My first day as a free man in two months. I take a ride into the city to buy a cheap checkers game. On my way around the cathedral I hear a woman scream. A man is firmly holding a relatively attractive young woman’s two hands at a restaurant table. Let me go, she shouts. I wonder what it is about. I look at her hands; she has some kind of necklace wrapped around her fists.
I suspect she attacked the man and now she is getting what she asked for. Let me go, you asshole!
She looks around; a few somewhat amused people are watching. Help me! Help me, you cowards! Aah, you are hurting me! I feel mild shame, but I will not interfere in a situation I know nothing about. Besides, it is interesting to watch. In fact, it is interesting that there really seems nothing I can do without knowing what happened. Justice is a blind bitch.
Continue reading “I saw a crazy screaming woman today – she reminded me of me”
Inoccuosly, one of the cops calmly opens the metal cell door. Have they decided to treat me with respect, after all? Then two cops in heavy armor and helmets come rushing around the corner. I lie still and let it come and happen.
One of the stormtroopers jumps right onto my chest with his knee. I let my body be limp and after a few moments, I end up lying on the floor of the cell with handcuffs behind my back.
I ask them whether they intend to carry me. Drag along, rather, one remarks.
I study the floor and their shoes. The ones who stand right next to me look like a bird shat on the dominant black leather. The pair further away looks more cared after.
You could learn a lesson from your colleague there, I remark, his shoes look much cleaner than yours.
Continue reading “Fighting the system – Part 3: Transit”
I remember that I read Atlas Shrugged. I remember it made me feel fuck confident. With time, the ideas in my head faded. Then I read The Fountainhead and refreshed that spirit. But something kept nagging at my certainty. I suppressed it until that little tear of doubt turned into a hurricane.
Each day I progress, I start thinking and feeling differently about things that had felt the same way for 26 years. Absolutes turn into relatives and by now, it is becoming comfortable to question myself just as the world around me.
There were times I wished for a fixed set of rules that would make me perfect – long as I followed it, anyway. Like fucking cops.
But I could never truly believe or make myself believe. At times, I thought I was going mad.
I think this is good. A person that is able to get absolutely and unlimitedly stuck in a set of ideas would make the perfect slave, but nothing else: Ready to receive the initial instruction but rejecting everything else.
So, next time you feel cognitive dissonance, do not beat yourself up for not knowing absolute truth. Rather, congratulate yourself for being too smart to actually believe in one.
For being smart enough to detect inconsistencies. For the virtue of the pain of your head when confronted with nonsense. For the ability to adapt and free yourself from lies.
If you could be absolutely certain, you would forever stay a slave of the first stupid idea you heard. So, like a player learns to love rejection, learn to love cognitive dissonance and toying with contradictory ideas.
This is a tough nut cookie to crack and subversive. You are trying to open up to something new, but then your subconscious picks up on some pattern and triggers your defenses. For example, you may want to partake in a healing ritual, but then you recognize that there is a shaman and that the whole thing is demonic and evil, which closes you up to it.
Ironically, to protect someone from indoctrination, you have to make him aware of the ways in which he will be indoctrinated. But that is indoctrination in and of itself and ultimately only a safeguard for loyalty to possible bullshit.
Those weed smoking hippies are brainless and no good.
Those occult witchmasters will steal your soul.
Those conspiracy theorists are all morons who just want to see what is not there.
You learn these ideas in a friendly environment that you trust.
Another one: Men are evil, vile and selfish. The assholes will try to take you away from my safe and good teachings and that will be your downfall.
In principle, you describe human behavior typical for a belief group and then shame it or associate it with fear. If these successfully predict a pattern of behavior that would naturally challenge your beliefs, the safeguard knocks in.
Call the lion a lion to shame it. Oh, you are just being a lion here, shame on you!
During the past month, I have experienced more self-doubt than I can remember having experienced in my whole life. Am I sane? Am I insane? And what does each of those terms mean?
My mind keeps bringing up proof of my insanity. Why? I guess because I am already used to judge myself for everything that happens in my life. I always seek the error in me. On the internet, I can sometimes hide it, but underneath I always feel that it is my fault. I may write fuck you somewhere, but rest assured that usually I mean: I am bad. I am unworthy. You have sensed it, but I will not admit it, because you can not read that out of a simple text comment.
Every scrap of self-esteem that I thought I had built up crumbled when I was made to doubt the core of my existence. There she stands, one of the judges of the city of Munich. An old woman with a piercing in her nose. I say that men beat each other, that is what we do.
I wish there was a man there to understand and I tell her that she would not understand, because she is not a man. She snarkily remarks that she is lucky not to be one of those. There she stands and declares my insanity while I am bound to the bed, unable to move any limb, unable to even lie on my side within the restraints, forced to take anti-psychotic medicine and Lorazepam, neither of which I want.
It is so fucking unjust. And yet, I guess I attracted that into my life.
Why does one man get to command another to leave a public space and get to push him away with force while the other man gets declared insane for pushing him back and fighting him? Continue reading “The injustice of it all!”
This article has been originally published on Return Of Kings.
It’s been some time since waterboarding was in the public eye, so I’m not in the trend right now. Nevertheless, emotionalism and human rights are topics that persist like a chronic disease. Kids who drown in comfort seek escape from boredom by meaningfully protesting against something in the streets of big cities. Every week I am at least once bound to be harassed by zealots of some good cause.
My Facebook feed happened to spit out a joke about waterboarding today and I got curious. For a topic that attracts such huge amounts of verbal incontinence, few people seem to know anything about it. Fat slobs or experts who don’t seem to have much experience with pain go around telling everybody how inhumane it is, so that everybody can be part of being against something so terrible they lack the words to describe it.
But anyway, what much is there to know about waterboarding for such a deep, intellectual discussion? It’s not black magic. You need a can of water, a cloth and you need to lie down. What the hell keeps me from trying this?
Continue reading “Is waterboarding torture?”
Do you consider joining the Navy to become a man? Or a patriot? This is the story of a dude who became a Submarine Warfare Officer at the U.S. Navy and grew disillusioned about the organization.
Like me, he is a dude without a father, if in a different way. I only know him from the internet, but I like his writing, thus I asked him to write down this story.
I can not vouch for the accuracy of the story and neither can he, as he wants to stay anonymous. Thus, take this with a grain of salt. I am inclined to trust him, as I can empathize with his perspective, the perspective of an unflinching refusal to sucker up to authority. This makes it an interesting read for me and maybe for you, as it allows one to see past the usual blindfold.
Having no personal experience with the military, I will just leave the rest of the story uncommented and open for your personal judgment.
Despite the compact writing style, it is quite lengthy, so you may want to set aside some special time for this read.
Continue reading “U.S. Navy: The false dream of serving the country”
I stand at the cash desk and the clerk puts a bank note on the counter for an elderly lady on my left. It falls down before my feet. I ignore it, because it does not concern me. The old lady at my right bows and picks it up.
She gives me a sinister glance. I become angry and fucking stare the bitch down.
Who do you think you are, hag?
Let me tell you.
You are old. You are ugly. You are fucking weak. I can probably kill you in a heartbeat.
Let me tell you more.
Continue reading “I am not a slave of old ugly bitches”
Some days ago I visited a nearby forest. It was almost dark and when I approached the trees, I heard animals move hastily. I was afraid. As I entered the woods, I was immediately immersed in a feeling I recall from my Ayahuasca ceremony, as I had been running from the others.
Trying to make out shapes in the noisy dusk, I became very alarmed and realized I had no weapon. I intuitively looked around and saw a dry branch that I decided to break away from the tree.
As I went about doing it, this sheep voice entered my mind again.
But that is just a piece of wood. You are naive. You must ask a professional hunter how to do it the right way. You are not even a real warrior.
That was when I realized how profoundly I lacked confidence in my own judgment.
I asked god for love and trust in my reason and my wish was fulfilled. For the first time since I can remember, I trusted my intuition. God’s respect for me accomplished it.
I broke off the branch. It was hard and stiff. I decided it was a good weapon and moved on without further doubt.
Continue reading ““Big Game” praises a father’s disrespect”
A commenter wrote that I do not even know what kind of woman I like. He was right. I thought I wanted girls that most consider 10s. But I just wanted to be the guy who gets them. The truth is that I do not find them attractive at all. Today’s 10 is a majestically cut, meager face with an arrogant indifferent expression. A face to be worshipped, a face made to command, the face of a female sovereign. But not a face to fall in love with, not the face of a woman for a man.
Men discuss truths about 10s. But look at these 10s. They are not girls. They are queens and rulers. They have neither the face nor the character of a girl. They do not look attractive as much as they look dangerous.
I wanted them because getting them would make me a man who has them. It was a mimetic desire; not a desire to have, but a desire to be. A desire to be complete.
Now that I feel more complete, the unsatiable urge to be is gone. With it gone is the wish to have what everybody wants.
All that remains is the appetite for a girl. For a girl with a kind and welcoming face and personality and a soft body I can cum on. One that has not dissociated from her inherent femininity and desire to be appreciated as a girl just like I had dissociated from my desire to be appreciated as a man.
I want her to be cute and I want her to be sweet. Not always, of course, not forced. I want her sweetness to be the free expression of herself, not the result of her own wish to be approved of. I want her kindness to be an expression of confidence, not one of shyness. I want her submission to be a expression of her wish to gift herself to me and be bestially dominated, not one of guilt and obligation. I want femininity, not a caricature of femininity.
Continue reading “The majestic beauty ideal and the perfect 10”