Facehuggers

Yo, get a sexy beat going I’m gonna drop some ‘Tism.

IDGAFF

NO, NOT THE FACE!

Years and years and about 9 lives in Super Mario World ago, I was vetted in the New England Pool Party. In the likely event this means nothing to you, good. Not that you care, but there was a little curriculum one had to read. It was determined by someone my junior who felt his experience far outweighed his experience –exceptionally early 20s thinking. It was enforced by a computer nerd, junior to the junior. Evidently being a veteran, and not your inborne cognitive facilitation, determines your superiority of insight. Funny, how we dissidents code switch, isn’t it? Veterans don’t know shit when they’re Kosher-Cons serving Israel, but all of a sudden they outrank you when they rip off the yarmaluke and get to missing their foreskins. But I’m just a “simple” construction worker in a sea of simmering aristocrats high on their own supply.

Anyway. We had a curriculum. The only valuable thing from it was an obscure paper about R/K Selection which I have in a drawer somewhere collecting dust and spider eggs – and Saul Alinsky’s “Rules for Radicals.” Beyond that, I had to read a bunch of tripe from the “Man-O-Sphere,” MGTOW and whatever other pseudo-manly horseshit. I consider that whole subsection of the right to be a ludicrous abomination. I might actually rather get hygiene lessons from an axe-wound doctor in Weimar. At least their lies are somehow organic in their absolute artificiality. Yet somehow on the right a bald man in leather and rouge lecturing men about how to touch their wives… floats? No. Didn’t I cross the right of way to get away from that?

Yes, I know I’m having my dirty Millennial midlife crisis early. But good God, man. Some of the blaring hypocrisies make you want to strangle kittens, they’re so numbing. Older I get, the more I think of poor H.R. Giger. Not just about the juicy jiggly bits invoking horror, but the juicy jiggly bits invoking horror. Can you imagine? Having hang-ups about sex? Literally, the world’s best therapy? Yet here we are. The kneejerk is to say Puritans, but, and my pale ass is evidence, Puritans enjoyed fucking. You know who’s lame-ass religion ACTUALLY tells them not to breed? Quakers, and there’s like, three of them. No, Puritans weren’t that kind of “pure.” There were manuals for getting the most pleasure out of God’s sacred congress. So don’t give me that crap. What do we have? What IS a good insult? Unadventurous buffoons? Dunno. Goddamn Dirty Quaker? Go eat bran, Kellog. I ain’t got time for this.

Watch the Alien Franchise, specifically the earlier films and not so much the newer, current year editions. I mean, sure, it’s obvious Giger & Co. spent some time watching the patterns of fuck. You’ve got your little death were the Facehugger dies into you. Sure. And it’s a spider-legged toothed-vagina. Ooh. Spooky. Freud? Is that you? But yeah of course, these were sexual metaphors. Then the horror takes on a new metaphor. Not because sex is horrible, but because someone was so disadvantaged by life that they think it is. I think of sex and I understand a woman’s womb is the gateway to heaven, and that isn’t a cheeky metaphor – it’s a truth that takes us back to the caves of man’s earliest awakenings. Literally, sex is the gateway drug to enlightenment. Touching the divine, making, doing life as opposed to just living. It is holy, and wonderful, in so many ways. I could spend forever extolling of the virtues of the Goddess that lives and breathes between your lover’s legs. And, I know, some sufficiently right, or even left, might feel uneasy reading that. Why, exactly? What is wrong, pray tell, with owning it? Nature’s God put this drive in us, to bring us back to Nature’s Goddess. All myth, all legend, rests on sexual metaphor. The bog-monster Freud discovered nothing, like all of nature’s used car salesmen he just found a way to redeploy what the Mystics always knew, strip it of value, and overcharge.

Sex is a sacrament. It is magick. Figuratively, literally.

But apparently not for everyone. Not for the spiteful little troglodytes who write regressive trash online where nobody can hear them being punched in the face. Says the spiteful little troglodyte on the internet writing about twisted Gollum-kin online. Think about it, the asinine manosphere stuff. How many of them do you think have been, apparently, so badly burned by women not because of a woman’s inherent evil, but his own lack of understanding? Most abusive relationships are that way because somebody is living a lie. I’ve been pretty up front and honest about things in my limited experience with the womynz. I have also never been badly burned. Huh. It’s almost like doing the right thing can end well. I know and understand the world is full of evil women, and many of my friends have been unequivocably wronged by them… but half the clowns writing this mgtow crap haven’t been deep enough into a woman’s cups to get divorced by her. A lot of them haven’t made it past getting swiped left.

But you think of it, the really kind of pointless double standards, and empty standards. I tell you a little anecdote. In my past associations there was a man who did a lot of work for the movement, everybody loved him and had nothing bad to say about him. Amazing. And then Jerry Springer happened, he did some undisclosed thing and went afoul of everyone. Now he sucks and you can’t like what he used to do, it’s all so obviously garbage. And his wife is fat. Because for some reason that detail matters. Proof that homeboy sucked all along. Yesh. Then there came the 600lb Life jokes. I asked once; what’s she got to do with his sins, again? Never got an answer, inconvenient questions are easy to ignore. They spent more time mocking her, than him. Today, everybody remembers the fat hausfrau but can’t be bothered to recall what old Jack supposedly did wrong. And it was, evidently, wicked friggin wrong. Like, super bad. Like, I don’t even remember – bad. Or, maybe, made up like half the drama in this waste of a movement – bad. The hausfau could be as fat as a brick bloody house for all I care, if she raised a kid or two with better manners than these, and she’d be worth more a hell of a lot more than the mocker with no kids and a lot of opinions. 14 Words and all. But we only remember those when it comes to making tough-guy faces for the boys, right? Kida makes it look like “the movement” is a treehouse for mitfits to get off on knocking everybody else who doesn’t look good on paper. And you, reader, have no idea how painful that is to admit to myself, less the dozen or so people who will read this within twenty minutes of one another leading me to believe there is really only one of you out there and that the internet is fake.

Now, I know why I notice this, and hold onto it as a poignant learning lesson. It’s not a secret. I like fat girls. A lot. I think they’re pretty. It is what it is. (Incidentally, I am not alone.) It’s something I could, and do, wax poetic about. And why not? Could I do the infinite moral debate of the feckless sperg? Yeah, but why? I like what I like, and see no value in yeeting myself into a guilt hole. It shouldn’t, but somehow always does, come off as a shock. Because I don’t drool all over the carpets wherever I go, people in person are always surprised to learn I, in fact, like the sex, bigly. Le Gasp. Have you ever admitted something like this in a room with uptight men who think they’re manlier than men who ever manned? ‘Oh shit, guys, he’s off the plantation – suck it up!’ You can hear the collective tightening of sphincters like they think they’re about to be massaged by RuPaul in some kind of oriental dragshow or something. I smile every time it happens because the worst offenders typically have no children. Which means I, a “clear” pervert and degenerate, have succeeded in the 14 Words in a way their likely porn addicted selves have not. Oh dear. Oh me. Oh my. White Shariah, somebody get the morality police? I did a thing. At least with women you get the concern-trolling which is for them the same thing as King-Kong pounding his chest and lobbing money-shots at passers-by under the Empire State Building to assert his moral manliness. In either case I would be more inclined to listen to people whom I thought were legitimate, and not legitimising themselves and their socially wounded egos conditioned by glossy magazines to seek acceptance through asserting superiority over unwritten castes.

Aristocrats, amirite?

Yes.

But if you want a more impersonal example than my own, which should be relatable because, well, I don’t need to justify why. We live in America, wherever you are, and that’s enough. Let’s look at Varg Vikernes, now Louis Cachet I’m told. Mr. Cachet-Vikernes is a controversial figure. In the monumentally unlikely event he reads this, my saying this would be of no shock to him. He has offended many people, and many people have turned him into a meme. The meme becomes a separate reality and attracts equally detached sentiment. Mostly free disdain, because the online Right is a movement of cannibals. Evidently Varg isn’t a tasty enough meal, because in equal spades he is known ‘as the guy with the autistic wife.’ Pains are taken to mock Marie Cachet’s work, which upon reading, I will confess is unorthodox but not worthy of that level of mockery. Nor has her having or not a case of autism to do with the quality of that work. Less still that she is a woman. Yet, because of her mere association, she becomes a free target for the online right-wing facehuggers to dry hump and die over in cyberspace. What an ugly scenario. Be on the outside, looking in. What sane woman wants anything to do with any of this? And so it becomes easy to see why in nationalism are so few women, and so many men. Like the albino version of that Indian meme video with the bimbo tourist.

Is it so hard to leave what one does not like? Yes, evidently. And if it were a question of principle, I might not complain. But these complaints become vitriol, too often. To the point that people on the Right pose more of a threat to one another, than to any miraculous bugbear of “a system.” Groups split, and then spend time doxxxing each-other. If you are outside the right wing, you cannot grasp how loathsome is that end. It immediately degenerates into a game of “find the hidden fed.” It’s vile, fickle and beneath our supposed dignity, something which at times seems quite cheap. Doxxxing is a weapon of the enemy, it is a weapon of terror which primarily targets the women and children of the men it affects. When you doxxx a man you don’t just hurt him, but everyone. You don’t like Captain Bob? Fine, fuck that guy. Get over it. Don’t go threatening his family. No man, is an island. Understood? All these boobs spending hours of their lives doxxxing e-celebs. Or former comrades… these are beneath contempt. Same deal.

I don’t care if you think you’re a hero, you ain’t. Think: who is going to want to join a publically cannibalistic “movement?” What kind of social malcontent wants that pressure? Specific sorts. People who thrive on being outcasts. People who thrive on drama. People you don’t want your wives and children around, because they will probably somehow betray you. Or, if nothing else, shit all over the life you’ve made with your wife and children when your back is turned like little girls in a cafeteria who don’t think their voices carry.

I know. It’s gay logic… But it leaves you asking yourself; are you (royal you, yous, y’all) acting this way to prove something to everyone else, or yourself? Because, really, despite the pressure to perform in the “right” most people have tried things that fall outside the Missionary Position, Third Edition. And they don’t look like cookie cutter fascists, and nobody we know ever will. ‘Cept Richard Spencer, don’t get me started. But it’s not just morphology, either, really. It’s everything. I know the Vril Jajaja game ain’t for everybody, but you have people getting bent out of shape about Tantra. Why? I think it’s pretty slick the Ancient Dots figured all this out before the Jews crossed our ts. See what I did there? Ah jeez. Or who married who, or who looks like what, or whatever.

I know it’s partially reactionary thinking. A problem: pornography, has been identified. The problems with hard pornography are numerous. Somebody else can do footnotes; I won’t be bothered. Yes, I distinguish hard and soft. Seeing a woman’s titties isn’t going to scar you for life and give you socially unacceptable and potentially dangerous paraphilias. No boy dreaming of getting married so he can press the love buttons really goes wrong, it’s nature propagating itself. However, and I’ve never really watched hard porn… but have, somewhat uncomfortably, been told stories… going Thai, we’ll say gently – might. Love button, glass table? Big difference.

So, like with anybody smote by Baader-Meinhof, everything outside a very narrow gauge becomes quasi-pornography. And, yeah, I guess – we do, after all, live in a hyper-sensualised society. No doubt. Everything is suggestive of something. So, there are triggers everywhere, and a trigger for everyone and whatever special bad touch gets your Jar of Vril, Kinks Edition, moving. Still. People are losing out on a lot of depth by doing this, by feeling unfree. This can only lead to increasingly irrational behaviour, as anybody living with repressed tendencies will. Not even repressed, but unfulfilled, and isn’t that really just as bad? Unfulfilled people very often cast aspersions on others as a means of mitigating their own disappointment, or so the instinct goes, which itself only feeds discontentment and leads to increasingly antisocial and manipulative behaviour. There’s outliers, of course, but for the movement? A big problem.

You ask questions like this, and you’re in the same boat of a sudden as asking RuPaul to invite children under the age of 8 to his drag show for free. Which doesn’t seem fair, to me. It’s a rather extreme leap, and a lot of pressure on yourself. Hence the safety valve of the angry young men looking for victims to displace. I suppose none of this would be as bad, with the white knights pretending to champion women, but it isn’t about women for them, nor their dignity. Really, they’re like women – concern-trolling, they talk about a woman’s dignity but are disinclined to actually defend it if said woman falls outside the gloss. They talk about male feminists being disproportionate perpetrators of rape, but still lay the blame of rape on women for acting promiscuously. Should the women so raped have known better? That is not the point, really. The point is, is that our claim of being better than Arabs covering women in used laundry doesn’t hold water when places beside the old ‘she was asking for it.’ Frankly, in my life, nobody pisses on the dignity of women more than self-righteous movement goers. They turn in a second and look for a place to slide the knife. In the last 60 years in the American movement, this has not changed.

This was a negative post, I know. It is my preference to offer my thoughts on solutions rather than merely identify problems. But I can’t fix all the stunted facehuggers in the movement. If any of them read this and see my attempted logic. I’m not getting any younger, but I am getting saltier, and I see less in less “in the movement” that convinces me there’s a safe place for me to raise my family in it. The self-styled aristocrats are quick to abandon the weak, mock the “lessers” and justify the wrong. That self-serving, double-standard behaviour is repellent. It is also wrong. I can experience social difficulties now, by going somewhere ZOGgy and getting the pronouns off. Movement types often talk about “doing better” but ignore the log in their eye, to borrow a bible aphorism, while bobbing for twigs in everybody else’s. If I cannot trust the weakest of my people with those who pretend they are strong… of what value to me is an aristocracy? If I died tomorrow as a “movement” type, would I be able to trust my wife and child to the new elites believing in my wake that they wouldn’t be discarded for some “deficiency” or other? Not hardcore enough, not bigdawgalffatuffenuff? Lone wolfalicious? Eh. 

We don’t get to cherry pick “our people.” If you do, there is no “our people,” only “your favourites.” No “our cause” as “my say.” This is a warts and all situation. Otherwise what are we doing? And don’t give me some tired, bad wind about eugenics, either. We are so far from any of that, that you need a deer whistle to hear the punchline at the end of that haha very funny joke. No. One doesn’t need me for their emotional masturbation, it’s nothing more than parasympathetic… read parasitic… behaviour. Ah, but I lied, parasites do need us, but we don’t need them. Parasites always disguise their motives in their indispensability, but in the end, like Chinese food, leave one feeling unfulfilled and sad. They only want excuses to do and get away with things they would frown on others doing because what’s good for the goose can cost the gander.

Now to be fair. It isn’t just “the movement.” No. Spiritual communities, whether Christian or Pagan, suffer. I’ve written about this before. But Orthomancy. Obsession with “right,” and “correct” has a heavy toll. In a spiritual community where questions are treated as affronts and insults, what growth can there be? When your spiritual leaders critique but never construct, their flock withers on the vine. Community growth comes from Clemency, not tolerance as it is commonly called. Yet anyone pursuing doctrines of authority invariably become intoxicated with ego, and become censorious juggernauts of character stultification. They garner obedience. And drones. Or quitters. An environment of encouragement and proper guidance, is what is needed. Authority does not prompt growth. Nor does mere obedience, which is not loyalty. Your obedient dog may well eat you when you’re dead. A loyal dog might guard your corpse.

“Time” is running out. But not till the shit hits the fan, but before people in their numbers lose the mental flexibility to see far enough ahead of the curve to get out of their own way. Emotional masturbation is the default, parasitic self-gratification and virulent narcissism. Humans are means to ends, and beneath fluff and fine talk, nobody seems to appreciate the end result. Massive, widespread, multipolar emotional paralysis. In politics, in religion, in work, in bed. Everywhere you go, our lives are becoming badly written Joyce novels.

So. I guess. “Do better.” These and other paltry mug slogans alive at five. Be the kind of people one can build true welfare around, which is not and never was a dirty word. One ought not forever be walking on eggshells in their parallel society. We do that now. We should be able to live honestly, and with integrity. And truly, I believe, this can be done. Parallels can be struck, in which people can be free of the shackles they now have, without trading them for new ones. If any movement is to succeed, it needs to make people feel envious and want to be there. In what ways can we, reader, make people want to be involved? My vote goes with sympathy, understanding, compassion, generosity and, wait for it – a certain degree of clemency, not tolerance, but clemency.

A Nationalist movement can and should be about what you offer your people, what your people can be. It shouldn’t always be about where the world is going wrong. I try to, for every critique of modernity I have, bring a cultural antecedent or facet uniquely ours as a culture which I find endearing. Nobody can sustain themselves on negative liberties, and a culture cannot be built on nothing more than critique. So there must be positive contributions. And this is beginning to take sway. People make music and art, but so often these are rallies against a system everyone is already tired of. Meanwhile the best folkish art is made by universalists, the best calls to ancestry, by those who claim we have no claim. Interesting, and sad. So we can be writing odes, glories and all the like, attributing a positive Nationalism of what is good and not always wrong. We would find, our positions would be less unpalatable. Because half the time, when we are positive, half of what we say appeals to most – until they know our political title. Then the disparagement begins. So we should work to make those criticisms invalid.

Peace out. If anybody needs me I’ll be in the 90s listening to Jewel. I’ve been your host: Antisanctus Paulus; eternally, cynically optimistic Damned Yankee contrarian and racist liberal.

 

NVM LOLWUT I used the fake $20.

Blonde Hair, Don’t Care.

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Bonus: I’m a nerd, I like creepy scifi goth stuff.

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