Sunday, 13 April 2014
Game is tough ken, make no mistake about it. It is not the most likely thing in the world, that a lad will go from My Little Pony to the silver tongued Don Juan type with all the little miss lassies hanging off your arm, especially in a relatively short period of time with no mentors to help you on your journey. Your brain is fighting its aspergery fucktardy self, every step of the way. You literally have to reboot yourself. Everywhere you walk, every piece of television you watch and every newspaper you skim in brief, your ego, your persona, your mannerisms, the arts and entertainment of the day, the suit and tie motherfuckers in buildings piercing the sky, carefully craft you and mould you to be like this, or like that or something else altogether. Cisgender toiletpaper. I am not part of this yous say. Of course you're not. Just keep telling yourself that. Remember if you're there, yous are meant to be there, you are meant to be the guy who watches The X Factor ironically. Drop the special snowflake act for a bit there ken. No one is buying it, least yourself. They want you there, and they will keep you there, if it suits their interests.
I went out for a hangout with a lassie for a bit there. No fancy shite, or anything like that, some ice cream and some park strolling, cones in hand people in passing. Trams of young ones being carted off, north side lassies drinking out of cans and kicking footballs to each other on the grass to the right, people stretched out like cats underneath trees of grey and green. We walked on for a little bit, before ditching the cones and returning to the rabble dabble of cunt and cuntesses pouring out of stores onto the cobbled pavements, bags of shopping, hair in buns, football jerseys, frustrated suits trying to make four steps in three. Doesn't seem there is much for the cunt that wants to Enjoy the Decline no?
In part one, I went over how enjoy the decline and how someone confronts the crushing nihilism and fitter happier more productive a pig in a cage leftism that comes with it, the futility of being this one guy in this ocean of people. It's stupid yeah, but the reason might be, well, for now at least, it might be unsatisfactory true, might even be extremely narcissistic to be honest, but it's something to hold onto, however tiny, however small. Even epsilons have their place ken.
So back to the lassie. She's a little bit younger than myself (bear in mind, I'm a young lad meself at 23 en aw) and she's still got that boisterous, to be kind, go conquer and fuck the consequences, the world is the spoon and I am the matrix, kind of vibe to her. It's weird or at least alien, to act this masculine or whatever for a lassie, feeling a lot older than I should, a throwback in this day and age (which be sad en aw) when the lad is just a giant sticky poo in a Macedies jacks, but then thats where it sort of hit me, thank the lassie for that one. When she pointed me to a wedding dress shop and awwed and gasped at the dresses with all them pretty sparkles, when the shop lady took the dress down to show a happy couple, that be when it sort of looked up for the lad.
How can one Enjoy the Decline, but without sitting back like a motherfucker and descending into a hedonistic pit of pandering poon, or willfully engage in an activity that is Sisyphean? I don't think there is any hope in the present to be honest, negative nancy and all of that shite. That one is wrapped up, second derivative a negative ken, not coming back ken. There are black swans a plenty of course, science fiction writers and their predictions of the future are testament to this, but even so. There's just too much that can't be fixed to be frank. So how does one link these two lines of thought together?
First, we must look at the different types of truth. Rob Fedders, Aurini and Free Northerner has talked about them at one point or another. The Absolute Truth, The Objective Truth and The Subjective Truth. The latter is where civilization and culture comes to die. You can argue Oswald Spengler or r/k theory, but the results are ultimately the same. Atheistkult like to think that with a bit of Popper and the love of how we're like, the only fecking universe in the galaxy with life maaannnnnn is the way to find love and glory and meaning in life, but in fact its all bullshit, because that is the job of myths, the job of religion, the job of people. Who gives a fuck about Charles Stuart Parnell or Mikey Collins or Daniel O Connell or whomever from Irish History, and the dark little secrets, the skeletons in their closets? Fuck em. Don't care if they were bummers or if they hated BLACKS cause thats what all the evil white lads did. The myth of them being being truly great Irishmen is what drives things forward, unites communities, acts as the accelerator to culture, the fuel, the essence of what being Irish is.
You fuck with this, you fuck with the Absolute Truth, and then people are lost, broken, listen to Outkast and take some happy pills to cope. The Church as well. In another life, I would have been that precocious altarboy fucko with all the books and all the readings, not the milf comeoner failing degenerate that I am today. But its hopelessly corrupt and naff these days, with popes telling yous about how Christopher Hitchens can go to heaven and we will join him there soon.
It's bullshit, all bullshit. Mad as a hatter, or that lad in Alice in Wonderland.
So what do yous do? Well, there's one thing you can do, and again, I hate putting it forward, but it is the only thing I can put forward, unless its just being foolish. Here it is.
That's it, plain and simple. Nothing profound, or transcendent, or the next Categorical Imperative or any of that shite.
Picture fifty years in the future. The worst possible scenarios in your head, zombies, aliens, vampire, a new dark age. People look back. When this nonsense was at its peak in the early 21st century, you were the guy who called it out for what it was, which was anti liberty, anti freedom, anti love, anti human. You looked evil straight in the face and told him to fuck off and die ken, and no one else can take that away from you. Become The New Barbarian. Fuck em. They can't take that from you, even if it is lost to you in that final second of time.
When the manjawed lassie who played basketball talked about privilege, yous, yes yous, you made an honest effort and made a sweet feminine girl happy by not being a walkover, can I pulease have sexual relations with you sand in your vagina, pussyarsecunt. You, as a man, gay or straight I don't care, were born to lead and direct women, because you were a man and that is what you did. And yous did it, when no one else did.
When your family was in trouble, when your friends needed yous in a emergency, you stuck out your hand and told them not to fucking make a grab for the cup, cause let's face it, you've got your friends backs and they have yours, they are the ones that yous hold out for. You were a man and that is what you did and you did it with aplomb. These human beings is what you had though these turbulent times and even though you're not sure youre going to make it, you were there. That's it. You tried.
Roll on the credits.
Please don't mistake this for "man up and marry those sluts" bull. This is combining different fields of ideas and philosophies, trying to model, emulate and follow the truly great men in history and stand for what they stood for, not corrupting their ideas through Frankfurt nonsense. Think your grandfather, working in Ford or taking on alligators with shovels. This is what he would want, not this manchild lispy get the dildo and the butter out nonsense.
You called out evil where you saw it. You called out gamma behaviour where it arose and never backed down when yous had the chance, though not mistaking true for Pyrrhic victories which tore a cunt up when it didn't need to. You failed, as conceptions of gender and sex turned into something horrible and grotesque, the world now a blend of Brave New World/Infinite Jest horror, as thoughtcrime became perhaps more serious, as violence between races broke out, as your head was beaten in with a metal bar from being a cheeky cunt to the wrong guy outside the wrong nightclub and there was no more to your story. It ended just there, just outside Diceys. Here lies Franco. He was a cunt. No one talks about him. Fuck it, what's for dinner?
But he tried goddamnit.
Which brings a cunt back to the lassie in the window with all the dresses. Yous can think about fatalism and shut yourself down and join all of the other bronies, or you can think of the little flourishes, the changes in tempo, the lassie who smiles because she feels like a lassie for the first time in an age. In this age of relativism, perhaps we are the crazy ones. Perhaps we are the wrong ones, the intolerant ones, the malevolent, scheming, anachronistic, prison guards of that old kind of hazy hell. Because it is all relative, we are the devils after all. And it may seem like a cop out of cop outs, but in the end, yous know? So fucken be it. Might be more fun being the evil one. What, you read Paradise Lost for God's character? That's like watching Muholland Drive for the lesbian scenes. Sure, them some nice lassies, but that's a fucken great movie ken.
She talks about weddings and some far away stuff. I looks up at her, smile and lead her to the nearest pub. Couldn't be better, flash forward to the future, having "tried"...
"Tell us again granddad, about your seventeen children and your beautiful harem of Eastern Europeans..."
"Well when I was 22 years old, I decided to Enjoy the Decline..."
"What happened then?"
"And then what?"
Saturday, 12 April 2014
It was a few days ago in Dublin City and I was enjoying the decline. A bag of happy pills washed down with some Jamesons, my friend joining me for one last twisted, warped hurrah. I have decided to leave Ireland. For what or where I don't know. For what reason I don't really know either, but it has to do with the fact that standing in the crossroads of O Connell Street at five in the morning, realizing this is not your home anymore, that yous might as well be that cunt from 28 Days Later, well that certainly kicks the point home, does it not?
"As your accountant, I advise yous to come onto those two milfs"
The lowest of the low. We're happy as a fucking venereal disease in a bath house right now, but over and above, between the milfs and the happy pills and the assortment of other things in our pounces as the cougar to my left chokes on the words of the husband who left her, how "unhappy she was", "the kids" the water, yeah, it seeps over the banks just that little bit and yous cant help but feel like the meat in the rooms sandwich.
But hey, back to earlier in the night.
It takes a little while, about the duration of an episode of Breaking Bad, for the happiness to kick in. So, myself and the accountant get talking about his exciting new job, his job of shuffling through stacks of TPS reports, getting up fresh and early to eat his whole grain oat porridge (7:22), the novel (nearly finished) on the computer, the 29 year old lassie eying him over the photocopyier...bent over..
And all a cunt can think of is enjoying the decline, but he can't.
But hey, back to earlier in the day.
I'm just putting the finishing touches on a project, done dusted, decide to take a stroll through the campus. Go to the science building, the computer labs on my left. Inside, there's a list of posters for upcoming events during the weak year:
CELEBRATING THE LIFE OF HUGO CHAVEZ: A BIOGRAPHY: AN INTIMATE LOOK
--------------'S PROPOSAL FOR SINGLE SEX BATHROOMS. JOIN THE LGBT SOCIETY TODAY
WOMANS EQUALITY WEEK IN ----------. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR US?
WEVE HAD ENOUGH WITH PALESTINE! MEET FOR A PROTEST AT ----------
Academia is fucked ken, megaton bomb fucked en aw. People like Aaron Clarey talk about degrees in bum fluff, but they don't know the half of it, how broken it is. Between the passive aggressive, low testosterone men, which need to use the power of a whole institution to fight their own little battles, who corrupt art and literature and economics, and between that ugly, pathetic attempt to master randomness, put it in a cage and throw away the key, you have a broken, sad set of std ridden institutions.
But what else is there to do but Enjoy the Decline ken, right?
But hey, back to the night time with the accountant.
He used to be an actor in school. Used to play bass guitar in a band. Had his beliefs, his passions, his dreams. But, as time has drifted along, everything that entertains and fulfills a lad is slowly being given up, give up the ghost they say, as the shrill of the femcunt and the wee bairn invades, permeates, infects your thoughts again and agains and agains. His mindset has changed. One by one, your hobbies and passions are dropped, for a society that wouldn't think less of throwing you under a bus, just for some brownie points. The independent man, the renaissance cunt, the classic liberal, has changed his mindset to that of a provider of perfectly pounded pussy. I take a look at the cougar on the left, not sure if she's after ego validation or Well Hung Franco, but the fact of the matter is that cunts are played in the greater sphere of things, will continue to be played, and even when the truth is staring them right in the face, will rationalize it away. We provided for her. Yeah, fucking, right. Yous are eating shit. How do you feel about that? But don't worry. You've that trip to Spain. With the lads. Get your hole eh? Of course!
Then comes enjoying the decline. Aurini has written about how fallacious it is, bringing in elements of Christianity to bolster his point. Problem is ken, I'm not sure if I can just enjoy the decline. Now of course, enjoying the decline does not mean sitting in your parent's basement wanking and eating cheese, it means being your own man, whatever that may be. But despite all of the previous posts on the topic, I don't want to sit by and just let this happen, even though I know, deep down, this is going all to shit. I know it is utterly pointless of me to try, and I know I am running away from this country, and I know that for a huge amount of the population, I am public enemy number one. As long as the institutions keep standing, the Irish Xer's who have been fucked out of orbit by exorbitant mortgages, The Millenials, fucking dimwitted gamma faggots like Fintan O Toole, cunts like people before profit, it's like ducking, diving, then slamming directly into that fucking tree and watching it all burn. Basically, I want to do something which is utterly pointless, completely in vain, even fucken egotistical in its own way. But is it right? Or is it just narcissistic? As Roosh rightly pointed out, we're the useful idiots too. We're the bad guys. I've been playing guerilla warfare cunt, stupidly, but well...matter much?
We're talking, but at this stage its just wanker students in a cafe talking about Foucault. Well, fuck that's a bit harsh. But yous know what I mean.
People talk about slavery. They talk about cotton fields. The name of this blog came from a short story about a boy who remains distracted while his teacher goes crazy in a elementary classroom. The boy's attention then shifts to his father and the nightmarish phantasmagorical nature of his work as an actuary, shifting between papers, coming home, a thankless tedium. This is not the environment of men. This is not how one feels alive.
Which makes one turn to the last point. What's happening in the world is both Kefkaesque and Kafkaesque. There's one more piece to the puzzle, but I don't know what it is.
How can one enjoy the decline? How can one just sit by, yet if one works, how can one do so knowing that people don't give two shits, and that it won't matter in the first place? How does one transcend this nihilism?
We, us, we are the hate that hate created. And what else is there to do but capture that essence of what it means to be a man, of what the bloody fuck a good man actually is?
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
This is based on a recommendation by ROK writer and blogger runsonmagic.
So, toos bring a lad up to speed, sometimes a cunt, yous or I, read a piece of writing that makes yous go mmmmmnnnnnnn, surprises you, holy fuck lads, what is this, challenges you change your outlook on things, scratch the surface and tunnel tunnel deep down! Press on lads, press on! Sometimes yous read a work, a theory, a treatise that makes all the blinkers in the world fall from the cunts eyes and makes him rework and retweak his map, see those new lines of code, the end of The Matrix, be the new cunt on the block, Franco 2.0 en aw. The Polygamous Sex is such a book; mainly because it addresses a question that maybe isn't addressed in any great depth, among a lot of the people in the sphere.
An age back, I did a post on all that Koanic Soul Neanderthal crazy shite, and wrote up something about being drawn to a lassie or lassies. Why is it, that you could have, say, three lassies who are as good looking as each other, yet there is one yous like more than the others, that there is one that yous might be drawn to? It was love at first sight, or so they said. The Polygamous Sex, the second book by Esther Vilar (Her first book, The Manipulated Man, is an older classic alongside Fedders, The Book of Pook, which every cunt out there should read), might answer that for a lad. Now, bear in mind this could be completely hairbrained shite, really weird or just bent out of sausage material, but at least in this cunts head, it explains a bit of what the hell has been going on with him in the past while.
But first, let's look at two pictures.
Both women are beautiful pieces of lassiebum, and are about the same level in terms of looks, both 9s or even 10s I'd say right? But, woman number two I really like, am more drawn to, far more than number one anyhoo. Lassie one is hot for sure, none of that 2/10 wheelchair moustache wnb shite. Lassie two is beautiful though, special for the Franco en aw, you want to protect this lassie. Why exactly is that the case? Well, The Polygamous Sex might explain that.
First, let's quote de Vilar. According to her, polygamy does not just come from wanting new lassie bum. It comes from man's desire to nurture/protect the lassie and be drawn towards the young acting, even puerile qualities of the lassie:
"Male polygamy arises from the fact that men need women to satisfy both their nurturing instinct and their reproductive instinct. This suggests that they can love more than one woman at a time: in reality, however, they love only one as a woman — the other as their child. Women are unlikely to suffer from such confusion, since they satisfy their two disparate instincts with two clearly demarcated classes of persons: they have their children to nurture, their men for sex. And so women are considered monogamous by nature, while men are polygamous. A man, they say, needs many women; a woman can be content with one man for life. Most men are not aware for the underlying reason for their 'instability'. Since they have sex with their protégé and with their sex partner — though far more frequently with the latter — they assume that having more than one woman is in the nature of male sexuality as such.
The signal for the beginning of the man's polygamous phase in the conventional adoptive marriage is the birth of the first child. At this point even the most fatherly of men will find that his nurturing instinct is fulfilled — and the relatively unfulfilled sex drive begins to clamor for attention. One fine day his longing for unadulterated — or is it uninfantilized — sex becomes so powerful that he dismisses his scruples (of course he has scruples, since he has no wish to 'hurt' his protégé) and takes a mistress. He now turns from the 'woman to marry' to the one who is 'good in bed'.
This step is usually made all the easier for him by his wife who, after the birth of her child, no longer feels compelled to play her role of sex partner with any more than minimal involvement. To do so is an effort for her because even a woman with a normal sex drive seldom sees a desirable lover in the man she has chosen for his usefulness as a provider. Many women even feel a positive revulsion against having sex with their father-substitute (see the Swedish statistics above). They play the role of sex partner as long as it serves as bait, to trap the man into adopting them and siring children with them. Once this has been achieved, they increasingly stress their role as protégés, the easiest role to play and the line of least resistance. After this point, such a woman will revert to the role of sex partner only in an emergency; when a rival appears who threatens to take away her provider, for example. A mother no longer needs even to play the role of protégé — her children will do it for her, more convincingly than she ever could. Their father will go on protecting her in any case, because she is needed by their children. 'Of course I love my wife and my children,' says the paterfamilias, as though it were the same kind of 'love'. Yet for him, it is the same love."Mentioned earlier:
Men who are strongly motivated in their choice of a partner by their nurturing instinct, and turn to predominately childlike women who are considerably younger, less intelligent, smaller and weaker than they —; necessarily have to satisfy their sex instinct with their protégé. To have sex with someone you regard as your child is incest.This is eerily true for me, what with liking hyperfeminine, childlike, girly lassies with the pink dresses and the Disney movies and all that shite, over their more "mature" or less childlike but equally feminine counterparts. Is it a pattern of certain men to be drawn to a lassie mainly because yous want her to submit to you in a fatherly way? But more than that, is it even healthy for a relationship?
Not that they are aware of it as incest. It is not easy to realize that a man is drawn to a woman by his nurturing instinct — the sex factor is what catches the eye. But all those altruistic feelings he has for her, like wanting to take care of her, defend her, work for her, fight for her, these are the feelings of a father for his child, not really those of a lover for his woman.
I've noticed two things reading blogs in this side of the sphere. The first, is that there seem to be a lot more introverted people here than extroverts. The second, is that yous see more guys going for that quiet, introverted girly kind of lassie than say the Megan Fox type of one.
The second part is true too. When I've been in a relationship with that kind of lassie, childlike lassie, I've started looking at other lassies, but more of the slutty headwrecking kind, clubs, parties, happy pills, Franco being a mega tit, all of that mad stuff. This always confused me, so maybe there is something to what Vilar is saying here. That polygamy is not just getting as many lassies as possible, that it is simultaneously, to fulfill the getting your hole side, and the nurturing, wanting to love and protect a lassie part as well.
In the next few pages, Vilar discusses the most compatible relationships between men and women. All of this is standard sphere stuff, masculine men like feminine women, women like men who don't like My Little Pony blah blah blah. But then:
Sex specific. Provider to and minder of children. Masculine and feminine. Leader and follower. The man in charge, Lassie on the side. Feminization of the west has led to men and women becoming less dimorphic. Thus, that nurturing instinct of the lad turns inwards, what with all the man tittied you go girl basketball playing bullshit yous see around you, and with no healthy way to channel it, metamorphoses into putting lassies on a pedestal, making them out to be de wonderful special little snowflakes, or worse, with some of the Big Bang Theory fuckos in de university, now THEM cunts, they to be the children, the looked after, the ones who want to give up their nuts to the lassie. All is lost if that is the case. It would also explain why men are investing less in society. How can you use that nurturing lassie instinct when every lass out there is a Sex and the City wrinkled piece of manny prune?What is a suitable sex partner? Remember the two basic requirements for love between a man and a woman:
The outward polarity is usually present in most unions: the laws of biology tend towards producing an optimal mix of the extreme hereditary factors within the same species (see WHAT IS A SEX PARTNER?). We instinctively choose a sex partner who is unambiguously different from ourselves physically. But the intellectual likeness is usually lacking. It is a necessity, however, for the following reasons:
- the greatest possible physical polarity
- the greatest possible intellectual similarity
In other words, if love between a man and a woman is to last, the partners must be equals in every respect except those areas they regard as sex-specific, in which they must be opposites as far as possible. Depending on the degree to which both conditions are fulfilled, such a love will be more or less long-lasting.
- When the sex partner is mentally inferior, the tendency is to feel protective towards her-him. When one tries to satisfy one's sexual needs with an inferior, one feels that one is taking advantage of one's sex partner. Sex with inferiors means sexual misconduct (incest, polygamy) and causes conscience trouble (prudery).
- The lover who is not his sex partner's intellectual equal cannot define the partner. If he is mentally inferior, he cannot provide the other's optimal definition; if mentally superior, the other cannot understand him.
Would also explain all them fucken hipster cunts with the beards en aw no?
Long story short, what The Polygamous Sex suggests is that being drawn to certain women over others comes from a parental, nurturing aspect, which in itself can lead to polygamy for certain lads, to have the mistress side. This also answers the question of actually wondering if you are polygamous or not. Because I am drawn to this, does that mean men like me would be better in a more polygamous setup? Or maybe it's the few pints of stout talking,
The book is bloody excellent though, even if more needs to be discussed on it. You can read the whole thing for free here.
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
So this post here be is just going to be a bit of an "on yous go" tirade, blather on about what bes going on with the blog and De Franco and all that related shite. Oh, and apologies on the comments, will get on that as soon as possible.
First, I've been completely bollocksed over when it comes to study. I've taken a pretty big risk in a lot of ways and quite frankly, I have no clue if I can pull it off or not. Assuming I do though, things look a bit more open, a bit more fresh, a bit more terrifying.
The academic environment is horrible, sick, twisted hoards of passive aggressive skinny fat bespectacled aspergery fucktards. Successful failures. Commenter Shenpen had an excellent comment on why this may be the case, chronicling the lack of community amidst cunts and cuntesses. Used tae be a man knew what he had to do, what was expected of him. Environments of pissy little milquetoasts is, above all else, exhausting, ugly, deep imbibed in a cunt's psyche. Equality week. Diversity day. Another LGBT rainbow week, as if those fucken bullys deserve one. Fucken hell like. Wimminz week. Bring your vibrator to university day. This is what this place has become. Some of the finest gents to walk, and this is how you repay them. That's why I brought the oil thing up. It seems to be one of the few environments where a cunt is given a map, a line a target, the cage is opened and yous are told "up to yous lad, get cracking!"
Which is why I'm getting out of it, once and for all.
So where is there to go? Ireland is quadrospazzed, built upon a shaky foundation of European credit and bond purchases, a lad needs to look for fresh grass, new adventures, a call to the wild, to act all cheesy an saccharine and shit. It seems to be something left over from Generation X, bequeathed to the Millenials, people forging masks of irony, playful cynicism, a race down to the meaningless bottom where every lad is as mopey as the last. There be no true atheist a cunt can say that.
So where is there to go? It will follow the same format. The carry on back with the couple of nicknacks I own, the jumping, nay immersing myself in another country altogether, watching every grain of sand pass through the hands of the lassie. Nine different Francos, nine different timelines, nine different countries, all geometrically decaying. The drinking and the other stuff, oh yeah, I need to stop that too. St Patricks Day was all crawling under tables and stealing drinks. Go figure.
The truth will set you free. It's like disentangling Christmas lights, there's still a mess of things in tangles there, but if yous don't accept the truth of things, that's going to be one hell of a bare looking Christmas tree ken. Because I think I get it now, the absolute truth, the great gig in the sky. This system works like this, that lad and his mates works like that, this person desires this in his life, that lassie is not into her boyfriend anymore, that man is on smack and so forth. You can literally see the little lines of code running through the streets as you make your way to the crack den with the dollar bill in yer nose. Used to be books like The Bible and Willie Shakespeare taught a cunt these things, mad hungry fiend Cicero and all of that and yes its terrifying, raw, tender, jump and let it all go. Reactionary is like the Ludovico technique, the more you understand and comprehend your surroundings. But it's something that at the end of the day, you wouldn't trade in for the world, right lads? Or is that steak too juicy for yous? Who wants to be a bread and butter cunt anyhoo?
So long story short, posting might be a bit spotty for the next little while. This project I have that might very definitely fail, other projects I want to do, looking at your inner demons, too much time spend online and all that comes with it. But start of May we might see something. A new hope, even though there be no country for the young lad or lassie.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
I’m a right aul cunt when I bes langers like. Trashing around the streets of Dublin, a crepuscular fiend, bodies, girls with fatpacks, Skrillex haircuts, rundown lassies of the UHT milk variety, it culminates in a cacophonous mess where one can barely look at oneself straight in the mirror anymore. Fuck ken. I’m a horrible drinker. I turn into a pathological liar amongst people I don’t know, the most interesting man in the room that never was. I become increasingly depressed, feeling like a beaten piece of grain within the stifling confines of many of the finest drinking establishments in Dubbers town, be it Whelans, Coppers, Diceys, Twennie Ones (lol), The Academy, blah blah blah. But yeah, I’m a true shithead. Other classics of mine include Irish goodbyes; trolling lassies of the voluptuous kind, documenting the decline of the west in the club when every cunt comes from a place of fake elation, fake har di har har ness. and just wants to drag a cougar home with him. I'm not much better than these cunts that I talk about. I talk about them because I am the problem, or at least, to a certain extent. This all comes from a place of insecurity I believe, all this excessive drinking stuff and whatnot, but this post be not really in that vein, truth be told. Rather, it’s about this argument from a couple of the neoreactionaries about degenerate PUA types and using all these lassies. It’s a stupid argument, a dark argument and here’s why.But first, back to a few nights ago, and back to my post about how yous need to experience something to really feel it. When I discovered the sphere, I had no problem comprehending, believing and applying game to everyday life. But, I had quite an issue with some of the darker elements of it. You knows the ones I mean like, all of us do. Xsplat has talked about daughter/father incest (for the curious, highly popular female pornlit sit literotica’s most popular/most read topics are forced sex and this kind of incest, hooray for the vote!) fantasies to turn girls on before. Mark Zolo has talked about rape fantasies and “caveman game”. These a cunt knows, no doubt, but it is not until an experience, no matter how bizarre, even a really small one, like the one I had, makes this sink I to such a degree, that it changes a lad’s view on things. Game is peeling away the onion layers, revealing that raw female id for what it is.
I saw a bit of it that night.
Long story short, I got into a fight with another guy after he made a remark about my appearance. It could have been an awful lot worse, thanks be tae christ, but it cooled down pretty quickly all the same. The difference was I won. So skip forward an hour. Dublin’s a pretty small friend and I find her dancing with a friend. The guy’s girlfriend. This shite be awkward en aw, so I decide to try and slip out and try and avoid her gaze, but nay, the lass, she comes over to me and amidst all these people, white dress, not much toos look at, but still.
Pretend not to hear.
I turn to her.
“You scared him. You really shook him up. You shouldn’t have done that. No one has done that to him before”.
She’s giving all these mixed signals, saying no, and going on about how much of an arse I was, but her body language is going crazy.
I put down my drink, look her in the eyes and start kissing her. Not even good looking like, but the evil, devil part of me…shit ken. A few light pushes, a little, gentle, loving “no, no, my boyfriend...”. She’s eating the face off me in a second. This continues on for a bit longer. Nos between kisses. Hand on her ass. She’s shaken, pulls away from me then. Ass bit much face. Franco must die.
"I have to go…”
A light chuckle from her. I hand her my phone.I didn’t need to say anything. The boyfriend is on the bottom floor and is looking for her. What a lass. "I'm sorry" she mutters, and is eaten up by the crowd. The night ends, the degenerate rises.
Which brings me back to the whole PUA thing.
Some of the reactionary lads (small amount though) seem to have this sort of shadowy form of a woman on the pedestal thing going on. That the transition isn’t complete. Cause here’s the thing right. Men and women respond to many different stimuli. For the lads, it’s the lass with the hot ass in class. For lassies, it’s these built in heuristics that respond to flashes of violence, (my cousin in America swears by bringing women to a gun range as a first date) taboo, strength, and being lifted ahead with emotions, little girl lost, real Lucy in the Sky shit. Not a good or bad thing; just is en aw, but the point is with PUAs there’s this sort of weird “exploiting innocent women” thing going on. This isn’t the case at all. And to clarify, this isn’t an extension of the ego “all lassies are cunts” that comes from being a MGTOW. The heuristics have been hacked and laid bare for all to see. Lassies go after it like crack, and will try and find it somewhere else, anywhere in the right or wrong environment if they just can’t get it. We’ve just let the cat out of the bag with this one. By misunderstanding this, the neoreactionaries show their more aspergery fucktardie side. They’re just telling them lassies what they want to here. It doesn’t change what exactly the Female Imperative is though, and what The Manipulated Man is despite how much will go on. That’s fine, that’s biology, that’s being a man, but in a healthy, non-degenerate society. Cue arguments like “you’ll die alone” and valiant efforts to save civilization. But who would want to?
Robert Heinlein was right in that one ken.
Truth is, it doesn’t matter what yous do anymore, you valiant neocrusader with your Moldbug and your 105 IQ you, you so smrt ken! Sitting behind that computer won’t change the fact that this ship is pulling itself apart and you know what? You might as well join in in all the fun and games if that is the case! Have some fun lads, tap that ass, watch Rob Schneider films you demented old fuck! My mind is made up; there is absolutely nothing worth preserving here. Academia is hopelessly corrupt. The church is a wolf in sheep’s clothing for all sugar and spice shite. Work is frosty death. Yous have yourself and your friends and the future, that of course be a different story altogether. Irish Millenials care more about stuff like this. Ride the snake lad. He’s old, skin is fucken cold en aw. Men go where de pussy goes. Your woman, your rules, your the boss. End.
To conclude this series therefore, toxic nerds are a mix of pathological liars, victims/bullies who need the power of institutions to attack other people cause they're too spineless to do so themselves and crusader types (often outsiders) who like to imagine that they are making a difference by saying the word Brahmin over and over again cause that be making them all gooey inside like. Some mystical "chosen" enemy (the evil PUA) to go for, it's the same shit, different game. The more things change, the more they stay the same ken.
Things fall apart, as they do now. Nearly everything is fair game as far as I see it. If yous are not improving yourself in some shape or form, then you are a part of the problem. If you don’t have a great project, a great issue to disentangle, beyond just silly intellectual masturbation, you’re part of the problem. You just want to play out Fight Club in your fucken heads without realizing how dark and brutish human nature is (to suit yous down to a tee of course) and without putting any of the required work in. That’s the great thing about humans though, we can adapt. We can stay positive. Now is not the time to be the lad with the manbearpigcape. Nerds and assholes losing it all over again, in a plethora of messy ways.
Losing it. Nearly there with all this nerd/academia stuff lads. Next step, stop the fucking drinking en aw.
Friday, 28 February 2014
I have myself a theory and I be a proud lad of the lads ken. The theory itself, well ok, it’s ripped out of the Anonymous Conservative book of wonky amygdalas and r selected Bugs Bunny fuckos, and is a propellant of much of the silly cuckoo clock nonsense that a cunt sees around him today, but that be fine too. Great minds think alike, or Anonymous in his own neck of the woods and Franco stealing some stuff all for himself. The idea is as follows: The left singularity as we see it and as we know it, is exacerbated by psychological disorders such as narcissism, pathological liars, femcuntiness and protecting your ego from shattering into a million tippy shards. So, in order to weaken “The Cathedral”, the culture of narcissism must be…umm…critiqued, eviscerated, made the dirtiest filthiest thing imaginable.I’m in one of them academic seminars again. For those of yous who don’t know the drill, I’ll sum stuff up quickly. It’s all under false pretences. The idea that people will “learn” and want to know more about a particular discipline. All bullshit ken, it be nothing more than a fucken pissing match. The whole grain (cause it be healthy y’all) sandwich stuffed with posh cunt fillings, the Styrofoam cups of filter coffee which many a pasty faced lad (and occasional lassie) helps themselves too, the rows of seats for the “intellectuals”, the freshly vacuumed carpet with the dodgy flickity flip lightbulb, shit man, a cunt thinks, the more they try and pass this thing off as lads trying to have a healthy productive discussion of ideas, the more depressed people get. So it begins. People gulp down their coffee and start fiddling around on their Iphones. The subject stands in front of the projecter, dishevelled, a hairy Russian doll with cigarette ash for eyes, going through the motions, findings on this and that, how this p value does that and this is this and blah blah.
So what happens is we get to the questions. This is where we get into bitter snarksville territory. Your brain is fried by this point. I’ve suggested before that for a lot of nerds, it’s about having your ego tied up in the subject, rather than having a healthy interest in it. This is infuriating. The questions are all masturbation. They suggest that you use this statistical method over this one, that this is wrong and why did you not consider this and all of that fun that a cunt can’t leave behind. Whats another common one? Oh, yeah, this topic that you have been doing is not supported by any peer review that I know of. And so some lad (there’s always some lad), keeps asking these questions over and over to reframe it so the whole room looks at him. Happy days.
I remember one speaker in particular had an awful lot to say, an interesting down to earth kind of lad. The next day, I was in a crowded coffee shop talking to him about his work in the field, and what it is like to give the same talk over and over again. The answers he gave would have Nassim Taleb nodding in agreement and would put many a cunt off doing anything mastersie. How the speaking circuit works is as follows. You have your idea and thesis from your company or something. You proceed to present it to the room, where everyone is to have supposed to have read it. No one ever does its all but pissing in the wind. People, who want to help, will get in contact after the talk which rarely happens. But bizarrely enough, what happens is that people will ask questions when they don’t understand the paper at all. Then, when you try and talk to people about that said question, and this one is the fucking kicker, they will conveniently “forget” that they asked the question, and if you try and follow these people up on a criticism they made on your paper, asking for advice, they won’t respond to you. They won’t care.
Just like the male feminist who gets all “I’m telling human resources, nanana”, the academic is often a shit slinging farce that has no interest in science or study outside of an environment where he is supposed to be a paradigm of wisdom and knowledge in the field. In the cunt’s own words “those that end up in academia looking for intellectual vigor often die slow deaths”.
So what do 750 words of rabble rabble have to do with oil?
It’s kind of disturbing how a cunt like me, and many other cunts like me, have been groomed for living like this. The snark, the lack of honour and hierarchy, the use of a higher authority than yourself (hello gay community), to bring someone guilty of thoughtcrime down to their knees. But I am the same as these people though. I am spongy. I take a look at the internet. Oil. North Dakota. A wild area full of nutjobs, shitty work at terrible hours, whores, crack, biting numbing cold and adventure. Adventure ken, something that is not found in the blithering cesspit of academia. Something exciting, even though, fuck it man, I’m properly glamorizing the whole thing. Of course, I don’t have any hands on skills. I am probably too soft, institutionalized to do so. Perhaps I am too old as well for that matter. But the more I think about it, the more there might be something in this field of work. If I stay where I am, I’ll stay in this environment, the one where everyone goes along to get along and everyone exchanges bullshit stop and chats, “did you see the new episode of…” “oh yeah…” …”was so good in that movie…”…”bitch and whine ever since she left Greg…” “hello professor …CAN YOU HEAR ME?” and lose it. One of the worst things about it? Keeping face, being nice, everyone is so nice. I am not cut out for this environment that’s for sure.
I’m getting to that age where n>>>>0 and shit starts to stick, where you can look at facebook and see people’s lives playing out step by step, following a very tight algorithm. The accidental pregnancies with the fatarse. The office job. The masters in bullshit. The lassies that are still hot but now have a pot belly or a bit of a wrinkle there. The extended adolescence, kiddification of lads in their early twenties. What would a cunt need to do to get out of this? Would it be worth burning out like this?
I could write a fucken book on academia at this stage, but that be enough in aw, already written a shiteton of posts about it. North Dakota, Calgary, Oil and adventure? Looking more real and sharp by the day ken.
Saturday, 15 February 2014
Let's just start by clearing the air here. This ain't a 2000 word harangue on why majoring in Transgender Turtle poetry is a fucken thick as shit idea, or why yous should do this and that and this en ut, but something more, something possibly relevant. This is not a post telling you whether yous should do a masters in a STEMMIE kind of field or not. Simply put, this is a post about what exactly is going to happen to yous if you choose to dive into some of the tough shit of the STEM, abstractions built upon abstractions, balloon headed moon eyed motherfuckers still living with their parents in house with no name, with the credentials nailed to the walls, have to grow up, when, who ha, how why ken? Hell has a name, thy name is modular functions.
Fucken hell lads.
So lets get down to business en aw. I guess the main, biggie, elephant in the room and all of that is to do with the psychological aspect of being trapped in such an environment. I guess the idea of this post is to prepare a cunt for the rough and tumble of one of society's strangest, oddest environments, the inside of an office with a supervisor and his stack of paperiedoos.
But prior to this, I want you to read this post from Bodi. Ignore the "pua" tagline on his blog. It's actually an incredibly profound piece of writing, and very important in terms of what kind of people you are going to come across during your adventures in academia. We'll start with the people first, cause yous can't have smoke without fire after all.
Simply put, the more and more you advance in academia, the more and more socially incompetent people that you will come across. And just toos clarify here, I'm not talking about the shy, nerdy motherfucker who just needs a bit of confidence and a couple of jars in him, or the guy who has an unusually strong interest in rain patterns in Scandanavian countries but who be a cool dude despite this. I'm talking about the gammas, the crusty cunty crabs in the bucket. To quote bodi:
The real problem with all the Betas and Gammas is not their repellence, but the endless myriad frame-controlling attacks they see fit to attempt on anyone they feel doesn’t play their bitch games. What we essentially have is a group of men behaving like women. There is no conduct of honour or integrity in their behaviour. In short: there is no masculinity: weasely, snidey men being weasely and snidey. The closet metaphor I can construct for how I feel at work is that of a proud, majestic bear, chained in a pit, de-clawed and being slowly dragged down by small, vicious dogs darting in and out to attack. Yes: I really said proud and majestic. More Iorek Byrnison than Bungle.and
After a few weeks I suddenly realised what it is that makes chemical engineers good at chemical engineering:Bingo. We have a fucken winner. Pass go and collect $200.
a burning need to prove oneself through chemical engineering.
It was there shining out of most of my colleagues (and coincidentally the history of the entire western world)….. they actually gave a shit. They cared about this stuff and were desperate to learn that little nugget more of information to be able to get the feeling of self satisfaction from knowledge-mogging a co-worker. My problem was this:
I simply didn’t give a shit anymore.
Two years of inner-game work had moved my reference-frame to be soundly internal and I simply now don’t care what nearly all other people think. I am extremely content with myself as a person. This state of mind is in fact not condusive to doing a technical job for a living. What drives people like engineers, surgeons, pilots or computer programmers to spend years and years mastering their craft, to go home and then do more research at home on their ‘pet projects’ (as a lot do) is a deep connection between their ego and their trade. And of course a spectacular lack of pussy.
If you do a masters in a STEM, the amount of well balanced, interesting men in your vicinity are going to start dropping out like flies. What you're left with when all is said and done, is the likeable but way into it nerds, and the sickly little gamma who has his ego tied up so much with the subject, with having that little bit of an edge over the other sickly little toad man tittied bitch, that his failures in life, with women, with health, even with money, is siphoned through the fact that they are able to understand this highly esoteric topic that no one gives a fuck and a half over better than you or the lad on the stret ever will. Be wary of these people. They are trying to present an image to the world that is not them, and if yous criticize that world view in any way, you're insulting them. That's when you have trouble.
Thankfully, there's not many of these people. But, they do rise in number and in proportion, until, at apex Cathedral, the show is run by a lot of these guys and these cunts will not take no for an answer. Why do you think global warming guys are so nutty despite the fact that evidence is piling up against them, and the forecasting models like ARCH and GARCH etc are fucken useless? Why do you think doctors wrinkle their noses when a cunt mentions Gary Taubes and Robert Lustig? Why do you think a feminist will chop off your head if yous dare criticize the patriarchy? Simple as shit ken, yous are not criticizing the idea. Yous are taking them cunts for a ride and they don't like it when yous do that to them.
Which leads into point two. You are not going to win against these guys. Forget it, don't waste your breath. You are not going to win against a guy who is passionate about the subject, or has his ego tied up so much with the subject so as far as being Freddy the fucking fantastic neurosurgeon . Do your best yes of course ken, take pride in what you're doing, the best job a cunt can do and all that shebang, all out or fuck off home. But tread lightly my brothers, yous are on a sinking ship and there's no fucken lifeboat. You're fucked boy. Fucked.
The pussy, well that's a problem too. Not only are the lassies (all that sexism, sigh) thin on the ground (and usually fat in de head, ho ho ho), letting one of these nerdy, witchly, quiet, introverted, mostly chinese lassies into a pit full of slobbering nerds means that all hell can break loose. That, my friends is where shit can get pretty damn ugly. Suddenly going drinking stops being fun because it turns into a gossip queen circle jerk where we try and put down the other lad. Then we try and seduce a lassie by taking to her about Fermat's last theorem and conjectures by two nutty Japanese lads. But they don't go home with her. THEY GO HOME WITH FUCKEN DAMO AND IT BLOWS THEIR FUCKEN SKULLS KEN!!!
Watch your drinking ken. Again, I fucked up here. Franco goes full blown manosphere after a few scoops. Results are interesting, but ultimately messy, something yous have to reel in on.
You're going to find it hard to get laid in a masters, due to the level of work required for the course, the poor quality of lassie and the lack of free time to say approach, the sleep deprivation (in my case full blown insomnia) or even expand a social circle. In short, the thing can turn into a weird cat and mouse game where you're trying to play yourself off as balanced, not to make a cunt jealous but not to be "weird". This is something I've failed to do. Hopefully yous won't make the same mistake that I did in that regard.
If there's pussy in your class, it's either nursing or you've found yourself in Comparative Literature. In which case, get the fuck out ken! Now like! So do nursing ken.
Part Two gets all Sartre on your arses.