The crying game

Life is complicated. I like to be friendly and peaceable, and I shrink from doing harm to others. I don’t go out of my way to make people feel bad. If most of the people that know me ever read what I write, they’d be shocked and horrified. I’m soft spoken and congenial. Every now and then I let a cutting remark slip, but I’ll be careful not to say anything too offensive or controversial. The most insulting comments I make tend to be about myself.

I often disagree with other people’s opinions, but I don’t think it’s worthwhile to voice that disagreement. People don’t react well to being contradicted or challenged. It’s just easier to keep the conversation moving towards a more agreeable topic than stand your ground and make people uncomfortable for no constructive purpose.

But the way people are reacting to the election is pushing me in a different direction. I can only take so much of adults acting like children. Shamelessly announcing how much they’ve cried, displaying their weakness and cowardice to the world like it’s broad chested virtue.

I have friends I’ve known for years, old friends, guys who used to be hilarious sons of bitches, talk about how scared they are, how they’ve cried, how they’re angry and offended and shocked and disgusted and appalled. Over and over again with the fear. They’re making such an elaborate, contrived show of their goddamn fear. It’s so fucking scary, it’s a horror show, a fucking election with voting and a peaceful transfer of power.

Grown ass men are bawling and blubbering like babies with shit in their diapers and neglected ass rashes. Like their pacifiers have been ripped from their teething gums. Like their mothers didn’t put a cookie in their sack lunches.

What’s even more amusing is how they pivot from being dickless, sobbing bitch boys to acting hard. With snot still streaming down their faces they offer their limp wristed support to everyone who isn’t a straight white man. You know, those swaths of the population headed directly for gas chambers, ovens, and firing squads. The straight white men are going to barbecue minorities. Only a coalition of micro penises, paraplegics and trannies can stop them.

There are segments of the left that careen wildly from complete pussy to trash talking tough guy. “I’ll stand up to the fascists, I’m so afraid but I’ll fight the sexists, racists, homophobes, transphobes, islamophobes, I’ll crack their skulls.” Sure you will.

I still don’t want to go out of my way to provoke or upset people. But I’m finding it increasingly difficult to pretend that I’m here to comfort the afflicted. I don’t know how much longer I can act like all the public wailing, the morose, dramatic and histrionic behavior isn’t embarrassing and unfit for mature adults.

Something has happened to the general level of maturity in the world. This is partially coming out of my ass because I’ve lived in no other time, but jesus christ we have to be on a steep decline here. This isn’t even about politics. It’s not about what you believe or what you want for this country. It’s about not acting like a fucking six year old and composing yourself with dignity in public.

I’m working the register at a coffee shop and I’m giving people the usual pleasantries: “How’s it going?” And they respond like you just shot their dog. They shit all over our interaction for no real reason. You’re at a boutique, specialty third wave coffee shop, you’re getting a tasty cup of energy juice and a dense, sugary pastry that we will heat up for you on request.

From there you’re going to your make believe job as a consultant or art director or analyst, fueled by top of the line coffee and baked goods. But you need to stand in front of me and choke back tears to order your soy latte?

Trump and Pence aren’t coming to bulldoze your bathhouses or knock down your glory hole stalls. And I’m not here to assuage your fear, soothe your anxiety, or change your diaper.

Here’s how it’s going to go down

Straight, white men of America have been waiting for this moment. We’ve thought, we’ve planned, we’ve deliberated in the shadows, and now it’s time to speak out, to act. The days of remaining silent in the face of degeneration, diversity and perversity are over.

My heart is a cornucopia of phobia, hatred, and prejudice. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t make coffee, I don’t stretch, I don’t meditate. I think about the homos spreading disease one scabrous butthole at a time. I think about the trannies tricking honest men in bug infested motel rooms. Dumpsters brimming with murdered infants, waves of terrorists crashing upon the shores of a formerly glorious nation.

Black vagrants squirting their seed indiscriminately in the always open cunts of insatiable ghetto queens. Generations adrift, no fathers, no education, no guidance in life. Learning nothing but how to steal, how to shoot, how to sink deeper into squalor and ignorance.

Porous borders. Sacks of scum from Mexico staining the sandy expanse of the southwest. The poor and religious mud people living on streets lined with their own feces reproducing at an exponential rate. Beautiful white women with healthy genes hacking away at their own wombs, popping hormone pills, bloated, confused, fucking for sterility’s sake.

White birthrates plummeting. Brown birthrates skyrocketing. A shit tsunami gaining size and speed every day. Demographic disaster looming on the horizon.

Hatred and fear are my stimulants, my spurs to action. My fellow white men are the same. Hatred has always been our motivation. We love to control and kill. We understand our interest, and it’s crushing the weak, the infirm, the aids ridden other. Enslaving and degrading whole populations gets us rock hard and ready to sire the next generation of pristine white tyrants.

We let the blacks, the women, the gays, the muslims and the mexicans have their time. Hope you enjoyed it, because we’re bending that historical arc back towards true white supremacy.

Black men and women will be put back on plantations. The big strong black men will do all the backbreaking heavy toil, and the women will scrub toilets and make pancakes with delicious maple syrup. Gifted blacks will sing and dance for our entertainment.

Most of the gays will be fed into wood chippers, but a few will be allowed to design the interiors of our homes.

Every mexican will get a one way ticket to mexico. Muslims will be left to die in the desert. We will import tacos, burritos, and shawarma. White women will not commit the crime of miscegenation. They will bear beautiful, healthy white children by responsible, productive white men.

We will drop the cripples and ailing into the ocean. We will drop bombs on Saudia Arabia and Iraq. We’ll go hunting and drinking with Putin. There will be much laughter as everyone who isn’t a straight, white male lives a live of degradation.

All of this will come to pass because Donald Trump is now our president. He ran on a clear, obvious platform of White Power. Trump is merely the spearhead of a longstanding plot. He’s the crowning of a new era, a throwback to better days when blacks couldn’t eat at our restaurants or go to our schools. When women couldn’t vote, when the massacre of indians and mexicans was celebrated and encouraged.

It’s about goddamn time.

I’d wear a toga if I had one

Left another job in the dust. Going to be working at a new shop close to home. Walking every day, no bus, no metro, no uber, just my legs carrying me to toil away.

I’m trying to tighten up the radius of my life. Life in the city is complicated and stressful, and I want to simplify. Walk whenever possible. Cook chili’s, stews and soups. Keep workouts quick and efficient. Compound movements and bodyweight exercises. I might cancel my gym membership.

I love the idea of learning Muay Thai, but I need individual instruction. It’s a waste of time and money to take a class with 20 other variously experienced and skilled chubs and chumps. One instructor giving barely audible commands while you punch and kick an out of shape 22 year old doesn’t translate into solid martial arts skills.

So the Muay Thai has to go, at least for now. It’s also too far away, and puts me back on a bus during rush hour.

My life is boring on the surface right now, but I’m feeling okay. Trying to get back into the habit of writing every day. I’ll be funny and interesting again soon, I promise.

I don’t have thoughts right now that aren’t really strained and contrived, but I have been chewing on this little bit: I want to walk the middle path between constant striving and improvement and total sloth and despair. Sometimes it seems as though those are the only two options.

If you aren’t ceaselessly active and creative and competing, you are a sliding and sinking into a pit of larded sadness, a wastrel and wallower. More girls, more money, more muscles, more achievements, more hobbies and habits, right?

The only alternative to this rabid expansion is stupor and torpor, passive and listless drifting, masturbation marathons and Chinese food. Walking around in mustard stained wife beaters and pizza sauced sweat pants, smelling like a damp hamper and talking like a punch drunk boxer after 10 shots of barrel bottom whisky.

If you aren’t traveling the world, learning new languages, banging new girls, updating your style and upgrading your lifestyle, networking, working out, fighting feminists, fighting leftists, globalists, juicing, on the juice, reading six books at once, then what are you?

There has to be a way of life that is prudent, active but not restless and voracious, contemplative but not complacent. Old school stoicism or epicureanism is what I’m thinking here, with a modern, decadent twist of course. You tend to your garden, cultivate friendships, learning, and health without being compulsive.

More and more I love paring away, cutting out the excess and focusing on the core of what’s important. Not that I know exactly what that is, but I intend to get closer to it.

Not our president

10 years ago Donald Trump said he could grab women by the pussy. He said that when you’re rich and famous, women will let you walk right up and kiss them. America’s delicate sensibility was irreversibly traumatized.

America elected and then reelected a serial sexual predator, a man caught lying about getting his dick sucked by an intern while he was in office.

American movies and music are brimming with sexually explicit scenes, images, sounds and references. If you suggest that this is toxic and corrosive, you’re dismissed as a prude, if not a tyrant imposing his morality on others.

Comedians, male and female alike, rise to fame on the strength of jokes about masturbating. Every other ‘funny’ thing someone says on tv is about a dick, pussy, or fucking.

Pornography floods almost every home in America. People check out of their lives and jack off to degrading, contrived behavior filmed by opportunistic reprobates. Teenage girls shave their pussies and boys think that a fitting end to a selfish, one sided sex act is spewing semen on a girl’s face.

I’m not even trying to come up with examples. I’m not reading deeply into the fabric of the country’s moral fiber. This is all obvious, open, admitted, taken for granted.

It’s amusing how we immediately adopt a regressive, victorian attitude towards women, like they’re defenseless, innocent creatures. Like women don’t disgusting things about men when talking amongst themselves. I goddamn guarantee you plenty of women have said things like, “you can just grab them by the dick” in crass good humor.

It’s always about what men do to women. Men are always responsible. What’s glossed over is the role of female choice. No one talks about the fact that women like it when powerful men are sexually bold and aggressive. Trump can act on his impulses in the company of beautiful women because this is what beautiful women prefer.

Ugly, barren, portly, sexually confused women with various eating disorders and mental problems don’t like it when powerful, rich men give beautiful young women what they want. Weak, effeminate, struggling, socially inadequate men don’t like it either. It’s too natural and healthy for their perverse, botched constitutions.

I’m reaching my main point here. For women, words and actions are always secondary to identity. Who you are determines what you are allowed to do. If you’re on the right team, all is permitted, all can be justified.

Women don’t like sexually aggressive men, unless they’re handsome, rich, or famous. The public is morally outraged when a successful man talks about his sex life in private. The same public cheers and celebrates a dumpy, dour feminist when she talks about her exploits.

You give women the vote, you take them too seriously and everything turns into a matter of identity. It’s okay to be a racist, sexist piece of trash if you’re a member of the protected minority class.

Otherwise, nothing you do is acceptable. They will find some way to make what you do “problematic”. There is no morality or consistency, only the most convenient tool at the time for bashing the enemy.

Small talk

How was your day?

It brought me a little closer to death, was made of moments I’ve already forgotten.

Why do you live like this?

Every day is a segue way one nothing to another. My awareness is a hiccup, a burp, a bit of air passing through an obstructed tube.

Why choose life over death?

Hope and fear bundled together keep a dwindling flame alive. I’ve hacked away at my capacity to care, and I’ve failed to kill it. Something in me wants life, the ongoing, the eternal. A little fleck of forever stuck in the center of disintegration.

Life is what you make of it

True, even as we are what life makes of us. We are worked on and worked over by unseen hands, airbrushed into existence. Shaped clay in an abandoned potter’s home.

A modern person thinks of tragedy as something bad that happens, often to large groups of people all at once. But tragedy is more subtle than that. Tragedy is the structure of human life. It’s the knowledge of death. It’s the fatal recognition of the self as mortal.

Useless knowledge of the end, of the end which can’t be avoided.

But you like thinking about this;  You enjoy contemplating your own disappearance

You’re probably right. I can always steal a little pleasure from a bleak meditation. A grim, comic spirit keeps me animated.

There is something seductive about the idea of disappearance. Funerals, commemorations, preservation, all unsettle me. Please don’t gather around my husk and cry for hours. I want to slip away without anyone even realizing I’ve left. Keep the party going and don’t worry about where I’ve gone. Don’t miss me; there’s plenty of beer and you’ll be leaving soon, too.

A rousing evening

A fight broke out across the street last night. It started in the house where black people hang out on the porch and talk loudly. From light nuisance to violently disruptive,  it was the typical dark arc of black people with nothing to do.

Women were shrieking and punching each other. Men were sticking their chests out and getting into each other’s faces. Crude and cretinous men love to put on a show of their supposed strength. They straighten their spines, widen their lats,  tighten their fists, they huff and breathe heavily. Hot headed, furnace faced idiots. Cobras with no venom.

Black women punch hard. They punch as hard as they are egotistical and demanding. Fucking swings of demolition.

I thought about calling the cops. It felt good to think about fucking over the delinquents. But then again I’m a racist. To be fair, had the private rioters been white I still would have relished watching them all get tossed headfirst into paddywagons. I felt like good old Artie Schopenhauer when he offered his opera glasses to Prussian soldier in his room so that they could more precisely target rioting communists in the streets below.

The cops did come, someone had called on them. Given the way people talk these days, I expected the cops to come out with guns blazing. Strong arming, tasering, beatings with sticks, choke holding, bitch slapping, neck snapping, scrotum shredding racist belligerence. Instead the cops merely broke up the fights and held the oppressed people back from injuring or murdering each other. Because of systemic racism.

The cops put one woman in a cruiser and left.  As soon as they were gone the night fighters resumed their cultural practice. The fighting and yelling continued for another half an hour, and then I fell asleep. I had been trying to fall asleep for an early shift the next day when the fight began. In their squalid rage, the blacks couldn’t consider the needs of others. The world shrank to a dark, dense pinpoint of boiling, incoherent anger. Fuck everything else.

Some people (i.e. black) don’t get the concept of public space. They don’t get that different public spaces are defined by different needs depending on their contexts. A neighborhood street at one in the morning is not a space meant for loud, violent behavior. That sort of behavior is the undoing of that space and the way it’s meant to be maintained. But imagine if that thought had magically entered into one of their heads.

Guys, wait, I know we’re about to kill each other over something so petty I’ve already forgotten what it was, but maybe we shouldn’t be making this much noise out here on the streets when people are trying to sleep. Many people in society have jobs which place certain demands of routine upon them, such as going to sleep and waking up at the same time several times a week. It would bother a lot of people and make their lives more difficult if we persisted in our disruptive behavior. Let’s either quietly murder each other in the privacy of our own homes or just call it a night. 

There was a shooting half a mile south of that fight at roughly the same time. I don’t know if it was related. Probably not.

Some sort of summary

Binary thinking is necessary. Assumptions are useful. Generalization is a powerful tool. Judgements on good and bad behavior are indispensable. Some apparently opposed thoughts are not mutually exclusive.

Many of our instincts are healthy. Some need a little work. Culture can improve or pervert nature, but it can’t eliminate it. It’s normal to prefer what is close and similar. It’s also normal to be curious about the distant and alien.

Fear is natural. Love is natural. Hate is natural. Rage, lust, and stupidity are natural. How we understand and express our nature is a product of nature and culture.

Good people can be made better or worse by education and influence. Bad people can be made better or worse by education and influence. Good and bad people will always, in some ways, be who they are regardless of education and influence.

Fighting power is like lopping the head off a hydra. One tyrant is gone and ten more spring up to take its place. People need to revere and they need to revile. We don’t agree on the good, but we can’t coherently maintain that there is no such thing. We don’t agree on the truth, but we can’t coherently maintain that there is no such thing.

Politically, preventing the worst is more prudent than striving after the best. Privately, the opposite holds. The distinction between the political and the private is fundamental. The state can protect you from hostile forces; it cannot guarantee your happiness and prosperity.

You are never owed anything. At best, you will be valued for what you contribute to others. Great producers and creators appear on the surface to be selfish, even megalomaniacal, but the fruits of their labors benefit everyone. They work and create for the common good.

The creativity and productivity of one person is not a limit on your own. One person’s happiness does not detract from yours.

Seek to understand before you slavishly desire change.

All things are suffused with irony. Everyone contradicts themselves. It’s fun to notice this and to point it out. Don’t think it’s not happening to you. Laugh at yourself, improve everyday but don’t obsess over flaws and failings.

Easier said than done.

Needs Improvement

Two days off. Need to take this time to consolidate myself. Clean up around the house. Clean the bathroom sink, toilet, and do the dishes. Pay the internet bill. Appease roommates who may be plotting against me. It’s paranoid of me to suspect this, but I wouldn’t put it past a lesbian and a gay. They get together and gossip all the time.

I remember hearing all my life that you shouldn’t live with a gay. I never gave it much thought but now I understand why. Also, I work next to Logan Circle in DC. It’s the gayest place in the world.

We live in a time when gay people are celebrated and encouraged. This is because gays are superficially fun, artistic, and fashionable. But underneath the veneer of cultural sophistication and progressive thinking, gays are deeply disturbed, pathological people. They don’t have genuine personalities. A gay person is mostly made up of dramatic, histrionic mannerisms, extreme vulnerability and cowardice, and ruthless cunning. Not to mention the grotesque lust that animates his life.

The gay man’s life is centered around immediate gratification because other gay men don’t care about anything other than getting off. Couple this with the fact that gays don’t reproduce and the result is an empty, frivolous life of short term pleasure seeking that becomes more and more depraved and desperate as the years advance.

My gay roommate is over the top loud. He shouts, sings, and screams whenever he pleases for whatever reason. He stomps around and slams drawers and cupboards. He has no regard for the peace of mind of others. He has no peace of mind himself, and often talks of his “other self” named Veronica, who is caustic and cruel. He’s on multiple mood medications and psychic stabilizers. He’s a cocktail of imbalances, tics and perversions just waiting for a meltdown. And he sleeps about twenty feet away from me.

It’s unnatural to forego reproduction. I’m selfish and corrupt, but for the sake of a culture’s health I don’t think it’s wise to encourage single 30 year olds to focus on finding themselves.

A Portrait

One especially perplexing character of the hypersensitive internet era is the superficially reasonable or charitable male interlocutor. This person seems to mean well but always ends up getting thrashed by an embittered mob. Here’s how this type makes his appearance. First, a feminist will post her opinion on how society is oppressing women, a garden variety whine about how something is unfair.
Then this man comes along, and he doesn’t outright dismiss or insult the feminist’s opinion, but asks a question that still has a challenging or skeptical edge to it. He will try, in his clumsy way, to have an honest, intelligent conversation with someone he is desperately trying to treat, in his own offensive way, as an equal. He bungles this, and the woman reacts negatively and harshly, usually with personal insults that specifically target his race, gender, and class.
At this point the man desperately tries to work himself out of the trap. He appeases, he apologizes, he backtracks, he trips over himself. He artlessly increases the offense as he tries to reduce it. His every move only further incenses the growing mob of outraged women and minorities. He ends by pledging to improve his understanding and sensitivity, seeking the approval of people who hate him and sneer at his every word and gesture.
I wonder at the motive behind this man’s behavior. Who seeks out punishment? The easy answer is the masochist. But this person might just be stupid.
 There’s a brand of stupidity that earnestly strives towards intelligence. A dumb man wants to be smart without being aware that he wants something he can’t have. Sort of a built in feature of his condition.
Men need to be careful, but they are often too stupid. They don’t know that women hold them in contempt just for being who they are, prior to any real, individual contact. It takes finesse for a man to not immediately incriminate himself in the eyes of some women. He needs to be in control of himself and his emotions, and not let the desire for sex dim his vision of his place in the world.
He needs to stay away from contentious issues on social media with judgmental, scornful women. He will not convert or seduce them. But he persists, and I laugh and wonder.

Scattered clouds in a sunny sky

People say that life is too short

that they never have enough time

When what they lack isn’t time

but knowledge of what time is worth


Life is long enough

if you’re free

if you don’t waste yourself

chasing delusions


Society holds people down

but people hold themselves down

even harder


And if a person can’t manage their own time

If their own life doesn’t matter to them

Why should it matter to society?