We have lived in a world of cynicism & onanism, of pessimistic self-interest & pornographic self-gratification, for so long that many red-pilled men are in a state of inanition. I have written recently about my own first experience with frigid truth and while the means & ways are necessarily different for every newcomer the destination wears an impression of singularity. Of course, I speak of cynicism.
“HOW TRUE, for example, is that other old Fable of the Sphinx, who say by the wayside, propounding her riddle to the passengers, which if they could not answer she destroyed them! Such a Sphinx is this Life of ours, to all men and societies of men. Nature, like the Sphinx, is of womanly celestial beauty–which means celestial order, pliancy to wisdom; but there is also a darkness, but one not yet disimprisoned; one still half-imprisoned–the articulate, lovely still incased in the inarticulate, chaotic. How true!” -Carlyle “The Sphinx”
Who among us can brave Virgil’s three-hour tour of Hell and emerge unscathed & unaltered? Who discovers the Narrative mal-intent of an impersonal imposed Truman show & seeks anything short of tearing the Bitch down & fiddling away as she burns? Cynicism is rampant, necessary & useful; without cynicism there is no Alt-Right; without cynicism there are no dank memes; there is no cuckservative; there are lies alone & the lies are social justice; xir name is legion.
Bitches love cynics
Cynicism may sour. We are at an impasse & like the original Cynic troll we may skitter away in our barrels; we may use our memes like Diogenes lamp to seek by its light the face of a good man; & the man might tell him that he himself must be that good man, that he is a very philosopher for he imbibes the wine betwixt Socrates and Agathon; he is no racist, no cuck, he’s (((honest))). The meme like the lamp show otherwise. All the same Diogenes died an Athenian pauper alone in a barrel on the street.
Cuckerberg
I would rather die an Athenian pauper than a billionaire feminist. I degrees.
“And does she not not propound her riddles to us? Of each man she asks daily, in mild voice, yet with terrible significance, ‘Knowest thou the meaning of this day? What thou canst do Today; wisely attempt to do?’ Nature, Universe, Destiny, Existence, howsoever we name this grand unnameable Fact in the midst of which we live and struggle, is as a heavenly bride and conquest to the wise and brave, to them who can discern her behests and do them; a destroying fiend to them who cannot. Answer her riddle, it is well with thee. Answer it not, pass on regarding it not, it will answer itself; the solution for thee is a thing of teeth and claws; Nature is a dumb lioness, deaf to they pleadings, fiercely devouring.” ibid.
To see the way forward we must understand the path from whence we came.
If young coming upon the fetid truths begins in a state of near complete naivete & innocent ignorance imparted by well-meaning parents & a complex of total indoctrination. One’s pre-truth state is not willful but accidental, the product of being told that reality is no more than the shadows on the wall before ever having seen true light.
If older, as even a youthful man, ignoring truth transforms from inculcated confirmation bias into an ego-linked idealism, especially with the acceptation of a tragic idealism like feminism or faggotry which intrinsically denies nature to supplant her with Narrative & solipsism. The lies need be so obnoxious that to maintain them the idealist must become the lie. In the hopeless cases the transformative powers of evil reveal perfection, in the archaic sense of utter completeness, to such a degree that one shamefully wonders if Aslan’s roar could shed the dragon’s skin, or if the idealist is damned already to remain the beastly thing he becomes. For the truth-comer one sees the idealology & ego are not so intertwined that transformation cannot be, only that it cannot be painless.
Both cases the seeker finds the facade of reality destroyed, with one the ego must of necessity die, with the other only childhood, idealism, and naivete are slain upon truth’s alter. The often outcome is resultant cynicism.
It is as patient as St. Pauls love. For the novice it is often paired with zeal. Who came fresh to the ‘sphere & did not lose days in reading Roissy & Roosh & Vox & /pol & all the other various works following a thousand links down a thousand rabbit holes to find a thousand truths & discarding a thousand lies & a thousand deceptions? When the sunrises on the morning, when the fervor wanes, the new man steps from the glow of his brothers-in-arms to see the old world does not glitter, everywhere there are lies, piles upon piles of lies, filth as deep as deluge, yet no one around him sees as he sees. That is, no one until recently saw it, now there are cracks in the wall; one’s neightbor might catch a glimmer of one lie and hold onto it. “If I hold firm to this one truth that I may ignore the other lies.”
We lived in the trenches for years, we see the filth, the destruction, the accusations & the mobs at the gate. What glitters is not gold but a fool’s pyrite spectacular covering a decaying world in the hands of the prince of lies. More people will come. They are coming now. We hope to open further the eyes & shout truth above the turbulent mass. We must begin the journey anew from cynic trench lords to Virgils who show the way through hell & out the other side to begin the ascension to the heavens.
Neomasculinity, neoreactionary, Alt-West-White-Lite-Right. There is a truth which shines a light on lies & is made to shine on the putrid ugliness. Who can gladly lay with filth in the light of day? We have victory behind and victory ahead and now we must sally forth replacing cynicism with courageous optimism.
“In this God’s with its wild-whirling eddies and mad foam-oceans, where men and nations perish as if without law, and judgement for an unjust thing is sternly delayed, dost thou think there is therefore no justice? It is what the fool hath said in his heart. It is what the wise, were wise because they denied, and knew forever not to be. I tell thee again, there is nothing else but justice. One strong thing I find here below: the just thing, the true thing. My friend if thou hast all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at they back in support of an unjust thing; and infinite bonfires waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf of it–I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, ‘In God’s name, No!’ They “success?” Poor devil; what will thy success amount to?” -ibid
“Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all,
And don your helmes amaine;
Deathe’s couriers, fame and honor, call
Us to the field againe.
No shrewish feares shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt’s in our hand–
Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land;
Let piping swaine, and craven wight,
Thus weepe and puling crye;
Our business is like men to fight,
And hero-like to die!”
-Motherwell “Cavalier’s Song”
Veritas numquam perit
The Poet
Gab. Click it because Diogenes bones look the same as Alexanders.
Society of Amateur Gentlemen 