I have nowhere else to put this

The short (and true) event that follows is both embarassing and disgusting, but I post it more at the risk of my own reputation than the stomach of anyone reading. There is a lesson to be learned, therefore it must be remembered. But, as there is no one of whom I can confide, it must be remembered here:

I sat on the toilet yesterday after a bowel movement, but a baby wipe was not within my grasp. Glancing around the room, and without wanting to stand up to check in the closet, I decided to check the cabinet beneath the sink to my immediate right. There were no baby wipes to be found there, so instead I settled for the next best thing: a household cleaner.

As I leaned toward the cabinet I felt the loose toilet seat slip out of its normal resting place on the bowl, falling into a new and unsteady position off the bowl in the direction I was leaning. My body's most precious and sensitive appendage touched the porcelain bowl where the loose seat previously laid as I sat up to rifle through the cabinet's contents.

Once I had selected the most environmentally friendly cleaner available I sat back down, and the plastic seat shifted back into its usual resting place on the bowl, pinching my appendage beneath it.

Had I been in any other postion, or of any other girth, I'd have been decapitated.

In my search for a solution I'd forgotten about God, and a small bruise began to form as a reminder of God's grace.

In other words, thank God for every little misfortune. Very frequently they are lessons that could have had far worse consequences. 

How to become normal again

In a previous post I labelled the gullible consumers of mainstream propaganda “Normies.”

Though complimenting them first and foremost as “intrinsically good,” this is untrue.

Once upon a time all of mankind was “intrinsically good”, endowed with the virtue of justice. (Not “social justice.”) But our goodness is no longer intrinsic because our nature has been affected by sin (an awesome term). Our sin is a state, not an act.

(Our birthright is not our fault! This is so hopeful!)

What is our choice—and by extension our fault—is how we choose to live. “Normies” are not intrinsically good; they are foolish sinners, powerless tools used by politicians and unknowingly inclined to an evil that is making them weak and compliant, falsely believing it to be virtuous. They are deprived of justice because they have believed the lies. They live in a state of ignorance, and therefore sin.

In a democratic country, normies appear to drive the course of history by “electing” elites who claim to serve their best interest. (And there are lots and lots of normies willing to do this.) In another political system, normies would be emaciated slaves. In modern America, they are fat slaves.

(Once upon a time in America normal people were (cautiously) honest about their political biases with their acquaintances, and at the end of the evening everyone could laugh and laugh and laugh because they all secretly knew that development of society can never be subject to rational human control!)

This a spiritual wound, but spiritual wounds can also heal. To become a normal person again, normies need first to think/ask the following:

1) My political opinion is not my identity because I am not a politician

2) Politics is not a game that I have the money to play anyway

3) What is my political opinion based on? Vague platitude, or edifying research? Personal biases, or historical facts? (Sometimes biases are based in fact!)

Eventually, some normies will soften and become normal people again. (Forced to wear masks everywhere slows the inevitability of this softening, as the normies are unpaid enforcers of the mask mandate. State endorsed fear is extremely powerful.)

The conversion from normie to normal person is one of slow humility that starts with the sentiment: "Maybe I can learn something from someone I think I am supposed to disagree/hate."

Normal people: become trustworthy to your day-to-day normies and then correct them in conversation whenever safe to do so and not when they are in groups of two or more. Do not let yourself become outnumbered. 

Normies: keep your sins to yourselves like the rest of us normal people have done since Adam and Eve committed the first one. If you are going to reveal them, prepare to be corrected. 

LSD or Laxatives

In college “everyone” took LSD. Like the guy who used his mouth as a bottle opener, and the guy that had already directed a feature length film  inspired by his favorite, ‘The Boondock Saints.’

LSD was the drug creative artists had to take to become cool creative artists, and everyone I knew taking LSD were cool creative artists with friends and/or accomplishments. I wanted to be a cool creative artist too, but I was afraid.

“Don’t be afraid,” a new friend reassured me. “It’s not scary.” (That same friend took LSD the previous night, and spent its entirety laughing and watching the ceiling like he was binging on stand-up specials.)

In the two years it took for college culture to normalize smoking pot to the point where it was no longer rebellious fun but numb routine, the ‘new friend’ had upgraded his trust level to ‘real friend,’ and suggested that maybe I was ready for LSD.

Imbued with the courage of a second semester sophmore, and cultivating my fledgling reputation as a creative artist, I relented, justifying it: “Just to grow my character…just to cross it off the list.”

Another ‘real friend from home’ and expert in taking All of the Drugs admitted the previous year that “it [LSD] was not as [hallucinogenic] as advertised. Pot is way better. Pot is the best.”

Recalling that testimony was disheartening. I was finally comfortable enough with my college life to lose my inhibitions and irrevocably and radically alter my entire worldview with the terrifying and awesome hallucinations LSD promised, but his sentiment that ‘pot is way better, pot is the best’ stuck like a splinter in my mind. “Everyone,” (now including myself) was smoking pot routinely. No one was taking LSD anymore. I really didn't even like pot that much. Was I now too late for this rite of passage? Was I ever going to become a creative artist??? Was pot really “the best”?????

There was no more time to waste; I took LSD with the last remaining drop of freshman courage and have no memory of it ten years on. It was completely unmemorable and unremarkable. This did not stop me from taking it with other groups of 'friends' over the next year, more so to build my reputation as ‘edgy’ with those less experienced than it was enjoyable and revelatory. 

The same is not true of Laxatives: The Best Recreational Drug.

Older and wiser now, I was never going to do drugs ever again; drugs were gay now. Food was better. Food was even better than pot.

Youth is wasted on the young. Pizza and ice cream were daily staples as an immortal 19-year-old, and thus became boring, which led to the misguided testing of drugs against my immortality. (When immortal everything eventually becomes boring, even Power.) But as age dilutes the youth’s immortality complex until the youth (hopefully) reaches the point of humility, healthy food becomes mandatory to maintain normal mortality.

And healthy food sucks. Sure, its responsible to eat healthy, but responsibility is not Fun. Responsibility is the dike holding back the sea of indulgence, and responsibilities to oneself breaks the dike faster and easier and more frequently than responsibilities to others. Enter laxatives.

Indulging on a surprise sixth meal of short ribs the midnight before a Thanksgiving 5k, I did not expect to be able to crawl, let alone run. With the 5k miraculously finished and the main meal approaching I was worryingly still without an appetite. And then I was offered laxatives by a trusted source.

Laxatives had a sexy pink label and could be bought OTC in a pharmacy. A Madison Ave marketing agency made it look appealing, and the FDA label made it legal, official, encouraging. I didn’t need courage, I needed solutions; I swallowed the white, tasteless grain with a 12oz glass of water.

The meal was eaten with typical Thanksgiving gluttony, and no one could ask me if I was feeling alright, or if something was wrong with the food. Emptying my bowels that evening was unmemorable and unremarkable. No longer a laxatives virgin, I could now cross that drug off my now irrelevant drug list and shelve it as a disappointment, like LSD.

I had nearly finished an impromptu stroll through my hometown two days later when a friendly neighbor approached with her equally friendly dog. Predicting an impending conversation, I braced myself for an unwanted, intrusively polite chat when a sudden force I thought I wanted two days ago made itself known from a sensitive area inside me: it was did not ebb or tickle or knock lightly; it kicked down the door and stormed the premises with a swat team that sprayed bullets in all directions at once. I was being turned inside out.

The neighbor was far enough away not to recognize me yet, so I obscured my recognition with a scarf and hat and bolted past her like a vampire melting in the sunlight. Her dog recognized the scent leaving me and stopped to bark hello, my disguise kept my neighbor from following her dog’s instincts.

False moves undoing my belt were not permitted in those precious moments before everything left my body in an endless and awesome gush, and I laughed louder than any ceiling stand-up special on LSD could make me laugh, with a combination of relief, awe, confusion and joy, completely out of breath. The physicality of the laxative experience made it very real and very remarkable, unlike LSD,

I knew that no subsequent laxative experience could ever measure up, and learning from my past LSD experience, I did not try. Laxatives have a purpose. My proper one-time use achieved that purpose to complete perfection.

Years of tradition and experience have taught me exactly what kind of sick person I am, and my interest with recreational laxatives is further proof that I must never use any drug, no matter its legality.

The road to maturity need not be pockmarked with craters of drug experiences, and I am happy to have survived its traversal to the bridge over turbulent waters, stopping and recalling the past before crossing it and embarking on the next stage of my life, knowing with certainty that laxatives are superior to LSD in every measurable way.

Steinem, Stickers, Spite

Walking home late one night I saw a book on a ledge and picked it up. (I once found a copy of Paradise Lost this way.) I groaned. It was a book by feminist icon Gloria Steinem. Instead of putting the book back on the ledge to be possibly picked up by someone else, I spitefully threw it into a nearby puddle.

On the cover, Steinem was no older than 50, but next month she is turning 87 years old. This book, and the ideas within, were older than me. Throwing it into a puddle was a belated act of rebellion against the feminist entrenchment in media, in government, in policy and in schools, and was the least I could do to stop its cancerous spread. In these times, every action, no matter how small, no matter how late, counts.

The next day I went to Planned Parenthood to prayerfully prepare for my ’40 Days for Life’ vigil. When I arrived, I had noticed that the stickers I had placed on a nearby streetlight had been spitefully torn off, though other stickers—one depicting Jesus as a black man, the other faded advertisements for moving services and guitar lessons—remained. No doubt they were removed by Planned Parenthood employees. My vigil annoys Planned Parenthood. But why?

Because this is a war.

Planned Parenthood is the Roman Empire of NYS. To call it a behemoth is an understatement. Despite being a business, it receives support from NYS taxpayers thanks to its connection to NYS legislators. It not only knows who I am and where I live, but it has the political power to crush me and my future if I lift the slightest illegal fingernail against it. (Peaceful, prayerful vigil is not illegal yet.)

Like Target or Microsoft, Planned Parenthood is a big business. As such, they only care about providing a service and making a profit, not “helping women.” (There is only one choice offered at Planned Parenthood; the choice that benefits their bottom line.) While I am hopeful that my vigil will make a slight dent in the armor of my neighborhood affiliate’s bottom line, the witness to prayer of passersby will make Planned Parenthood’s image worse in the long run than for its business in the short term. Planned Parenthood knows this.

Having taken a lesson from the Old Testament, Goliath is not underestimating David.

And just like the paranoid King Herod committed infanticide hoping to kill the Jewish Messiah, Planned Parenthood can tear down my stickers to discourage me from holding vigil. The Messiah was inevitable, just like the end of abortion is inevitable. Faith requires patience.

Death is inevitable too. Herod, like everyone, everywhere and for all time, died, and paid the price for his crimes against humanity.

And much like the publications that exalt her, Steinem, and her movement, is also dying. This is because Steinem’s---like Herod’s--is a movement of death. Feminists do not have—or want—children; they do not want to be shackled to a man, let alone a family. (Steinem herself got married at 66, too old to have any biological children of her own. She is slightly more consistent than the average hypocritical feminist, I’ll give her that.) Feminists are the ones proudly exercising their “reproductive right” of abortion to prevent the consequences of their actions, thus annihilating the future of their movement. God wants these babies born and their lives lived but feminists, with Steinem’s blueprint, prefer to kill them legally.

In that moment of an otherwise peaceful and solitary late-night walk, I took the reminder of Steinem’s temporary victory personally. To prevent the spread of this cancer, I destroyed a cancer cell.

But Steinem is just a pathetically old figurehead, she may have spent her life in the service of Satan, leading countless women into his grasp, but her life, and her legacy, is finite. May she enjoy her notoriety and her money for the time she has left, for her day of judgement draws near.

After Steinem’s death girls will still be referred to the services of Planned Parenthood by their PCPs, but they must walk past a prayerful vigil to get inside. ‘Why are people praying outside of a women’s health clinic?’ asks a receptive passerby. It is the first, faint lightbulb of truth going off in a person’s head.

Steinem is dead, and though her legacy of death continues, I am outside the Planned Parenthood clinic, armed with hope, joyfully willing to answer that question

There is joy in hope.

The end of abortion draws near.

The Normies, The Intelligentsia, The Elites

Humans are created beings. As created beings our lives should always and only serve our Divine Creator. We are fools when our lives serve other created entities (OCEs).

Everyone is a type of fool, which is OK so long as we recognize which type of fool we are and amend our foolishness accordingly. (This takes longer than anyone expects, so the sooner we recognize and acknowledge our foolishness, the better.)

Though flawed and foolish human beings, our aim should be to live as honestly as possible, which means admitting our hatred, our greed, our lust, our gluttony, our pride etc. This is hard, but this guide makes it slightly easier politically. (Admittedly the least important way to amend ourselves, but a good start.)

I do not claim to know the intimacy of an individual’s heart; only our Divine Creator has that ability. However, I do know the ingredient that makes a political opinion a bad one—lies. Professing lies as truths--however innocently ignorant or willfully mislead--always leads to living dishonestly and unwittingly serving OCEs.

Since it is still fashionable to have a loud and retarded political opinion via social media, it is easier for yours truly to identify when political lies have been believed, and easier to create said categories. But: because politics runs downstream our culture of death at large, retarded political opinions are just the tip of the shaft of lies that we are screwing ourselves with.

There are three basic categories of political fools that form the hierarchy of our culture of death: The Normies, The Intelligentsia and The Elites.

The Normies

For the most part normies are intrinsically good and rightfully believe in human dignity. Depending on their personality type (among other factors), normies fall somewhere between useful idiot and prole, aggressively leftist or complacent liberal.

Normies are not necessarily basic people—I know many extraordinary normies: PhDs, doctors, lawyers, raconteurs, people with strange interests, tastes and personalities—they just have basic political taste, a result of their political media consumption/education. I can be fascinated by a person, only to be disappointed when they disparage Trump as a ‘racist.’

Like all minds everywhere and for all times, normie minds are malleable, massaged into intellectual submission with a constant flow of propaganda into their brains via social media notifications and earbud implants. They thusly believe themselves to be constantly informed. However, the more propaganda they consume the more they cannot discern between fact and opinion. Normies are not skeptical when they consume propaganda because they have put naïve faith in its “objectivity.” They trust these OCEs, who only spew lies to unmask the normies' latent hatred towards injustice, aiming it towards concocted scapegoats like ‘systemic racism’ and ‘white supremacy.’ 

Their political viewpoint becomes a hackneyed repetition of the mainstream narrative with zero nuance. Normies cannot think outside this narrative because they are not aware of alternative  sources, or so offended by the existence of said sources that they are unwilling to give them credibility by giving them viewership, conditioned to believe that any other opinion outside "official" sources are solely based on ‘hatred’ and ‘bigotry.’

Examples: They gullibly believe that ‘Black Lives Matter’ means what the group’s name suggests, ignoring pervasive violence in black neighborhoods by black residents; they might not like abortion but still “respect a woman’s right to choose;” they think that Joe Biden was elected legitimately in an election that was “the most secure in history” according to the mainstream press; they think that diversity is our greatest strength at the same time believing racism is our biggest problem.

The normie worldview requires little scrutiny to fall apart, but they are incapable of scrutinizing it themselves. Not because they are stupid, but because they are kept ignorant by a matrix created to trap them intellectually. Depending on the normie’s personality and commitment to their ignorance, this is an impenetrable forcefield. The more far gone the normie the more they “answer” prodding questions to their beliefs with distractions, insults or lies.

Normies unwittingly serve The Elites. Who can blame them? They are busy creatures, with only a passing interest in political warfare because they think that, as Americans, they are supposed to have political opinions. While they have the right to have an idiotic opinion so distilled from reality that it is completely meaningless, they do not have to hold an idiotic opinion so distilled from reality that it is completely meaningless.

This normie label is meant to be taken personally; it is meant to be a political slur. I love normies, but not for their idiocy. I want them to stop being normies altogether, in the very least admit when they do not know something--or anything. This way they can rise above this expendable NPC meme that they have become. (Humans are so much more than their stupid political opinions.) My wish is for normies to say something honest like, ‘That’s a good point, I never thought about it that way before.’ Charitable, the way I used to be before the election was stolen from Trump and I started calling everyone a bitch.

The Intelligentsia

There are two types of Intelligentsia in our modern media-saturated age: Legacy and Millennial.

Legacy Intelligentsia (LI) include such honorable and trusted names like CNN, The NY Times, NPR, Democracy Now! and The View for some reason. Millennial Intelligentsia (MI) are only common folk who use their social media accounts to remind the other normies of the importance of wearing masks in between recipe posts.

LI have friends in high places and admittedly, a gift for exquisitely mincing words and coining the terms of today’s newspeak. The MI that are the first ones to use the said terms in their facebook posts are on the “cutting edge.” This tactic also normalizes the narrative. After all, if “normal people” agree with the government on all things controversial, then the government must be inerrant.

Both normie audiences believe the various lies of The Intelligentsia because they are “official,” and normies cannot believe that any “official” publication would have any reason to lie (this trait is common for all normies).

LI have deceived themselves for the sake of their—you guessed it! —ideology, and the MI have been so indoctrinated from their university upbringing while drowning in news propaganda that they forgot that they were Anti-War in 2008, spending four years deranged over the most Anti-War President in recent history.

LI believes that they are reporting the truth--in the very least “their truth”—while the MI regurgitates said “their truth.” (Meanwhile no other truth is permitted.)

The LI are the monetary beneficiaries of Connections with Skin in the Game, having none themselves. This hardly matters. So long as they are granted a little bit of money to mold minds, and their publication is kept afloat by a billionaire and their special interests, selling their integrity for the sake of the admiration of ignorant masses is totally worth it.

The MI are the most pathetic losers of the elitist Agenda; they don’t even get paid! Unless you count ‘likes’ and the self-satisfaction of saving the world by reminding the other normies how many lives we have saved by wearing masks.

The Elites

The Elites know that it is impossible to control all the minds all the time. Some people will be reformed normies….reformies? (as a type of Intelligentsia, I need to think of a better term for non-normies), while others will be controlled by competing propaganda from other groups of elites. Another surreptitious way for elites to control normies is with profligate abundance.

The Normies and The Intelligentsia confuse purchasing power with legitimate power. They foolishly think they have power because they are financially empowered: confident enough to buy stuff that makes them physically comfortable, and then more stuff when that comfort gets boring. But this is not power; this is slavery. The Elites know this and exploit it. (This is what makes them Elites.)

Money asks, power tells.

Power tells us where and what to spend our money on; it dictates how we spend our time; it tells us which candidate to support and why; it tells us who to hate, and how best to hate them. The Elites deceive and exploit normies for worldly gain.

As a person content with the bare minimum, I pondered aloud, what motivates someone to deceive and exploit and control other people like pawns? It’s so much effort! And how much power does someone really need?

A disembodied voice reminded me that every ego is insatiable in its own way. It can become a bottomless pit when fully indulged, and it can swallow us up if we let it. Some people want to get swallowed up for the illusion of worldly power. They must be careful. The only OCE that promises to quench our insatiable ego with worldly power is The Evil One.

Normies and Intelligentsia are mere pawns in this hidden game of World Domination played by various warring groups of The Elites. Greedy and proud elites are distracted by The Evil One’s promises and have seemingly forgotten our collective inevitability: death. Death is not the end. Death is the beginning. And with this beginning comes true justice, true consequences for a life lived in accordance with OCEs, and not our Divine Creator.

There is always an OCE fighting for control of our lives, but we must remember that our lives only belong to Our Creator and live according to His will. 

Who are you serving?