The Forgotten Key to Freedom

Love it when people offer solutions, we are all abundantly aware of the problems.

Splinter in the Mind

Let’s talk more about loosh. If you haven’t read my article, “Tracking the Crack in the Universe,” that’s the foundation for what we’ll talk about here, so check out that last blog before you continue. For readers who have completed “Loosh 101,” this is “Loosh 102.”

The concept of loosh, in my opinion, holds a major clue to human freedom. What is loosh, as it was described to Robert Monroe? It is a kind of energy that animals and humans generate in situations that involve two things: an intense desire plus a negative emotion. In the last article I equated loosh with “life force,” but when loosh arises in the harvestable form, it is laced with some form of negativity: fear (in the example of a mother defending her young), sadness or hopelessness (in the example of a lonely person), fear again (in the example of prey/predator combat). So how…

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Sex Addiction

Sex addiction, well, more precisely pornography addiction. Actually, let’s take a sniper’s spotting scope and really pinpoint that elusive motherfucker. I’m talking about internet pornography addiction and my experiences with it over the course of my life.

First off, anyone who says pornography and specifically internet porn isn’t addictive is a major asshole. I’m telling you, from my own experiences and taking nothing else into account, it most definitely fucking is! As of the moment I write this very sentence I am 31 years old. Which means I have been a regular viewer of pornography for over 2/3’s of my life. I estimate I started looking at around 8 years old. For 23 years I have looked at every disgusting genre that exists, every fucked up fetish I could find.

Big tits – how big do you want them? Hairy pussy, seen it. One piece diving swimsuits like the chicks in the olympics wear. Seen it, and goddam do I love those wide hips, thick thighs and meaty asses and they way those little pieces of spandex accentuate them. Probably reminds me of my earliest memories as a toddler and learning how to swim. Seeing those fat ass housewives changing out of their swimsuits as a horny, and very aware of the female form child.

This is what internet pornography addiction is and No Fap can help alleviate. So far I am 2 days into the rest of my life. My longest streak has been roughly 45 days, which was almost a decade ago. And this streak was only due to a ransomware virus from looking at porn and being physically incapable of looking at porn until the computer was completely reformatted. 45 days is the longest period of time I have spent in my entire adult life without internet pornography. In that time period I have installed web blockers, only to bypass them. I have told my parents about my struggle with internet porn, only to lie to them so that I could find a way to look at internet porn again. I have physically torn down a door because I was feeling such intense withdrawls I felt I had to. I have talked with numerous girlfriends on the phone while I was simultaneously looking at disturbing internet porn.

Just so that there is absolutely no ambiguity in my account whatsoever this is some of what I’ve looked at:

Women (obviously), busty women, hairy women, busty hairy women, women fucking men, women fucking women, women fucking dogs, women fucking horses, women eating shit, women drinking piss, women licking a farting asshole, lesbian grannies, retro porn, tranny porn, gay porn, voyeur porn, amateur porn, a chick shoving a plate full of chestnuts up her asshole, a chick shoving a grapefruit up her asshole, a chick shoving a baseball bat up her asshole, a chick shoving a wine bottle up her asshole (I used to like chicks shoving weird painful shit up their assholes, not proud of it)

This is by no means an exhausting list of what I’ve looked at, and certainly not what exists out there. This is what internet porn is, it’s an itch you’ll never be able to scratch. It’s a deep dark pit that you’ll find yourself sliding further, and further down. You’ll keep on scratching that itch until you bleed, you’ll keep on scratching until you hit bone. You’ll keep on scratching until you tear off an appendage, and then you’ll just keep scratching. Every single time I’ve escalated to more disgusting and disturbing material I thought I’d finally hit rock bottom. The thing is, I never hit it, rock bottom was just another illusion.

You can sink so far that you can’t look  at yourself in the mirror. Literally, and not figuratively, after particularly bad sessions I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without causing a panic attack. I have reached points where I have felt no reason to live, yet not commit suicide or die, just live in eternal oblivion. That feeling of mortal purgatory is as excruciating as it is familiar.

This is what internet porn has been for me. I have squandered the entirety of my teenage years, my entire 20’s; and now, almost a year of my 30’s. I don’t know what could have been. Maybe I would have done better in school, been better with women, done better in sports, made better friends. It truly tears my heart out to write this. I may have lived an inconceivably better life because I wasn’t looking at porn and jacking off. I could have been better.

Now that I know rock bottom is an illusion I’ll tell you this. There is the moment that your pain, your regret, your shame, and your yearning becomes so great that you force yourself to change. This is the only moment that makes you decide to burn the boats and face your fears. This is the moment you decide to face the future without the only coping mechanism you have ever used in your life.

Every single time you see a big round ass at the gym in that exact brand that makes a chicks ass look unbelievable and feel like immediately using – don’t. Every single time you feel bored – don’t. Every time you feel sad, or happy – don’t. Every single time you are alone, stuck there with yourself and the totality of you – don’t look at porn! Every single moment you are left with a choice that requires a great decision to rally or give in, rally! My last hundred relapses taught me that unless the last time was truly “THE LAST FUCKING TIME!” then it is never truly going to be the last time.

There is no day count, there is only today, there is only your unwavering decision to honor the choice to stay clean. This world is made of triggers, each one more compelling than the last. But you made a promise to yourself that no matter what, this time is different. This time you are resolved to change your life. That the pain of pleasure and regret is infinitely worse than the pain of the worst pain conceivable.

The true and real pain you have tried as hard to ignore and neglect is your very life. Every single consequence is there waiting to be dealt with. The loneliness, the unemployment, the living with your parents at 31 is still there. But also there is a future. A future that you are fully in control of, for better or worse. The good and the bad existing perpetually side by side. A life exists where there was once an addiction, a perpetual avoidance of life.

Addiction is a life spent dwelling in pain while disguised as the most exquisite pleasure. Your only goal is to feel good while you watch your life slip away. You watch your family age, your friends age, and worst of all you watch yourself age.

I can’t tell you what to do, all I can tell you is that regret is a living hell. I can tell you that being a muscular, handsome, intelligent man who hasn’t had sex in 7 years is hell. I can tell you driving shitty cars that you have to learn how to fix because you’re broke is hell. But hell is truly knowing that there is only one person to blame. I’m the only one I can blame. There is no girl who broke my heart. There is no parent who couldn’t show me the affection I needed. There is no God to curse – there is only me.

In my world I am God, my decisions, my thoughts are what dictates my reality. The external can never effect me as much as my perception of it. Face both good and bad with grace and serenity.

My reason for quitting porn is this:

“I just can’t keep living this way, I hate it so much. No matter how good it feels to look at porn and orgasm to it, there is no perfect picture or video. I can’t go back to it. I won’t go back to it!”

You have a bottom line or an excuse. Porn has been my demon. I don’t know yours. I hope you beat it finally.

Shit talk

The Manosphere, silly name, serious shit – kinda. Well, mostly it’s about getting puss, because that’s what brings the crowds. Whether you are a staunchly MGTOW incel monk or a successful PUA, you bet your ass it’s on your mind. Any man who would claim anything to the contrary is a damned liar. For my money, it would be an untenable argument to say that most of western civilization isn’t geared in one way or another to banging puss. And that is the crossroads of Manosphere journalism, there are articles about getting puss, and then everything else. This is an article about the other shit.

My awareness of “the ‘sphere” is entirely due to one specific site, Return of Kings. It almost reminds me of the old school Maxim magazine era – circa 2000 – when it was actually funny. Yet there is a stark qualitative difference between the two, RoK is moderately insightful and Maxim was mostly about advertising. Now I could give two shits and a greasy fart about a print magazine for the exact reason mentioned above. Advertising is more than distracting, it is downright odious. As an ironic insult it would be fitting to buy Edward Bernay’s grave and offer the public the opportunity to spit on it free of charge.

I digress…

Return of Kings has some good material that pertains to both philosophy and sociology. I can even say this after recieving a lifetime banning from the comment section for calling Tuthmosis a nigger. It was a highly anomalous article considering that his oeuvre is by and large pretty good. Apparently though, he woke up hating whitey that day and felt like getting all BLM. I can’t even find the article anymore, but I assure you, it was your garden variety race trolling effluvium.

Yet, this is precisely what makes the Manosphere great, a spirited philosophical debate amongst a diverse group of men. Dudes got some vastly different ethos at work in their lives. For instance, I happen to think Chateau Heartiste’s worship of Donald Trump to border on mental illness and retardation. However, the reasons for ascribing value to yet another “traditionalist” American President and hoping he will solve the problems his predecessors wrought I get. Take a good look through goodbyeamerica…in pictures, and traditionalism doesn’t look half bad. Liberalism undoubtedly is showing itself to be civilizational cancer.

How could it possibly be a surprise that people that you don’t share race, language, religion, or any form of culture in common with – you don’t get along with. But, when you acknowledge differences some magical shit happens. People become curious about, and positively interested in completely foreign cultures and customs. I happen to be fascinated in language, both written and spoken. As a corollary I learn about the history of the cultures who spoke: Sumerian, Akkadian, Gaelic, Aramaic, Greek, Hebrew, Sanskrit, Phoenician, Latin, Chinese, Ugro-Finnish. All of these cultures share the commonality of reverence for their culture and quite often the desire to conquer and subjugate “inferior” cultures.

What liberalism today isn’t is tolerance for differences. Or even the curiosity that drove historical physicians to dissect corpses for pathological understanding of the body. I personally don’t have children, but I wouldn’t condone a drag queen reading stories about tranvestitism to a todler. Not because I believe they are terrible human beings, but that they are terribly confused human beings. Children don’t have context for the difference between trans-sexuals vs. transvestites. For that matter adults don’t really have context for sexual fetishes vs. “identity” either. So in that vein, I think tolerance of someone you see as vastly different is pretty munificent. I’m not going to celebrate it, and certainly not defer to it, you can go fuck yourself.

This is the circle of life, shit talk, it truly does make the world go round. Families talk shit about eachother, strangers talk shit about eachother, lovers, enemies, etc. The humans in this human condition don’t see eye to eye with eachother much. But you won’t get that from CNN, those assclowns (here’s looking at you Anderson!) don’t tolerate differences.

So my advice is this:

Figure out things using your own inherent abilities of intuition, reason, and wisdom. People who want your money or your vote are irrepressible mother-fucking liars. Traditions aren’t always bad and repressive, and change isn’t always for the worse. Dignity of spirit will always lead you towards truth. And external technology isn’t the answer to mankind’s understanding of himself. If we are ruled by Archons then it is only because we give them interdimensional pieces of shit informal consent to do so.

Gnothi Seauton!

 

Be Prepared For A Shitlib Push To End The Electoral College System

As Unleash The Beef eloquently opined in this post:

https://web.archive.org/web/20160410024634/http://unleashthebeef.com/2010/10/30/voting-act-of-the-proud-slave/

Trump is indeed President, “The Cunt” isn’t, and the “investigation into fraud and impropriety continues as of 7/14/17. Personally I don’t vote because I consider it consent to very literal slavery, but, if I chose to elect someone to represent me I would have to be having a psychotic break with reality to consider an old woman. As far as the electoral college goes here’s how it breaks down. Find the largest campaign contributors, lobbyist groups, and Super PACS. Cross reference which banks or multi-national corporations the shell corporations are registered to. Then keep on tracking that money back to sources that you’ve never heard of. When it comes to politics money talks bullshit walks. Some clown in a MAGA hat or some cunt in a pussy hat doesn’t decide elections. For that matter 360 million of them don’t decide elections. You want to change the world? You need to own the world, and whatever kick ass shit they make down in Neu Schwabenland.

Chateau Heartiste

Trump won’t formally be declared winner of the Presidential election until December 19th, when the electors cast their votes. Shitlibs are hoping against hope that a sufficient number of faithless electors will throw the Presidency to thecunt. They’d better be careful what they wish for; that outcome would guarantee a hot civil war. And their side will lose this time.

Lately, don’t be surprised to hear butt-chafed quimlibs mewl about ending the electoral college system (which, btw, would be a great time to remind them that Alexander Hamilton created the electoral college and was an ardent immigration restrictionist). The lib line of reasoning goes like this: “The electoral college was invented to stop demagogues from taking power, but now it’s moot because a demagogue just won the electoral college, so let’s go back to a popular vote for President that would ensure we win every election going forward with the…

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This ain’t my Pietà

Out of benign curiosity you may have found your way here. Most, likely I made a semi-entertaining comment on a racist or sexist website. I am both of those things, racist and sexist, but with significantly greater emphasis on the sexist portion. You know how they say “familiarity breeds contempt”? That’s why I’m much more dismissive of the fairer sex.

At one point I was a volunteer fire-fighter and had to show a woman how to use a sledge hammer. You jest sir, surely you must mean a SCBA pack or hydraulic extrication equipment? No! I mean the crudest of crude implements, a sledge hammer. It was an astounding display of both physical and mental weakness simultaneously. In order to convey this scene I really need to paint a mental picture.

Now, imagine if you will what it would be like if you personally had an inconceivably gargantuan horsecock. The purpose of this ridiculously superfluous genitalia is to drive 5″x 5″ timber beams backwards on a track. Being firmly attached to your torso, you can only swing this phallus on a severely limited plane. A curious onlooker might assume you are thrusting the empty air in front of you.  You catch their gaze and politely explain that in order to develop sufficient momentum you use a goodly amount of thrust and arms. However, if this summer sausage were any longer, and rigid – can’t forget rigid – you could shoulder it and swing it like a proper sledgehammer. Things being the way they are, you just have to make due with the moderately effective thrust technique.

Still with me? You are, fantastic! If you feel dumber having read the previous paragraph you know what it’s like being a firefighter alongside women. You feel like I wasted your time with a hypothetical tale of nonsense. Yet a very germane point was implied, mechanical aptitude is much like dunking a basketball. Some people can do it, others are hopelessly ill equipped. What do you mean “some people”? I mean blacks, black men, those college scholar athletes advancing the field of African-American studies to untold pinnacles are 360 dunkin the shit out of the round ball. I can’t do it I’m 5’9″, my hoop dreams would be nonsense, so I stay off the hardwood.

Women fight the current, shit they lack aptitude for, they pursue. I have no idea why they want to be firefighters. The job itself is like glorified construction or auto-mechanics with the occasional rush of adrenaline or gory scene. I didn’t even stick with it long term and I come from hearty blue collar Celtic stock. Construction sucks ass, my dad taught me that. My grandpa, even my great grand-pappy taught me construction sucks ass. That’s why I have the sense to write, the skirts can have firefighting.

 

People are quite fucked in the head

Bear with me, my first post is actually after this post chronologically. But I just remembered a funny vignette about my day.

7Eleven, we’ve all been in one. We’ve all seen the people that are in them frequently. Today I learned something very interesting. The soda fountain has lactose-free horchata as an option now. For those who don’t know, it’s a biege-ish milky slurry popular among… ahem, Mexicans. I know because I was behind the exact kind of person you’d expect to get a Big Gulp full of lactose-free horchata. She was a Mexican-American woman with a lumpy, apple shaped body wearing a tank top to expose numerous tattoos. She was either in her late 30’s or late 50’s, but it was impossible to pin down without asking. This was a woman you could dispense with any semblance of formality with. I wouldn’t call her either ma’am or miss, “hey bitch!” would be about right.

As entertaining as it was observing this woman 7Eleven had more gratis entertainment in store for me. I didn’t know until later that the tall drink of toilet water I had to avoid after filling up my bottle with some refreshing ice water actually belonged to La Dumpita. This gentleman had the distinguished  look of someone who just finished sucking some glass dick and was eager to get back to it. By glass dick, I mean a meth pipe, or a crack pipe.

Now this is where the story kicks into high gear. For those who are apt to say “goddammed welfare freeloaders!” You guessed it, this purchase of candy bars, chips and horchata was made with the largesse of the EBT card. I don’t personally have any problem with the welfare system. Considering that the JSF F-35 program or the LCS destroyers equipped with Chinese computer chips that had backdoor knockout devices in them and were programs designed to fail and have cost overruns, whatever. The U.S. Government itself is the most prolific welfare freeloader of all. Being poor isn’t a character defect, being human trash actually is.

Astoundingly this unpleasant couple managed to tie up the only available register for a good 10 minutes due to card authorization issues. Only a king or queen of yore have the brazeness to demand such service wherever they go. Not even an empty gesture glance of “sorry everyone, this is all I can pay with”. This woman and her paramour were in full on Maury show “fuck y’all, I’m gettin my got-damned horchata Big Gulp, you can wait mother fucker!” mode.

Luckily providence shines on the patient and the other register opened up and I finally purchased my Spike Shooter. Long story short, people at 7Eleven are often garbage. There isn’t really a Dickensian moral about class distinction.