There was a time not long ago when young men only wanted to live aesthetically, peacefully, the kind of life found in the Wes Anderson movie…but now they are confronted by total war…one for the future of sentient life and spiritual survival.
A few weeks ago you entered the war, though at the time you didn’t realize it. You read somewhere that some ghoulish researchers mutilated a live, fully conscious cat to develop cochlear technology with possible blue tooth applications at a university. Now you have found yourself sitting in traffic, staring through aviators with bloodshot Iwo Jima eyes, armed with a skeggox on your way to this place when a thought occurs to you: there has never been a more dishonest, detached and apathetic time in human history.
They said 536 AD was the worst year. It was cold and many crops failed. If not this particular year then surely the worst time to live would have been a time of carnage or a time of shivering prehistoric imbeciles hiding in caverns. The worst, they will always insist was the ferocious age of the mighty steppe raiders or the plague years. Times of great deprivations and slaughters. They said this was all behind us now and that you should be grateful that you live today.
But they are wrong.
You have an ancestor whose name you don’t know but whose blood animates your physical body…this man crossed oceans and carried a great spear, a sword that would shame and dwarf the modern man. This ancestor forded a thousand mile wide barren chasm of isolation and hostility. He spent frozen nights with only the wails of cold wind and the icy stare of dead, indifferent stars.
But he had a friend.
A dog kept him warm and alive. They lived together with a singular purpose. They hunted on treks with his family and with men for whom he would kill for and who would kill for him.
Yes, it is today and not then you find yourself most alone.
It is today when people must be encouraged even to live. To not kill themselves.
As you stare out of the window you are reminded of the terrible costs of this age. Uninspired and ugly buildings filled with hordes of grotesquely misshapen men bathed in deforming industrial chemicals and stuffed into ill-fitting, synthetic fiber clothing. Their minds crafted by algorithms into hive components…their lifespans spent not as free humans but neurotic drones in a type of consumer fugue. These men paddle walk with high resting pulses and are fed warehouse offal, then shoved into endlessly unsatisfying and demonic labors for the Big Arrow.
Your modern masters endlessly disparage the past and tout a glorious future.
But it is a lie. You live in an age of lies.
The world of play nice and pearl clutching at the mention of the Huns has spiraled the human species into a physical and spiritual decay that is more far more terrifying and destructive than men with bone necklaces and faces painted to honor apex predators.
Two thousand years ago it was easy to believe that man was crafted in image of God…7ft tall Hallstatt commanders with winged helmets flew on Holsteiners. They wielded unfathomably ornamented weapons that awed and blinded their enemies…with their glistening bronze edges that that in the sun became a type of ancient laser. Men with the conditioning of Pumas marched across the land behind them.
Man was the template for God because they ceremoniously devoured the liver and vital organs of wild boar. Each hunt the equivalent of a Dianabol/Tren cycle.
These men, this stampede of Ivan Drago horsemen obliterating enemies and usurping the lands led to one of the first great bifurcations of the human species. They became so physically superior, so destructive of the diminutive lowland sod humpers that earth now only remembers their genetic gift: They were the raw materials that crafted the stock of all surviving people where they tread.
One of these men is your forebear. His memory encoded deep inside your cells waiting rebirth.
Unlike you, all centers of his mind aligned with all orders of reality. He has no sublimated desires, for his life is absolute and tangible: and this gifts him clarity and purpose, he lives in a semi erect state of arousal at the specter of his own power.
This is the birth of the bio feedback loop: This man, a Nephilim sized bare chested fornicator clad in a scanty buckskin tunic is shielded by mighty groves of racist beech trees who protect him as he conquers a land of maidens and game with the priapic bulge of victory and he in turn is rewarded with further victory.
You yearn to live this life again.
You are degraded by limp wristed media squires and dysgenic sinecures. Your bosses insult you, force you to grovel and respond to Kafka trap HR questionnaires and Ibrahim Kendi seminars. You chafe at this and feel spiritual desolation and self-hatred. This is because a man who sired your genetic line and of whom you are only a recent incarnation would have savaged such men. Your life is controlled by ZOGlings whom your ancestor would have face whipped with a banquet chalice and spit roasted.
You feel the absence of awe, that a world of great strength and mystery evades you, that the spirits of our world have left. That they refuse to listen to our paltry and dim witted babbling. They refuse to as much as gaze upon the soft and chemically altered bodies of modern alchemy.
You go to a mall and see whom you must show God like deference. These are lowly beings. Barely sentient, less sensitive than your house plants which at least respond positively to Bach. A century ago these people would have been morbid curiosities and shunned but today you must celebrate them. This is what it means to be a conquered people.
The traffic begins to move. You proceed on a highway lined by manicured grasses in between concrete median barriers. You take the “University” exit. There, a sprawling campus of glum utilitarian buildings are set against a new fortress of glass and brushed steel, a jarring square office campus. You stare at it for a moment and begin to contemplate your next move, which you already know but are playing out in your mind as you are apt to do.
You are wide awake, more awake than other days. As you sit in the car you have a sharpness of mind, a profound clarity that often proceeds a great vision, which you have had.