power

Although it would seem that way, the meatbody populace is characterized by a stratification that is not solely financial. It is in fact more closely related to something called power. Power is what we would refer to strictly as a rate of energy emission. It is also that among the MBs but when it refers to influence it means the extent and speed with which a meatbody  can move, direct or dictate the actions of other meatbodies. Holding high power means that key meatbodies (or large numbers of them) can be moved quickly for any purpose. It is a peculiar substance, power,  because it is unmeasurable except through a careful assessment of relationships between meatbodies, that is to say, a quantification of "who controls whom". 

There is outward power - conferred through a popular process of assignment, like election - and there is hidden power, where meatbodies hold in suspension over the heads of other meatbodies some piece of information that, if revealed, would shake the power structure and send top meatbodies toppling down the ladder. Meatbody populations are driven for the most part by hidden power.

There are different types of hidden power. The most obvious, but least prevalent, is driven by compromising information, as mentioned above. But the most potent mobilizes not just individuals, but the masses. It is  driven by information that is persuasive in the sense that it has been generally assimilated by the meatbody populace. The meatbody is keenly attached to his acceptability among his meatbody peers. If he is not accepted then he will be ousted and he will not fare well. So whatever appears to be the agreed understanding will be embraced by him regardless of its kinship to truth. 

Recall this quirky notion of truth and the odd relationship meatbodies have toward it. Events slip into the stream of time continuously and from there on are no longer accessible to direct meatbody cognizance. No record keeping can possibly keep up with this stream. In the absence of record keeping , the representation of “what happened “ becomes subject to debate. This debate possesses -  truly possesses - the minds of the meatbody masses. What is true? What is fabricated? These questions are only answerable by consulting the running record.  The truly powerful control this, the representation of past events: The Record. There is no other access - as we are accustomed to it - to the actual timeline. There is only representation of this timeline ,  and the most widely accepted timeline becomes defacto “truth”.

So we have then meatbodies - the majority - laboring under a false understanding of their own past, living, as it were, under a misapprehension of truth. This would not matter if no decisions were made on the basis of “The Record”, but in fact it dictates almost everything they do. The past serves as a register of lesson-learned that is constantly referred to, and often used as a stick to beat down a rival meatbody with opposing ambitions.

However, truth has an interesting feature that is is troubling to the powerful: it does not change. So if it is misrepresented here, then it will be incongruous even contradictory with something else represented over there. To align the two into a coherent whole further misrepresentation is needed until, at last, an all encompassing fabric must be spread over every aspect of meatbody existence. And this fabric – necessarily rough for it can never have the fine fiber of truth –  will chafe on the backs of meatbodies until , inevitably, a number is meatbodies will cast off of themselves this chafing coat and begin to look around to establish The Record for themselves.  

This is the state of power among the meatbody populace. There has been too much chafing for too long. The irritation is complete and the incongruity so enormous that meatbodies the world over feel a rage of internal conflict. What they see with their own eyes diverges so widely with what is represented that a sense of unreality has started to overcome them. And that is one thing that no meatbody –  except under the influence of drugs, a topic for another time –  can accept.

They can accept untruth locally, but when there is a mismatch between local untruth and general perception, we begin to have have unreality, or as it is called, hyper-reality. The powerful are at the stage now of enforcing hyper-reality, because logic is so far adrift that it can no longer be appealed to. 

the hyper-real

Witness the infinitesimal lay siege on the meatbody multitude. Watch as meatbodies amongst themselves keep a wide berth to evade the invisible evil. The young are not asked for their opinion; the middle-aged nod in assent; the elderly cow in fear, sequestered for "their own good".

Meanwhile a broadcasting machine spins panoramic  tapestries of plagues and public health infrastructure collapse, none of which is seen on the  ground, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet imagination there is much of among the shuddering meatbody masses; it alone prolongs the sense of ubiquitous danger: the mind rolls out imagined consequences far in excess of anything remotely possible. The meatbody -  muzzled and self-distanced - lives the imaginary, and thereby amplifies the imaginary, the hyper-real.

The meatbody lumbers forward in a semi-hypnotic state, unaware of his unawareness. Dispossessed of his predictive faculties, fatally beholden to the master storytellers and the false authorities costumed in the robes of power. To them the meatbody turns for reassurance; in them he sees his hope for deliverance. When will this stop? When will things go back to normal? To these questions the robed men on the screen provide  answers... of sorts: prevarications, medico-hogwash, jargon-laced prescriptives, and appeals to The Greater Good. 

The Greater Good, a shapeless many-headed thing, is visited upon the meatbody masses in the corridors of their hyper-real sequestration.

The story tellers lay down a timeline of their own fancy, months, even years into the future, following a logic that is connected to nothing tangible, guided by charts that shift and wane from day to day, with so many alerts that seem never to materialize.

A grand satire! Godly spectators must watch in wonderment from their vantage point up high.

Tiptoe along a vacuum

Take your first adversary by the throat and plant a fist in the middle of his face. Do not much worry about breaking bones, yours or his –  and do not tarry in planting the next. You just carry forth steadfastly. Do not be much concerned with civilities. This is a fight, and consider that your life may end shortly. So just slug this mutherfucker in the mouth and hold back only to leverage the impact. Do this until you yourself no long feel  any of the incoming blows, until your face is a ruddy mess of tooth and blood. Now you may crawl out from under the scrimmage and take yourself thence, if you can. 

Your body will have endured such a dreadful trauma you may be unconscious, in which case, you do not need to read further. In all events, you have here for the first time, been as thoroughly awake as you have ever been. Now go forth onto the streets. People will shun you for the disaster you are. There will be distress right and left – pedestrians calling 911, cars slowing to witness the zombie in their midst – you will be missing a front tooth, you shirt ripped at the collar, a pluck of hair torn from your scalp. Around you a chorus of hushed voices will signal onward your arrival. You’ll never have been so popular. Throngs will gather to see the violence you display. Now stand still a moment and address the crowds. Fellow citizens, you will lisp through your tooth, I look in bad shape, but appearances are deceiving. I am perhaps no worse off than any of you. 

They will take you for a raving lunatic, and you will be discussed over dinner.  I saw a man beaten to a pulp, she will say. He looked me straight in the eye and said he was perhaps no worse off than any of us. What do you think of that? But the man to whom she addresses this will not answer; he will not look up from his food. Later on he will speak, but only ask for the salt.

the meatbody multitude

The meatbody is a slow creature. Distances are traveled through contact with the ground, one step at a time. Vehicles do exist, but these are cumbersome, noisy contraptions that cause more deaths per annum than organized warfare. The meatbody is naturally apathetic, inclined to lie still and ingest food, drink and visuals. Rarely is he exultant, and more rarely still impelled to great things. There are exceptions, of course, and it is these meatbodies who have pulled civilization forward inch by inch. They are very few in number and often act for the same reasons their inferiors do: fame, conquest, power, fortune. The selfless –  the truly selfless, are practically nonexistent, and it is to be questioned whether selflessness is wholly meritorious. One must look after one’s own affairs, after all, especially amongst the meatbody multitude, rife with laws and regulations. The system of rule amongst the meatbody is a behemoth so vast no single man can fathom it. Every few years there is a superficial reshuffle - so called elections -  that occasions much brouhaha in the populace and revenue for the news services, but little in the way of change. Change among the meatbody multitude is either tectonic or volcanic. It either takes generations of gradual social engineering; or it comes in a violent burst of revolutionary upheaval.  Thankfully, it is mostly slow; but this past century has also seen much of the violent, and in these cases blood is shed in buckets as a new paradigm is rolled out “in the name of the people”. The new paradigm is often the diametric opposite of the preceding one. It is this polarity that so transfixes the meatbody multitude: the white versus the black. Rarely does gray seem very appealing. There are groups that are especially adept at bringing this contrast into focus because in this contrast there is revenue for the few. Only in harmony is there is revenue for the many. The dynamics are simple, but the manipulations complex. The meatbody has a major flaw (beyond the sluggishness of his body; and the fickleness of his mind): his predilection for entertainment over truth. If he can be entertained – though deluded – he will take it over fact, any day of the week. And that is all a manipulator needs to know.

gallant spirit V – the beginning

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

You will be helpless for many years before you can even articulate that you are helpless. You will merely cry for what it is you want – or rather, what it is your meatbody craves, needs or desires. Your awareness will be entirely intertwined with the bio-mechanisms of your meatbody. In fact, you will scarcely be able to contain its regulatory processes: excrement will flow unhindered from your rear, and vomit from your front whenever it suits the necessities of your meatbody. You must live encapsulated in this manner for several years before your freewill – if it can be called so – will have a chance to manifest itself. 

Meanwhile, you will depend on the ministrations – or mercy, as the case may be – of senior meatbodies. If you are lucky, these meatbodies will be She who birthed you  and He who assisted in  your conception. He and She are counterpart meatbodies. They developed from helpless miniature meatbodies such as yours and over the years evolved higher levels of motor, intellectual and communication skills, allowing them to interact with other Hes and Shes in a way that will elude you for some time yet. 

The He-to-She, He-to-He and She-to-She interactions constitutes the pallet of life upon which you will be engaged. HS, HH and SS interactions are differentiated in many respects, but emotion and custom play a central role. Driven primarily by the underlying impulse to generate meatbody progeny, the HS interaction can be complex and at times tumultuous, in general much more so than HH and SS interactions which are not subject to the regenerative impulse – correction: HH and SS interaction can be injected with regenerative impulse, but biological constraints limit such interaction to mere impulse, yielding no progeny, but this is a subject for another time.

The HS interaction, if it coalesces around the regenerative impulse, is not merely functional but depends upon a long term cooperation that can extends up to several decades, wherein one or several miniature meatbodies (a “baby”, so called) is helped to evolve into a senior meatbody who in turn will engage HS relationships to secure progeny of its own. Such is the cycle of life. And such is the cycle of consciousness on this place you have selected for your journey. Earth.

I sketch it simplistically here as not to confuse you with details early on, for this is merely –  as is said in meatbody vernacular – “the tip of the iceberg”.  An iceberg is a large hydro-coagulant whose large buoyant volume is concealed from sight below the surface; only its relatively small tip is apparent to the meatbody eye for consideration. It is a good metaphor for the existence of a meatbody, for a meatbody can experience only the tip of a cognitive iceberg and the rest will never be known to him. E.g. the meatbody field of vision registers only 430 to 770 THz on an electromagnetic spectrum that extends, for practical purposes, ad infinitum. 

However, despite its limitations, you will consider that your experience is perfect and panoramic. You will imagine that there is nothing else in the world to see, touch, smell and feel but that which is within your reach and line of sight. Such is the arrogance of the meatbody. Such are the certainties that enslave him. 

And do not expect wisdom to come with age; on the contrary, these notions are only reinforced as your faculties begin to dwindle over time. The reasoning will be that cognitive fidelity can only deteriorate if its initial state was perfection. I imaging you are probably already starting to think this way, constrained and inarticulate as you are in your miniature meatbody. But just wait until you are eighteen, throbbing with bio-stimulants – testosterone and adrenaline – your whole life before you and every cell in your meatbody pulsing with the thrill of regeneration.

divide and conquer 101

You yourself must never appear anywhere on the stage. You must stay as far away from it as you can. You must only place upon it actors that know the rules of the game. Do not admit any conciliatory voices. One side must always be framed as the victim; the other side as the oppressor. This only works if you install such duality that can never be resolved. Insist on this duality. Never permit the victim-hood of one side and oppressor status of the other to be challenged. It is integral to this method that a black and white duality be installed. Admit no gray area. And do not, under any circumstances, permit the victim side to come to the table admitting some responsibility for its plight. This leads to resolution. This is not what we are looking for. There must be a duality; no responsibility must be taken, ever! Instead, charges must be laid against the oppressor and restitution demanded. And its enforcement must come from the oppressor. That is key. The oppressor must enforce his own curtailment. Once self-enforcement is enacted into law, the duality is consummate and you will have state-sanctioned victim-hood which will ensure (through programs and government schemes) that this status will persist for many generations. This is social lockdown. This is what what we are aiming for.

You can only do the above if you control the debate. To do that you must control the actors on the stage. Make sure these actors are well paid and promised careers. If you have smut on them, all the better. In any case, never permit them to stray from the victim-oppressor duality. When this duality is firmly installed in the mind of the masses you will see that it will engender a culture, and where you have a culture you have a way of life, and way of life - especially if it permits the avoidance of responsibility -  will spread like no kind of propaganda you have ever seen.

the jester

“Enough,” said the king.
 

But still the jester mocked him.

“If thou dost not desist, jester, a dishevelled forelock is all of thee that shall remain.”

And still the jester mocked the king. 

So the king turned the glare of media upon this jester, and with every epithet his squeamish subjects could stomach, BLASTED HIM.

Still the jester mocked the king. 

So the king called on paid jesters of the court to mock this miscreant in return. And so it came to pass that Jester Oliver – Master of the Revels – spun inanities before the nation.

Still the jester mocked the king.

Sixty three million dollars of the nation’s coin disbursed to lambast the rogue jester… and still the jester mocked the king. 

Disheartened now – for the jester seemed impervious to derision – the king summoned his magicians to the court and said unto them: “Invoke the spirit of evil!”

“Your lordship, not the spirit of evil,” the magicians replied.

“Thou shalt do to as I say, wretched conjurors.”

And thus was invoked the greatest villain known to man, and the jester who mocked the king was to be called, henceforth and by royal decree, Adolf Hitler.

Still the jester mocked the king.

Trompe-l'oeil

Trompe, thou speakest on matters thou knowest naught of.

You’re going to tell me what I know and what I don’t know? It doesn’t take special insight or a personal history of deprivation to see that this country is going down the tubes. The government is an elite-run special interest club. Everybody knows it. I don’t take money from these people. And everybody knows that too.  

Thou dost not take their coin, but thou dost build castles for their dwelling. Trompe towers, golf courses and casinos offer naught to the common man.

You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s called employment. 

Nay, exploitation. 

I’ve hired and fired more people than can fit in this building. Sure, not all of them were happy, but many were and many went on to have good careers, and now they play on my golf courses. That’s life. The hurt feelings of one or the other should not become some kind of barometer by which we gauge the rightness of a situation. And we sure as hell shouldn’t base policy on them. It’s called business. You win some, you lose some.

‘Tis a dismal existence wrought from the metal of business alone. There is more to life than work and remuneration. There is compassion and goodwill, of which it appears thou hast been but poorly endowed.

You’re confusing things. You think that because I don’t like handouts and I’m tough on immigrants that this makes me uncompassionate. Think again. Do you think that hand-outs ever made anyone happy? They never have. They may have made people comfortable for a while, but no one ever feels accomplished and positive from things that are not the fruit of his own labor.

Spake the man born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Says the guys speaking to me in Elizabethan English.  You don’t learn to speak like that in East Baltimore, my friend.

My diction doth not reflect my origins. I am of simple descent.

That’s fine, but then may I say that you sure have done what you can to elevate yourself. And I commend you. The fruit of your labor. You’re the kind of guy I want on my team… that is, if we can do something about your low energy.  

Commendations from thee are neither desired nor appreciated. And membership to thy organization is as loathsome to me as carbuncle soup.

Hey keep my family out of it! Hehe.

Pressing on. Thy obsession with partitions and segregation –

Excuse me, segregation, what segregation? I took 46% of the Hispanic vote in Nevada. As for “partitions”, not a partition, my friend, a WALL.

Should not men be free to seek happiness far and wide, not merely in the nation whence they originate. Man is free.

Sounds good, but it’s a load of you-know-what. By that logic the worst and most depraved should be allowed to relocated to the most prosperous areas so that they may have a chance to be happy. That's how you set up a race to the bottom. You don’t get excellence. You can’t bring in a million people with completely different cultural baggage, most with very little to no formal education, into an advanced society and imagine somehow that this is going to go well. Bring in excellent, civilized people, you will get excellence. Bring in scum, you get scum.

Thou reekest of fascist-pig, Trompe! Thou wouldst see a man perish ere let him enter thy fortified nation state.

I’ll help him succeed in his own country.

A war ravaged country?

I’ll help bring peace to his war ravaged country.

Trompe? A bringer of peace? What hilarity! Buffoon and imbecile have conjoined in thee. Hast thou not seen thy wayward carping on The Apprentice? What bizarre notions spewest thou.

Fact and fiction,  friend. You guys all love mixing those up whenever it suits you. There’s a name for your kind of folk: the Social Justice Warrior, defender of the minority over and above all.

That is the essence of a constitutional republic.

But not the way you guys play it. The way you play it it’s more like selective egalitarianism. Everyone is equal to everyone else, except the people you don’t like, which for some strange reason happens to be your own kind – although even that can be explained if you look at the people funding your operations, but let me not get into that.

Thou speakest deep from the well of a turbid mind.

No, you do. In your little SJW brain, your narrative is more important than what happens on the ground. Let me give you an example: over in Europe, when you guys read about hundreds of migrants in Cologne groping German women in a coordinated attack on New Year’s eve – all confirmed in police reports – your gut told you not to go there because it didn’t fit your egalitarian narrative with its imposed soft-spot for all things underprivileged; and also, most importantly, because you have to avoid anything that might make you look like a racist.  Rather a disfiguring disease than appear racist. The facts on the ground don’t matter. Listen, I don’t care what your narrative tells you, but no one fleeing a war ravaged country, as you say, is going to behave so god awful badly in their host country UNLESS, they are, well, scum. You see, we are not all interchangeable and we are not all equal.

Buffoonery, racism and xenophobia: Trompe’s policy-triptyque.

Trip-  what? You haven’t addressed the question. You’re a propagandist with a slippery Elizabethan tongue.

Ha! Says the king propagandist. No viler demagoguery hath soiled the American political stage as that which thou hast excreted from thy foul mouth the past six months.

Did I offend you? Not politically correct enough for you? Better get used to it Elizabeth, there's more of that coming

2016 – thank yous

Life has a way of teaching lessons. It often does it in a long-drawn and convoluted way. It does not pinch your ear and drag you to a blackboard to instruct you. It might just make you stumble enough to look down at the shit you are standing in, and if that is not enough, set a pothole in your path to effect the same. But much time must pass before it draws a tripwire outright to ensure that you fall flat on your face.

Eventually though, it does. And when you fall like that, you know! It stinks and it sometimes requires much effort to get back up, but it is usually so obvious and well deserved that some part of you is grateful for the opportunity to bury your nose in the dirt and smell the error of your ways.

Man likes to be instructed even if the instruction is harsh. Of course, some never learn and prefer instead to burrow further into the ground, dig tunnels under other people’s feet and undermine their fellow Man. But most people get back up, wipe themselves clean and move forward.

Getting back up and moving forward is largely a personal effort and an execution of will, but if you are lucky there will be a few people around to give you a helping hand. They will not be great in number and they will not always be those you expected, but they will be there. They are the winds in your back. 

This post is dedicated to these people. Look for them and thank them.

2015 was a very good year. A year of discovery, travel, writing and above all, learning. Gratitude to the four winds in my back: 

M.R (the light bearer)

My family (the home) 

M.B.M (the heart)

Lui Labas (the spirit)    

imagine 1

Imagine the earth is round and flat. Imagine you are sitting on a landmass so extensive that you cannot see its edge, and its edges are so inhospitable that even the most intrepid among us could venture far within them: an endless expanse of ice with no refuelling stations and temperatures of forty or fifty below zero. And imagine that from this circular edge extends up and around a vast dome made of a material as unyielding and impenetrable as diamond. And imagine that within this capsule all the activities and happenstance of life transpires. Imagine that you are sitting at terrace on a sunny day on a Parisian boulevard minding your own business. Imagine that you are looking up at a crystal clear sky when you see in the far far distance a speck rising up to the heavens. The distance makes it appear that it is not rising fast, but you can easily surmise that it is probably barrelling up at Mach 3 or 4. As you bring your espresso to your lips, keeping your eye on the projectile, you suddenly see it stop and explode. The explosion is a mere blip from where you are sitting, but when the flash dies the projectile is no more.

It is the new year. Your head is pounding. Most of the previous night was spent imbibing alcohol of all kinds with strangers you will never see again. You do not give this any more thought, at least not until later this day when you walk back to your hotel and catch a newsflash on CNN in the corner of your eye. An experimental commercial spaceship funded by a French billionaire exploded a minute after take-off. It was an unmanned flight.

Ha! This correlates with what you observed. You pat yourself on the back for your keen eye, and then think of it no more. After all, you have another party to go to that night and you wouldn't miss it for the world.Tickets are three thousands euros apiece. It’s held in a place called  Le Dome, a large glass structure the size of half a football field set atop the highest skyscraper in the world.

type 8 Homo sapiens: the vampire personality

If I could extract from you every Joule of energy by the action of a lever, I would not hesitate to press it down as long as you have breath in your lungs. Alas, I cannot take anything by force, but must manipulate you into offering it as an act of freewill. You might still think I would prefer to drink your blood, but I would not. No, no, no, there is no medium more effective to channel energy from your bosom into mine than the medium of human emotion.

Human emotions are subtle and manifold. Some are intense like rage, some seemingly dull, like apathy. But an emotion’s conductivity is not measured by its extravagance or “loudness”; it’s measured by its negativity. All conductive emotions are negative. There are no known positive conductive emotions. This is not to say that positive emotions do not have merit. They can sometimes serve as a springboard from which to send you plummeting to depths you would not otherwise sink to. Only from such depths could I extract from you certain samples of human hopelessness and despair. But such techniques must be employed with caution: these depths are not bottomless; there is always death, and a dead man produces no emotion of any kind, positive or negative.  

Let’s keep it simple.

To begin, you must be sure to place your man at a constant disadvantage (men and women alike). Caloric extraction works rather like electricity: there must be a positive and negative pole for the current to flow in any direction. To ensure that it flows in yours, you must maintain your man in a permanent state of disadvantage. By contrast, you yourself must always be positive. At the very least, outwardly; what you feel inside is of no consequence. You must always seem upbeat and winning, while your man must always, in some fashion or other, be losing. To highlight this, you must on occasion extend to him a straw for him to clutch at; it might serve to heave him partially out of the swirling water, but only so long as to give a positive emotional fluctuation. This is to be catalytic at best, but never let it lead him to safety. By definition the straw must break. How soon you wish this to occur is left to your discretion.  

The preferred emotional bracket is fear, anxiety, despair, longing and guilt. These are most readily accessible.  It is beyond the scope of this exposé to comment on all of these in detail. Suffice to say that each emotion has its particular wavelength, intensity and taste. Much as you may prefer fish over meat, I too have my preferences. I tend to go for the “stickier” emotions; emotions that enforce a certain adhesion or dependency… on ME. To wit: guilt and longing.

Guilt is perhaps my favorite. It is, indeed, practically a lever I can push down, so easily is it fabricated, so easily multiplied. There is no fonder taste than the taste of guilt. Saccharin and bitter at once. It is not even necessary for your man to squirm under it; it is quite enough to watch him drop his head at his imaginary wrongdoing. The procedure is simple: anything you do is to be minimized with one of a hundred pat justifications. Anything your man does is slipped under the magnifying glass and blown out of proportion. It is important to constantly harp on a selected grievance, regardless its pertinence or truth. Repetition is key. Lay down the narrative; work it hard and then draw down the guilt straight into your gullet. Yum. Oh, and one more thing: never, ever, ever forgive.

Longing. This is a wonderful tactic and can provide a heady flow of emotional calorie. However, it may require that you interact with your man en nature. Let us not beat around the bush: you must be intimate, as you must instate physical longing. Once in place, it is quite wonderful and vampiric. You will watch him grovel and act like a monkey and be quite beside himself with desire, and it will be child’s play to squeeze out of him any measure of caloric bounty. The procedure is elegant and simple: never offer anything; shun as a matter of course, but in random and infrequent instances open up in a show of abandon. This will place your man on a wrong footing and lay him bare to wholesale vampirism. These Joules can be sour, at times even vitriolic, but they are perhaps the finest.

The pallet is so much broader than the above, and there are many sub-emotions as succulent as these headliners, but the principles for extraction are the same: it is a zero sum game; always remain on the right side the zero; smile a lot and win.  

Good luck.

type 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7