I ain’t got no job and so forth.
Just one question this week, from Jennifer7084, who wonders
what is the best way to deal with these people [the borg]? I’ve said in a past comment I use the “Jesus approach” of asking questions to lead them to their own conclusions, which is also a tactic of cult deprogrammers.
But the reality is even if we win-BOOM-culture war is over and somehow we’ve won. What do we do with these people? What do we do with a large segment of the population whose minds can’t be changed?
This pertains to both politics and covid.
As with so much, there’s a long answer and a short answer, a black pill take and a…slightly more grayish take. The shortest answer is also the blackest (henceforth, the Muggsy Bogues* of answers): It’ll never come up, since there’s no such thing as magic and the only solution possible in this world is going to involve a lot of pain… the kind of pain that, by definition, most members of the Community-Based Reality won’t survive. Nature has an uncanny way of restoring the balance.
On the other hand, “most” is not “all,” and we all heard back in the 80s that only cockroaches would survive a total nuclear war, so we have to figure that at least a few of these terminally broken people will survive the Return to Normalcy. What is to be done with them?
Well, I guess it depends on which way the culture shifts. Oddly enough, the trannie madness offers us a ray of hope. In The Book of the New Sun, the classic sci-fi / fantasy series from which I took my stupid nom de blog**, there are “people” called zooanthrops, who, though only appearing as foils for a brief action scene, nonetheless work great as set dressing — few things give such an immediate sense of a culture with very different values from our own, than a group of folks who have undergone voluntary lobotomies. As Severian (the protagonist) explains it to a young child traveling with him, there are some people to whom the burden of thought is simply too much to bear, so they volunteer to be lobotomized and dumped in the woods…
As everyone in Our Thing knows, Leftists hate themselves. Hell, Igor Shafarevich was calling Socialism a suicide cult back in the Seventies, and he’d know, having been born in the Soviet Union in 1923 (meaning, he witnessed all the worst horrors of Stalinism firsthand, and hit adulthood just as the NKVD were at their absolute worst). As Hoffer writes in The True Believer, the only goal of anyone joining a mass movement is to subsume their hated personal identity into the larger group identity, which is why all mass movements are basically the same. Hating yourself requires self-reflection, which requires the ability to self-reflect….
Take it from there. Though the Left’s intellectual appeal rests on an entirely mechanical view of the universe — there is “History,” comrade, and it is inexorable, and Marxism can decipher it — its emotional appeal is, and always has been, radical personal autonomy. Totally free will, unshackled from any traditions, any standards of morality or decency or even reason or Reality itself. Total freedom of the will, to be total, must entail the freedom to totally negate the will. Which is actually, physically possible, thanks to the miracle of modern medicine. And if they’re willing to cut their own dicks off….
If post-Return to Normalcy culture remains anything like Western Civ, though, the only humane answer is to keep them as busy as possible, thus freeing them from the burden of thought the old fashioned way. Which sounds an awful lot like the stated rationale for places like Dachau and Kolyma — second time as farce, remember? — but I for one don’t have it in me to sentence anyone to that, so… I dunno. David Thompson has a few pieces on rich, latte-sipping SWPL gals who go off for a weekend in the forest, to pretend that they’re really living the Neanderthal life or something. Australia seems desperate to turn itself back into a penal colony; why not exile all of them there, put in a really robust blockade, and let them get back in touch with nature the old fashioned way?
[If you’re asking what I, personally, would do, in my own little life that I’m just trying to live as best I can, being as decent a person as I can, with no power or influence beyond a blog with twenty readers… just love them as best you can, buddy. They’re children of God, too, and though it’s a cop out to lay it all on Him, He’s the only one who can really fix them. In the meantime, just love them as best you can… but for pete’s sake, keep them away from sharp objects, and never let them within a mile of any position that might conceivably have influence over your children].
Speaking of God, let’s keep one of the Twenty, Kirk Forlatt, in our prayers (if that’s your bag). Last I heard from him, he was having a rough go, which a glance at his blog — not updated since December — seems to confirm. I sent him an email the other day but haven’t heard back. It’s quite possible, of course, that he just fell out of the Regular Readership. Lord knows commenting on blogs is a time suck that not everyone can afford. And the good Lord certainly knows more than one former reader has told me several times that they didn’t like my kind, ’cause I’m a bit too leisurely (which is by far the least of my sins as a writer, which those folks took great pains to detail). Maybe he’s just gone elsewhere, and if so, vaya con Dios. But let’s all pour one out for him anyway — it can’t hurt, and if he’s really in the soup, it can only help.
Last but not least, in keeping with the ongoing discussions of “situational hotness” for both sexes, and the utility, or not, of “Game,” let’s do the young people a favor and put together some advice. It most likely won’t do a damn bit of good — I’m pretty sure everyone who comments here is on life’s back nine, and as Snoop Dogg once said, si jeunesse savait, si vieillesse pouvait. Nonetheless, it’s the old guy’s duty, privilege, and pleasure to offer unheeded (because unheedable (it’s a word)) advice to the young, so… have at it. What would you tell a young person, of either sex, dipping xzheyr toe in the shark-infested waters of modern “romance”?
That’s all for this week, gang. Keep your guard up, stay off the ropes, and remember to work the jab.
*I really liked Muggsy back when I watched basketball (which, since he retired after the 2001 season, should tell you how long ago it was that I watched basketball). The kid was a scrapper with crazy skills; if he’d been 6’3″ instead of 5’3″ he’d be a legit Hall of Fame player. I also once had the weird pleasure of seeing him and Manute Bol — all 7’7″ of him, and in this one case the roster wasn’t lying about his height — on the same court at the same time. Muggsy could’ve driven to the basket between Manute’s legs. It was surreal.
** Which I don’t even like that much, not being a reader of much fiction in general, or of fantasy / sci fi in particular. I just needed a handle way back in the prehistoric days of the Internet, and The Shadow of the Torturer just happened to be the first thing my eye landed on when scanning my bookshelves, and… yeah, there it is. If I’d known I’d be stuck with it for 30 years and counting, I would’ve had another think, but whaddaya gonna do?Loading Likes...