Thursday, 2 May 2013

Sleep is a Curse

 
Taken up the drink and a fiend be all jolly, flying all Aces fucken high, standing like the statue of David, with the head swinging, minging, tearing it up, approaching lassies, smiling, singing, dancing, all faces in the club, wringing hands, holding your hands up and it's all talking in heads.

Once in a lifetime brethern. Pure fucken horrorshow like. Oh my brothers, isn't it quite the feet, to glance upon all these sorry lewdies, gloopy motherfuckers which stretch and yawn and expect that this party will still keep going the way that it is...

Blinded by the lights, iridescence, blinding, incandescence scorching. I see a swarm of milquetoast betas, sucking at the teat of this post modern fuckjob. I see a myriad places, the people in towers stretching out into the deep blue sky, this dismissal of cardinal truths, bequeathed to us by men of intellect, heart and soul. Ever notice that people who take up the charge in a certain discipline have their personalities start to change? I'm thinking in puzzles, equations and fucking logs ken. All the fucken time. This thinking...They rationalize away the evil that they do. The silly decisions and derision. Don't forget that en aw. The manosphere is like a club. You must be this alpha to enter ken. I'm not this cunt ken.

In the dream, I am crawling around on my hands and knees. There's grey, grey everywhere. Grey walls, grey ceilings, grey skin, fluorescent lightbulbs, pudgy managers with cowlicks, red cheeks and dying eyes. There's the perpetual ticaticaclick of keyboard typing. I'm in my own little cubicle with pictures of family nailed up on the walls. Economic necessity, smiling to all the people in the room with heads and bodies. The most charming fucker in the room. People speaking in monotones, dry sardonic humor. Everything is so clean and perfectly arranged and fresh. the carpet has been vacuumed. I am a fraud. HR speaks the same words,  the new vernacular of the modern epoch, deturpate the remnants of the joy of the chase, the thrill. Carpe Diem. Diversity day. The meat in the room's sandwich with many a cunt forcing small talk, chitter chatter on a unsuspecting fiend. This is boredom, pure, unadulterated tedium. I am a fraud. The death of emotions, siphoned through excel spreadsheets and non linear regressions and GARCH and covariance matrices and packt lunches with sandwiches filled with an assortment of fillings, cholesterol lowering yogurts, low fat soups made up of 50 percent maltodextrin.I'm sitting out in the park and it's lunch time. 15 minutes. Fuck the paleo diet. No time to cook or exercise. Munching down foods with high glycemic indexes. Stomach feels off, but a cunt tells a cunt that TOMORROW you'll be right back at it lifting weights and keeping that beer belly down ken. Every day. You see your father return home. His hat on the windowsill ken. The flop down in front of the tv ken. The 330 ml of shitty, watery american beer. Ye see dat? Fucken bankers ruining the country! Today was the most boring day in the world. The most. Boring. Day. In. The. World. But it is a success. Everything you ever wanted, in the form of waiting for a bus for nine hours a day, five days a week.

i2 = j2 = k2 = ijk = −1.

I am a fraud. 

I wake and it's time for a drink. I've stopped caring about university. Right now, I'm just punching the clock. You could have a job, these cunts say! Good employment prospects they spit back. Say what ken? This be just numbers en keys ken, damp drizzy despair. Men are creators. We are not posters on walls, advertisments, job opportunities and quotas. We are builders, not ext-ravenous ornaments or disposable props. We have a purpose, right?

There's this thing about the Manosphere, it sounds all happy go lucky en aw, when it fact it's quite the turd in the urinal. There's this whole botched thing going on, where it's like, just get your money together, get your fucken tattered suitcase and your STEMMIE office job and then it be fucken merry, fucken barry, as you head off and just tear your way through Eastern Europe's finest, where you drink juice and then die.  But, herein lies the rub. You are who who are, whether you like it or not. You can get your arse over there, find the loveliest, most feminine woman who will bear your a whole bunch of children and you can absorb the language and the mannerisms and the culture and the whole shebang, but at the end of the day, yous are still Irish or Japanese or whatever. Culture is a heuristic, and to realize the whole thing is a degenerate sack of shit is even more disturbing. Rule of thumb, incoherent societies, lacking the pulchritudinous qualities of that thing, that entity, that concept called God, that shorthand for whatever the bejaesus is out there, produce degenerate, crude cultures. Cultures? They're like a fucking cheat code to get around Dunbar's number. The ensuring result is that you're Irish, but you're not Irish, to get into this requires getting a big ice cream scoop and getting the brain drill readys. You are who yous are and there be no going away from that.  That be why it be tougher en aw.

The red pill throws up a plethora of questions and answers. But more than the rest, it instills one with a sense of almost paralysis. You don't act on it. You just feel more lost at the start. It's just something that you keep putting off, like that book you have on your bookshelf that yous never read. That, something about coming across it, forces yous not to act, like a cunt has too hits rock bottom before the whole edifice crumbles shatters and disintegrates, nay care or any cunt with nothing to literally, look up to.

So this moment, what does it entail? Well it involves lots and lot of drinking. It involves manipulating a beta male and fucking his lassie and getting the oneitis and dumping her. It involves books, fiction with little silly moments in it that make you see what you have to do with it. Everyone in the manosphere is some little bit dysfunctional. Not in the classic sense, but in the great out there, encompassing this sort of lepokurtosis sort of sense. And remember the culture is a heuristic quip? Yeah, it's a poisonous one. Your brain is consistently rallying against. Ireland is finished. But you're Irish. Enjoy the decline! But you are one guy and you know that the future is like a river in its last stages, and you are merely the rock in the meander, and is there not something fucking cowardly about just enjoying the decline? But is there not something utterly pointless about trying to do what is right, rather than doing a Galt?

You need to hijack art, culture, science. All of these are beyond us, we're the bedrock and society fucken hates our guts. For every Broken Roads piece of literature, we have shit by people like Jonathan Franzen or that cunt Dave Eggers. I don't see any science around me. I see the evil in pharmaceutical companies trying to push drugs onto people by setting up dubious, fucking BULLSHIT regressions and fucking hacks trying to run programs and set up samples that include perfectly health men, that fucken hurts de peoples needlessly. I see that I can get farther by acting like a dominant prick, than being a person of character. The fuck?

So a cunt goes down that one road and starts looking after himself. The question is, is that enough?

The manosphere has done this weird sort of thing where I'm at once better socially, but on the other hand, there is no real joy in talking to others anymore, this detachment where your brain is working and thinking independent of your mouth. Maybe I should stop reading this shitup. Or the insomnia. Sleep is really fucken bad ken. 

What goes on inside is really a great fight, a perpetual motion machine inside your head that is a million different syllables and meanings and paradoxes all taking hold and forcing this painful level of self awareness on yourself, and this is not being "duh sheeple" shit, this is you, having the unfortunate ability to be aware of your own conscious at all times. For once, just to forget that you are Francis Begbie and you ate 700 calories of cheddar cheese and you are in this room and it is 68 degrees farenheit and one of your fingernails is broken and your flatmat is asleep in a room ten or so feet away from you. Your mind is constantly trying to rationalize some meaning, but for some people, the stuff you read here just makes you want to drown in entertainment or dream it all away, post haste en aw. The rest will struggle through and it will sting and hurt, not having anything to rationalize anymore but they will get through it, somehow, a basin to capture the water will be there, but these people, they will make it though, but not without some mark left on their soul.

Some of us will fall into heaven and some of us will fall into hell. Perhaps, we are the evil ones. Were people ever meant to be this free, the libertarian ideal quashed, gazing into divinity, big, so big, nothing but the sound ex ante, of a thousand dry and wispy tongues?

4 comments:

  1. If it's any consolation, I used to feel like this a lot at your age. It goes as you get older and grow in self confidence.

    You just need to buckle down on things you know you should be doing, even if you're not deriving any sense of joy or purpose from them. Get into a lucrative career path. Lift weights. Socialise. Further down the line you'll reap the rewards from your persistence, and you'll be glad you made yourself do it now.

    Oh and seriously, don't go too overboard with all that paleo bullshit. You can lose weight, eating foods that you still enjoy, you've just got to monitor your total calorie intake and lift. Drop me an email at my blog if you want me to set you up a training/nutrition programme LeanGains style.

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  2. Yes, this is exactly what goes through my brain at full speed constantly, but I'm old & you are a young man & you have been given all the tools to make a really wonderful life for yourself.

    YouSoWould has the right idea - even if you think the world is going to shit, continue on as if you think the future is all rosy & nice. You never know, it might just be rosy if you play all your cards right.

    He's also right about becoming a frothing adherent to any diet program. I loosely follow paleo (with dairy, beer, etc), but I mainly follow my body. If a certain food gives me pain, I stop eating it for a while & then try it again later. But again, I'm old & kind of wearing out a little :)

    Being old isn't all bad though, everything's paid for & I've already made my bold moves & had most of my successes & failures. Sure, there will be some in the future, but fewer & less extensive. Us older people can enjoy the decline, but you need to go out & bust your ass.

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