#381

Factually Masculine 2024 continues to be some phallic shit, my brother. 

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Another way to define a man is to say that there is woman, and man is that human thing which is not woman. As I have stated, this is imprecise and it is more precise to say that man and woman are expressions of that thing which is human, that woman is the original template, that man is an accessory to woman, an appendage shaped by natural selection to increase genetic variation and improve survival rates for women and infants--not for themselves.

Perhaps it is a sense of injustice at the particulars of this arrangement, an unwillingness to be sacrificial of the self for the sake of the other, that drove the memetic ape's males to assert that man is the template and the progenitor, that woman exists to produce ever more masculine men and ever more pliable women. Too many men lived too long, it seems to me. This is the kind of logical lattice I notice older men are wont to suspend before the truth of the universe, because they are idle and childish and chatter like castanets about the unfairness of life. These are withered, puckered assholes who hate to work but love to eat and drink, who do not love but are profoundly interested in fucking and indeed, who shrink from no violence or base trick in their pursuit of these satisfactions. These are the men who spurn the Dao, laugh at Buddha, and crucify Christ, and having crucified him, twist his corpse to their purposes, standing it upside down and winding it in chains. These men are manipulators. Dark wizards. Men of shadows and secrets. Men who suck blood and sleep on glittering golden hoards. The mouthpieces and lickspittles of demons.

Some have wielded these powers and told these lies from father to son for so long the names don't matter. Some rise and fall. Some are new on this earth and merely aspire to snatch for themselves as much of these ill-gotten gains as they can, to drink the black waters of their own diseased fiefdom, to serve as a prop for these grotesque architectures and shore up their foundations.

Cowards and liars. Landlords and masters. A blight and a parasitic infestation striking at the roots and poisoning the fruit of the tree of masculinity. Imagine going to a tree for shelter from the rain, to find shade from the burning sun, and finding yourself swarmed with stinging insects, blinding you and paralyzing your limbs. Imagine going to take a bite of fruit, and as the flesh gives way to your fingertips and approaches your mouth, it seems to boil over with a wriggling freshet of maggots.

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Not just them, either. How many men who want to believe themselves good have labored their lives long deluded and ensared by wicked enchantments, inextricably invested in a petty slavish mediocrity designed never to enrich or ennoble them, traveling only down paths laid out for them by men not worthy of the name, who whisper in his ear of heavens, of nations, of natural law, of the rights and duties proper to a station and the rightness and duty of station, of master races and glorious destinies, of sacred purpose and eternal glory?

Really, it breaks the heart. And still so many motherfuckers out here marching to that bleary-eyed tune, swinging their arms and walking lockstep behind anyone who promises them that they're better than a faggot, that mommy was a stupid bitch and I'm your fuckin daddy. 

--JL