Modern Love

Gentlemen, words of wisdom on love in a time of poz, for those who seek their fortune?

Boomer: “Be confident and have a good job. Pretty girls will line up to marry you.”

Omniscient narrator: Thank you sir, that was helpful. 

GenX’er: “Things have changed. When I hit 20, there was no lack of pretty girls but they wanted to party more than I did. A decade later, it all derailed. Today, if a girl is under thirty and of less than porcine dimensions, her venereal options are limitless. Such power makes monsters of women. I hear that you have to be a criminal these days, to excite her dulled pistils. We weren’t willing to be criminals. Instead, in the twilight of our youth, we discovered Game.

Omniscient narrator: In 1990, cute girls were everywhere and obesity was rare. Mudsharking had just come on the scene but it hadn’t yet lowered the buying price of male companionship for marginal girls, so those girls still did their best to be attractive, maintaining dating market equilibrium. Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

Millennial: “When’s the last time I even saw a pretty girl? They’re all sea slugs who think they’re vamps, with the worst qualities of both. Anyhow, young men have dropped out, so having a scintilla of confidence puts you ahead of the soy-boys because the starved females crave masculine edge. Hey, knock yourself out and game a slag.”

When you seek pessimism, you will always find it. I know that nation-wreckers have ruined the world. They will pay for it, I promise. You are stuck on Fembot Fallacy, a fantasy that nothing keeps any woman from thotting and whoring it up while calling the cops on you. You’re wrong. Something does hold her hand back from pressing on all those levers of power arrayed before her. That something is soul. Some women have it. 

You know, in the dark they wonder the same about you: “Why won’t he just cut my throat, burn down the house, and go out in glory? Don’t men like glory?” 

There are diamonds in the rough. If you find one that’s better than her girlfriends and if you practice Game — it’s been dropped on your lap for free — you will laugh about how natural it feels to inspire her to take pride in looking nice, in being a good mother, in embracing all those things that terrify your enemies.

Generation Zyklon: “I’m nine years old and I don’t know what any of that means. My dad says that we will know the truth. I will make my own fortune.”

This letter is sealed. Read it when you are a bit older:

“My heart bursts like a thousand sunrises when I look at you. Every generation has its part to play, you have yours. You might not know what it is until after you’ve fulfilled it. You will do fine because you fear God, therefore you’re not afraid of anything else. Two tips: Don’t take advice from someone whose experience had left him embittered; he doesn’t want you to win. In love — now more than ever before — a man must decide early what he want from life and take it.”

———–

It’s not really work
It’s just the power to charm
I’m still standing in the wind
But I never wave bye bye
But I try, I try

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The Swamp And The Buttocks

My comment on Gab:

Up through the 1980s, nobody praised “the ass.” The ideal woman was male-gazed holistically. Sure, we’d check out a cute tail since time began but it was an extension of good legs, and anything larger than a sweet tight rump on a slender chick was [considered] fat. That’s our nature. White women will ask “does this make my butt look big” until the end of time.

Another person replied with a screenshot from a forum. The text in that image was written by someone who claims to have worked with the U.S. government on developing propaganda to Africanize male preferences in women. Real or fake, it’s plausible:

I was a part of an effort by U.S. intelligence going back to the late 1980s to target Brazil for preliminary experimental efforts. Again, the goal was the commodification of identity to replace traditional identity constructs and the creation of a neo-homogeneous population. The racial integrationist aspect has been largely successful. The white-identifying Brazil of the mid-twentieth century was by the 2010s majority non-white, not due to demographic change but due to biological racial integration and identity reconstruction.

My work specifically had to do with commodifying “femininity” or “female beauty,” so as to undermine tradition, culturally specific, white-centric ideas of female beauty and to replace the with racially non-specific, commodified forms of female beauty. This would both fuel the process of racial integration, furthering the goals both of U.S. intelligence and the cosmetics industry, for whom I worked. The campaign involved reducing female beauty to a set of non-racial, easily definable characteristics: the breasts and the buttocks. The “big booty” trend in Brazil makes beauty an acquirable trait rather than something “natural.” Women of color who would have been excluded from social beauty can now acquire it by simply acquiring the right traits, for purchase through the cosmetics industry. Thus, women of color have a higher likelihood of being found attractive, and racial integration is also advanced.

Two things are covered in that disclosure, and one feeds onto the other:

1. “The Swamp,” or the long-running efforts of Western intelligence agencies to create a global monoculture centered on the consumption of commercial products.

2. “The Buttocks,” or an element of psychological warfare to commodify sex down to economically exploitable standards of erotic appeal.

The Swamp

I don’t know enough about Brazil to confirm or refute those claims of successful racial integration there. To my understanding, that country has different dynamics by class and geography than in the United States, but race isn’t trivial. But if in fact Brazilians have mixed freely in recent decades, there is a question: is that the default future of Europe, North America and Australia?

Well, national identities in the western hemisphere are less deeply rooted than European national identities. And there is something else in play: Latin American civilization is different than Western.

Brazil was founded by Portuguese adventurers who took Amerindian and Mulatta women as wives. For Latins, the conquistador history precludes any stigma of defeat associated with amalgamation. So if indeed a more fluid racial identity has evolved in Brazil, that continent’s tradition of White sexual imperialism is at the root of that transformation.

But in the West, racial intermarriage carries two stigmas: one, Americans’ disgust with Blacks that dates back to the colonial times and on through today’s racial tragedies and melodramas. And two: in the West, it’s the women who mix. Yes, statistically it’s a more complicated picture but in popular perception, White men are the losers in this game. When talk of mixing comes up, we’re not the conquistadores — it’s our women who are the mudsharks. And in Europe, mixing is a consequence of the Islamic invasion.

Western history makes for a different reproductive habitat than in Latin America. If the Swamp and its partners in the cosmetics industry had, as is claimed, successfully propagandized a more inclusive racial identity in Brazil, in the West that propaganda falls on rocky soil. Miscegenation has been pushed on Americans in thermonuclear media blasts since the end of the Cold War, and the observable return on that investment is paltry. Here and in Europe, miscegenation is the province of the defective and the abandoned.

(One exception is American men — especially military service members who had been stationed in the Pacific — marrying East Asian women, a dynamic that’s similar to the Portuguese and Spaniards in their colonies.)

Therefore, I expect Western nations to bend a bit more, and then either break under the load of neoliberalism — or vomit out the replacement populations. If you’re an American over the age of forty, you remember the genteel tolerance of the Reagan era. That was then. The air itself today feels like a compressed spring.

The Buttocks

As to the confession about the Swamp propagandizing steatopygia — the ass-centrism in pop (poop?) culture is obvious, and that stuff rubs off on the impressionable. We’ve all heard White guys claim to prefer big butts. Some do like ’em bigger, of course, though within healthy White norms. But for the most part, I doubt their sincerity. Here is what they’re doing:

  • Parroting the meme to display the correct attitude
  • Dumpster-divers rationalizing their limited options with women
  • “Ah can handle dat black booteh!” whigger muhdikking

They lack perspective. With so many females on the obesity-thottery spectrum, a lot of the younger men have never seen a real woman. I won’t post the images, so look up any nude photo of an attractive White actress in a film from before the 1990s. She doesn’t have to be a knockout, either. The harmonious whole of her naked frame, with a bush and natural breasts, her face bright with something beyond-physical you can connect with.

There is higher beauty after sex: the perpetuation of one’s blood and ways, which every White man sees in the faces of White children. That’s why the instincts of reproduction and protectiveness are stronger than individual self-preservation. But I suppose there’s also the “racially non-specific, commodified forms of female beauty.”

Conclusion

Stephen King wrote a short story in which a super-genius discovers a chemical that reduces aggression in all living things. He recognizes its potential for bringing about world peace, so he and his brother (the narrator) mass-produce and disperse that chemical over the entire planet, and at first, it works spectacularly — hostilities end worldwide. Too late, however, they figure out why the chemical works the way it does: it causes dementia. The story ends with accounts of a dying humanity, as the narrator’s prose devolves to babble.

“I longed to abolish the difference between what is high and what is low
to humanity disgustingly diverse I longed to give one shape
I ceased not in my efforts t
o level mankind.”

***

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Greeks Bearing Gifts (and songs) – Part 1

“Girls we love for what they are; young men for what they promise to be.”
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Vicky Leandros, Après toi. Boys have to earn their value, girls have to preserve theirs. This Eurovision classic is about the Alpha Widow, a new name for the old term “damaged goods” — a woman whose sexual experience leaves her incapable of loving any man who’d give her his commitment. Vicky Leandros (born Vassiliki Papathanasiou) won the 1972 competition with that song, representing Luxembourg; it’s in French, the video has English subtitles:

With you, I had learnt to laugh
And my laughter only comes from you
After you, I will be only the shadow
Of your shadow, after you

Even one day if I go on with my life
If I keep the promise
That joins two being together, after you
I will be able maybe to give my affection
But none of my love

Be the guy who makes her laugh, as goes the Red Pill counsel, but Dionysian ethos alone will burn through the capital of a civilization:

All matriarchies have one thing in common: over time the women become ugly, inside and out. They become that way in part as a defense against being bombarded by endless unwanted advances. They become corrupted by their adventures with to the most vulgar expressions of masculinity. But the kicker is, part of them also loves all that attention along with the lowered expectations on their behavior, and they become complacent, having lost the incentive to bring anything to the table besides their gash.

Every civilization strikes a balance between license and repression. Whites have done well in relying on female self-restraint (modesty) and male honor, both enforced by law and habit. Slut-shaming for women, “You Break It, You Buy It” for men. Anything less would be uncivilized:

So under Patriarchy, girls get to relax a little. The bitch-shields are lowered because the first-tier girls aren’t pestered by presumptuous Betas’ clumsy fumbling and the second-tier girls by Alphas’ nakedly mercenary interest in them. And paradoxically, this collective self-restraint does not create a sexless or repressed environment. Quite to the contrary: Betas are charming without being creepy, while the Alphas lay on the charisma without triggering a lower-tier girl’s anti-slut defenses. And the girls can then let down their guard and actually be pleasant to everyone.

So I referenced modesty. Before geographic mobility weakened our social bonds, grandmothers told girls that modesty is the path to happiness. You can apply the word to a woman’s dress and demeanor. On another level, observe a good woman’s behavior: she’s not going to try to parry a man’s flirtation if she’s single and he’s out of her league, or if she’s married. She knows that she’s weak, that appearances matter, and that a stranger’s lewd interest is gross. She’ll walk away, not letting things escalate to where she’s being gamed.

Nana Mouskouri and Demis Roussos, To Gelakaki. Those of us from small nations, we don’t erect our flag when our brave men and women in uniform murder Middle Eastern civilians with an air strike. Chances are, if you relate to the small world of your grandparents, you don’t relate to Tomahawk missiles. The meek shall inherit the Earth, keeps me going. Maybe you relate to this dialogue between Nana and the (outlandishly hirsute) Demis:

NANA: Can we sing a song together?
DEMIS: It’s a nice idea.
NANA: Yes, do you remember an old Greek song, saying: “The underlining of your jacket I weaved with all my tears and my sighs…”
DEMIS: Oh, you mean To Gelekaki [trails off in Greek]
NANA: [Laughing like a little girl] Yes, yes…
DEMIS: Oh, that was my grandmother’s song!
BOTH: [Laughing together]
NANA: Do you mind if we sing it together now?
DEMIS: Not at all.

See her move when she catches her native rhythm!

Eleni Tzoka (née Milopoulou). She was born in Poland to Greek parents and she has a lovely voice, especially on her Polish-language Christmas recordings. She publicly forgave the killer of her only child, 17-year-old Afrodyta. This was in 1994. When police informed her that the girl’s boyfriend was arrested as the suspect, she phoned the boyfriend’s mother and told her that they both had just lost their children.

On forgiveness… here it feels different than when some churchian cuck in America forgives a black murderer, or a European liberal forgives a Muslim truck driver for killing his son or daughter. It really is different with your own folk… even given Eleni’s different ethnic origin. Among Christians of the same culture — in the family, so to speak — there is no vanity incentive to make a political show of faux-Christian “forgiveness.”

A war atrocity (such as interracial murder) demands collective retribution. It’s a profoundly impersonal crime in which the victim is a stand-in for his national group and is dehumanized by his very association with his killer because his life and death amounts to a scoreboard loss. Here, individual forgiveness is misplaced because war is not between individuals, and acts of war continue to claim new victims until the enemy is stopped. Here, forgiveness is treason.

In contrast, forgiveness for an “in the family” crime of passion, given the killer’s remorse and just punishment, in a way gives a greater dimension to the humanity of the victim and the murderer. Eleni’s daughter Afrodyta had dated Piotr G. since she was 13, and he shot her after they started drifting apart when she was accepted to an art college while he had dropped out of trade school. He was sentenced to 25 years in prison, Poland’s most severe criminal penalty at the time, so he will be out two years from now. From a newspaper clipping of the sentencing, the photo inset:

When the judge read the sentence, a cry was heard. Tears ran down Eleni’s face, and Piotr’s — the girl’s killer.

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Maria Athanasopoulou, “Golden Dawn Song.” Greeks created an identitarian movement that owns the streets before any other country in the West did. The song is good, has English subtitles, and the video has well-chosen images to go with the lyrics. Another things that makes listening to Greek enjoyable is picking up the words that are at the root of our own languages. Examples of ones I recognized in the song:

  • patrida: country
  • agoni: struggle
  • pioni: pawn (“pionek” in Polish)
  • antropi: people
  • hellines: Greeks
  • mega alexandro: Alexander the Great
  • philli: race

There is a powerful moment early in the song where the lyrics go on about the depredation of globalists and their homegrown lackeys, and then there is the verse, with photos of Golden Dawn leaders:

But I know there are people
– Allá xéro óti ypárchoun ánthropoi
[The phonetic Greek is from an online translation, not actual lyrics]

Who really love this land
– Poios pragmatiká agapá aftí ti gi
And when we line up like soldiers
– Kai ótan katatássoume san stratiótes
Pains and woe to the traitors, we will find you!
 – Pónoi kai alímono stous prodótes, tha sas vroúme!

(Part 2)

Male Fun, Male Commitment

I spent a bit of my twenties in the South and hung out with a group of guys down here. One of them, “Travis,” was a big dude with a grin that never quit. He told us two stories (mature audiences only), each illustrating the difference between treating one chick like a plaything and committing to another. He was an alpha.

By The Lake

DEMETRIUS:
I will not stay thy questions; let me go:
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

HELENA:
Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex:
We cannot fight for love, as men may do;
We should be wood and were not made to woo.

W. Shakespeare, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”

This was a story from Travis’s past. One summer day, he and his friends piled into his truck and drove to the lake. She had a thing for him. The attraction was unrequited but she pestered him while he, gently at first, shoo’d her away.

Over by the lake, she upped the ante by offering to blow him. Would you pass on that? Travis didn’t. They walked to where the truck is parked and he sat on the tailgate. She went to work. All was good, until the beers in his digestive tract became gas and he felt a fart coming on. A big one. “Hey babe, take your mouth off for a sec, I got a ripper coming” nobody said ever. He didn’t either. And I wish you could have been there to hear him tell the story, as by this point we were all laughing our assess off, as every one of his words was a punchline. As he tells it, he figured that he can sneak it past her in little tiny bits.

So he cracks the door open juuuust a bit. All’s good. She’s enthusiastically bobbing, didn’t hear anything. Encouraged, he lets another little bit out. Nothing. And a little more. Oops, she pauses. Her face scrunches. She breathes in, looks up and sees his guilty expression.

“Youuu… ASSHOLE” she smacks the saluting soldier and storms off down the road. Travis hops off the truck bed, pulls up his pants and gets back to the lake. “Where did she go?” someone asks. They eventually get back on the road and see her walking. As Travis told the tale, he pulls over and she runs toward the truck. So he steps on the gas and leaves her there, to everyone’s laughter.

In The Parking Lot

PROSPERO:
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,
Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child.

CALIBAN:
O ho, O ho! would’t had been done!
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

W. Shakespare, “The Tempest”

This happened not long before the story was told. Maybe two nights earlier. The anger in Travis’s voice was still fresh.

His girlfriend was a cute little thing. She worked the evening shift at a local grocery store and eventually told Travis about a black guy who stalked her, usually by loitering at her cash register. The manager banned him from the store, so he approached her in the parking lot before midnight as she walked to her car after her shift. She was terrified by the encounter and that’s when she told Travis.

Travis lost his shit. He told her that he’s gonna wait in the parking lot to catch him. So the following night, she leaves the store and walks across the dark lot. The black fellow shows up and intercepts her. Travis gets out of his truck. I am going by his words and he was a vivid storyteller. Though I don’t remember his exact narration, the reel of the events in my mind is as fresh now as it was then.

Travis asks her: “Is that him?” She say “Yes.” He grabs the offender by his shirt, slams him onto the hood of a car, brings his face within french-kissing distance of the terrified nig-nog whose eyes are bulging in terror, and dispenses a few clipped words of warning. Travis then underscores the gravity of his threat by bringing his face even closer to his frozen quarry’s and enunciating, very slowly: “And I will do it. Because I am a man. And you are a nigger.”

Camille Paglia Connects the Transgender Fad with Cultural Collapse

What interests me, is — which culture is collapsing and which is ascendant? The modern West has many cultures, and the prevailing expression of liberalism isn’t anyone’s here, whether by upbringing or by a conscious choice.

As introduced in the YouTube video below: “Author, art professor, feminist, and cultural commentator Camille Paglia speaks on the current transgender mania, the wisdom of early medical & surgical intervention (calling it ‘child abuse’), and how the explosion of gender identities is a recurring sign of cultural collapse throughout the history of civilization.”

She calls out the social mechanism for drug-induced interruption of puberty and unalterable surgical sex changes:

I personally believe that anyone who collaborates in an intrusion to a developing child’s body and mind is guilty of child abuse. A crime against humanity, because such a child is not prepared to make such a decision […] I think that it’s become a fashion. The ‘transgender’ definition has become a kind of convenient label for young people who may simply feel alienated.

At the end of the video, she calls it evil. Or as put in this fantastic cover/parody of Eminem’s White America:

All I hear is: “Nazi, Nazi, time to end all this
White supremacist patriarchy”
From kikes and feminists,
Commies telling women that man is the problem
And chopping the dick off a toddler
Cause you think his gender is wrong
Is a commendable option

But this degenerate present
Has us reminiscing the past
When then the same Satanic shit
Was met with swastika flags

She goes on to describe feminism along Heartiste’s own definition, which is: “The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.” Is she a reader? In her words:

The collaboration of the bureaucratic machinery has to do with the assault on masculinity… Everything is about expanding women’s rights, but it is also about terminating men’s, and defining men out of existence. Masculinity is by definition toxic, masculinity does not exist.

Paglia speaks rapidly, in the manner familiar to those who know highly intelligent people whose thoughts race ahead of their words. Based on a short conversation she and I had two decades ago, I can confirm that she is also exceedingly charming in person.

Here she makes the connection between sexual decadence and the broader cultural one:

I have always been fascinated with the subject of androgyny… I explored it in history. The more I explored it, the more I realized that historically, the movement toward androgyny occurs in late phases of culture, as a civilization is starting to unravel. You can find it again and again in… Greek art and all of the sudden see it happening. All of the sudden… the sculptures of handsome nude young men athletes that used to be very robust in the archaic period suddenly begin to seem like wet noodles.

The people who live in such periods, in late phases of culture, whether it’s the Hellenistic era, whether it’s the Roman empire, whether it’s the Mauve Decade of Oscar Wilde in the 1890s, whether it’s the Weimar Germany…

She said “Weimar.”

… people who live in such times feel that they’re very sophisticated, they’re very cosmopolitan. [Fey voice] Homosexuality, heterosexuality, so what, anything goes, and so on. But from the perspective of historical distance, you can see that it’s a culture that no loner believes in itself.

And then what you invariably get, are people who are convinced of the power of heroic masculinity, on the edges. Whether they are the Vandals and the Huns, or whether they’re the barbarians of ISIS, you see them starting to amass on the outside of culture, and that’s what we have right now.

There is a tremendous — and rather terrifying — disconnect between the infatuation with the transgender movement in our own culture, and what’s going on out there.

When you read mainstream liberal articles, at The New Yorker and such, you will pick up on an effeminate sensibility, along with an elegiac note in the prose. The barbarians aren’t always from another country.

Women Are Choosing

There is a youngish married woman who, contrary to all of her apolitical or Trump-supporting girlfriends, is an armchair social justice warrior who makes a daily habit of squirting anti-White posts on Facebook. Her friends roll their eyes when her name comes up and some have unfollowed her because they find her posts irritating.

She is an anachronism. On matters of identity, there is nothing left to debate. What’s left is signalling. In other words, informing your peers on where your loyalty belongs.

NFL’s Take a Knee campaign is a prominent example of such signalling. It was never a debate on “freedom of expression” — it is an affirmation of identity. White GenZ kids are getting red-pilled younger and younger as events pull them onto history’s stage.

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Pretty Faces

Hope Sandoval is deep inside herself, a diva reputed for her paralyzing stage fright.

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” ― Pablo Neruda


Mary Hopkins’ finishing-school “daahnce” is a turn-on. Smiling is a vocalist’s challenge. Having a genuine bright-eyed freshness is another professional challenge, but not for her.

“Why, he wondered, should he remember her suddenly, on such a day, watching the rain falling on the apple trees?” ― Daphne du Maurier


Melania Mina Špiler is not as Apollonian as she’d have you think. See her eyes roll back and her breasts heave in preemptive surrender to her great teacher.

“She had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes that were very pretty and very good.” ― Charles Dickens


Courtney Love speaks to our spirit in this live performance, climaxing in whooping cough at 2:45. Her Pacific Northwest accent is pretty, like when she says “pahhhrrrts.”

“She had the secret of individuality which excites and escapes.” ― Joseph Conrad

You remember your first make-out with a girl (or otherwise). Tell us about it if you’re not shy. I described mine here.

Open thread.