I’m on some sort of vacation with my mum. It’s some sort of, how would I say, Nordic kind of thing, sauna-like place in the mountains and shite. A giant building, very … noble almost, in a pompous and Germanic style, for lack of better words. Like a real classy big hotel with a touch of “come here to rest your soul from the toxicity of the city”. It’s a very very large hall.
There is the guy leading us through there. It all stinks like chlor, like in a swimming place, to disinfect people’s piss, cause that’s what it is for, aye. I had talked to the guy on the telephone before. He’s my age. I hate my mother who’s there with me, but who else would come. I attempt to stick to the guy and have a little male banter talk. I remark “Well that’s an impressive place. Stinks like a morgue too, not bad.” I imagine to say it with a tone of feigned disrespect, to convey to him that I find it so cool that I can’t possibly honestly tell him how cool it is, because it would be cringeworthy, so I turn it into a playful insult instead.
He, though, this asswipe. He says “Stop your pretentious arrogant boorishness already!” and puts his chin up, like one of those spiritual man-bitches who thinks that a “dirty word” will infect him somehow. One of those holier-than-thou scrawny New-Age nerds.
And I realize he feels in power, rightly so. We already payed, aye. And my mother’s gonna give me shite if I fuck up. I realize it’s now those two bitches against me, the real bitch and the man-bitch.
Maybe the reason that religion works is this:
It is philosophically impossible to disprove something just because it has never been observed.
Of course, there is no reason to believe it either.
But then, our human nature seems strongly influenced by fear.
That is, even when there is no real reason to really believe in the existence of God, evolution has “programmed” us so that the mere possibility of the existence of a threat (hell) motivates us to avoid it, even if we may err on the side of too much safety.
Spoiler warning. Don’t read if you don’t want to read about Far Cry 3’s ending.
I remember playing Far Cry 3 and wondering why the fuck I have to be playing hero for some stupid indigenous tribe led by some stupid bitch whom I could not care less about other than that she was kind ahot.
I also remember wondering why I, the hapless and untrained American tourist, am chosen over literally every other male in the game for this task.
Either way, the whole story was kinda weird and the bossfight you actually look forward to is even weirder and rather disappointing.
In the end of the game, you are encouraged to make a choice:
- Kill your friends and stay with the stupid but hot bitch who proclaims her love for you.
- Save your friends and kill the bitch.
If you choose the first option, the bitch will fuck and then kill you.
Turns out, Far Cry 3 writer Jeffrey Yohalem wanted to make a feminist statement with this, to mock the “princess saving complex”. To punish the man for his “misogyny”, he suggests he actually should have been castrated. Here’s the excerpt from the linked article (Spoilers!):
In one ending, Jason chooses to live out his days with Citra, where he – being the ultimate badass that he is – will continue to protect the island. Only Citra has other plans and decides to murder the oblivious bloke instead.
As it turns out, Citra never really needed to be saved and the whole thing is a commentary on the princess rescuing complex that permeates the medium. “Jason conjures up this whole idea that Citra needs saving and he’s gonna save her, when in reality it was all a ritual she created to find a sperm donor, and she kills him,” Yohalem explained.
“Sex, violence, and the player is killed. Here are the things that satisfy our animal side as men, but they’re subverted because it’s a female doing it.” Yohalem likened the ending to Princess Peach stabbing Mario. “Now that I’m thinking about it, that final scene should have been Citra castrating Jason. Seriously, that’s the point! It is like, ‘You win, motherf*****!’ It’s totally like, ‘F*** you, you misogynist idiot!’”
For reference, here is the original article that this article quotes from on archive.org. Apparently it has been deleted since, but you can find this old version of it, so it’s all cool.
When somebody is in competition to another, it is not so much whether he is actually better that counts.
It is whether the voices that most people listen to judge his performance as better.
The “critics’ consensus”. The consensus of the voices that most people think are reasonable and informed. Whatever that means, right?
When you trust a source that says “Trump totally owned Hillary, that bitch”, then that is the truth.
When you trust a source that says “Hillary is the rightful winner, Trump only tricked himself into winning”, then that is the truth.
But it’s much more apparent when there is no actual competition rules, like in a presidency.
In a debate.
Take a public debate. Most people afterwards will gravitate towards sources that proclaim that their preferred debater “won” or “totally burned” the other one.
In a debate there is no objective winner. What counts is not so much whether someone has actually won, but whether you can convince people that some particular part of the debate marked a participant’s victory.
And suddenly, after the critic says it, “it becomes obvious”. Well, why wasn’t it obvious before the critic or “expert” said it?
You are in a big prom hall. You hear beautiful fairy tale songs from your childhood. Everyone seems in ecstasy and full of joy. Your grandparents are around you and you remember being with them while you were small. And the almost Christmaslike innocent kitsch music fills the room with childlike wonder.
Now a group of men walk in. They carry axes and swords. They start killing and ripping apart all your loved ones.
If this was a normal avantgarde movie, that in itself would be provocative enough. The music would now switch to some weird horror music.
But not in hell. No.
In hell, the innocent childlike music keeps playing, lulling you into feelings of comfort and joy. And at the same time you see the horror before your eyes … and since you are so nicely conditioned to be hypnotized by beautiful music and let it dictate your judgment and mood ….
Man is not meek nor does man fear his own cruelty. But he fears that if he admitted his own cruelty, he would validate the cruelty of others, which would put him in danger.
Thus hiding his own cruelty he convinces others that he is meek, thus winning their trust and resources.
Many who pretend they are meek then so find together as a community.
Thus community is something born entirely out of selfish interests. Pretending to be meek is the best way – at least in our society that I know – to ensure safety of the self. Selfish satisfaction.
And when one stops pretending, he is shunned. Not because he is ‘worse’ than the others. But because someone else who doesn’t feel obliged to pretend is an inherent danger to the self.
Ironically, you can not ‘explain’ to that person why he should be pretending. So what you do is – you unleash your own beast on that non-pretender. And he ‘learns’ that the pretense is better. And on the surface you may say to that person ‘You have been bad and this is your punishment.’ But that’s only the surface. The real communication is through pain and that one doesn’t lie. It says: I am a beast and I will keep hurting you until you do as I wish you to do.
Unfortunately this contradiction between verbal and non-verbal communication leads to madness. Classical double bind. It creates a disconnect between the mind and the body. And the result is what we all know as ‘hypocrisy’. It is a man whose mind doesn’t understand his body and whose body doesn’t understand his mind.
I really never understood why people thought ‘altruism’ was not selfish…
Some people say we live in a “rape culture”
Know what we really live in? A SHOCK CULTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!§”§$%
Modern people get high on shocks in the SHOCK CULTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!§”§$%
People like to get shocked by what X or Z did or how that person in video Y ACTUALLY DARED to do M and how NOBODY DID ANYTHING about J and how S is so fucking L and how TERRIBLE U was and how OMG THEY CAN’T BELIEVE what happened to K and they like to BE LITERALLY SHAKING FROM THE EVENTS IN G
This is why we live in a SHOCK CULTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!§”§$%
When we see something with multiple possible explanations we automatically assume the most shocking and terrible one
Why? Because we live in a SHOCK CULTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!§”§$%
We like the high of getting shocked and we like the anger rage indignation sadness moral superiority righteousness devastation and desire for revenge we can share and wallow in with our fellow “citizens”
And who profits in the end? The ones who promise us to stop all that evil evil!
Which is ironic because we dont really want the evil evil to stop – we are much too addicted to being shocked – if there was nothing to be shocked about wed rather invent something to be shocked about than to not be shocked
That’s because we live in a SHOCK CULTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!§”§$%
I’m starting to see what they mean by vanity and narcissism.
This unbearable flood of ‘portrait photographers’ doing fancy and yet totally predictable pictures of … you guessed right, usually women. And then they pat each other on their fleshy shoulders and say ‘Wow! Beautiful!’ and blah blah. And what’s beautiful? The soft skin? That’s not even real but photoshopped ‘in just the right amount! Well done!’. But even if it was, dig deeper. What is skin? It’s not some mysterious ungraspable thing. It’s a part of an organism. It’s some weird kind of tissue that’s totally susceptible to age, decay, rot, burn, being destroyed etc.
Like wistful children these photographers get attached to and worship the ephemeral state of female fertility. How pathetic. And it’s not even fertility they cherish. It’s the superficial symptom of fertility, so called ‘beauty’.
When we first had Latin at school, 7th grade or so, I absolutely loved it. I ate that shit up. All others were like Meh, but I devoured it. Latin homework was always the thing I looked forward to doing. I learned all the vocabulary and delved into the grammar. The subject was utterly fascinating to me.
Predictably, I got very good grades. I was by far the best student in Latin. I was so good that when we had a translation exam, I wrote two different, ehm, let’s call them interpretations and passed one around secretly for the others to copy, which led to a funny situation once or twice, because the interpretations I passed around were always my second choices and not the ideal translations.
Now, here’s a short overview over the grade system in Germany. We have grades ranging from 1 to 6, 1 being the best. They are titled like this:
- Very Good
You usually need at least a 4 on average to pass the school year. In Latin, I always had a stellar 1.
Now, I was generally a good student and by the end of that year, I was proposed to change to a different school that would be more challenging.