Miyerkules, Hulyo 30, 2014

Some Redpilling on Marx





pol, regarding two-party paradigms

The left-right paradigm which is so defamed as nonexistent here, is in a way real, but is better defined as the reactionary-progressive paradigm.

The progressive part is the moving actor and the reactionary is, shocking, the reactor. The actor moves steadily forward at an increasing speed, like an object in freefall, while the reaction force increasingly fails to slow it down.

Now, here is the crux of this, and the part you won't here often: As the reaction force fails and the progressive force continues to pick up speed, it eventually becomes too sure of itself, too cocky, it moves too fast, and eventually it will drive the majority of people in society into not only the reaction force, but increasingly, militant and eventually very hostile reaction forces. Society, then, will as a whole, snap back against progressivism, against globalization, and sometimes against urbanization.

You may be asking why any of this is relevant or applies to common life. Particularly it is important because we are on the death spiral for democracy in large parts of the world that we were on 90 years ago. What we are seeing in the right, as it further and further increases it's intolerance for the left, is the later parts of the populist movement. of the 1890s. Groups which I believe to be part of this "new populist block" include Front National, UKIP, Golden Dawn, Ukraine's new government, Swedish Democrats, and others.

Another crux of this point, and a grave prediction: All of these groups will inevitably fail, with perhaps the exception of the Golden Dawn. They are not the final form, but a means to an end, a proof that reactionaries will not win through peace. As this becomes apparent, the narrative of the right in Europe will turn it's praise away from democracy and democratic ideals, as the need to preserve the old way through any means asserts itself. What we will have then, gentlemen, is proper nationalist parties, some terribly similar to those of the 1930s.

A little bit of inspiration from pol


It's all gone wrong, hasn't it? And when you recognize that's it's all gone wrong, they hate you for it. Not just hate you, the wish death and violence upon you. Upon everything that you love and hold dear. All of that tolerance and acceptance goes out the window when you don't want your entire identity defined by your sexual fetishes. When you want to be successful and make something of yourself without excuses or handouts. By God will they hate you. And should you ever want to see the fruits of your labor, to truly OWN what you have wrought with all of that blood and sweat, they will want to see it taken from you. And that's the most sickening thing of all. For all of the noise, all the screaming and whining and yelling they do, it is all to appeal to someone stronger than they and stronger than you to do their dirty work, because their cowardice knows no bounds or limits or shame. You would pray to God for the strength to carry on, and they ridicule and spit at you for it while in the same breath praying to the State to come and smite you, not with lightning or floods or plagues, but with guns and tanks and drones.

So I ask you, my fellow users; is it wrong to hate them? I would say that it is not wrong to hate someone who would seek to silence everything you say, to discredit everything you do, and destroy everything you create. Why humor them as equals at all? The answer is simple, we must elevate them. We must be better, we must be the shining example. Where they seek to tear everything down, we must be the builders, the creators. You must be that shining light on the hill, that Ubermensch, not the biting, spitting child they wish you to be.

We must all be better, if we are to right what has gone wrong. To bring this new dark age asunder from the perverts and liars that would corrupt all that is good in the world. To arms, to arms.

Linggo, Hunyo 01, 2014

True Gold from the Fanfiction generator

This story worked out so well.



A Stigmata In Time

On a holy and holy morning, Jesus sat up on the cross. It was Valentine's Day and he was all alone. His shaft ached in sorrow for the secret love that he could never share. How could he expect Judas to love someone with a holy receptacle?

Godly, he began to recite a poem he had composed. "Ah, my love is like a holy holy might, all on a summer's day. I wish my Judas would nail me, in his own holy way..."

"Do you?" Judas sat down beside Jesus and put his hand on Jesus's palms. "I think that could be arranged."

Jesus gasped godly. "But what about my holy receptacle?"

"I like it," Judas said godly. "I think it's holy."

They came together and their kiss was like to a grain of mustard, which a man having taken, did sow in his field.

"I love you," Jesus said godly.

"I love you too," Judas replied and nailed him.

They bought a lamb, moved in together, and lived godly ever after.


THE END

Some juvenile faux-writing

I can't believe how old this piece is-I wrote it back when Wrath of the Lich King had just come out and people were still using the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air meme. It was languishing in one of my many notepad files. I present the Dead Ranger of Bel-Air:


Dead Ranger of Bel-air:

Now this the story about how
My life got switch-swapped went around
And don’t worry ‘bout the blade stuck in yo head
I’ll tell you how I became the one of the undead

In west Quel’thalas, trained and served,
I’m very best pals with the beasts and the birds,
Seeking, hunting, killing them intruders
And hobnobbin’ with the best elven shooters

When the might of Scourge,
Bringin’ the pain,
Tried to get to our ‘chanted fountain
I made one little counter and Arthas got pissed,
He said, “I’ll have to do somethin’ ‘bout that elven bitch.”

I whistled for my troops as the dead came near,
Ghouls and Fiends and Zombies were here,
I anything, I had nothing to say,
But I thought, “For the elves!” “Yo homes, fire away!”

The battle was long, well into the day,
Until Arthas came for me, and then I was slain
He thought a clean kill was way too unfair,
I was raised from the dead, so let the living beware.



Sylvanas: "What in the Forsaken's name?"



Top-tier /lit/ copypasta

/lit/ got it's hands on the Navy SEALS copypasta and subjected it to postmodernism:


A dualist Plato scholar philosophy professor and designer of hydroelectric power stations was teaching a class on RenĂ© Descartes, known metaphysician. ”Before the class begins, you must get on your knees and worship Descartes and accept that his "cogito ergo sum" is the most self-evident idea in the history of humanity, even more evident than "panta rei"!”

At this moment, a brave, patriotic, deep ecologist Heideggerian traditional farmer who had written over 1500 papers on the ontological difference and understood the necessity of a new German beginning for western philosophy and fully supported all hermeneutization of ontology spoke:

”What is that by terms of which this rock can be said to exist, pinhead?” he said in a 19th century rural dialect of German

The arrogant professor smirked quite modernly and smugly replied, “Matter, you stupid postmodernist.”

”Wrong. Matter is just an a posteriori theoretical understanding of reality. If its Being, as you say, is a metaphysical substance… then its Being is a being.”

The professor was visibly shaken, and dropped his chalk and copy of Discourse on the Method. He stormed out of the room crying those dualist crocodile tears. The same tears modernists cry for the “res cogitans” when they jealously try to claw wonder from the world by making it a standing-reserve of resources. There is no doubt that at this point our professor, Aristotle Spinoza, wished he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and become more than an inauthentic nihilist. He wished so much that he could experience aletheia, but he himself had created metaphysical cages that prevented Being from showing itself!

The students applauded and all enrolled in the university of Freiburg that day and accepted historicity and finitude as the defining characteristics of human existence. An eagle named “Ereigenis” flew into the room and perched atop the portrait of Friedrich Nietzsche and shed a tear on the chalk. Sein und Zeit was read several times, and Being itself was disclosed and propagated authenticity and existential dread throughout the country.

The professor lost his tenure and was fired the next day. He died after being ran over by a motorized fleet of agricultural machinery and nothing happened to him after that because being-towards-death is a condition of possibility for experience.



More where that came from!