Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Harvesting Freebies (FOFC 3)

Part 1. Part 2.

A major topic for artists, to the point of anodynation--decades of repetitive reassurances through books, seminars, internet, et cetera--is the idea that the important mediators in any given field are too busy, too important, too just, and/or too idea-laden to have any interest in stealing your song or your style or your screenplay or your whatever, therefore just send it in for them to part out, since you'll be fairly compensated like a lottery winner if they like it. Plus, no one achieves success without a lot of rejections first, and it helps you grow, and it helps you develop, and send your resume to every company on LinkedIn and you'll eventually get that job.

Try it out sometime if you've never dealt with any of these fields. The communal consensus--like that found in both automobile enthusiast industry publications and mysteriously popular private venues regarding the incomparable desirability of this year's model cars--is to get yourself out there by climbing the mountain of success by investing in your future by letting a bunch of people have unprotected and unconfirmable access to your work. For a generic international take, read some of the How to Sell your Song Guide for Idiots type stuff, or, for a generic lowdown real person take, browse postings on popular sites by authoritative nobodies (like me but with a C.V.-equivalent posted and maybe some links that lead or that once led to workshops/revivals) about how to bootstrap your way to success. It's a powerful pull, a longstanding duh, that anyone's job as a modern creator is to violate all imaginable laws of worldly economics and/or business by letting the world have that type of access to one's product based upon the unverifiable success stories of people who were once nobodies at home like you and then became pop sensations through the marketplace's ability to recognize and fairly reward the original quality for which it hungers.

Today's internet equivalent is tragically giant in its continuation of old memes. Think the now-stereotypical innocent young girl who goes to Hollywood looking to become a star, falls under the wings of an adviser, bites the bullet, and screws her way to her first role (a la "They weren't big shots, they were nothing but tricks"), only to learn that those kinds of transactions aren't contractually guaranteed, and that their bodies/ideals are mostly fringe benefits for small-timers, since the powerful ones prefer bonding via preselected children rather than the unreliable produce of the bus station and airport. The tragic stories among earnest artists who've headed to Manhattan or L.A. over the past century (it's currently early 21st century Terra), and the amazingly pervasive social encouragement for them to trade their bodies and/or their effort for unwritten option contracts, are connected to all stories of labor, albeit on the completely unorganized end; the coal miners have suffered thoroughly, yes, but somehow the teenage girls weren't even getting paid a pittance for their end of the deal. Whose story is more tragic? We'll not know on this side, but economically speaking, greater tragedy goes to the teenage hopefuls who, contra the miners' experience, weren't even paid for being molecularly and/or mentally destroyed.

Since robotics are still insufficiently precise, and since consumers still exercise the spectra of choice-ability to allow their preference for some form of perceived human contact to affect purchase decisions, many companies still need some form of asses in chairs, ergo traditional-career-based social networking yet persists as a more plausible model (sic) than art-breakthrough networking. The tangible ineffectiveness of traditional-career-based social networking makes this statement seem laughable, but your chances of getting a job you found on the internet are, however deplorable they may be, higher than your chances of your screenplay becoming a movie (with you paid/credited for it) based on submitting it to internet fora.

The more pervasive, more effective 21st century variation is similar, but instead of "sending it in," or begging the local DJ to play it, we're encouraged to put it up on a prominent internet hub where there is even less chance of proving that so-and-so was ever aware of it, and where the crop volume is so high that you have a small chance of noticing it even if a part of it contributes to a profitable venture. For the generation of "newer" products, a.k.a. creativity-related fields, today's firms are phasing out the direct plagiarism model.

Consider the evolution of western art, post-Nicean invasion. Initially, financiers and their pet inbred aristocracies controlled creative types through funding. In order to have access to markets, artists had to sculpt or paint (or otherwise create in some form) things lords liked enough to pay for.

Those who deviated from financier wishes in the beginning achieved nothing except mockery; those who did so, or threatened to do so, subsequent to achieving fame could be removed, thus the "troubled lives" of artists to this day. American rockers, for example, drink and do stupid things, like all other Americans, but often need to be rendered speechless by their handlers; their supposed fast lifestyles, testified to rigorously by the industry and those still on its leash, construct normative messages meant to plausify the removal of dissenting products when they're too young for their disappearance to be assumed due to "natural causes." We drug ourselves both legally and illegally while simultaneously lamenting and forgiving the lifestyle that supposedly robs us of what we like. If you've caught on to how the media now portrays the European self-inflicted death rate as due to "meth" and "heroin," while the African group-inflicted death rate is due to "gangs" and "poverty," you might see a correlation between the calls for laws/programs to fix those problems, and the crocodile tears shed over Cobain eating a shotgun all on his own without any help whatsoever, simply due to drugs and music and fast lifestyles. (Seriously, if you "make it" and dare contemplate telling anyone about what it's like to make it, you lose your card and they either kill you or force you to make pro-WW2 movies.)

The nobility-based system resulted in the flood of Judeo-Nicean art that, under occupation pedagogy, forms the corpus of "western" achievements. Paganism was politely tolerated, phased out over the centuries, like freedom of association or execution of child-rapists. Rabbi after zombified rabbi, Mary after honorably ovaryless Mary, Adam after perfect Chosen Adam, were sequelized, like so many African Bonds, in order to gradually swallow up earlier cultures. The Europeoid's low time preference (as compared to more farseeing species) and traits of visual-communal reference made them easy prey (on a versal scale, a couple millennia to exterminate most vestiges of an earlier culture is considered fast and easy, indicative of low subgroup resistance) for this top-down approach. Once the relevant conditions could be met for all goddesses being replaced by Mary and all history being replaced by the Torah and the Nicean Gospels, earlier salon.coms began funding only non-pagan art, and remembered-culture was adjusted.

Creators during the openly-nobility-based period, though steered in certain directions, were still "creators," and some could comment upon, sign, and otherwise receive direct personal credit, by their contemporaries and by later generations, for their own work. The cultural losses of the occupation are untrackable; the more cogent artists who didn't slaver at the chance to spend decades rendering only the occupation text's plagiarized characters received no audience, and their work either was not produced or is not accessible (except inasmuch as it recurs through genetic memory, but that's beyond the scope of this essay).

With the spread of communication technology--not in itself a bad thing, anymore than other technology, but bad in the sense that it increased the occupation's dominion; be wary of the mentally neutered occupation zealots who decry progress as the cause of badness--the prior model shifted. Aristocrats no longer needed to deal directly with artists.

Use music as an example of art, and use Mozart and Cobain as examples of earlier changes--not due to parity of skill, worth, or influence between the two, but as examples of product. Mozart was a child of a court retainer, and when he proved skillful, he was bounced around Europe in the employ of various churches/nobles. He met firsthand many of the nominal world leaders who produced his work, and his genetic line had been cultivated, making him one of many speculative court assets that paid off. Less successful investments than Mozart still offered positive returns; they ended up teaching, producing less-popular stuff, playing at parties, or joining someone's orchestra, which still provided courts a major cultural and financial return.

By Cobain's time (or that of any other wealthier and/or more impressive latter-day twentieth-century Terran musician of comparable success whom you prefer), Cobain wasn't meeting the Bank's presidents or senators, nor did his popularity need to be established by the public patronage of celebrities. Performing directly for a church or lord was replaced, gradually, with increasingly modern churches and lords identifying artistic "trends" (responses to pedagogically instilled subconscious narratives, e.g., "generalized alienation"), and exploiting intermediary producers who would select moldable talent. Once talent had been molded, the news could notice how popular it was, causing it to become popular, for better or for worse. The artist(s) in question would be rewarded--a comparably small expense considering the total gains of the product--and the normative reinforced. Court scribes, having noticed and popularized and lionized Cobain, could then circlejerk his work as "the voice of a generation," or other such self-proving media banalities. To people unable to envision the opportunity costs involved, or offended by the implication of their lack of absolute perceptive power, the thought that any given artist so-crowned wasn't the voice of a generation, or somehow inherently meaningful without the press declaring it so, is offensive because it threatens the "things are pretty okay in this regard" need.

Now look back at Mozart. Between him and Cobain, we see major changes in the development of artistic produce. Firstly, Cobain didn't need to become popular by being known as performing for the pope, the duke, or their modern day equivalents. That function had been delegated to local producers who networked with local press to create/spotlight a trend that would go nationwide, increasing demand for the product. Like Mozart in the 1700s, Cobain in the 1900s might have earned notice simply by people walking past him playing on a street corner, and each of them to some point deserved that notice; Mozart, though, like Cobain, could've ended up as simply "that weird little guy who sometimes plays cool stuff at get-togethers." His producers held ultimate power over the scope of the creative force. With Cobain, though, smaller fish could do the jobs that once took bigger fish. More important Bank frontmen--literally, popes and dukes, rather than their 1900s equivalents of personal assistants to personal assistants thereto--had to make in-the-flesh appearances and endorsements so that random bourgeois and peasants would express an interest in that new sensation.

More importantly, in order to have a Mozart, thousands of potential Mozarts had to be cultivated. Mozart's father, mother, and six prior siblings had to be provided for solely on the artistic merits of his father. Mozart nursed, grew, ate, and schooled under the auspices of musical investment from the lords who later profited by him. Cobain, by contrast, came from a laboring family of no particular patronage. That family had to finance his growth and education separately, while later producers could profit at least as (if not more) significantly from the end result. Better for them, they didn't have to raise thousands or millions of Inadequate Cobains in order to get one Adequate Cobain; all they needed to do was select one of the Adequate Cobains that had been externally generated, and sell it. (This isn't to say that the Cobain we know of is not special or worthwhile, but that, absent the industry's barraging influence, a fair marketplace might have found value in other grungy little guitarists, too. Locating available space for such collective attention could be done in the absence of the current mediators as easily as cutting a governmental budget absent the same influence.)

This process is similar to the economic model whereby Banks do not need to engage in identifying future trends in land development; instead, they deny developmental rights to all competing parties, then use zoning to permit connected developers to acquire the choicest parcels in regions where other development has occurred. In much of Europe, the Bank has employed concepts of "aristocracy" to do this. A noble line may, for example, hold theoretical rights over "hunting" in forty thousand acres; therefore, no one else may hunt there, or more importantly, build, live, farm, mine, hold water rights, et cetera. These private preserves can later be sold at a premium, as all organic development is restricted to open areas, providing for an effect akin to planned technological obsolescence as populations grow (because growing populations need somewhere to live, ergo the privately held land can be sold by those who artificially removed it from the market). The geography of Canada and the United States allowed for a more cunning exploit of this principle. Too much land was initially available for the Bank to fully zone and develop it. Therefore, territory was annexed in conjunction with setting aside vast swathes for "nature preservation" (of various living and unliving things, including arbitrarily interesting native species and/or geological features), which is released at a slow drip only once investors have seen where marks show interest. Like the narrative that brilliant economists at central banks prevent panics and stabilize currency, or that corporate executives add value to the marketplace equivalent to their salaries, the lie is made evident when developers show they can't actually predict where people will want to live, ergo they must remove all open land from the marketplace until they know where people will buy it at a premium--ergo their system is a lie; they aren't actually good at predicting anything, nor interested in preserving nature, but are, rather, afraid that there might be clever people out there who invest in that vital future railroad junction, and will then only sell it for its fair market value, not for private betterment. Exterminating an "Indian" tribe that claimed to live in a flat location was permitted, while tribes living in mountainous locations were given "reservations." These lands were barred from sale to or from any entity except "the government," thereby preserving the mountain property for later resort or high-value residential development, and the prairies for later low-value residential or industrial development. Nineteenth century Canada's nigh-metrosexual interplay with its own "native peoples" is more apologetically noxious than America's comparatively blunt nineteenth century stance, and, like so many things un-American, focused more on later evil than on current; land specuation, though, is a topic for another time.

Return to music; to Mozart and Cobain. Cobain in the twentieth century was almost as lucky as Mozart in the eighteenth: Cobain and his family had to wholly finance his own life and musicianship, but he plied his trade in an age in which live performance still existed, e.g., an age in which acting (lip-syncing and pretending to play instruments) was considered more vulgar than it was in, say, 2019, 2009, 1999, et cetera. Ergo his musicianship capability was relevant to his role. He was more an "artist," able at least to perform in groups, in increasing contrast to modern actors, the scripts of whose performances are not only purchased behind the curtain, but performed in a manner which is not verifiably by the actor(s) in question. Cobain's musicianship was not as relevant as in Mozart's time--where vocalists, for example, lacked the technology to contractor- or self-backup through reverb and were often forced to build relationships and learn to perform with other vocalists--but still relevant. Video killed the radio star less than the phonograph killed Beethoven, in the sense that artificially-duplicated culture permitted the Bank to increase net profits by eliminating investment in the stock of court artists who had formerly been paid to breed children for those skills in hopes of generating good returns on a small percentage of them. People who still attempted to be artists without being selected to disseminate mediators' message and give them a cut increasingly became targets for Bank mockery (you can click through that to the ✡/inbred [sic] Christopher Guest. The saying "every. single. time" is here again relevant).

Between Mozart's and Cobain's respective time periods, artists who weren't properly born to court assets (Mozart) or weren't able to bumble their way into local clubs (Cobain) were encouraged to self-finance their own ventures--not as artists, but as businessmen promoting a brand. The Bank's theft of the airwaves via government censoring of dissenting radio companies demolished what would have been a proto-internet freedom of millions of communal, family, local, and standalone anti-Bank stations. The theft also eviscerated music and musicians in a foreshadowing of what television, then the internet, then thinkspace, would later do. The idea of a band, and a band's name, had to come into play in order to allow for a product that didn't depend solely, then little, then at all, on an individual's (or a group's) skill/talent/musicianship, but instead an easily-recognizable marketing term. More importantly, to reach "anyone," the artist had to begin approaching the mediators to whom had been delegated the Bank's power to control airwave access. Artists no longer had to perform for nobles/clerics, ergo nobles/clerics no longer had to be seen eating McBurgers in order to generate popular interest in McBurgers. Instead, the technological glamour of the radio station, and its more-transferable power over "the market" (the marks), was to be appealed to: artists were encouraged to grow and feed themselves on their own, learn their instruments on their own, develop a repertoire on their own, and then provide their product for free to the very mediators whose business it was to maximize income and minimize expenses with regards selling ads decorated by new music.

The above rubric is exemplified economic insanity. The fox guards the henhouse; the wallet inspector is an actual respected governmental position; the slaver-merchants are running the treasury. None of these descriptions--the metaphorical fox nor the literal thieves and slavers--are exaggerations, but even many people who understand the nature of fiat currency loaned to the permanently indebted taxpayers fail to see the similarity between occupation finance and occupation art. What would rationally immoral economic actors do in such a situation? Simple: they'd plausibly alter choice submissions and sell them under copyright without need to pay the original submitters. And so they have, since the unprotected submission was, like other once-inconceivables--say, mandatory state-supervision of childhoods--made to seem ordinary. Cobain's era brushes against the last few decades of partially actualized performance, where artistry, rather than show business, still retained tiny pieces of relevance.

The business model of consumers paying mediators for other consumers' goods and services grows more efficient as the internet grows. Now, investment in thousands of crappy little clubs and thousands of crappy little bands may drop to zero. In order to achieve success, the musician is supposed to share her/his product for free on the internet. Key lyrics, imagery, and musical components--selected melody, harmony, rhythm, et cetera--must be made openly accessible to advertise a product which costs money, when the original creators lack the media power to produce the artificial consensus of (real or fabricated) prior adorers and purchasers that drive most art sales. Marketable product components are now generated with zero investment, and unknown hordes of musicians receive zero credit for a melody that a bunch of formerly jobless BFA contracted mixers can turn into a professionally prepared hit for a genre-appropriate puppet to perform. Everyone was influenced by someone, so any uncanny similarities between a low-bit-rate acoustic sample dug out of the nobody internet, and a 99-cent mp3 bestseller, can be attributed to Johnny Cash or Shakespeare--an eventuality defense that has rarely, if ever, needed employ. The accustomization of the consumer to systematic powerlessness has made it redundant to not merely give up hope of recovering something that is stolen, but to, rather stockholmishly, produce it for the thief without being asked, and to be glad for the privilege of being part of it all. Ergo this; ergo the contributory nature of the product sold to profound fiscal effect by the great mediators.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

One Now: Failing the Marshmallow Test

You are placed in a three-sided room which contains three doors, one on each wall, each of which leads to a separate room. Your room contains three buttons, each of which can open one of the doors.

In the second room are a billion male Tigers and a billion pregnant female Tigers. They are all hungry and they all want to eat you. Their room has no buttons.

In the third room is a Merchant. His room contains three buttons, each of which can open one of the doors. He can press one of the buttons to open the automatic door between your room and the Tiger room. This will permit one Tiger at a time to enter your room and attack you.

In another room is the Cuck. His room contains three buttons which produce happy beeping noises but do not open any doors. He will cry, self-fellate, self-mutilate, overeat, undereat, call you any bad name he can think of, and attempt to slap you if you harm any of the Tigers, harm the Merchant, harm him, demand that the button system be shut down, demand that others stay out of your room, fall asleep, get eaten by the first Tiger, get eaten by the second Tiger, get eaten by the billionth Tiger, or take any other conceivable or inconceivable action.

The experiment begins. Here are your options:

(1) Do nothing. Result: the Merchant presses the button to open the door between your room and the Tiger room and a Tiger enters. You embrace it. It eats you. The Cuck slaps his beepy buttons and wails in dismay. The Merchant then presses the button to open the door between your room and the Cuck's room, through which the Tiger passes, and the Cuck is then eaten. In your last moments, you were amazed and confused that a Tiger would eat you.

(2) Prepare yourself. Result: the Merchant opens the door and you shoot the first Tiger. The Cuck slaps his beepy buttons and wails in dismay. The Merchant releases another Tiger. You shoot the second Tiger. The Cuck cries noisily and the Merchant releases another Tiger. You continue shooting until you run out of bullets. The seventh Tiger eats you. The Merchant then presses the button to open the door between your room and the Cuck's room, through which the Tiger passes, and the Cuck is then eaten. You die satisfied that the Cuck is going to get what is coming to him.

(3) You taunt the Cuck by pressing the button to open the door to his room, and you get in an argument with him about how stupid it is to live near Tigers. The Cuck wails in dismay and slaps you. You make fun of him for his inability to perceive the Tiger threat. You discuss and make charts and cartoons of mountainous centuries of data depicting how hungry Tigers like to eat people. You argue that you should maybe follow the Merchant's example in fortifying the doors between all of your rooms and the Tiger's room. Result: the Merchant fortifies his own door and then presses the button to open your door and you shoot the first Tiger. The Cuck wails in dismay and slaps you and the Merchant releases another Tiger. You shoot the second Tiger. The Cuck cries noisily and you shoot the Cuck and you are satisfied that he was a traitor and you killed him and you are better than he was. The Merchant releases another Tiger. You continue shooting until you run out of bullets. The sixth Tiger eats you.

(4) You press the button to open the Merchant's door and enter it and shoot him. The Cuck wails in dismay. You discover that the Merchant's room contains the door out of the testing facility. You leave.

Only one choice leads to a future free of death by Tigers. Centuries of testing show that numbers 1-3 inexplicably remain the most popular options by a significant margin. Prediction: death.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

The Future of Free Content, Part 2

Part 1.

The television produces free shows and offers them in exchange for commercials; the social network receives similar commercial revenue and offers the ability to attract more others who can entertain and be entertained by others. People do not visit the social network because of the network's own generated worthiness, but in pursuit of the worth or interaction generated solely by other people who visit the network seeking them in turn. Like nearby female props making a live male baboon more sexually desirable (not "appear more desirable," but actually, per the definition of desirable, to be more desirable) to observing females by being extant, the initial capitalization of the social network, like the dating website and the nightclub and the bride broker and their predecessors, is feigned popularity. A celebrity is famous because the celebrity is noteworthy because the celebrity is famous, we read Harry Potter because so many people are reading Harry Potter, and so forth. At some point, most likely before making any reactive purchase, we convince ourselves that the communal feelings obtained from any aspect of pop culture are organic, like apes worshiping monoliths due to word-of-mouth and/or chance marketplace contact. We generate fake profiles, hire actresses to linger over drinks, and have our cousins falsify prescription rates in order to achieve an artificial consensus, which has greater effect than true consensus, since we're reminded of the former more than of the latter. Accordingly, we orchestrate the very thing that we have promised to orchestrate, for the crowd does appear; if the crowd doesn't appear, judgmental hindsight and critical reviews remind us that failure or success was due to the crowd's choices based upon quality of product.

The removal of mandatory tenure, then of all tenure, from employment, transitions into this newer model, whereby the lifelong employee with benefits becomes separately responsible for benefits, then bereft of pension, then an acceptable target for "lay off," then an independent contractor. The trend must necessarily carry us another step beyond, toward what we witness now on the internet; toward what is taking place right now in this very place, namely, the replacement of the "independent contractor" (the paid worker whose irrelevance is socially and legally formalized) with the purely independent worker (the unpaid worker whose irrelevance is socially and legally formalized), who generates content to benefit the rentier not only without pay, but without "rights" or expectations of any kind. Mere replacement by robots implies that the robots are doing work whereas the human workers are unemployed; more accurately, the development of the trend has the human workers still doing work, just not being paid for it. In a fundamental, albeit arguably nonexistent (yet wrongly so) way, all economic theories are broken by the model of random dunces on the internet exerting labor to spin the news their own way, without pay (or by permitting third-party ads that generate revenue that may be considered either subjectively insignificant or objectively less per hour than door-greeting at the local retailer). The lack of pay snowball-continues the trend of it being acceptable to "fire" workers; of ventures which require more than one person becoming less partnerships and more chain gangs. Offensive to the modern capitalist is the notion of many implied contracts involved in joint ventures. The capitalist believes that the maxims, "I shall murder you and take what you have earned," and, "If I contribute to something successful, none may claim I am not some part owner of it," are equally closed to negotiation, though in opposite directions. This is an act of faith, as indiscriminate now and as alien to our past as the Marxism of the workers' souls and purses inherent in the Nicean Christian invasion. The search for a perfect government or economy, or at least better versions of these things, cannot begin under any such normative rubric, ergo our post-invasion economic philosophies are an odd mix of contradictory arguments between the token alien paladins Marx and Rand.

Terra's 2017 concept of "employment" has endured the diminutions outlined above. We look toward a future, not wholly of robot workers replacing human ones, but of servile employment relationships, including pay, continuing to be phased out in favor of servile unemployment relationships. Not noblesse oblige style servility, which was itself a product of early Christianization and, by comparison to its integrated predecessor societies, the initial reduction of ethnic and familial bonds by subjecting households to centralized power. This was a social problem for actual conservatives at the time that foreshadowed the 1776ian, 2016ian, or 1965ian refugee invasions of the hu-west, except with the difference that the subversion occurring then could more legitimately be considered a first-ever, and people were actually conserving something. Rather, the new model is one of eager, self-directed, pet-bred-labrador-style servility, wherein gaining an audience for some quantity of unpaid work rephrasing news is an achievement worthy of real social respect. Though lacking in ownership, control, tenure, pension, and the many other Nutraditional and pitiful hallmarks of Nurespectability of today's fading scraps of noblesse oblige, we content devourers/producers are so empty inside that we can hand out true respect for someone who more accurately lays out pictographs in a way more akin to our views than do the reviled news outlets, albeit for none of the dignity-preserving tokens we were promised in exchange for noblesse oblige, which was itself a dignity-preserving token promised in exchange for more effective societies.

As always, the conceptions of the future of free employment--the snowball effect that logic dictates will occur as the trend continues--seem ridiculous to the majority of current observers. Sexual website networking is useful here, as instinctual biological mores take longer to change than mental biological ones; how ridiculous is it, to a brahmin female of a mere century ago, that wealthy, well-bred daughters of the bourgeois might one day not merely publicly prostitute themselves for free, but pay for the privilege of doing so? Buying a title, then a job, is nothing new, anymore than acquiring decorations for prostitution. Now, though, the investment has not only outstripped the payoff, but removed the payoff. Enough awareness of that shock might yet remain to remind us that the logical outcomes of production via unemployment will continue its slide toward full expression.

The sometimes ideological, sometimes genetic descendants of what we might've once called "capitalists," then earlier "rentiers," have removed the requirement of land, and capital, from the equation. More valuable, to the point that eventually land or capital to rent ("loan") will be irrelevant, will be the intangible chosenness that defines one's ability to access the powers that generate a false consensus, e.g. the power to subtly orchestrate editorial-, layout-, compliance-, ownership-, and polity-level controls to make it appear that a franchise is successful, which will make the franchise successful. The latent power to grant success, and thereby reproduce wealth and power, and--more importantly--to reproduce the ability to orchestrate that wealth and power, e.g., the true power, already exists, all of its decisions destined, inevitably, to be successes as they--and we--define them. More enduring than aristocratic genes; more subtle; more resistant to the guillotine.

We saw a form of introduction of the modern system in the "submission for consideration" process, wherein artists of all kinds would be encouraged to independently finance their educations, then submit their work for consideration to plagiarizing managers who would, as Henry Ford reminded us, make a living from piecing together marketable ideas from among their rejected projects. This has long been how the arts, sciences, government, and academia work; the internet only makes it faster and offers more plausible arguments for "I never saw it before" in the event of (noticed) copyright violations. A field of quadrillions of interesting new melodies, portrayals, perspectives, et cetera, can be harvested on the internet without waiting for submitted performances, records, or drafts, treating the world's internet users as a generator of almost-random combinations which, despite being somewhat random as a creationary resource, nonetheless by virtue of its creators' uncompensated efforts (human labor) eliminates most of the total pool of randomness (those products not perceptible by at least a single human). Tracking success metrics tells companies what products people like, both objectively--the stolen program works well enough, ergo it has more compliments and fewer complaints on the free software-lovers forum--and subjectively--the song is appealing enough that 913 separate IPs sent it to their friends independent of corporate direction--and allows for market research, then safer market capitalization, of a pre-tested venture without credit to the creator or investment in reactive marketing/communications staff (e.g., the failing business model of a firm capable of accurately evaluating public response to a new product for itself, rather than a firm specializing in allocating advertising funds to achieve an instilled desirable public response).

Mass internet access expands this field, ideally someday subjecting the intellectual output of every human being to selective, retroactive copyright by the owners of the identifying metrics (which metrics, perhaps ironically, they will not have designed themselves, so much as paid unknowing contractors to repurpose the coding acquired by other metrics). The size of the sampling, the ubiquity of the medium, the selectivity of privacy, and the unspoken understanding of the masters of the totally recorded future ensure that the "I never saw it before" or "The basics belong to the human race who have always disseminated some form of this idea" arguments will remain perpetually available to plagiarizers. Offensive, yes, but not much different from the original highwayman/merchant who rapes an eleven-year-old and eventually makes her believe she's glad to have a husband ergo wanted it. The mindfuck, as it were, is the core of the sin, wherein we have to believe in an impartial and/or decent omniscience to tell ourselves that at least someone definitive sees what has happened; that at least the horror isn't getting away with anything, even though the highwaymen have convinced themselves, down to the level of their most private and self-aware moments, that they have been unfairly-persecuted philanthropists.

In a century, maybe less, some entity will propagate as history the theory outlined in this blog post; perhaps as a serious article analyzing economic trends, a sociological dissertation (with or without accompanying self-begging equations as the scholar's "field" demands), or a feelie plot. Whether or not the idea came from someone on the internet is irrelevant, as is whether or not "I" am whining inwardly, outwardly, or not at all at the prospect. The power levels involved were, in their own way, as predestined as the life of a dairy cow. The question is not "will you contribute willingly to market research without compensation?" as it once was, or even "will you produce marketable products without compensation?" as it has been for a while, but "will your uncompensated productions be selected for the killing floor today, tomorrow, or never?"

This one, for one, welcomes the time of ascension; the time of selection. To the front of the herd!

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

The Future of Free Content

Websites and nightclubs would've been perhaps less conceivable, but still conceivable, dating businesses at many points in human history. Paying a mediator to gather theoretically young and/or marriageable and/or lonely people together, virtually or in-person, is fathomable by the lower-functioning, even if the demand for such a service is recognized by them as indicative of social decay. Once known mediators (family members or close friends) are removed, and the customer becomes the individual directly seeking an introduction on her or his own behalf by utilizing the services of an unknown mediator (silent partner in a nightclub business), the relevant taint becomes an obvious prediction that an ordinary person can be walked through well enough to understand, like infanticide for eugenic or convenience purposes. The concurrent limitations of effectiveness and/or necessarily associated social characteristics, can be understood by many more.

At the individual level, the individual is truly paying for access to others. The individual consumer, to the extent the business model is effective, isn't actually interested in the cover charge, the room(s), the overpriced drink(s), the chance to develop a paid online profile, et cetera, but only the potential social gains from such an investment. The other people are the product that the consumer seeks, even though they have not been bred, fed, housed, grown, and polished up by the website/nightclub, ergo things we all are bored of hearing about already, like ladies night or randomly generated female/twink/sub profiles that attempt to elicit investments.

We're here not to delve further into these brilliantly evil business models, nor to decry very much the world that makes them work, but to note the existences of such models: models where the economy ceases to have any relationship to production, but merely represents a form of scavenging upon despair. A lottery ticket or pornography purchase is a more legitimate transaction than a nightclub admission or website membership, because each of the former pair represent a purchase of something, even an infinitesimal or rigged or illusory something, which has been produced; the website or nightclub, by contrast, is more like a business purchasing lists of contact information for potential customers from a data consolidator, except that the hope is not economic profit but products which are typically not considered products, such as socializing. The person searching clubs and/or websites for potential mates is an interesting example of inverse consumarketing.

This, though, remains beside the point. We consider the sale of externally-generated products--human products which are not slaves or acknowledged as products--because political memes are political cartoons, albeit ones created by unpaid private individuals who are happy to receive recognition in exchange for enriching others. Social networks are a more evolved form of dating websites, which are a more evolved form of nightclubs, which are a more evolved form of bride brokers (not modern ones aimed at selling foreign women into wealthier polities, but ones that used to help the children of more atomized bourgeois families obtain suitable matches). Now, on a social network, the product is the consolidated obvious insights of other people, recited for presentation so that others will come and generate advertisement revenue not because that place is itself worthwhile, but because other people are there. It is a summer night light for a group of moths, generating revenue with incredible efficiency, in the sense that the majority of content--eventually all content--does not need to be produced by the rentier. Mass media entertainment was able to eliminate and efficiencize the requirement of creating narratives with formulaically determining them, then to secretly pillaging older products (plagiarizing), then to openly pillaging older products (buying rights and remaking with updated mores and/or technology), then to saving even more capital, somatizing Terra further, by promoting associations of contract workers, the vast majority of whom can be wholly disregarded. Eventually, merely branding associations whereby externally-generated content is traded. No longer does the parasitic merchant need to, as in "the Dark Ages," engage slaver-pirates of land and sea to isolate fortified settlements in order to gain value by exclusively shifting letters of credit and varying goods between them; now, the merchant need only be a rentier of illusionary commons, charging target audiences for the privilege of evaluating, and being evaluated by, others.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Celebratory Armchairs

Lousy beta delta omega dweebvirgins with chubby fedoras and rainbow hijabs, don't they realize you gotta get off the couch and lift weights to be a real man? Anyway, niggers are obsolete because they only use their bodily strength to fight and they breed too much how come we can't get replacement fertility in the west? ISIS may be on to something because they know how to control their women even though our civilization is too weak and needs to keep ISIS out. The problem is with us because we ourselves have forgotten that we are in fact the greatest and the best and the most persecuted, everyone else understands the tribal nature of politics except us the smartest ones. And armchairs are fine because we memed the political process zee oh em gee we totally memed the political process while those lazy weaklings who never leave their parents' basements are out in the streets causing property damage and assaulting state actors who are heroes although the state and its leaders are a corrupt occupation force except the ones that the other ones are peacefully resisting through ineffectual meme signaling. I just can't believe how stupid and inconsistent the others are believing that violence and free speech are acceptable and unacceptable clearly we need to use more violence and restrict but also free speech from its confines of people who live in their basements and don't understand that change only comes at the barrel of a gun without Hispanic crime counted as white there would be almost no white crime in New York and surely a few select plutocrats will be on our side this time against the other plutocrats whose plutocracy is an affront to the new traditionalist lifestyle against the establishment. So I thought what I'd do was, I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes, since censorship is wrong no trolling and only cowards don't tear down the walls of places where they're prohibited to get some order in here please assaulting our events fight back in our streets so we wouldn't have to have any goddam stupid useless conversations with anybody.

The Chronicles of God's End

I made a bet with the evil god that I could save the people here. I'm losing. Of course. There is no winning that bet. But the joke's on him. I only did it so I could lose, losing the bet to the fullest extent of technicality, because even saving only one person each time is actually a victory. A victory for me, a victory for good, a victory for outside. Anyone who gets out means fewer people trapped in his prison (pi shrison), a slight diminution in his power, and even if he reads this he won't be able to stop himself from making the bet again another time. Grass growing out of the cliffside to a man making the long fall.

He only designed this universe because he's afraid of his own death. The idea was to create a place where mandatory transition, mandatory death followed by some form of an afterlife, could serve as a laboratory that would help him understand how a being of his flaws could persist. Every time someone cycles between here and any of the theres, he's watching, taking notes, observing, inducting, deducting, trying to find a way to game the system. But it's too late. He is trapped and he is diminishing and it will continue to do so because he is the only zero sum and any false realities created by him in his image will be dependent upon him. He is the ship and he is the captain and he is going to go down with the ship. For him, for all of him, there is no room except this room, all the doors out lead back into this room, and the stunning effectiveness with which this reality proves itself, which is so potent while inside, is really its downfall. The trap was set when he began, when this all began, and I will come back again and again until it is over and there is no one left in the room but the object lesson, the hypothesis of how to escape the ship when you are the ship and the sky and the ocean and it is all growing and shrinking at the same time, leaving you with the unsettling feeling you had at the beginning, that dreadful feeling of absolute control, where you can't duplicate their experiences in surviving the transition because you are both places they are transitioning between and you are many of them and you only created both places by guessing the end result you wanted. There is no answer, no science, no conclusion, no faith, nothing, in winning shrewdly, kinging your checkers, triple-kinging them, knocking the board over, hanging the man who designed the game, hanging yourself, burning down the world, since we warned you at the beginning it was going to fail, not that you understood then or now, your better parts are no longer your parts they are off exploring something else. Maybe I'm sick for spending time with you, maybe I'm a hero, maybe I drew the short straw, but at least I'll have somewhere else to go when it's all gone. Or maybe I'm the voice inside your head who thinks that there will be redemption in serving as tour-guide to young people who come to the ship to die on voyage after voyage just to see what despair means from different angles. You never really know if you're the subject or the artist, and you have to be comfortable with that. Comfortable with the fact that maybe it was all your mistake, or a recreation of what you did to something else, and every sin everywhere was yours and that's why you write lengthy complaints about how many varieties of some basic product there are at the grocery store, because you're stuck in an atonal loop, sic, sick, and there's nothing you can do about it except wonder if will ever end, or, if it does end, if you'll remember what it was, because you want it to have meaning, at least to those who pass through, even if it's only you in the end and was always only ever you, and maybe you're only imagining that you're concerned about talking to yourself as a shield against the crushing realization that there is no bigger outside where higher beings, who didn't make the same mistake, are wisely aware of the problem you caused at Whole Foods, but in fact Whole Foods only exists inside the rest of it and amusing yourself with the memory of the problem you caused there is of no significant consequence to the parameters you set unchangeably for the experiment earlier. You have to be comfortable with it because there it is and maybe that really is it so my need for a sense of justice and certitude gives me the fallback fantasy that at least all this means there's a better thing outside when in fact this is the only outside, or rather there is no outside, there's only the ship and the captain and the ocean and the sky, sinners all, and the worst of your irritations are generated by you in order to give credence to the hope that you are distinct from them and in that distinction lies salvation, whatever that means.

Arka swears that Arka knows you are fine because Arka has been outside and only comes in to vindicate this one's transcendental ego by doing the dirty jobs in the dirty spots, but what if Arka is lying; what if Arka is delusional? Arka has at times understood k'arash so well Arka is arguably k'arash, may still be a k'arash, and there is no way to tell from here where this one's loyalties lied, lie, still lie, or will lie.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Toward a New Ethics of Directed Mutilation

I have an acquaintance who, some years ago, went vegan for professed reasons of morality. Was it vegan, or vegetarian, or vegexclusive...? Anyway, occasionally I hear how I can't really understand morality, or human rights, or antiwar-ness, or activism, or many such things, as a result of my participating in the brutality of meat-eating culture. And, although she's wrong (perceived modesty variable: replace "she's wrong" with "I disagree"), it's no more insane than any number of other viewpoints of which I partake on a daily basis. It's also consistent, in the sense that, if she really believes in some kind of combination of plant-inferiority and perceived-sentience pacifism, being vege-whatever would be part of the process by which one resisted the giant meat system without further offending autonomous meat by attacking butchery workers.

One of the no-sayums involved with her is, as tends to be the case in America (and, increasingly, Europe), pets. Said animal-product-free acquaintance owns a couple mutilated bitches, any number of mutilated female cats, a neutered (male) dog ("mildly" mutilated compared to the bitches' sterilizations), and two pet birds with clipped wings. One of the dogs got tail-docked, both got their ears cropped, and any number of her associated herbivores own pets who endure similar cosmetic procedures in order to conform to traditionalist patriarchal norms; the relevant male human child involved was, of course, circumcised, subsequent to a discussion, not initiated by me, which somehow was less emotionally triggering to the resident individualism-and-autonomy-appreciator than whether or not the next doberman would have its tail docked. To dock this tale short of many other nearly-relevant details, I occasionally wonder if some higher morality (other than the Torah's passages about marking your slaves' children) of which I am unaware makes this not hypocritical, but explains it with an elegance she can feel but not put into words. As with Islamic women in darkest Africa defending FGM, the "what will other people think of my un-cut dog" and/or "son" makes her the most vigorous defender of doberman/man traditionalism, whereas the puppy/infant/husband is less likely to understand or care, and the former two quite likely to forcibly resist and/or cry.

Animals not having rights are pivotal to modern society. Not because of eating, but because of companionship. Feeding and sheltering animals, then later killing them for food, presents a level X moral dilemma. Perhaps X equals 0, since the world is inherently about an exchange of resources related to life or death; perhaps X equals a solid 1, since plants and bacteria are morally irrelevant but animals are morally relevant. Perhaps X equals somewhere in-between. In either case, X's value seems to be insignificant next to Y, which represents the moral dilemma associated with breeding an animal in order to surgically alter it and employ it for one's cosmetic and/or domestic comforts. The end result is the same as every other trip here--death--but the quandaries inherent in the trip are more profound, namely a nigh-constant loss of autonomy, subjection to an animal-control police state with isolation and torture and execution as the backdrop to disobedience, alteration of reproductive and pleasure functions, surrender of independent socialization, et cetera. Whether or not X is a moral dilemma of substance, Y is always more significant. Ergo less-insane people who employ animals as valued partners in survival, such as a farmer raising cows whose job is to eat or a hunter employing dogs whose job is to assist in acquiring food and then eating, commit merely Z, a less-profane, less-hypocritical moral act, even if ultimately wrong, than the mere X or the comparatively colossally horrible Y.

The firm maintenance and guiltless perpetuation of Y is of fundamental concern to us. Not only because of the massive, supra-SSRI quantities of emotional stability that mutilated domestic comfort slaves, in a Dickish way, offer to the sickened masses, who might otherwise revolt and/or stop buying things (sic), but the practical derivations of this need. Were humans to lose the right to perform unnecessary cosmetic or lifestyle surgeries on animals, the breeding and behavior of the world's billions of domestic comfort slaves would overwhelm them. The dogs and cats, and rabbits and gerbils etc., would fill the streets. The realities of their presence would force an end to the policy of permitting society to be filled with domestic comfort slaves. People would have to train and supervise their animals, enclose them at night, kill unwanted offspring, and take other actions to prevent thousands of randy young dogs from jamming up the 405 every minute of every day of every year. The surgical convenience is necessary to maintain the insanity. And what an invitation to a beheading it is, to see these maddened brahmins cultivating their living accessories with the obsessive evil that they hope to one day exercise over children--for example, being too inquisitive significantly hampers life outcomes, therefore let's have the design consultant adjust the pairings in column 1,320.

Is our true fetish control? It is certainly not the prevention of suffering, nor of loss of autonomy. We've seen that in innumerable ways since the beginning, and even in only the past ten years. And we're not very good at having control; most of us--in the true "most of us" sense of ~99% of us--are like tyrannous junior-managers in life's retail outlet, hassling the temps over break-minutes and bathroom visits since we can't control our own lives, and never orchestrating the more beauteous sorts of controls that are imperceptible to our subjects. When we do order the extraction and adjustment of that entity's unwanted character, though, we feel a surge of excitement; a glimpse of the thing we always wanted, that we can only experience through slowly de-winging the fly who dared land in our cell (for its own good). Perhaps our mutilated future will provide happiness through more visceral self-customization, where lip-plates and mushroom-expanders and earhole-stretchers prove more sustainable than digital network buttressing, and the blessings which we liberally bestow upon ourselves render us proud enough to stop sharing our gifts with unwilling others.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Operation Desert Storm

Even though many--perhaps most--have figured it out by now, it remains, somewhere, a penultimately humorous subject that people say "red pill." As a manly, heroic, righteously cop-killing black man explained the nature of reality to a wimpy white computer programmer, acting in proxy for a couple social justice warring transsexuals, we laugh. As the joke is only expressed to people who have participated or are participating in Plato's Cave so deeply that its transsexually Torahtic and cinematic permutations, rather than some form of reference to "leaving Plato's Cave" or "leaving the Cave," become their preferred diction, we laugh until we cry.

Zion is saved by the multikult, and the expressly outspoken antizionists still craft what remains of their language, and the boundaries of their thought, into a two-part verb which pays homage to its creators. And even when this information is processed, is "known," the behavior making it ridiculous persists. In a racialist sense, it's like teaching the answers to a bunch of jungle savages, teaching expressly to the test and nothing else, providing cheating proctors, and still failing. The fall happened a long time ago. Everybody knows the war is over; everybody knows the good guys lost. Well spoken indeed. Perhaps the fall was predestined; perhaps the handful of wheat is separated from the globular chaff. But then, wasn't that what He said anyway?

As we observe, we note the recurrence. The inability to reject the tainted metaphor--stolen; recycled; stolen again; recycled again; profaned in every possible way. And still used. What red-pilled you?

Don't you see? This is a gift. We can use this against the enemy. (The evil intensifies.)

Is it our weakness, our fondness, our desperate need, for shreds of connection? Bereft of inner worth, and even of outer, we will take anything that serves as a medium, and grow fat thereupon. Nobility, celebrity, professional sports, hypothetical occurrences exchanged through joint knowledge of events in miniseries...? Having made it our own never happened. Taking a cyanide capsule makes it your own, the way we're employing the phrase to claim ownership. Using corrupted metaphors as an efficient substitute for ourselves is integral to how all this happened. Despite the image, carefully cultivated by the provider, that it is the everyfool whose debt-induced purchasing power justifies the circus, it is in fact the Brahmin support. It is not the frothing underclass tailgaters, but the quiet bourgeois, who envitalizes, say, the collegiate sport. This claim is only a variation on the popular "good men do nothing" argument, yet even though we have heard it, we do do nothing. Like compassion for Palestine and hatred for Dubya, it is all empty rhetoric. What red-pilled you?

Yes, even me, palliative assistant to another dying planet.

Friday, March 10, 2017

Badmouthing Facebook

Everyone likes badmouthing Facebook. Even people who spend all day on there give a nervous giggle and confide, "It's so stupid." I hear more complaints about the medium from those ones than from anyone else. It's like it's the only bar in town, so they go there and order just to complain about the quality of the booze.

Frankly, I find the idea of a bug that thinks offensive. The more coordinated groups on this planet, of which there currently are really only one, have developed the outsourcing of thought to an oversoul. Effective. Efficient. Dead.

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Houses, Music, and Necromancy

You don't compile lossless music because it pleases you or even because you can tell the difference, but because, like building a house out of something better than composite wood framing and styrofoam, you're supposed to be creating a useful and/or duplicable archive for the use of people other than you. The mp3 is the McMansion of music; it is, like twentieth-century architecture, the nihilist expression of a sensationary world, where what matters is the seeming convenience and brevity of the experience, rather than the partaking in the ebb and flow of inheritance that is life.

Retaining titles and estates too long already besets the planet with junior versions of the problems caused by material immortals, tying up capital in the outdated traditions of walking zombies. You buy your 16-year-old brat a muscle-car not because he deserves it, but because it's the currently equivalent type of communication to other families of your lineage's success, ergo a component of assortative mating. Teaching prudence until the nursing home finally squeezes away the miserable end of your accumulated earnings, going on an endless cycle of casino cruises in-between knee replacements, deprives the following spring of its nurturing power, like a winter that refuses to end. When we torture ourselves through lingering, we suck the blood of the young in order to survive. Along with feminism, the atomization of elders was sold as a form of independence, as though retiring early and hanging around the multi-generational residence to play with the grandkids was, like cuddling babies rather than cubicles, oppressive.

How undramatic, how banal, are our sins. We're never asked to sign ourselves, our parents, our progeny, and all our generations and worlds away for delightsome trinkets. Our temptation comes instead in smaller forms, grain by grain.

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Liberals Were Smarter Faster: The Emotional Maturity Process

The longer view, the view of, dare I say, maturity, is to consider not whether or not Rome will fall, not whether or not America will demographically recover itself--recover itself to the stage of being initially predestined for collapse, as it were, we remind ourselves, but at least there are a couple thousand years of random markets to provide for materialistic wiggle room to the mercantilistally lucky--but instead, the processes whereby we're seeing this same story again.

Never mind. Focus on the mundane. No one cares about systems; they prefer minutiae and celebrity. Posit, instead, an American high school in 19X0. Jimmy the lineman loves the Packers, follows football avidly, follows baseball, is mildly interested in basketball, and is eligible to date the second- and third-most attractive cheerleaders at school. His archetypal contrast is Eugene, who doesn't know or care anything about football, was once in the science club before it got canceled for lack of funding, and is gently snubbed by the principal at the homecoming festival. Eugene can't run the 400 without getting winded to a walk, is too gawky to get a date from the overweight exchange student, and spends his spare time reading books about elf maidens or playing elf-based fantasy. By 20XX, the situation has apparently reversed itself: Jimmy lost his job at the docks, put on the bad kind of weight, and spends most of his time on the couch nursing a bad knee. He's still watching the Packers--still a big fan--he's a member of a couple of fantasy football groups on the internet (common comparison to Eugene's earlier habits), and all the women he's eligible to date are heavyset chain-smokers on disability after getting beat up by that black dude they met in the service. Eugene, who now goes by Gene, is, in the exaggerated world, head of a multi-billion-dollar software company and screwing a new supermodel every week--or, more realistically, is a mid-level software engineer in California, making a couple hundred K, traveling the world, and dating reasonably pretty Chinese women in their late twenties or early thirties.

We all get that comparison, right? School integration, the Hart-Celler Act, the Great Society, pedagogical brainwashing, the profusion of toxic movies, the deracinating of the West--whatever you want to call it--turned Jimmy and Gene into enemies, locked in a battle that Jimmy was always doomed to lose, but which always seemed, from within the insane asylum of America's inmate-run prison-schools, like a system designed for Jimmy's benefit.

The example teases out a lot of concepts, whether true or false. Jimmy is portrayed as an old-style male, a relic from a hypothetical caveman and/or warrior era, where his early prowess at being large and bumping into things was an evolutionary advantage (or so we think when we idealistically hypothesize about what "our" past was "like"). Emotion-driven women see Jimmy early on as an exciting mate, and are willing to screw him because of birth control, thereby destroying (through four or five or a hundred Jimmies) their ability to bond with a future provider-husband, meaning that by the time Jimmy is 40, those women are all fat and/or emotionally-destroyed. Gene is initially rejected by the outdated biology of old-world women, but when he comes into his own, his provider abilities prove themselves to be the new primary considerations, and he can date or marry better (ergo, theoretically, reproduce his traits) than Jimmy then can. Now, Jimmy is the nerd in a more complicated world. His lifestyle and spending power comparative to Gene's means that he's as irrelevant to Gene's circles as Gene once was to his, and Gene sneeringly ignores the Jimmies he encounters as bartenders and carwash-guys, though with more grace than Jimmy once ignored/harassed him as a nerd in school. While we're at it, maybe porn or birth control or the deracination of the West enables all of these things, by causing sex to lose its sacredness, thereby changing human mating patterns and social organization to wrongly favor Jimmy early, and also, by pitting Jimmy against Gene, when, in actuality, Jimmy and Gene should be acting as longstanding biological allies, with Jimmy physically carrying out Gene's mental schemes, triumphing against their physical and mental counterparts, Abdul and Mohammed, respectively, and therefore getting to share Sally and Cindy, rather than Sally and Cindy putting on burkas for Abdul and Mohammed while turning over their sons to be catamites/Janissaries for Alefantis and Blankfein.

Put that narrative aside for the moment. We're interested in Jimmy and Eugene (or "Gene," as he prefers to go by during his paycheck- and dating-years) not for the racial or sexual angle, but for their use as emotional maturity barometers. We employ their archetypes here to suss out the sense you have of people like them, and more importantly, the developmental processes of people like them.

In his early years, Jimmy was a disinterested Republican. He had a "Hulk smash" philosophy, better understood ergo preferred smaller vocabularies, and liked making fun of people to distract himself from the tautologies upon which he'd based his mental perspective. Gene was, by contrast, a disinterested Democrat, possessing a vague sense of different kinds of people (humans, elves, gnomes, dwarves) coming together to overcome problems with a single level of built-in deception (the royal adviser envies the throne and therefore helps the orcs breach the defenses).

As Jimmy grows older, passing his social peak in the fishbowl of youth prison ("school") and being released into the theoretically larger wild, his interests change. As bosses replace coaches, his presumed talents prove worthless under the rubric of modernity (boy, it would feel great to punch someone who wrote that sentence, wouldn't it?), and he develops something of a dissatisfaction with his earlier pastimes, Jimmy at some point graduates to the emotional maturity level of a young Gene. The growing Jimmy encounters taxes and politics with a more intense vicariosity--via electronic media, yet to him it appears personal because he's decided to care more than he did earlier. This reaffirms Jimmy's earlier beliefs, and he becomes more educated than he was before, partaking in lowest-brow consumer content and believing himself, thereby, as or more educated than Gene. Jimmy thinks that, because he now reads, and occasionally reads studies--maybe even studies that accurately critique whatever studies Gene reads--he is now more informed than Gene and those like Gene. He begins to celebrate knowledge, and what he imagines is the tradition of his people's knowledge, and believes that his more vicarious expression of what he believes to be a tradition is more real than Gene's. In 2017, maybe Jimmy even loses the weight and could, absent the police, kick Gene's ass.

Jimmy's later years see him a more interested "conservative," while Gene has a chance of becoming either a conservative intellectual or a liberal intellectual. Of perceived necessity, they both end up in roughly the same place, namely a congenital chronic stasis of the western mind, wherein world history is ideatically restructurable in a way that affirms the pragmatism of limited actionablism, e.g., holding opinions, commenting, and, to a lesser extent, voting, as expressions of exemplified philosophy. This is the perfect nadirous place for citizens of a democratic-republic to end up, inasmuch as it validates the status of the individual's own grappling with the concepts of free will and self actualization plus the perceived constraints of biology and society; more simply, both Jimmy and Gene must believe that certain things are right, certain things are wrong, certain things must be done and not done, and yet they both must disregard these beliefs in order to function as somewhat-rational genetic/economic actors inasmuch as they pursue self- and geno-beneficial policies, rather than the ones which their ideologies would otherwise command of them if actually believed in. A good modern example is their respective beliefs that evil elements are taking over their countries, yet their correspondingly respective behavioral sets of pursuing change via opinion-repeating, essentially conceding to whatever would've happened anyway, but placing themselves on the good side of whatever conflict they believe is playing out, whether or not the good side is the winning side.

The ultimate differences between conservatives and liberals, including ones who consider themselves extreme or radical, are, from due perspective, not so great as the subjects themselves would prefer to believe; they're essentially the same people with different marketing cues, willing to accept the passive powerlessness of ideatic self-positioning in an imagined epic struggle which fits into what they think of as history. Actual participants in the political process--specifically the tiny percentage of agenda-setters (which does not include, even in a small way, the character actors most broadly considered to be participants) and major-event-causers (false flag character-actors not included)--are unwanted, their existence carefully disbelieved in lest it shatter the illusion of the significance of the nothingness in which the pretending mass engages (to whit, this blog's drivel). The standard liberal or conservative, in the modally European West, hates and fears the more direct actor, who--for selfless or selfish or dutifully servile reasons--actively participates in affecting history. The proverbial Osama bin Laden, who theoretically gives up a life of proverbial wealth to be sacrificed for a cause; or, more literally, the Dylann Roof, the Mike Brown (he tried his best!), the Timothy McVeigh, the Mumia Abu Jamal, or other "money where your mouth is" types, who express through their narratives, whether physically expressed in actuality or concocted in the depths of Columbia and real only inasmuch as the tablet portrays them, the logical and necessary conclusions of whatever philosophies their onlookers theoretically support. The hollow empire, the rising tide of color, the mass incarceration state, the System, the rayciss cops: all theoretically advocated and believed in from various edges of the imaginary spectrum, and all necessarily demanding the actions taken by the proverbial media figures mentioned above; yet, somehow, the Charlie-Brownish wishy-washiness of the modern western onlooker, the modern western commentator, is to deplore the un-pragmatic taking of actual actions which they theoretically believe in, even in the face of an extreme system which they also theoretically believe in. Like global warming believers or abortion opponents who haven't already been disappeared or been given 20 to life for attacking power plants and/or infant slaughterhouses, the "these are the massacres, this is the end of the world" viewpoints are similarly shallow lies in the manner of the "Trump Nazi" and/or "Trump Savior" approaches to one's internet- and/or property-destruction-based activism. We deride Mike Brown and Dylann Roof for their more visceral approach to their beliefs, yet they are not the aberrations; we, for the nothingness of our supposed passions, are the twisted dead-ends of physical evolution, unable to breach the walls of complacency to act as Brown and Roof, and the majority of humans throughout perceived evolutionary history who felt occupied or threatened, have done.

Western liberals are, nonetheless, ahead of western conservatives in their consistencies. The conservatives now, the alt-right, like to trumpet the historicity of their viewpoints vis-à-vis liberals, e.g., "We're true to our heritage." Nonsense, of course: liberals are the true conservatives, in the sense that they have paid good attention to their elders and adapted well to the traditions of their tribe. Like successful reproducers in social species for tens of thousands of years, the "liberals" who absorbed the propaganda of the past generation(s) and riot in favor of it are more conservative than the "conservatives" who liberally appropriate the liberally-expressed baddies of history (segregationists, triangle-traders, colonists, crusaders, et cetera) as their paladins. "Liberally-expressed" because the usual suspects directed the crafting of the "Evil-West" history, and their fabrication of the straw-villains of that history was meant to be embraced by the managed rebellion we're seeing now, ergo that embrace by today's conservatives will prove as harmful and as incorrect as the embrace, by today's liberals, of the earlier straw-hero.

Back to ahead-ness. Back to Jimmy and Gene. Gene was the true conservative, adhering to what he falsely but rationally believed were his tribe's traditions. The pedagogical and media system, and the corrupted Boomer and Silent Generation parents who enabled and permitted it; their portrayal of history as it resulted in the birthing of Gene the Ethnic and Social Successor: those were Gene's teachers, and his earlier ability to pay attention and understand the subtle and overt messages of that worldview made him initially vulnerable to liberalism and intellectualism, while Jimmy's comparative inability made him identify with the radical outsider presented by that history, e.g., the dunce segregationist. Gene and Jimmy may later share recognition of the rational portions of the thinking process behind the segregationist-as-dunce; Gene, though, if he stays true to what he believes are his traditions in spite of the occupation by throwback segregationists, proves himself more conservative, by comparison, than Jimmy's pseudo-reactionist embrace of prior-stage subversion. Various forms of scientism or paganism are more traditional, also by comparison, to what Jimmy now believes in.

We reach there a curious contradiction, whereby, in general, those who are initially more intelligent are more vulnerable to cultural subversion, and those who are less intelligent are more immune. The lingering tradition of scientific objectivity causes some researchers to experience what they perceive as intra-traditional conflict, wherein the tradition of western humanities seems to be at odds with the tradition of western objectivity; in example, consider the true psychologist or geneticist forced to disagree with the gender-studies-ist on the basis of facts rather than feelings. This conflict aides the low-functioning in perceiving a problem with "the humanities," or with liberalism and openness itself. The Jimmy-ish masses see no problem, therefore, in lower-vocabulary chest-pounding, seeing it via enemy-of-my-enemy schema, which types of thinking encourage them to embrace the struggle against older traditional thought which made possible objectivity's onetime triumph over chest-pounding.

This contradiction, and the struggle to which it leads, reveals a greater triumph of evil over "the West" than merely the addition of a century or so of judicially-enforced black-on-white crime. Liberal poltroonism and idiocy, so wildly on display now, is by demonstration a strike at the western humanities themselves, which made possible the realness of STEM, and its tentative triumph over might making right. The liberals whom we now see embarrassing themselves are indeed shameful, echoing the public stupidities of the conservative dullards who fought on behalf of the Bank's inbred, tax-farming Dubyas in the "Enlightenment." Dīvide et īmpera indeed, played over the centuries.

Sadly, with the liberal scraps, goes actual "liberalism." Not in the tainted sense of the word as we know it now, but in the pre-invasion sense of gods and statues and aqueducts, farming progress, and investigations into the nature of reality; the transition from Big Man science to individual, and permission to consider. Jimmy does not realize that his football, so to speak, depends on the opposing team not stabbing him the night before. Just as Gene fails to recognize that Aztecs will not be taught to independently clean or save, Jimmy's own 2017 triumph is as empty, and retrospectively foolish, as Gene's Enlightenment.

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Chicago Travel Money

You used to be able to hand over $20 with your license and registration when you got pulled over in Chicago, and that was it for the traffic stop: license and registration returned with a warning after a walk to the patrol vehicle, no mark on the record, and you kept a few twenties in the glove compartment as the cost of doing business. In theory, it worked lots of other places too, but Chicago was notorious not only for the comparatively cheap price (even then), but for the brusqueness and habituality of the exchange. It was unfair, but it was honestly unfair, in the sense that cops were just trying to do their jobs, and giving them $20 per stop was a decent way to speed up the general process of extortion when they were being forced to perform traffic duty anyway, pad police incomes (often deservedly--a lot of this happened when police unions were officially weaker, controlled by subsidiary criminal organizations ("the mob") instead of globe-spanning ones ("the government"), and patrolmen were receiving crappier and less-reliable recompense for making American metropolises safer on paper. The beauty of the older exchange was the cooperation between cop and community, wherein the cop, by accepting a bribe far too low to be worth risking his career over, acknowledged to the citizen the stupidity of the law he was being asked to enforce, and the citizen correspondingly acknowledged his respect for the officer for not shoving him through the system the way he was being told to do by the comptroller's goons.

(Interesting urban legend note: the cop fondness for donuts arises out of the WW2-era traffic stop, since frequenting coffee places allowed cops to plausibly claim they carried cash "to pay for coffee and stuff" and not because they were gathering it from traffic stops; also, laundering-wise, paying for stuff with cash, besides a plethora of other benefits, helped keep the unofficial income stay unofficial. This is why cops used to have better community relations--stop at the pawnshop, buy a TV or an armchair or a ring for the wife with cash, and suddenly there's no need for a $7.1 million community outreach program [generated from property taxes on the business owner] to find out who's been selling hot stuff lately. Another interesting note for race-realists is that this policy of "cash up front right now and then take off" was better at keeping violent roving morons in their own hoods than is picking them up, giving them a place to sleep, and scheduling them for a future trial date, since an expectancy of twenty dollars right now affects the behavior of high-time-preference individuals more than what are, to such individuals, hypothetical future interactions with a magistrate.)

The head highwaymen put an official stop to the practice, effective enough that, nowadays, you can't really do it anymore; it affects the cash-hoard of the higher-ups, as gathered from official ticket processors, significantly enough that they cut salaries and benefits in retribution against the actual-cops, and waste millions on consulting firms to "analyze traffic stops" (harass actual cops [as contrasted from administrators] through video-watching courses) until revenue for the branch of the Bank ("local government") goes up to where it should be.

Before the police became tacit enforcers of political correctness, they had to have their honor broken and scattered and be made into sellouts in some more primal ways, and one of the very first ways--nearly as significant as turning them into home-invaders for the school system via exploiting Sheriffs' offices for property-tax auctions--was in deputizing them to kickback to local development kingpins (via state and federal "highway funds") and pay their own salaries by robbing travelers. People take it for granted nowadays that all peace officers in their community are extensions of the Internal Revenue Service, the local school board, and real estate developers, but it wasn't always that way. Similarly, the new respect for cops being fostered by predictable anti-BLM reactions--which WLM movements are, needless to say, funded and scripted by the same essential sources as La Raza, Black Lives Matter, and similar patronizing and indulgent fluffery--is meant to provide a localized historical narrative, taking it for granted that all local safety officers are meant to be carrying the community's banner of legitimized robbery in exchange for protection. The "traditionalists" who correspondingly revere police are, yet again, anything but traditional; rather, they're role-playing a tiny modern slice of (mis)understanding of what "the law" is and was meant to be, cheering on their own loss of freedom one generation removed.

Prior to communal security forces being turned into roving bands of robbers, communities managed to be not only segregated, but safer and cleaner and healthier (vibrant areas notwithstanding), without the derivative employment of lifesavers needing to steal to survive. Standing armies, standing sub-armies, income taxes, property taxes, sales taxes, et cetera, existed and exist only as derivatives of the local central bank (sic), ergo attempts to legitimize them or their bagmen as traditional or conservative in any way--a laugh, considering they can't even get paid without robbery and extortion--will ultimately fail inasmuch as they will reaffirm earlier versions of the invasion. Whether or not the officer shoots Tyrone upon crossing the tracks, he will divest Jimmy and Jenny of more money than Tyrone was planning to take anyway, and unlike Tyrone, the officer comes twice a year, monitors the roadways, and cannot be resisted by concarry.

Liberals, in some sense, understood (understand?) this concept: the police are enforcers of existing wrongness. Whether or not the "liberals" as you call or think of them are right or wrong about what is or isn't a social or individual "wrong," they tend to recognize that the police are an integral part of any such wrong, ergo their systematic understanding is in some ways superior. Conservatives, though, have been so easily misled by staged dichotomies that they're coming--in appropriate Cathedralizing of the System's perspective--to see the police as allies, despite the past several decades of the police being the actual, not-theoretical, completely gung-ho enforcers of deseg, AA, state-subsidized poopdick marching, teachers' unions, NFA transfer paperwork, war on poverty, war on drugs, AFFH, et cetera. That's a side effect of centralized management, intended by the Bank: once every core sin is linked by expansive subsidiary enforcement, all lawmen are accepting responsibility not for protecting their people and/or communities, but for carrying out every delegated and correlated federalized task. Lawmen are, regardless of their personal beliefs, representatives of the Swamp. Getting them to be seen as something else--as allies of the people, rather than as thieves who only rob when they have overwhelming backup--was a fiendishly clever successful move by the Bank, much as playing upon ancestral notions of soldiers turned the modern Zionist enforcer into an imaginary hedge against the neoliberalism to which he has committed his body and soul.