Friday, 11 July 2014

It's a Setup

So a while ago, I’m skimming the aul facebook feed, skimming through some of the pretty lassie pictures and reading through some of the messages that some people have been sending me and all, when suddenly, some lad (and he wants tae be the next fucken Patrick Kavanagh writing about turnips, ho ho ho) writes a ho di hum hum fuck off cunt tirade of a post, one of these moral crusader things. Having said that, it gets the cunt thinking overall, does it not?

See, this lad was getting a haircut from this older working class Irish lassie, who then goes on her own rant on de Muslim lads, who after a couple of scoops, had essentially tossed and trashed up the shop.  Cue a giant chorus of fuck this racist bitch comments, mock angry lads and lassies, and one vertically challenged lassie and a truckload of likes from her being so brave and clever with her acerbic wit en aw. The thing that got me interested, and it’s essentially a duh duh point all things considered, is that how exposed the middle class (this guy is related to an Irish TD so pretty well off like) and above are to the likes of multiculturalism. How this works is the following: You’ve got the lad in the school with all of the other lads with the rugby shirts and DRINKS at Kielys. This lad stays with the same friends in the same area, the same cohort of lads finding themselves in Coppers or whatnot every Thursday. This lad then finds himself in UCD or TCD, where his brain, if he is not doing a STEM subject, is filled with cheesecake and other kinds of nonsense on white lads putting minorities into space rockets and flying them into the sun. Some of the more loquacious and artistic lads end up writing shit novels on how sad it is to take it up the butt (Colm Toibin) or they end up on RTE’s board of presenters taking about how it is nice to take it up the butt. The point is not about right wingers or multiculturalism. The point is that when lads post the South Park “dey took our jobs” meme and every lad has a chuckle, they simply don’t have exposure to the darker underbelly of postmodern society. 

This explains a lot to the cunt in general. Having spent the last year on one of Ireland’s most liberal campuses, yet just talking with lads of lads in different socioeconomic backgrounds, one of the things I’ve noticed is that the middle, upper class of my generation is drifting increasingly left while the lower middle class and working class is drifting increasingly right.  Politics is like an elastic band at this stage, if it’s going to fucken snap or rebound badly though is anyone’s guess. I believe this is down to exposure. Most people know something is wrong, morally, aesthetically whatever yous call it. The lefty lads believe it is down to the evils of a purely capitalistic system, along with sexism, homophobia and whatnot, so let’s get the Richard Dawkins atheistkunt flags out. The working class lads, who like the barber, are actually seeing the statistics and raw numbers play out in front of their eyes, on their properties and in their areas, are less willing to tolerate it, no matter how many crappy TV shows and Vincent Browne debates are aired, with useful idiots like John Waters doing the rounds, being the boogyman who desperately needs a fucken haircut.   

In otherwords, the more of the Cathedral a lad will have exposure to, the more left orientated they will ultimately be. That includes the tv. Watch less of it man. Lift some fucking weights or something.
So what exactly does this mean for the future? Well, reality is reality. You can make all sorts of funnies and make South Park references about future lads taking their jobs, but in reality it doesn’t matter what you think. I guess the main difference is is that there is a big difference between the working class and the underclass, the latter lads being the creeps, not the former lads who yous know, work to keep the society running, something a spoiled as shite Millenial from my generation who reads History in TCD benderland won’t understand for jack. 

Only option for the lad and lassie at this stage is toos learn how to swim.

Thursday, 15 May 2014

How to Study for Exams: Part One

So it’s a nice April day with the aul sun splitting the stones. The lassies are out in nice dresses, the fatties look like flaky hot dogs, and yous are sitting down, ah the results, sure be no bother, clickey click, get ready to go to a nightclub and fail with some lassiebum.

Then you realize you failed 80 percent of your exams and you’ve fallen into the academic slurry tank, the land of arseholes in fishnets who pretend to feel sympathy for a cunt, but in fact have internal somersaults of BE DOING BETTER THAN DAT CUNT, cause they define themselves not internally, but through external objects, just has having a degree from Trinity university goys.So, two weeks of brutal study and I passed everything. This was not because I be a smart cunt, this is because I completely changed my approach to studying a topic. This is going to be in two parts. Part one is the practical shite that a lad be needing. Part two is the psychological stuff, which is just as important, but enough about that. This I read in one of Roosh’s recent posts, so I’m combining this with some of my own stuff.

First of all, you want to break up study into two main parts, the study part and the break part.
You will study for one hour at a time, no longer and no shorter. Any longer and your brain gets fried. Any shorter and yous don’t get that much done, and it becomes harder to study because your brain doesn’t have much of an objective. When you say to yourself, “an hour, no matter what” your brain will force on for that hour. This is crucial. Even if you’re trying to figure out a complex maths problem and just about figure it out with half a minute to go and will need another five minutes of work, do not study anymore. Once the hour mark is done, get up and then you’re on a break for 15 minutes. For these 15 minutes, you will not go on the computer. You will not listen to music. You will not talk to your mates. You will get out the door and you will walk briskly for 15 minutes. The point of this is threefold. First, your brain is getting cleared up, a zap of energy from the exercise/not concentrating on the work. Second, your brain is subconsciously working through material so if you were on that maths problem on minute 59, there’s a great chance you will figure it out as you check out the lass with the hot ass in class. Third, walking is interesting enough that it’s a good break from study, but at the same time it’s boring enough that you’re less likely to go on massive 50 minute walks, like say watching an episode of Breaking Bad for example.

Next, despite how tempted you might be, stay away from energy drinks and coffee. The stuff works brilliantly for a short period of time, but then the shit hits you and then a cunt is in zombieland, staring madly at the book en aw with not even a fucking word going in. Drink water and nothing but water. Water will not give yous a caffeine buzz, but it will keep you consistently awake, focused for a long duration of time. Food and exercise tends to be a bit different. If you have time, then you should be eating a paleoish diet/lifting weights and running, but if you don’t have the time, temporarily, drop all of it like a ton of bricks ken. In terms of food, stay away from fast food, heavy Chinese food, noodles, etc. Go for rice, bread rolls, salads, packs of chicken, tuna in brine, that kind of thing ken. 

Third, don’t just look blankly at the book. Write everything down. Summarize material. Go through the problem by yourself with a pencil and a bit of paper. It may be slow, but it will get yous pretty far in the end like. Another tip is to be twisty. Reverse engineer questions is what lectures like to do. Something goes up from your derivation of a second order difference equation. What if that shit goes down? This question wasn’t asked to yous, but lecturers like to ask the down part, and if you practise that part of the question, then it’s all jelly donuts from there on in. 

Fourth, some of them university textbooks cost more money than de crack cocaine. Go to lib.freescience and get yourself a free pdf shelf of books. University, even in STEM/Matsie fields, can be a scam and a half. Fuck these lads. It also saves yous the bollocks of picking up books and tossing them around the place and library bullshit and whatnot. 

Think a cunt will stop there for nowt.

Saturday, 10 May 2014

Happy Bastards

Surreal as a donkey with two arses ken, the past few weeks en aw. To cut down an incredibly uninteresting story into tiny, choppy little pieces of nonsense, I got onto a masters course, failed 80 percent of it, had to repeat this 80 percent and managed to pass everything. I'm a freak, the poxiest feckin student ever to make it onto that program, but somehow, despite it all, I'm still here and things are on track right now. Hey, if nothing else, it gives a cunt a bit to discuss, I've got a couple of how to study like a mothefucker posts lined up in a bit, cause in my case anyway, there's a particular, messy, scatterbrain but correct and efficient way to study, especially when the horrible looming cunt Bayes Bollocks is breathing down your neck and willing to put something nasty up your bum. Oh, and having to repeat 80 percent of your course in two weeks doesn't help either.

So the thing is, I'm happy as shite right now. The past few days I've been coasting along, walking on sunshite, seeing smiles, giggles on the face of the lassie, the wrath of the iron. Dublin continues its descent into socialistic nonsense and ugly squalor with that smarmy prick Paul Murphy, gay little bastard, plastered over every inch of the capital en aw. Drives a lad to the loony bin.

A cunt is twatty sure, used to be, or at least was when I started the blog en aw. I picked the name Francis Begbie and the name The Soul is Not a Smithy because I was angry, bitter, nonplussed. I was getting well worn dog pooed on the carpet cougar bum, not the Eastern European lassie, and blamed everyone else for this. I was doing a course I despise and had left be a broken cunt. Essentially, it was just a pint of bitter, a collection of vitriolic rants from a loser. I've never ever tried to pass myself off (or at least I hope not) as someone else. I'm closer to Leonard from The Big Bang Theory rather than some mad player lad in all fairness, but that leads into something big, and its a big part of game or even things in general. Some of these earlier posts are embarrassing man.

I've been on fire. The happiness ken. The rantings and ravings of a loony toones cunts. It seeps out through every pore, you are a virus and everyone wants to get infected. Get talking to a lassie on a dopamine buzz and suddenly your social skills hit fecking Warp Nine level, and people start lining themselves up with you. Suddenly you are the prize ken.

So what be the craic here? Well, right now before things take a Jimmy NcNulty and I'm back with more feck off posts, I'd like to think I learned a couple of things from the past few weeks.

First, yous need to destroy your ego, or at least be aware of ego traps. The problem with ego is that it tends to repackage itself in novel and increasingly obfuscating ways, so by coming to one realization, you end up missing the bigger, faster, deeper stronger stuff underneath the whole sorry affair. Having something like Frost's post on an std, or by failing a massive chunk of a course will do that to a cunt and just fuck with your head in a million and one different ways.

Second, a lad has to be careful with the stuff on blogs like this. You know what makes yous a knob of a human being? Feeling depressed. Girls pick up on it, lads do as well. Sometimes a lad or lassie can find himself in the doldrums and then its like a big jenga thing where yous just end up alienating every mad lad around yous en aw.

So yeah, for the first time in a bit, things are coming up Franco. Some more posts wrapping up what academia is like, some how to study for university stuff maybe, and then prepare to get the fuck out of Ireland en aw, cause Ireland be the wanker that farts on a lads balls.

Oh, and yeah, apologies to not replying to comments and wes be away. Good luck lads!

Thursday, 17 April 2014

What The Manosphere Is About (A Sort of Response to Matt Forney's Post)

There be a lot of of strange people out and about lads. Goes with the terrain I suppose, no? Any fringey movement=fringey bastards. Take that as a given.

So, toos get on topic, Matt Forney put together a post on leaving the manosphere, a post which discusses Sunshine Mary and Dannyfrom504, long story short, they're not the people they claim to be. So I thought I'd talk about it a bit.

First, some of you fucken cunts in the dark recesses of the internet are mental, mad as fucking hatters ken.

Sunshine Mary. Christ on a bike, her blog bothered me for a long while to be frank with yous. Not because she was a fraud (I didn't know), but because of the audience, the sycophantic dipshits with the unadulterated praise, the moaning of the lassie who fucked them right and good, the pissing in the bucket, the gimme gimme gimme attitude of the whole thing, a confederacy of twats.

Fucking arseholes lads.

Two reasons why this Red Pill "bend over for hubby" shite bothered me. Number one, it proved that a whole lot of yous didn't fucking get it. And when I mean didn't get it, I mean, yous didn't get it on a rudimentary, 101 introductory course on how to be a fucken man ken and should just give up at this stage. You thought yous were so good with your "evil wimminz" stuff, going on about hypergamy this, and my ball buster of a wife that, that yous didn't see what was literally right in front of your nose. Second, the Red Pill Women thing with Sunshine Mary and ilk was yous, just living vicariously through the hubby, the dominant one with the super virgin lassie doing everything you want and more. Again, this is messed up cause lassies are flawed and messy just like men are. That's not saying that you shouldn't hold lassies to a high standard (you fucken should), but this idea, this fantasy of yours will not come through without pain, effort, and difficulty on the way. Yous may get a great lassie, but she won't be this fantasy, this thing. It's like the cunt who goes on about lads who waste their time "watching the X factor" yet gets his fantasy out over dominating the lassie.

Even though he's a fucken benny who is so dishonest,, such a dirty, bald faced liar, he would fart on another man's balls just to get a lumpy lassie her bit of attention.

Then there's the Dannyfrom504 lad, the made up PUA stuff that comes with his website, and the indian lass (HB8) with more facial hair than Ron Burgandy.

Again, two things to note here.

A loser who knows he's a loser, hates himself and is willing to change and get better, gets ten times more respect from me than a fake, a phony, a guy trying to build up his ego by having the appearance of that guy, rather than actually being that person in question, that guy who yous look up to, admire and respect. Cause you know what, he did something with his life! The second thing is that reputations are limited ken. Once it's gone, it's gone and it ain't coming back!

Which leads a lad onto the manosphere, this loose, antifragile collection of blogs and what the bloody fuck it is about.

Self improvement ken, nothing more.

You want to get good with women, wondering why even lassies of the rotund variety reject your advances? It's going to be tough, but there's advice here.

You want to get good advice on a career? It's going to be tough, but there's advice here.

You want to get in good physical shape, but keep wondering why yous are getting fat and doughy from all that whole grain bread? It's going to be tough, but there's advice here.

Matt Forney has talked about phony lads and lassies here, both in this post and in general. I disagree with him slightly. It's not just about the fact that these lads are making this shit up, just to get their little shots of dopamine as yous root for Sunshine Mary's hummer skills. It's about the fact that you are using these people and these blogposts as entertainment, as your own beautiful dark twisted fantasy, not to get better, not to improve yourself in anyway.

As for the neoreactionaries, well:

Did I just end up at a fucking Brony convention or what lads? The lad on the right who looks like the mad lad from The Master? These people as the future kings and queens?

Pig fuck.

Nah to be honest with yes all, we're utterly and hopelessly fucked lads and there's not much we can do about it.

Ah well sure, there's still much drinking and mindless fun toos be had.

Enjoy the decline!

Sunday, 13 April 2014

Is It Possible to Enjoy The Decline? (Part Two)

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.

You tried.

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?"

"Well...I tried...right..."

"And then what?"

Then I-

Saturday, 12 April 2014

Is It Possible to Enjoy The Decline? (Part One)

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:





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

The Polygamous Sex (Father Syndrome)

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.
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.
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?

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:
What is a suitable sex partner? Remember the two basic requirements for love between a man and a woman:
  • the greatest possible physical polarity
  • the greatest possible intellectual similarity
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:
  1. 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).
  2. 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.
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.
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?

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.