The Subjugation of the Golden Man - A. Hercule Campus.pdf - A. Hercule Campus

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“​The man who is content to live alone is either a beast or a God.” -Aristotle I ask of the Muses that my work goes not unnoticed. I ask of the Muses that they smile upon me and any who read this book. Allow them to seek sainthood, martyrdom, heroism, and transcendence. I ask that the two false gods that we have put up for ourselves, of equality and capital both fall to the grounds around us. I ask that in time I will be stalking bullmoose through overgrown parking lots, and draping my wife and children in pelts. I ask that I may be upright, and good. I ask that God love me, and set me on the path to righteousness. I ask that skyscrapers of Babylon collapse, so we may remake the great lighthouses, reforge ourselves as men, and create a more heroic society. I ask that all those who read this know that I want nothing more than their success and their strength. Blessings upon you. -The Author Incipit Prologus: The idea of the ‘Western Value’ has been stolen from us, and perverted by those that would want us to hate ourselves rather than realizing our true potential. In every aspect of our lives, from work, to school, to the food we eat, there exist systems of control which are detrimental as a whole to human life and our wellbeing. These systems of control weave their way into every art and every science, corrupting us as we try in vain to master the arts that our forefathers picked up at ease. The arts have been corrupted and made inaccessible to those who would have the most benefit of them - those whose ancestors created, defined, and perfected the arts. Oversocialization and constant propaganda have assaulted our psychological well being internally, whilst a flawed way of living and an insidious food infrastructure have ruined our external bodies. The air we breathe is poisoned, and the green spaces so necessary to the continuation of the human spirit are being torn away. Contrary to what anyone might tell you, seeing this happen in front of your eyes can be incredibly harmful to you. The collective mental health and wellbeing of the society you are a part of ​does have bearing on you. Forced silence on these controversial topics adds insult to injury, when you cannot in good faith and conscience enlighten your fellow man to his misguided ways without being shushed and shamed by those hypocrites who do not see the systems of control. I have written this text to make you aware of what is being done to you. Perhaps you are already aware, or perhaps you are seeking a greater knowledge of the various wools which have been pulled over our collective eyes. This is not a religious text, and though I myself am religious, I exist not to convert you to any spirituality, but to inspire you towards greater and more ancient knowledge. Knowledge which has been kept from us but that we know in our bones. Take this text as neither in celebration of nor in condemnation of any set of beliefs, be they polytheistic, animalistic, pagan or otherwise. I believe instead that mysticism and ascetic belief can reignite the magic in the world, and lead one to great moments of solemnity and philosophy which are more important now than they have ever been - if only due to their scarcity. There is a great emphasis on Greco-Roman and Western philosophy in this text. There are many references to great writers and ethicists and philosophers and essayists, all of different schools and opinions. If any of these confuse you, or you do not understand the context, feel no shame. We have been, as men, pushed away from the great arts of literature and philosophy, and it is time to reclaim them. If there are any authors you read about in this text, and wish to know more about, I encourage you to seek them out. This is not a book on accelerationism. This is not a book on nationalism. This is a book about inner-conquest, and actualization of the self. If any ideology is to be ascribed to this work, the closest would be primitivism, or at least vague anti-industrialism. That being said, I abhor the modern flaw of constant classification, and find that prescribing a label or ideology on anything can retract from it’s message. As such I ask you to take this as a work without any ideology at all, for there is no single ideology that one could ascribe to the great men of the past. Take this as a work that is untainted by modern ideas about systematic or part politics. My entire goal is to help you dismantle these systems for yourself, and live in a way that is truly free. This book is more conservative than liberal, but only in the sense that I wish above all things for the conservation of the old ways. If you are a liberal who is reading this book to “get ahead of the opposition”, then I am glad, and I welcome you. I invite you to try the way of living and eating which I outline in chapter (12). I invite you to have a critical mind towards what you are being taught in your institutions; I explore this in chapter (9) at length, but the preceding chapters (7) and (8) may help you to understand why these systems of control are so threatening. I hope you take no other interpretation of my work other than the one I have outlined here. I hope that it helps for some of you who have found yourselves in times of despair. Remember that the darkness inside you can be a great and powerful force for positive change. I want nothing more than this: That you, the reader be happy. That you, the reader, be joyous. I want you to eat good food, and drink good drink. I want you to climb mountains and move them, also. I want you to take back the world which is your birthright, and do so positively, and with great strength of both body and character. I want you to make it. I know you can. Dedicatio: “A stone is heavy, and sand weighty: but the anger of a fool is heavier than them both. Anger hath no mercy, nor fury when it breaketh forth: and who can bear the violence of one provoked? Open rebuke is better than hidden love. Better are the wounds of a friend, than the deceitful kisses of an enemy. A soul that is full shall tread upon the honeycomb: and a soul that is hungry shall take even bitter for sweet. As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that leaveth his place. Ointment and perfumes rejoice the heart: and the good counsels of a friend are sweet to the soul. Thy own friend, and thy father's friend forsake not: and go not into thy brother's house in the day of thy affliction. Better is a neighbour that is near, than a brother afar off. Study wisdom, my son, and make my heart joyful, that thou mayst give an answer to him that reproacheth​. The prudent man seeing evil hideth himself: little ones passing on have suffered losses. Take away his garment that hath been surety for a stranger: and take from him a pledge for strangers. He that blesseth his neighbour with a loud voice, rising in the night, shall be like to him that curseth. Roofs dropping through in a cold day, and a contentious woman are alike. He that retaineth her, is as he that would hold the wind, and shall call in the oil of his right hand. ​Iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.” The Subjugation of the Golden Man Or The Invisible Panopticon A. Hercule Campus (1) There is a famous Ethicist who writes about Moral Isolationism in the context of a Samurai trying his sword for the first time by cutting down a wandering stranger. I’m not a Japanophile or “Weaboo” as people say, but having lived in the place getting drunk nightly and mingling in a haze with oriental men who wanted nothing more than to unwind after a day amongst the inhuman slavedrivers that lead so many of their young fertile men to suicide, I feel as though I can understand where the samurai were coming from. There was a desire there to live as one was meant to, without apology or exception. It wasn’t to subjugate, it wasn’t to dominate, it was just that cutting down a wayfarer was closer to reality than simulation. It would be an insult, she writes, to cut down a fellow samurai, and if the cut were not clean enough, the samurai would either be shamed, or the sword-maker would be shamed for having forged an inferior product. It wouldn’t make sense to cut down a tree, or a sprig of bamboo, or to film your 400-pound carcass butchering bottles of Faygo for the internet. Why would one practice an art in only simulated grounds? Would that not lead to insanity? Imagine you have a pencil and a note-pad in front of you. You are a master artist, and you know this, and the form of a beautifully formed person sits before you. Man or woman, it does not matter, but they have curves and ridges and wrinkles in their skin. Skintight against muscle, uneven and formed from a life of true labour. They are posed perfectly, and their physique, whatever you imagine to be perfection, is hit by the light in all the right ways - lengthening the right shadows, highlighting their cheekbones, accentuating their hair; the way it falls around their face. And in front of you sit this pencil and this paper, ready. But all you can do is sharpen the pencil. All you can do is cut the paper to size, stripping it of its rough edges. You can smooth the paper and sharpen your pencil, and pose the model, but no matter how much you want to, you can never draw. You can never allow yourself the freedom to put your hours of sharpening and smoothing and practice and mastery to work. Such would be the samurai, were he not allowed to cut down the wayfarer. Is it cruel to do so? Yes. Would the samurai be disappointed if the wayfarer took out his own sword, and deflected the blow? No, that would be all the better. But in the world of simulation and pacification, the samurai would feel torture. He would not understand why he could not do that which he was bred and built to do. To stand around, acting as a ceremonial guard, would be the worst punishment you could bestow, worsened always by the fact that he must smile through it, acting thankful for the opportunity never to use his craft. The man who lived in the cabin in the woods and sent mail-bombs to industrialists described the state of things as hopeless. He spoke about how we were so removed from the natural way of things, that our activities were merely simulation. They are surrogate activities, as he puts them. Rather than hunting for our food, we hunt for deals at a grocery store. Rather than fighting the sabertooth, or the Lion of Nemea, we fill our heads with flashbulb images from television, praising these programs and pixels for being as close to reality as possible, a reality that we will never know. The man who lived in the cabin in the woods that he built with his own hands as a child with his father was correct, but I would offer an addendum that I think, at the time of his writing, he could not have foreseen the worship which we prescribe to things simulated and surrogate. I call them instead Ceremonial Activities, as they are not only unreal, but we must thank them for being unreal. We must take joy in them, otherwise, we do not fit into the norm. In sociology and criminology, those that refuse or refute the ceremonial “normalcy” of these surrogate activities are seen as and called ‘deviant’. Not always in the sexual sense, but, linguistically, because they deviate from the norm. Deviances can be anything from the crazed man who feels compelled to spread feces on the walls of an airport bathroom, to those who live in the woods eating only trapped and hunted meat, paying no taxes, owning no ID, and doing what they will. The latter, despite being the true norm for humanity for thousands of years, is considered still to be deviant for a refusal to partake in these ceremonial activities. To this end, we come back to our artist and our samurai. For a hundred million years of human evolution, that samurai would have been able to cut down a wayfarer. For a hundred million years, the artist could sketch that perfect form, a form like a god, finally standing in front of them. They are reduced today to pencil-pushers and ceremonial guards, never drawing steel in anger, never putting pencil to paper in passion, and never living in the woods only eating hunted or trapped meat, holding no identification, and paying no taxes. Remember that if you wish for the lives that most before you could live, you are deviant to most people. Remember also that there are a hundred billion human souls who came before you to whom you would be perfectly normal, and judge yourself only by their views, not the views of those who would enslave you to the ceremonial. (2) I was speaking with a good friend one night, and he told me that he was upset at the ugliness of everything around him. He said to me that we have no temples, not really. He told me that he is sad that he’ll never look upon the hanging gardens of the ancient world, or the immeasurably tall statues of those who came before him, welcoming him home after a long journey. He said then, also, that he wouldn’t need statues made of him - just that he lived a good enough life that his life itself was the monument. We don’t need to have statues built for us, if we can live a life that is remembered, The ancient men who worked no stone, and knew only wood and iron, who slew great bears and could still see the magic of the world around us lived more fulfilling lives than anyone with a statue erected in their honour. But it is still fine to wish for those statues. It is still fine to have a lust for the brilliant marble halls of times passed, because even though those halls always fell and the cities always burned, the architects could see in the building of monuments a half a second of the glory of man. A frighteningly small glimpse into what surely has been a thousand times, and will a thousand more. The state of man is to build great and beautiful things, and those who tell you there is no such thing as objective beauty are those who would seek to subjugate you and force you into pretending to enjoy ceremonial activities which should disgust you. I need no source for this, because I feel it in my soul, and against the truths proposed by academia, there is nothing wrong about writing purely from your own instinct. Nietzsche never wrote about the writings of others, because he didn’t want to corrupt any of his ideas. I am not as strong as he was, academically, but I will still always defend that a soul uncorrupted can write a greater truth than any writer who would support their beliefs only through peer-review, and sources pulled from journals and academic publishing houses. If a writer can only be confident in an idea after someone else has said it, then he is not a good writer, and probably has very few if any original ideas. Men who hide behind other people’s writing as a defense for their own are usually the type of people who say that they have transcended the need to have fraternal relationships with other men. They’re the sort of people who will say that masculinity is “toxic” (It is, and that’s a good thing, but that’s another matter and I will touch on that later). They say these things because they are not self-aware of the fact that they were ill equipped for greatness, and gave up on it rather than pushing through the hand they were dealt. Consider the artist again; he who has inherent skill, ingrained and natural. Consider the man who could pick up a brush without an ounce of training, and paint for you a landscape so real that you could smell the pines and the fresh water flowing. Is this man a greater artist than the one who realized he had no skill, but wanted to, so he pushed and trained and learned until he had it? Even if his painting is inferior, it still shows a level of spirit and hopefulness that we need more of in the world. Both of these men are to be respected. The Greeks knew this and wrote in equal measure of the demi-gods who could complete any task and the flawed heroes who through toil and strife could achieve greatness. Just as revered as the beautiful and youthful Dionysus, born of Zeus and filled with inherent skill, was the ugly and crippled Haephestus, who after being thrown from Mt. Olympus had to toil and work every day through the pain of his afflictions. Both of them are seen as great. Both were worshipped. Dionysus for his natural beauty and youthfulness, things that came to him by birthright. Hephaestus for his hard work, and ability to live on despite his challenges. The craftsman and the beautiful noble each have their place. (3) Nature is not your enemy. Though the natural state of man is war and toil, there is also great comfort and rejuvenation in nature. Too many people see nature, rather than distance, as something to be conquered. There is great honour in conquering, but we must always live with nature. The second we stop is the second we are doomed. If we fall prey to the idea that we must expand exponentially forever towards technological growth, we may reach the stars, but every planet we touch we will destroy. If we believe that we need no strength, then we will live with a beautiful wonderful world to exist in, but with no great stories, no great battles, no great conquests, and no honour. We cannot live like men in the springtime as we could during the Golden Age, before our hubris saw us thrown out of greener pastures. The Golden Men must be what we model ourselves after, knowing we can never achieve their greatness. The Golden Men, that race of men from before history who walked with Gods and knew no pain of old age. They were free to adventure. Free to explore and conquer, without destroying the springtime for anyone else. We cannot live like the Silver Men, either, who to Ovid and Hesiod were nurtured in childhood for a hundred years before leaving grown and exploring the world for their own. They were not tainted by the wheel or fire, though they still knew how to eat the things of the world, and how to survive the seasons. No mothers, here, for man. No fathers either, other than the Godhead. The Nymphs taught them without psychological damage, nor false pretenses about the world. These men were great, and they lasted a thousand generations. The Bronze Age, that of Ovid, not that of modern “history”, was the fall that precedes every great race of people. The men grew angry. Conquest and discovery were not enough for them. They had houses made of metal extending to the sky. They had great and mighty weapons. They built too much and they were strong. While their strength is to be admired, it was a cunning and disgusting strength that sought only the subjugation of all, with no thought towards toe gods, or magic, or transcendence. They were strong, but strength could not save them, and so they sank deep into the underworld. The men of this bronze age, who likely lived hundreds of thousands of years before the bronze age of classical antiquity, are most terrifying to me. It is said that so deep was their anger, so warlike were their ways, that they left behind no spirits, and they either disappeared entirely or still live in pure malice under the oceanic floor. Perhaps they are to blame for earthquakes. Perhaps their great machines still churn and boil over into the world. Perhaps their hatred still runs through us, urging us to rip everything apart and let the world descend into chaos. These men show up in most mythologies of the ancient world. Our progenitors knew of them and the age of strife they would bring, and in our ignorance of them, we have missed the fact that the bull of dharma stands now on one leg, ready to collapse our age into the Kali Yuga. This is another thing that I will speak to later - for now, what is important is the earth and the things within it. When the druids saw spirits in the forest, they were real. The world was a better place when a wanderer at night could look up at the moon and see only a pool of cool clean water in which he would never swim. The world was better when the stars were shining holes in the fabric of the world from which angels could descend. And they did. I’m not a fan of metaphor or not speaking clearly, and I want you to know that everything I write is true to my understanding. But angels used to descend from the stars. Dwarves used to make thunder from their mountains. Spirits and Wills used to inhabit forests, some good, some bad. There are no spirits anymore. Science has driven them away in a vain attempt to understand the world. The Science that is cruel and impatient, like the souls of the Bronze Men. The Science that would suck all the magic out of the world, drilling into the brains of great men and disabling them from seeing the world in the shamanistic and magical way we are meant to. Cutting out true religious transcendence with Ceremonial drug-induced hell-visions that scare us away from any idea of peeking beyond the curtain, and if you aren’t scared away, the view you see beyond the curtain is one grown in a lab, synthesized by cruel men who are leading us again towards the great sinking, the great flood. The world is your friend. It is ours to watch over like great lighthouses. It will take care of you, too. I read once of a marine biologist, who in the 1990s was researching “The Bloop”, the sound which most scientists usually pass off as tectonic plates rubbing together. Other scientists, with more magic in their brains and more of the spirit of the Golden Men within them, believe it must be some great animal, larger than we can comprehend. These are the ones who do not need to dispel everything. One such scientist went diving, searching for an Orca Whale he knew, who was named Marv. The Biologist had made friends with this pod of whales and found them one day to be distressed and in mourning. He could not track where Marv, the oldest of the pod, had gone. If this great beast stayed under the water too long, it would die. So before it was too late, the biologist launched himself off of his vessel, and into the cold water, to search for his friend. At some point during his descent, he was stung by a jellyfish and felt great pain in the depths. He felt pulled by some current deeper and deeper into the darkness. He eventually almost settled to the floor. His suit had been ruptured, and the shock of the jellyfish had left him almost paralyzed. He didn’t have the strength to swim back up, and like Marv, the great Orca who now sat beside him, dead, he would be claimed by the ocean’s floor. The pod of Orcas could see his distress, and though they were terrified of whatever it was that had taken Marv, they came to the rescue of the young scientist. They nudged him off of the ground with their beaks and pushed him - slowly so as to not hurt him from the pressure - back to shore. They waited, holding him above the water until the poison wore off enough that he could climb back aboard. When he finally did, they sang. Nobody believed the scientist when he came back ashore and wrote of what had happened, but I believe him. I believe him because I know that the world, and nature, are friendly to those that would not deny their magic. I ask you too not to deny it. Throw away your beliefs in science and understanding. Throw away the notion that everything can be explained with mere numbers. Numbers are, after all, simple definitions of natural forces. We cannot take them as anything but definitions and descriptions. We cannot believe that they exist in earnest as anything more than concepts. If you shrunk down to the size of the smallest particle and looked further, you would not find ones and zeros floating there, pulling the universe together. You would probably find nothing at all. Just as the earth exists as a closed system with no container inside a vacuum, you’d find that the entire universe is a closed system with no container. The oxygen doesn’t float away into the vacuum, and there is no Tupperware lid on top of us. It isn’t ones and zeros that are responsible for this. (4) Socrates believed in past lives. He spoke at length in his dialogues written by Plato about how he would receive messages from past lives, about art. He spoke about how the ethos of the universe would whisper to him many dreams of being an artist in the past, and knowing that he had not committed his life to the tangible arts haunted him. Even still, he saw himself as a musician of the mind. He saw himself as an artist working with words rather than marble. All the same, these whispers of his past lives could not be ignored. Once our souls have been through purgatory or hades, I don’t find it impossible to believe that they will grip their way up from out of the depths and find some other body to inhabit. Perhaps this is punishment. Perhaps not. I’m sure to those who worship the media, this eternal toil and subjugation to the body would seem like hell. Those who seek transcendence everywhere they shouldn’t - cartoons and distractions, sugary cereal, and lab-grown psychedelics, would feel a great horror at the thought of not ceasing entirely to exist. The suicide-cult of modernity could not deal with our actions echoing throughout the stars ad infinitum. I have had dreams, and I will not ignore the potential of dreams as deliverers of the secrets of the universe, where I lived as a man would have countless thousands of years ago. Millions, even. Before humanity had descended to what it is now. Common science tells us that there were no humans on Pangea, but I believe this is not true. I do not have a source and I won’t provide you with one because there is no point. All I can say is that I had a dream where I lived on that great continental mass. I remember walking barefoot, as a boy, through forests. The ground was soft and easy to walk on, mossy, and comforting on my soles. I held a spear, and with it, I caught fish. I would look down at my reflection in the water, and see hair covering my face. I had deep sunken eyes and a strong brow wide brow which is even now a characteristic common in my lineage. I would catch the fish with my spear, and bring them back to my tribe. When I got home, a woman was waiting for me. Perhaps not a wife, perhaps not a partner, but the mother of my children. I would drag her into our hut, and I would create more children with her. In this whisper of a dream that was given to me, I was interrupted with my partner by an infant son of mine, who began urinating onto the floor of our hut. I remember taking him outside, and showing him how to piss on the ground, like a civilized man. It was all wordless. Perhaps we had no language, or perhaps the Oracle hadn’t thought the words necessary to translate. Sometime later, perhaps months, perhaps an afternoon, I had such a rage inside me that could not be quenched when I realized I had not enough fish to feed my family. The chieftain of the tribe demanded that each man coming back to the village deposit some to him and his harem, and because of that, this leprous old man had taken food from one of my sons or daughters. I grabbed my spear, and I marched to the Chieftan. Once, long before, the Chieftan would have stood, or had a guard take me, but in his old age he had become a leech, and incapable of caring for himself. Instead of guards, he surrounded himself with young girls from the tribe, delighting in the pleasures of the flesh, rather than hunting for his own fish. I grabbed one of the fish that I had caught and offered to him, and then I went to the chieftain, my spear in my hand, and I plunged it into his stomach. The man groaned, then fell over. No fight in him. No ability to stop me from what I was doing. Now it was my turn to have offerings made. Instead of asking for fish, I let each man keep what he kept. Instead of acting like a leech, I showed them the great passion that could be found in building things together. We built, then, for what felt like a hundred years. We built a great temple there in the woods. We found a clearing and in it, we erected statues of stone and marble, and a throne for me to sit on, high above so that I could look upon the people that I was leading into greatness. One day as I was sitting there, a loud horn cut through the silence outside of my temple and my throne. From it, I arose. I walked to the door of the temple, seeing a young man at the bottom of the steps holding a bow. He fired true, and the arrow found my neck, stopping only once the arrowhead had exited my skin. I did not falter. I did not groan. I ran down the steps, and snapping the arrow from my neck, I plunged it into his eye. I did not kill the man, though. I made him one of my great generals. Together we would conquer the world, spreading through the forest, and leaving great houses of learning as we went. After being shot, I was taken by a group of young women to a river, where they began washing my wounds. In this way, one of the young women brushed her hand against my penis. I struck her in the face and made her run off in shame. I wondered after, when I had woken up, why the chemicals in my brain would dedicate a portion of sleep to the vision of me teaching a lesson to something which, according to most scientists, doesn’t exist. But I do not believe that dreams are whispers only from our minds. That dream is what the world has whispered to me. Close your eyes. What does it whisper to you? What echoes from the past make their way to your ears when you are uncorrupted of the entertainment that hides them? What great secrets is the world distracting you from? Surely it is something, otherwise, they would not spend so much money trying to keep you complacent. Is it a book that they have suppressed, that you would never find at the library? Is it a secret past that only you may know? What great knowledge have you pushed out of your mind because modern science, itself a hugely flawed system, would tell you it doesn’t fit into their specific worldview? Seek these answers. Seek them by separating yourself from ceremonial activities. Simulated fights meant to stop you from fighting the real fight and carrying that flame into eternity. (5) Perhaps the most egregious of the ceremonial activities are those that we pay to subjugate ourselves to, either out of pressure or out of misguided passions. The fruits of our labour don’t go into tools to help us work, nor hunt, nor protect ourselves, but instead into childish diversions that only succeed in proving why a different, more traditional lifestyle is so needed for man today. Electronic hindrances that mimic real-world dangers. As long as you press a certain button at a certain time in front of your television set, your brain can be duped into imagining that it has made some great conquest, and this is where many issues come from in the modern human psyche. Take sleep, for example. How ruined our sleep schedules are! The ancient man would come home from a long hunt, and he would sleep early after eating. He would wake up around midnight, or maybe a little later. He would make love to his wife, check his camp and his territory, and go back to sleep, rising with the sun. Two sessions of sleep for 5 or 6 hours each, with a few hours between, are the natural state of man. Man when he dealt in caves, if he had insomnia, would be revered as the night-guard, the one who kept the fire going for his friends. Now the man with insomnia either spends his night filling his brain with rot through videogames and pornography, or he works a low-paying job, cleaning up the messes of the so-called “proper” world. The man who would once be the proud guardian over an entire tribe is now tasked with cleaning up the stained carpets of perverted CEOs. It’s no place for him! He deserves his place again! The Shamans, too, slept very little, in the ancient days. IF they slept at all, it would be during the day time. If you wanted to hear a great interpreter of the universe speak and weave stories for you, it would have to be during the night. It would have to be during the time that angels could fall from the stars. Instead, now we worship pixels on television. The reason that these games, these surrogates for real danger, are so harmful to us, is because only one half of the danger-equation is being met. When humanity is presented with a challenge, especially a violent challenge, our bodies ready themselves. Even weakling men who spend their money on Funko-Pops and media trinkets understand this. Their hair stands on end, their pulse quickens, and under normal situations, their muscles would steel themselves and become ready. The body creates more ATP, giving us energy in our bones and sinew, and muscles as we toil. To our brains, still thankfully not yet lobotomized entirely from our ancient Progenitors, we are about to fight a bear with our hands. We are about to fight another man, to keep him away from our children. We are about to do great battle, against nature, or against man. But this expectation is never fulfilled when we are taking in media. Much in the same way, our body expects a fight, when pushing buttons to manipulate pixels - but pushing buttons takes far less strength than fighting the Lion or slaying the Beast. In this way, we do not expend our ATP. Our muscles get ready but are never put to use. We dull our senses this way, mentally gaining the dopamine and serotonin that comes with this simulated struggle, but never actually connecting that dopamine and serotonin to the reduction of ATP in our muscles. It used to be that man could not feel this victory and this sense of gratification without falling to the ground bloodied, bruised, and exhausted. Now we feel the positive chemicals when we get off of the couch, our backs a little more hunched, and our brains a little smaller each time. This mismanagement and misinterpretation of our brain’s chemicals, something that we evolved to keep us alive, has led to numerous disastrous consequences, which I don’t expect we will easily escape. Social media is another surrogate, but it is far more geared towards women. I will cover this in another section. (6) To boil a frog alive, you do not drop him directly into the pot. He will jump out and clamour and rage at what you have done to him. If you turn the heat up slowly, however, and let the frog be lulled to placidity, he will quite happily allow himself to be boiled to death. This metaphor is true metaphysically, but unfortunately, it is not biologically true. I prefer parables to metaphors, however, and so I find great use in this story of the boiling frog. Frogs, in reality, will notice the change of temperature. They have evolved great internal thermo-monitoring, which helps them find ideal spots to breed, lay eggs, etc. A frog will even notice when antidepressants and xenoestrogens are leaked into their water supply. It seems that humans are not so smart as frogs, seeing as we care not about our world boiling over, nor the chemicals we are pumped full of every day. The world is on the precipice of ending. I can feel it, and I know you can too. The problem is that we were duped into thinking that the world’s end would be quick and brilliant. Why do you think there has been such a measurable uptick in apocalypse media lately? Just as videogames quiet our internal need for conflict, just as pornography quiets our internal need for a partner or mate, apocalypse-porn quiets our internal knowledge that the world has reached the next collapse. There are so who believe that a massive media cabal is controlling what we intake. One part of this is true. It is not so magnanimous as the media-loving man-children believe it to be. It isn’t there to help us, nor is it our friend. On the other side, it is not so malevolent as conspiracy-theorists believe. That is not to say it is not dangerous - the media is one of the most dangerous creations of our time to the human psyche. My meaning is only this: Its primary existence is not secured by some group of individuals in the shadows who are trying to make us weak; it is instead symptomatic of our societal weakness. The media exists to make a profit and make prophets, and it succeeds in both of those things by selling us back our anxieties about the end of the world. We allow it to exist, but if we decided it should not exist any longer, it would not. There is no CNN standing army. There is no MSNBC Militia. There is nobody so passionate about Ben Shapiro that they would take up arms were he to stop taking our money. Perhaps they would take up arms for his sister, but I suspect there is some deep kabbalah-black-magic going on there. Though if we stopped consuming the media, it would disappear overnight, we and the media together have ignored the fact that the end is happening around us. If you took a person who did not watch the descent, someone from 1990, or even 2000, and dropped him into modernity they would be so disgusted that they would not be able to stand it. They would be frogs dropped directly into hot water. We are ignorant of the imposing chaos. This is not as new an ignorance as one would think. In reality, the world has ended many times before us and will end many more times after us until we finally decide to become the Golden Men again, who are not held back by our insecurities and anxieties. Not held back by materialism or the corrupted sciences. The Greeks fell, and they were the greatest storytellers and philosophers who have ever lived to record their work. The Romans fell too. So has every great empire. It’s nothing new, and it’s not something to get too worked up over. Just think! “How lucky am I! I live to see a great change! A great flood of things occurring!” There is no way now to stop it, and though corporations may try and hold up the corpse of society with product-placement and sponsored content for the journalists who would stop existing if their system were to crumble, they know to an extent that there is little to do about it and that we are far too gone. (7) I will say this, so that you do not despair. THIS IS NOT SO BAD! The falling of civilizations is probably our best hope, friends! We do not need to be like the hypocrites who tell us our consumption is ruining the world while they pay their wageslavery-earned salaries supporting the corporations who are doing so much worse than an individual ever could! We do not need to be the suicide cultists who think that killing ourselves all at once is some honourable pursuit! We can be happy and joyous! We can be drunk and merry on the dreams of the world! We still have forests, and they will only grow with the collapse, bringing more magic and more spirit into the world as they cover up the disgusting factories that once were built over the crypts of great trees. The world will only become more beautiful for those who can stand to ‘stay behind’. For us men who have the bravery to persevere, a beautiful and bountiful world will be our harvest! A world where we can hunt and explore, and own the world around us as we were meant to! The modern neo-conservative has almost the right idea. He understands that the world must be conquered and made one’s own, but he does not understand the philosopher’s mind required to do it in the correct way. He does not know that we cannot truly claim our birthright as masters of the world if we sit getting fat behind an oak desk while underpaid migrant workers cut down the forests for another plastic factory. He thinks that he is subjugating another, rather than realizing he is doing most harm to his brothers and his countrymen and his kin. He is hurting only the people who have the drive to compete, and therefore, only the people who could actually appreciate the nature he is destroying. Does he think the migrant worker has a second thought about the trees he is destroying? Does he think that the hoards of humans who crawl over each other like rats have any second thought to give about the world and her magic? Does he think that the slaves in China, or their slave drivers, have any ounce of humanity to give the animals of the woods? He does not care. Nor do the migrants he employs, or the third worlders he buys his metals from. Those who care about the protection of the world and the natural way of men are endangered, but not gone. We are endangered, and that is good, because nothing is more impressive nor tragically beautiful than the spirit of the Golden Age, with it’s back pushed against the wall, ready to do anything. So why then, is it hopeful? Because we can rebuild. We need not quicken the apocalypse - it has already begun. We need not sow the seeds of Chaos amongst our own ranks. Instead, I ask you to find good people for whom it is good to help, and who are deserving of it. I ask you to create for yourself a small community, just as our ancestors did. Find those who you know would protect, for they will have to. Find those who you know you would protect, for you will have to. Conflict and collapse is the norm for humanity. The comforts we have now are only a temporary blip. Do not be afraid of the coming struggle, for just as struggle begot wisdom to the great heroes, so too will it help us to know more about ourselves than we could ever hope to had we not experienced it. And what of the struggle itself? I tell you that it will not take so long as you’d think. The Bull of Dharma already teeters on a single leg! How little would it take for it to blow over and end in an instant! And after that, what a beautiful world we can inhabit! We can build again, with our hands, as we were meant to! We can have leisure, true leisure! Actual adventure, rather than the surrogate adventure offered by video games or television. We can live unhindered! Remove your shirt, wear pelts! Remove your shoes! Fashion boots of deer-leather for the winter, fashion slippers for the summer, and wear them as little as you can! Be strengthened by the winds of the world, and live not with an empty hearth! Let it burst with life! Let your woman bear you good children, and let your friends women do the same for them, that you may have many young men to teach and to protect and to show the ways of the world! Larger changes have happened in a single generation than this, and I will tell you that all is not lost. I am a machine of infinite hope. I am a machine of infinite positivity. There is no need to despair. Delight! Delight in the things that we may be historians to! (8) I heard a woman say one day while I was studying that some must “change their views, or die with them.” It is a common enough sentiment. In institutions of Academia, which I love and cherish enough to be happy when they fall, it is the most fearful thing to be on the wrong side of history. Professors who at one point would speak of the importance of European civilization, now must make forced addendums regarding an invented diversity of European peoples. Some imaginary history now exists to them wherein the Europe of old simultaneously held all of the same flawed ideals of diversity and progress that civilization holds now, and was a regressive hellhole which required great shifts and upheaval in order to be made “good” and “righteous”. The truth is that the wrong side of history is the side that is pushed on you from a young age in these institutions of supposed learning. The wrong side of history is the side which ignores the realities of the universe, the realities of the world, and pretends that somehow a disruption of all cultures, and an amalgamation into one colourless, faceless mob is our eventual destiny. No! This is not our destiny! Nor is it good, nor does it even fit into their own ideals! I have travelled the world. I have seen many universities, and many schools, and many cultures. In most of them there is something good to be admired. The Japanese are a people of great resolve, and they value their hegemony and the smooth-workings of their society. The French have a great love of art and food, and leisure which does not rot the brain. The Dutch likewise have a great love of art, and their civil-engineering is a shining example of how to live alongside nature. The people of the Eurasian Steppe have held onto their cultures and beliefs remarkably well. They still fly their falcons and ride their horses. They still live as they are happy to. I fear that the encroaching tide of China will swallow them whole someday, and hope only that a new Khan may rise to meet them. If combined all into one, each of these individual aspects disappears. If we love diversity so much, and hold it in such great regard, why then do we push so hard for the destruction of all of these cultures into some single entity? Cultural Relativism is a failed ideology. We ​can judge other cultures, and in fact, it is quite healthy to do so. If it has given us anything that we should take to heart, it is the notion that we should know and understand our own culture deeply before we judge another. This advice is, unfortunately, not taken by too many sociologists or media critics today. If anything they conflate it with the idea that self-flagellation of one’s own culture is a pious and good thing to do - THIS is the enemy in academia. Seek out the people who would tell you to hate your own culture, while revelling in the unimpressive “achievements” of other cultures. Seek them out and do the opposite of whatever they say. They are great liars and deceivers who seek to subjugate us all. Therefore I say that the wrong side of history is ​their side. The side that would destroy all cultures and flagellate the west. These ideals are new! They are new and not all that is new is good! If we grow continuously, putting forth new ideas without caring for their quality, then we are a tumour on this earth. That is the lot of the so-called progressive! That is the ideology of a cancer cell. The correct side of history is the side that honours it’s ancestors and forebears. The right side of history is the side that understands the realities of the world! The right side of history is ours, we who know where they came from, who knew the struggle and unconquerable will which birthed us! So do not despair. If you are in Academia, be proud - it is an institution which your progenitors held very dear. The Greek schools, the early European Universities, which are older than some entire civilizations, the true houses of learning still exist! They exist but they are being taken over by monsters and deceivers. So exist in the houses of learning built by your fathers. Exist where it is your right, and fight back the monsters who would ask you to flagellate yourself. Exist and let your existence as a man of the west, a traditional man, be your protest. Take these institutions back, and when they fall, we will have a good spiritual foundation on which to build the next ones. Many men leave the academic world, and those that stay are usually corrupted into self-flagellating apologizers who will do anything to signal their fake virtue. I understand why. I have spent summers doing manual labour, working lawns, metalworking, working in warehouses. Manual labour is not a bad thing, and it is not something to hide away from, and many men actually come to love it. That is because it is something we must do! Many men come to love academia, too. They love learning, reading as much as possible, spending long hours in dimly lit libraries eating up the legends and musings of the people that came before him. This is something we must do also! But we cannot leave one side of our sword unsharpened! We cannot leave the world of higher learning in order to do only labour! We must not leave labour in order to only learn! You must make yourself into a philosopher king, one who knows how to work, and one who knows how to learn. Many men leave academia because they are shut out. Modern learning is a terrible perversion of what was once a great and wonderful institution. Old women now tell young men that they need to apologize for their ancestors, when their ancestors learned from old and brilliant men how to conquer the world and themselves! In the halls where once stood men who knew the importance of BODY AND MIND, there are lecherous vampires and liars who preach only the MIND, but only in a sick and twisted way. This is the cunning intellect I was alluding to earlier. It does not come easily to men of good breeding, but it does come easily to those who are shadows of humanity. It comes easily to those who are ugly internally and externally. Those who are bred from a world of fake-diversity and self-hatred find it easy to try and corrupt others. When these systems crumble, remember this. When the world starts to fall, remember that these people not only know how to manipulate you and your children - they take pleasure in it. They think that it is funny and righteous to make you slaves to their false and disturbed doctrine. They can think of nothing greater than the erasure of your ancestors, they want nothing more than to falsely attribute all of your bloodline’s greatest achievements to those who ​are not like you. Remember this: Never let someone without your shared history ​tell you about your history. Never let them pervert it for you, lest you be cursed to finding loopholes in order to defend your ancestors. Never say “well, what so-and-so did was bad ​but​…” in any academic debate. Allow yourself freedom from the shackles of their intellectually dishonest method of communication. If you try and use their tricks against them, you are only solidifying the zeitgeist they hold over the world. Instead, be unabashed at your defense of your ancestors. Agree with your ancestors. Say to them the most dreadful things they could think of. They fear no word more than “YES!” If they ask “Are you ​really defending this…” or “Did you ​seriously just say that?” Respond with a stalwart “Yes.” - It is only in letting go completely of irony, in letting go completely of suppression that we can have the same academic freedom that was enjoyed by Alexander the Great, Aristotle, and Nietzsche. (9) Modern institutions of learning exist to serve the panopticon. They exist to serve the internal panopticon which has deceived us into self surveilling at all moments lest we slip up and speak wrongthink. The problem is much deeper than this, however. Foucault was wrong about many things, but he was right about the existential dread which comes from the panopticon. But what is a panopticon? He explains, a prison which allows a single guard to look at any prisoner at any time.The prisoners have no clue who he is looking at, and this is important. It shows the importance that surveillance has in shaping behaviour. What is more important and more disturbing is that it shows how important perceived surveillance is in shaping behaviour. Foucault expands his theory to modern life. We have so many forms of surveillance which monitor us and change our behaviour. There is prison and probation for those crimes which are not thought-crimes. Monthly work reviews in our workplaces. Social media and groupthink in our lives of “leisure.” So much so that leisure itself becomes a constant distressing activity of self-monitoring. Policing one's own thought so as to not distress lesser thinkers. The panopticon is our entire lives. Most importantly, he tells us that it is not only conventional power structures that use surveillance for this purpose. Groups of “friends” lie in waiting to correct some thought or behaviour, afraid of the power of the panopticon