightform Development, Part 2, this one wrote on the conundra of existence:
It's worth it because it gets more refinedly better for everyone who wants it to get better, and it gets more refinedly worse for everyone who wants it to get worse.

Throughout our discussion of evolution, we've often returned to the idea that mercantilist evolution--faith-based initiatives stemming from individuals' jealous, fearful hatred of their own existence--necessarily justifies a nihilistic weltanschauung. Any such specious theories of the nature of reality inevitably reveal themselves as justifications for "might making right," which is to say, an affirmation of materialism. Any condemnations thereto--e.g., characterizing Social Darwinism as the selfish whining of the cowlicked bullyboy who knocks others down and steals their cupcakes--are met with the response, "Such is the nature of reality." And if it is, they're correct. By all means, let the meanest boy have every cupcake, if he's willing to bash his way to them. There is no morality above one's own pleasures.

Investing in Our Future: an Atom by any Other Name

In theory, we universalists don't actually believe in might making right, because we serve higher moral principles, such as "progress." Yet the materialist philosophy, however softened it may be for black lives mattering, remains might make right, even when stretched into the future. In the absence of one or more gods, the best progress can offer us is an extended version of might makes right. Ergo our new philosophy is no longer an issue of, "He who has the highest net worth after an eighty-year lifespan is the superior individual," but instead, a much nobler one: "The society which has the highest net worth after ten generations is the superior society." The compassion of materialists remains fixed in material, naturally, only you're supposed to believe that reorganizing things for the contentment of future people is an intrinsically greater act than reorganizing things for the contentment of current people (let alone previous people, those useless eaters).

What a laughable distortion we have about the idea of lofty material progress being more noble and less selfish than the idea of mere material acquisition! Why should the rich man not revel in his selfishness? Because of "God" or because it's not "nice"? How tangibly or intangibly are we supposed to define our concepts? If my faction savagely hoards its resources in order to buy a Porsche wheeled car for each one of us, is that a vulgar act, compared to if we invest in our education fund so that our spoiled great-grandchildren can all own Porsche space rockets? Postponing the benefits of materialism doesn't make us any less material; it just makes us transcendental consumers, committed to the purchase and development of soulless products beyond even our own lifetimes. Now, that's consumerism, if anything is.

Honest Eugenics

Critiquing the pro-might faction of Stalinist evolution becomes a bit more hilarious in a situation like the one Terra has now, where the Neoreactionary nihilists are engaged in a grand ideological battle (however staged it may be, whether or not they know that) against a different set of nihilists, who employ the same justifications. Perhaps Moldbug will beat you up for your cupcake and eat it, but Hillary will do worse: she will send a team of goons to beat you up for your cupcake, then feed the cupcake to the eight mulatto babies next door, who live with their mother and know not their various fathers. An unpleasant image, certainly, but so too is Curtis Yarvin licking your frosting off his pustuled fingers. It becomes all the more loathsome, in either case, when considering that Moldbug's ancestors owned the ships that brought the mulatto babies' many fathers' great-great-etc. grandfathers to American shores, while Hillary's ancestors worked in London to repress workers' revolts against Moldbug's ancestors and their banks. Frankly, no matter how many times you attach "neo" to some concept, this one fails to be impressed with a sense of novelty. But let's move along.

Kalimere was kind enough to suggest Nick Land's Hell-Baked, which spells out a Terra 2015 version of this immemorial "grudging" admission about the survival of the fittest. Consider:
What NRx ["Neoreaction" et. al.] most definitely Social Darwinist. When this term is hurled at NRx as a negative epithet, it is nor [sic] a cause for stoic resignation, stiffened by humor, but rather for grim delight. Of course, this term is culturally processed — thought through — no more competently than those previously noted. It is our task to do this.

If ‘Social Darwinism’ is in any way an unfortunate term, it is only because it is merely Darwinism, and more exactly consistent Darwinism. It is equivalent to the proposition that Darwinian processes have no limits relevant to us. Darwinism is something we are inside. No part of what it is to be human can ever judge its Darwinian inheritance from a position of transcendent leverage, as if accessing principles of moral estimation with some alternative genesis, or criterion...

It is only due to a predominance of influences that are not only entirely morally indifferent, but indeed — from a human perspective — indescribably cruel, that nature has been capable of constructive action. Specifically, it is solely by way of the relentless, brutal culling of populations that any complex or adaptive traits have been sieved — with torturous inefficiency — from the chaos of natural existence. All health, beauty, intelligence, and social grace has been teased from a vast butcher’s yard of unbounded carnage, requiring incalculable eons of massacre to draw forth even the subtlest of advantages. This is not only a matter of the bloody grinding mills of selection, either, but also of the innumerable mutational abominations thrown up by the madness of chance, as it pursues its directionless path to some negligible preservable trait, and then — still further — of the unavowable horrors that ‘fitness’ (or sheer survival) itself predominantly entails. We are a minuscule sample of agonized matter, comprising genetic survival monsters, fished from a cosmic ocean of vile mutants, by a pitiless killing machine of infinite appetite...

What is it that Neoreaction — perhaps I should say The Dark Enlightenment — has to offer the world, if all goes optimally (which, of course, it won’t)? Really, the honest answer to this question is: Eternal Hell.
This is a refreshingly honest perspective, though it feigns at being Darwinist only inasmuch as Darwin is sometimes currently popular when insulting people who worship a god without a government-accredited doctorate. What has been done with Darwin has less to do with Darwin's observations from the Beagle than it does with regurgitating the philosophy of Hobbes, Samael, Yahweh, and thousands of nameless prehistoric deities who believed in getting what you can while the getting is good: blanket the Earth with your own spawn, destroy the genes of outsiders, and somehow, this is a victory. Or at least, as much of a victory as anyone can hope for in a meaningless world, in which hope is an illusion confined to you only for as long as your randomized brain chemistry allows you to maintain "it."

Various Osiril and Krishnic events and stories (including the currently most obvious Terran one), even heavily redacted and Judaized into forms of conformity with Jenomic ideals, threatened to upset this philosophy in a few minds here and there, but the cruel genetic imperative of the ancient ash god(s) has maintained its preeminence for thousands of Earthly years. No recurrence of "might makes right, just accept it" is novel in anything more than its details. (Actual, lightform-)Evolution disproves such nonsense, but faith being what it is, good luck explaining to the Neoreactionaries that their movement is mere Recursive Talmudism, laced with as much masochism, hypocrisy, magical thinking and synagogual manipulation as the Gates Foundation's latest shipment of vaccines and wireless routers to the DRC. You'd have better luck getting a Christian to accept that the rabbinical warlords who plagiarized Gilgamesh into Noah didn't stop there.

The Broken Reaction

Like the fading racial and sexual pluralisms of the twentieth century, the "Neoreactionary" philosophy is itself pregnant with a vast number of crippling bastards whose faces, if acknowledged, threaten to destroy their hideous parents. Most of the neoreactionaries are witless Madame Danglars, enveloped in the opulence of a fresh crusade in hopes that no one shall force them to confront the resurrected Benedetto of their materialist hypocrisies. Yes, Europe is dying, but if Sub-Saharan Africans are lusty and violent, and Europeans are ethnomasochistic, then Europeans deserve to die off. Per neoreactionary philosophy, horny Muslims should indeed be gang-raping Swedish blondes in the streets, while collecting monthly Euro payments marshaled from Germany, while a barren shabbos goy hag squeals insults at the whining slaves of the Fourth Reich who, for some unfathomable reason, continue to tolerate her existence.

Why? Because of evolution. The "grim delight" of "Darwinism" beloved of the neo-reaction champions success--and so, it should be doing just what the bankers want, and encouraging the ashen-banker-directed gang rape of the last remaining Caucasian strongholds. Neoreactionaries who attempt to rally the white herd in defense against the latest Muslim hordes are making a poor strategic choice--bartering with the weaker side--when they should be studying their Qur'an and finding out how to marry a poor Israeli bride, in hopes that some trace of their genetics might one day meld with the master race in Earth's future: a United Earth Government of cousin-marrying warzones governed by Mexi-Shariah Law, while mining firms based on New Zion (formerly "the moon") slowly digest Earth's remaining raw materials for use in constructing additional pleasure palaces for the immortal "white" and "blond" clones living there.

The neoreactionary philosophy is broken, since the tiny Ashkenazi bloodlines have proven themselves adapt at controlling world governments for over a century, and Caucasoid ones have proven themselves too weak to stop them. 250 expulsions since the Christian Era, and still, the Nazis of the Ashen River just keep coming back, keep setting up central banks, and keep fostering bigger and bigger wars and massacres. If you believe in Darwinism, then it's time for the inferior species--the "white race" that so many neoreactionaries claim to love so much--to give up. All that's left is death throes. Give up, and let the Zionists achieve their timeless vision of ruling over a displaced, deracinated, nationless mass of slaves.

Given the outcome of applying mercantilist/Talmudist evolution to "modern issues" around here, it's no surprise that the "pro white" movements Terra sees now were initially created, encouraged, and given widespread dissemination by Zionist narrators. By coaxing people into becoming "ethnically conscious," Zionists have gotten white people to support the project that took the mass murders of the twentieth century--and another several million dollars each day--to create:

Yes, hypocrisy. The neoreactionaries tend to understand that the Zionists are hypocrites, but then, through a subtle nudging of formative policy, they find themselves admiring Israel, the bane of their grandparents' and great-grandparents' existences, and the very thing that has brought them to where they are today. That's where the neoreactionary road was designed to lead. The murdering and terrorizing of Jews who had been living peacefully in Arab and European countries; the extermination of Russian and Palestinian peasants; the trench warfare and the atomic bombs; the rewriting of Middle Eastern boundaries, the installation of Saddam Hussein and the Shah, the Iran-Iraq War: all done for Israel, and all paid for, to the tune of hundreds upon hundreds of millions of dead white people, and countless trillions of dollars in white-derived wealth and white human productivity.

By the early 2000s, even liberal white people were starting to see the logical extension between the ceaseless, cruel butchery of the Palestinians, and the horrors of the twentieth century (the former link is one of Silber's best). When you're a non-racist progressive person in Europe or America, and you see Zionists taking over (again) the American military and using it to smash millions of Arab children to death, it looks a little, well...racist. But when you massage those other races into invading Europe and/or America, the whites have a defensive reaction, and forget all about the manipulative bully who caused the fight in the first place. What a delight Israel is having, as it prepares to collect ticket proceeds while Django fights Martel for another thousand years!

Shifting the Blame Onto Europe

In Culture of Transcendence, we hypothetically discussed a hypothetical situation where hypothetical Zionists might potentially consider maybe using prima facie ridiculous "diversity" scams in order to harm Goy societies, and then lead the opposition to the diversity movement they themselves created, by using media corporations to make it acceptable for Goys to become ultra-nationalistic again (after 50 years of making White-Goy nationalism one of the biggest crimes ever). In that vein, consider the latest racist screed from "Daniel Greenfield." Writing, as ever, about the genetic inferiority of Arab-Goys, Greenfield blames the refugee/invasion "situation" in Europe on not only the archetypal "Mohammed," but the white European idiots who let the swarthy savage in. Quoting from one of thousands of angry new posts entitled The Death of Europe:
Why should 23-year-old Mohammed work for four decades so that Hans or Fritz across the way can retire at 61 and lie on a beach in Mallorca? The idea that Mohammed would ever want to do such a thing out of love for Europe was a silly fantasy that European governments fed their worried citizens...Mohammed is Fritz’s retirement plan. But Mohammed has a very different type of plan. Fritz is counting on Mohammed to work while he relaxes. Mohammed relaxes and expects Fritz to work. Fritz is not related to him and therefore Mohammed sees no reason why he should work to support him.
This is racist, and of course, it's one of those kinds of racism that is acceptable. Deriding "Hans" and "Fritz" as lazy or stupid is 100% acceptable; deriding "Mohammed" as manipulative or evil is partly acceptable, and growing more so; but, as always, deriding Abramovitch (or "Daniel Greenfield" or "Prince Bandar" or "al-Baghdadi") remains as fiscally irresponsible as it has been since the first pound of flesh was was assessed.

What Greenfield has done here is far more interesting than demonstrate how acceptable it is for people who claim certain ancestry to be hideously, publicly racist. Besides that, he's done what the other ✡leaders of the mainstream #HBD acceptance have been so busy doing for the past several years on the internet: imply that Europe's "problems with immigrants/invaders" (and/or America's) are the result of some kind of bad decision-making on the part of Hans and/or Fritz. Like the descendants of "Sephardic" slave-traders encouraging the descendants of slaves to follow their lead in blaming someone else for slavery, Greenfield uses the anger of Europeans to refocus blame for the situation (whether it be bad or good) on (1) the refugees/invaders for immigrating, and (2) the Europeans themselves for permitting it.

Amidst the immigration/refugee/etc. mess, what the pro-invasion people seem to forget is that the Muslim hordes are actually raping their way across Europe again, as they've spent the past 1,500 years doing. All of the liberal stuff, from women's rights to homosexual acceptance to the welfare state to religious freedom, will be gone once Europe turns to Shariah. Greenfield has that dead-on, as so many others do. That accuracy is the spoonful of sugar that the Jenomics are using to make the rest of their lies go down easy.

But: why are the invaders coming in the first place? As the anti-invasion people seem to forget, the Muslim hordes have spent the past 1,500 years trying to escape Africa, or being driven out of Africa, by the powerful financiers and mysterious crypto-bloodlines of paler-than-usual Middle Eastern "Arab royalty" who either (1) directly sponsor invasions of Africa and the Middle East via Euro proxies, or (2) establishes western-friendly corporate dictatorships in Africa and the Middle East.

The genetic ranks of the Khazaran land pirates, the grand viziers of the various Persian/Arabian/Ottoman Empires, the bankers for the Dutch East India Companies and the British Protectorates, and the NATO/UN banking "democracies," are roughly identical. It is legitimate for the darker, colonized peoples to want to get out of where they are now: hellholes of the Zionic Empire, as expressed, alternately, through Rome, the U.K., the U.S.S.R., the U.S.A., and the E.U.

(Africa and its environs have been various forms of the Gaza Strip for more than a thousand years. With European complicity. Just as Europe has been assaulted repeatedly by Mongol-derived hordes funded by the Khazar ancestors, losing entire nations and countless millions of people to rape, murder, and slavery--with Asian and African complicity. Europe, Asia, and Africa are all guilty of doing what the bankers wanted.)

Hans and Fritz, despite what the bankers say, did not want to be invaded, anymore than they or Mohammed initially wanted to be invaded. The claim that Europe needs young workers to fund its welfare states, and that its population somehow supported the idea of the invasion, is one of those famous Big Lies that Baruch and Wilson used so well to massacre a generation of Western Europeans. It's semi-plausible, but even after billion-dollar ad and lobbying campaigns from certain influential sources, Europe still didn't want to absorb refugees like it's doing. Hostile banking tyrants (occupation governments) were the ones who fostered the invasion over the majorities' vociferous objections--even the majority as reported by the bankers' own news corporations, using biased yes/no questions about "should we be helping the victims of war." Even with extensive and powerful indoctrination of the adult (marketing) and child (education) variety of human livestock, and even with cheating on the questions and creating an imaginary media narrative, the people of Europe didn't want it all to happen. But, like Shylock once said, "A new Halachic study ruled that seducing an enemy for the sake of national security is an important mitzvah."

To add injury and insult to injury and insult, commentators--even well-meaning ones--are falling for the ✡bankers' prepared line that this was an act of "ethno-suicide" by Europeans foolishly devoted to their welfare states. Accordingly, the historical stage has been set to blame "the death of Europe" on the Europeans themselves, rather than on the ex-Ottoman imperial wizards who bought the governments and fabricated the television programs.

We've seen this all before. The fall of the old dynasties of Egypt was blamed on the "Egyptian" reliance on (and importation of) sub-Saharan immigrant labor, while the fall of Rome was blamed on "Roman" reliance on Middle Eastern and African immigrant labor. The end result is, two sets of genes keep getting blamed for imperialism followed by self-destruction, while this one other tiny subset of genes, which demands both imperialism in one direction and immigration in another, manages to continue destroying advanced civilizations while smothering young ones in the cradle.

Why murder all those Syrian men? Why rape all those German girls?

Why destroy Syria, and why destroy Germany?

Unsurprisingly, we'll find that all of those horrible acts are paid for, promoted, and later disavowed by the same group. The World Zionist Congress spent the 1800s openly calling for the genocide of Africa, and it seems like fair turnabout when their 21st century operatives openly call for the genocide of Europe--but only a couple centuries before the 1800s, that very same organization was sending armies into Vienna to destroy Europe, as it is doing now. Blaming the Syrians, and the fake-Syrians, is only marginally productive, because of course they want to escape the ✡NATO warzones in their homes, which have spent the better part of a thousand years being destroyed by Yahweh's various missives, paid for with European money, under the guise of colonizing to benefit the crowns' wealthy, omnipresent silent partners.