Monthly Archives: December 2018

Carol’s Christmas (part 2)


As Max was enthusiastically munching away, Carol made a mug of tea and absentmindedly sipped on it. Her thoughts were with that Christmas eve so many years ago. Looking at that evening, so many years later, she had to admit she was being a bit of a bitch, even if she had all the reason in the world. But then again, that was such a long time ago… And besides, whose to say that that ghost wasn’t making her misremember things? Whose to say the ghost was real anyway?? She took a sip of her tea when, suddenly, the cabinet doors started to shake and the kitchen lights flashed. While Max continued eating as if nothing was happening, Carol, terrified, dropped her mug on the floor where it broke into ceramic pieces. In the middle of the kitchen a black hole formed and grew until it turned into a human form: a beautiful blonde woman in a white dress showing only the slightest hint of transparency. And of course, there was the fact that she was floating above the kitchen floor. Carol blinked.
‘I’m sorry my dear’ the apparition said, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. My predecessor told you I would come, right?’
– ‘… R-right.’
‘Ah good to hear! Shame about the shards on the floor, but you can clean them when we return. I am the ghost of Christmas present. Come dear, we have places to go.’
The ghost of Christmas present took Carol’s hand and suddenly Carol felt light as a feather, in fact she was shocked to find that they were rising up in the air. Her dog did not seem to mind a bit and before Carol could say goodbye to him they flew throughthe ceiling into her (never used) guest room, and again through the roof into the open air. Strangely, Carol did not feel cold.

 Higher and higher they soared and Carol gazed with wonder at the city lights below; how beautiful and small everything was from up here! Even the skyscrapers looked like Lego blocks from up here.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Carol asked.
– ‘You’ll see.’

They soon left the city and followed a road far beneath them, which, lighted up by car headlights, reminded Carol of a yellow writhing snake. She marveled at the scenery, with its green pastures, tiny houses and intertwining roads. Soon enough they lowered altitude to arrive at a village. Lower and lower they went, and as the houses regained their normal size Carol realized their destination: ‘this is where my sister lives!’ she cried.

‘Indeed it is’ the ghost of Christmas Present said. They landed on the front lawn of Amy’s house. ‘Let’s see what your sister is up to, shall we?’ she said as she opened the front door. ‘Don’t worry, they can’t see us.’

Carol entered the living room, which was decorated with lights and garland and evergreen foliage. Next to the gas fueled fireplace stood a beautiful Christmas tree. Carol’s own house had no decorations at all – not that she had the time for such frivolities anyway. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the coziness she saw here. Mason sat in front of the TV, watching some children’s Christmas special. From upstairs she could here muffled voices. They sounded angry. This, Carol wanted to investigate.

 As she walked up the stairs, she distinctly heard Amy’s voice:
‘… and you bet we’ll have to discuss her ‘blooming career’ as a cardiologist for hours on end!’
they were talking about her!
– ‘honey I’m sure it won’t be that bad’ responded Eric.
‘of course it will! It’ll just be hours of her telling stories about this patient she saved and that patient she cared sooo much about. Like she’s an archangel. She does it every year!’ Amy was aggressively sorting the laundry.
– ‘well maybe a bit, but her career is kind of impressive…’
‘And you know what’s the worst about it? I don’t think she even likes her career!’
– ‘well honey I think that’s a bit…’
‘No really! I know my sister. I know when she’s happy and when she’s unhappy. The way she talks about her career, I think she hates it. But she won’t admit it, nooo no. Instead she’ll just talk about it evenmore, like she’s trying to convince herself she really does like what she’s doing. And mom loves having a doctor in the family, so she won’t say anything.’
– ‘Hmmm, I don’t know, we shouldn’t jump to hasty conclusions.’
‘But you know, I could get passed all that’ Amy huffed, ‘I really could, if it weren’t for the fact that every year she so obviously flirts with you.’
Eric turned red. ‘Ho-honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s just being friendly.’ Amy turned around, her eyes fire: ‘just like she’s been ‘friendly’ with every ex she’s ever been with.’
– ‘Babe you’re overreacting. Really, there’s nothing going on. You’re acting crazy!’
Amy lowered her eyes and shoulders. ‘I dunno. Maybe I am. I just… I want us to be a happy family…’ She walked up to Eric and rested her head on his chest. ‘I just want to love my sister. Why does she have to make things so difficult?’
Erik stroked her hair, overcoming his confusion. ‘Hey hey, I’m sure things will be fine.’
‘OK,’ repeated Amy, ‘I’m sure things will be fine.’

Carol witnessed the exchange in silence, but inside she was screaming. How dareher sister talk about her in that way? How dareAmy suggest that she didn’t like her job? Was her sister thathateful? After all, Amy was only a receptionist while she saved lives. Yeah, that probably was it…
‘But willthings be fine?’ The voice of the ghost of Christmas present shook Carol out of her thoughts. ‘What?’ she stammered.
‘What I just said: will things be fine?’
– ‘Well… Yes… Of course. Although I am disappointed of how jealous she apparently is of my career.’
‘Oh, she’sthe one being jealous? What about her accusation of you flirting with her husband?’
– ‘She’s exaggerating. I’m a natural flirt is all.’
‘I see… Well, we’ll be heading back home. The final ghost will be visiting you soon.’ She took Amy’s hand and soon enough they were flying miles high, back to the city. Amy said nothing.

Back in her own kitchen, Amy absentmindedly swept together the mug shards while Max sniffed the floor besides her. The ghost of Christmas present had disappeared, but her remarks lingered. Was she the one who envied her sister? Who would want to be a receptionist anyway! Or perhaps that wasn’t what the ghost meant… But whatever the ghost did mean, Amy was unable to put it into words. Perhaps… Perhaps her sister was not as lonely than she was. Perhaps there was some truth in that. But a successful career demanded sacrifices, and it wasn’t like those sacrifices were a problem for anyone but her, were they?


Carol’s Christmas (part 1)

‘T was the day of Christmas and Carol Andrews was sitting in front of the mirror, applying her favorite red lipstick. She was going to spend her evening with her family, and for reasons known yet unknown to Carol, she wanted to look her utmost best. The make-up on her face was exquisite and the cocktail dress hanging from the coat hanger would surely put her at the center of attention. Carol was by no means the prettiest girl in the world, but she’d always be one of the prettier ones.

Now it was usually the case that Carol did not have time to make herself as pretty as she was doing this snowy Christmas day. After all, Carol had a busy job as a cardiologist at Saint Jude’s hospital. Besides, she had learned soon enough that looking pretty only distracted people from taking her serious as a doctor.

But today was different. Carol had taken hours to prepare for the family dinner. So immersed she was in her task that she had even neglected to feed Max, her dog, who was now scratching the bedroom door and making crying sounds, indicating he was hungry. But Carol did not hear him, so fixated was she on her image in the mirror.

‘Aren’t I pretty?’ Carol asked aloud. To her bewilderment, a child’s voice answered: ‘yes you are.’ With a shock she turned away from the mirror and saw a young girl in long robes standing behind her in the bedroom. ‘how did you get in here!?’ Carol cried.
– ‘I’ve been standing here for a while’ the girl promptly declared. ‘You just didn’t notice me.’
‘What? No, I mean how did you get in my house?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I enter any house I want to.’ Angry, Carol stood up and grabbed the girl by her shoulder. That would be, if there was any shoulder to grab, for Carol’s hand went straight through the girl as if there was only air. ‘OHMYGOD’ she yelled.
‘Please don’t shout,’ said the girl. ‘I know, I’m not human. I am the ghost of Christmas past. Nice to meet you!’ The girl made a slight knee bow while she held her robes.
Carol stared in disbelief. ‘I… I.. Did not… know… ghosts are real?’ The girl giggled. ‘Of course we are!’
– ‘We?’
‘Yea silly, I’m only the first of three Christmas ghosts who will visit you today. Come, I’ve got something to show you!’ The girl grabbed Carol’s hand (which suddenly felt as fleshy and real as any hand) and immediately the room started to spin, dizzying Carol.

When spinning stopped, they were no longer in Carol’s bedroom, but instead stood in a living room Carol immediately recognized. ‘But… This is mom’s old house!’ she said. ‘With her furniture!’ Amazed, Carol walked around and touched everything she thought was but a distant memory. ‘It even smells like it used to!’ She turned to the girl. ‘What’s going on?’ But just as the ghost was about to answer, two girls came running in the living room screaming.
From the kitchen sounded a loud woman’s voice: ‘BE NICE GIRLS.’
Mother’s head appeared in the doorway: ‘Carol you will give your sister back her diary right NOW if you know what’s good for you. It’s Christmas eve for god’s sake…’
With a pout young Carol gave her sister back the diary, while old Carol stared at the scene in disbelief. ‘But… that’s me! Teenage me! And teenage Amy! And my mother!’
‘Yep’ said the ghost of Christmas past. ‘They can’t see you though!’ Carol nonetheless crouched and waved her hand in front of younger Carol’s face, who had now royally installed herself on the couch. But young Carol continued as if adult Carol was invisible indeed.
‘I don’t need to read your stupid diary,’ she said, ‘I know what’s in it anyway.’
-‘Nu uh.’
‘Uh huh. It’s about Eeeric.’
Amy didn’t say anything but turned red like Rudolf’s nose.
‘Aaah I knew it I knew it. Amy and Eric sitting in a tree K I S S I N G!’
– ‘Shut up! You’re doing the same thing with Jackson!’
Young Carol shook her head. ‘Nah, I broke up with him. The long distance thing wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Besides, who wants to be tied down when you can par-TAY?’
-‘ohmygod but he is so cool!’
Carol shrugged. ‘So? It’s not like he’s the only guy in the world. Besides, he wants to stay here his whole life. How boring isthat!’
– ‘your guy standard is way too high’
‘and yours too low. I mean, Eric, really? He’s as boring as watching needles fall out of a pine tree.’
– ‘take that back!’
‘Nu uh.’
Amy jumped on her sister but was quickly overpowered and started screaming as Carol pulled her hair. Their mother rushed in the room and pulled them apart. ‘Ladies, we are having a PEACEFUL Christmas family dinner and I won’t have you two tearing into each other, are we clear?’
– ‘it’s not family dinner, dad’s not here’ Carol spit out.
‘You’ll have dinner with dad tomorrow. Today it’s just the three of us.’
– ‘I don’t wanna have dinner with you losers.’
‘ExCUSE me?’
– ‘You heard me.’ Carol stood up. ‘I HATE you and I don’t want to have dinner with you.’ She ran off to her room. Amy started to tear up, and her mother hugged her. ‘There there.’ ‘Why does she have to be like that?’ Amy sobbed. Mother sighed. ‘Your sister has taken it all a bit harder than you have. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’ll talk to her in a bit. You go watch the stew, make sure it’s not overcooking, okay sweetie?’
Amy nodded.

Adult Carol had watched everything with big eyes. ‘I remember this’ she said to the ghost. ‘This was the first Christmas after mom and dad split. God I hated my family.’
The ghost turned her head slightly sideways. ‘Hated, as in past tense?’
– ‘Well, I mean… We never really talked about it, I guess. Every Christmas since has been awkward. Like, only slightly preferable to staying at home alone. I guess it’s better to be alone together than alone… alone.’
The ghost turned her head sideways. ‘Your sister seems nice!’
– ‘Yeah, she is, isn’t she… Always so god damn perfect.’
‘Seemed to me she was envious of you.’
– ‘Yeah… I guess she was… Funny how times change.’
‘Teehee!’ The ghost girl twirled on her feet. ‘Well it’s time for us to go back! Soon my friend will visit you!’ Again she grabbed Carol’s hand, the room spun, and when the spinning stopped Carol was back in her bedroom.
‘Goodbye Carol, it was nice to meet you!’ the ghost waved her hands as she faded into nothingness.

 Carol watched curiously as the ghost disappeared and stood motionless, sunken in her thoughts. What had just happened? Am I hallucinating? Did what I think happen really happen? She turned to the mirror and examined her face. She touched her lips. Red lipstick stuck on her fingers. What was I doing here in the first place? A loud cry from her dog tore her out of her thoughts. Ohmigod, Max!Carol realized she had totally forgotten about him. She rushed to open the door and gave him a big hug. ‘Who’s a good boy, you’re a good boy, yes you’re my good boy!’ Whatever just happened could wait, she had to feed Max.


Unveiling the secret project

Time to unveil the project I’ve been beavering on for a while now…

I have assembled an e-book! Yes, alf will turn into an e-book merchant.

Blogging has been awesome at sorting out thoughts, but at this point I’ve sorted out most of them. We figured we needed a new religion, I’ve done my part in creating that religion, and that’s about it.

So, I want to try different things. For one I need money. Since I like writing and I like my alf identity, selling e-books is the next logical step. I’m still figuring out how to do it with anonymity and all. I’d love to sell real books but that’s something for later. Also, I’ll probably start selling my e-book with cryptocurrency only, maybe that also changes later, dunno.

What’s the book about you ask?

Well, let me show you the first draft of the cover:

cover life's game

Too busy maybe? Dunno. I love the idea of a meme book cover. I have a 992 MB meme collection so these are by no means the final memes.

As for its content, it’s a selection and director’s cut of my old blog posts on the topics of women, self-development and men. It is titled ‘Life’s Game’. I’m currently sitting on about 60.000 words. A third of that is comprised of Dutch posts (everything in the first 2 years on this blog I wrote in my native language) which I’ve faithfully translated to English. Another third is English posts you might have already read. The final third is my commentary on both older and recent posts, including incidental comments from the comment section.

If anyone wants to proofread the version I am currently sitting on, let me know in the comments and I’ll send you what I have.

2018: Not tired of winning

Welp, it’s that time of the year again, where I flex on all the haters and show you some juicy statistics.

2018 has been very kind to me. Here’s the short of it:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.06.22

I honestly thought post-Trump 2017 was the biggest growth spurt, but in 2018 AlfaNL has gotten more traffic than all the previous years combined. Not bad.

How come?

Well, traffic has increased roughly 80% increase since May of this year:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.11.44

My explanation: Jim adding me to his blogroll. Thank you Jim!

As for the location of dearest readers:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.15.31

Apt to summarize that AlfaNL is read by people in ‘the West’. And Lalit.

Referrer make-up has not changed so much.

The top 3 most popular posts are interesting:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.21.27

Let’s start with the Robert Mueller. Last year I was rejoiced to see that, when you perform a Google search for ‘is Robert Mueller Jewish’ that post came up as the 2nd hit. However, this year my position on the first page has disappeared. I am now at the bottom of the 3rd page:

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.25.27

What makes this peculiar is that none of the page 1 hits actually answer the question whether Robert Mueller is Jewish or not, while my post did answer that question. What makes it all the more peculiar is that, when you perform the same search on DuckDuckGo, guess whose post is the 2nd hit?

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.28.23

Seems obvious that Google has been tampering with search results for this humble blog. I wear it as a badge of honor.

Number 2 most popular post is a hit piece I wrote on Heartiste. Not much to be said there, except that it’s true. I still hope that Heartiste stops pretending that he is too cool for the dark enlightenment bois. At least he is not speaking out against Jim like some of his fanboys.

And of course, at number 1: a hit piece on infamous pick-up artist Owen Cook! I am particularly proud of this one, because for a whole year it has been and still is the number 2 hit on Google for ‘Owen Cook’, surpassed only by his instagram.

Schermafbeelding 2018-12-22 om 17.33.32

Clearly, Google does not care about Owen as much as they do about Robert.

Not much else to say about this one, except that it’s the final proof that purple pill prophets like Owen are all smoke and mirrors.

That’s all for blog statistics. It’s good to, how you say, put in perspective the amount of traffic blogs receive: 50.000 clicks all year is about 1% of what a daily Pewdiepie video gets. Blogging is the small unknown sibling of the social media family and it never will be as big as the others. But, what can I say, I’m enjoying life on this side of the pond.

Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Meme Society

Don’t mind me just thinking aloud…

Been trying to piece some together some thoughts on the Meme Society.

What is Meme Society?

It is the meme highway, the plug that connects with the back of your head and uploads memes. It is the amalgam of the internet, social media, the newspapers, the tv, the gaming-, clothing- and music industry. It is the way fashion spreads.

It is of course, controlled by our enemies. We are out of power, looking for ways to gain power, but the same Meme Society we seek to overtake will prevent us from doing so with every last bit of its dying breath.

As I have said before, content is downstream from power. All of the biggest meme spreading nodes are controlled and checked by that power. Since that power forbids the speaking of truth, it is impossible to grow a channel on any major platform by speaking truth. You are shut out.

So everyone big on those channels has to some extent cut a deal with the devil, otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed on the platform. Thus even Pewdiepie, who is hated by every self-respecting leftist because of his Aryan physiognomy, will not save us. Pewds has made his deal with the devil, for he is at best purple pilled on the woman question. I could tell you that know this because I’ve watched videos of him saying that he is in favor of women empowerment, but I’ll tell you I know this for sure for another reason, namely that his girlfriend is covered in more than 20 tattoos:

She is a beautiful girl, but under the guise of anonymous internet honesty I will simply say: the tattoos are like a turd on an apple pie. It drops her looks by a solid 2 points.

If your woman tells you she wants tattoos, she is shit-testing you. You are supposed to tell her no, you can not have tattoos because it will make you ugly. If you are really feeling generous, maybe 1 tiny tattoo on her ankle or on the back of her neck, where it is usually covered, or perhaps she can tattoo your name on her ass. But as a rule of thumb: no tattoos. It is a sign of bad ownership.

I don’t care how much Pewdiepie will say he likes her tattoos, that she is expressing herself artistically. He lies. Tattoos make a woman ugly and both men and women know it. Hence, when she tells you she wants tattoos, she is testing to see if you stop her from getting them, and if you fail to acquiesce you fail her shit-test.

Now Pewdiepie is a cool guy otherwise and really, plenty of men fail women’s shit-tests so no reason to be too hard. But one of the most important memes we want to push is how to pass women’s shit-tests. Pewdiepie does not pass women’s shit-tests, hence allowed to stay on YouTube, hence not really /ourguy/. And of course, for the parts that he actually is /ourguy/, he is policed heavily.

This kind of policing, either by power or by content creator himself, is endemic in all of Meme Society. It is simply impossible to inject truthful memes into a mass audience, as I’m sure even Vox Day or Roosh have discovered. Of course the truth tends to get out on its own just by merit of being cool, which for example is why a song has gone viral in which Mia Khalifa, who otherwise pretends to be too cool to smell her own farts, is called exactly what she is: a lowlife whore.

But after the song is over, YouTube autoplay will continue with a rap song from a Jew and a black guy. So, even if truth in meme society is not crushed, it is contained.

Yet we of the dark enlightenment are seeking ways to spread our memes. If meme society is really shut off to us, how do we accomplish that?

Our grandest short-term plan is of course for Trump to stage a coup. Not looking so good. Even here in Europe it feels like the winds are slowly turning against the God-Emperor. I light a candle for him every night, but whether it helps remains to be seen.

Our grandest long-term plan is, contrary to leftist spinsters, to have children and populate the earth. When I met Spandrell (yeah that guy with 2.5k followers on twitter, not that I’m counting, we hang, sometimes he gets a bit clingy, but we cool), it struck me how quickly he’d assess people. When discussing men, I felt like he’d rapidly categorize them according to 3 value markers: how much money does he make, how hot is his wife, how many children does he have?

And I still think that is the most accurate, reactionary way to assess someone’s status. So opposed to leftists seeking status in the most stupid self-destructive ways, we seek status by having money, women and children. It is a much better long-term plan; even by having 2 kids you are already ahead of the average white fertility curve. So, that’s our long game.

But only playing the great-great-grandchildren game and nothing else seems weak. Can’t leave it all to them. Need to fight ourselves. That’s what we want to do, anyway. But, blocked out of Meme Society. How we fight?

I don’t have the answers, just some ideas. Good memes spread regardless of a dying breed of leftist elites stopping them. If traffic to this site, which I’ll show in the next post, are an indicator, interest is increasing. Frogtwitter seems to be doing good as well.

But is it enough? We are still far from hitting peak memetic infection rates. We need modes of entry, need ways to show people that our ways are high status and infinitely more cool than our enemies’ ways, which are old and senile and low status. To overtake Meme Society, must infect Meme Society.

Dat gym and high T lifestyle

I realized I’ve never posted about my gym habits.

I’ve been lifting for about 15 years now. Love it. My best habit. I currently visit the gym about 3-4 times a week for 75 minutes: 2 days to the gym, 2 days rest.

There is a learning curve involved: learning about muscle groups, different exercises, diet, work-out schemes, hypertrophy etcetera etcetera. While I am no expert, I’ve learned a thing or two about working out.

I do rope skipping as warm-up.

Compound exercises are best exercises. Compound = big lifting. Think squats, deadlift, benchpress and overhead presses. Mark Rippletoe’s Starting Strength was my bible for a couple of years.

Here’s my current stats on compound exercises, everything in kg (x2,2 for lbs):

Squats: 9x body weight, 8x20kg, 7×40, 6×60, 6×70, 6×70, 6×72.5, 6×72.5
Bench press: 9×20, 8×40, 7×60, 6×62.5, 6×65, 6×65, 6×65
Deadlift: 9×40, 8×50, 7×60, 6×70, 6×75, 6×75, 6×75
Overhead press: 9×15, 8×20, 7×25, 6×30, 6×35, 6×35, 6×35

The gym aficionado will notice: not extremely high weights. What can I say, I’m a skinny guy, although less skinny because of the gym. Without lifting I’m about 69 kgs, currently I am at 75 kgs, which in large part is because of Weight Gain shakes.

I do a bunch of other exercises including pull-ups, but the 4 compound exercises are my core and I structure everything else around it.

Because I am skinny I must also do plenty of isolated exercises for upper arms, underarms and neck, otherwise I look out of proportion.

People say: isn’t lifting just the same thing over and over? Well, sort of, although I try not to get stuck in a rut. I alternate exercises, try different things, lift with different people, that sort of thing.

Lifting has a ridiculous amount of advantages. Besides the obvious ones, looking good, feeling strong, having energy, there’s also hidden advantages.

Lifting is, besides steroids (which I now know is the same thing as TRT), the most effective way to raise your testosterone. And a man with raised testosterone is just not the same as a man with lower testosterone; it is the difference between the Eternal Virgin and Chad. You notice the effect in many ways: mechanically you walk more upright, you raise your neck, you rest your arms in a wider pose. You are more alpha — not only do you know you can beat up most guys in a 1v1 (thus also the appeal of martial arts) but you wouldn’t mind getting in a fight just to prove it, which is an immense departure from the ‘I can’t get into a fight, think of the medical bill!’ virginal mindset.

Women, incidentally, love high T men. Something about being a rough gruff man allows women to role-play their feminine side to the max, which they love.

Related to this is my personal finding that it is much more natural to be high T without jacking off than with jacking off, which is a bit counterintuitive because high T increases your sex drive. I think it goes back to monkey tribes, where the alpha male saw no need to jack off because he would ejaculate in a female anyway, whereas the beta male had to jack off in order to lower sexual aggression and not get into trouble.

So, if you have that alpha high T going on, not only do women enjoy a fair bit of sexual aggression, they are disappointed if you do not display it because you just jacked off into your sock 3 times. So I’m getting used to that.

Everyone’s feeling it now

The mood on YouTube:

“Even on Fiverr you can get banned nowadays. I guess Fiverr is owned by the same people that own everything else” *raises eyebrows at camera.*

I remember seeing things 15 years ago that were completely opposite to what everyone told me I saw. I distinctly remember concluding, approximately 5 years ago, that if either the world was crazy or I was, I guess it had to be the world because I did not want to lose my sanity. Then I found NRx and it turned out the world was a little crazy after all. Then, and I remember this moment very distinctly, immigration suddenly became a mass normie issue — something NRx had exactly predicted would happen suddenly had happened. I felt an immense wave of vindication at the time: holy shit, I’m really not crazy, the world is.

Fast forward to today and it is hardly a secret anymore that the world has gone crazy. It’s everywhere now: you tried to not be interested in politics, but politics has become interested in you. They’re everywhere: at your work, on your internet, in your hobbies, in your family, in your money… There is no escaping it. Which again, we predicted would happen: as chaos escalates, repressive terror escalates with it, which escalates chaos, which escalates repressive terror, etcetera… The leftist singularity approaches.

Now you might say: alf, cool story bro, love how you were into dissident rightism before anyone else, you fucking hipster, but why dwell on it?

I dwell on it because I like doing my told-you-so-dance, thank you very much.

But I also dwell on it, because the combination of accurate prediction -which is hard- and mass dissatisfaction turns into momentum, which means an important thing: we will have a window of opportunity.

That’s right, we will have our chance. I am convinced of this, because where I used to think the elite had their hands on the ropes too strongly, I now think they have lost control. The holiness spirals have become too much, to the point where they can’t even keep the population doped with games (which they can’t help but ruin) and entertainment (which they can’t help but ruin). It is like with the French revolution: no one can say it was a ploy by the elite to amass more power, because near the end of the revolution the elite had its head guillotined off.

We are heading (heh) towards the same point, which inevitably means that at some time someone will step in and says: enough is enough, for which the population will be eternally grateful. So, we have a window of opportunity.

Of course, the question is, who is this ‘we’? My political allegiance is pretty obvious: I’m on team Jim first, team NRx second, team Alt-Right third. Which is to say, if we want to get it exactly right, must go with Jimianity. But you have to be practical, so might be necessary to expand to NRx, but you have to be even more practical, so might be necessary to expand to Alt-Right, but you might have to be even more practical and expand to the boomer right but at some point you’re going to have lost what you were aiming for in the first place and at that point I’m out. So in practice it is always tougher and messier than in theory.

But I do believe the window of opportunity does not exclude me prematurely. I used to think Jim was too optimistic on Trump’s coup, and he probably was, but I get the need to push for a coup. We must prepare for the worst case scenario, which is hundreds of years of darkness following the end of democracy, but we must also fight for the best case scenario, which is a coup within our lifetime followed by the first American king, be it Trump or someone else.

While this political corner of the internet has always been small, it has been growing relatively explosively. And while we have many enemies, I notice we have many friends, even if they are observing us in silence, disinclined to speak in fear of revealing their hand. I believe there is a silent majority on our side, if not a literal majority in bodies, a majority in capable men. I hope we can put it to use.


Classical music and Tool

A while ago I got into a fight with some wise men. The fight was about music.

‘Obviously,’ they said, ‘classical music is the music of the huwhite man.’ To which I replied: ‘I think classical music is overrated. In fact, I think Tool is just as good as classical music, if not better.’ Naturally, shock and horror followed, and after being ridiculed for my bad taste in music I went with the Trump defense and informed them that I have great taste in music, the best. I still stand behind that defense. I have great taste in music, just great.

Classical music isn’t bad. It’s actually pretty good. Better than most pop music made nowadays. But classical music is… I dunno… Music from a dead era. It doesn’t ‘fit’ in our modern society. It’s out of sync.

I like classical music from Vivaldi and Debussy, whose pieces I can accurately attribute to their unique styles. I also like Bach, Mozart and Beethoven, but in my mind they are so alike that I don’t know which song belongs to which artist. Für Elise is by Mozart right?

(I’m not kidding.)

The big advantage classical music has over its modern successor is that in the period of classical music, the patriarchy was alive, kicking and proud. All the instruments were played by white men, the music was played by white men, the orchestras were directed by white men… All the music of that era has a quality of mass cooperation, of harmony and pride that has since been lost. Radio music is almost without exception music of pain, music that signals frustration or escapism or failure or just plain bullshit. So in that sense I like classical music. I often prefer classical music radio to other radio.

But classical music is also a product of its time. It gets old, boring. There is a staccato quality to classical music that has always kept me from really enjoying it the way I enjoy some obscure modern music. The instruments are too recognizable. At a certain point I know all the sounds a violin or a piano can make. I want to hear something new. New music has all kinds of surprising sounds which classical music does not offer.

Of course, conservatory students instinctively know this, which is why they’re so unhappy. It’s similar to guys investing hours to learn the electrical guitar only to later learn that rock music died a while ago.

As society changes, so does our art change. Just because society is changing for the worse does not mean we can copy-paste old music and call it a day. More specifically: it may be better to copy-paste old music than listen to top 50 music, but it is still a sub-optimal solution. We want new 21st century music that is on par with what classical music was to a 17th century crowd.

We have that music, if you look for it. It represents the current peak of humanity, even if that peak is a lesser peak than in the time of Mozart.

What do you mean by peak?

Classical societies functioned better. They had better Assabiyah. Assabiyah is a vague term, but it is easily observed: average socio-economic position has worsened. I know this because I observe crappy socio-economic positions around me: even for all traditional high-status socio-economic positions such as lawyer, doctor and pilot, socio-economic position has worsened over the years. A doctor 50 years ago walked around with straight back, had pride, a doctor nowadays is bent under the weight of bureaucratic tape and fear of patient lawsuits. I know it used to be better because everywhere around me I see memories of such times, most notably in architecture.

As is often said, our ancestors have invented electricity, industry and mass transportation, but we don’t really know what to do with it. We are squandering it.

So it makes sense that classical music, like classical architecture, is better than its modern counterpart. But I don’t live in a Parthenon. I live in a place which has been so thoroughly infected with leftism eating in-groups that there are few in-groups left.

(Boomers don’t get this; they act as if we are still one big in-group and their boomer money shields them from learning the real score, which millenials know: everyone is in competition with everyone.)

Luckily, music can be made in a much smaller group than architecture. Hence, the existence of good contemporary music.

As said, my nomination for Peak Modern Music goes to Tool. I’m bad at labeling music like hipsters do, but I guess the were an LA based progressive rock band with some metal. I was really into them as a teenager and I still sort of am. All music gets old, I try not to listen to the same songs too often.

But yeah, Tool. I feel silly explaining why I like them, I know the wise men didn’t like me more for explaining my reasons. I guess… Their music is leftism at its peak, at its best; Tool’s music is about conflict, finding harmony in conflict, but in the end only conflict. It’s about schisms, about unresolved desire for unity or enlightenment that is never achieved, or only grasped temporarily, then lost. You could say that is a metaphor for life and perhaps that is how Maynard/the band intend it, but its more about leftism, but that’s OK, because in the end that is what 20th century Western society was, after all. Take the prophet hate in Eulogy: it is directed at Jesus, and implicitly towards all forms of religion. So, leftist boilerplate you’d say.

But at the same time Eulogy could just be about false prophets. It’s never specifically progressive music, it’s timeless leftist music.

All the instruments in Tool are in harmony with one another, the same kind of harmony an orchestra was able to pull off in the time of classical music, harmony which is now lost on a larger scale and thus confined to small groups of people.

So that’s my case for Tool.

Part XIV – A tough pickle


‘RUDI!’ The word had left his lips before Barron consciously registered what happened. He lunged forwards, but Rudi pushed him back, coughing up blood as he did. Inspecting his bloodied hand and shirt, Rudi realized what had happened, realized he had made a fatal mistake. There was only one thing left for him to do. Looking Barron in the eyes, he dropped the keys in the front seat. He shifted backwards, gritted his teeth, balled his hands into a fist and with a loud scream turned around to punch his attacker in the face while at the same time closing the front door.

His attacker simply grabbed and stopped Rudi’s fist mid-air. The man then raised his pistol to Rudi’s face and calmly pulled the trigger. That ended Rudi’s battle scream.

Barron shook off his paralysis, lunged forward and with a press on the car key button locked all the doors. The man outside gave an amused smile as he heard the sound of the door locks sinking down.
‘You think that will save you boy? It is over.’
He raised the pistol through the window, aimed it at Barron. Another gunshot.

Barron slowly opened his eyes and inspected himself; no wounds. He was still alive? He was still alive!

Outside, the man tapped on the window with the back of his gun. ‘Hm. Bulletproof glass. Did not expect that. No matter.’ He took a few steps back and aimed the gun at where he knew the tank was. ‘It’s still over boy.’ He shot once… Twice…

An exploding car filled the exit with deafening noise and searing heat. But it was not Barron’s car that exploded – it was a police car. Car sirens blared, smoke flared up and those that were not hit by the explosion ran the hide behind cars, at which point a second car blew up, this time an undercover civilian vehicle. Big Man did not hide, but looked around to see what the hell was going on. What happened next, Barron would not have believed it if he wasn’t there to witness it.

From the other side of the exit, over the top of a low hill, came flying with roaring engine sound a black and red Ford Mustang. Well, flying for 2 seconds or so, before it hit the ground and drove towards Barron’s car at alarming speed. Meanwhile, a third car blew up. Just as Barron thought the car was going to crash into him, it braked and made a 180 degrees’ spin turn so that not only Big Man had to jump to avoid getting hit, but the car stopped right next to Barron. The front door opened. Barron did not hesitate for a second, unlocked his door and jumped into the Mustang.

‘Good. Close the door’, a voice with an Australian accent bellowed. As Barron did so, tires screeched and the car sped off. The police and civilian squad behind them had partly recovered from the chaos and shot bullets in the direction of the car.
The man laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll take more than bullets to get through this baby.’
Barron took a look at his savior, and was quite surprised to see a bald fat man behind the steering wheel, wearing nothing but a blue bathrobe and a pair of slippers. Barron couldn’t tell, but really hoped the man at least wore underwear.

The car roared towards the same exit Barron had earlier entered from the other side when Rudi was still alive, and even more adrenaline pumped through Barron’s blood as he realized that they were going to drive in the wrong direction of the highway traffic.