Guilt and Atonement

I haven’t decided on whether to keep the tone serious or make this a LOL-post because my thinking on this heavy subject was spurred by this comical cuckold confession: a man persuades his reluctant wife to have sex with another man in front of him to fulfill what he thought was his cuck fantasy. He describes them starting to have sex, and continues:

It was at this moment that my stomach dropped; hot to cold in a millisecond. I very quickly realized that when I was watching cuckold porn, I wasn’t getting off on being the cuck, I was getting off on being the bull. I felt sick, but I didn’t know what to do; they were already fucking. I sat there, saying nothing. Luckily, after a few minutes, he finished. After it was all done, I rushed him out, told her to get cleaned up and I went to get some chinese food. I sat in my car crying for 20 minutes until it was ready and then went home and pretended nothing was wrong.

For the past week I have been doing my best to clench my teeth and try to forget about it, but I can’t. The way she moaned, the way she grabbed him, the way she looked at him. I cannot get it out of my head. Knowing that I actually let another man, let alone a guy who’s much more masculine and attractive than myself, fuck my wife makes me sick to my stomach. I honestly want to kill myself and it seems like the best solution right now. I genuinely can’t look at myself in the mirror without feeling disgusted. The worst part is that it’s completely my fault. I don’t know what to do. I really really need some advice. I’ve never felt this hopeless before.

Was that a real confession or a fap/troll post? No idea. But since the commenters on Reddit are treating it as a bona fide confession, I’ll let that post launch my own thoughts about what to do, should you do something that you profoundly regret.

In this case, I don’t so much mean an honest error in judgment, but rather a mistake that reveals some flaw of character you have, sabotages your life, lowers your self-regard and others’ opinion of you, and possibly hurts an innocent person. So let’s say that you really screwed up, your stomach drops and you want to die. Here is what you do:

Admit to yourself that you did wrong. Own your mistake. Look in the mirror and tell yourself that you fucked up. This is not the time to spin rationalizations. If there is shared responsibility, it still took you to tango.

Get clean. Take a shower. Kneel down to pray or take a walk and meditate. I did something I regretted once, involving ugly words. In dealing with my moral hangover, I kneeled, crossed myself, said the Lord’s Prayer and asked God to forgive me. I was sincere and felt peaceful afterwards.

Do something. The worst thing you can do is curl up and marinate in your dread. You have things you’ve been putting off that need to be done. Do them. The easier ones first, then the others. Go lift some weights and your anxiety will give way to a calm sense of power. Testosterone is a truth serum that will make you steadier in facing your guilt without equivocation. I once described how a short visit to the gym got me out of a despairing mood and more so, reversed the decline of the United States.

Apologize to the innocent victims. Apologize to the good faith-party you’ve wronged. Here is an example of how to say it: “I’m sorry for my behavior last night. I was wrong to do that and I regret it. It will never happen again.” And you’d either be sure that it will never happen again, or don’t promise that.

Two years ago, a female executive of Korea Air and its parent company made news when she berated a flight attendant and ordered the flight she was on to return to the gate at JFK International Airport because she was unhappy with her macadamia nuts. Properly, she later apologized and resigned her position as executive vice president of the company. Her father, chairman of the company, also took responsibility for his daughter’s behavior:

“I apologize to the people of [South Korea] as chairman of Korea Air and as a father for the trouble caused by my daughter’s foolish conduct,” the tycoon said, according to Reuters. “Please blame me; it’s my fault,” Cho said, according to the New York Times. “I failed to raise her properly.”

A few notes on apologizing:

One: Apologize once; more than once is groveling.

Two: Don’t let a third-party opportunist hijack the occasion for his own gratification. There was a Seinfeld episode in which George Costanza took delight in learning that an acquaintance, as part of his Alcoholics Anonymous program, was preparing to apologize to various people he had wronged. Costanza looked forward to receiving a public apology for some long-ago, trivial slight and when it started becoming clear that there is no apology coming, he pressed for it. In response, the recovering alcoholic laughed and said “No.”

Finally: Never apologize when you are targeted by SJWs. An apology is a personal rectification of your failing, not a political self-denunciation. People are catching on to the fact — one that I exhorted at least four years ago — that you must never apologize to your enemies for telling the truth. As countless examples show, an apology for defying the Narrative triggers your inquisitors into a feeding frenzy, while standing by your words (even if they were not your best performance) gets them to back off as though you had called their bluff.

Make restitutions. Take your earned punch. If you wrongly humiliated someone publicly, apologize publicly. If you caused someone material damage, you’ll have to compensate him. Burned through your family’s savings at a casino? Get a second job to earn back the loss. You drove while intoxicated and killed another person? You have to do your prison time. If you’re not a sociopath, you will understand. Raskolnikov couldn’t resist turning himself in for murdering a nasty old crone.


Men make mistakes. Sometimes really pathetic mistakes, such as that of our mortified cuckold who ruined his marriage and his self-respect. And your mistake — whatever it may have been — is now part of what you are. That’s something you can’t do anything about. But what you can do, is to strive to let your repair of your mistake define you, rather than the mistake itself.


If you’ve wronged a woman, there is another way to expunge your guilt. Have the video below ready, paused on 2:14. Say that you have something to tell her, then press Play — the howl of anguished penitence that pours out speaks to your own deep feelings of regret — and then you stop it on 2:27.

Father-Son Songs


There is no stronger — and more complicated — human bond than between a father and his son. Happy Father’s Day to those of you who brought your indubitably dashing likeness into the world at this exciting time. Here are some popular songs for the occasion:

Roger Waters (Pink Floyd), “When the Tigers Broke Free — Waters wrote that autobiographical song as homage to his father, Eric Fletcher Waters (1913 – 1944), who died in the battle of Anzio. The song was ultimately left off The Wall album, the bandmates’ consensus being that it was too intense:

It was dark all around
There was frost in the ground
When the Tigers broke free
And no one survived from the Royal Fusiliers Company C
They were all left behind
Most of them dead
The rest of them dying
And that’s how the high command
Took my daddy from me

Harry Chapin, “Cats and the Cradle — There is also a decent hard rock cover by early 1990s band Ugly Kid Joe.

“When you coming home, dad?” “I don’t know when
But we’ll get together then
You know we’ll have a good time then”

Cat Stevens, “Father and Son — Stevens wrote it as a father-son conversation, with the higher-note verses being the boy’s lines:

It’s not time to make a change,
Just sit down, take it slowly.
You’re still young, that’s your fault,
There’s so much you have to go through.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy.

Mike and the Mechanics, “The Living Years — I am not of the school of thought that talking solves things. Some things speak for themselves, you reap what you sow. Where we don’t see eye to eye, latter-life insight (I think) helps. Mike Rutherford disagrees:

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye

Marie Laforet, “Viens, Viens — A splash of estrogen in French, sang from the point of view of a young girl abandoned by her womanizing father. She mentions her younger brother (the linked video is subtitled):

Do you know that Jean is back to school
He already knows the alphabet, it is funny
When he pretends to smoke
He looks just like you

Dan Fogelberg, “Leader of the Band — The song reminds me of Dennis Leary once doing a comic monologue about people suing Heavy Metal bands in the ’80s over their allegedly suicide-promoting lyrics. Leary’s punchline was that he should sue Fogelberg for his wimpy songs, listening to which turned him into a pussy. But I don’t think he had this song in mind.

He earned his love through discipline, a thund’ring, velvet hand.
His gentle means of sculpting souls took me years to understand.

Johnny Cash, “A Boy Named Sue — One deadbeat dad did his job:

And he said, “Son, this world is rough
And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ya along
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you’d have to get tough or die
And it’s the name that helped to make you strong”

Faster Pussycat, “House of Pain” — The life a boy whose father disappeared in a divorce:

Image credit (top of post): unknown

Open Thread — and a Look Ahead

I’ll be busy with a project over the forthnight so posting will be sparse. Once that’s done, new material will once again come at a steady clip. Meanwhile, newer readers can browse the tabs I set up at the top of the page (under Menu in mobile view); be sure to look thorough the comments as well.

A forward-looking item: I am thinking about several commenters’ suggestions that I start a comic strip. I have never done one before so this will be a fresh endeavor and I already have some ideas. If you have any thoughts — simple punchline comedy, satire, characters that need to be introduced to the world, or an ongoing storyline — drop them here. I will be reading the comments.

Racism is a Human Right

But the globalist media, spiraling into clickbait irrelevance, don’t understand that. We are Scared – The Africans in India Say Racism is Constant, says the ABC News headline:

Fear and anger. Those are the emotions that shadow Odole Emmanuel Opeyemi every time the Nigerian man steps out of his New Delhi apartment. Every encounter with Indians is fraught with those feelings, whether he’s taking an autorickshaw or the Metro, buying vegetables or trying to find a spot to park his car.

The style guide: lead off with a pitiful description of a black person lamenting a trivial slight. Then somewhere in the story, insert the word “racism.” That formula’s effectiveness had been reliable since Leon Trotsky invented the word and American media spread it as a shaming tool globally. White people’s apparently innate pity for the African had made us a compliant audience to that narrative.

But the media no longer influence public opinion. “Racist!” mewls a corporate outlet. “We don’t care,” laughs the Alt-Right, humanity’s anti-globalist vanguard.

Prejudice is open in India. […] Landlords in cities including New Delhi and Mumbai deny homes to people based on race and religion.

Sounds like sweet liberty to me. One needs to step away from liberalism to appreciate the insipidness of wringing one’s hands over the fact that somewhere, anywhere, somebody is not embracing a foreigner. The counter-narrative: nobody wants to suffer Blacks’ discivic behavior. Nobody wants to hear alien whooping near his home. Nobody wants black spores inside his daughter’s womb.

As empire-builders have learned by observing racial relations in the United States, black people can be weaponized as universal solvent against every rooted social structure — family, community, nation —  and deployed as such under the state’s protection wherever something needs wrecking.

The Age of Aquarius criers were a charlatans who promised eternal peace for the small price of stripping yourself of everything that you care about. Racist Asians are not falling for the lie that to respect the human rights of two billion Africans, you have to give them your home and your future.

“When I sit down in the Metro, people sit away from me. Even old men and women will stand up as if any contact with me will give them a disease,” he said, describing the mixture of fear and revulsion with which most Indians treat Africans.

There you have it. Indians are insufficiently obsequious to somebody who doesn’t belong among them. That quote was from Opeyemi, the Nigerian in India. For a perspective that is more historically in line with Africans’ relations with other races, below is a 1964 news report showing a slave market in Saudi Arabia. Now that is what violating the human rights of an African looks like:

The Creepy Spectacle at the Gotthard Base Tunnel


On June 1, 2016 western European leaders celebrated the opening of the Gotthard Base Tunnel in Switzerland, world’s longest rail tunnel, in a creepy ceremony filled with satanic imagery. Background information and some of the tamer images are provided in the Vigilant Citizen:

To celebrate the inauguration of this tunnel, an elaborate ceremony was presented in front of European dignitaries such as Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany, President Francois Hollande of France and Italian Prime Minister Matteo Renzi. While most would expect an up-beat, celebratory ceremony, guests were rather treated to a disturbing show orchestrated by German director Volker Hesse, where a man dressed as a goat presided a strange ritual.

Here is the Daily Mail’s report, which takes a more neutral tone on the ceremony. And this video shows high-definition footage of the indoor-portion of the event:

An aside question: why, with all those scenes already being straight out of Hieronymus Bosch, are the semi-naked dancers nevertheless modestly covered by underwear? (Except for the performer pictured at the top of this post appearing to be a topless male with female breasts.) Another incidental thing that struck me was that every single performer is White. Not one token present. As it should be — generally speaking in term’s of any theatrical performance’s aesthetic and cultural coherence — yet the racial homogeneity here so unusual when contrasted with that same establishment’s promotion of “diverse” images everywhere else.

This video features the outdoor portion of the ceremony, which is even more disturbing:

Satanic rituals? Illuminati? Portal to hell? I have no idea and I am not ruling anything out. There are many theories about the meaning of this ceremony. In one of the videos, the host speculates about that tunnel, along with other major underground projects, being merely the visible portions of much larger constructions — deep bunkers in which the elite plans to ride out an impending cataclysm that they either know about or intend to inflict on the rest of the planet. In such a scenario, I’d extrapolate, the current policy of mass-immigration make sense as a kill-insurance measure for any European survivors.

Another explanation for that over-the-top spectacle is that the European elites are trolling their traditional opposition to mock or disorient them. Or possibly in cooperation with their intelligence agencies, baiting their political opponents into making crazy-sounding claims. Like talk of illuminati hand-gestures, reptilian overlords, and remote-controlled drones flying into the Twin Towers being disseminated to discredit compelling cases such as those of Architects and Engineers for 911 Truth.

The third explanation suggests that the bizarre ceremony is an expression of mere nihilism of Europe’s atheist ruling class. As Lawrence Auster elucidated:

Eugene (Fr. Seraphim) Rose delineated four stages of Nihilism, defined by their ever-increasing indifference or hostility to truth. The first and mildest stage of Nihilism is Liberalism. The Liberal does not believe in truth, higher truth, absolute truth, or Christian truth. Yet he retains “the name of truth, and the names of those truths men once regarded as absolute.” The next stage of Nihilism is Realism (though I think a better name would be Materialism). The Realist aggressively denies all higher truth, he says that only the material, the physical, the lower, the purely deterministic, is true. The Vitalist in turn reacts against the unbearably meaningless and sterile world that has been created by the Liberal and the Realist. He seeks a revived meaning and vitality in life, but without challenging the Liberal’s and Realist’s assumptions about truth or seeking a restoration of the truths they have destroyed. [..]

In the Vitalist stage of society, people deliver themselves over to an unending search for sensation and excitement, for the exotic and the experimental, for ever-greater freedom and satisfaction of desires, for the “riches of diversity,” for the transforming “energy” that is produced by a society in constant change and motion—and with all these things being seen as, even explicitly promoted as, a substitute for any inherent truth and goodness in existence.

As Vitalism reaches its peak, the final stage of Nihilism starts to appear. This is the Nihilism of Destruction, “a rage against creation and against civilization that will not be appeased until it has reduced them to absolute nothingness.”

That is the explanation that makes the most sense to me. Except that the nihilists in attendance at that event are not innocent Marie Antoinettes playing at milkmaid. As perpetrators of the massive migrant invasion of Europe, they are criminals who are actively inflicting unnecessary and incalculable misery on the European people. Their hands are soaked in blood to their armpits.

By any of the above scenarios, as well as self-evidently, the Gotthard Base Tunnel opening ceremony looks like a wordless cry of a class whose necks are ripe for the guillotine’s blade.

Herbert: “Thoughts about my father”

His stern face in a cloud over the waters of childhood
(so rarely did his hand hold my warm head)
given to trusting but not forgiving
he blazed the forests and straightened paths
carried the lantern high when we entered the night

I thought that I would sit at his right hand
and separate light from darkness
and judge the living
— things worked out differently

a vendor of bric à brac hoisted his throne

he was born for the second time tiny very fragile
transparent skin very fine cartilage
he shrunk his body so that I could lift him

in an unimportant place a stone casts a shadow

he grows in me we consume our disasters
burst out laughing
when they say how little is needed
to be reconciled

— Zbigniew Herbert (1974)

The above is my translation of Herbert’s “Thoughts about my father.”
Original title: “Rozmyślania o ojcu.”