From Tai Chi Heartwork:
Never make the mistake of believing your own publicity. By publicity I don’t mean what you write on your fliers but ego, the public face – persona, personality, mask, mood.
It occurs to me, that one reason I have always cultivated a baroque, fantastical persona on my blog and to some degree in my private life, is to make it easier to say, “this is just my persona”. What I really am – that is a quiet, small affair.
Great analogy from The Z Man:
Democracy works on the assumption that people work in series. Connect enough of them, no matter their intellectual capacity, and you get enough brain power. In reality, people work in parallel, so the more you connect, the faster dumb ideas flow through society. Democracy is the form of government with the lowest resistance to dumb ideas.
In future years, if the white race survives the boogaloo, books will be written on the fraud of democracy, this incredible idea that “your vote counts”, a system where a few rich (((philanthropists))) like George Soros take control of the political apparatus and use their controlled (mainstream) media to tell the people what to believe. The people have always been ruled by a small elite, but at least in the past matters were relatively clear.
“Democracy” encourages a nation of loud, selfish morons who believe their opinion counts. Because their opinion doesn’t count, they become petulant and full of complaint, and turn to evil.
I recently had a heated discussion with a SJW colleague. Merely mentioning (to another colleague, but in her hearing) that I was “right-wing” triggered the creature. I shrugged, “but it’s not important. Everyone has an opinion, it doesn’t mean anything.”
She was not calmed; if anything, she seemed more determined to attack, and ended up trying to get me fired.
Later, I fell to wondering why the “opinions don’t matter” argument only enraged her, and why the Right are much more likely to shrug at a divergent opinion. I believe it’s because we project our own attitudes to form a mental model of others’; and because the Right would mostly just restrict immigration, encourage the nuclear family, classical education, Christianity, and perhaps discourage non-Europeans from having large families, we tend to think “well, the worst that could happen for the other side is a cramping of their style.”
But the Left want the white race to die out completely, Christianity to be exterminated, education to become Maoist indoctrination, the family to be destroyed, the State to rule over all. They want the boot stamping on a human face – for eternity. They call it love and tolerance but in their brittle vegan bones they know this is a war, and they know one side must be destroyed.
It is only the Right who persist in the pleasant belief that we can all sit down & have a jolly chat about our opinions, over a cup of Earl Grey and some Battenberg cake.
For the Left, an opinion is a weapon ready to be fired into the head of an enemy. Thus, when a tweed-clad old chap says well, it’s just my opinion their nostrils flare, they hear the hoofbeats of the Cossacks, they reach for their Makarov. For the Left, an opinion is never just an opinion.
In addition, most of these SJWs do not achieve anything with their lives; if they are “artists” they write shitty poetry such as my colleague; at best, they administer globalist oganisations like the BBC or run human trafficking/sex slavery rings for NGOs and charities. They do not think, they do not create. All they have are their empty, borrowed opinions: for the Leftist, the mark of virtue is to loudly strumpet forth the correct opinions.
Thus, when a tweed-clad fascist smiles apologetically, “well, it’s just an opinion” they are
– because, in part, opinions are all they have. They cannot, in the Materium, do more than destroy, and in the West said destruction is limited to beating people up and throwing rocks and writing shrill Tweets; but in the Immaterium, they can host all the principles of Chaos and insanity; in the Immaterium of their opinion, they are devotees of Slanesh, of Satan.
They are therefore triggered not merely by the idea of a divergent opinion; but by the idea that opinions are not really that significant. Opinions are all they have.
It is thus impossible to debate, to have a civilised chat. There is only war.
A note to my Not Even The Matrix post…there seems to me cause for hope. The problem, as I see it, is that most people are NPCs and will discard all their personal experience & thought if it contradicts what the mainstream media dictate.
To take a hypothetical example:
Newspapers/TV say: green tea is a great evil, Coca Cola is a great good.
NPCs concede that their teeth rot away, they get stomach ache, get sugar highs then deep lows, get fat, diabetes, etc. from drinking Coca Cola. NPCs concede that polyphenol antioxidants are good for us; they further concede that such are to be found, in abundance, in green tea.
You then say, “perhaps green tea is actually…good for us? And Coca Cola is…bad for us?”
NPC points and shrieks, NAAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZI!!!
Violence ensues.
The hope here: the mainstream media message has absolute power in the NPC thought processes, such that if one were to simply change the New York Times headline from Orange Man Bad to Orange Man Good, the NPCs would not only parrot “Orange Man Good!” and forget their recent hatred; because most of their experience & observations and short-to-medium-chain thinking supports Orange Man Good, there should be a sudden & huge momentum to the change.
If Q is to be believed, it seems that most if not all of the mainstream media talking heads and background manipulators already have an orange jumpsuit with their nametag on it. It will be interesting to observe the NPCs, when the New York Times and Washington Post, CNN and MSNBC collapse in bankruptcy or are hollowed out, and a different voice commands the empty skulls.
A surprisingly great film; I expected a kind of aged Casino, a Scorsese best-of with De Niro, Keitel, Pesci and of course The Rolling Stones’ ‘Gimme Shelter’, but it’s actually a very solid, entertaining work. The film follows De Niro’s Frank Sheeran, a mob enforcer who ends up protecting and then betraying Al Pacino’s Jimmy Hoffa; the last half hour depicting his decline into old age. It’s so quintessentially Scorsese that he even uses de aging CGI to use De Niro, Keitel, and Pesci rather than simply looking around for age-appropriate actors.
I had two criticisms: the 3 and a half hour length could have been easily cut by 20-40 minutes; and De Niro’s de ageing. For some reason, Pacino, Pesci and Keitel look perfect; but De Niro looks deeply & unnervingly strange. He doesn’t look 30-50; he looks like a 70-year-old with adept plastic surgery and cosmetics. The face is unlined but somehow weird, implausibly human; and he moves like an old man, a chubby old man at that, with no energy, no menace, no purpose, as if walking 5 meters is a bit of a challenge. His entire body language is that of a sofa-bound, portly old man’s. No CGI can correct this.
There is, in addition, something on the edge of evil about this De Niro; it’s not merely that his character is a killer – the character himself should be one of Scorsese’s amiable psychopaths. But I found him unsettlingly inhuman. I’m not sure if it’s the CGI or knowing what I think I know about De Niro as a Cabal tool, but watching him is no longer a pleasant experience: it feels evil, he feels evil.
There is however much else to enjoy. Pacino and Pesci look totally natural, Pacino could pass for his 1995 Heat‘s Vincent Hanna, and whereas De Niro looks like a horror movie figure Pacino’s character is very human, a masterpiece of cinema. For the most part, De Niro gives a good but eerily evil performance, from which I recoiled; Pacino’s Jimmy Hoffa is by contrast one of the great figures of cinema, indeed I thought this one of Pacino’s truly great performances, up there with his Michael Corleone. It’s a pity the rest of the film doesn’t rise to Pacino’s peak, but then few films could.
I used to excuse the many morons of my acquaintance by thinking of the Red Dress scene in The Matrix:
Morpheus: The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you’re inside, you look around. What do you see? Business people, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system, and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system that they will fight to protect it.
After all, if all you consume is mainstream media saying Orange Man Bad, what other conclusions are you likely to arrive at? I once said, yes but shouldn’t the NPCs nonetheless notice the internal contradictions of the narrative?
Of course they don’t.
I was recently talking to a retired Italian journalist. She agreed with me that mass immigration doesn’t work, that war is generally bad, that the neo-con bomb bomb bomb agenda is wicked, that Obama & Clinton destroyed Libya under false pretenses, Bush likewise with Iraq, that the world is probably a better place for Trump not having launched a war on Syria, that manual work and industry of the kind Trump is bringing back to America is essential;
– and then 10 minutes later she said the most important thing for world peace is to get rid of Donald Trump.
At this point I realised another feature of the NPC: their inability to follow logic to a conclusion. That is, they can operate units of logic in a rudimentary fashion, but if the mainstream media tells them “Orange Man Bad” they will add 2 and 2 and get 5.
It’s not a question of intellectual capacity, but of intellectual courage. In the Matrix, the slaves lack information; in reality, they could discern the bars of their prison just from mainstream media – the contradictions should suffice; but they will not.
I seem to only read Fantasy and military Sci-Fi novels these days. So why not another in the Horus Heresy saga…
It’s an enjoyable read focussing on an astropath who for some reason has, embedded deep in his subconscious, a future-vision of how the Heresy will end, and is accordingly pursued by Imperial agents. There is an interesting if brief exploration of knowledge & fate; of the effects of knowledge on our will & purpose – so if you knew your cause was doomed, would you have the strength to fight to that eventual doom, or would you simply give up? If so, have you thwarted your doom, by changing the details of its actuation? – by hurrying it on, as it were? Would it be a victory to simply lie down and accept the blade rather than fight through to an inevitable & previsioned doom? – because you prevent (literally so, etymologically-speaking) the doom you foresaw, for another?
I would have liked more of this but it was in any case enough to pique my interest. The rest of the book is standard bolter-porn HH material. There is a ridiculous prison break relying entirely on the Legio Custodes not understanding how to imprison one of the Thousand Sons; a World Eater kills an enemy by literally ripping his spine out of his chest, etc. etc. – lots of jollity & merriment & slaughter, good fun.
An enjoyable, good film. I intensely disliked The Hateful Eight: I found it boring and wilfully ugly, so Once Upon a Time in Hollywood was a pleasant, even heart-warming surprise. It’s in many ways the opposite of Eight, bearing a colourful variety & fast pace, and actually sympathetic & human characters rather than psychotic filth. Brad Pitt’s stuntman character Cliff Booth is the heart of the film, an ageing, wryly observant man, a man who has seen just about everything and is unsurprised, if not unamused.
It’s a thoughtful film, odd though that sounds to say of a Tarantino work; the underlying dynamic is the fractal doubleness of the fake and the real: so the two main characters are an actor and his stunt double, Di Caprio and Pitt. The Di Caprio character has his moments of authenticity, e.g. when he’s talking to a 8-year-old child actress (who, knowing what we know of Hollywood, would have been sexually abused by the directors, producers, other actors) and experiences his own age & lack in contrast to her youthful hope; and he is also at times a typical Hollywood fake. Even Pitt’s Cliff Booth has a tactful manner, a barely-managed tactical fakeness which slips from time to time, e.g. when he is watching Bruce Lee posture and cannot restrain a cynical laugh.
This doubleness extends to the film itself, which like Inglorious Basterds revisions a historical event, in this case the Manson killings. I personally kind of enjoyed watching the top Nazis getting gunned down in Basterds, because Tarantino portrays them as the imbecilic, wicked trash we all know from “History”, who somehow rose to power for no reason at all – for such fictive grotesques one can have little sympathy; here, I found the violent denouement highly satisfying and even spiritually uplifting – it had for all its glorious sanguinary excess, a note of Shakespeare’s late plays, the redemptive air of Pericles and Cymbeline, as Tarantino simply re-envisaged the night of Sharon Tate’s murder and puts Pitt’s calmly violent & capable stuntman in the path of the deranged hippies, to enjoyable consequence.
Remainders 