Aping myself

Friday night. Nothing to do, no one to see, and no drugs to take. Haven’t talked to anyone since a faceless pathogen sabotaged my body earlier this week. I might have exaggerated the severity of the sickness. But in the interest of remaining a reliable narrator, in all honesty I truly did feel like shit.

Now I’m functional again and back to thinking about how I can gain a social life. It’s impossible. I’ve watched too many Jared Taylor videos and read too many VDARE and American Renaissance articles. I’ve laughed way too hard at Sam Hyde and World Peace. Nodded my head in agreement with the shitposts on My Posting Career. Also, if you’re unfamiliar with these references, please for the love of god don’t check them out. Especially if you have friends, family and a job.

With all the authorial authority I’ve built over years of grueling blogging, I strongly recommend avoiding people and websites with life wrecking knowledge and humor. You won’t be able to live like the person you were before. Your days of decency will be over. If you’re reading this then it may already be too late.

There’s only so much fringe media a man can absorb before it starts to remake his mind and isolate him from the rest of society. And unless he can find a real, living network of like minded people, he’s going to wind up silent and alone. Lost in a savage land, knocking on the gates of madness.

Now, I used to think of myself as an independent thinker, because that’s what people recommended. I grew up in a more traditionally oriented small town, white, lower middle class and protestant, but my parents and closest friends were casually liberal.

Furthermore, the message of consolidated corporate media was individualistic, rebellious, and anti authority. At the time I was unaware of further alternatives. It was either dumb, religious rednecks or the cool, smart, open minded liberals, who were much fewer in number and appealed more to my desire to be different.

You can’t think for yourself before someone tells you who to think for, so if people tell you to think for yourself, that’s who you tell yourself you’re thinking for. Humans are apes, and apes are imitative. When you begin thinking, you’re imitating the thinker before you have time to think it through. You’re a Rodin sculpture rather than a free spirit.

Society not only gives you instructions, it gives you models. So you can watch and learn to be a good critical thinker, and use signs to show others you’re not like the others. It’s a matter of attitude, posture, and style. It’s repetition of stock arguments and canned outrages. Stats when you need them and stat skepticism when you don’t. A full wardrobe for feigning, disdaining intellect to wear for every occasion.

You read the right people and say the right things. You hate yourself enough for everyone else to love you. And then one day you lose the trappings of intelligence. Time teaches you that what you know intuitively is worth defending. You stop hating yourself, which makes others hate you.

The fear of appearing stupid is stultifying. And it leads to embarrassing, approval seeking behavior. Break free, critical conformists, from the dogmas of the free thinkers.

A brave new world revisited again

Still sick. Fever is gone; hollow, hoarse, death rattle cough remains. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I can’t find out. A trip to the doctor would cost me hundreds of dollars. I don’t have health insurance, so my choices are wait until my body heals itself or die.

It’s another grey, morose day in DC. The sun is now permanently blanketed by coal dust. A new era has begun. A time of rushing rivers of sewage, tires, and defunct appliances. Trash heap hovels sheltering masses of radioactive microwave men on the abandoned outskirts of the technomanagerial state.

One world, one company, one government. The Amagooglebook Corporation. The only thing cheaper than the goods are the lives. Bill Nye, preserved in a tank of formaldehyde, is the world minister of truth. Sexually dimorphic atavists are targeted and rounded up. Believers in binaries are sent to science camps for reeducation.

In the coming genderfluid utopia, there are only two types of people: those who understand and love science and those who don’t. The unbelievers are tortured until they renounce their heretical views, at which point they receive hermaphroditic genital skin grafts and are allowed back into society.

The new global order has no place for pair bonding, religiously rooted, ethnically connected people. It’s too inclusive for that. There is no past and no future; only the glorious, benevolently engineered present of plastic perversion. Holidays celebrating rectal coitus and tax funded abortion retreats. Genital warts worn like badges of honor. Orgasm worship and infant sexuality seminars. Lifelong estrogen therapy.

Everyone is a stand up comedian and a scientist. Everyone has an hour long netflix ted talk stand up special and everyone is legally obligated to watch each one. Tattoos are required and tattoo artists are subsidized. All styles and standards of music are purged except for trap. All frequencies higher than bowel rupturing bass are obsolete. Food takes a strictly suppository form.

Virginity is punishable by death. The government extends marriage rights to children, plants, and animals. You must be married to at least two or more things or organisms. There are no wars. The police are fully mechanized and automated, as are courts and the prison system. Sports and group associations are outlawed.  Gyms are converted into bathhouses and brothels.

All markers of humanity in language are abolished. The only acceptable pronoun is ISH. A tolerance tribunal of correct speech monitors every conversation for traces of hate, distinction, and privilege. Like and literally are the most commonly used words. Regional dialects and accents disappear, leaving behind only vocal fry and lisping snark.

The sun just came out. Nevermind, everything will be fine. People will elect nationalist representatives and willingly descale their communities for their own physical and psychological well being. They will mostly prefer the company of people like themselves except for trade and travel.

Taking an ill pill

Wracked with sickness. Fever, shaking, chills. My face is a raging furnace one minute and then an arctic wasteland the next. Violent sneezing and snot blowing, mucus choking my nasal passages. Wheezing mouth breathing and difficulty swallowing. Aching at the impenetrable zero point of every joint.  

What is happening to me. How and when did I contract aids. Am I the first victim of the oncoming flu epidemic. Is this malaria, typhoid, or the black death. Are my lungs filling with briny fluid. I can feel the freezing, boney, indomitable grip of death on my wrist, yanking me down into the kingdom of eternal darkness. I’m on the edge of an hallucinatory hellscape of flitting phantoms. Snarling jackals and wailing wraiths, a thousand nightmarish figures dancing before my dimming eyes.

One minute you’re healthy, and the next you’re a quivering mass of pestilence. My face could cook a chicken right now. Whatever is in my body is a scourge of god, an agent of death, genghis khan in bacterial or viral form. Now I’m back to shivering, teeth chattering delirium. Riding the breakneck rollercoaster of nameless disease, not knowing how I got here or where I’m going. This all happened so fast, suddenly without warning or time to prepare. I went to sleep sneezing and woke up on my death bed.

Illness and loss are opportunities for reflection. And my latest infirmity has given me a few lucid moments. The most miserable aspect of what I’m going through now isn’t the physical pain, it’s the isolation. I have no one to take care of me here. Being alone when you’re healthy is one thing, being alone when you’re sick is truly wretched. Family and close friends are important enough during the best of times, but they are absolutely necessary when misfortune strikes.

When drastic setbacks occur, who will be there for you? And you can ask of yourself, who would you help during a catastrophe? For whom would you sacrifice your time and selfish pursuits? I sometimes catch little clips of motivational speeches, and often they are some variant of “figure out what you love, do what makes you happy”. The focus almost always seems to be on you as an individual making some practice, job, or hobby the center of your life.  But fixating on the what you’re supposed to be doing obscures the importance of who you’re supposed to be loving.

Who loves you and whom do you love? Those are the questions you need to answer. I’m not saying you should be miserable solely for the sake of others. But if you can’t figure out what to do, you’re moving around from city to city, relationship to relationship, job to job, sad, empty inside, self medicating, on anti-depressants, then maybe you should redirect your efforts. Maybe you’ll find peace and a quieter, more durable form of happiness in taking care and being taken care of. Especially over a long, continuous span of time. 

The people we’re close to are more valuable than our idealized pursuits of individual excellence. Yes, be the best individual you can be, but don’t forget that you’re an intrinsically social, bonded animal. Human flourishing hinges on our ability and willingness to cultivate and maintain loving, stable relationships. Achievements and credentials ring hollow in a life spent cutting ties. 

Stop, in the name of science

So much going on. Too much. But I have the day off. It’s another cold and clammy spring day in DC, perfect for stewing over crackpot ideas. Another day of mole man life, alone in a hole deep underground.

A legion of nerds marched for science yesterday. Well, climate change science, more specifically. People on the spectrum tucked their shirts into their underwear and their highwater pants into their socks and goonwalked to the capitol. With their gangly manners, inhalers and braces, slobbering dorks whined and held up signs on behalf of truth and objectivity.

At least of a sort. On one issue where they do have some high ground. Maybe. I don’t follow the climate change debate. But my cursory take is that there is data to support the idea of man made climate change. Fossil fuel industries want to continue strip mining the earth, and they don’t want alternative energy sources to cut into their profits. I accept this. So I’m not going to defend oil and coal companies just because people I despise also oppose them.

And that’s an equal opportunity lesson. Don’t become so obsessed with defeating something that you support something even worse. On the rare occasions when leftists make sense, it’s okay to agree with them. Rise above your mental muscle memory and reflex driven opposition. When a leftist fights against the corporate earth raping machine, I’m sympathetic. I’m far from a nature worshipper, but I can also admit that merciless, profit driven economic imperatives might be hurting humanity more than helping.

Anyway, it’s possible that scientists are onto something with climate change, as well as the need for alternative energy sources. But what I’m more interested in is the way left leaning culture is currently appropriating science.

It’s the growing, sideline sitting, pine riding, seat sniffing, cheerleading movement for the idea of science. In the same way that you have people unfit for sports obsessing over professional athletes, hordes of dinguses unfit for scientific research gush over science.

The high minded image of the scientist they want to promote is that of the tireless researcher, the noble discoverer free from corrupting influences and material incentives. Scientists are selflessly in love with knowledge for its own sake. They are willing to follow the twisting paths of truth into forbidden territory.

Scientists are independent and brave. They fight prejudice and superstition, leading lesser humanity into a golden age of enlightened prosperity. The fruits of their labor make life easier and more comfortable.

But this image of the scientist is imbalanced. Allow me to shine a light on the dark side. Scientists are in some ways exceptional and in other ways all too typical. And what makes them exceptional isn’t necessarily cause for cheer. Science is a human activity, but it isn’t something most humans naturally take to.

Few people have an aptitude for long hours of isolated study. For working with numbers, calculating, reasoning, and classifying. Experimenting and collecting data, observation and abstraction. Most people don’t care about these things and will never be good at them even if they did care.

Humanity in general will never become scientific. The immense power of science will always be in the hands of a shifty minority that people rightfully mistrust. And those with scientific power are themselves at the mercy of overwhelming social scale and complexity. Market and governmental interests pull the sciences in different directions. There is no unified, unilateral science with a single set of objectives or practices. The vaunted scientific method has a complicated history and varied versions and applications.

Science is chaos. A healing hand and a devastating, world warping power.

Individual scientists are often suspicious rat people. What are their darker motives for pursuing knowledge? It’s not all childlike wonder and love of discovery. It’s also their distrustful, self isolating character. Their corrosive, weedy doubt and anti social impulse to contradict widely held opinion. It’s festering, cankerous resentment of religion and tradition. Perverse pleasure in destroying shared experiences and beliefs and then replacing them with counter intuitive abstractions. And the masochism and self hatred of preferring and pushing painful truths to comforting myths.

There’s also diabolical pride and sweltering envy. Lust for power and the cruelty of dehumanizing objectification.  Arrogance and contempt. Scientists are often social simpletons as well as shrewd schemers.  Comically naive and idiotic when they try to philosophize. But all too cunning and unscrupulous when advancing their careers. They behave as though scientific competence in one narrow branch of a specialized field gives them a lordly, sweeping perspective on life in general.

Scientists can be careless and sloppy even in their own blinkered, tethered pursuits. So it’s not that they are correct in their chosen fields but wrong about the bigger picture; they are often wrong about their own projects as well. And when they aren’t spitting acid on the past they are often dupes of the political fashions and popular sentiments of the present.

There’s nothing wrong with being wrong. I’m frequently wrong and don’t always care to be right. But let’s not sit here thinking that scientists are especially correct most of the time, even in their narrow domains.

People love to act like skeptics because it makes them feel smart. They love to love science because it makes them feel evolved and superior. It’s an embarrassing act put on to compensate for a weak personality and lack of grounding. It’s also a shaky, inconsistent performance for contemporary leftists because of the way they’re supposed to feel about objectivity and truth. They’ve recently forgotten their own teaching about the value of science.

It’s a commonplace of postmodern leftism that science and objectivity are western myths, instruments of colonizing oppressors.Not long ago they were saying that the idea of truth as independent of perspective is culturally constructed, the product of historically mediated power relations. Truth crushes the marginal and excluded, functioning as justification for oppression and inequality.

But then everything changed when they thought the facts were on their side. And now science is objective truth, and objective truth is real regardless of feelings and perspective. The left loves hard facts now, have you caught up? The radical, uncompromising skeptics of yesterday are the credulous hard heads of today. Marching for something they only believe in when it conveniently produces data they can use against their enemies.

But when science uncovers data that contradict their cherished, childish worldview? Well, they’ll return to their feverish, deluded ravings about perspective and oppression. Science will be a tool of imperial power once again. Or, it will just be racist or sexist individual scientists practicing bad science. Science in itself is pure; the truth couldn’t possibly uphold injustice.

The left said there was no truth, only power. And the right took them at their word. Now that they’re losing power, leftists want to take back truth. They have no right to it.

None of these statements are scientific or results of the scientific method. They are free floating rhetorical exercises intended to outline the weaknesses of scientists and science lovers, as well as people on the left who use science strategically. There have been no peer reviews or double blind studies. 

Let me tell you what it’s like

Rare saturday off. Freedom from brunch. I want to do nothing but lounge. Need to workout but I hate working out now. The only thing I hate more than working out is being soft and weak, so I force myself into the gym.

I use disgust as inspiration. One day I went to the gym because I watched a fat man order a vanilla latte and then waddle over to the condiment station to squirt an extra quart of syrup into his fatass adult baby formula.

Go to the gym to spite fat people. That’s my advice. Be fit and strong to make the mutant marshmallow people feel bad about themselves. Deep shame generates change for the better. Sometimes. It also provokes hostility and mental illness. But what are you going to do?

My brain is decaying, my mind is molasses. I wish I could describe my decline but that would require a functioning intellect. I’m dumb because I’m malnourished, idle, and isolated. I never have conversations with interesting people. None of my human contact is engaging, stimulating or worthwhile.

And I never read anymore. I’ve been reading the same Paul Johnson book for months now. Still on the chapter about Tolstoy being a raging asshole. Every chapter is about a revered, secular intellectual being a piece of shit who abused and mistreated his loved ones. They were all deadbeat fathers with neglected bastard children, love starved wives and estranged siblings.

They screwed people over financially. Ran up huge debts. They were unscrupulous, ruthless, manipulative monsters who happened to be prodigiously talented and intelligent.

The book is fun to read but it’s a cheap confirmation of my complacent suspicions. It’s another lesson on how the towering intellects behind large scale social movements are moral dwarves. Spineless weasels with rotten characters and offensive hygiene.

There’s an amusing consistency to their distrust and avoidance of dentists. Which I also share. I’m on my way to becoming an influential thinker, one abscessed gum pocket at a time. When all my teeth fall out and my jaw is pulsating with pain, I’ll write my masterpiece. And after I die, I expect all of you to impose my ideas on innocent people and twist my words into rationalizations for theft, betrayal and murder.

Otherwise no one will remember me, and my careless treatment of my family will have been for nothing.

In a cork lined room

Wake up at 5:30 in the morning. Splash water on your face. Brush your teeth quickly, improperly. Spit blood into the sink. Skip a shower, put on old jeans, old socks, and an old t shirt. Put on old shoes that don’t provide adequate support. Squeeze into shin splinting shoes stained with dirty coffee. Walk out the door, blind and mute. Into the buzzing dawn. 

Get on the bus. There’s at least one person that’s threateningly retarded or homeless.You’re the only non minority. Brown and black skin, strollers, plastic bags full of plastic bottles, other languages that sound like gibberish.

(I don’t know what it is about the sound of other languages, but it makes me want to punch people. I’m not charmed by foreign jibber jabber. People are bad enough when you can understand them.)

Stand on the bus. Clench your calf muscles and grip the pole so you don’t fall into a 130 year old woman in an electric wheelchair. A bus is not built to turn. A bus flips over every time it turns a soft 15 degrees. You wage a daily battle with heaving, mechanical gravity. Your teeth are ground down into powder from years of jaw clenching bus rides.

Or you take an uber. Rwanden refugees and west coast technology. The breakdown of public space, national borders and long term employment; pointillist contracted labor. Zanzibar Castro is your driver. You forgot to drink water and your organs are withering. You think in the fog of dehydration about Uber and mass society. How globalism runs on world destroying technology. Apps control the movement of delocalized bug people in a wealth worshipping consumer colony. 

You work for 8 hours. Every morning you think of what you’re going to do when you get out. And every afternoon when you get out all you want to do is crawl into a dank room and firebomb your brain with opium. Close the curtains and eat rich chocolate and cheese. 

It takes at least half an hour to get ready for work. And that’s cutting every corner. No showers or stretches or meditation rituals. No time for food. Nothing that would improve your health or reduce stress. You wake up, half ass your hygiene and then leave.

So, you spend an hour getting to work. And then 8 hours at work without a break. Finally after getting to work and working, you have to go home. You call another expensive uber or brave the bus again. Now it’s around 3 in the afternoon, maybe later. Traffic is thriving and won’t let up until after 7.

Are you still thinking about your hobbies, your passions? After 10 hours of mind numbing commuting and menial labor, you’re not exploding with energy? You don’t have children or obligations and you’re still flailing, unable to manage time and money for your own sanity and health.

Get home to cook and clean. Mold is winning the battle of the bathroom. You need groceries and cleaning supplies. Walk a mile to a grocery store. Then walk a mile back to your house holding two bags of groceries in each hand. Each bag is full of fruits and vegetables destined to rot and stink in your crisper.

You count walking a mile with groceries as exercise. Your traps and forearms are bulging but your chest is weak. It’s the lack of bench press and flys. Find time and willpower for the gym. Another logistical rubik’s cube. Take the bus again or call another uber. Either way it’s more money and time you don’t have.

It’s after 6 pm and it’s rush hour in the gym. You’re tired and you just ate a heavy, mayonnaise based sandwich. Even though you went to the supermarket and bought fresh food, you crammed down a thick, starchy pita wrap loaded with hormone addled beef and chicken and french fries. Enough salt to turn your flesh into jerky.

Now you’re at the gym, stomach struggling to process leaden carcinogens, dehydrated from a long day of drinking coffee and courting cardiac arrest with fatty meat sandwiches. It’s time to squat but there’s no squat rack. There’s also no bench press. The worst music of all time is blaring and every available bench, rack, and free weight is taken.

After a cramped, rushed workout you head home. One final transportation hurdle. One last meal for the day, slop in a skillet. Blindly hack away at various vegetables. Toss a tube of meat in the pan and salt to your taste.

After choking down flavorless gristle and burnt vegetables, it’s time to work on your passion. Crack open the timeless works of Plato and write fresh, insightful commentary on the perennial problems of humanity. Brush up on your greek and latin, review poetic forms and practice your iambic pentameter.

Except that doesn’t happen.  Instead you browse facebook until you see something upsetting and then you write about that. Your old friends turned into old nagging women. Now they make prissy remarks on racism and sexism. You remember the days when you drank beer together and said offensive, hilarious shit.

And you want to look past who they’ve become and reach out to them. You don’t. You’re disappointed with yourself because you’re willing to distance yourself from people over ideas. And you do this while believing that people are more valuable than ideas.

Realize that every man who ever lived was a hypocrite who contradicted himself. Feel resolve again when facing the futility of existence. It’s now 9:00 pm. You need human contact but your job also fries your social circuits. No one invites you to do anything and you don’t have the energy to go out again anyway.

Every rapid fire, superficial interaction you have with an anonymous credit bearer takes its toll. Face after face after face. You need to hide from humanity. Exist alone as thought in a void. Thinking of the void.

Everything you write haunts you with what it’s missing. And it’s always missing something, even now, as you write about what’s lacking in your writing. You wanted to write about a day in a man’s life, using heavy handed ironic subtext to make your common sense points about life. And that’s easy enough to do, even when you’re tired and careless.

But there were certain threads you wanted to develop that went nowhere. The tone wasn’t consistent and neither was the pace. The day was overly long but also not detailed enough.  And you’re tired and can’t work anymore. You didn’t think about how this would end. What completes a work, a day, a life.

Then it comes to you. It’s another moment when you tie everything together, but it’s so delicate and fleeting you can’t put it into words. You settle for strained poetry.

A work is never finished, but it must come to an end. It is the same with life. Everything must end as forever incomplete. As the unwavering, always present what could have been.

You’re going to repeat yourself until you die. And then who knows.

A schizophrenic writes an impressionistic letter to an imaginary woman in a moment of lucidity

Bear with me on the experimental stuff, guys.

It’s too late. If you’re reading this, neither of us will find someone. I’m asking myself what you’ve been doing for 15 or 20 years. How a person could wait this long.

Oh, you worked and went out. Made yourself a priority. Now you want to bend time backwards. You want the time when you should’ve fallen in love. 

Well, yes, we’re animals… But culture tames us. We have to keep that energy bottled up, tightly contained and controlled. 

Otherwise it’s a directionless mess. Spiritual dissipation. It’s waking up at 40 not knowing who you are.

It’s all those free choices. They were lived like obligations. I was the same. I cared about what I wanted. And always in the moment. What’s tomorrow? Just a belief. I’m a skeptic, so I don’t believe in anything outside the raw reality of my senses. God? Doesn’t feel real. Nothing exists for sure until I feel it. 

It’s dawning on me now how funny that is. How a person lives with an idea of himself. I thought I was a skeptic while I lived like a sensualist. 

I was intelligent because I mocked tradition. Saw normal patterns of social life as irrational and limiting. For me, people wanted to belong out of weakness. And belonging made them weaker.

But thinking like that shrinks your soul. That’s what I’m learning. Before you know it you’re writing articles for libertarian magazines and eating lavish, solitary dinners in hotel restaurants.

The path I’ve been on is twisting into a dead end.  I’ve nothing to give but what I want. And I gave the best of myself to nothing.

We’re doing this because the threads of society are in tatters. We live as individuals in terror and ignorance. I’m telling you, we waited too long for this to make sense.

I could write for the rest of my life and not say all the different ways I want to say this one thing: that time and place matter, when and where something happens is the key to its happening.

I like the softer drugs

So what’s the fear? That you’re a derivative intellect. Critical but sterile. Unable to create. You work without making anything. There’s always something to say and nothing that needs to be said.

I want to get better. It may not matter  but at least I’ll know I’ve lived. I’ll have proof of my progress.

A record of your existence. Even if no one reads it.

Early humans already thought to the end of everything. That’s what made them human.

All you can do is retrace that move. Endlessly circling the drain with pen in hand, macbook air if you’re a man of today. Returning again and again to where thinking begins and ends.

 But I want to say something new. I don’t want to return; I want to take off.

First you’ll copy others and then you’ll copy yourself. Every writer has his subject. And a style. Every writer writes about one or two things in the same way every time.

So if people read you it’s because they know what you’re going to say. And how you’ll say it. And they either like it or they don’t, and if they don’t like it, they like not liking it. They don’t need anything else.

People enjoy feeling angry and upset. They run on bile. When people deny themselves the pleasure of contempt, they end up hating themselves.

Okay, so I’ll be an anonymous outlet for anger. 

Yes, you can also make people happy by making them miserable. We need enemies. Threats on the horizon. A reason to round people up. But it probably won’t come to that. You’re obscure enough to get away with anything.

That moment when, high on dense, edible marijuana, penis in hand,  you realize you’re a coward at heart. You’ll write forever without consequence. You have no greater hope than avoiding pain. 

Afraid of suffering and irrelevance. Both are guaranteed. But you probably matter more to others than you matter to yourself.

You might finally find courage in that.

Charles Murray makes us worry

Charles Murray is on a lecture tour and back in the news. He wrote a controversial book in the 90’s called the Bell Curve that no one has ever read. Not a single person anywhere has ever read a single page of this arcane, offensive book. But the Southern Poverty Law Center says Charles Murray is a white supremacist. So you know what happens next.

The SPLC is a privately owned fund raising front. A highly profitable civil rights slanderfest.  They tell scary stories about the non existent threat of white hate groups in America and then rake in money from donors. They don’t care about poor people, especially poor whites. It’s a greasy, fraudulent organization run by an attention whoring, money grubbing shyster.

But when the SPLC calls someone a white supremacist, the rabid anti racists believe it. Critically aware, enlightened borg people don’t question their favorite anti hate money making machines. They don’t think, they react. They punch, protest and donate their way to hate crushing victory over elderly professors who give lectures.

The Bell Curve is full of charts, graphs, and percentages. Numbers and facts as weapons of white supremacy. Anyone who says the words IQ and race in the same sentence is a despicable racist. Anyone who writes a chapter of a book on IQ and race is subhuman scum. But racist scumbags can’t hide behind bell curves anymore.

Progressive scientists have refuted Charles Murray’s racist book with anti racist SCIENCE. Dispassionate experts who are generally wrong about everything all the time just so happen to be right about this extremely touchy, nearly taboo subject. We finally have a science that isn’t racist, just in time.

And you won’t be able to understand this brave new anti racist science, so you’ll have to trust the newly and always credible experts. If you’re not a statistician, evolutionary biologist, molecular biologist, or mathematician, you can refer to their expertise to win internet arguments.

Those graphs are misleading. And you can’t believe lines when they’re drawn by a racist. Here, take a look at these lines instead. We have egalitarian graphs. Democratic statistical models. And don’t forget that correlation does not equal causation. 

Correlation does not equal causation, the nerd robotically repeats as he masturbates to cartoons. When they aren’t ejaculating on comic books, brilliant shut ins educate racists on their logically fallacious racism.

Terrible things happen when people think correlation equals causation. Fascists rise to power.

A brave jew scientist stopped the holocaust by correcting the nazis’ logical errors. He taught them that Jews are only correlated with banking crises and social decay. They only seem to turn native people against each other by promoting self seeking, perverse behavior and profiting from the ensuing chaos and collapse.

Likewise, just because high crime and black populations are correlated, it doesn’t mean black people cause crime. We know white supremacy causes black crime because those things aren’t correlated at all. That’s how progressive reasoning works. If it’s counterintuitive and unpersuasive, it’s true.

White people consciously build societies that lower black IQ and impair impulse control. Future time orientation, the ability to delay gratification, set goals, and not shoot rival gang members for hustlin on your turf is racist cultural conditioning, another tool of white supremacy.


Charles Murray gave a lecture at Indiana University, my alma mater.

And overgrown children stuck in the amber of arrested development threw self congratulatory protest parties. Dwarven underclasses who’ve sold themselves into debt slavery at the higher education plantation lashed their masters for failing to protect them from a lecture they weren’t required to attend.

Now, I’m a straight white man stuffed with creamy white privilege. So it’s easy for me to ignore the swelling mass of mud people calling for my demographic displacement. I’m insensitive because nothing bad could ever happen to me. I laugh at black on white crime rates.  I’m so white I don’t even have a genetic lineage. That’s for the upsurging dirt people.

If a gender defiant, ethnically ambiguous humanoid gave a lecture about how my group identity is responsible for all the poverty, oppression and inequality in the world, I could ignore it. I could use my magical, unearned advantages to not attend upsetting lectures.

But this also never happens. No one has ever been allowed to give a lecture that made me feel bad. No one ever questions white power. You won’t hear about it on the news and you won’t read about it on the world white web.

The university industrial complex isn’t a frothing hothouse of antiwhite, antimale resentment and it would never subject me to humiliating ethnomasochistic hazing rituals for admittance or favor.

The university is a legacy of White, Christian Europe, given over to vicious parasites vengefully sucking out its last remaining vital fluids. White Christian European traditions also ended slavery but we don’t get credit for that either.

By the way, don’t look at a map of modern day slavery. It might make you a racist. You might accidentally notice a curious concentration of slaves in black and brown countries. If whites had any more power, they might commit the atrocity of ending slavery in the rest of the world too.

The old ideal of the university was knowledge for its own sake. But now we have progressive education, which fractures the social body into bitter, warring tribes while the upper classes develop automation and biotechnology.

Hey, what should we do with all these undesirables? Let them take out loans and chase degrees at major universities. It’s okay, a degree is worthless now. We can let the blacks and women in while we genetically engineer ourselves into immortality. 

Once the machines are making the sandwiches, washing the dishes and fixing the toilets, the ultra rich will begin liquidating the greater mass of humanity. The genocides of the future will be diverse.

So people I went to school with wailed about a white man talking in a room for a couple of hours. These tantrums came from thirty year old men who play in punk bands and work in restaurants. Universities wasted their time and money for years. The system has no use for them except as debt slaves and consumer drones.

And now this is their problem with the system? How could these corrupt administrators who exploit the cognitive labor of the striving underclasses allow this to happen? White supremacist lectures? Of course the system took advantage of our naïveté and dim self absorption, burying our hopes for an independent future in an avalanche of debt. But hosting a lecture by a man who wrote a chapter of a book that came out 23 years ago? 

My submissive white former classmates and their favorite minorities do have at least one thing in common. They both rely on and make contradictory demands of the power they don’t recognize as legitimate in the first place.

It’s a widespread phenomenon of anti social, approval seeking behavior. Expecting love and protection without offering commitment, good will or trust. They want to destroy the validity of institutions even though they are in desperate need of constant validation from established powers.

The university should stop exploiting me. Its authority is a construct. The university should also protect me from words and hateful rhetoric. This thing I’ve been trying to deconstruct should now stand strong for my sake and all my oppressed brothers. Fuck you dad, why don’t you love me?

This is what I have to look forward to if I move back to Bloomington. I want to be around family. But Bloomington is a lot like DC, only fewer blacks and less high status gluttony. It’s also a midwestern hobo haven. A snide hippie hideaway. I could be comfortable there as long as I don’t say the wrong things.

I have so many wrong things to say.

Stand up? More like give up

I said I wouldn’t do this.

Dave Chapelle and Louis CK put out new stand up specials on netflix. I didn’t laugh much when I watched them but then again I don’t even know what funny is anymore. Modern entertainment disgusts me and popular culture is a landfill of spiritual wreckage. I’ve been reading the old testament and dreaming of cataclysms, yelling at colored children from a shadow swept porch.

So I’m not in a mood to laugh. Especially at crass, formulaic comedy.

Chapelle is bitter now. I’m not going back to review his old stuff but I don’t remember him being that much of a whiny cunt. Like any black comedian, or any black person in any circumstance whatsoever, he relies on the lazy, self pitying ideas of racial difference and black disadvantage. But at least he was funny once. At least he had levity.

But Chapelle’s new routine is acting like an entitled celebrity. A celebrity, who, despite all his success, feels left behind and forgotten. In the ten years since he fled to Africa, audiences have moved on and now watch Key and Peele and Kevin Hart. This apparently bothers him even though he thinks his fans are catchphrase spewing cretins and Hollywood is a slimepit jew racket that abuses and murders its stars.

If you’re a comedian and you don’t want idiotic adoration, well, too fucking late. Either no one knows you or everyone harasses you. It’s why most sensible people don’t seek fame and why Chapelle stopped doing stand up years ago.

So now he’s not the most popular black comedian. In addition, Chapelle the black man is no longer the most precious of society’s victims. Gays and trannies are getting just as much, if not more, attention than blacks for being oppressed. Just as he doesn’t like watching Key and Peel do his show, he also doesn’t like watching gays and trannies steal his downtrodden minority spotlight.

Yesterday’s victims are the victimizers of today. And Chapelle has privileges over people with severe mental disorders that manifest in sexually deviant, alienating behavior. An adult black man who’s parents lived through legally enforced segregation is now out of touch and offensive in today’s whiplash progressive circuit.

Chapelle’s jokes about gays and trannies lack bite but they’re almost the only semi funny or interesting bits in his new act. And he’s developed the annoying habit of slapping his own knees after every joke. It’s a helpful tic because otherwise it’s hard to tell when he’s being funny.

I respect a man who turns his back on fame and obscene wealth. Chapelle won a personal victory by shutting down his minstrel show and living a private life. But then he threw himself right back into the mess he spent ten years hiding from and obliquely criticizing. Does he need money and attention from people he doesn’t respect or have anything in common with? Maybe he loves the craft of standup, though it hardly shows through the tedious griping and affected cluelessness.

In the middle of his worn out special he says that the newest generation doesn’t feel anything because we see so many tragedies.Not even ten minutes later he says that we’re all angry. Are we all numb or are we all angry? Apparently we live in an age of spin, but it was never clear to me what he meant by that. It seemed that Chapelle wanted to flirt with making real, substantive statement without going all the way. He limps around controversial subjects and fails to hit hard every time.

Now on to Louis. In his latest of 57 specials released in the past five years, Louis puts on a suit and takes a massive dump on stage. He’s never dressed better or been less funny. It took me three different tries to get through the first half of the show. His audience barely even laughs until the second half, when it gets slightly better.

I couldn’t find the jokes in the first two or three bits. Louis phones in his trademark I‘m dark and depressing but I won’t say anything subversive or provocative to my already established fanbase routine. Women should be able to kill their babies. Life is okay at best and you should be be able to kill yourself. Christianity is the world’s dominant religion, just ask someone what year it is. It’s more dull fodder for the pathetic, malcontented dorks and aging, sad fat faggots he tickles with his flaccid schtick.

When we say that that a comic is edgy or controversial, we mean for other people. No one listens to a comic that genuinely offends them, they listen to a comic who they imagine offends other people. Louis CK is the emperor of fake offense in the eyes of an imagined other. Especially a majority other or an authority other. He hams up the life of a pig who loves eating, shitting and masturbating more than anything else in the world. It’s funny for a second but it doesn’t age well.

He has to work in some material about feeling gay or being curious about penises. There’s a joke about watching Magic Mike, which leads to CK contemplating, once again, sucking a dick. It’s a banal balancing act between disgusting humor and politically correct pandering that CK has mastered. Louis is a white man, but he’s sad and also probably gay. He can do stereotypical voices and be generally revolting but it’s okay because he’s okay with men fucking each other in the ass. When you get down to it he’s not judgmental. And by that we mean he doesn’t say anything mean about our dearest misfits.

The lesson of Louis is that you can be a wealthy white man in comedy and get away with it, as long as you act depressed and at least a little gay. For now, anyway. Soon enough they’ll scoot the chopping block a little farther to the left and we’ll have to reconsider.

CK jokes about a man dying and going to heaven. His wife then dies and rejoins him. The man is dismayed because he already has a new girlfriend in the afterlife and thought he would be done with his earthly wife. It’s a marginally clever bit that underscores the bleak, isolated worldview of this cutting edge icon of our age, another example of a comedic style that pretends to upend while sitting well with bored, restless, rootless hedonists who don’t have the will or the heart for a love that lasts beyond their lifetimes.

No one thinks that love is an overwhelming feeling that never wavers or wanes. No one ever said you had to feel butterflies in your stomach thirty years into a relationship. The intensity of young love should give way to the stability and continuity of a larger family structure in which two people perpetuate life and guarantee its upbringing in a nurturing environment.

Love endures through lines of genetic descent, not in periodic revivals of romance. And individuals find their place in time and the core of their belonging in relation to ancestors and children.

When people don’t feel connected to what came before or what’s to come, their lives collapse into the episodic pursuit of power, pleasure and prestige. Depression, addiction, perversion, the inward sinkhole of self obsession and self destruction; anything but living for the idea of eternity. It’s endlessly fucking hilarious to be detached from everything except your insatiable dick and gut.

So eat a pizza, take a colossal shit and jack off for the fifth time today because Louis CK is here to make you laugh until you cry blackened tears and forget you might have been meant for something greater.

I don’t get comedy.