Monday, 14 January 2013
Red Pill Masturbation
You've found us, so it seems. Congratulations. You found your way all down the chute, kicking, screaming, tumbling , careening down the darkest and foulest of rabbit holes, and you've found yourself amidst a flaming wreck of petty lies and scathing, tantalizing truths. You are Faustian Man, and for the first time, you have discovered boundless infinity.
So what do you do?
Autolatry. You get imbibed on the truth.
Suddenly, you find yourself logging in to all these websites. All these beliefs that you possess are anathema, and now, you're no fucking Tyler Durden lackey. You fucking KNOW shit. You find out clean, paleo eating is the way to go in terms of diet. You find out that, despite being a concept that acts as a perverse whore to your rigid, rationalizing logic, as a man of course, you come to realize that being the most misogynistic, shitty, arsehole of a human being will get you further up the pussy ladder than being a decent beta provider human being ever will.
What follows from this is something I like to call red pill masturbation. Now, the manosphere is not mere adoxgraphy. Far from it. In my case though, I just got high on the shit. The ugly, aging feminists with their logically fallacious arguments. The sniveling, hound of her masculine counterpart. The manboob, the omega man. You had it right. This is the epitome of slave mortality. Is the end game an imperium, have you indulged on enough Doomsday Porn good sir?
We all know that the West is sick. We all know, that expressing an opinion, thinking the way that you do, is liable to get you in a lot of trouble. We all know, that the ostentatious, secular, nihilistic scum that is the Baby Boomers, have pirulated society with values so utterly idiotic and heinous, they have resulted in a demographic and economic collapse. We know that a lot of people are not going to like you for who are and what you stand for. And as you read this, and you feel good and warm and gooey, cause yer de fucken snowflake, and you go back to playing videogames and watching cheap videoporn. But that's ok. You understand the wimmenz, you fucking legend you.
Here's the thing. The final red pill is being able to let go of the bike with your ass flying down the highway, the final red pill is you shitting sweat bullets and talking to that cute lassie in the book store. There's an abundance of information here to help you. Roissy pre 2009 for game. Jamie Lewis, Chaos and Pain for weightlifting. Roosh for more detailed infographs on cities and towns. There. You're done. It's you suspended over that bridge, and it is up to you alone to navigate it. Myself, personally, I need to read the manosphere to make sure I'm not losing my mind, that the old noggin is not going mad out of the hat bonkers, because one person or three aside, I'm completely and utterly alone here in my own life, in what I'm trying to do. Practice what you preach, brother. But, one must be careful. There is corruption and avarice and other fun things out there. Reading the manosphere can make one overly cynical at times. But it is necessary, because otherwise you're climbing Mount Everest without a fucking rope. So take a break, once in a while. It's far too easy to get grounded down by superdoomporn en aw.
Here's a warning, a message, an idea, here is something that you really should be worried about as you get on with all of it. When you can't feel anything, that's your endgame right there. When you're anhedonic, when you want to get sick, but can't, that's your endgame. You still have skin in the game if you're feeling sadness. Don't forget that. You don't care about stuffing that Mac e d's burger down your gullet, then it's all over for you.
Once you have the information you desire, you really have no other excuses. Stop binging on the Manosphere and bitching is dat alpha or is dat beta, to other random pixels from different pockets of the globe. Adapt a low information diet, and apply what you've learned to your life, otherwise it is just intellectual masturbation, red pill masturbation, empty masturbation.
Matt Forney has a post up reviewing the Roosh book "A Dead Bat in Paraguay". Forney goes on to raise the point that none of what is going here is particularly original. I was thinking of a good movie comparison, and I keep coming back around to the ending of The Truman Show. Whereas, you can at least say, I don't approve of this fuckos, I'm out, going going gone and I shagged yer slag sister te fucken boot! Long live de Franco cunt!