A few moons past I heard the song, “NEED A FAVOR” over a strikingly still-operational FM radio. Its lyrical theme is pretty straightforward: how can one expect God’s salvation when they only go to prayer based on some current or future need?

Seems like an obvious dilemma, but it honestly got me thinking about the nature of prayer itself. Growing up, I heard plenty of times how important this practice must be throughout life. “Don’t forget to pray, and pray hard”, was the typical advice. “Ask God and he will show the way”, might be another popular form. Invariably however such approaches devolved into, “Please give me this”, with perhaps a slight dollop of thanks on top.

Is that the extent of what prayer is meant to be? An awkward trade-off between gratitude and requests, where the former almost feels sidled into existence merely such that the petitioner avoids any sense of guilt? Nervous absolution, in one variety or the other.

The easily-tempted side of me imagines there must be something deeper to it all. What would be the purpose of such an action if God presumably has a plan in place, and knows each outcome before it materializes? Trying to prevent a particular result (or ensuring the same), doesn’t appear to sit well with the concept of submission. One could be venturing far enough towards conceited defiance and thus separation by insisting on that very route.

Thankfulness on the other hand causes less concern about motives, although its pairing with asks can generate different conundrums. God’s rejection of a possible request obviously cannot not be scorned from a traditional perspective, but rather welcomed under the “count your blessings” mantra. So presumably it is better to simply say thanks rather than attempting to move Him absent any guarantee that a specific outcome will occur. Less presumptuous I suppose.

Alternatively, the choice could be for some form of communion with God. Praying so as to communicate with the Creator, to the extent that an interaction can be attained. To be frank however, I am not certain how this works.

More questions than answers, the fate I tackle each writhing day on future’s road.

One of the harsher conclusions I reached over the last several years concerns the futility of trying to, “Raise the conditions of the masses.” Many figures with clout far more pronounced than my own have attempted to rise past the battlements and perhaps felt they were near, only to cascade mercilessly back to the oblivion that is treading water under the soaring, derisory screams of the intellectually limited. I believed for a time the world held better promise for my cause, yet those fell as the tragic dreams they were always meant to be. Defeat was never in doubt, so a fanciful alternative narrative had to be cast in its temporary stead.

My first milestone in recognizing the inevitable came several years back when I had a digital exchange with members of the Yang Gang. These denizens were at once highly motivated for their cause and completely oblivious to political realities. Any attempt to reason with them was met with sarcasm, mockery, or the marvelous practice known as, “Chant Warfare”. Here the mob simply shouts incessantly, or create spam comments with multiple accounts, hoping the strength of the clamor implies victory. To some extent, they may be correct. People rely on numbers as the foundation for merit across the internet, regardless if they are being fed lies. Emotionally-tuned talking points, feel-good stories, and general delusion are all excused based on the following or fanaticism of a base. Speaking out against it risks receiving the labels of “bitter” or “jealous”, and subsequent ignoring by those coalitions.

In other spaces it was the manospherians, angry that the popular claims circulating in their realm for ages might not be entirely true. No matter the extent of the hand-holding and historical analysis proffered, certain souls simply refused to be moved, returning to their talking points almost as if by robotic command. Others merely would respond to a video or article title, unwilling (or unable) to deal with the heart of the matter within.

More recently I have discovered the disaster of interaction with the “wignat” category of right-wingers. While there is understandable criticism to be made of traditional conservatives, wignats never cease to amaze the discoursing eye based on their unrepentant commitment to the ides of imbecile nationalism. Like hounds clutching rawhides, they exist only to salivate over the same subject, often in corners of the internet that would seem pointless for those with presumably superior interests. All matters come back to the sinister tribe, whether the utter failure residing in their own lives, or manifestations of political interest. Yet the scope is hardly limited to real impacts on white well-being, as it stands. To such creatures, the entire fabric of this Manichean universe relies on a crude and chameleon-like enemy.

Case in point: the question of war and European destruction. When I created a segment some years back on the wastefulness entailed by lusting after the empires of the First World War period, which caused the deaths of millions, the wignats erupted. Apparently they preferred to die in the Somme than attend another HR meeting. Fair enough, though what does this say about how much they value the lives of fellow whites? Belay that question, because as a “blue” I automatically must desire the eradication of Europeans, even though European monarchies could have prevented the disaster, actually maybe not because my group controls them like puppets.

Getting on board yet? Well, the problem flies no better if you express degrees of sympathy with them, because wignats are in the sub-90 IQ range and hence struggle with any measure of nuance. For instance, I can point out how the Europa: The Last Battle documentary has some occasional tidbits of insight about communism’s origins and the Second World War. A slightly mollified wignat might respond and say, “He’s on our side,” or, “You’re the only blue I like.” However, once I move on to explain the numerous historical errors and flagrant distortions the piece contains, even from a revisionist perspective, all bets are off. Expect something attune to, “Clearly you would say that! After all, you’re a blue!”

As you can see, at best a Kafkaesque circulation can be attained when talking to these gremlins. They will seize upon whatever validates the opinions set in stone by that limited cell activity upstairs, and then resort to indictment at any other angle. All which follows is bound to contain bad faith, sneering, and feces-devouring grins.

Engagement was my brutal error, but it need not be yours.

There’s much fashion for the word “cope” lately. At one time it likely emerged outside the manosphere, though by this point use has become second nature to the fierce and reactionary male promoters. More and more lifestyle choices are labeled with such approbation, to where I suspect there is at least a horde of souls who have been trained to think along its guarded lines. They cannot escape the sensitivity, no matter how much stealthy avoidance is attempted. Destiny has clasped all moments for repressive study.

The fallout from this dynamic is brutal in descriptive shades. Everything that one does, especially as a man, must swiftly be called into question for not meeting the professed fantasy lived by Chadish specimens. Interested in art? Well, if it’s not leading to a six-plate harem and endless expansion of the sexual zone, then coping has come to roost. Not specifically focusing on workout regimens or diets that will make you large, and presumably more sexually desirable? Waste of time and an obvious coping mechanism. Better throw in some real estate investing and career-maxxing as well, because a basic life is not acceptable for anyone save the malingered souls of soyciety.

Absent careful consideration, we can easily fall prey to such twisted perceptions of truth. For example, when I moved to a larger city and had less of a robust social circle, I would at times feel pressured to seek out new avenues, hardly because I was full of energy after 40-plus hours of manual labor in wretched conditions; instead, it was the unceasing dictums of the internet pushing along. Best stay active and constantly move on to the next lay or night out, lest you slouch into the blasé inactivity of a NEET wannabe. You can’t yourself to just relax and enjoy the downtime, for losers sleep while winners go hard and fast on 4 hours a night.

Lately the influence has passed across my research efforts as well. Since 2019 I have issued at least 9 books, on a variety of subjects and demanding varied degrees of study to write. The present topic of Conservatism has proved especially frustrating, and at times I question the value. Pointedly, I wonder if I’m “coping” by dedicating time to a useful endeavor, albeit at the expense of more hours spent going out to interact with the opposite sex and merrily build the never-ending harem of gold. One of my next projects is a book that will likely require a year’s worth of reading and writing, with some sources not even available in an ideal translation. Am I frittering away time that could otherwise be spent “in the GAME” by following a dutiful passion on the digital page?

Them that follow the popular assumptions would no doubt concur readily. I’m not so ready to take that position. It seems like provision of energies to a cause, a personal myth perhaps, may not be so far from valid if one can stay halfway rational about the whole thing, while still dedicating some time to other offerings.

But then again, that could just be another cope.