I admit to spending at least a small share of time browsing the Hufflepuff website. My logic holds that doing so provides an idea of the culture — or mental bearing — of those who think differently, making discourse with them more enjoyable. The alternative often devolves into mindless yammering over talking points selected from the political on high, and little eventual headway. At the same time, the process can reveal saddening truths about the roots of their ideas, and the addictions which fuel them. In the case of leftists, there seems to be a correlation between those perspectives and the swirling domination that drugs create.
Our journey of exposition will focus on Laura Cathcart Robbins, a prominent “Black Voices” columnist who has unleashed the following array of suspect. To start, we have the obligatory “I felt out of place” piece:
Seems to be a wholesome leftist wife:
With a healthy sense of intimacy:
Definitely not hung up at all about her choice of a dating partner:
She’s very comfortable with her decisions:
Not a shred of animosity towards the racial group she prefers:
And the final whammy:
Yes indeed, the empowered writer who layers her work with racist undertones is an admitted recovering alcohol and pills addict. I do not write this to salivate or rejoice over her struggles, but it reveals some difficult truths nonetheless. One would imagine the liberal mind with all of its opulence is capable of bypassing the trivial problems affecting the poor and downtrodden, yet in many cases there is no difference. This majestic “WOC” is brought to her knees by sheer dependency on the most basic of drugs.
On a broader level, Robbins’ story is disconcerting because of the already-established faithlessness of the Plural Left. Imagine if the California Comrade takes office in January, bringing like-minded throngs to the halls of power…will we be ruled by souls enslaved to the bottle, meds, or grass?
The empowered blogosphere has been alight recently over the negative reaction to a miscarriage picture posted by John Legend’s wife. While it all appears to be a case of much ado about cucking, the fury got me thinking about the bizarre and morally degenerate folks who are uplifted, largely due to celebrity status or the relative quality of their body. In that latter grouping falls the insufferable Milana Vayntrub, a girl next door type who has somehow managed to capture the hearts of the commercial-consuming world, though for what reasons I cannot rightly know. She also had the following to say after Trump’s COVID diagnosis:
To be fair, the president isn’t the nicest person in the world, but focus on the messenger for a moment. Vayntrub is a public figure with substantial clout both on-screen and online. Is such a sentiment responsible from the standpoint of a person pretending to endorse positivity and respect, particularly given her own gripes with negativity on the internet? Leftists do get the social pass on hatred, but even on an individual level she has the capacity to rise above this mayhem.
Milana’s mischief is not isolated to Trump, however. In response to the #YouKnowMe hashtag being used to popularize abortion, she tweeted this:
Joke or not, it showcases great imperfections of the soul. Here is a person whose fame is largely based on their unchosen physical appearance, making light of the unborn child’s death. Why, exactly? Not because it gets in the way of humanitarian outreach or self-sacrifice, but rather sex.
Therein is the vile truth about our decrepit nature. Lust seizes and commandeers the spirit, manhandling her purpose towards the subjugation of all value in exchange for that brief utterance, the ejection of fleeting happiness which soon turns to grim depression. We follow such creatures because they reflect our basest selves, the living desire to be mortal gods with a large enough digital soapbox and bank account to where any sense of guilt is swept cleanly away, leaving material grimace in the wake.
So freely virtue dies, bleating ecstatic moans to the lingered end.
Those of you who have followed me for a time know I am skeptical of religion. Such a position should not translate into the understanding of outright disbelief, but rather difficulty in accepting the mainline examples of spirituality as adequate explanations for our existence. Consequently, I do not jump at agreement when presented with suggestions that we are “living in the endtimes,” or “about to face the Rapture.” While in some ways steeling, said claims often seem more about the speaker wanting reality to align with their own worldview, and not an indisputable Armageddon.
All that aside, I will occasionally come across something that turns back my own unconvinced soul, or even hints at another possibility. In point, we have the following article from our friends at Hufflepuff. Though the short written offering is not tantamount to glorious deification of the dark lord Satan, one cannot help but feel dismay over the pettiness of it. Here we have a privileged white female marching in the direction of utter depravity simply because politics didn’t turn out the way she liked. Take this quote, for example:
“When Justice Ginsburg died, I knew immediately that action was needed on a scale we have not seen before. Our democracy has become so fragile that the loss of one of the last guardians of common sense and decency in government less than two months before a pivotal election has put our civil and reproductive rights in danger like never before. And, so, I have turned to Satanism.”
Think about that in context for a moment. A self-described “40-something attorney and mother,” who presumably passed through the seven years of required college education, wants to be a Satanist because the Supreme Court’s ideological balance might shift. Notwithstanding her hypocritical appeals to democracy, which apparently is “threatened” only if she loses, why go so low? Are there no other shores for the sophisticated professional to breach apart from those oriented around the foremost enemy of the Father? Even in the narrow context of the Satanic church’s battling organized religion for legal primacy, the entire affair smarts of overzealous hatred and spiritual compromise.
“Everyone who cares about women having autonomy over their bodies should care about efforts to use religion to chip away at this right. We need to think outside the box to challenge what is coming and what is already here. The Satanic Temple is already doing that, and by becoming one of its members, I believe I have joined a community of people who will stop at nothing to safeguard my family’s rights ― and all of our rights ― when they are at their most vulnerable.”
Ah yes, the classic appeal to female autonomy over the body. This is the same logic which considers harlotry a symbol of pride, corporate wage slavery the highest calling for women, and abortion a flippant decision to be celebrated. Anything that strips away the purposeful ends of the male-female relationship and the family unit holds paramount status, because somehow being “liberated” is a fervent virtue, much like men must obsess over “being an individual” for the sake of individualism itself. Forget about any depth or spirituality, for life must be lived in the moment and sworn to a lack of kind.
When I observe the machinations of such lost peoples, desperately making attempts at justifying their shoddy state and vengeful hearts towards God by joining the column of his sworn enemy, I cannot help but wonder if sinister forces are truly at work. It would seem that the secularist coalition might be content with freedom alone to live their lives, but increasingly they desire to spite the heavens along Sorrow Road. Not content to depart the Father, they insist on cursing Him.
Scrolling down an assorted Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter feed will invariably result in the depiction of a message along the lines of “True Love must be unconditional,” or “There is no ‘but’ in ‘I love you.’” Those statements may well warm the anxious heart, especially in folks who have struggled with the attainment of genuine affection on a romantic or spiritual basis. It flourishes within a hope that someday the same will be true for them, despite continuous disappointment. Beautiful as the sentiments may unfurl, they mask a delusional and unrealistic assessment of the beating world, one coupled to dangerous results for the fiercest believers.
Our salvo might begin by examining marriages. Often these unions are predicated on the lofty notion of the unconditional, but of course more relevant factors are involved. Consider the tragic case of Tyler Ziegel, a Marine Corps sergeant who was horribly disfigured by a roadside bomb during the Iraq War. After returning home, Ziegel married Renee Kline, his high school sweetheart and fiancée from a pre-deployment engagement. According to the Hallmark internet image, the couple were a paragon of successful love:
“A day later he is in San Antonio, Texas, at the Brooke Army Medical Center. She leaves her home town for the first time to fly there with his mother so they can be by his side. She is there for him. His injuries are severe. He will have numerous operations and she will stand by him throughout. It will be a year and a half before they all go home. In the meantime, she will move in with his mother. The homecoming is a triumph. He is a hero and she is his heroine. Their commitment to each other is inspiring and rock-solid. They get married. She is now 21 and he is 24. The wedding takes place on October 7, 2006, and that date is declared a state holiday. Renee and Tyler Ziegel Day. Their romance is covered by The Sunday Times Magazine. They plan to have a family. Love conquers all.“
It sounds wonderful. Here is their wedding picture:
As you can see, Renee looks terribly unhappy, despite all the praise and social accoutrements being foisted on their union. In barely a year, they were divorced, both because she could not accept his appearance, and due to the influence of a “flame” she hooked up with while he was deployed. Some years later in 2012, Ziegel died of an alcohol and morphine overdose.
So what happened? Did love not conquer all in this case? Was it built on lies? Perhaps the simplest answer would be to understand that conditions are attached to the passionate concept. Renee probably loved him to some degree, but it was based on his looks, and when he came back disfigured through no fault of his own, that changed. He was no longer the same person, and that was the disqualifying condition.
Similarly, though less extreme, a woman who gains 100 pounds after marriage may find her husband doesn’t look upon her the same way. She could claim he’s superficial and appeal to unconditional love, but let’s remember WHO he fell in love with. Hint: not the heavy-set chica. Had he possessed a photograph of what she would look like in six years, the ring may have gotten lost in a sewer drain.
Children are not exempt from this dynamic either. It is certainly true that a good parent cannot afford to hate or spite their offspring for bad behavior at a young age, because the new soul may not know better. Over time however stark restrictions must be installed, or else you have the kid public berating his parents for not making food correctly or failing to get the perfect gift. Unconditional love in this frame is just another term for spoiled, and the risk grows with age.
If a daughter insults both her parents, or defames them socially due to their dislike of a romantic partner, should the reply be unhindered love and tenderness? Now suppose she becomes pregnant, and her coupling lives up to the normal DoorDash stereotype…are they expected to support her financially because love is unconditional? The sensible response would be no, and yet I can already hear the shrill castigations of the morally outraged, for whom sleep is never honest.
But past all those cries strikes the glorious heart, where past all recriminations and bloviating, they know I’m right.
As many of you know, Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away sometime Friday evening at the age of 87, after a long battle with multiple forms of cancer. Though this post has other motivations than pure commemoration, I will pause to take note for a moment. During my days as a young and empowered conservative, I often had a distant (and negative) view of RBG, largely because of her politics. It was only after watching her eulogy for Antonin Scalia that I developed a different appreciation, one surrounding her humanity. A critical issue with modern politics is the conspiracy to invalidate people on the basis of opinions, often whilst claiming to speak for the entire human race. This is a sickening trend with poor tidings for the time ahead.
What RBG’s death will do is tear down the curtains of fragile respectability, or at least the parts still remaining. I would not put her timely passing beyond the wildest machinations of the Democratic Machine, which above all else desires the supremacy of power. Such an event steels the most dejected into action, and increases the chances of any outcome being viewed as illegitimate. The perfect gale has arrived.
Consequently, we can expect to see the level of rioting and pillaging increased to dramatic levels, both before and after this election. The desperation of leftists towards triumph may even cause them to target elected senators in states where the Democratic governor has power to appoint a replacement. Nothing will be off the table for these souls, who now cry out to the internet in anguish, as if they are cut off from the divine culture. Vile dismissals of violence directed against their opponents will become the canon norm, and the timid dweebs arguing about “the intolerance of the liberal left” shall face an epic usurpation of their credibility, while Christians wonder if the end times are nigh.
The remaining lot – us who see past the empty diversions of the political game – are bound to be caught in the crossing fire, despite our attempts at avoiding Armageddon. We are to be the voices that were never listened to, at last set alight at a time when being “right” matters not, for everyone has become wrong. Hence there is no treasure for the rewarding, only a brittle grudge, the child of hearts cast to infinite scorn.
Little as we can do to prevent this calamity, there are measures to take for personal safety:
Review your investments, and determine if some should be trimmed or divested (but do not panic sell).
Be careful about open displays of political affiliation. Free speech is a virtue, but not respected by all.
Take care of your elders, and the young. Weaker targets are perfect prey for the radicalized and unshakeable.
Go about with confidence and caution. Being lost in a phone while in public is a great target made.
If the mob comes for you, fight as if the world is collapsing. You may be right, and no police or allies are guaranteed to come.
Should you follow God or gods, find peace with them now, and pray.
Perhaps these assessments are too harsh, or overblown by the limited scope of one man’s existence. Still, few people ever understand the gravity of their times, or the flimsy nature of the order around them. Be true to heart by knowing what is to come, so your life is not wasted in speculation of when that spiritual chapter may emerge.
There is an awful lot of emphasis on “coming together” and “being one tribe” in today’s world, both before and after the death of Coors Light. Companies can’t stop preaching the virtues, politicians are ever-willing to trot out their statements of welcome, and educational leaders do much the same. We are all one, they seem to mutter, and you best believe it.
The only problem is, reality tells a starkly different story. Depending on who we are and where we come from, our perceptions and experiences stand to be radically disparate in nature, regardless of how much propaganda can be hoisted to block out those facts. No serious person is going to argue that the 6’4’’ white man has any realistic identification or solidarity with a 5’2’’ Hispanic guy. Perhaps if they work in the same economic field we might witness some closeness, but each will be reacted to as though they are two entirely separate creatures, based on skin tone and height. Only an exasperated fool would attempt to join them.
In the field of dating, those differences matter, as we well know. The same could be true of a fit and lipped Latina versus a 250lb “Baby blue eyes” blonde. Is anyone willing to argue that somehow they are on even terms? (This excluding the Alt-Right and minority men who worship skin color). Differences matter, and no one actually believes the aforementioned claptrap unless they have to.
Now some empowered soul will stand and declare, “You’re wrong! It’s a about equality under the law.” Please humor me more. Is a working class person without financial resources liable to be treated the same as a rich fellow who can pay for the fancier esquire? The answer is not in doubt, but citizens are expected to cover their eyes and ears.
Even in the economic realm, disparities translate into divided universes. The college kid whose parents are loaded has far more freedom in terms of extracurricular activities and graduate schools than another specimen forced to pay their own way. I am reminded of the self-righteous classmate who mocked me for having a summer job in university while he took a stipend from the parents for an unpaid internship with the high and mighty. Means lead to starkly opposite ends, at least in the medium term.
As time goes on, this prevailing truth continues to manifest itself in the public square. There is no debate that BMM supporters view the world differently than “Defend the Police” adherents. Certainly Democrats and Republicans have separate views of legitimacy, which raises the deafening cry of what will happen in November 2020, regardless of the outcome.
Will everyone unite, because “We’re all Americans after all”?
“Those fateful days, robust hours, frightful minutes, all lost to the shimmering gray wall of forever.”
Not sure where that quotation came from, so we’ll just say Martin Goldberg. At any rate, it touches upon one of the most direct arguments I can make for the maintenance of a daily – if not at least every other day—written journal. This remains one of the most crucial habits you can adopt in life, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the practice is relatively uncommon.
As human beings, our capacity for long-term memory is relatively limited. Most of us cannot remember in detail a single day twenty years ago, or even one two weeks passed. It could be something to do with the monotony of everyday life, yet the realization is no less disconcerting under that lens. It is probably not a stretch to say that 97 percent of your life is a frantic blur, and that is somehow acceptable. I try to even but I simply cannot.
Think of the memories, the specifics, whether good or bad, all dashed to pieces in short order, their legacies gone before a second breath. The magnitude is an overwhelming spell of terror. What’s more, those absent slices of time make up your life.
On this very hill we must consider the value of a journal. By jotting down specific notes of what went on and who was involved, the individual crafts an enduring story which can outsmart the mind and leave imprints to be rediscovered in later days. There is no more – or certainly less—of the scrambling wonder, the attempt to recall a name or face, especially as you gaze down the churning tide of advanced age. Instead of being a stumbled and haggard crone reaching for the vanished past, you can feel the touch of scrolls, the scent of faded ink, the love of days gone by but never perished. You have the ability to return, and to revisit.
Now of course at some point you may pass on into that place beyond the stars, where few souls have gone and reported back. Yet with a journal you live on. The heart of the child, young or grown to fill difficult shoes, will look at and enter the mind of his father, feel the echoes of the time, the memory he was too small to experience. Daughters will find the wisdom of their mother, what things she loved, the joy that spoke, rich tears all cried. The legacy will be one living, from time towards a horizon eternal.
Yesterday I stumbled across a very touching video by The Enlightened Kiwi, one of the few genuine MGTOW sources out there. As he recounted his experiences of loss and a collapsed marriage, it made me wonder why exactly we as men chase the conception of love with a woman. It is undeniably true that we are acculturated into the mindset from a young age, with true love in matrimony established as a milestone for “normal people” to reach, or otherwise face social distancing from polite society. At the same time, the results are frequently poor, filled by more heartache than sheer pleasure.
Perhaps the answer is that we have no choice. Biologically, psychologically, or socially, the drive for companionship (even if it is often confused with lust) frustrates the most dour skeptics of romance. Men regularly sacrifice their whole dignity for the chance to keep a woman, and even grumpy fellows who swear off marriage can be found softly hoping that an alternative, no matter how imperfect, exists.
Are most of us miserable melancholics, hoping to one day leave the anonymous meetings for good? Very possible is the correct answer. As Anna Snitkina described her interaction with the widowed Fyodor Dostoevsky before their marriage:
“So you think I can marry again?” he asked. “That someone might consent to become my wife? What kind of wife shall I choose then — an intelligent one or a kind one?” “An intelligent one, of course.” “Well, no… if I have the choice, I’ll pick a kind one, so that she’ll take pity on me and love me.” While we were on the theme of marriage, he asked me why I didn’t marry myself. I answered that I had two suitors, both splendid people and that I respected them both very much but did not love them — and that I wanted to marry for love. “For love, without fail,” he seconded me heartily. “Respect alone isn’t enough for a happy marriage!”
Those bold sections are particularly telling. Granted, Fyodor was struggling financially at this point in his life, but notice the emphasis on his need to be loved. He embodies the eternal struggle of men against a world that expects us to do things right, land on our feet, not show emotion, and be able to absorb the fiercest blows. And if for but a moment we lean on someone else, or admit to the pain stirring inside, the world will pounce like a pack of ravenous wolves.
Some months back I noted how Meghan Markle had brilliantly outperformed in the category of economic dating. She beat the manosphere’s fantastical “wall,” established herself in a secure financial position, and had a child with the doting Prince Harry. More than all that, she has continued to demonstrate her absolute dominance over the second-hand royal, to the point where he practically doesn’t exist.
The most recent example of such supremacy comes in a report from the Daily Mail:
Hold on a second. Right here we have a fellow who is looks and status-wise in the top five percent worldwide. For years he was on lists of the most eligible bachelors, getting royally (lol) fawned over by millions of different women. And now, like any depressed suburban dad bod, he is forced to give up whole swaths of his identity to maintain the “happy wife.”
Sure, it could just be angry royal gossip, but her previous influence on the man suggests otherwise. The prevailing question would be what further concessions she might manage to extract in his desperate quest to “keep the peace,” and ensure that love spigot is unleashed at least once a month. Maybe a sex-change operation?
Harry should be a lesson to anyone engaged with a serious relationship, male or female. While some bad habits are worth kicking, giving up your whole personality and character simply to please a mate is recipe for the subservient life of an invisible creature. A total eclipse of the heart.
A good bit of the manosphere can credit its origins to middle-aged men recounting depressing stories about their experiences with marriage and psychotic women. In particular, the MGTOW community is often buoyed by older dudes discussing how they were cucked or “divorce raped” by a female chameleon. These examples are held up as the St. Red Pill truths that men ought to follow, or else risk legal and financial destitution.
Yet I remain rather unconvinced. While there can be no question that many marriages end in a smoldering ball of fire due to the wife’s infidelity or lilipad-hopping standards, that is not always the full story. The problem is, we get nothing beyond grim lamentations from the men reporting their suffering, and little of the other side.
This creates an obvious problem concerning male forthrightness. If we consider that (anecdotally) the typical guy has no issue exaggerating the size of his wealth, endowment, or quality/number of past sexual partners, then why should he be trusted otherwise?
As I noted in an older video, I have known three men in real life who were MGTOWs in all but name. They talked about the secret nature of women, the corrupt family courts, and the problem of feminism. On top of that, they all tried to dissuade those around them from taking those holy vows.
Nothing terribly wrong with such advice, but as I learned more about their marriages from associates and friends, the following came out:
Guy No. 1: Would come home sopping drunk most nights to his wife and five kids, yell at his woman, and then proceed to pass out on the couch, often naked.
Guy No. 2: Regularly screamed at his wife on the phone and in person for minor issues like not including a particular utensil with his bag lunch. Was a jerk to people in general.
Guy No. 3: Cheated on his wife with older woman, and gave his spouse a serious STD.
A further problem got highlighted by No. 1, who said he married a “great actress,” which is manosphere parlance for a female “chameleon.” There was a time I might have taken this claim seriously, but having dated a large share of women, I find it very difficult to believe, if not entirely laughable. Reality simply gets in the way.
To illustrate things better, let’s eliminate the men who came from traditional backgrounds and were virgins going into marriage. These guys can be excluded because they probably bought into the romantic fairy tales on the basis of custom. For everyone else, there was some dancing in the moonlight going on before vow time, and likely with multiple partners. In other words, they weren’t ignorant of all female behavior.
With that being said, it’s hard to believe those fellers failed to see the red flags coming. Women may be good at keeping up a facade for a few months –maybe even a year—yet at a certain point it becomes abundantly obvious what intentions she holds. They might try to fool a guy, but very few are that good.
The reality is, these guys are guilty of succumbing to the good sex pitfall. After a few go arounds, they landed with a more attractive chick, and decided to ring it because the bedroom was hot, even if she had poor behavioral problems otherwise. Plenty of men do this. You only have to visit a pre-COVID shopping mall to see couples were the girl is verbally or physically abusive, yet Mr. Dependable is still hanging around. That remains the price of not getting turned off.
Had those MGTOWs succeeded in actually transcending the booty, they never would have gotten married in the first place. But those couple seconds of joy were simply irresistible, and so it had to happen.