The New Meaning of Treason

“we need a reset”

During the 2019 Democratic primaries, presidential candidate Beto O’Rourke was pilloried by conservatives for remarking that the U.S. Constitution may be obsolete in the 21st century:

I think that’s the question of the moment: Does this still work? Can an empire like ours with military presence in over 170 countries around the globe, with trading relationships…and security arrangements in every continent, can it still be managed by the same principles that were set down 230-plus years ago?

Because genuflection to the Constitution is standard fare in electoral politics, this was taken as iconoclasm; but among eminent liberal jurists, who are eager to innovate in this area, O’Rourke’s sentiments are nothing new.

O’Rourke is quite right that the U.S. Constitution is insufficient to encompass America’s military and corporate entanglements around the globe. Where we disagree is in our preferences; I would take the Constitution over global corporatism. I also agree with eminent jurists like Cass Sunstein and Ruth Bader Ginsburg that the Constitution needs reform, but unlike the sweeping reform those jurists have called for, I would reform it in a single area: the law of treason.

Article III, §3 of the Constitution defines treason as “levying War against [the United States], or… adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort.” The landmark modern case is Cramer v. United States, which overturned a German immigrant’s treason conviction:

A citizen may favor the enemy and harbor sympathies disloyal to the United States, but so long as he commits no act of aid and comfort to the enemy there is no treason. Conversely, a citizen may take actions which aid and comfort the enemy, but if there is no adherence to the enemy, or there is no intent to betray, there is no treason.

In delineating what needs to be proved to obtain a treason conviction, the case says a bit more about what treason is not than what it is. In particular—unlike “aid and comfort”—the term enemy is not defined at all. This is what interests me, from a 21st century perspective. In 1945, the meaning of this term was taken by our Supreme Court as being self-evident. Today that is not the case. The U.S. transacts trillions of dollars in annual business with its worst adversaries. It hides behind risible theories of international law when it assassinates an enemy general, which it is careful to do on neutral territory. It has the world’s largest military budget, and no formal state enemies. It has troops in hundreds of countries, yet fights no official wars. Not even John Walker Lindh was accused of treason. Not even defection and leaking of official secrets to Iran by a U.S. Air Force officer was charged as treason. When the U.S. has no formal enemies, it is questionable whether the Constitution’s definition of treason has any practical application. That doesn’t mean there is no treason; on the contrary. But if we are to prosecute it, the term enemy must be defined.

Obviously, elites conspire with one another to violate the law and harm the citizenry. But a clever showing that they thought they were acting in the interest of the country would cast reasonable doubt on the intent requirement of a treason charge. And charging those crimes as treason runs the risk of defining mere lawbreaking as treason, unless the term enemy is given a clear legal definition.

Would a conspiracy involving foreign elites (including oligarchs, royalty, and heads of state) to surreptitiously take over the United States’ power centers, convert its resources, extensively invade its citizens’ privacy in bald-faced contravention of the 4th Amendment, and fundamentally alter its whole legal system in a manner not prescribed by the Constitution, amount to a legally cognizable enemy?

The question is well worth considering.

I am a liberal and so are you, Pt. I

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ever given yourself a stranger?

I am a liberal. You might find that surprising, considering I am a conspiracy theorist who dabbles in all kinds of so-called extremism on dark corners of the internet, my distaste increasing proportionally as I move inward along the political spectrum between Lysander Spooner and Julius Evola. But a liberal I am.

You are a liberal too. How do I know? Most earnest readers of this site will be radical conservatives at least, probably reactionary and quite possibly racist, at least by mainstream standards, with a pronounced attraction to unconventional ideas and convinced that the liberal worldview of the Council on Foreign Relations is implicit in nearly all the great crimes of our age. Even so, you are a liberal.

On this site I have regularly denounced global liberalism, liberal democracy, and relativism of various kinds—all of them (supposedly) liberal. I am not now rescinding or modifying these criticisms. Instead, I am clarifying terms. Liberalism has its departments, its factions and its tendencies, to be sure. But liberalism writ large is not just an idea or a system; it is an entire stage of human development, and what it becomes and where it goes is the whole locus of our era. Besides: the creature that passes for liberalism today is a species of totalitarianism. To oppose it by opposing liberalism misses the mark.

The liberal episteme is a mutation, a genie escaped from the bottle. Even if you could put it back, you cannot say it has worked no significant affect on your perception of reality. John of Kronstadt was a liberal, and so was Heidegger. Hitler was as liberal as Hamlet. You don’t have to agree with Hume about free will or with Mill about what are properly private as opposed to public affairs. You just have to have been born at a certain time.

I have repeatedly said on this site that the sole criteria of whether a person is truthful is whether or not the things he says are true. I cannot prove that e.g., Richard Spencer is “a fed,” or that Alex Jones is a method actor. But I can usually know within a fair degree of certainty when either man is lying, and when he is telling the truth.

Indeed, truth is the sole criteria of any inquiry. I submit that such a dictum is much easier spoken than lived, and that if you even attempt to live it, you are a rationalist, i.e., a proponent of the view that reason is the best navigator of reality and arbiter of human affairs. Granted, I am not a hard empiricist or utilitarian. Inasmuch as one believes that the evidence of his senses and experiences leads (however improbably) to certain metaphysical conclusions, to objective truth as a general proposition or even just to inductive reasons, one cannot be. But it is the requirement of evidence that makes us rationalists, and a rationalist is always a liberal.

Just what is a liberal? What is the core criteria of liberalism? The core criteria of liberalism is the belief in the need for free inquiry. Free inquiry, in turn, depends on belief in a universal, objective truth. What other reason could there possibly be for inquiry in the first place? Relativism is as shoddy a refuge from this as reaction, or organized religion. If Hitler is in hell, he’ll soon be having a threesome with Pope Francis and Michel Foucault.

There are, conversely, many strongly identified liberals who do not believe—at least not fully or sincerely—in free inquiry. This no more absolves them of liberalism than reaction or religion can. It only means that they are incredibly stupid and irrational. If this was 1937, and I told you that of the three prevailing world systems, the one that will come closest to imposing universal totalitarianism is liberal democracy, you’d think I was insane. Yet here we are. Churchill said that the fascists of the future would call themselves anti-fascists. This is less offensive than the panopticon calling itself the open society, but pointing it out is banal, and it is easy absolution. Denouncing liberalism as if it were merely a thesis in the hands of overweening courtesans and their coddled rabble won’t do. The question of liberalism is the question of the whole future of the human race. It is malleable yet, and I intend to have my say.

How to Kill Christ

lord of the flies

I.

Stalin supposedly said, “Gratitude is for dogs.” I’ve always thought there was great truth in that, and have always felt dirty and guilty for thinking so. I mean, how can gratitude be for dogs when everybody knows that an ingrate is despicable? But gratitude and ingratitude are not opposites. It may be despicable to spurn kindness and generosity, but no true act of kindness or generosity is ever committed for the sake of receiving gratitude in return.

So why be generous or kind? Out of a desire (it seems to me) to participate in another person’s happiness. Gratitude is generic, perfunctory. Appreciation, on the other hand, is idiosyncratic, and the way to be appreciated is by the peculiar things we do for others. So the proper response to kindness or generosity is not to be grateful, but to be happy, and thus appreciative.

The same is true of good fortune itself—a blessing, a windfall, a narrow escape. The point is to see it for just what it is, and be glad; to change our ways, perhaps. But not to grovel and scrape. This is what I’ve come to realize about devotional worship. It’s all performative. What God would want us to take our time away from gladness, from self-improvement, from kindness, generosity, and appreciation, in order to lower ourselves to the dust? 

For many years I tried to be a Jew. But I am not a Jew. I tried to be a Christian, but I am not a Christian either, not exactly. Next I thought I might be a pagan, but I’m also not entirely a pagan.

From time to time readers and colleagues chide me for being “inconsistent,” for not being committed to an ideology, as if we must be simultaneously bound by everything we’ve ever said or done. As if we don’t wake up feeling one way and go to bed feeling another. It’s all so pretentious, so tiresome—this moral arrogance of faith and ideology. I cannot know what I cannot know, and I’d rather not be in a position of having to tolerate anybody telling me things that they don’t know either. The only criteria that interest me anymore are good and evil, reason and unreason, worth my time or not worth my time. If you’re trying to trap or denounce me with my words, you’re making me into your criterion. Will you then be “consistent,” forevermore?

II.

I have never tried to make money from this blog. Not even a tip jar.

The minute you make your ideas a commodity, they forfeit their power. This is especially true online, where every personality is beholden to a platform, and a public beyond. Granted, it would be more difficult for me to blog without WordPress, but even if I had a million readers, I’ve not made myself an avatar here. It’s just words on a pseudonymous webpage.

This is why I’ve never vlogged or appeared on podcasts. Those media are more dynamic than the written word (more fleeting, more lost in the ether) and their dynamism comes at the cost of ever greater symbiosis with the medium. If this blog is taken down tomorrow, oh well. It’s just graffiti on a bathroom stall. It’s not my name. It’s not my image. It’s not a business or a brand. I’ve not forfeited that kind of energy to the internet.

III.

The so-called problem of consciousness is sometimes cited in support of theology. It refers to the fact that we don’t know where consciousness comes from. We may know all about neurology, brain chemistry and the like, but scientific inquiry cannot really show us the true source of perception, of emotions and thoughts.

In Matthew 18:18, Jesus says that whatever is bound on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever is loosed on earth will be loosed in heaven. We’re accustomed to thinking of heaven as the afterlife, and it may be. But Matthew 18:18 is much more readily comprehensible if we think of heaven as the metaphysical realm, co-terminus with the mundane, material one; a supra-temporal canopy of memory, perception, reputation, where every physical phenomenon has an emotional and conceptual analogue. This is the firmament to which we are “bound” by our choices, our triumphs, our joys, fears, and regrets.

A good analogy for such a concept of Jesus’s kingdom is the internet. Your data, your social media avatar, your online reputation, the emanation of information this way and that, the abstracted interplay of thoughts and feelings pinging about the little labyrinths of software systems. The ways they get lost; the ways they get found. A Jewish teaching that I particularly like is that everything—everything—is written by God in one great book. The reason why the internet—the world wide web—is a good analogy for metaphysics is because it is metaphysics: artificial metaphysics. That’s what metadata collection, social media, AI, IoT, 5G, transhumanism, the Great Reset, and all this kind of shit is about. It’s about the power to see, record, inventorize… everything. It’s an attempt at the total usurpation of all metaphysical power, from the level of the individual man, ad astra.

It’s deicide.

Thrift Shops for Spiritual Hipsters

you can fit so many icons in this bad boy

Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom

Even at my most youthful, arrogant and anti-religious, I never really stopped believing this. Though the three Abrahamic faiths are too convoluted and implicated in mortal foibles for me to settle on any one of them, I’ve always been averse, not to paganism or magic per se, but to hubris, dark arts and left-hand ideologies. Particularly, in this connection, I’ve long felt that the argument (best summarized by Yeats) connecting Christianity directly to liberalism is quite shallow. And it is, except when it isn’t.

I often encounter liberal friends and colleagues, and I’ve come to realize that what they have in common is that they hate themselves. The milieu has its alphas and its omegas, to be sure, and everyone consoles him or herself with rectitude to a greater or lesser degree—but at bottom, for whites at least (there are no non-white liberals) liberalism is a form of self-abnegation. 

Meanwhile, there seems to be a resurgence of interest nowadays in Eastern Orthodoxy among right-wingers. I used to follow a lot of alt-Orthodox accounts on Twitter and Facebook. About a year ago I saw a post that ran roughly as follows:

“Pray for me! My wife has apostatized and absconded with my step-daughter. I received a notification from a lawyer that she is filing for divorce. I miss my step-daughter terribly! I tried so hard to keep my wife in the fold, but she was not strong enough” etc., etc.

I felt bad for the guy, of course. But something about this marriage sounded strange. I mean, first off: why do you only have a step-daughter? The Bible says be fruitful and multiply, bro. I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to stop fellating God long enough to accomplish this. God probably doesn’t even want to be fellated. Hymns, candles, etc…. It’s all very nice, but perhaps there’s just an understanding God wants us to attain and try to imbue our actions with. That seems to me to be the whole message of Christ.

So I could see how the holy-rolling husband made himself a huge pain in the ass. But by itself, that’s probably not enough to repulse a wife. Rather, taking on a groveling aspect is not conducive to manhood. Like liberalism, it’s passive aggressive, a way of indulging self-loathing, of valorizing a weak chin. Obviously, hedonism wrecks people, and I’m not advocating it. I’m all for Christian continence, to a degree. But how TF are you allowing yourself social media (which is real poison) and not raw-dogging the wife? The only way that makes sense is if your religion is for show.

I know the Orthodox response to this is probably that homeboy was doing it wrong, that the Bible indeed commands us to be fruitful, that Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount says not to make a parade out of piety, etc. But Christianity is nothing if not utterly sexless. And what’s a sacral procession? It’s literally a parade.

Does the trinity make any sense at all? How about communion? You know, the blood wine and the flesh bread? Either that all makes zero fucking sense whatsoever, or you have to be way smarter than everyone to comprehend it, in which case you’re damn sure not receiving the kingdom like a little child. If God is logos, i.e., universal reason, then why am I being told that I must believe things that make no fucking sense?

I’ve been reading the Old Testament my entire life, and the New for the last five years or so. My wife is nominally Orthodox. We have young children, and I’ve been looking to inculcate them in a tradition that emphatically teaches (among other, related things) that faggotry is a sickness. So I tried getting into Orthodoxy over the past few months, and what I’ve found is just as much idolatry as there is in Judaism. In particular, converts to Orthodoxy in modern America (usually about half the congregation) are invariably obsessed with authenticity. It’s hipsterism grown old, with the insufferable knit-picking about 80s movies and musical subgenera re-canned and transferred over to theology and apologetics.

Jay Dyer is a perfect example of this. Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate and recommend his conspiracy lectures, and even some of his philosophy stuff. But he’s totally glib. Paul Krugman couldn’t be more smug. Dyer has found the thing, and can hold forth literally for hours about why he’s smarter than you. That’s what apologetics amounts to. And it has to be a facade, because (as with liberalism) the suggestion is always that downloading and then going through life insisting on some horribly circuitous reasoning is akin to having a woke third eye. In both cases, it’s purely performative.

The Republic

Mencius Moldbug is having a bit of a moment lately. Or he was, until a moment ago. He kept popping up on YouTube this summer, very openly panhandling. After a riveting half-podcast the word-count smoke seemed to dissipate, and I remembered what a one-trick pony he is. He never gets to the point. He just leads you around by the nose.

What I liked about Moldbug was the very thorough way he diagnosed liberalism as a kind of mania, using primary sources. What I disliked about him was his dismissal—by turns high-handed and skittish—of conspiracy theories. Drug addiction isn’t treated by diagnosis alone. Sometimes you have to kill a drug dealer.

Moldbug’s most black-pilling feat by far is his critique of the American Revolution. Supposing he’s right that the founders were rabble-rousing charlatans, and that King George did nothing wrong. So what? You don’t have to tell me things are bad. But I’m armed to the teeth over here in America, I can own land, and can’t be prosecuted for what I write on Twitter. Contrast this with life under the British monarchy, where the government can literally murder your kid.

So I fail to see the need for this huge blackpill. Power is always diffuse, even under an absolute monarchy. Rome began as a republic, and degenerated into a monarchy. Like any system, the problem with America is not form, but function. Personnel is policy. In the last installment of his “Gentle Introduction,” Moldbug essentially says that a worthy alternative only needs to exist, and when America implodes, this alternative will fill the vacuum, because people will just roll over and accept it. Call me cuckoo for conspiracy puffs, but that’s exactly what Klaus Schwab thinks.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I think there’s a much simpler way. A republic and an aristocracy are basically the same thing. In The Republic, Socrates used the allegory of the ship’s captain to suggest that only the wise should participate in politics. But the unwise (both the shrewd and the misguidedly fervent) are fully capable of overthrowing the wise. Might I suggest an alternative criterion? Only those who have a real investment in the future have the right to decide the future course of state, and determining who they are is far easier than determining who is wise. Obviously, they are people with biological children, who have treated their investment (their kids) with the consideration and care it deserves, i.e., by maintaining a functional marriage to the other biological parent.

I know it’s a long-shot. Solutions to big problems always are. But if we could limit the franchise to couples married and cohabiting continuously at least ten years, with at least one biological child together, we could strike those whose interests are selfish, decadent and fleeting from the voter rolls without discriminating by race, sex, or property ownership. Narrow interest groups would still have their proxies, but the proxies would have as much in common with the rest of the electorate as they do with their separate identity groups.

Understand: I’m not saying every non-voter should effectively be a non-person. Every provision in the Bill of Rights would still apply to all citizens, but the criteria I’ve outlined would have to be met in order to participate in civic policymaking, i.e., to vote. Make that ironclad, and it wouldn’t take too many other reforms to make things real nice for normal, decent people. Normal, decent people are the only ones who have a shot at happiness anyway, because deviants will always be miserable.

That is a worthy alternative. If you will it, it is no dream.

Conspiracy Tales

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the new normal

The town where I grew up is a hotbed of effete radicalism and low-grade mental illness. I came back in my mid-twenties to finish community college. There’s this hipster coffee shop downtown where I used to do all my homework—I’ll call it Café Tangier. One day I noticed a girl there reading a Hebrew novel. Let’s call her Shirley. We hit it off. She was going to university and working in a mall kiosk with her sister and her sister’s boyfriend—all Israelis.

None of these three were bad people. However, they had a friend who was. We’ll call him Lior. Lior had a friend named Jake. They claimed to be working for some kind of IT start-up, but the two of them were always just down at the Tangier, scoping people out, or hanging around the various student co-ops around town: the Caesar Chavez Co-op, Food Not Bombs House, etc. They gave the impression of a couple of con-men with a traveling act, like there was an invisible mist between them that only the two of them could see.

A cell of would-be ecoterrorists had been uncovered—entrapped, really—at the Tangier by an undercover FBI agent about a year before. At the nearby anarchist co-op (which had a neat little bookstore I would occasionally peruse) there was a flyer on the corkboard denouncing the cafe’s owners for allegedly cooperating with the FBI from the get-go of the case, denouncing Tangier hipsters as sell-outs, and warning people to stay away from the place. But it was a hopping little place, lots of coeds, good music, good conversation.

There were other odd characters around the Tangier, too. One of them looked like Bruce Willis—cue-ball bald, mid-forties, in decent shape (but bedraggled in a way that wasn’t convincing) and constantly at the Tangier as if he had nothing else going on. He had this shady gregariousness about him. I’d watch him befriend impressionable looking loners and overhear him shit-test them by peppering them with the most astounding BS.

Anyway, this Lior and Jake—there was something off about them, too. They couldn’t have been younger than 27. Lior was Israeli, in the States (according to him) since adolescence. Jake was a regular American. Their back story kept changing, not in the sense of glaring inconsistencies, but in the sense that it seemed improvised. We used to go out with Shirley and her sister and the sister’s boyfriend, and these two weasels—this Lior and Jake—would hone in on the youngest, most vulnerable looking girls they could find at the bars. One night, Lior showed up at Shirley’s place with a girl who was obviously a high schooler, painfully shy, homely… The whole thing looked very bad.

Now, if you’re thinking I’m a POS for not intervening, what can I tell you? Degeneracy is a triage situation. It was a boisterous house party and I had my own concerns. If I’d walked in on him fucking her, that might’ve been different.

Anyway, I used to ride my bike around town a lot, and one day I started seeing these flyers all over, on lampposts and bus benches: “We are anarchists. We are everywhere.” There was additional text. All I remember was that it contained some threat of violence, but the grievance wasn’t too clear. This was odd, considering not only that the campus radicals and cat-lady activists around town never threatened anyone, but were always very impassioned and particular about whatever cause they were into. But this “We are anarchists” business just looked like a vacuous art project from some out-patient rehab.

One day I was on a foot path beneath a bridge when I got a flat tire. I used to do these road trips in the summer, by bicycle, from the coast up into the Sierras, and I was very proficient with all aspects of bike repair. So I knelt down to patch my tire. Once I had it patched and the glue was drying, I cast my gaze up the path. It ran along a river, but there was a park on the other side. Basically, I’m in the shadow under this bridge, looking up the path, with the river on the left side of my vision, and the park on the right. In the distance, I notice the Bruce Willis-looking guy from the Tangier. He had on a white t-shirt tucked into cargo pants, with this pair of absolutely autistic looking bus station urchins, half his age at most, straggling along behind him. He also had a stack of paper in one hand and a roll of packing tape in the other.

It was mid-morning on a weekday. The park was empty, but I was in the shadow of the bridge, so they couldn’t see me. I watched as this guy directed these two mouth breathers to post flyers on the park benches, and (with no one around to see him) his bearing was just unmistakably military. I went back later to the park, and just as I’d suspected, it was those dumb-fuck “We are anarchists” flyers, all over the playground and picnic tables. Less than a week later, there was a little kristallnacht along the main downtown drag. Someone smashed up the windows of about a dozen shops late one night and spray-painted a bunch of menacing slogans, “We are anarchists” among them. After that, the city council passed emergency regulations, applied for (and received) federal grants to blanket the downtown in surveillance cameras, and the FBI permanently stationed a squadron of some kind at the local police station.

A month or so later, Occupy Wall Street broke out. Hippy liberalville being what it is, a camp mushroomed up at that park where I’d gotten my flat tire. Meanwhile, Lior was the ringleader of a cadre that broke into and holed up in a vacant storefront across from the county courthouse. He ran their Facebook page, and throughout their “occupation” he was constantly on Facebook posting appeals for food and blankets and for people to join in—a rather odd commitment for someone who was supposedly working full-time at a start-up. His rather benign LARP-sesh was broken up after a week, and four of the participants—all lily upscale thrift-shop type college students—got hit with serious federal charges, including “terrorism” shit.

But Lior never faced any consequences.

I didn’t like the guy, nor respect him, but before that I’d have at least greeted him when we saw each other. But afterwards? No way. I stayed the fuck away from that dude from then on, and I never went back to Café Tangier.

Wear the Mask, Bigot

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“TRS retweeted”

I had an instructor in professional school, a black woman, who used to arbitrarily hand out low grades to smart white students. (No—not just to me.) She would always gerrymander the topic of race into her lectures, too. It was very annoying. Essentially, this person lived and breathed negritude. She had a software system in her brain that not only scanned constantly for certain signs, but could make totally unrelated signs fit the patterns her software was designed to uncover. This is the kind of thing I have always seen going on with the JQ on the alt-right:

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You’re more than welcome to take a look at the thread that Enoch here is retweeting from. You may notice a few things. First, Zach Goldberg does not have a blue checkmark. He’s not a public personality. For a private person, 12.9K followers is nothing to sneeze at, but his word is no more consequential than Enoch’s is at 14.3K. Second, where does Zach Goldberg “blame whites for the problem”? I don’t see it. Third—who is “everybody clapping”? The reactions to Goldberg’s thread seem to mostly be from Joe Rogan bro types. For them, the information presented is novel indeed. So what’s more likely? That Goldberg is appropriating white nationalist narratives because he’s a Jew who wants to co-opt pro-white audiences? But that would be Mike Enoch’s job. Zach Goldberg, on the other hand, is obviously just a derpy centrist who’s late to these insights.

When you commit yourself to narrow activism, you have to die on that hill, and there will be times that you have to make a lawyerly argument, to obfuscate, to filibuster and demagogue. It takes no great powers of perception to pick up on the fact that Mike Enoch is a master of this. But what this little example with the Zach Goldberg retweet reveals is that Enoch also has no problem concocting the purest, most blatant lies and putting them in front of his audience.

A couple weeks ago I was listening to an FTN podcast, and within the first ten minutes, one of the presenters, referring disdainfully to conspiracy theories about COVID-19, says, “If you can convince me that Bill Gates is Jewish, I’ll believe this conspiracy.”

Putting aside the fact that in the current year, of course Jewish plutocrats are involved in a ruling class conspiracy, FTN here encapsulates my whole problem with alt-right JQ memes. Bill Gates is fucking shady. COVID-19 is shady. The government’s whole response to it is shady. It’s obviously a huge psyop. Yet in the (apparent) absence of Jews ex machina, none of this interests FTN. Months after they happened, TRS podcasters are still disparaging the anti-lockdown protests (~45:10) in terms resembling those used by liberal pundits. NPI/Radix is likewise still treating COVID-conspiracy theory dismissively (~38:00). This isn’t just a difference of opinion about the numbers. It’s moral support for a plutocrat agenda from people who brand themselves as dissidents.

Here’s another example, this one from James Allsup: “Easily Falsifiable 5G Conspiracies are a Hamster Wheel for White People.” Well of course an “easily falsifiable” conspiracy theory is a trap—for anyone who falls for it. But that’s not what Allsup means. TRS has internalized MSM tactics, which (again) they have an obvious talent for. So the point of an article like this is not to separate the wheat from the chaff when it comes to 5G conspiracy theories. It’s to plant a suggestive seed in the minds of unwary followers that some (pretend) authority says you’re a moron if you’re giving consideration to any 5G conspiracy theories. Yet 5G is a critical tool of an incoming system of totalitarian control. You only have to look at the facts. Why would these self-styled dissidents want to discourage that?

They do the same thing with 9/11—not just to their audience, but to their colleagues. A few years ago on a podcast (~50:00), podcaster “The Mad Wop” starts in with a bit of trutherism. Promptly, and with a lot of pretentious sighs and awkward pauses, Enoch and McNabb start steering him away like a couple of boardwalk con-men, claiming there’s no hard evidence for dissenting theories, blaming Saudi Arabia and “bureaucratic incompetence.” McNabb then asks, supposing it was an inside job, “what does it get us” to promote 9/11 truth?

IDK, what does it get you to promote Goebbels and Himmler? TFOH.

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First they say al-Qaeda did it, then they say they’ve “always been skeptical” (~20:00) of the official narrative. Then they say the Jews did 9/11 at the same time (~20:00) they say the Jews “created the whole 9/11 truth movement.” None of this makes sense. Noticers aren’t supposed to not notice things. Professional noticers are not supposed to run a sideline in telling their audience, “Move along, nothing to see here.”

So what am I saying? Am I saying that TRS are feds or that you shouldn’t be listening to them? Look: when they’re right, they’re right—amen. When they’re entertaining, they’re entertaining—bravo. And when they’re lying, they’re lying. I frankly couldn’t care less about their identities, or their real motivations. I don’t really know who anybody is on the internet. The only barometer of honesty is whether the things you say are true. TRS says many true things, and they also have a propensity for obscurantism that’s very odd considering the boldness of their worldview in other areas.

There’s a name for this kind of thing. It’s called gatekeeping. Beyond that, I won’t speculate. I don’t have to.

Boatman’s Bluff

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spare me

The year after college I was an ambulance EMT. I started in July, and it wasn’t until September that I was assigned a steady shift with a partner. Before that I just bounced around between paramedics, snoozing, reading, and writing this blog on my cellphone between inventory and 911 calls.

My first code blue was an OD, on my first day of work. We arrived on scene before fire to find a supine fat kid unresponsive on a back driveway, with a gaggle of bleary-eyed teenagers who’d obviously waited too long to call, and were real quiet and vague about what happened to their friend.

I attached the EKG nodes and started bagging while my paramedic trainer pounded on his chest. No cardio activity. Fire arrived and they started banging on his chest in a rotation. Still no activity. Then someone offered to bag while I pumped, and I went to town so hard on this kid that I cracked his sternum. The snapping sound was horrific, but the moment it happened the heart monitor gave a beep and started going.

The thing about it was, everything happened in under ten minutes, and although he died later that day, when we dropped him in the ER the kid was still alive—unconscious and intubated, but alive. It wasn’t until November that year that I actually witnessed a death.

Now, I’m an omega, a contrarian loner who hates rules and rarely strikes up a lasting friendship. I’m also fairly tall and large-framed. My first paramedic partner, Tommy Gonzales, was a medic second lieutenant in the National Guard, the kind of beta-simp who joins the service to compensate. He looked like Eugene Levy—gaunt, about 5’6″, and very uptight, but highly intelligent, which necessitated bending the rules as often as they got in the way of logic. I respected him for that.

One night just about dusk as I was driving Tommy around the Sonic drive-thru, we got coded to a trailer park. Again, we got there before fire. Again, the patient was supine, this time on a shabby carpet. It was a double-wide with fake wood paneling and a bunch of taxidermied elk heads on the walls. The guy must’ve been in his mid-sixties. He was shirtless and barefoot in a pair of jeans that hadn’t been washed in a coon’s age, skinny-fat like alcoholics often are, and covered in a half-inch layer of wooly grey body hair that went all the way up his neck to an untrimmed beard. The place was strewn with empty pint bottles and crushed-up Coors cans.

The family was all assembled—son, daughter, daughter-in-law, adult grandkid. They said they’d found him the way he appeared, unresponsive, not breathing. They thought he’d choked on a turkey sandwich he’d been eating lying down, and that he must’ve rolled off the couch onto the floor. That was what it looked like. I had to shave him to place the EKG nodes, then Tommy and I started doing our thing.

It was a long night. The monitor gave just enough activity after a minute of CPR that we had to keep going even though the guy’s chances were very slim. Fire got on scene and Tommy started trying to intubate, but the laryngoscope kept bringing up turkey sandwich. The firefighters and I rotated doing CPR while Tommy smeared gob after gob of partly digested food like pâté onto the inner lining of a red haz bag. Eventually we got the guy tubed. His cardio kept flopping and starting back up with just enough activity for hope.

At one point I stood up to stretch my legs. Across the room, the family was piled around a card table in the corner, faces downcast, their arms draped around one another, watching their patriarch recede into eternity past indifferent, knee-jerk bureaucracy. Past us, on the other side. We were the boatmen.

Above the family on the wall was a framed and faded portrait of a proud and fearsome Marine with a flag half-draped across the background. That was the guy we were trying to save. The two of them couldn’t have looked more different. He wasn’t in his body anyway, yet he might not’ve been further away than that portrait. I felt this sudden sense of reverent foreboding in the pit of my stomach, that this man lying dead at my feet was witnessing his family’s despair from just out of reach of them.

After three hours, Tommy advised the family that things weren’t going to turn around. They nodded stoically. We called up to the hospital and signed the necessary forms. Then we packed up our equipment in haz bags and debriefed with the firefighters before leaving them to wait for the coroner.

That shift went long. We went back to base, cleaned up, and tried to get a nap, but the calls just kept coming. The 24-hour shift that had begun just before that code in the Sonic drive-thru turned into 35, 36, then 40, and topped out at 51.

At one point we dropped someone at the ER. It was about 9 in the morning. I was sitting in the driver’s seat of the ambulance waiting for Tommy to snag Graham crackers and juice boxes from inside at the nurse’s station, when all of a sudden I started sobbing maniacally, just huge choking sobs without any kind of buildup or anticipation whatsoever. It was so primal. There was no reflection, no social pressure (I was completely alone) and no reason to feel anything. I hadn’t known the guy, the Marine—I hadn’t known him. I’d run plenty of codes, seen lots of pitiable people in sorry states and felt bad for them, and I’d gone hours by then without it occurring to me that I’d been impacted at all. It was just a job, I was just exhausted, I just wanted to go home to my family, I just wanted a burrito. This is America—nobody has real feelings. I remember that I’ve had them, back when I was a kid, but I don’t even remember what real feelings feel like. It’s been six years since that 911 call and in all that time I haven’t experienced a comparably spontaneous and authentic emotion. And yet it happened, in spite of every social pressure militating against it.

It’s strange how things incubate in us when we thought they didn’t matter, or that we’d forgotten them. Sometimes when I discipline our kids, my wife gets on me and says, “This isn’t the army, you know!” On the one hand, when I hear this it sounds odd, because the army is the furthest thing from my memory and my motivations. On the other hand, my first reaction is to feel she’s being unreasonable, because life is rough, and it’s better they learn it first from their dad. But what she sees me doing that I can’t see myself is sublimating an experience that’s constantly with me in ways I’m almost never aware of. Sublimating the untold humiliations and death by a thousand cuts of being a king, and a piece of shit, all at the same time.

Deconstructing Zionism, Pt. III

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choose wisely

(Part I here, Part II here)

I just got finished watching the second installment of Mouthy Buddha’s Pedogate series. Almost as soon as I shared it on Twitter, my account was suspended. The video will surely soon be taken off YouTube, but it’s already up on BitChute. In case you think this stuff can’t shock you, what Buddha manages to uncover is novel, even for those of us who followed Pizzagate closely and had already heard of Jeffstein Eprey ten years ago.

Buddha is a savvy videographer who is very good about sticking to facts and leaving viewers to their own conclusions. It’s a wise course, as the slightest hint of conjecture would only provide grist for the mill of powerful detractors. But the spectrum of inferences that can be drawn from this information by any reasonable person is exceedingly narrow. Essentially, there is a monstrous conspiracy at the highest levels of institutional life on this planet, and its insiders are able to get away with blood-curdling ritualistic crimes.

One of the institutional settings that is rife with these horrors is Hollywood, and we all know who runs Hollywood. It was always obvious, moreover, that Jeffstein Eprey was an Israeli asset. It’s obvious as well that Israel has moles high in America’s most sensitive institutions, private and public. It would be very hard to imagine that these people have the interests of Americans in mind—it would be very hard to imagine that their purpose in the United States is benign whatsoever. (Believe me, I’ve tried.) And in general it’s obvious that Jews are vastly overrepresented among the most debauched ruling class in the history of the human race—Les Wexner, Ed Buck, the Pritzkers, the Bronfman heiresses of NXIVM sex cult fame, etc., etc., etc. These are some of the same people who backed Epstein, and who back organized Jewish communal life at every level. For example, Hollywood potentate Arnon Milchan, a “former” Mossad man, is a close associate and sponsor of Netanyahu. What are the chances that he (and Netanyahu) don’t know exactly what lies at the bottom of the murky depths Mouthy Buddha is plumbing in his videos? What are the chances he isn’t complicit in them?

I know what the Jewish response to this may be: that spiritual darkness and realpolitik are not exclusive to Jews. Neither, in the grand scheme, is the proportion of Jews involved in any of this stuff very large. That’s correct. I’ve made these arguments myself and they certainly have their place. But a decent human being who uncovers institutional rot opposes or at least divests himself from it. Of course not every offshore bank account and weird coven in the Marin headlands is orchestrated by the Sanhedrin. But the rot we’re talking about here is at the heart of Jewish leadership, and thus at the heart of the Jewish community. Where is the condemnation, from any quarter of organized Jewry? There is none. It’s not even a controversy—you have to leave the reservation if you even want to acknowledge it.

If you are Jewish, does this not give you pause? Do you seriously suppose that if you go around identifying as Jewish, you are not identifying with precisely these phenomena? Be serious. Human groups are qualitatively different from each other. Jews may be a fractious bunch, but they are simply more beleaguered—and thus, more closely tied to their leadership—than, say, Russians or Americans. The scope of their group interests is proportionate to a heightened sense of threat. So, in the same way that (say) the overthrow of the Nicaraguan government by the United Fruit Company has something fundamental to do with what America is, worming into foreign halls of power has something fundamental to do with what Judaism is. This is reflected in the Bible (e.g., Joseph, Esther) and so much of subsequent Jewish history that it doesn’t need enumerating. Put simply, Jeffstein Eprey is not a new development.

One windy winter night in Tel Aviv, well over a decade ago and about a year before I entered the Israeli army, I was befriended by a mysterious stranger, an IDF special forces veteran who was four or five years older than me, and vastly more worldly and self-confident. Like me, he was from an Anglophone country, half-Jewish on his father’s side, well-built, and phenotypically Aryan—aside from a pair of deep-set brown eyes. Over the course of a year, we spent weekends together, mostly in bars and nightclubs. I would later find out that he is the scion of an oligarchic dynasty in his country of origin, but I didn’t know it at the time—though I did notice that money was no object to him. He had a sports car, designer clothes, and an apartment in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Israel. In retrospect, some elements of his backstory didn’t add up, but he was in superb shape and it was more than plausible he’d had an elite designation in the IDF. At times (usually after a few drinks, but not too many) he would ask me oddly morbid “hypothetical” questions—things like, could I murder an innocent child if it was absolutely necessary to complete an undercover mission undetected? My answer to these questions was invariably no, and he would counter with forceful, well-considered arguments to the effect that there’s no point in even joining the army in the first place if I’m not willing to do whatever it takes for the country.

Are you comfortable with this, ya’yahud? With supporting a cause for which such things must be done? Of which Jeffrey Epstein was an operative? I am not asking you to own these things personally. Rather, I’m asking you to think seriously about the cause you profess to believe in, just like my former friend—who was clearly sizing me up for recruitment into something other than just the IDF—was asking me to be serious about it.

Of course, injustice may always be necessary to further power. I don’t say that the Jews belong nowhere, or that our national project ought to be dismantled or abandoned just because politics is nasty business. The issue for me is whether power is being accumulated in pursuit of a vision, a higher ideal. A commonwealth should promote truth, beauty, excellence, justice, and vigor for their own sakes in its people. That is how a people becomes a “light unto the Nations.” But for Israel, there is no higher ideal than to outlive our persecutors—to exist and accumulate power in endless insecurity which we ascribe to some social disease or malevolent spirit that can never be examined dispassionately.

The problem is that Judaism is an unhappy culture that operates out of constant reaction to past slights, necessitating a clandestine orientation to the outside world that is by turns vindictive and pathetic. That is why Israel (with its vast technological talent) has become the Prussia of global liberalism—a spearhead, exempt from this system’s normative decorum (as all traditional pariahs are nowadays.) Zionism once promised a “new Jewish man” unencumbered by this messy psychology. It was a good idea while it lasted.

Unfollow, Pt. III

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(Part I here, Part II here, Part IV here)

As I stood in the socially-distanced self-checkout of my nearby Idiocracy Costco, gazing vacantly across a field of eggplant-shaped cattle, the whole history of our species from the agricultural revolution flashed before me, and I understood all at once how the instinct for safety is strangling everything worthy that’s in us.

I don’t want to beat my sword into a ploughshare—that’s ridiculous. My sword is who I am. Yet here I am, smashed between a hammer and an anvil. I look at my youngest son and see the most unadulterated aggressive instincts. There’s no resentment or ulterior motive, just pure joy. He just wants to fight—to box and run and sword-fight and do archery—and the whole world is against him. Our world is predicated on neurosis and anti-social impulses. Every protected class of people is fundamentally self-loathing. Every feature of modern life conduces toward cowardice and resignation.

Lysander Spooner described the U.S. Constitution as a contract that binds no one. Ironically, that is now the U.S. government’s position as well. You probably don’t know my identity, and I don’t know yours, but (as you already know) a global shadow government knows both our identities, because its skynet backlogs our every word and keystroke—every purchase and fap sesh—in real time. No proposition could be more straightforward than that this proves you are not a man, a citizen, nor even a consumer (who at least in theory has choices) but a subject.

What does it mean to be a subject? It means you have no moral agency. The mandarins of a parallel society will decide right and wrong for you. A good illustration of this was in the news recently. An Omaha middle school employee named James Fairbanks sent letters to the local press confessing to the murder of a repeat child rapist who had gotten away with a couple slaps on the wrist and was out walking around. Somehow, Fairbanks became aware of him, and of some pretty clear evidence that he intended to continue kid-fucking, and decided to kill him instead.

He was charged with first degree murder. The district judge who ordered him held without bond declared that, “There is a reason we are a nation of laws and don’t take justice into our own hands.” Yes, exactly—so that children can be raped. That is the reason. According to his own daughter, the victim in this case raped lots of kids over a period of decades. Lots of people knew what he had done, and could reasonably know that he was never going to stop, yet none but Fairbanks took the highly intuitive step of greasing him. Why not? Because the system told them not to.

Milan Kundera said that “The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.” What’s this guy’s beef with power? Well, by power, he meant the Stasi, who were capable of a great deal less than the U.S. government, but at least knew how to read. As Jonathan Bowden once remarked, under liberalism, you talk like a Jamaican gangster, and books don’t have to be burned because 40% of the population can’t read them anyhow. We are to our forebears what a beagle is to a grey wolf. By the sum of a million little undecisions, we sign up for this degradation.

The coronavirus lockdowns—the destruction of livelihoods and total abrogation of civil liberties—put me in an extremely libertarian, even anarchist place. I wasn’t alone: a great deal of overlap began to manifest between the anarchist accounts I follow on social media, and the alt-right ones. And then something strange happened: the Minneapolis riots broke out, and (apparently for the sake of consistency) not a few of these alt-right people stuck around on the anarchist side, decrying supposed police heavy-handedness against African-Americans and lauding the riots as a “boogaloo,” with memes like “This is what ‘don’t tread on me’ looks like.”

This is an absolutely delusional take.

First of all, Metro PD is undoubtedly a part of “the system.” But so is the media, the Department of Justice, and every public official in Minnesota (and beyond) now calling for Derick Chauvin’s head. Yet (as always with these events) the rioters’ grievances are focused solely on municipal police—and on the average white person, whose “privileges” and “implicit attitudes” are presumed to be propping up the world like Atlas.

And this narrative persists when the same system—that just put 100 million people out of work and vilified them for protesting peacefully; that backlogs virtually all our private communications; that tells us not to “take justice into our own hands” and ice a child rapist—gives a mob the go-ahead to torch American cities. George Carlin once remarked that “The upper class keeps all of the money, pays none of the taxes. The middle class pays all of the taxes, does all of the work. The poor are there just to scare the shit out of the middle class.” Accordingly, as with every race riot since Rodney King, Minneapolis is 100% a media phenomenon. And if the system has direct access to your brain the way it does with these “protesters,” then you’re not against the system. You are the system.

The alt-right is the only sub-culture that clearly perceives the cynical ways that the deviant and the marginalized are pressed into service by the powers the be. What the alt-right cannot see is the way this draws their alienation into fruitless hostility with those groups. Orwell once said that “if you encourage totalitarian methods, the time may come when they will be used against you instead of for you.” That time is now. The minute corona hit stateside, the whole alt-right peanut gallery came down with a major case of hyperchondria, praising the Chinese and denigrating “conspiracy theories.”

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neoliberalism is statism

It’s very hard to believe (for example) that the TRS network can be so well-versed in Whitney Webb’s reporting on Israeli spyware (they never seem to cite her work, but it’s the sole basis of a lot of their podcasts) and not take seriously everything she’s been reporting about DARPA and big tech plotting to chip everybody like cattle. Deep-diving the “evolutionary psychology” of every lumpy kike they worked with in a call center is more interesting, I suppose. But when every problem looks Yiddish, it’s because you have a favorite gas.

This is actually analogous to certain alt-right criticisms of the alt-lite, e.g., Tommy Robinson:

The whole argument of all these sorts of anti-Islamists is, Muslims are scary, please don’t hurt us… All they’re doing is, they want to preserve their own nihilism, because Islam is a metaphysically objectivist system… Whereas these western nihilists just want to wallow in their own hedonism, that’s what they want to defend.

This kind of eggheaded take ignores the fact that alt-right thought leaders are as eager as the EDL to be kept creatures of a paternalistic state, so long as no one rocks the boat. I mean, what’s more “metaphysically objectivist” than a chimp-out? Forcing people into stadiums to do calisthenics hasn’t altered mass man’s basic mediocrity anywhere it’s been tried. The only difference between the alt-right (or 3P or whatever autistic label they’re giving themselves nowadays) and fully automated luxury space communism is that the former is racist. Well I don’t think that racism is all that wicked per se. But if you’d trade the Bill of Rights for Hugo Boss, what exactly is setting you apart from the homies?

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To see human liberty as an illusion is perverse. I’m reasonably certain that western powers are abetting the HK protests. But no one really believes this demagogue when he says he “has no idea what these protests are even about.” And what they’re definitely not about is biological determinism.

Whiteness is not the paramount threat to misplaced power. Liberty is. I’m not talking about capitalism or NAP or any libertarian dogma. I’m talking about the things that make the heart exult. I’m talking about the experiences we can only have—the sensations we can only feel—when we are free to decide our path. “All good things are wild and free,” as Thoreau put it.

Liberty is priceless. There’s no identity worth trading for it.