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?

Abortion Is Worse Than Coronavirus

In the same instant that I learned the gruesome reality of abortion, I became apologetically Pro-Life. I never called myself Pro-Life, and I never brought the subject up; if the topic were broached, I was silent, fearful of any damage my “opinion” would do to my “reputation.” I felt isolated, and hiding from the truth was living a lie. 

Then in 2017, there was an anti-abortion protest in Washington D.C. called The March for Life. Its attendance numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Suddenly, I did not feel so alone. There were courageous people that felt the same way I did, their “reputations” be damned. They were unapologetically Pro-Life, and, inspired by their example, I could be too.

This March for Life occurred annually, every January on or around the anniversary of the passing of Roe v. Wade. But why had I never heard of the March for Life? I knew about the Earth Day March, and I’d learned about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s march on Washington in the 60s. I’d seen coverage of the Women’s March that same weekend….and then it dawned on me.

The March for Life was only covered in the news in comparison to the Women’s March, and not the other way around. The Women’s March--the pitiful anti-Trump hate rally of low information voters displeased with the results of the 2016 election--was why the mainstream press covered the March for Life at all!

Had there been no Women’s March would the media have covered the March for Life?

Good question.

 
Will the media cover the March for Life in the second year of the P A N D E M I C, 2021?

Unfortunately, we will not get an answer to this good question because the March for Life has cancelled itself this year. Who can be surprised? The CCP (Chinese Communist Party) Virus government response to Covid has ruined everything Americans cherished, from Easter 2020 to the Thanksgiving Day Parade to the 2020 general election.

For the first time in its nearly 50-year history there is not going to be a March for Life. This is both a blow to the relevance of the Pro-Life movement, and a missed opportunity for the March for Life organizers.

The orthodoxy of the P A N D E M I C, namely that Nothing Is Worse Than Spreading the Virus, is now admitted by the March for Life, the largest anti-abortion event in the world. This is false; abortion is much worse than a flu with a 99% survival rate. The organizers know this but have cowered to this pathetic public opinion.

Everyone knows that spread of the coronavirus is prevented by washing hands, standing 6 ft apart OR wearing masks.  Reminders of these facts are e v e r y w h e r e ! (Retardation is not even an excuse anymore.) Therefore, the March for Life could impose feasible restrictions on attendance, knowing that those more prone to catching the virus can--and will--stay home, as ordered since last March. 

Furthermore, the Capitol riot has been subdued, the President impeached (again).....a historically peaceful march on Washington is far from the violence seen at media approved BLM and Antifa protests in cities all around the country this summer. 

In our culture of death, legal abortion can only be prevented with the changing of hearts and minds--the purpose of the March for Life. Without it, abortion becomes another “necessary evil,” or worse, the last possible form of birth control.

And the only thing worse than whimsically murdering unborn children is a generation of idiots that call it a “women’s right.” What’s at risk is empowering these retards to brainwash the next generation into thinking that abortion is a settled issue.

Abortion may be legal, but it is far from settled. Life is still precious here as evidenced by the grassroots Pro-Life movement. We do not live in China (or Canada).

Even with God on our side, being a Pro-Life activist requires a pre-requisite of courage; why should battle-hardened activists care what the Fake News Media and some retarded ideologues think or say? Why should they be afraid of weak ass lies? (The answer is in a future column.)

This was the perfect opportunity to get America's attention, reminding them that while coronavirus sucks, abortion is so much worse. This is a war; we do not need another gay virtual event for the biggest human rights violation of our time. 

Losing the most Pro-Life President in our history in the same month as the cancelled March for Life--however much gagged by the mainstream media-- has been a real test for the faithful in a year so young. 

Insights of Lived Boredom

As a casual experiment for no pre-determined length of time, I decided to live without the internet last winter.

By evening of the first day, I was using again.

Back then, the only way for me to succeed was to compromise. As such, I decided to avoid all social media instead, while still using the greater internet for necessities like news, blogs, debates, gossip, and calumny. (There were always arguments to be had in the comments section of news sites.) But without twitter to scroll through while I stood in an elevator for 13 seconds, my phone became semi-useless. Rarely did I receive phone calls or text messages, and Gmail and Venmo were hardly as satisfying.

This new lifestyle choice was cut short by the P A N D E M I C and resulting quarantine, which fettered me comfortably to a computer screen to use the internet the way we did circa 2002.

This experiment, and others that followed, made undeniable that I was a slave to the internet and social media. More than a habit, this was now my *sigh*……lifestyle. I needed to take a cold shower forever.

There were two reasons why I had become a slave: I was afraid to appear alone in groups of people, and submitted to my phone to look busy (important), and I was afraid of boredom (thinking independently) i.e. using my hard earned intuition. (This was not Absolute Boredom, a different topic.) Thus, the phone enabled the slow and habitual creep of spiritual weakness. I did not rely on God for these moments of boredom, but my digital appendage.

Alas, this was only a temporary public persona I’d adopted anyway. Once quarantined my internet addiction served as much a crutch for boredom and God replacement as my phone had before the experiment.

No longer. Today is Day 12 or 13 (I forget) of extremely limited internet and no social media. It has not been easy, and I find myself often bored. My phone is nothing more than a sleek and smooth brick, yet it must always accompany me. (I am beginning to wonder why.) Of course, I can still enjoy media that ends, like books and newspapers, just not video games, TV, movies or videos. The idea for this experiment is ascetic in nature. What will avoiding the instant gratification via phone and the information deluge of the internet at large do to me?

The First Stage is Boredom

My intellect is average at best, but boredom has undeniably increased it; I have recently compiled a list of daily insights (expect to see them fleshed out here). That was not possible when I was always being told what to think and when to think it, conditioned by my phone’s notifications to care about what was outside my control.

Newly ignorant to current events, I trust whatever I overhear, and because I don’t have any “alternative” facts, I can’t rebut. Boredom is the perfect exchange for fear and anger. This is very freeing!

The news is bullshit anyway. (So is voting.) All I need to know is which liberties they are taking away and when and/or which country we are invading and “why.” Simplifying my life by giving up control has thus far made me very content. I will always have political opinions that surface, but they will burn away if not fueled by the news cycle. Good. This leaves room for glorifying God, the only thing that separates us from the animals in the first place.

Everyone is always outraged by something, somewhere. Not me. I’m bored!

The Second Stage is Prayer

Silence is precious. Boredom is the first immature expression of that silence. I am immature insofar as silence is new to me. When it becomes unbearable, I rage and complain.

This is because I am a spoiled bitch. (Ordinary people accepted constant boredom for millennia before our pathetic generation.) However, once I let that rage and those complaints pass over me--without giving in to the temptation of twitter—I become calm. I stop trying to control everything and begin to enjoy this unpleasantness as it passes. This takes time and patience, of which I am also a novice and can give no practical tips.

When I am emptied of boredom, I am in silence. When I am in silence God is close. To bring myself closer, I pray.

Are there more than two stages?

I don’t know yet. Probably?

Arriving at the first step was the result of desperation for change, manifested from a deeper sadness that “entertainment” could never fill. Courageously taking that step was done in rebellion to fear and its control over me, which was only possible because I have faith (Stage 2). (How to have faith is another topic.)

The buffet of distraction has replaced ordinary boredom, in turn causing everyone to become addicted to entertainment. By denying myself this temptation and forcing myself to pay attention to my surroundings, I am re-learning to use my brain for glorifying God.

Are you ready to be uncomfortable? Are you ready to be free? God is waiting.

The Year of Persuasive Insults

For a long while I will be thinking about the events of last week, and its psychological impact on our nation, starting with me. (Expect to read them here.) While the political outcome, personally disagreeable, has been “resolved,” there is nothing more I could have done to change the outcome other than “vote.” It is what it is, but my imagination is restless…

Biases aside, once power returned to the new Old Guard, persuasion officially died. Literally: Big Tech cracked down on “conservative” voices, scattering them among the greater internet and across smaller, unknown social media platforms. There is no one left to persuade because the opposition is no longer allowed access to an alternative viewpoint. With no access to challenging or disagreeable viewpoints, this ancient intellectual sport will no longer be played. Why does the left need to play anyway? They’ve “won” the jackpot! They own everything! They don’t have to ignore what doesn’t exist.

Revelations, however, cannot be censored or ignored. A friend posted a quote from Mitt Romney and I thought, ‘but Mitt Romney is a bitch.’ Someone else wrote a post describing some politician’s “achievements” so obsequiously flattering, that to prevent myself vomiting from The Cringe I knee jerk labelled him ‘a bitch;’ its immediate relief was like taking a Midol. On my way home a homeless woman on the subway called the male officer attempting to escort her to safety ‘a bitch.’ Three times the charm; this was a supernatural message.

‘A bitch’ is the new ‘persuasive’ insult of 2021. (‘A bitch’ is more potent: just one of many similar bitches.) Leftists have been bitches for years, too touchy to play the argument game (because they always lose). So, now that they will be empowered by power and ‘punching down’ for the next four years--maintaining their privilege of making bad arguments but still being rewarded—I will be responding in the only language they speak: insults.

Faggot, a bitch, and gay are all entering my public lexicon. For spite’s sake, but also because I’ve missed using these classic schoolyard insults. They may not have been heard since middle school, but they still sting in the heat of the moment.

For the record, I was always willing to have a cautious discussion when we had political power, and I was even willing to lose with grace. Leftists and normies will not reciprocate that grace. At this point, it’s easier, and just more fun (and satisfying) to punch below the belt and call someone a bitch. Call me a 'white supremacist.' At least I'm not a fucking faggot. (If I speak their language they might listen.)

Our world changes drastically every year now. I’m joyful to see what God has in store for us in 2022.

Reading Books Again

I was reading a book the other day and came across the word cunt.

Cunt is one of those offensive and obscene words that we are not allowed to say and not allowed to hear, but are still allowed to write and read. (For now.) This is one reason why books are awesome.

It had been a long time since I’d thought about this word because I have not been reading books lately. I don’t hear cunt on the news, or on TV (I don’t watch British TV), or on the radio, or podcasts or whatever media I was consuming for the past however many sad months since I’d last seen the word cunt on the printed page. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed reading books until I read it.

Cunt doesn’t have to be in every book either. It shouldn’t be. And it’s not in most books I read. It’s not in 98% of books I read. It’s better that way. I appreciate cunt more now than ever before. So much so that I devote an entire blog to how hard this word hits. Reading cunt is like watching a boxer get KO’d. Or breaking a freshly baked cookie. Or watching a cyst get drained (if you’re into that sort of thing). You get what I’m saying.

I generally agree with laws against lewdness and obscenity in the media. But books should always be exempt for the following reasons:

1) Books require effort to read.
Nowadays, more and more people don’t want to put forth that effort. Don’t penalize the readers who do put forth that effort by taking away a powerful and awesome word.

2) Censoring words is pointless.

A sentence does not need to use the word cunt to be explicit. Cunt is simply an artistic choice used for emphasis. It’s like an exclamation point. It would be more productive to censor ideas. (Please don't do this Big Tech.)

3) The word cunt would be buried in the text.

An impressionable young kid would never find cunt simply by flipping through the work in question. They’d be better off reading the entire book to find the dirty word, in which case the ideas would make an impression before the standalone word did.
No one reads books anymore anyway. When I spy on people using their phones on the subway they are on Facebook, YouTube, WhatsApp or Candy Crush. You won’t see cunt on those platforms.

That’s not a sad fact. Readers don’t want cunt diluted pervasively. It’s our word. Let’s leave cunt in the books, where its impact is great and its reach only available to those most dedicated.

Opinions Can Be Wrong

Early one morning in the summer of 2007 I had a lengthy disagreement with some friends regarding my statement 'opinions can be wrong.'

For my friends, this statement was nonsensical. Opinions couldn't be wrong because they were not facts. Facts were true, but only because they underwent a lengthy disputation before they were considered ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ On the other hand, opinions were judgments that did not have to be based on facts. (Back then I was known for having opinions based on whims, making this discussion difficult to be taken seriously.) Therefore, applying the standards of facts to opinions was unfair to opinions. (This could also have been an opinion that was wrong.)

My main argument was an appeal to authority: an individual that neither reads nor writes might have a low opinion of a book considered a classic by the experts, in which case their opinion would be ‘wrong’ because it is based on whimsical subjectivity and not the objective knowledge known by the experts.

My friends were unconvinced. They claimed that the same parameters could not be applied to art. The beauty of art was subjective. A classic book that did not appeal to an unread individual could be considered ‘bad’ by that “reader” because that unread individual was not the proper audience and did not have the proper knowledge to appreciate it. Likewise, an Ivy League educated book snob would not appreciate even a classic work of ghetto fiction because they are not the proper audience. There is no 'right' or 'wrong' in art because context is everything.

However, writing technique is objective because it is based on objective rules of language. Every artistic medium is based on objective, definitive techniques. When an artist masters these techniques they begin the process of creation that is then judged by the eyes of the beholders, some of which have expert knowledge in areas unknown to a casual observer. Therefore, the more an individual knows, the more weight their opinion holds. Experts cannot force appreciation, but they can inspire it.

The closer a work of art arrives at the truth, the more beautiful it is. This nuance is lost on the philistine making their opinion worth less than the expert's. Not all opinions are equal. That is ok. That is a beautiful truth in itself.

On and on we argued, arriving at an impasse when the sun started to rise.

The debate I had with my friends that morning was healthy and normal, but over the years the truth has not bridged that impasse. The truth has been replaced by the cancer of lies, in the institution where it matters most: education. The same authorities by which I appealed were now expert liars.
Having an ignorant opinion on a topic of interest is normal for any fledgling student. It is the first step of the education process.

The problem arises when there is no debate or further investigation into a topic of interest to form a more nuanced and expert opinion. When critical, dissident thinking is not promoted, when free thought is stifled, when the statement ‘men can get pregnant’ becomes a commandment, and only heretics ask the obvious ‘how?’ By tradition, naive students rightfully trust that their handsomely paid mentors are teaching them the truth, and not a disputed opinion. Nowadays—because they are naive—students marry the first opinions they are force fed in college.

Once married to an opinion, a young fool will be very reluctant to divorce it. Instead, they will defend this idea, which further justifies their love for it. As they grow closer to it, they ignore all the facts that dispute it as “baseless.” This thought pattern is a disservice to critical thinking, and follows a young student through all the decisions they make throughout their lives.

Debating the truth is an ancient rite of passage. In societies of humble and self reflective individuals, the truth, when admitted, sets us free. That is becoming impossible in this society because the truth is taught to be relative. This creates a generation of people who do not have faith in God and do not know how to have faith in God. Rather, they have faith in the lies peddled by powerful authorities with weak opinions. They have replaced God with a political/media authority.

The more we are thoughtfully prodded, the more the truth makes itself known to us. (There will still be disagreements and disputing opinions based on facts, what we want is to eliminate the disputes on fundamentals.) But this is a spiritual battle; the more we don’t question the lies, the more they spread like a virus.

This endeavor is a process. It never occurs instantaneously, if at all. Nowadays, humility is lacking because authorities providing the lies package it with pride and condescension. Knowledge is always hard earned, through life lessons or research. (Nobody wants to do the hard work, they just want to have an opinion to condescend to others.) But if opinions cannot be wrong, then what is the point of having one? What is the point of discussion if there is no truth to arrive at? Pride, ego, self-satisfaction etc

Everything I write and think about is inherently human in nature, and therefore cannot be rectified simply by calling attention to it. The mature human thing to do is discern when to have courageous discussion between disagreeing parties, and then be courageous and have those discussions. Otherwise we give our minds away to the current authoritarians that have furtively gained control over truth.

We are like boiling frogs. The only reason we believe lies is because it is temporarily comfortable...and then we are dead.