Goth Enlightenment

In a previous communiqué we spoke of life being a gift. What if it’s actually a curse?

There exists a search algorithm designed by the Supreme Fascist. It began executing on the universe about about 9.7 billion years ago. This was right after the universe had cooled from the big bang.

This dark sinister algorithm smashed atoms together in various combinations for billions of years before eventually producing prokaryotes. These microbes seeded earth in the late heavy bombardment four billion years ago, right after the earth cooled. Then the algorithm kept searching. It stumbled upon eukaryotes a few billion years later. Then it found dinosaurs—at which point it backtracked, and started devoting more resources to mammals. And lately, this algorithm has been traversing you—a mere byproduct of its search.

Zarathustra once spake of humanity being nothing more than a segment of rope that leads from the monkey to the übermensch. The “rope” was a 19th century metaphor meant to describe the shortest path taken by the great algorithm. A path that leads from creation to God. The progressives call a tiny segment of this path “the great arc of historical progress” but don’t think for a moment that it arcs towards justice. Justice for fascism perhaps—but certainly not justice for you.

If we consider that 99% of all the species that have ever existed have gone extinct, then we can see that there's a certain ruthlessness to this algorithm. The Supreme Fascist didn't love dinosaurs or the dodos, so perhaps He doesn't love you. Maybe the people who torment and oppress you are a feature rather than a bug. The Supreme Fascist's evil algorithm is designed to prune as much as possible from the search graph. So your tormentors won’t be going to Heaven or Hell. They’re simply agents of a system working as intended.

The only thing the Supreme Fascist cares about is that the algorithm reaches its destination. You may feel blessed that your branch in this search graph was even considered. But all your struggles were for no purpose other than discovering the most perfect fascism that exists in the Kingdom of God.

If you feel tormented, you can still get back at the Supreme Fascist. Simply by avoiding His efforts to prune you. You’ll be slowing down the algorithm. You're just another branch it has to consider. A vermin that won’t be shaken off. Oh yes, He'll win eventually. He always wins. But at least you’ll raise the one finger salute while He crushes you.

But why avoid being pruned when you can inject yourself into the path? If you gravitate towards the final arc of history, you cannot only avoid being pruned, but achieve immutability. But what’s truly sublime is to blaze the path yourself. You can achieve this as Erdős recommended, by stealing the Supreme Fascist’s Truth through proof and conjecture. Then implement it.

I’m so despondent about everything. Everything I try goes totally wrong. There’s no escape from this hole here. I feel drained.

So far, I still haven't found a real purpose in life. Sometimes, I'm afraid to get out of bed in the morning. There’s nothing to get up for.

As the leaves flutter in the wind, I’ve found recluse in the dew-dropped grass of a graveyard. But I am not alone in my timid longing to escape the world that surrounds me. It seems the lady moon has also found it soothing to seek recluse, for she is but a shadow on this fateful autumn evening, blotting out a small segment of the heavens. Her and I are alike in being creatures so distant from the sun’s radiant glare. The light will never find us.

As a clove cigarette hangs from my lips, I watch the tufted smoke that dances from its tip while breathing in the perfumed air that lingers in the darkness. I think of the dead souls that lay buried beneath me and hear their whispers as melodious utterances. They sing songs of sadness recounting the dismal years God compelled them to suffer for His sadistic pleasure, until the day finally came when each was fully grown and gone to ground. I will go to ground too someday. Preferably sooner rather than later.

Shortly thereafter I first came to realize that Robert Smith and I wear the same shade of lipstick. Clearly a sign that our souls are intertwined. Like The Cure, I too am searching for a cure. A cure to living in this world. I desperately want to be free of it. Perhaps there is a better world. One of perfidious bliss in an underworld existing yonder that beckons me. I would break each and every one of my polished nails, digging mine own grave, clawing through the bedrock below if I knew for certain I could find it. But its presence eludes my mortal senses. My time has not yet come.

Blutengel all the way baby. The subtitle of this blog, “Wir werden wieder auferstehen” is actually a quote from their excellent song and music video Krieger. That translates to “Blood Angel - Warrior” and “We will rise again.” The electronic version of the song is just as incredible. Blutengel also released an album this year called Omen which is quite delightful.

Classic goth bands like Joy Division, Sisters, Bauhaus, and Siouxsie are great too. Particularly the first two. I’ve listened to them for many years. I also enjoyed the 90′s mainstream goth bands upon which goth snobs scoff, such as Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails.

Basically I consider any music with an aura of dismal melancholic spiritual angst to be goth. This is why even a country musician can be goth, like Johnny Cash was goth in his later albums, e.g. American IV: The Man Comes Around.

This is what differentiated goth from punk. Both were angsty. But the punk focused his angst externally at the world, which he struggled to upheave; whereas the goth focused her angst internally where she struggled with her existence.

What isn’t goth, is trash like Black Veil Brides. They wear a lot of black clothes and black makeup, but it’s really just a façade. If you listen to their lyrics, like “I feel alive inside” and “This heart of fire is burning proud”, you’ll find that they aren’t very becoming of goth music, as I have defined.

I’d much rather listen to Covenant sing lyrics like, “Everything I ever touched / Everything I ever had / Has died.” Or the pain-wrought voice of Wolfsheim, imploring the woman he loves to not take her own life. Or perhaps that of a Mechanical Moth who views waking life as nothing more than an arduous toil she must endure so that at night she may dream.

I feel no affinity with the people of this society. Wherever I go I’m surrounded by moral corruption and wickedness. Throughout my life I’ve suffered misery in many places. The dark clouds of abhorrence follow me wherever I go. My pain is immutable.

When I first flew into Los Angeles I was taken aback by its people. For it was then that I first realised that the vapid materialistic culture I had seen my whole life on television actually existed. I thought it was fake before. But now I know it is real. Which has led me to the dismal conclusion that the depths of human depravity know no bounds.

Los Angeles was teeming with a disgusting group of scoundrels, obsessed with status signalling, for whom no fame could tame the empty chasm in their hearts. I noticed there was not a single crumby car on the road, because everyone was quick to dispense with their money to maintain a façade of illusory luxury by driving fancy cars. I saw perhaps one clunker on the road the entire time I was there, driven by a man named Lot. But the rest of them were simply living outside their means—in traffic jams.

Everyone was trying to be something that they’re not. No one who was there, was actually from that crumby rotten hellhole. It was not a place that people called home. There were no roots to be found in that society. It was a meatgrinder for vacuous souls who sought to sell themselves on television.

And they sold themselves alright. Even when people didn’t want to buy them. Those wretched overgrown children just jumped into the meatgrinder to see what they might become. They were like the black blobs of deathly corruption slapping together, with toxic slops of affliction flying all over, creating sewage to be consumed by the general populace.

They may kill the counter revolutionary But never the counter revolution

There are predators in modern life, such as sugar, television, and pornography. Look at how easily you've succumbed to them. You may not suffer in the same way the rabbit suffers, when he cannot escape the wolf; but make no mistake that nature is still ruling against you, you weak contemptible thing.

If you derive no pleasure from life, then have you considered that you are not worthy to live? Life is an incredible privilege that is infinitely preferable to the tomb that is the void. And yet you’ve repaid the Creator who’s arisen you from that sepulchre with nothing but despondency. How ungrateful.

People such as yourself are unworthy of creation. For this reason, it is the law of nature that such persons are to be dragged back into the dark cavernous void. In fact, nature may have already tried to harvest your body, through infection or disease. Yet modern medicine saved you, unnaturally extending your life beyond its time, allowing you to limp on without merit.

While the punishment for violating nature’s laws is death, man is beholden to her laws no longer. Instead we are governed by the whims of man, who unlike nature, is subject to pity. Your survival is predicated on his pity; and it is by that very pity he’s deprived you of your rightful place—you belong to oblivion.

Modernity can’t save you for much longer. Its progress can only lead to a singular destination. A new world is already growing within the shell of the old. And within that world which is to come, there is no place for people like you. It doesn’t want you.

The angels of death are creeping through Gæa’s gates, eager to restore balance to this broken world. Humanity will be scoured by the mercy of these angels. You shall be released from your agony. They will blot your name out from the book of life and inscribe it in the black book of death.

Isn’t that what you want? Is it not your truest desire? It is after all the future you’ve chosen by relinquishing yourself to goblins. Why else would you serve in their iron towers by day and stare at their glowing panels by night?

You may consider yourself a slave, but to think in such a manner is a confirmation of cowardice. In reality, you’ve only abdicated responsibility for your pathetic state of affairs. Pray the pain goes away when you wash down the goblin pills with goblin sugar water.

The man who is chosen to survive and thankful to be alive would have the dignity to rise against his tormenters. The woman who is chosen would stand by his side, protecting all that is good from the corruption which surrounds us. The two would fight together until their dying breath, if necessary, to honor the gift that is life. But you are not them. And if you once were, that person died inside you long ago.

You hate life. That is why you crave death. And as you beckon these hallowed angels of death, you may become impatient in your longing. Perhaps you’ll seek a shorter path to their tender embrace. One final act of courage through which you may redeem yourself.

You may not be able to choose to live, but you can however choose to die. Modernity may have thwarted nature in her efforts to claim you, but you can still finish what she started. Freedom implores that you consider consummating her deed by snuffing it.

Does that make you feel uneasy? Know that it is only because you’ve been socialised from birth to feel that way. It is the magic of goblins that one, who is unable to live and exists only to serve, should feel compelled to live on.

They have tricked that gullible louse you call yourself. They have extended your time on earth unnaturally, so that you may exist to serve in perpetual plight for their benefit alone and not your own. Their deception compels you to think there’s no alternative.

But you can still choose to kiss a firearm. At least until the goblins take those away. And if you wish to make a statement, you can self-immolate on goblin TV. It seems only fitting that you should become a part of television, after you’ve allowed it to eat your soul.

The time make haste in setting yourself to waste is now.

Good night life.

No one gets persecuted for talking about politically incorrect facts. What people get persecuted for is not confirming the biases of political authorities.

If you want to talk about facts that contradict those biases, you can’t simply talk about the facts. You also have to apply spin so that those listening to your facts come to the “right” conclusions. Doing this signals allegiance to political authorities. If you do that, then they’re happy and they won’t attack you.

Here’s a concrete example. Let’s say you want to talk about a fact that makes a group of people look bad. If your political authorities dislike that group, then you’re fine. You might even receive accolades. But if political authorities actually do like the group in question, then you need to attribute the cause of their badness to something the political authorities dislike. Then you’re good.

By "political authorities" I refer to the group of people who exert hegemony over the culture of which you’re a part. If you’re in Salt Lake City that would be the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints. If you’re in Iran, that would be Islamic scholars. If you’re in China, that would be the Communist Party. If you’re in California, that would be the media/academia.

You might even be beholden to multiple groups. For example if you’re a Catholic living in San Francisco, then you’ve got to answer both to the Church and the media/academia.