It Gets Away From You

To sustain my taxpaying duties in this, our mortal coil, I may or may not subcontract in the residential sector. I may or may not work on homes and yards. I may or may not be privy to a variety of domiciles. These may or may not betray the private lives of those in whose employ we find ourselves. These may or may not reflect deeply both the individual character of the inhabitants, but also bespeak the variegation of the human experience in general.

I have it on good authority that barkeeps and barbers accumulate the highest tally of secrets, know the private lives of their clients. I should also add priests and ministers to this queue. However few people think to infer just how much a carpenter, if he is shrewd and makes use of the eyes in his head and the brain in his skull, can learn about domestic life. Most clients don’t go through the pains of cleaning their homes before you arrive. They don’t go through the motions of concealing the display of their personal accoutrements. On average, it takes me a grand total of thirty seconds before I have assembled a rudimentary assessment of your character.

Your books on the shelf, their order and condition and presence of price-tags or used stickers supply me with an idea of your interests. Your film collection supplies me with auxiliary info as to how you kill your time. Your photos tell me what kind of stock you come from. The cleanliness of your abode speaks to the strength of your enterprise. Your pantry talks to culinary tastes. The level of cleanliness allotted to specific rooms tells me another thing, the order of your free time’s priorities. I could go on, you get the picture. A man’s house is his castle, they say. They also fancy that if walls could talk… as if they don’t. Walls do talk, and they betray your secrets.

Luckily for you, most handimen, contractors and skilled tradesmen aren’t always the most observant bunch. Nor are they frequently interested in your inner lives. It is a service industry, and they are as interested in what you can do for them as you are in what they can do for you. However, it is worth noting, that if a client trusts me enough to invite me into their home for the purpose of working there, nine times out of ten they will trust me to hear them out in other arenas, too. I cannot tell you the number of personal stories I have heard (nor would I betray the confidence of those telling them, at this age in my life I know better.) I cannot tell you the percentages of those stories and how they are split between happy tales and sad stories. I will tell you, as is the purpose of this article, that I have encountered a very common thread. A decidedly ubiquitous theme of human living.

Time is fleeting. Carpentry has gone far to teach me how precious it is. From the many times I have heard a bereaved widow say she thought she would have more time, to the old couple who couldn’t finish projects they had started younger in their years. Sometimes people are content with their time, others grieve for it. The widows, sometimes divorcees I have known are often hit quite hard. Some husbands, having never had insurance, die and leave their wives with quite the financial burden – forcing them to take on roommates in their winter years. I have known divorcees who planned their life on another’s income, only to find themselves drowning in excess when their partner leaves them. And there they lie in a house they cannot afford to keep, and neither afford to sell. Often, a man takes on projects in his spare time on and around his home and fails to reckon how drastically the working world drains him of vitality. He awakes one day incapable of doing the tasks he once could. Often houses suffer as couples age, for they can either ill afford or ill perform the tasks at hand. Often they wait too long to call for help, and their homes go to rot.

If people are lucky they have good communities to help them. However, we live in an increasingly antisocial world in which support communities are becoming a rare commodity. If you are in my age bracket, being between 20-40, you had best consider things moving forward. The living economy is much different than that of those for whom I work. Friends and family, as they were until the industrial revolution, are going to again become vital resources. As the mass importation of cheap immigrants and their undercut labour increase at alarming exponentials we shall see working Americans push the age of retirement back further and further. Their wages will depreciate. Their health will, too. Is it that hard to imagine?

The food production of Clown World is horrendously under-qualified and ill-supervised. The amount of toxins and teratogens are scattering the hormone profile that Nature’s God intended and retarding every aspect of our physiognomy, phenotype and equanimity. When you add failing health standards to supercharged stimuli levels which have altered the mass circadian rhythm, you have another disaster. Without proper rest, healing factors plummet. This further skews hormones. Protein absorption fails, HGH production suffers – and so on. When you compound that interest with the concept of being overworked for a completely thankless working economy that exists to skin your back… it is a disaster.

The future for the next generation of the ageing population has every potential to be grim. And few want to think about it. The American Dream used to be owning a home. However one can easily become land poor. I am doubtful that I have successfully coined this phrase, but I’ve yet to hear it used. What I mean by land poor is that by the very act of having residence, you have little resources for much else. A homeowner pays taxes, and has to use his own private time and funds to maintain his holding. He has to work his working week and then sacrifice his time to run his property, and more money if he hires out. A renter has to divulge their resources to rent. They have more time, but likely cannot afford to get ahead.

Now the landowner… take stock of your projects. House ownership is expensive. Most substantial renno projects exceed a grand. Few do not. For this reason alone, many projects go undone until budgets can be balanced. Other more ambitious couples or persons might take the loan and compound their debt, insuring that Shylock can skim it off their children when they die. We live in a culture that preaches and teaches dissatisfaction. It is a thoroughly unsustainable outlook.

If you are in my age bracket, you are familiar with a commonplace attitude among the Boomer Generation. Perhaps you are like me and mystified with how casually they throw money around. Perhaps you are confounded by the phrase “disposable income.” The only time I have ever had disposable income was when I got to spend my parents’ money. That was a while ago, now. What I know is that you probably cannot afford to do that. Our generation has to be frugal, conservative, and insightful. Live within your means. Aim to keep as much as you can of what you earn, consider your purchases carefully. Assess your priorities in life. Don’t live too fast.

Living by paycheck is inadvisable. Doing this offers you no real freedom and only goes to support the institution of debt slavery that sustains our current order like a very, very fat parasite. It is not unknown knowledge, either, this is no esoteric principle. It is simply an inconvenient facet of our little fabricated realities, so most ignore it because the system enables it. Others follow cultish subgroups like the Small House Movement, or Minimalism, or this thing or that thing. I would recommend common sense, but it is dead.

All I can say, is that you really ought to get out and start living in the real world. You don’t have friends online. Not really. The internet is an abstract. This article is an abstract, unless you can access very specific parts of New England, and you know who I am outside of the screen you’ve used to make assumptions. A real friend is one you can trust, who can spend time with you in the presence of your family. They know your life, it’s condition. You can take the time to see them. It is a reptilian outlook, but that shouldn’t deter you, but friends can help you, and you them. This practicality doesn’t seem as important now, when you’re young and think you can handle it. But you’re going to wake up a few inches shorter, bent over, with white hairs coming out of your head. You’re going to need safety in numbers, someday. Trust me, Z.O.G. won’t lift a finger to help you unless you are a charity case which makes them look better in the poles.

Life will no longer become easier as we grow older. Especially if you are self-employed. And if you are a system worker, with a state or company job… can you really trust the security of your economy in a world that seeks to be fully automated by the next quarter? When we have infinity social welfare programmes to fund with our tax bucks, do you think retirement, pension and bennies are going to hold? Especially when we are such a social placebo oriented culture that puts opinion before anything else? Believe you me, it has happened elsewhere and shall come to pass here too that the government will liquidate your system oriented assets to continue. Some places have cancelled pension plans to house immigrants, an unfair repayment for a lifetime of loyal citizenship, methinks. It is important to get those ducks in a row, now.

I belong to a Männerbund, this is another example of a real world solution to the vagaries of modernity. I have a handful of friends I can trust, in whose contact I can rely as I grow older. That as I age my family does not have to squander in solitude. In tougher times, they used to have barn raising parties before everyone became so selfishly absorbed in the mad rush for capitalism that atomised the world. A neighbourhood would chip in and help Farmer John build his barn, and Farmer John there would help feed the neighbourhood. There were other ways communities helped each-other. It used to be churches would form help parties to keep little old ladies in order when their husbands died, help them clean, cook, what-ever. That social contact probably went toward expanding the life expectancy of a few generations.

You don’t want to grow old alone. You don’t want to put all your cards in your spouse’s basket. If one of you dies, and you two were all you had, disaster strikes. Wards of the State do not frequently enjoy their lots in life, I know this because I was a CNA before I got into the family business. And there are an unpleasantly high number of such Wards who had too few family connections to sustain them.

As we stand now, atomised and mired in this lie of rugged individualism, we are poised to age as gracefully as Rome. For all that can be said of her technical glories, it must be admitted that altruism was not among her greater traits. There is a reason little is said of eldercare in the many discussed venues of known Roman antiquity. And there is a reason euthanasia was so prevalent.

But it isn’t just about you, and your life when you’re old. If you have children, you have them to think about. In my niche, my Männerbund, it is vastly unlikely any of our children will suffer the unenviable fate of public school. I have every intent, with all my strength and will, to see that mine do not see the inside of that despicable foundation. To that end, with children being social creatures, they need a network. Something akin to a Männerbund, a close knit circle of friends, provides this. Children become friends with other children, you do not have to trust the parentage of every little tyke your kid meets in public. And as those children get older, you can rely on your brothers and sisters from the Bund, your friends, to reinforce the values you need to teach. You know how far you can trust society, and that is as far as the lowest common denominator travels.

You can’t teach your child everything, only what you know. Your friends will have skills that you don’t. My friends may bring up sons – I can teach them woodworking, lumping, hauling, lifting – pretty rugged, manly things. I’ll tell you what I can’t teach my own children: how to maintain a car. Now, me and my future boyo or girly can look to my father for much of this, but he is limited by what he knows. I will teach my parents history. I’m not going to teach them math.

What remains is that your child will grow up and be surrounded by a contingent of good men and their wives. They will have a meta-narrative to live by and return to when their rebellious years are through – because they will have a compass. Your childhood is a language without words, body language is over ninety percent nonverbal. Why do you think in older generations that returning to religion is so powerful? It satisfies an intrinsic instinct to return to safer times. My generation doesn’t really have this. And it doesn’t have to be religion, a strong political outlook (Right Wing Conspiracy, right here) will do, as politics and religion satisfy many of the same centres of the brain.

We know what a few generations away from that kind of example has done. Don’t get sucked into the Oedipus cycle of repeating a self-fulfilling prophesy of accidental doom. I wonder how many of my confidence and social issues might have been balanced if my childhood social scope hadn’t been limited by my parents’ example and the collapsing morale of my High School under NCLB.

You cannot truly count on public funding to supply a childhood. Nevermind the fact that the majority is sick and degenerate, and you would have to be some kind of mental midget to believe the schools have your child’s spiritual welfare in mind. So you ensure by sending them that your kids have the lowest possible denominator to live by, with a force multiplier of your town’s population. The more examples to the contrary of your morality, the greater your chances of losing face with your children forever. My parental generation called it freedom, we call it foolish. Besides, the instances of lifelong friendships founded in public schools are becoming increasingly rare. Among my generation they are few. Among the next generation they seem rarer. Why not? Online relationships are counted as authentic. It removes the impetus to build and sustain real ones. Placebo living. Now, if your contacts and friendships become heritable assets (that’s Othala for any Neopagans reading) than those contacts are more likely to stick. But you have to put in the work.

There is another argument to be made for it, a somewhat metaphysical argument that many in my age bracket and younger tend to laugh at. You can begin to mend some of the damage done by the accidents of the previous generation. If you are at least culturally Christian this should be appreciable. You should know that sin, here defined as the proclivity or concupiscence toward social malady, is heritable. I don’t know about your mother, but mine carries hefty guilt over the maladies of today. She did what she thought was right, only to find out that it was wrong. She is not capable of taking the Red Pill, and exists in a metapolitical limbo. But she is reassured by the fact that I am making solid connections. I have friends, I have standing – things my publically educated childhood failed to supply.

Most of our antecedents meant well and should not be ostracised in their winter years, doing so is callous and morally reprehensible. But they should also be made to see that doing the right thing, in the right way can and shall be achieved. In the end, all morality is subject to selfish interpretation. Consider the Boomers who produced musical gems with statements such as “don’t trust anyone over thirty,” and “I wanna die before I get old,” only to turn grey and utter the phrase “kids these days: (insert complaint)______.” Many men my age revile Boomer antics, but forget that just as the Boomers grew old, so shall we. And how shall we be viewed by our replacement generations? If my experience with men my junior are any indication, poorly. The tendency toward blame-shifting was ironically unaffected by the younger generation of diagnosticians. Solidarity, however, can provide you a bulwark against the shifting tides of time. So then at least when you do sport your grey beard you have someone to ‘kids these days’ with when the youngsters ask you where your pension went and why they can’t get by without working two jobs to pay a ludicrous rent.

The reasons to engage in and work with something like a Männerbund are too numerous to list. The most compelling reason is that a Männerbund like wellspring is what societies are made of. A few good, honest men – their wives, and their children. You cannot honestly tell me that our social constructs did not begin with that primogeniture of all that followed. That being said, it is a natural way of life, from which the practicalities of social systems followed. Recapture that, secure your future. Trust the system, be disappointed. Simple. Find or make your Männerbund, reclaim reality.

Carpe Diem, Lads.

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