Yesterday at work I lost my USB. It had a bunch of my blog post drafts on it. Why did I have that at work, you wonder? Well my normal work USB got a virus so I had to use my home one.
I had it at the printer, left it there, then realized and went back and it was gone.
Finally, a colleague who I will call Bitchface Fascist Cunt announced that she had it, that she’d found some of my less than complimentary posts about her country (I think I may have referred to the administration as a ‘special needs government’ at one point), and declared that she’s going to denounce me to Read More
Teachers noted it on my report cards, though academically I was fine. At my thirteenth birthday dinner, my parents asked the Chinese waiter to guess my age and he went with ten. Still got a free fried ice cream with a sparkler on it, but.
As a teenager I was behind my same-age peers in all respects – cried too easily, late to fill out, never had girlfriends, didn’t have a part-time job. I lacked confidence, was skinny and spotty, and these factors prevented me from grabbing opportunities that would have helped me to grow up.
The left is unified. Anyone, no matter how unimpeachable her leftist credentials, who dares go against the Cult-Marx catechisms shall be cast out, humiliated and destroyed. The left eat their own, as they always do, but there are no competing streams of thought within their milieus. A wag might suggest there is not presently a single stream of thought. In any case, there is only one Left, it is called Baizuo, and I need not repeat its many and contradictory shibboleths to my venerable readers.
The right is entirely different. There is the mainstream, pro-immigration, pro-business, pro-globalism and pro-war (any war!) right of the old-school conservative parties in each Anglophone country. Among those are the social conservatives who would happily approve Lenin for the Supreme Court if only he were pro-life. There are the libertarians who focus mostly on taxation, regulation and free trade. There are the paleo conservatives, who care much less about the role of government in the economy than they do about immigration and foreign interventionism. And there is the hard right, perhaps defined as those wanting new, separate ethno-states rather than just the maintenance of what fragments remains of the old ones.
The groups fight each other, but none seems to Read More
Freedom is the possibility of isolation. You are only free if you can withdraw from men and feel no need to seek them out for money, or society, or love, or glory, or even curiosity, for none of these things flourish in silence and solitude. If you cannot live alone, then you were born a slave. Though you may be possessed of every superior quality of spirit and soul, you are still nothing more than a noble slave or an intelligent serf, you are not free. But that is not your tragedy, for the tragedy of being born like that is not yours but Destiny’s. Woe betide you, though, if the very weight of life itself makes you a slave. Woe betide you if, having been born free and capable of providing for yourself and leading a separate existence, penury forces you into the company of others. That tragedy is yours alone, which you alone must bear.
Some people are suited to work. Almost everybody, in fact, but good luck getting them to admit it. A UBI would destroy the average man, turn him into a criminal, a drug addict, a member of the Underclass. At the very least make him fat. Most people get meaning, social connection and a sense of accomplishment from work. They get promotions and go up levels and receive new desks and baubles and recognition, just like in a computer game. For that matter, I don’t enjoy computer games much either.
As a young man, like every other troubled young man with more brains than sense, I read Notes From The Underground and it, like, really spoke to me, man, I really got it. And all that nonsense. We were supposed to view the narrator with contempt, but I kinda liked him. He’s a lot like me – weird, oversensitive, unpopular, arrogant and he probably smells bad too. He says at the start that he’d inherited a little money from an aunt and that it was just enough for him to retire and live a frugal life without needing to go out into the world and do any more work.
I thought, I’d kiss a cow’s arse for that. I’d give my left ball for that. I’d draw my Gran’s beating heart and present it to munificent Kali for that. Think of it! Never needing to work, ever again! Being free!
The reader might here be misunderstanding me. I’m not especially lazy – having things to do is fine. Rather, what I abhor about work, and I think here I’m as one with Pessoa, is needing to deal with people. All day, every day. All those workplace dramas, politics and stresses, faux pas, lunatics, angry people, disappointed faces, mistakes, inadequacies, insecurities, and on and on.
To be free of it . . .
Not free to necessarily sit on a beach and drink cocktails, or to work on magnificent projects, or to chase magnificently nubile ladies. Just free to not have to deal with all of that trouble. Not rapture, not ecstasy; just a mild and reasonable freedom, like what an eccentric English gentleman might once have had when he collected stamps or shrunken Papuan heads.
I think this is what my life has always been leading to, though I did not always know it. From the first moment I became aware of this concept of freedom, it has had an allure for me like that which gold, power, fame, fast cars or beautiful women have for other men. Saving money instinctively, without budgeting, is a natural outgrowth of this underlying desire to be at peace.
Work is not the same for all of us. For some it is a daily horror. Any job would be so for us – perhaps aside from home-based stenography – because it involves being out there in a world we would prefer to avoid as much as possible.
I like to go out sometimes – once or twice a week is good – but that is enough. The rest of the time I prefer to be secluded. I live like that on my breaks and it is not glorious, it is just . . . peaceful. Quiet. After holidays colleagues say I look different – cheerful, relaxed; my face gets fatter and I sometimes even smile. Yes, me – smile! Might I one day become one of those smiley people, like Jonty Rhodes? Oh, that might be going too far. Way too far. I generally wear a beset and mournful expression. But perhaps I might one day look less beset and mournful. I guess that would be an improvement.
Luisman worries I’ll blow all my money. Adam reckons I’ll get bored. Well . . . soon we shall know. For whatever goes wrong in my new life, you can expect to encounter reams of whining about it here on the People’s Blog. So you’ve got that to look forward to.
In 1984, the world is ruled by a totalitarian, self-perpetuating system that brutalizes its own upper echelons most of all. In Brave New World, Huxley paints a different picture of the future, one where human interactions are mandatorily shallow, where casual sex is expected, and where bad feelings have mostly been bred and conditioned out of the docile, fun-loving population.
It is too easy to make fun of science fiction that is already out of date. There are anachronisms such as scientists taking notes with pencil and paper, manual laborers who are still required in large numbers, liftmen (elevator operators), and English women who are slim and attractive.
But good science fiction aims to comment, not to predict, because the latter is impossible. Huxley envisions what some of his contemporaries might have considered an ideal society: one where the family has been done away with, children are born in test tubes and raised in nurseries, trained from infancy to enjoy their assigned roles in society, and kept happy throughout their lives by generously provided rations of the feel-good drug soma.
Bernard Marx (yes, I yawned too) doesn’t fit in. He doesn’t want to be happy all the time. He wants to Read More
In the last two years I have read an enormous number of books due to my technological isolation, and many times I have thought, why the hell didn’t I read this when I was twenty? This is one of those. It is so prescient, so relevant, and so essential to understanding present-day SJW/Big Tech hysterias that I was embarrassed that I had not read it before, and that, like most others, I had completely misunderstood what it was all about. If you haven’t read it, you no doubt suffer that same misapprehension.
The Bell Curve is one of the most maligned, unread and misrepresented books of the last century. The main purpose of this post is to explain what it is really about, and how important it is.
First, of course, we must explain what it is not about. The Bell Curve contains one section about race and IQ, with some speculation about the causes of observed aggregate differences. It does this only as the Read More
My company rents out a small apartment building. I’m the only bloke here at the moment. As we’re super rich in this country my colleagues and I hire cooks, cleaners and a night guard.
One day a girl announced she didn’t want to hire the night guard anymore because it was too expensive. She asked what we thought. I said I reckoned we should keep him just for the sake of giving someone a job. Sure, he’s not essential, but it costs us so little and it’s all his got. He looks after his mum. The pay only just covers the cost of some basic food. And this is not a city full of free-market opportunities for the enterprising local. Why bother penny-pinching in such circumstances? Anyway, he’s also handy for running errands, carrying things and whatever, always pleased as punch to make himself useful.
Charity is one thing, but giving someone a job is quite another.
The other residents didn’t want him there anymore. One said she’d noticed he was starting to come late and leave early (while still acknowledging that he was as reliable as a Bumfuckistani gets), while the other said she didn’t care.
Thus outvoted, that one that wanted him gone said to me excitedly, “We’re firing CJ on Saturday!” It was a few days before Christmas. She had a gleam in her eye.
I had a sick, uncomfortable feeling that I did not Read More
I cannot recall the line of reasoning to it. Perhaps there was none. I was in a conference as part of my professional development training and for some reason the fortyish lady delivering the presentation shifted, as fortyish ladies will do at the merest opportunity, into how Girls Are Good and Boys Are Bad. She didn’t specifically mention puppy-dogs’ tails but we got the idea.
She complained about how boys these days aren’t even taken girls out on dates. What has this to do with my job, you are wondering? Absolutely Read More
Thousands of years later, these stories still have relevance.
To wit:
The Fox Who Had Lost His Tail
An ugly feminist was unconsciously so disgusted with herself that she tried to convince all the other girls to cut their hair short and dye it blue, get out of shape and get tattoos. She said it was much more convenient that way and that they would receive much praise for their changes on Instagram.
The other girls said to her, “If you were not so repulsive yourself, you would not thus counsel us.”
It comes when I get sick, and I get sick very often. The last time, a few days ago, I was spontaneously combusting with fever. I forced myself to keep the blanket on at least halfway because I knew the night was cold, and my legs were like two tubes full of magma. So, some trouble sleeping and plenty of time for my diseased brain to obsessively focus on and develop my fantasy.
The fantasy is: I am sick. There is a girl who loves me. She wets my brow. She rubs my shoulders, if I can bear it in my weakened and sensitive state. She asks, are you okay, Nikki? You’ll get better. She kisses me on the cheek then lets me sleep, keeping a wary eye on me in case my condition should worsen.
Sometimes I hold her. Sometimes I lie apart. But always I’m next to her, feeling her warmth, taking strength from her lovingkindness.
Very early in the morning the city looks how it did ninety years ago. In the dusky light the cracked concrete and peeled paint are less noticeable. Recognizably European streets and buildings begin to materialize in the gloaming. The only sounds are birds and the very occasional car which itself is almost ninety.
What a wonderful place this was! Such perfect weather. A town laid out like a work of art. Every second house is listed by Unesco for its unique and innovative design. The swaying palms and jacarandas that were planted way back then, now mature. One can squint and imagine Read More
There are three groups of readers here today. A third of you just shuddered to see that I’m reviewing this book. The second third just boned up in anticipation of discovering a new convert to RealThink on the JQ. And the third third have never heard of the book before and have no idea what the fuss is about.
Hello to all of you.
This is Part III in MacDonald’s trilogy investigating the movements, survival and success of the Jewish people across times and places from an evolutionary point of view. In Critique, he examines the intellectual role of Jews in the west, especially in the profound cultural changes that have taken place since the 1960s.
To summarize: according to MacDonald, the Jews are Read More
As has been timelessly noted, the swiftness of time’s passing is a subjective thing.
As my kind reader no doubt noticed, the first three weeks of June, 2018 were the longest in recorded history. Nasa data confirms that the earth slowed in its orbit over this period and those three weeks actually took three months.
That was also the three weeks before my break.
The following weeks, it goes without saying, raced by with unprecedented speed. There is presumably reliable data to back this up.
And yet, when I think of ‘last year’, the whole horrid thing seems like Read More
Every so often I’ll suffer a burst of positivity. Life is alright, I’ll think. I’m riding to work, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, there’s no trouble, it’s quite safe, the urban scenery is marvelous – what have I to whinge about? I smile at kids and cluck at dogs as I ride past. I notice the pretty ladies. Sometimes I start humming. I’ve even whistled.
And within twelve hours it all goes to shit.
Perhaps this is a case of the statistical phenomenon known as Read More
My boss’ car was dirty and someone scrawled on it, ‘Equatorial Guinea for Equatorial Guineans’. Ha. That little Immigration Patriot will receive nothing but virulent support from me. If he’d similarly like to get all the Equatorial Guineans, and other Africans, to leave the West and go back to their own violent and poverty-stricken homelands, so much the better. Perhaps he might start by calling around his overseas cousins, of whom I’m sure he has stacks. In keeping Equatorial Guinea Equatorial Guinean, keeping the Equatorians in is the main challenge. Keeping foreigners out is the easy part. There are hardly any here. Jesus, I know most of them personally. Don’t worry, mate: foreigners don’t want to live here any more than you lot do. Because of what you’ve done to it since the Spanish left.
But one can’t argue with an anonymous window scrawler. I very much doubt he reads this blog.
I’ve lived overseas most of my life, and my experiences of racism have been Read More
On a post about the success of African adaptation, Comrade Luisman commented:
Isn’t it funny that a European invented the term Evolution, but to this day the Europeans don’t understand it. Africans have usually no clue about the theory of Evolution, but they intuitively understand it. Fuck, make babies, get at least two of them to adulthood. Let them fuck, make babies, etc.pp.
I’ve been turning this over in my mind. Upon consideration, our maladaptive behaviour (invade the world, invite the world, turn sex roles upside down and inside out, and bear no children) is not unique. One does not have to look far to find other cases of societies that have, from an evolutionary point of view, gone mad.
We open our scene in a seedy pub in a disreputable south-east Asian city. I’m not the kind guy who just sits around and drinks all day but for two or three days that’s what I’ve been doing, justifying myself on the grounds that I’m meeting some interesting people, and that I feel like it.
This long-haired ginga yank comes in and we get talking, he’s ex-marine, was in Iraq II but eventually quit that life, moved abroad, got himself a foreign bride and some halfie kids and now lives on less that 15 grand a year out in the burbs. Not a dirty old man like most of them there, just my age. Maybe even a bit younger.
He seems pretty cool and I ask him what I’m wondering, which is: how do you feel about that whole war now, in hindsight?
People often do runners from my workplace. This is most common for locals. There’s a weekend, or a holiday, and when we come back there’s someone missing. Usually they’ve been long planning it and have pissed off over the border the moment they sensed an opportunity.
Good luck to them.
It used to happen a lot with foreigners, too. After a break one would often be missing. I know that feeling. When the time comes to board the plane for the return flight, I Read More
At some point the Vikings settled an uninhabited Iceland and were seemingly unperturbed by how freaky that place is. They immediately set to work doing what Vikings did best – farming, sailing around Europe on raids, fighting endless feuds with each other and writing epics about it.
This is such an epic.
In a land without a state monopoly on violence – that is, barbarism – a master morality reigns, with free men living and thriving upon their own reputation for ferocity, and that of their extended family. A tiny incident like a comment about a daughter or a wife’s sharp tongue about a neighbor can lead to decades-long tit-for-tat killing between childhood friends or even relatives.
In such a world it pays to be reasonable, honourable, and dependable, and known to be so. Nevertheless, marriage to a troublemaking lady will soon land you right back in the thick of it. If a court finds in your favour at the Thing, you’ll only receive that justice if you’re prepared to dish it out yourself. Anyone who blinks is considered weak and thereafter will be pushed around, robbed and humiliated by everyone.
Wimps like me would not last a minute. You can see why people had surnames like ‘Bloodaxe’.
The plot, apparently based on true events, is far too convoluted to relate in full, but it begins with Hrut needing to go and fight for his inheritance, but then a powerful lady calls Gunnhillda invites him over. He is told that if he goes to her she will look after the whole dispute for him (in return for certain entertainments provided on his part), while refusal would mean he and his family would be driven from their land. So off he goes.
Various feuds break about between multifarious parties, and as one hero dies on the dueling island, another emerges to continue the story. The body count reaches hundreds. Finally Christianity arrives in the brutal little island, via the conversion of the King of Norway. Does this calm things down? Well, the ones who refuse to convert thereby create new feuds and are murdered by the freshly-minted Bible-bashers. Viking’s gunna Viking. And in the end a bunch of them turn up in Constantinople as guardians of Christianity.
Guess they were all gone by the time the Turks rocked up.
Oh, and Njal gets burnt.
‘Hard times beget strong men.’ But at what cost? Pre-civilized society is one long battle of all against all, with the average man often dying in a duel or skirmish or raid. Anyone not prepared to live such a life becomes a slave or is treated with contempt by everyone. Modern women would love to live in such a world, stirring up their menfolk against each other and sexually favouring the victors – look at their passion for the non-politically correct TV shows they twiddle their little beans to, like Game of Thrones, Mad Menet al.
But would any modern man want to go back to such a time? Perhaps the criminally-inclined might, they being a type that has presumably declined over the centuries as civilization gradually hung and beheaded that sort of fellow. The type who want to join Isis or bikie gangs.
As for us normies, we’d rather just eat pizza, drink beer and watch X-Videos.
Civilization makes life so much more peaceful and content for the ordinary man. But, at what cost? Look at the Scandinavian countries today. Vikings no longer, they are led by women, sit down to piss, and soon they’ll be fully colonized by the same Islamic civilization (?) that overthrew the Byzantine empire.
Such is life: short and brutish or long and feeble. But in this Viking saga there is contained a warning: we of Northern stock were once quite different from how we are today, and we could return to that state in the future.
But it is not as simple as ‘civilized = weak, barbaric = strong’. There are twists and roundabouts in this story.
Ancient Rome triumphed over many barbaric tribes because, being civilized, they were larger, better armed and more organized. Civilized government allows a state to exist on a massive scale. That is, I guess, the point.
On the other hand, when Rome finally let in too many Goths all at once, the newcomers found that the Romans had grown weak after having the state protect them from criminals for so long, and that if they strode into Romans towns they could take what they wanted without meeting any resistance. So they did, and the empire collapsed.
A millennium later European civilization recovered and was easily able to sweep away primitive cultures wherever in the world they found them.
And today, civilization’s strength is again waning, with both East and West suffering unsustainably low birthrates and staring down the barrel of disappearance or replacement. It seems that it is barbarity’s turn again.
Charles Murray warned long ago that the New Left, puritanical as it is about anything remotely touching upon race, sex and that sort of thing, might one day break its cognitive dissonance in an extreme and dangerous over-correction. Perhaps it is from that side, not the hard right, that our people might again plunge into savagery.
Personally, I’d rather just stick with civilization. But suit yourselves.
and it, like, really spoke to me, man, I really got it. And all that nonsense. We were supposed to view the narrator with contempt, but I kinda liked him. He’s a lot like me – weird, oversensitive, unpopular, arrogant and he probably smells bad too. He says at the start that he’d inherited a little money from an aunt and that it was just enough for him to retire and live a frugal life without needing to go out into the world and do any more work.
by Aldous Huxley with reference to 
by Frederick Nietzsche and 
by George Orwell.
by Richard J. Herrnstein and Charles Murray
.
by Fernando Pessoa.
by General Smedley D. Butler
by unknown Icelanders