luka

Well-known member
How can someone Stand there with a straight face and preach to us about mischief and joy and be so turgid and slow witted. Poor old cunt.
 

sadmanbarty

Well-known member
i think that's done then. he's outlived his usefulness. i thought he'd stop being a wrongoloid. i gave him the option to, he doubled down.

the offer's always open joe.
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
I for one have been brought sharply, exhilaratingly, to my senses.

I believed I was an agent of a higher power, a soldier in the army of justice. Rising through the ranks: one day I would be a general, atop a magnificent steed. But for now it was enough, in humility and gratitude, to serve.

I had forgotten the god in me. I could no longer hear the laughter of that god. But, though I had abandoned Him, He had not abandoned Me.

All I could hear were the voices of the lost, a babble in which my own voice was senselessly mingled. "Raaacism is baaaad", they bleated. "Down with the baaad raaacist aaart!". I was blind to the beauty of pure form made concrete, the scintillating play of sensuous intellect, the courageous mischief of free minds confronting the pressing issues of the day. All I saw was ugliness - the ugliness of my own heart.

Still the god in me chuckled, mirthfully, even at my own absurdity and confusion.

At night I would log on, shamefully, furtively, and scan the twitter accounts of the great reactionaries. Bronze Age Pervert, Kantbot, whatsisname from Quillette. I told myself I was performing a revolting yet necessary duty, keeping myself informed, gathering information to share, Stasi-like, with my superiors. To further the cause. I took screenshots and gathered them in a secret folder on my computer, painstakingly categorised. A glowering dossier of evil.

I told myself that the shiver that passed through me when I read the words of the great reactionaries was a shiver of disgust. And the god in me laughed harder still.

And then, through the brave, kind, courageous words of Josef K, the god in me spake. He spake full mightily, with a voice like unto the thunder, mingled with laughter. A kind of thlaughtunder. It was indescribable.

At once my character armour was shattered, and I stood naked before the beauty of the cosmos. My computer's hard disk spontaneously erased itself. I felt as if I, too, had been erased and reinstalled. No longer would the words of Bronze Age Pervert torment me, like the secret whisper of my innermost accuser. No longer would I seek, restlessly, hither and thither for the shiftless approbation of my peers. I was liberated. I was autonomous. I could read anything I liked - be it Moldbug, Steve Sailer or Christina Hoff Summers. I could even listen to Current 93. Great vistas of discovery lay open before me. No-one could stop me - for who on god's green earth could claim that right?

I have learned - I have been shown - the glorious truth about myself.

I am the god in me.

I, poetix, am a goblin nonce.
 

luka

Well-known member
I address myself to the lurker. You can choose one of two paths through life. You can be him, a lone voice in the wilderness who only goddy can judge, or you can be one of The Lads, having a laugh, judged by your Lad-peers for your banter and rising in status based on your contributions. You can act with sincerity and courage, or you can just have a laugh. Noble or normal. Pariah or Lad.

But know this, lurker at the threshold, you can always change your mind. The Lads await, smiling, ready to welcome you with open arms, holding no grudges. They thrive on friendship and not on opposition. They assimilate they don't destroy. They are The Lads. They are not your enemy. ))))))):love:(((((((
 

droid

Well-known member
Barty's impressed me. He's never been given the space before to thoroughly dismantle and humiliate someone. The most cunning and vicious school bully picking on you for six years but compressed into a couple weeks. Goblin nonce is the name you get in the first week of first year that ends with you moving away from your hometown to escape from.
 

droid

Well-known member
Shows good lateral thinking too. Normally I wouldn't applaud such behaviour, but its a) a novel and funny approach, b) very successful, and (most importantly) c) Josef deserves it.
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
My head's still spinning a bit from Nina dismissing (many, many pages ago) the notion that Evola was a fascist with the argument that he once successfully sued someone for calling him one. I mean he tried to get good and cosy with Mussolini, and went that didn't work out hopped across the border and started voicing his profound admiration for the SS. The only sense in which he "wasn't fascist" was that actually-existing fascism wasn't nearly elitist, hierarchical or metaphysically racist enough for him.

Years ago I wrote about Varg Vikernes that he was too much of a headbanger for most ordinary right-wingers (he even changed his middle name to "Qvisling"), and subsequently regretted it, because it turns out the Vikernes does have a bit of a following after all, and his variety of neo-pagan survivalism isn't as far out as I'd supposed it must be, in terms of the wider far-right political landscape. He's not a million miles away from someone like Anders Breivik, and characterising him as "so extreme as to be practically harmless, and therefore someone you can treat like some sort of exotic Outsider Artist" is a bit irresponsible really. It's all fun and games until someone firebombs a mosque.

It's possible to listen to Burzum - something like Dunkelheit, for example, the lyrics of which are:

When night falls
She cloaks the world
In impenetrable darkness
A chill rises
From the soil
And contaminates the air
Suddenly...
Life has new meaning

- and feel that it expresses a spiritual attitude towards the landscape, with which anyone who's been out and about in the countryside late at night can probably feel some connection. Something like that is very much part of my sense of the world, and I value it a lot. But with Vikernes, that spiritual sense is woven into a structure of feeling in which the individual transfixed by their relationship to nature (seen as an extra-civilisational source of meaning) also comes to see themselves as a kind of lone wolf figure, one who has personally recovered, within a decadent society, the ability to act and think with integrity. The political subjectivity that arises from that position is obscure and reckless, and has been perennially useful to fascists. "What's wrong with nature, with loving nature?" is a misleading question to ask here. You have to take the whole setup into account.
 
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