The Sigma Point

Study hard. Be a good girl. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

You would do anything, Donovan.

Readers will note that this blog has drawn quite a bit more on personal experience and thoughts than it used to. That has been partly intentional, and partly unintentional.

I’m not too worried. This focus has led to some posts that I’m quite proud of, and it spices up these walls. Still, it’s something that should at least be acknowledged.

This isn’t to say that it’s going to be toned down, of course. It’s quite fun to let these little tidbits of my personality soak into my writing.

I think it has become increasingly clear (and not just to me) that the theme of this blog is “Fragments”. Sometimes that means fragments of an abstract nature, dealing with complex ideas. Sometimes it means drawing on personal experiences to develop certain concepts. Sometimes it means riffing on something I did in real life to make a point.

Fragments that may or not be part of a greater whole.

Speaking of fragments, quite some time ago I wrote this, claiming the term “Sigma Point” and proposing a big, grand idea. I never did get around to discussing it. Quite a pity. Part of that was that I am somewhat disorganized and I never did get my notes in order. Here’s a step toward remedying that oversight. Buckle your seatbelt, because this is going to get abstract:

  • The teleology of society is to perpetuate inequality
  • Cycles of upward and downward income mobility exert various cultural and biological selection pressures on the population
  • Assortive mating leads to genetic differences among higher class and lower class members of society (all societies develop some sort of social strata eventually)
  • What effect does this have on behavior? Need more data to know
  • Psychopathy. Does it get more prevalent over time? Or does it simply get rewarded more the more a society ages? Intuition is that the more corrupt a society a is (in the sense of Tacitus: having more laws, but also in having more and more intricate rules and social rituals), the more power and resources psychopaths will be able to acquire
  • Inclusive institutions (re: Acemoglu & Robinson) will almost always turn into exclusive institutions given enough time (note that this does not overlook that the reverse can also happen)
  • “Sigma Point” = that time in which society is run by a small group of elite who possess genetic, financial, and political resources that cannot be touched by the rest of the population. Imagine if the 1% of the 1% (of the 1%) literally had everything (gini coefficient of ridiculous) and were able to run circles around the masses such that they (the masses) were always doing exactly what the elites want them to do

Admittedly, these are just some of my notes (not all…there’s a good chunk still hiding away in my notebooks), they aren’t organized in the right order, and they don’t exactly flesh out the relationships between these things (basically, the idea is that as time goes on, these developments all reinforce each other, allowing societal entropy to develop at an exponential, not linear, rate), but I figure this is a good start. I’ll write more about all this if there’s an audience for it. I’m putting it out here now so that anyone who wants to can take the concept and run with it. There’s only so much I can do, after all.

Is it still a rough idea? Of course. I didn’t exactly work on it anywhere near as much as I said I would. Still, I think at this point it’s better to throw what I have out there than continue to keep sitting on it. Ten and a half months is plenty of time to procrastinate.

How accurate is this model? Like I said, it’s rough. Very rough. It requires quite a few prerequisites (social mobility, some form of assortive mating [even if not widespread, though this would limit certain affects, even if not all of them]…etc). Still, societal entropy, even though it can take different paths depending on the civilization, does seem to have a few principles in common (or at least, a few principles that occur more often than others).

Pushback on this would be appreciated, of course. Hell, if anyone kills the concept entirely, it might even be a bit of a relief.

Oh, and because I’m on a roll with throwing stuff out there, I’ll let this slip as well: I finally figured out the final answer to “What is Neoreaction?”. The only problem? It ties too much in with a bunch of work I’ve done under my real name, so discussing it here would put up too many dots that could potentially be connected. C’est la vie, am I right? I’ll try to leak the idea out somehow, but it might take some semantic trickery. Or just some strange e-mails with no context. We’ll see.

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Friday Night Fragments #25

Anonymous Conservative had a very interesting (and very frightening) article out earlier this week on how law enforcement is delving more and more into intelligence-type activities, not merely those duties that we might think of as “law enforcement”. It definitely veers more toward the horrorism side of this part of the internet that some criticize, and it’s made even scarier by the observation that it is real life.

An acquaintance of mine once suggested to me that I run away with her to her home country of Chile, where everything is apparently “so beautiful, even the desert”. There are times when it seems like a very good idea to take her up on her offer.

Twitter follower Kasper Hawser (@gossenphilosoph) had this to say after reading my latest post:

I will, of course, categorically deny that I have ever in any of my posts walked the line between silly and serious, and I will, of course, categorically deny that I have ever let a hint of whimsy enter into any of my posts. Never. Nope. Doesn’t happen. Categorically.

Hehe.

An exchange between two kings on the TV show Vikings:

Do you think you’re a good man?

Yes. I think so. Do you? Think you’re a good man?

Yes. I think so. Are you corrupt?

Oh yes. Are you?

Mhmm.

I think I enjoyed that bit way more than I should have. How can you not? It’s hard not to respect that kind of audacity.

You wouldn’t ever want it in any of your rulers, of course (the corruption…the audacity is more often than not a good thing). Yet who among us has not imagined themselves as a corrupt politician or a degenerate emperor, using our power to enhance our pleasure, crushing our enemies and engaging in all kinds of vile acts of hedonism and Caligulan madness?

No? You haven’t? I bet you’re lying.

Of course, you are reading my blog. If you’re in this part of the internet, you’re definitely more likely to be one of those weird exceptions. C’est la vie.

But seriously, who hasn’t gotten into some questionable fun or otherwise engaged in (or at least thought of) having drunken naked fun time with your closest friends and some assorted beautiful women in that old roman bath that you happen to own? The more modern example might involve hard liquor and other questionable activities (I speak from experience when I say that strip cards against humanity is awesome), but I’m sure you understand what I am saying.

What good is power if you aren’t going to be corrupt?

 

RT recently published an amusing article with a great title that spurred a few interesting thoughts for me. What would happen if the Bushes and the Clintons united their families through marriage and produced a new family line that declared itself the royal family of America? It wouldn’t happen quite like that, but you can conceptualize the general idea.

Reactionaries hate the Clintons and the Bushes and love the idea of Kings (well, many of them, at least). What happens if the two families come together like the Yorks and the Lancasters and form a new royal line?

It reminds me of that old line of attack against Neoreaction: why do you guys claim to love aristocrats and yet hate our own elite? Well, because they aren’t very well the kind of aristocrats that we like!

Yeah, it does come off as a little disingenuous (to say nothing of ridiculous).

Oligarchs versus aristocrats. The difference boils down to semantics, but there’s an important implication in regard to how they rise to power and how they govern while they are in power. There is (kind of) a difference, but it still does make for a tenuous argument at best.

The Clintons and the Bushes come together and form a royal line, ruling this country as de facto monarchs even if the position is never formalized. What happens then?

I suppose the Moldbuggian Formalists have an obvious point of attack, in that such an arrangement would not be formalized. Do the more traditionally-minded reactionaries?

The most common argument you’ll see falls back on the Mandate of Heaven, which can easily be used to support Neoreactionary ideas. I go back and forth in regard to what I think about it. I’m favorably disposed, but still skeptical. Bad rulers can rule for a long time before falling. Are we really to believe that, say, the Kim Jong family is really the best ruling entity for North Korea?

There’s something appealing about the Mandate of Heaven, but the basic idea is that in the end, good wins out (even if it takes a long fucking time and if we define good as “Being most suited to rule”). This isn’t quite something I believe. I think in the end, it’s more accurate to say that we all get what we deserve, but even then, I don’t think that’s true either. Perhaps I’m just unsure of where legitimacy comes from, and I spend quite a bit of time suspecting that “legitimacy” is post-hoc rationalization. It’s almost scary how much that sounds right to me.

I’ve been putting together some thoughts on legitimacy and governance, more specifically the legitimacy of The Cathedral as a governing superstructure. I think this little thought experiment took me a good bit closer to whatever I’m going to end up achieving with that.

“I guess I’m not really an engineering person.”

“Why are you going into engineering then?”

“I don’t know. Money?”

“That’s an honest answer. I would think prostitution would give you a better return on investment, though.”

(moment of silence)

“I have no idea how to answer that.”

I am sometimes totally baffled as to why people ever come to me for advice, but they keep coming back, so I must be doing something right. Maybe it’s just the pleasure of my company.

Unholy Matrimony

I asked a girl to marry me the other day.

It wasn’t serious. The context was humorous, and it was a way of carrying on a joke. I thought it was hilarious, but I was also several drinks deep, so I might have overestimated the appeal. It might have been merely amusing. In any event, the both of us were laughing heartily.

That moment has been weighing on my mind. Why? I suspect because the idea of marriage seems an alien concept to me. I’ve never been married. I still don’t quite know if I like the idea, but it seems like if done right, it could be a very good one.

Why get married? It is no secret that the legal and social environment in the United States (to say nothing of much of the western world) makes marriage a risky venture for any man. It would not be wrong to classify it as a bet with a woman that you will always be her alpha and that she will always love you, with half your net worth and a significant portion of your cash flow on the line if you fail (and this assessment doesn’t even begin to take into account the emotional impact nor what happens if there are children involved).

Of course, it is also easy to see why someone might scoff at this assessment. A guy with charm and charisma and skill with women isn’t going to be flustered by the idea of keeping a woman attracted to him. A guy with wealth isn’t going to worry about paying the bills in case of divorce. A guy with a “don’t give a fuck” attitude won’t care if his woman walks out, and will consider it a blessing in disguise.

Set yourself up right, work on yourself and invest in yourself the right way, adopt the right mindset, and acquire enough personal capital, and divorce doesn’t seem like nearly such a boogieman.

Basically, if you get the right circumstances in order, both the risk and the downsides won’t seem all that bad, and if you pick the right woman, the odds of having things blow up in your face drop tremendously. The final piece of the puzzle is to be the type of person that people can be attracted to, and frankly, that’s not something that’s all that difficult.

There are certain protocols that can be put in place and certain conditions that can be met that make marriage far less risky. What’s a young man to do? Well, that depends entirely on whether he is the type of man who looks at the odds to make a decision or makes a decision and then fixes his own odds.

Congratulations. I just told you whether you have the mindset to be “alpha” or not. That’ll be $50. You can send it to me by giving it to your wife or girlfriend. She’ll probably be seeing me soon enough.

It’s not high-status males who need to worry about divorce. It’s not those with natural swagger. It’s low-status males. This is why all those manosphere diatribes against marriage and how men shouldn’t marry always make the writer look bad, no matter how factually accurate their work may be. You can’t complain about the marriage market without looking like the kind of person who would get fleeced if you stepped into it.

What’s that old Oscar Wilde quote again?

Do not speak ill of society…Only people who can’t get in do that.

It’s not hard to see how that principles applies here.

What’s that? You’re worried about divorce? Ew. You must be the type of loser who has to worry about your woman leaving you.

So no, I am not afraid of marriage. I am not afraid of marrying the right woman if I find her. It sounds like blatant posturing to say it here, after all those words about how only low-status men are afraid of marriage, but it is true. I am not, and one day I probably will get married.

Good idea? Bad idea? Ah, but once again you’re missing the point. Go back and read this all again from the beginning.

What do I think about marriage? I’ll say it right out:

Marriage should be for power, profit, and reproduction. Love is the icing on the cake, but it isn’t necessary. That’s what affairs are for.

Is that really what I think, though? Is it what I want people to think that I think? Is it possibly even neither of those things, but rather something I say when I want to shock people?

I don’t know. I think I think that, but I think even more strongly that I only think I want to think that, when really I do not quite think that in particular, but merely something like that; something a bit less cynical and nakedly pragmatic and a bit more idealistic.

Perhaps one day I will have tricked myself into thinking that I think that. Perhaps, if I am really good, I actually will have begun to think it, no illusions needed, for what I think I think will indeed be correct, for I will indeed think it.

You follow?

I think that, when I really boil it down, what I’m looking for is someone with really, really good genes with whom I could have beautiful, intelligent, and dangerous children, but that I won’t pull the trigger on marrying this person unless they also have other things to offer me. Do I know for a fact that this is my intent? No. I don’t know myself quite that well, but I know myself well enough to suspect that this is the case.

I have no doubt that any rationale I could possibly give for marriage is one that is going to elevate this goal to, if not the highest ideal, at least something that would be praiseworthy. I’m not going to set up a standard that wouldn’t make me look good, so I’m not even going to try. It shouldn’t even be my place to decree the standards by which we should judge marriage. Let those who are older and wiser and who have actually been married judge why we should marry and for what reasons we ought to do so. The only thing I have the grounds to judge is what I think it is and what I want out of it, and even then, I do so knowing that I might be wrong in regard to the former and misguided in regard to the latter.

So what say I, young bachelor that I am? I say this: Marriage is an opportunity, and it is one that I will seize when I can wring the most value out of it that I possibly can.

Friday Night Fragments #24

I can’t stand this metrosexual hipster beard-worship thing that seems everywhere these days. It is so painfully one of those situations in which people are mistaking the signs of something for the essence of that thing.

Is the act of growing a beard the highest pinnacle of masculinity to be reached? Bull. Growing a beard is easy. Just stop shaving. It takes negative effort to do. It takes work not to do. What’s so great about celebrating something like that?

When I was in Morocco, I didn’t shave the entire time I was there. A few months of that and I looked like I could have been the stunt-double in a goddamn Rasputin biopic. It wasn’t hard. It just was. If you are one of those who seeks to cultivate masculinity, you already knew very damn well that the act of aspiration is the key. Why aspire to something that is nothing more than an is?

Oh, and yes. Bitches loved the beard. Bitches loved it hard, but that is a set of tales for another time.

I was asked to take a survey the other day, something which I did gladly (the sun has been out and the weather has been warm over the past week, so I have been in a very good mood). The first question on the survey was: “What is your race/ethnicity?”

The young girl giving me this survey was black, and I suspect that she was the one who had put it together as well. It doesn’t surprise me that this was top of the list. Race really does seem to matter to people who aren’t white, especially young college students. When white people make surveys, the first question pertains to either name or gender.

What is your race/ethnicity? I knew the answer I would be expected to give was “White” (hWhite is the sort of joke that would not have been picked up on). The answer I put instead was “European”.

Such privilege! Such micro-aggression!

She looked at it with a quizzical expression on her face when she saw it. I wonder what she thought. She didn’t say anything. Was she perturbed by it? She actually did seem to be. I wonder what she thought of the implication that Africans and Asians and South Americans and many other types of people can never be true Europeans. That’s a statement I find intuitively obvious, although this young lady seemed like a hip, progressive sort. She was a minority female of roughly 20 years of age, after all. Not too many among her demographic who think nationality has anything to do with blood. She’s probably not even met anyone who has stated that idea to her, even indirectly.

I wonder if it tickled her amygdala. It certainly wasn’t any sort of amygdala-hijack à la Anonymous Conservative, but it certainly seemed to make her feel uncomfortable.

I love expanding the boundaries of people’s intellectual horizons.

“I’m right”

An easy thing to say, to be certain. It doesn’t make any sense from a totally logical perspective, however. You as a person do not have a truth-value. Only propositions can have truth-value (i.e. only propositions can be judged as “true or false”).

Forgive me if this sounds pedantic. I was having a discussion along these lines with a very philosophically-minded friend of mine earlier today. He was making the point that “I’m right” is a meaningless statement and that we should stop saying it.

My response to him was that the expression “I’m right” stands as colloquial shorthand for the more logically proper statement “The statement that I have said has a truth-value to it of ‘true'”. It is not correct in and of itself, but it stands as a symbolic representation of a deeper and more accurate statement that stands behind it (similar to the way that money is a symbolic representation of deeper value). That most people do not understand this signifies a confusion of a symbol with the symbolized to a degree that people do not even know there is a symbolized thing that runs deeper than the mere symbol.

The sign of something versus the essence of something. I suppose that’s the “theme” (if you can call it that) of this edition of the fragments.

This failure to differentiate symbol and symbolized — to say nothing of the failure to comprehend that a symbolized even exists — is something that I see quite a lot among…well…pretty much everyone (with a few exceptions, of course). Much of the time, this seems to be just a consequence of not thinking too deeply about this things (it takes a very odd sort to spend much time musing on these things, after all). Still, I’ve definitely run across people who just can’t seem to grasp this concept, either in a tangible sense or as an abstract principle.

“Money is just a representation of value. It’s a way of physically measuring it. It’s not the same thing as value.”

“No, money is value. Stop complicating things. Money is valuable because it is money.”

C’est la vie.

They say that only the good die young. The conclusion I draw from this is that if you don’t want to die young, you should probably prepare yourself for a life of evil.

A friend asked me recently what the earth would say of me if it were to speak. It was a question I’ve never been asked before. I said that it would probably say that was a man who has never stopped taking the time to get out in the sun and feel grass between my toes. It would say that I have always felt a deep sense of serenity and belonging when looking at the waves. I think it would say that I am someone who has always felt a strong affinity for the sea, and who, though he has little experience as a sailor, has always felt right at home on the deck of a ship. Perhaps in a previous life I was a sailor. Perhaps in many previous lives I was a sailor. Who knows? It would certainly explain a lot.

Hopefully the earth would forgive me for all the bushes and trees I’ve peed on in my time.

What would the earth say of you?

On that note, the evening is young and there is still sun in the sky and a breeze in the air. It is time to end these fragments and go outside.

Do Not Resuscitate

The bitch is dead.

So ends Ian Fleming’s novel Casino Royale. If you haven’t read it, I recommend it. It is a great work. It’s not the sort of dense tome you ought to dive into if you’re looking for insight porn, but it’s an entertaining way to spend an hour or two (depending on how quickly you read).

Spoiling as little as I can (I have already spoiled perhaps all of it, but we must try to keep up appearances, after all), I will say that one of the reasons I love this line so much is because of how deeply it is imbued with all these little, messy feelings. Viewed through the eyes of Bond, these words superficially imply that Bond has already moved on, but an astute reader can see through this. Bond is hurting. Bond is in pain. He tries to deny this to himself, but if he cannot even fool the reader, is he really able to fool himself? It is messy and gritty and complicated. Within the context of just this book  (we shall disregard the other Bond novels here) we never get an answer.

Bond calls Vesper a bitch her not because he truly feels that she was, but because he needs to label her as such in order to avoid the pain of his own wounded ego. Bitch is not an epithet for unwomanly behavior here, but an opiate to ease his own sense of shock and hurt and vulnerability.

An important family member died recently. It was not unexpected, though the time-frame was sooner than had been anticipated. She was family. She will be missed.

I sometimes think about death. Sometimes I even think about my own. It is coming. That much is inevitable. When will it come? I do not know, but for the entire course of my existence, I have had a strong feeling — one so strong that I even dare call it a premonition — that I will not be all that long for this earth. I will live and I will live very well, but I will die young, before I get the chance to see the ravages of time work their sepulchral decay upon my body.

Will I see 30? Most likely. 40? Maybe. 50? No way.

I would like to be wrong, of course, provided that my quality of life remains high throughout the entirety of my existence, but I suppose there is only so much I can do and that quite a large part of this matter will be decided by forces outside my control.

Sometimes it is very difficult not to believe in fate.

I truly believe that there is a fate in store for me, and that whatever happens to me at the end, it is not something that I could avoid even if I tried.

Would I like to live to old age? I don’t know. I really don’t.

Death seems so unpleasant. So anti-climatic. So unsatisfying an end, even if an inevitable one. I do not fear death, not the way I fear the idea of becoming old and decrepit. I am young. I am fit. I am strong. Death seems like something to be avoided, but even death holds not nearly the same terror for me as the idea of growing old and decayed, no longer able to leap and move and run and jump and fight in anywhere near the capacity I possess now. The thought that my dark hair will turn grey and my bright skin will turn sallow and wrinkled sounds unpleasant, but it doesn’t seem unmanageable. The idea that I will no longer be able to fight and lift and run and jump or any other of a multiplicity of physical feats? That thought terrifies me. I am young and fast and strong and quick and agile. I see abs when I look in the mirror. I feel strength and speed  and power when I spar with my friends. I am not so mature that I do not take delight in such things. I am young, and the fire of youth burns within me. Who am I not to bask in its warmth? Who would I be were I not to fear the cold that will come when it slips away from me?

I speak as someone who has stood on the edge of tall buildings and slipped, only just barely saving myself from tumbling to the concrete below. What was I doing up there in the first place? I cannot say. I have always been drawn to heights, and I have always enjoyed that tickling discomfort that flutters across your skin and constricts your heart when you gaze into the emptiness of the open air before you, knowing that all you have to do is let go in order to hurtle to your death. What more poignant expression of life than to choose that moment at which to die? Is there any greater display of power?

Do not fear for me. That is not a choice I feel compelled to make. There is too much to do whilst I am alive. How does that old poem go? Ah, yes:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

There is much I have left to do.

I speak as someone who has miraculously seen buses whiz by in front of my face, practically clipping my nose. Why did they not hit me? Was it luck? It has happened one too many times for me to suspect it was just luck.

I speak as someone who has had knives swung inches from my throat. Once it was on purpose, and my reflexes saved me. The other times were accidental, and yet, each of them could have ended very differently had someone been holding them at different angle or had I been distributing my weight differently.

No, I am not ignorant of what death looks like when it passes by. I have seen his face, and yet the thought of growing old still terrifies me more than the thought of dying. I do not mean to presume to have had quite the same experience as a soldier or a fireman or perhaps a policeman. I expect my readers who have experienced death in much more intimate fashion than I to consider me coddled and ignorant. Perhaps I am. I will most certainly not rule this possibility out. It is probably more true than I would like to admit. Yet, there have been times in my life in which it seems as death was truly passing by. What am I to make of this?

What I have learned is that death is quite frequently sudden and quick and we are likely to not see it coming when it comes for us. I think I fear death. I would most certainly like to avoid it, and that desire seems deeply visceral. Still, I think of death, and even in those times in which it seems most probable, it still does not make my blood run cold nearly as much as the thought that one day I will be old and weak and decrepit.

Is this post really about death? I do not even know anymore.

Let us make this about death. I am a neoreactionary, after all, and I have a certain abstract focus to uphold. Let us make this about death.

What is the proper way to approach death?

There is the idea of death as being something under your control. Suicide is frowned upon within the Christian tradition, and many neoreactionaries would be opposed to it on those grounds.

What of those instances in which the circumstances are not suicide, but do involve a certain willingness to slip away into death? There is a longstanding tradition in my family that all the men have “Do Not Resuscitate” orders. We go beyond that, however. Certain of us have always had a deep faith in the idea that when it is time to go, it is time to go, and it is wrong to accept treatment that might add a few years to a man’s life but make those years agonizing and miserable and unpleasant. We all subscribe to the idea that if something happens, we shouldn’t necessarily be saved.

In an age in which we are obsessed with keeping people on this earth as long as medically possible, it is not always easy to go against the grain. Sometimes, there is a price to be paid.

I’ve seen what happens when the protestations of a distraught wife are interpreted as overriding a DNR. I’ve seen what it does to a man when he has to go in and enforce that such an order is carried out. I’ve seen what it does to a man when he has to order the death of his own father.

My father has two sons. One is caring and compassionate. He possesses great empathy, and he is very concerned about the emotional well-being of others. He hates conflict and he truly wants the best for everyone. He feels much, even if he doesn’t always share it, and he is a wonderful person because of it. That person would be my brother.

As for me? I am the cold-hearted one. I am the one who can put aside compassion and do those things that require that we steel ourselves against our better angels. I am the one who has had former girlfriends call me “fucking sociopathic”, and I am the one who sometimes wonders if that might very well be true.

I am the one my father chose to ensure that care is not provided past a certain point, because he knows that I am the one who will make sure those orders carried out. He does not trust my brother to see this through. He does not even trust my mother to do it; the woman to whom he has been married for many years and with whom he raised two twin boys. He chose me: his firstborn son.

I am the one who knows that one day I will have to give the order to let my father die. Is it right that I should do such a thing? I don’t know. All I know is that it is my duty. If I’m being entirely honest, I don’t even care if it is right. The only thing that matters to me is that it is my responsibility.

Family comes before any other moral considerations.

I suppose I failed at making this abstract and not personal. I wish I had something, anything to say about death, but I don’t. What is there that I could say? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Friday Night Fragments #23

When we limit the field of competition solely to “things that I have read”, then one of the great highlights of my week was this beautiful piece by SOBL: When Nixon Calls. There are times when it is painfully obvious that SOBL is using Nixon as his mouthpiece, but there are also times in which I was absolutely convinced that he was just digging up old Nixon quotes that had been lost to the sands of time…until now.

I won’t lie, I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for Richard Nixon, one that has only become even softer over my time spent in Neoreaction. Nixon was an incredibly capable leader. Paranoid, of course, but all the most brilliant people are. Besides, what’s that old saying about paranoia…you know…the one where they really are out to get you?

Moving on to the actual content of the discussion, there’s quite a bit in there. The aspect of this discussion I have the most grounds to judge is the Middle Eastern analysis, of which I agree with every word. My judgement holds less weight in regard to many of the other topics covered, but they too seem spot-on.

How does SOBL manage to always have such an erudite and informed opinion on so many diverse subjects? Well, the same way we all work towards that goal I suppose…lot’s of reading and thinking on topics across all manner of disciplines.

SOBL also managed to write up a very interesting analysis on some strange article that was floating the idea of Michael Bloomberg running for Mayor of London. I’ve not heard of this article, and even after reading SOBL’s comment on it, I still have no idea what it was going on about.

What is far more interesting, and what the analysis devotes its real effort towards, is the idea of Bloomberg running as a Democratic challenger to Hillary Clinton for the 2016 presidential nomination. SOBL’s touched on that idea before, and I think it is a very interesting one. As far as I can see, Bloomberg is the only true threat that could come out of the blue (or the red or the independent, but neither of those suits his purposes here) with a shot at toppling Clinton.

Bloomberg is older than Hillary, but I think he’s better able to stand up to the ravages of old age than she is. He has more steel in him than she does. Besides, Hillary really likes to drink. That is no insult (it couldn’t be, coming from me), but such a habit does wear a person down, especially at that age.

When I am under stress, I cut out drinking and other vices. They take off my edge, and I need that edge to stay sharp in trying times. However, I can see why someone else might take the opposite track and hit the bottle when the stress gets to be too much. Hillary Clinton strikes me as that type of person. I’m not aware of any evidence that she did this during her tenure of Secretary of State, but if there were evidence, would we know about it? I am not sure how likely this is, but I have a scary feeling that it it more likely than we think.

 One of the scariest things I can imagine for US standing in the world is to follow up Obama’s 8-year foreign policy nightmare with an American Boris Yeltsin. If that doesn’t make you feel very uncomfortable about Clinton in the Oval Office, I don’t think anything will.

Anyway, to cycle this back to my original point: If I were Bloomberg, I wouldn’t be looking into the idea of a run. I would have decided on doing it long ago, and I’d have spent the past several months  putting campaign infrastructure in place and laying the groundwork for an announcement that would blow out of the water all the other announcements.

Nick B. Steves once suggested that the music I sometimes link to on this blog can be broadly defined as “emo-chick pop”. I thought that was a pretty amusing way of putting it (possibly because I’ve popped a few emo chicks in my time hehe). Here’s today’s macabre incantation song:

I’d always suspected that you could take Lolita and make it even more fucked up, but this runs up against the limits of even my twisted imagination. This is just dark. It’s so red-pill it makes even the most red-pill red-pillers of the red-pill internet cease their red-pilling to lie down and scream “No, she’s a good girl! she would never do that! Not all women are like that!”

It is also great fun to listen to. There is something beautifully soothing about the raw, twisted love that exists not despite the pain, but because of it.

Ah, but isn’t all love that way? It seems that women can only truly love in the presence of pain, but how many of us are truly free from this same obligation? Very few of us indeed…do not try to avoid this, for my eyes see deep into the minds of men and I can tell that this is one of those  urges that drives men on even as they lack the ability to merely conceive of the possibility that such an urge might even exist.

To love only in the presence of pain is a feminine love indeed, but who among us does not have a touch of both the feminine and the masculine residing within us? I suspect that in this realm, I have a touch more of the feminine than most men. Perhaps this is why I like this music so much, and why I so clearly see this urge manifesting itself even as all others seem blind to it.

Perhaps there’s something else, however. I have hinted before that I have had some experience with women like this. It is true. What can I say? I like the crazies, and songs like this remind me of some great memories.

Were I a prudent person, I would stop bringing up this “emo-chick pop” stuff, because every time I bring it up I am tempted to go farther and darker than the last time. I am already running up against the limits of what I can say based off of my real-life experience. If I keep pursuing darker material, I will have to look beyond my own experience, and if I keep pursuing this vein, then it is only a matter of time before these Fragments devolve into audio recordings of me reading from 120 Days of Sodom.

Actually, that would be a GREAT turn for this blog to take.

Hey Hestia Society, do I have a project idea for you…

Dark of the Moon

What serves the higher type of men as nourishment or delectation must almost be poison for a different and inferior type. The virtues of the common man might perhaps signify vices and weaknesses in a philosopher.

Whatever is profound loves masks; what is most profound even hates image and parable. Might not nothing less than the opposite be the proper disguise for the shame of a god? A questionable question: it would be odd if some mystic had not risked something to that effect in his mind. There are occurrences of such a delicate nature that one does well to cover them up with some rudeness to conceal them; there are actions of love and extravagant generosity after which nothing is more advisable than to take a stick and give any eyewitness a sound thrashing: that would muddle his memory. Some know how to muddle and abuse their own memory in order to have their revenge at least against this only witness: shame is inventive.

It is not the worst things that cause the worst shame: there is not only guile behind a mask — there is so much graciousness in cunning. I could imagine that a human being who had to guard something precious and vulnerable might roll through life, rude and round as an old green wine cask with heavy hoops: the refinement of his shame would want it that way.

A man whose sense of shame has some profundity encounters his destinies and delicate decisions, too, on paths which few ever reach and of whose mere existence his closest intimates must not know: his mortal danger is concealed from their eyes, and so is his regained sureness of life. Such a concealed man who instinctively needs speech for silence and who is inexhaustible in his evasion of communication, wants and sees to it that a mask of him roams in his place through the hearts and heads of his friends. And supposing that he did not want it, he would still realize some day that in spite of that a mask of him is there — and that this is well. Every profound spirit needs a mask: even more, around every profound spirit a mask is growing continually, owing to the constantly false, namely shallow, interpretation of every word, ever step, ever sign of life he gives.

-Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Sections 30, 40

As always, the bolded emphasis was mine.

I love Nietzsche. I make no secret of it. I devour his works. I have discussed him before on this blog. I obviously don’t agree with everything he said, of course, but I think there is much that he got right, and those matters on which he was wrong he was not 100% wrong.

I don’t consider myself a Nietzschean, as I’ve never met a self-proclaimed Nietzschean who didn’t selectively interpret Nietzsche in such a way that removed all the subtlety and nuance; cherry-picking passages that stroked the ego while overlooking the caveats, implications, and true substance hidden beneath the superficial meaning.

I did the same thing when I styled myself as such. Then I made the effort to actually read Nietzsche, and I realized that in my shallow interpretation, I was not giving the man nearly enough credit.

But enough about Nietzsche. I have no doubt that I shall return to him another time.

Let us talk about anonymity.

Who am I? Donovan Greene. Who is Donovan Greene? Does it matter?

newtwitterphotosquareDonovan Greene is a lie. It is an illusion. It is a front for someone who reveals far less of himself than he is letting on, while at the same time revealing of himself so much more. It is a mask for one who also called himself “Legionnaire”, styling himself under the aegis of the eagle before trading it in for a white raven ensconced in black fire.

Have my words changed since I began? Of course. I am smarter and older and wiser than I was when began this blog, back in 2013 not too long after the Cambrian Explosion of Neoreaction. I expect to look back in 2017 and feel much the same way about my current work as I do when I look back to my beginnings.

I am a better writer and a better thinker now than I was then. I reap these benefits in my “personal” life, that life in which my mask is my face and my face is a mask, but am I truly any less anonymous when I wrap myself in my physical features as opposed to when I speak from behind the veil of the blue and the gold? You will not see my true self either way, for I could stand in front of you, naked and uncovered and speaking nothing but unvarnished truth, and yet still be as mysterious and inscrutable and opaque as I am when I speak from the mouth of the raven. Is one approach really any less anonymous than the other?

Who am I? Donovan Greene. Who is Donovan Greene? It doesn’t matter.

Among the many things I do, I happen to have a few blogs. I use one of these blogs as a platform to communicate with and write for Neoreactionaries and other rare folk who are delving in strange places and doing strange things. It does not follow from this that I must dedicate my life to fighting for the “cause of Neoreaction”. It does not follow from this that I ought to charge into the breach like a good little soldier so that I can join my “comrades” in dying like so many chickens.

That’s all a metaphor, of course. Points if you get the reference, too. I’ve mangled it and paraphrased it, but the essence is still there and it is still recognizable.

I love people who feel that great urge to mass together and charge, of course. They make great underlings, especially when you need someone effective yet dispensable. Let your hammers be your hammers and let them do what hammers do. Just make sure to keep them out of the high command. That’s where you want people with more than one trick.

Not directly relevant to this post, and not all that great a documentary either, but it is informative and it has a good narrative and it does a great job of demonstrating the point that I have just made.

I am a Neoreactionary. So what? Am I under obligation to proclaim this matter to the world? This line of thinking strikes me as identical to the impulse so common among many in the LGBT movement who think that someone who is not straight is obligated to come out and obligated to share who they are with the world.

They are not. You are not. I am not. I am under no obligation to share every meaningless facet of my entity with anyone and everyone. You want to do that? Go for it. You do you. There is no higher advice than “just be yourself”, after all. Be you, but do not make the mistake of assuming that I am like you. I have no doubt that no matter how similar we may be, there are many traits on which we differ, especially if you harbor a strong desire to proclaim who you are. That is an impulse I do not share, Millennial though I am, and raised in that great sea of narcissism and self-indulgence though I was. I am a ship upon those waters, but though the deck gets splashed when the seas froth up and rear their ugly waves, there is little that is touched by the swell.

I am perhaps the one member of the selfie generation who has no desire to parade what I am for all the world to see, who does not need to reaffirm daily that I exist and that I am seen because I knew very well that I exist and that I am seen and I know for a fact that I never need fear that incomprehensible horror lurking in the hearts of my peers: to be ignored, overlooked, and irrelevant.

That great nothingness is the true fear of the internet generation, but I do not fear the nothingness, for the void becomes me and I traverse both it and the world of being and being noticed like a salamander, with a foot in both worlds and eternally comfortable no matter where I am.

I do not understand those who clamor to drop the “anonymity”. I do not understand those who are driven by the impulse to confess their sins or who feel so defensive about their beliefs they seek to actively manage what people think of them by preemptively airing their “dirty laundry”. I must confess the lack of reserve makes no sense to me. Do you bring your resume on dates?

But fine, let’s reframe this to make it about some grand neoreactionary cause. Perhaps you might argue that it is our duty to stand up and suffer whatever consequences may arise from doing so, that it is our responsibility and our burden, and that those who are not willing to do so are cowards who do not deserve to label themselves as Neoreactionaries.

I’m glad for you. I’m proud that you aspire to be a sacrifice. It’s very noble of you, really. I wish you all the best.

What a brilliantly remarkable case study of a natural servant, just begging to be ordered forward into the enemy. What fascinating insights into the mind of a such a creature. Look at how many assumptions are being called into play by this beast!

I have no qualms about releasing the hounds, but there is a time and place to do such things. You really want to make Neoreaction a crusade to which you will dedicate your life? Good. Neoreaction needs crusaders, but don’t delude yourself into thinking that even a metaphorical charge of the cavalry will usher in sweeping reform in the vein that most pleases you. You might hate the modern, but you’ll need the modern to fight the modern. If you aren’t willing to do that, then you’re not in this to win. You’re in it for glory.

Never fight the way you want to fight. Fight in the way that will be most effective for you given: your strengths and your weaknesses, the strengths and weaknesses of your opponent(s), and the context in which you find yourself.

If you are one of those who want to make this into a fight, that is the best advice that I can give you.

(Update: For the purposes of clarification, I wish to make it clear that I do not forthright condemn those who dispense with anonymity, only those who do so out of narcissism. My invective does not apply to those who are merely behaving in accordance with an open, honest, straightforward character).