If you’re partying in another’s garden don’t be surprised if you get kicked out

For fans waiting on the next installment of the Orb of Covfefe — it’s coming. Just gonna take a little bit longer. Fiction is hard.

In the meanwhile, let’s see what’s up with Dutch mixed fraternities nowadays… Oh, a chapter of the most important one is throwing a party? Sounds like fun, let’s check the invite!

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The opinion of a woman #don’tdo

The opinion of a women #don’tdo? And beneath that: from groupsex to childluring, what scandal will you get involved in? Sounds like quite some party! Let’s check out the official invite, translated for your viewing pleasure.

“One can find sexual border-crossing behavior¹ in all cultures across the world. […] We of [fraternity] course find this beautiful. That we can assault women since 1958 without questions asked is a luxury other men do not get to enjoy. […] However, the weaker gender has started a countermovement: #metoo. […] To keep our traditions high we naturally have to put an end to this. And what better opportunity than the upcoming [fraternity] carnaval! Because we of [fraternity] know better than anyone else that women have nothing to say about their body during carnaval.

The opinion of a women #don’tdo!

Honestly it is a bit crude but I can’t help but chuckle. This invitation is what the Dutch would call ‘studentical’; brazen but funny. It is also the sort of invitation that women will be indignant over, but once it turns out the invitation is issued by powerful men they will not mind one iota.

Unfortunately these men are no longer powerful. As I have said before, fraternities are an unprincipled exception. Student societies derive their power from the universities, but the universities hates hates hates männerbunds that treat women like sex objects. In other words, we’d expect the above behavior to be intolerable.

And, surprise surprise, that is exactly what happened. The media picked it up (MYSOGUNISTIC OUTRAGE), the university has cut funding and the fraternity has to grovel if they ever want it back. If you’re partying in another’s garden, don’t be surprised if you’re kicked out.


¹ Isn’t it interesting that ‘border-crossing behavior’ is a well-known Dutch phrase for bad behavior?


What really grinds my gears

Is the appropriation of genuine connection by mindless corporations.

Friendly chatter heartwarming stories

Which is not to say corporations are evil. Unchecked leftists are evil. Unchecked mindless corporations merely latch onto that evil for profit. They don’t care, they just want to make a buck. And what makes a buck? Warm fuzzy feelings. What causes warm fuzzy feelings? Why, laughing with your grandma, having a blast with your friends, you know, everything that’s illegal nowadays.

So when I flick through an expensive-looking magazine and I see some ad of a father giving his father’s watch to his son, it annoys me, because patriarchal love is illegal outside those make-belief ads. Similarly, tv commercials of happy families having dinner. Having mom cook family dinner for children past the age of 12 is illegal in 1st world countries, hadn’t you heard?

We are bombarded on a daily base with horrible fakeness.

The problem with the modern world is that in absence of a genuine sense of belonging it turns out we prefer a fake sense of belonging to no sense of belonging. Our brains adapt surprisingly well to the latter, or at least try their utmost best. People rather belong to a tribe that is make-belief than face the realisation that they don’t belong to any tribe at all.

Thus, when most people watch a commercial they want to feel like they are the actress, as opposed to the actress being a complete stranger having nothing whatsoever in common with you. The same goes for really any semi-famous person you watch on tv.

We roleplay above all else, of course while telling ourselves the exact opposite. We are invested in our roleplaying, which gives us a sense of identity, which gives us a sense of belonging. We are dancing monkeys in denial of our nature because truth is cold, rotten and lonely. We are by necessity egotistical as fuck.

So we learn that man but a collection of buttons wired to brain and muscle. Press the right buttons and the right brain centres flare up. Input, output, stimulation, reward. George Orwell and Aldous Huxley were both right, but Huxley was more right than Orwell. Sedation works better than force.

Perhaps also because we live in the era of sedation. We live in the technological zenith of addictive FeelsGood. Gaming, porn, drugs, tv. It’s everywhere. Every man has his drug¹.

Of course the entire point is that some FeelsGood you are allowed to have, some not. You are allowed FeelsGood that pacifies you long-term. You are not allowed FeelsGood that activates you long-term, at least not without keeping it a secret.

For instance, it is possible to have a FeelsGood longterm relationship, but you better keep it a secret that you consider your girl your property. Similarly, it is possible to have a functioning männerbund, but you better not tell anyone you’re more loyal to your boys than to the state. Everything real, everything genuine has to happen in secret or risk open conflict with the powers that be.

Hence, everything public that makes us feel good is fake, controlled opposition. Take the following ad from Apple:

Two things stand out to me. One, the ad follows the fantasy of the übermensch. The Rock lifts weights, flies a plane, presents his own fashion line, cooks with the best chefs, plays mandolin, flies in space and, I’d almost forget, acts in movies. That a man should be able to do every- and anything, or he is no real man, seems to pretty boilerplate these days. Typical false life script, an abuse of the fact that we admire men with energy in abundance.

The second thing is subtler. Do you notice how Dwayne carries himself, how he treats other males? When he gets in an Uber, the owner changes seats so Dwayne gets to drive the car. When he drops into a cockpit, he not only gets to fly the airplane, he gets to decide where it goes. To say that he is alpha in this ad would be an understatement — he is an emperor.

And this, my friends, is how you know it’s controlled opposition: because men are not allowed to behave as such in real life. Dwayne gets to do it, because Dwayne is part of the system that forbids it. He is granted an unprincipled exception to act like an emperor in an advertisement.

Normal white males have pathologically little chance to boss others around. Your wife bosses you around, otherwise you are sexist. In the workplace you simultaneously have a boss and don’t have a boss, because hierarchy does not shake hands with equality. Division of power is done not by competence, but by victim status. You are outranked by your female colleagues, who in turn are outranked by Sylvana Simons, whom no one likes but no one dares to turn away.

All of which is swept under the rug as Corporation INC promises you Love & Purpose if you just buy this latest car (or lease it, because private property is so 20th century!²).

So, burn it all down. Build a parallel universe y’all.


¹ As do most females, but for females it’s men and spending money.

² ‘Leasing’ is a horrible word. Call it what it is: renting. Soon enough we’ll be forced to rent everything, including girlfriend and kids.

The Rise and Fall of Owen Cook

For judging any man, I hold two principles:

  1. Does he practice what he preaches?
  2. Is he content with what he practices?


I recently watched an Owen Cook video with some friends. It’s been a year since I last discussed RSD. My opinion has not changed.

Gurus like Owen Cook remain fascinating figures. Men seek avatars to learn from and Owen explicitly is such an avatar, especially since he actually talks in front of crowds, as opposed to anonymous writers on the internet who might as well be keyboard-hitting monkeys.

But no one is perfect and sometimes the most ostensibly successful persons are the most fucked up. The greater the rise, the harder the fall. Such it was with Ken Wilber, as documented by Mark Manson (who himself completely sold-out since the days he garnered praise from Nick Krauser. My local bookshop sells Manson’s book ‘the subtle art of not giving a fuck’, yours probably does too).

Anyway. As with Ken Wilber, so it is with Owen. Below his most recent video.

We watched Owen talk for about 20 minutes, when my friend, who used to be pretty big on RSD, paused the video and exclaimed: ‘this is nonsense. He is just bragging and talking nonsense!’ My friend is right. Owen has no coherent message here. What Owen says here is a random collection of stuff he knows his audience expects him to say, and his audience plays along because Owen says what they paid him to say, but any sense of meaning is lost. It is noise, with little to no information.

It wasn’t always like this. Old Owen was better. For instance take the clip below.

Beardless Owen talked sense, had some good concepts. ‘Pinging’ always stuck with me, which refers to your dependance on other people as anchors for reality. Women ping all the time. Arrogant men ping little and if they are forced to ping they often do so irritatingly slowly. The person who pings less has most power.

But the seeds of his failure were already visible in the fruits of his success. Lemme explain.

Tyler’s big thing has always been deconditioning your social conditioning. What is social conditioning? Everything you’ve been taught by society, your parents, your teachers. You are taught to feel depressed, confined and self-hating. You are taught to shut up and keep your head low. In reactionary circles, social conditioning is known as the false life script.

So Owen wanting to end this makes perfect sense. So far, so good.

The problem arises with his proposed replacement. What is his proposed replacement? Well, in a nutshell: not giving a fuck, being your best self. Do what you like, when you like. Be who you like to be.

Which is great advice. For a fortune cookie. See, men need freedom, sure. But men also need direction, purpose. The reason traditions are important is that they provide a place of belonging for men. Just because our current societal rituals are rotten does not mean we can do away with rituals all-together. Need rituals.

What are such rituals? Rituals derived from the acceptance that we are imbued with genetic programming. As a white male this means you want territory, you want power, you want your own female, you want your female to give birth to your children, you want to protect and care for your family and be loved in return. More or less.

Deviation from this path is possible, but you do so at your own risk. The life-long bachelor does not age too well I think. Paraphrasing Spandrell, life-long bachelors have too much idle time on their hands, do silly things. Jim puts it stronger: if a man does not own a woman he becomes horribly broken. I for one think you end up feeling lonely.

How does this relate to Owen Cook? Well, his wife divorced him and took his 2 kids.

This piece of personal information is crucial. It is sad. But it is also strange. Here’s a guy travelling the world telling men how to achieve success with women, yet he could not convince the mother of his children to stay with him.

Owen Cook’s best teachings are as deeply purple-pill you can describe life without going red. He made all the right observations about women. He described social dynamics accurately. He went into the evolutionary background of it all. But he failed to draw the obvious conclusions that everyone who has taken the red pill has. Owen Cook’s genes want him to own a woman, want him to be patriarch of his family, and if the opposite happens, if his woman leaves him and takes away his children, he becomes horribly broken. Which is exactly what happened.

Men need freedom, but men also need chains of family. But men like hearing about freedom more so Owen did exactly that.

It is ironic that the same thing that brought Owen success, namely telling men what they wanted to hear without setting off too many CRIMETHINK alarms, led to his own downfall.

Not that he has literally hit rock bottom, of course. Dude is still richer than I’ll ever be. But a guru always cares more about his reputation than his bank account, and the end of Owen’s reputation has arrived.

Part VII — Life or Death


Perv swerved his arm to take aim at Sadiq, but the butch arm of a rainbow soldier knocked the gun out of his hand. As Sadiq and rainbow soldier jumped Perv, Hans and Mike handed out punches to the disbelieving blue-haired goons. Farage pulled Barron down to the ground behind a couch and talked as quick as an Englishman could talk: ‘Young man, judging by the effort our enemies are making to stop you, it is imperative that you obtain the orb of Covfefe. For this you must leave England in one piece.

A gunshot whizzed through the room, followed by the sound of broken glass, some of which Barron felt landing on his back. Barron looked up to see Sadiq Khan running at Perv with a swollen lip and fist raised in the air. Perv evaded the fist and punched Khan in the stomach. Barron turned to Nigel. ‘how do I get out of here? They must have the place surrounded.’
– ‘Yes, it is merely a matter of time before reinforcements arrive. But there is an escape. Follow me.’

They crawled to the back of the room, half-successfully avoiding the scuffling men and shards of glass. The last thing Barron saw before he exited the room was Hans landing a high-kick in the pierced nose of a rainbow warrior, and Perv ripping of his own shirt in a bloodrage, revealing chiseled abs underneath. Once out of the room Nigel and Farage got on their feet and Barron could hear Khan’s voice crying behind him: ‘Don’t let them escape! Get the boy!’ Barron followed Nigel who ran down a small stairway. Behind them Barron heard the sound of someone in pursuit.

Quickly Barron rushed down wooden steps until he found himself in a damp cellar, barely high enough for Nigel to stand upright, let alone Barron. Nigel was hurriedly pushing aside wine bottles and cans of food. ‘Where is it where is it’ he murmured.

Barron in the meanwhile grabbed a wine bottle and pushed himself against the wall behind the stairs. Nigel found what he was looking for: a wooden Santa Clause statue, as large as a hand. He pulled it towards him, and with minor rumbling a hidden door in the stone cellar wall slid open. Grinning, Nigel turned around, only to look straight into the barrel of a gun pointed at him by a very angry looking rainbow warrior. ‘Step away from the door, NOW’ she said. ‘Or else I will…’

It will never be known what she would have done, for at that same moment a green bottle hit her head so hard it broke into pieces, and 170 pounds of blue-haired butchness fell unconscious to the floor. Barron emerged from the shadows, the remainder of the bottle in his hand.

‘Splendid!’ Nigel said. ‘Here, take this.’ He hastily scribbled some notes on a piece of paper and gave it to Barron.

‘Make your escape through the tunnel. You will emerge safely at the other end. Get to Dover as quick as possible. Call the number on this paper, say I sent you. Now go quickly!’

Barron nodded and with bent head entered the low, dark tunnel. Before he disappeared, he turned around and faced Nigel Farage one last time. ‘Thank you’, he said. Farage’s eyes watered up. ‘Thank you, young Barron. Bless your father. Godspeed to your mission, the world depends on you!’ Nigel pushed the Santa Clause figurine back in its original space, and with the closing of the door darkness engulfed Barron.



Heartiste’s 1 pretty lie

Some are not going to enjoy hearing this, but needs to be said.

It is not that Heartiste outright lies. I have previously heralded Heartiste as the greatest shitlord of our age. Which I still stand behind. But he is not fully honest.

Heartiste lies by omission. What is the omission, you ask? The omission is that 80% of Heartiste’s male readers are born a beta, will die a beta. Heartiste does not tell them this, in fact, Heartiste tells them the opposite: most men are too stupid and low-T to get this, but you too can be an asshole with a shit-eating grin drowning in pussy! Here’s how to get nudes and bang that hot chick in the bar! Stay tuned with Heartiste, the Trumpocalypse is on its way!

Heartiste sells the fantasy of blog-canned alpha. He makes his readers feel like badboys by association, but never acknowledges that the majority of his readers are not badboys, will never be badboys.

He is making a sales pitch. And judging from the many comments he gets, a pretty effective sales pitch. But not the right one. What is the right pitch?

We may cut a knife between NRx and the Alt-Right, and say Heartiste is on the Alt-Right, I am on NRx. Which I think is fairly accurate. But we can do slightly better.

The best use of the knife is to cut between Jim & Heartiste. Heartiste says you too can be shitlord, Jim says society must be realigned so you too can pretend to be a shitlord. The difference is crucial.

In Jim’s view, ordinary men will never be arrogant, violent and murderous enough to wet women’s panties. Women’s view of male status is simply too harsh, like the view of a child living among cannibals. Women want a man who commands other men, who shoots death-rays out his eyes and who will knife someone for giving him a wrong glance. In short: women want to fuck men who routinely kick puppies out of boredom.

This is the crucial difference between Jim and Heartiste: Heartiste says men can learn to enjoy kicking puppies to get laid. Jim says men are dancing monkeys pretending to enjoy kicking puppies because they want to get laid. Jim is right, Heartiste is wrong.

Thus, Jim’s solution is better than Heartiste. Heartiste’s solution is to enjoy a poolside view of the decline with beautiful women while fanboys cheer him on. Jim’s solution is to make those fanboys high status: reintroduce patriarchy, make women soft property (first to their father, then their husbands) and ban careers for women until after marriage & children.

If that pitch sounds too abstract, imagine it like this: you are in charge of your house, your wife and your children. Your friends, your colleagues, your family and your in-laws all agree with you that you, not your girl, are in charge.

In this world, women suddenly feel attracted to all men, not just the Heartiste-types, because we have realigned societal incentives as to make all males high status.

Heartiste gives you tools to get laid in the age of thots.
Jim gives you tools to end of the age of thots.

I’d like to live in a society that is not dying, so I prefer Jim.

2017: A great year indeed

2017 has been the Year of the Trump, a.k.a. an awesome year.

Trump has singlehandedly changed Western collective consciousness. Prevailing wisdom in the Netherlands used to be that every well-thinking person voted democrats except for a very small minority of rednecks. We all agreed that liberalism was the answer, that all philosophical debates were settled. This comforted people, reassured them the end of history had arrived and that we could all relax.

With the election of Trump, suddenly history has no longer ended and people no longer find comfort in the lies of old. Naturally I love this. Fuck the priests of the old order.

But enough with the cursing! Let me pull Cernovich and draw back the curtain on some statistics.

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As you can see, the internet has been kind to AlfaNL. My visitor statistics more than doubled since 2016! This, without a doubt, has been the Trump effect: I can trace the biggest increase to exactly November 2016, when Der Trumpenführer rose to power. Thank you Donald!

Of course I can not give Donald ALL the credit. By far the biggest driver of traffic to this website has once again been Social Matter’s Nick B. Steves, whose This Week in Reaction has been an imitable Schelling point for the coolest side of the blogosphere. Thank you Nick (& others).

But as the relative amount of traffic TWiR directs towards this site decreases, I think the biggest credit goes to the fact that this blog speaks truth. I know that priding myself with writing truth is dangerous business, but allow me some status-signalling. Truth, after all, is a surprisingly rare commodity.

The internet is filled with people claiming to speak truth, but very few really get truth. Like, very little. 1%, tops. People understand chunks of truth, but always the ego rears its ugly head. Push hard enough and you’ll discover everyone has blind spots. Usually its women.

But even then I am being facetious. The above paragraph assumes bloggers write to near truth, but in reality they rarely do. Rule of thumb, the point of most non-fiction is to say: ‘I have power, therefore you should read me.’ Which is why guys like Scott Alexander and Ross Douthat have no problem lying their lungs out until they see blue in the face.

Lucky for me, the internet routs around them. Well does not rout around them entirely, because might will always make right, but the mere fact that some kid ridicules them online for all to see undermines their power, gives me power. I am right, they are wrong, and while lies need to be constantly maintained, truth seen cannot be unseen. Which makes this blog fun, makes me feel like an internet jester. So I’m sure I’ll stick around for a while.

Thoughts on the amount of writing: I’ve been writing less lately, because I feel I have said the most important stuff. But I think that writing is a bit like painting or music making, in that the process of doing is as important as the end result. How can people enjoy a blog if there is nothing new to read? So, maybe write more.

Finally, this might also be fun: can you guess what the most read article on this site is?

It is, by quite a wide margin, this article Not because anyone prominent linked it, but because a significant amount of people google ‘is Robert Mueller Jewish?’ and my blog is the 2nd hit. Good stuff.

Anyway. Hope your year was as good as mine. Here’s to hoping 2018 will be even better. Cheers.



Finished reading a biography on Silvio Berlusconi by NY Times journalist Alan Friedman.

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The first thing that strikes the eye is that Berlusconi appointed a NY times journalist to write his biography. Likely he thought Friedman would reach a broad Western audience, but throughout the book it is quite obvious that Friedman harbors typical leftist resentment towards Berlusconi and finds him arrogant, shallow and egotistic and deserving of condemnation by the international community. Yet Friedman cannot help but reveal envy in his writing, because every man would envy the Italian version of Donald Trump. This made for an interesting read.

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Is Alan Friedman Weinstein’s twin brother?

Berlusconi’s life is impressive. Started as a singer on cruise ships. Made his fortune in real estate, exploiting every grey area in the book. Went on to buy and quite actively coached AC Milan. Then made an even bigger fortune by building the first privately-owned Italian media empire. Finally topped it of by becoming prime minister 4 times, getting cozy with Bush Jr. and Putin in the process. Eventually taken down by the judicial system on the charge of corruption and bad press on the charge of bunga bunga, although financially he is still good for some 8.4 billion euros, putting him in the top 500 richest people in the world.

Privately he has 5 kids with 2 wives and not quite impossibly a couple of bastard children. He seduced his 2nd wife, an actress, in the theater while he was still married with his first. Eventually married her. Funny story: when he inevitably grew bored with his 2nd wife, she did not go down easy and published letters in anti-Berlusconi media attacking Berlusconi for ‘hurting her dignity’ (a.k.a. flirting and boning anything with a vagina). The result was a divorce after which Berlusconi had to pay her 1.5 million euros in alimentation each month. Lol.

I like Berlusconi. Guy is a charmer, a natural Italian alpha oozing with life force. How can you not like the guy? (when you’re an envious leftist like Friedman, that’s when.)

Talking about leftists, guess what Berlusconi’s explanation of his eventual downfall was? He said it was leftists, especially in the judicial system, who conspired against him. Yes, Berlusconi throughout his life repeatedly blamed a conspiracy of leftists! Friedman predictably waves this away as an example of a man who believes his own propaganda, but seems obvious that Berlusconi was on the money and that the Italian cathedral was out to get him, eventually got him.

Hilariously, while Berlusconi knew leftists hated his guts, he did not understand the nature of the leftist beast, the cathedral. The best passage in the book is when Berlusconi attends the 2011 G20 with Obama, Merkel and Sarkozy and the following happens:

“Obama looked speechless when Berlusconi stood behind him, laid a hand on Obama’s shoulder and greeted him. ‘How are you?’ Obama asked courteously. ‘Good, thank you’ said Berlusconi, who went on a rant about Italian prosecutors in front of the flabbergasted president. While Merkel and Sarkozy observed the spectacle with surprise, Berlusconi complained minutes on end to Obama about the ‘dictatorship of leftist judges’ in Italy and how he wanted to reform the judicial system. This went on for a while until Sarkzoy made a call for order and ended Berlusconi’s little tirade.”

So basically Silvo Berlusconi explained the nature of the cathedral to the PR department of the cathedral. Fucking L.O.L. I can only imagine Obama, Sarkozy and Merkel huddling together afterwards, speaking in hushed, angry voices: ‘who the fuck does this clown think he is?’ ‘he’s gotta go.’ ‘definitely.’ I would not be surprised if this stunt signed Berlusconi’s death warrant.

The other interesting thing about European politics is how serious we are supposed to take these very temporary leaders. Sarkozy, for example, is presented as an authoritarian figure who tries to reshape Europe in his own image. Obama is presented as a wise intermediary who tries to get all the parties to listen to one another. The book is written in 2015, it is now 2017. Where is Obama, where is Sarkozy? Gone, forgotten. They were much less important than we were told they were, their only legacy being further movement leftwards. Thus we can conclude that the story the media tells us about European politics is like the Bold and Beautiful for men.

Did Berlusconi deserve his political downfall? Seems to me not so much.

The 2 charges made against Berlusconi are corruption and hedonism.

Corruption, the use of money to reach an illegal agreement, is a natural way of life in Italy. It has also become a natural way of life in a world where illegality and legality is the difference between mobile bandits and stationary bandits. Thus suing people for ‘corruption’ is like suing people for peeing. Berlusconi became the victim of an unprincipled exception that for him no longer was an unprincipled exception.

The second, his rampant partying and sleeping with women and whores, I am not so offended about either. I can hardly be outraged about Berlusconi banging 17-year old Ruby the whore, except, predictably, out of jealousy.

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17-year old Ruby. Would you bang? Rhetorical question.

Did he set a good example for men? Well he is Northern-Italian, so barely inside the Hajnal line. Also it does not seem to me that Berlusconi slept with wives of important men, it seems to me he slept with whores and un-owned women. I can hardly call his Bunga Bunga partying decent, but neither would it be reason for me to enter the streets with torches and pitchforks demanding his resignation.

Let me put it this way: if an English king acted this way, it would be severely frowned upon. If an Italian king acted this way, it would be slightly frowned upon. Different people, different standards.

Not that it matters for Berlusconi, who in the end was neutered pretty effectively. But Berlusconi was just one man with few allies (he got along very well with Bush Jr, who was a useless ally, and with Putin, who was a dangerous ally). In the age of Trump, should be interesting to see more strongmen rising and cooperating with each other against the GloboHomoBezos ministry of propaganda.

The terrible truth

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A recurring theme on this blog is acceptance of the world around us. See the world as it is, not as other people tell you it is, or as you’d like the world to be. Big difference. Truth tellers need metaphors to explain the difference. Hence the allegory of the Cave, The Matrix and They Live.

Personally my favorite image for ‘waking up’ comes from an Asian horror movie I saw so long ago I forgot its name.

[EDIT: thanks to a very helpful comment I now know the movie is called Nang Nak. Trailer. Movie. Spoilers below so stop reading if you want to watch it.]

In the movie, the protagonist, a jungleman, returns to his wife and newborn child after a long absence (I believe he fought in a war). He is overjoyed to see his wife’s pregnancy went well, to see he now has a family and that they love one another. They live happily together in their bamboo house on the jungle riverbank.

However, other villagers act differently. Since his return they avoid him as if he were cursed. The man does not understand but does not mind so much. He is happy after all.

Then an older man comes to him and says: ‘my friend, something is terribly wrong. I have to tell you: your wife died in childbirth and so did your child.’ Our protagonist gets angry. His wife is at home, in good health! How dare this grey goon say something so horrible! But the old man insists. ‘Your loved ones have passed. Evil spirits have taken their place. If you want the truth, bend over and look through the opening between your legs. Then you will see.’

Our protagonist shakes his head in disbelief. ‘Crazy old man, who does he think he is.’ He goes home, finds his wife and child smiling and laughing. He kisses them on the forehead. All is well.

But something feels wrong. He never sees his wife eating, for instance. His wife never goes out into the village, for another. Other strange things keep happening. And the villagers still retreat in fear whenever they see him.

Eventually it is too much for the man, and one day he stands in his bamboo living room, bends over and looks through the hole between his legs. The first thing he sees is cobwebs and dust everywhere. The second thing he sees is the rotting carcass of his wife, lying on a chair, cradling the remains of a dead baby. Naturally, he freaks the fuck out.

I don’t remember how the movie ended and I’m sure I’ve misremembered some parts, but that scene of the rotting wife carcass always stuck with me. That is the red pill at its worst. Not some ‘I know Kung Fu’ bullshit, just some plain old ‘nothing is what you thought it was, the people you thought loved you actually hate your guts’. Truth can be horrible like that.

Immortal gene, mortal man

The first nervous system, an electric communication channel between cells, was evolutionary adaptive for making a binary decision: forward or backwards, which can be explained in different but actually similar terms: eat or don’t eat, left or right, fight or flight, reproduce or don’t reproduce. It is said that fight/flight includes a 3rd option, freeze, but it still a dual decision: 1) make decision or 2) postpone decision. So, always dualism. Always nature’s love of symmetry.

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Our brain still works in the same manner as that first primitive nervous system did, still the same neurons firing of ‘yes’ or ‘no’, just many more neurons with many more interconnected decision trees. Like binary code, but interlinked binary code.


It’s the interlinking part that makes a nervous system self-conscious, that makes a neuron metaphorically say ‘I am part of the whole but I am also me’ and makes a human literally say ‘I am part of the whole but I am also me’. A computer can be programmed to say it, but not to understand it. Per Jim (PJ), artificial intelligence turns to be hard to figure out, with currently developed computers merely getting better at missing the point. We lack the ability to artificially create adaptive feedback loops.

Our brain cells are adaptive feedback loops. Mutation makes it so they often miss the point, but over time natural selection makes for resilient neurons. Thus humans are wired for optimum decision-making, which is to say they make decisions well above the threshold of ‘let’s jump off every skyscraper roof’ because natural equilibrium drifts towards safety barriers.

Do our brain cells function like a democracy? No. Nature is generally to our right, so likely a lot more dictatorial, in that some neurons overrule others. But there are connections and feedback loops between all nodes, so not absolutism either.

Does a neuron have consciousness? Can it separate itself from the brain of which it is part? No, it can’t, unless you’re the kind of person who believes hugging trees and not killing wasps raises your status, in which case you’d still be wrong (about the consciousness, not always about the status).

Do humans have consciousness? Yes. We can separate our individual meat vessel from the genes that created us. We can look at our body and say: every cell in this body is made and inhabited by genes, about 30.000 of them, packed in 46 chromosomes, safely hidden in cell nuclei.

Which leads to the realisation our genes don’t really care about us.

It’s not like they hate us, just that they are indifferent. To our genes, we’re just temporary vessels waiting to die. To us, they’re just little immortality factories waiting for us to die.

Yes, we are guardians to our genes. We protect and spread them. But we do it because we are programmed to do, like the puppet obeying the puppetmaster. If one gene combination won’t do, there will be others. Plenty of duplicate chromosomes in the genepool. Genes have safety barrier insurance against malfunctioning guardians. Said differently: from the point of view of our genes, there is no free will involved. It is evolve or die: you either evolve in accordance with your genes, or you die and are no longer relevant.

Though our relation is not exactly that of a puppetmaster-puppet. As said, we are conscious about our puppetmaster. The nature of the DNA survival strategy makes it so that while DNA is floating in a tiny space of cell fluid, we are walking and lifting meat machines. Your DNA is stuck with you, whether it likes it or not.

Still we are very strongly nudged in certain directions, in fact our decisions are defined by the nervous system created by DNA. This is why the nature/nurture-debate is post-modernist bunk. The answer to the debate is: nature. Nature wins. Nurture, or more accurately, meatspace, counts. It is good to have nice meatspace, very important even. But we modify the environment to fit ourselves instead of modifying ourselves to fit the environment, no matter how much veganists try to convince themselves of the opposite. Nurture is only important insofar DNA allows for cell plasticity. You may throw buckets of water at my feet or stuff kilos of oven-baked pork into tree hollows, you will not overcome nature.

Phrased differently: does magic dirt change tribalists into feudalists? Does a chimpanzee learn English if you teach it? The answers are no and no. [Are there more factual Nrx posts on nature/nurture are floating around…? As I understand one-egg twins separated at birth grow up to be fairly similar but not identical. Adoption children have close to zero resemblance to foster parents. But can not back that up. Links appreciated.]

Another modern debate that is bunkum: is there free will? The answer to this question is: well, a little, if you allow for a very broad definition of ‘free’ and ‘will’. But mostly it’s just people making themselves way more important than they are. You are a guardian for your genes, that is your designated role. How you choose to fulfil that role is about as much freedom as you’ll get.

In the end there is no escaping Gnon.

Of course, not for our lack of trying. We try to overcome Gnon at every turn. Take Jesus, who had no kids but has made much larger cultural impact than Genghis Khan who had tons of kids. But then you can say that Jesus was completely in line with Gnon in that he was good for the Jew gene pool, or even more broadly, good for cooperative genes similar to the ones Jesus had. But as the Jesus-propagated gene pool is cucked and and on the retreat, so does Jesus’ legacy diminishes.

Similarly, there is the archetype of the villain obsessed with eternal life, but then again there is the even stronger archetype of the vampire with eternal life. The former archetype is morally signalling that you are holier than Gnon. The second archetype is admitting that Gnon rules. Vampires are cool.

So no escaping Gnon.

Like it would be an insult to a chimpanzee to expect a chimpanzee to be human, it would be an insult to the sun if Icharus didn’t get knocked down a peg.

The question is, where does Gnon end and God begin? Probable answer: we never get to see God, only Gnon. We see a lot more evidence for Gnon than for God. God is fickle and vague, only talking to us through mostly Jewish texts. Why shouldn’t a man sleep with another man according to God? Because it is written. OK.

Why shouldn’t a man sleep with another man according to Gnon? Because gays are like eunuchs, in that they have no interest in society beyond their death and thus would rather have sex with children than care about them. [a cursory google search on ‘how many pedophiles are gay?’ links to indignant scientists telling me with statistics that I am horrible for even thinking there is a link, but personal observation tells me gays are obviously overrepresented in pedophilia, similar to how jews are overrepresented in Hollywood.]

So Gnon seems more accurate than God. And the earthly incarnation of Gnon seems to be genes.

But it is kind of cold to worship genes, especially when we observe genes’ indifference towards humans. So easier to worship God and have His commandments be completely in line with Gnon. Morality becomes intertwined with natural law. That is the symbiosis between biology and theology.