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.