I once had dinner in a Michelin-starred restaurant with a fellow who insisted on eating there instead of my selection of a casual Greek taverna with a friendly owner operator, his second cousin as a manager and his third cousin once removed as a receptionist. The other customers seemed, as we say in Mediterranean languages, to have a cork plugged in their behind obstructing proper ventilation, causing the vapors to build on the inside of the gastrointestinal walls, leading to the irritable type of decorum you only notice in the educated upper classes. I note that, in addition to the plugged corks, all men wore ties.
Dinner consisted in a succession of complicated small things, with microscopic ingredients and contrasting tastes that forced you to concentrate as if you were taking some type of exam. You were not eating, rather visiting some type of museum with an affected English major lecturing you on some artistic dimension you would have never considered on your own. There was so little that was familiar and so little that fit my taste buds: once something on the occasion tasted like something real, there was no chance to have more as we moved on to the next dish. Trudging through the dishes and listening to some b***t by the sommelier about the paired wine, I was afraid of losing concentration. I costs a lot of energy to fake that I was not bored. In fact I discovered an optimization in the wrong place: the only thing I cared about, bread, was not warm. It appears that this is not a Michelin requirement.
It’s fascinating because it’s so true. Most high-end restaurants I’ve been to operate more or less as Taleb describes them. The server will spin a line of bullshit about the wine pairings, lecture us on the acidity of this or that, and attempt to sell us on the exclusivity of the place. Everything is unnecessarily complex.
There have been exceptions, of course. There is a high-end steakhouse near where I live called Bern’s Steakhouse, and it apparently has some renown, given that out of town friends often gravitate toward it. In that case, the place lived up to the hype. The steak was excellent, among the best I’ve had, along with what is probably the best french onion soup I’ve ever tasted. But the building itself is sort of run down, and the wait staff doesn’t lecture you on the menu, or the pairings, or any of that garbage (this despite having one of the largest wine collections in the world). And the menu is simple. You go there for steak, and the accompanying sides, and that’s pretty much it.
But such unassuming high end restaurants are the exception, not the rule. For the most part, be prepared for a lot of pretentious bullshit about why complex ingredient lists and overpriced wine is proof that you have an elevated palate, that you are special in the way those dirty unwashed masses aren’t. As Taleb puts it, they have corks plugged up their asses. It must be uncomfortable.
I couldn’t imagine living that way.
As Taleb tells us, this extends beyond food, however. When people get to thinking this way, everything must be complex, special, expensive, and out of reach of the unwashed masses. It’s about differentiation, thinking yourself better than others.
When people get rich, they shed their skin-in-the game driven experiential mechanism. They lose control of their preferences, substituting constructed preferences to their own, complicating their lives unnecessarily, triggering their own misery. And these are of course the preferences of those who want to sell them something. This is a skin-in-the-game problem as the choices of the rich are dictated by others who have something to gain, and no side effects, from the sale. And given that they are rich, and their exploiters not often so, nobody would shout victim.
It’s not just when they become rich, however. It’s when they start to climb above the teeming mass of humanity. Remember when Hillary Clinton looked positively baffled by a beer tap, when looking to do some kind of misguided blue collar photo op? There she was, with a fake smile and a beer glass full of foam, looking for all the world like she would rather be anywhere else.
Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton hoists a beer during a tour of at Pearl Street Brewery in La Crosse, Wis., Tuesday, March 29, 2016. (AP Photo/Patrick Semansky)
Beer, you see, is the peasant’s drink. Unless you’re becoming a beer snob, I suppose. Either way, though, it’s too simple and plebbish for a refined power broker like Hillary. I bet she’s one of those women who sniffs the cork repeatedly before deigning to pour a glass of wine. Oh hell, silly me, what am I saying? She probably pays somebody to pour the wine for her.
I think most Americans daydream on occasion about what they would do if they were supremely wealthy. I asked one of the redneck gearheads at the local muscle car meetup about what he’d do with a few million bucks.
“I’d buy a GT350. Supercharge it,” he replied.
Simple needs for a simple man, I suppose. No Ferraris or Lambos for him. He just wanted to go fast, and to hell with the rest of the bullshit. There was no talk of servants, or mansions, or outings to the fanciest French restaurants. It was all about the go-fast.
Nicholas Nassim Taleb explains that even if the costs were reversed, he’d prefer a pizza over the bazillion-course microscopic servings at the fancy place:
Let’s return to the restaurant experience and discuss constructed preferences as compared to natural ones. If I had a choice between paying $200 for a pizza or $6.95 for the French complicated experience, I would pay $200 for the pizza, plus $9.95 for a bottle of Malbec wine. Actually I would pay to not have the Michelin experience.
Of course, this isn’t to say that if you genuinely liked the complex food that it’s somehow wrong to eat it. Neither, should it be noted, should you forgo the Ferrari if you can afford it, and if you really want one. The key is to avoid the artificial narrowing down of your options, in some misguided attempt to signal your superiority:
Many have been mistaking this idea for an advocacy of Spartan choices rather than something about the restriction of freedom.
If you’re poor, you can have the pizza, or nothing. If you’re rich, you can choose the pizza or the fancy food, as you prefer. You should not say no to the pizza just because someone is trying to sell you on the superiority of complex food. Neither should you deny yourself the fancy shit, if that’s what you really want.
But whose desires are you satisfying at that point?
I’ve found in my short time on this Earth that most people espouse things that aren’t them in spades. I used to think it was a drive toward artificial conformity, you know, the traditional cliquish high school behavior writ large. But I find that this operates in reverse, too. At times they choose something precisely because they don’t want to be associated with some group. Ask any Mustang guy what he thinks of the Chevy Camaro. Buying a Mustang is as much about avoiding being a Camaro driver (jokes about mullethead, Miller Lite drinking GM guys abound). And the wealthy patrons of Michelin’s don’t want to be seen crawling around some neighborhood pizzeria. That’s for plebs!
It’s funny, because the virtue signalers often spout cliches like “be yourself!” You first, asshole.
All of this is artificially restrictive of choice. Becoming wealthy is supposed to grant you more choices, not take them away, not pigeonhole a person into the sort of vapid, petty-tyrannical, I’m-better-than-you snobbery espoused by our political class.
And it makes you think. How much of what they say or do isn’t even based on their own preferences, but based on some kind of desire to signal superiority? Social Justice is signalling moral superiority. Food snobbery signals superiority of taste. And then there is the sort of Dunning-Kruger-esque desire to signal intellectual superiority by barfing word salad like the privileged cisnormative heteropatriachal conspiracy, or some bullshit. I mean, if you don’t like white guys, I’d actually prefer if you just said that. You’re still a racist shit, mind you, but at least you’re not a pretentious racist shit.
Put simply, if you like well done steak, order away. If you prefer pizza to Michelin’s, get yourself a pizza. And if all your friends are virtue signalling their food superiority, you probably ought to get new friends.
Recently, there has been some foofarah over the President’s food preferences. Namely, he likes his steaks well done and slathered in ketchup. The horror! The utter, unmitigated gall of a man to order food the way he likes it!
You know, it’s funny. My father still orders his steaks well done, and I’ve never quite understood why. Medium rare to medium has always struck me as the best balanced steak. I really don’t care for a bloody mess on a plate, so rare and blue rare are right out. If I wanted that, I’d just go to the Serengeti, chuck a spear at some wild animal, and eat the flesh raw. But well done, indeed, cooks out much of the flavor. So, yeah. Balance. But what business is it of mine to harp on a man for what he likes to eat? It is enough that I’ve my own preferences, and another man has his.
Food virtue signalling, or more aptly, food snobbery has been a thing for a very long time. And like political virtue signalling, it is all about display one’s superiority over another based on some irrelevant metric. “Look at me,” says the narcissist, “I’m superior because I like my steak rare.”
Of course, it is not merely steak that has suffered this effect. Wine has traditionally been a strong bastion of snobbery, but the practice has moved to craft beer. Now, again, don’t get me wrong, I like craft beer. For the longest time, I thought I didn’t like beer, because I found Bud, Coors, and Miller Lite to be foul-tasting beverage abominations. But therein lies the point: I found them foul. Another man might like them. Indeed, even today these beers sell like hotcakes. Obviously somebody likes them.
If the President wants a Bud Lite, get him a damned Bud Lite. And just because you drink Dogfish Head 90 minute IPA (which I also find foul, by the way, as it’s a totally overrated beer in my opinion) doesn’t mean you are a better man, or have a more “elevated” palate, or anything of the sort. Here’s a great video about the irritating nature of the new craft beer snob types that have been popping up in trendy bars around the country:
Some years back, I remember reading about a blind taste test of wines, and a number of Napa valley California wines beating out French wines among the French. Naturally, the French were angry about this. You can’t virtue signal your superiority if you’re just rating what tastes good. Or, put in simpler terms, the French taste testers couldn’t cheat and give their own a leg up.
There’s this thought today that, like correctness in politics, there is correctness in food and drink. There is an Overton Window for acceptable steak. There are some steak places I’ve been to where ordering a medium steak gets me a dirty look from the server. As if to say “how dare you order cooked food from our establishment.” Given that Donald Trump likes his steak well done, I’m sure he’s dealt with much worse over the years.
Folks act like Donald Trump is afraid to try new things, afraid to eat superior food, or some such. It’s lunacy. More than likely, he’s tried his steak other ways in the past, and just likes what he likes. After all, if you like your steak rare for whatever reason, you’ll deal with a lot less dirty looks and peer pressure. Just like, it should be noted, that if you like your politics Leftist, again, you will deal with a lot less hate for it.
Rare has been deemed by the nameless food correctness authorities to be the *perfect* steak. Anything else is wrongthink.
This is past the point of ridiculousness. Not only must your politics be perfectly correct, according to some nameless, faceless, cultural authority, but your food and beverage choices must be also. Or else, as some outlets have implied, you are not qualified to be President.
I wonder, however, if the people who push such narratives of correctness even believe any of their own bullshit. Do people really prefer their steaks rare in such mass numbers? Or are a healthy percentage of them doing it because the snooty server at the fancy steak place will give you a dirty look if you order anything else?
How many craft beer snobs drink the beer for taste, and how many drink it because it’s trendy? I suspect a great many folks do this out of trendiness. When I went to Germany some years back, I noticed that some of my favorite German beers were incredibly cheap there. I filled up on beer, let me tell you. I remember walking through the aisle of a kiosk store there, and seeing bottled water selling for a higher price than some of the best beers in the world (again, in my opinion). Amusingly enough, German purity laws regarding beer probably meant the water in the beer was probably of better quality than the actual bottled water. But never mind that. I had a great time at the breweries and such.
But one thing that stood out to me was how normally the Germans regarded their beers.To them, this was just how beer was. If you wanted one, you drank one. People weren’t sitting around sniffing their glasses, or some theatrical bullshit like you see sometimes in American craft beer bars.
If you like your beer, you can drink your beer.
It was that way in America, once too. Sure, our beers were probably crappier in those days, but I do miss the idea that if you liked a certain kind of beer, nobody cared. I wonder if steaks were once that way too. Wines, of course, probably weren’t, but we can blame the French for that. Though if you read your Bible, you’ll notice how wine didn’t seem to be a big deal in Christ’s day. Certainly the Messiah didn’t see the need to sniff the cork and aerate the wine before doing whatever with it.
Most of this is just theatrics. Maybe more folks like their steak one way as opposed to another, and maybe more folks like this beer over that beer. But it’s not about that anymore. It’s about putting on airs of self-righteous indignation every time someone does something differently with their food and drink. It’s about saying “I’m better than you.”
For a bunch of Leftists who once tried to ride the wave of prole resentment into Communism, it’s something of an irony. Their behavior has much more in common with aristocratic disdain for the peasantry than any sort of “workers of the world unite” bullshit.
Apparently, you can have infinite number of genders, my friends, but you must order your steak only one way.
Francis wrote a great post this morning: Scientism, the One True Faith. Consider it required reading. For a long time, I have maintained that science, as popular culture understands the term, is no longer tied the scientific method. It has become a euphemism for all knowledge, and so has lost the specificity that made the term useful. Francis explains for us:
Thus also with science:
It isn’t a bunch of people with doctorates who spend several hours a day wearing white lab coats.
It isn’t a laboratory filled with glassware, chemicals, electronics, and experimental subjects;
And it most certainly isn’t “settled,” no matter what subject or persons declaim on it.
Science is a methodology for the investigation of reproducible phenomena. Science is the scientific method,more or less as Francis Bacon originally prescribed it.
Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to deceive you for purposes of his own. He is dangerous to you and others. He means to take something from you, most likely your money and freedom. When confronted by such a person, put one hand on your wallet, the other over your genitals, and back slowly away.
Social Justice Progressivism has this way of co-opting the skin of a thing, the appearance of a thing, without capturing the thing’s essence. I remember some time ago reading a syllabus for a mathematical course, wherein the teacher described the course as eliminating inequalities, promoting diversity, and interpreting the language of math for all races, cultures, and religions.
Just as now you will find gaming journalists who suggest that the first priority of gaming is to be properly diverse, to fight white privilege, and promote social justice.
When it comes to the notion of man-made climate change, there is now a new term which has recently become vogue: Climate Justice. Yes, it isn’t even Climate Science anymore. It’s Climate Justice. As if that has anything to do with whether or not mankind is having observably detrimental impacts on the climate.
Their science looks like science, acts like science, and quacks like science… yet it is not science.
As Francis explains, they will show you pictures of people with white lab coats, beakers filled with strange substances, and a myriad of various degrees and diplomas hung on the wall. And then they will claim that a consensus of experts have agreed on a conclusion, and you would be foolish to question them.
All of this ignores that climate “science” is not science at all. Where is the reproducible experimentation and observation? Do you possess a control Earth without humans that you may benchmark against? Do you know what the Earth would be like without humans, with a lesser number of less advanced humans, and with the number of humans we have now?
Then how can you be doing this scientifically?
Allow me to provide an interesting example. Warmists have frequently warned us that global warming will lead to more powerful hurricanes. It’s part of the usual doom-and-gloom fear mongering. They point to some of the unusually active hurricane seasons, such as in the mid-2000s.
But hurricanes are caused by a confluence of things. For one, the interaction of the Sahara desert, the jungles of Africa, and the Atlantic ocean produce tropical waves. Many hurricanes form out of these tropical waves. The reason for the desertification of the Sahara is an open question. Theories range from overgrazing to a slight perturbation in the Earth’s orbit.
The warmists would have you believe that warmer temperatures equal more hurricanes, but they’ve no way to prove this scientifically, because they cannot isolate this one effect from all the other effects. What if, for example, warming reduced the number of tropical waves that often generate hurricanes? What if it had other effects in the atmosphere that reduced the efficiency of a hurricane’s heat engine?
What they have is a hypothesis (and possibly a reasonable one) that they cannot test. It’s not science. Then they sell this hypothesis as proven fact, and call anyone who remains skeptical a denier, the modern euphemism for a heretic.
None of this is to say that they are right, or that they are wrong. I don’t know, and I don’t have access to the sort of time and data to comment on it in great detail. Rather, what I’m saying is that they are observably lying as to the kind of research they are doing. And I don’t trust a liar.
Many people say “trust the experts” without questioning either the competency or the trustworthiness of the expert. I trust an airline pilot to fly the plane, because I can see for myself that the airline record is pretty good, and that these people are good at their jobs. But what if a healthy 50% of airline pilots flew you to the wrong place? What if, furthermore, some pilots flew you to the wrong places deliberately? You bought a ticket to Vegas, but you ended up in Alaska. And the whole time, the pilot kept telling you how great the weather was in Vegas over the loud speaker. How much would you trust the pilot the next time you got in a plane, and he said “we’re heading for San Diego?”
Maybe we are, maybe we aren’t? How the Hell should I know?
The sleight of hand is not always obvious to the casual observer, however. Certainly not as obvious as mistaking Vegas for Alaska. Francis explains again:
Believer: Climate scientists are correct because the scientific method is reliable over time, thanks to peer review. The experts are overwhelmingly on the same side.
Skeptic: The prediction models are not credible because prediction models with that much complexity are rarely correct.
Believer: You troglodyte! You know nothing of science! The scientific method is credible!
See what happened? The believer was discussing science and the skeptic was NOT discussing science. These are different conversations. The prediction models are designed by scientists, but they are not “science” per se, any more than a microscope is “science.” Both are just tools that scientists use.
Prediction models may or may not work. Living in Florida, I’ve developed a healthy amount of respect for the NHC folks. Yeah, the accuracy of their predictions leaves much to be desired, but they nonetheless do an impressive job, and if they are often wrong in the specifics, in the generalities they are usually correct. Their prediction models are observably “pretty good” given the circumstances.
But even in such closed systems, they require several prediction models, which they often average together or weight differently depending on the forecaster’s experience. This is a skill more than anything. And then the forecaster adds his own spin on the data, looking at historical storm tracks, and making some subjective decisions about what all of it may mean. This isn’t science. But it is an impressive skill, nonetheless.
Yet all this is barely sufficient to predict where a storm might generally be in a few days, perhaps a week at the most, and have some reasonable expectation of how strong it will be.
Fortunately, we can check their work with hindsight. We can see how good their track record has been, and judge whether or not to trust them based on that record. With the warmists, we’ve no ability to track their assertions, because anything that goes counter to their hypothesis will be judged “noise” in the data, and anything that follows their hypothesis will be judged positive evidence.
Add to that the nature of government funding and peer pressure (skeptics are often greatly derided by their peers), and you have a recipe for manufactured consensus, with no way for the casual observer to check the results. Then, on top of that, we catch some of them in blatant lies, after which they demand that we trust them! Then they have the temerity to lecture those of faith on their “stupid sky wizard” god.
These people have a religion of their own. I see it often enough on Fecalbook, where the “I fucking love science” crowd posts all sorts of things that are not science, and acts like they are extra nerdy and super smart because of it.
I don’t know when popular culture switched on us, when everything that was once nerdy was made popular, but I suspect we are all the poorer for it. For it made loads of really dumb people think that they were smart because they shared a post about “science” and believed in global warming.
As far as cargo cult religions go, it may be one of the dumbest masquerading as one of the smartest.
Folks, this post is going to be a doozy. It’s been rattling around in my brain for a very long time, and I finally feel that the time is right to post it. For this, I will blame the esteemed Tom Kratman, who accidentally reminded me of it in a conversation earlier. It’s going to be long, and dark, and go into places the human psyche is not always comfortable in. I have faith my readers can weather it, but if you’ve any question… now is the time to check out. Take my warning seriously, here.
In the manosphere, the various hodgepodge collection of sites emphasizing a return to masculinity for men, I encountered a comment some years ago which stuck with me. In it, a man who had been banging a number of women lamented that every woman he encountered was a Cenobite, one of Clive Barker’s seekers of pain through pleasure. They would say “choke me until I pass out, hit me, spank me until I bleed, cut me…” They would demand ever-greater excesses, because they were unable to feel pleasure if it did not include pain. He didn’t care — all he wanted was to get laid, so he’d do whatever they asked of him — but he didn’t understand why women were this way, or why he could find so few who weren’t like this. He seemed to have a sense that things were not always this way.
In my DJ career, I have spent a great deal of time in communities and scenes that normal folks would regard as underground. For many years, I DJed BDSM parties, Fetish events, and the like. I’ve DJed warehouses and clubs with no names, buried in the wreckage of abandoned industrial parks. The marketplace of sex is one which I know exceedingly well. I’ve been DJing these scenes for the better part of 20 years.
To quote Blade Runner, I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.
As that commenter lamented, so I’ve seen first-hand. These SJWs, the radical feminists who spend their lives fighting the Patriarchy? They come to my clubs to be beaten senseless on crosses, chained to them by men dressed in uniforms very reminiscent of the Nazis. Yes, it’s a thing, as anybody who has ever been to a Goth club can attest. They demand to be tied up, burned, bruised, and battered.
Go on social media, and you will see SJWs telling us that Nazis are everywhere, that they are evil, and foul, and legion. They are in the White House, they are on Youtube, they are on Twitter, they are in Video Games. Nazis, everywhere. And so they march out into the streets, the Black Bloc, Antifascists engaging in what Tom Kratman calls a bit of political theater (not unlike Fascists once did).
But at the end of a long week of fighting the cisnormative heteropatriarchy, they come to be beaten by men dressed as Nazis, to the gritty beats of loud Industrial music in the depths of an Industrial park.
And what’s more, RadFems have come to resemble these very same Cenobites, covered in piercings, dyes, and tattoos, such that the difference between Hellraiser’s Pinhead and the average denizen of Slut Walk is minimal at best. And then they say “I’m a slut, but that doesn’t mean I consent.”
Go to any Slut Walk, I guarantee you’ll see worse.
Then, off they go to have simulated rape, to cry “yes Daddy” to the men they hate, after a day of fighting the Patriarchy in the streets.
Now they will say there is a difference, that it’s all okay because they consented to it. They came to the club. They asked for it. And it is true, to some extent. There are rules in such communities. But why, if you hated a thing so much would you come to love its reflection so deeply?
There is something deep here, some psychological damage present in the West, such that we, as an entire civilization, have lost the ability to take pleasure in anything, and have merely exchanged pleasure for pain in everything we do. Pleasure has lost its novelty. We are like Slaanesh in the Warhammer 40k world.
Where once we celebrated achievement, putting a man on the moon, inventing, building, and learning… now we celebrate victimhood in a form of emotional sadomasochism. Everything is about being made to feel bad. Imagine coming to work in the morning, chugging your cup of coffee, seeing a friend and saying “hey, how’s it going?” Said friend responds cheerfully and happily, “oh, it’s been going horrible, I got run over by a bus, and discriminated against by HR, catcalled by a thug, and my house burned down then got sucked into a tornado! How’s it with you?”
It’s almost that ridiculous.
If you walked on the moon, check your privilege, because I’m a bigger victim than you. If you cured AIDS, fuck you, you were privileged because you’re white, or have a penis. They will say things like, oh you want to know what challenge is, Mr. Quantum Physicist? Challenge is trying to make it in STEM when you’re mentally ill, bipolar, on meds, when you’re a genderqueer black Hispanic Muslim lesbian from Somalia. Who got sucked into a tornado.
Forget curing cancer, cure racism, they say.
And then they, too, go to the club and get beaten by the guys with floggers and chains. Business has never been better, let me tell you.
I see it everywhere. I see women spurning “lesser” men, finding the most intimidating, scarred, barbaric thug on the dance floor and making out with him all night, and it hits me. I see barbaric men starting fights over stupid shit, and everybody drinking until they can’t see or walk straight, filing out of the club at 3AM to try and crawl their way home. This is our entire civilization right now. These people are in power, and are doing on a meta level exactly the same sort of thing I see from my DJ booth.
They scoured the world for the most barbaric and twisted belief systems they could possibly find, and said “come to our home. Beat us. Be our Nazis.” Islam, certainly, can do that well enough. It is more than willing. And so they come, hordes of men mostly (why bring the women and children in such a circumstance?).
The Cenobites are at the helm of our civilization, and they solved the Lament Configuration, and are taking us to the dimension where pleasure and pain are meaningless distinctions. Choke me, hit me, tie me to a cross and stone me to death, Islam. Kill me in the streets.
Then they can be a better victim, to achieve even less than they do now, to achieve negative achievement, to actually rollback civilization, to be nothing more than burka-clad objects, who can’t read, or write, or drive an automobile.
These RadFems don’t want less Patriarchy, they want more Patriarchy. They don’t want less Nazis, they want more Nazis. A civilization full of weak-minded fools has broken them, somehow. Deprived of any form of constructive masculinity, people have gone out to seek it among the barbarians. Better a Mohammed than a boy-man who thinks his gender is an Oscar Meyer wiener. You could sell them to a Saudi prince as a sex slave, and they’d experience true joy.
Was this how Rome fell, all those years ago? Some poor asshole solved the Lament Configuration, and out popped Alaric and his merry band of Visigoths?
I’ve recognized local protesters at the club, submitting to a guy who served in the sandbox and took a few rounds for his trouble. He’s everything they should hate, a big scary Right-wing man with guns who’s seen the shit and has that stare that says don’t fuck with me in spades.
And they are all over him — this man who, by rights, should be their ideological enemy. But it doesn’t matter to them. Just like all this drama about fascists and Nazis doesn’t matter to them and never did. It’s theater. Anything to feel good at this particular moment. It’s a way to get in the 11 o’clock news, to be seen saying and doing the right things, before spending the night drinking, smoking, shooting up, and partying.
Maybe, even spending part of it chained to the cross, or beaten, cut, and choked.
Do you think it is an age thing? Let me disabuse you of this right now. The club isn’t the same as you see on TV. There are young 20 years olds, and old cougars. There are young men and old men, and everything in between, and in no particular ratio I can discern.
They all do it. I’ve recognized men of stature, wealth, and power. Millionaires and paupers. And I’ve seen thugs from the ghetto, and financiers of renown… all there, all in the same place, all doing the same things.
And do I care? Not personally. This is a job, and to be honest, some of the people who go to these places are good and fine people, and I get along with them famously. But that’s not the problem here, that’s not the contradiction. People who find a thing they like, even if normal folks regard it as twisted, aren’t the issue.
The trouble is the hypocrisy of it all, the person who protests Nazis, then wants to be beaten by a Nazi, the person who says all sex is rape, and then fucks a dozen guys in a cocaine-fueled mega orgy.
If you want to experience these things, and admit it to yourself, that is one thing. But the next day, you are suddenly a neo-Puritan? The standard bearer for why every time a guy in front of his computer jerks off, he’s committing the equivalent of rape? You say you are anti-fascist, dressing in black and either pretending to be a Nazi, or wanting to be dominated by one?
Or, perhaps since they are good Communists, they will summon the spirit of Lavrentiy Beria to do the deed? The Left has a history with this sort of thing, after all.
And so the TV cameras come out, and you’re Cotton Mather, praising the Salem Witch Trials… while at night, youare the witch. Who is the real you? These people are so very confused.
They are Cenobites who have lost entirely the ability to distinguish between pain and pleasure anymore. But what’s worse, they’ve lost the ability to distinguish the real and the unreal. Some of them don’t even know what gender they want to be, much less actually are. Another will say she has the soul of a kitty-cat. It’s solipsism in the extreme. What happened yesterday didn’t exist, and what will happen tomorrow will never exist.
Leftism has always had a fascination with erasing history in the Orwellian manner. So much the better if you don’t even believe history exists, or that yesterday ever mattered at all.
Only today, the moment, exists at all. Only the feelings of right now matter at all. There is no right and wrong, no pain and pleasure. Only present experience. It’s beyond Fatalism, which tells us that individual choice doesn’t matter, doesn’t really exist, that all such is illusion. They have gone beyond this, in that nothing objective exists.
So today, they want to pretend to be a superhero punching Nazis, and tomorrow they change their minds and want to go on a drinking binge in the club district and find the most Nazi-like human they can, and have sex with him. They are all heroes of their own little fantasy narratives, like every song is a personal movie soundtrack, and every event is a momentous struggle. Hailing a taxi cab is the equivalent of the Battle of the Bulge, getting up the stairs in a drunken stupor is the evacuation of at Dunkirk, losing weight is a quest Jason and his Argonauts would fail.
I guess burn more calories than you eat isn’t as dramatic as a quest to the ends of the Earth.
A poop swastika splattered on the wall of a University bathroom is a racial struggle reminiscent of the Million Man March. Enforcing border security is the same as Auschwitz. Donald Trump is literally Hitler. PewDiePie is a fucking Nazi. Calling an obese woman fat is the same as stoning them to death for being raped. Making a sexual joke is literal rape. Abortion is sacred, but everything we do is For the Children ™.
You can’t interrupt the narrative, the struggle in their own heads.
And meanwhile, Islamists stream across the borders of the West in numbers, and bring with them a culture that countenances the very same thing they claim to oppose, but seemingly want in secret, behind closed doors.
Why yes, she says, I will cover my head and body for you, my Islamist master.
Sweden’s Feminist government that don’t need no man, and fuck the Patriarchy, submitting to actual patriarchs.
I said, once, that much of the decline of the West could be seen from my DJ booth, and I wasn’t bullshitting you. There you can see the fruits of a society at war with itself, unsure of its own direction, helmed from the highest spires of Academia and government by solipsistic lunatics, hell-bent on destroying their own lives, and ours along with them.
My father is fond of saying that the time will come when evil is called good, and good is called evil. But today, we have a people who appear to be unable to even tell the difference, because they are no longer grounded by a belief in objective reality at all. It feels good, in that particular moment, to submit to Islam, and so they do it. There is no other reason. No good or evil.
The rationalizations all come later, after the decision is made and the thing is done.
The election of Donald Trump brought light upon a phenomenon that has been growing for as long as I’ve been alive. Americans are split, and the rift between them continues to widen. With Trump, however, it has become impossible to hide this fact.
During the Bush years, we still pretended that Liberals and Conservatives shared similar values. Sure, they disagreed on many issues, but both loved America and wanted to see it prosper. But even then, Bush Derangement Syndrome was a thing, and protesters carted “Bush = Hitler” signs everywhere. The Left was beginning to regard the Right not as a friend who happened to disagree on some things, but as an enemy to be defeated, subjugated, or even killed.
After all, if you seriously refer to someone as a Nazi, and paint them as such, then you are countenancing violence against them. We see this phenomenon growing with this “punch Nazis” rhetoric flooding social media. Only the term Nazi is left deliberately vague, subject to whatever definition the Left wants to give it. Shaving your head can make you a Nazi, for example. So is it permissible to punch people who have shaved heads?
If you refer to a President as Adolf Hitler, you are tacitly saying it is okay to attack the person. And certainly the many threats issued publicly against Donald Trump provide evidence of this. Does anyone believe that such threats would have been permitted against Barack Obama? Madonna got up on stage, in front of hundreds of thousands of protesters, with some of the protests going violent already, and said she wanted to blow up the White House.
That is beyond the pale. She should be in jail for this, and if you and I, dear reader, had done such a thing, we would be in jail. That was a palpable, credible threat.
However, we’ve one good thing going for us. Some among the Left would kills us all if they thought they could get away with it. But they can’t. The military is mostly staffed by our people, except for some of the brass. The armed civilians are, again, mostly us. Even a good share of the police is us.
If we really were Nazis, there would be none of them left alive. They’d have been exterminated decades ago. Joseph McCarthy would have been canonized by now.
But if they want to go with this superficial argument, wherein anything they don’t like is literally Hitler, let’s play.
Who looks more like a bunch of brownshirt Nazis? Antifa or the Tea Party?
People crowd around the historic Putnam County Courthouse in Carmel for a tax revolt tea party rally April 15, 2010. ( Frank Becerra Jr. / The Journal News )
Imagine that you knew nothing about the political situation. Which crowd would… concern you more? The one dressed in black, with their faces covered, holding various weapons in threatening poses… or a bunch of old people holding up signs?
Tom Kratman describes in detail the steps that will probably have to be taken, sooner or later (probably sooner) to deal with the rise in violent rioting. It’s not pretty. But take note specifically one of the items he advises:
Special Tip #4: Drive finishing nails into the ends of your batons and snip them off to leave about an inch sticking out. No need to sharpen the part sticking out; it’s sharp enough to penetrate and leave a painful puncture wound, whether directed at arms or torsos or thighs or groins (ouch!).
Now, you might say this sounds pretty harsh, but look at the picture of the Antifa thugs above, and note the arrow pointing to the 2×4. The rioters are already doing this.
They have rationalized violence against you. Prepare yourself accordingly.
And even on the more peaceful side of things, I’ve found it difficult to communicate with Leftists anymore. Some time ago, I was visiting some very old friends, a few of whom were liberal, and I realized that there is almost no common ground anymore. One friend explained in detail that healthcare, food, shelter, energy, transportation, and a host of other such things were basic human rights, and these things should be guaranteed freely to every human being on the planet, regardless of cost. Not providing them to every human on Earth, he explained, was immoral. Thus regardless of any success Capitalism might have, it was fundamentally evil.
Only Marxism enshrined these as human rights. Only Marxism was moral. How could anyone be so immoral as to not see these things as fundamental? And this was a liberal who regarded himself as relatively moderate. He trumpeted his willingness to compromise with Conservatives by saying that he was okay with some guns. Single shot black powder muskets, he said, were okay with him. He regarded this as a great concession on his part. Similarly, he explained, he didn’t mind some Capitalism as long as it was for non-essentials. Video games were okay to be treated as Capitalist products, so long as they didn’t contain hate speech violations.
That’s what passes for a self-described moderate Democrat, these days.
I didn’t even bother arguing with him. There was no point. Where do you go from that? The difference was so fundamental, so basic, that there was no middle ground, no place where compromise could happen.
And so the divide grows even in the non-violent space.
I wondered in that moment, if this friend of mine would kill me, should the revolution ever come, and should I stand in the way of it coming to pass. Perhaps he would. Maybe there would be regret, a sense that it was a shame I couldn’t be made to understand the need for Marxism… Or perhaps, as the old cliche goes, he’d say “I can’t kill my friend,” and then assign someone else the task of getting rid of me.
It was a chilling thought. I didn’t tell him my views. I didn’t want to deal with the resulting emotional storm I could sense waiting for me if I did. I’m down to a very small handful of liberal friends who truly know my views. And it is they who have broken the friendship with me, and not vice versa. I was willing to be tolerant of their views. They were not willing to extend tolerance to mine.
And so even friends have drifted apart over the years. Trump’s election has split families, and friendships, and split America down along fault lines that have existed for a long time, but which we pretended didn’t exist.
I even know a great many who are Conservative and couldn’t vote for Trump for various reasons, who are nonetheless cast out from family and friendships because they didn’t denounce Trump adequately and they were, in any event, still Republicans.
I don’t know what it’s like to regard half the country, and indeed your own relatives, as the epitome of all evil, as the pinnacle of human depravity, as an eternal boogeyman under the bed. But it has happened.
I’ve long said that I really don’t want the future to go down the path I’ve been seeing. If anything, I’ve been in denial about it. A commenter here, Michael Maiorana, explained to me that I knew very well the implications of what I was saying — and he’s right. I do know them. But they are harsh truths, and they are extremely unpleasant, and I must ask your pardon that I don’t like facing them.
If this divide doesn’t stop widening very soon, then we all know where this is headed.
Here, an SJW assumes that because a man has a shaved head, he is a skinhead neo-Nazi. It turns out that the man in question has a medical condition as a result of military service that basically caused a lot of his hair to fall off in uneven patches. So he shaved the rest off.
The funny thing is, I’m at the age when some of my friends are starting to go bald. The usual remedy, if one doesn’t want to spend a lot of money on expensive hair treatments, is to just shave your head. It generally looks better than a comb-over, or errant strains of lonely hair on an otherwise bald head.
But with SJWs around, if you shave your head, prepare to be called a Nazi.
It’s as ludicrous as the skit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Idiots: We found a witch, may we burn her?
Knight: How do you know she is a witch?
Idiots: She looks like one!
It’s amusing to see an SJW hoisted by his own petard, prejudging a man according to his appearance.
I'm a DJ, developer, amateur historian, would-be pundit, and general pain in the ass. I still cannot decide on the wisdom of the Oxford Comma. These are my observations on a civilization in decline, a political system on the verge of collapse, and a people asleep at the wheel as the car turns toward the jersey barrier.