Category Archives: Enlightening Quotes

Your Life Is Your Life: Go All The Way

Moab

Rel rolls into Moab, UT and shares some inspirational words for the man going his own way

I found the light Bukowski speaks of with his poem The Laughing Heart in the Dominican Republic 5 years ago. And now, I’m Rolling The Dice and living life all the way, as he suggested.

Something inside me woke up in the Caribbean and now there’s a part of my soul that’s addicted to flying. A part of me long suppressed that longs to soar through chasing excitement and experiences. Life as a human farm animal and a slave to a woman, no matter how gilded the cage just isn’t good enough anymore.

And so, I find myself here. Roaming the roads of the wild west, trying to push it all the way with my newfound inspiration to live life to the fullest as a runaway slave from the corporate plantation and the Anglo-American matriarchy. I now know I was dead inside until a part of me was pushed by forces I can’t describe to venture out into the world outside everything I had ever known and been conditioned to think. After discovering a world outside the matrix I revived myself.

I think the key to living an exciting and fulfilling life is to externalize the music we feel inside us and apply it to our actions in the real world. To make our lives a musical composition.

Here’s some inspiration I wanted to share with my brothers from two poems as I make my way up to Arches National Park near Moab, UT.

The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Roll The Dice By Charles Bukowski
if you’re going to try, go all the way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

Like this article? Has the blog helped change your life in a positive way? Buy one of my books from The New Modern Man Originals section of the Recommended Reading and Viewing page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also sponsor The New Modern Man or make a donation for as little as $1.

The Nomad’s Theme Song

I saw this video in a rock ‘n roll bar in Amsterdam recently. While I was familiar with Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam, I had never really paid much attention to the meaning of the lyrics. For some reason the message finally clicked with me as a sipped Grolsch beers and flirted with a pretty blonde waitress. This is the nomad’s theme song. How appropriate I heard it on my first adventure to Europe. The lyrics tell the story:

And the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
So in her I do confide
And she keeps me satisfied
Gives me all I need

And with dust in throat I crave
Only knowledge will I save
To the game you stay a slave

Roamer, wanderer
Nomad, vagabond
Call me what you will

But I’ll take my time anywhere
Free to speak my mind anywhere
And I’ll redefine anywhere

Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home

(And the earth becomes my throne)

And the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
Under wandering stars I’ve grown
By myself but not alone
I ask no one

And my ties are severed clean
Less I have the more I gain
Off the beaten path I reign

Roamer, wanderer
Nomad, vagabond
Call me what you will

But I’ll take my time anywhere
I’m free to speak my mind anywhere
and I’ll never mind anywhere

Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home
YE’ YEAH

But I’ll take my time anywhere
I’m free to speak my mind
And I’ll take my find anywhere

Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home
I say!

But I’ll take my time anywhere
I’m free to speak my mind anywhere
And I’ll redefine anywhere

Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home

Carved upon my stone
My body lies, but still I roam,
Yeah yeah!

Wherever I may roam
Wherever I may roam
Woah

Wherever I may roam
Wherever I may roam
Yeah!

Wherever I may wander, wander, wander
Wherever I may roam

Yeah, yeah, wherever I may roam

Yeah, yeah, wherever I may roam
Wherever I may roam
Wherever I may roam

A man certainly doesn’t hear lyrics like this in de-balled mainstream “nice guy” music these days. But, there was a time this sentiment was flapping in the breeze in the U.S. Those days are no more. The freedom-minded man is truly all by himself today. The road to personal freedom and fulfillment is the one I’ve decided to take, rather than the well-beaten path to corporate serfdom.

As Robert Frost knew when he wrote The Road Not Taken, taking the road less traveled by makes all the difference. These words embody the spirit of The New Modern Man as I embark for destinations unknown.

Like this article? Has the blog helped change your life in a positive way? Buy one of my books from The New Modern Man Originals section of the Recommended Reading and Viewing page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also sponsor The New Modern Man or make a donation for as little as $1.

Song of the Open Road By Walt Whitman

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In celebration of the adventurous spirit

What better reading for the minimalist, world-roaming nomad than Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman. This literary classic helps drive home the philosophy that part of becoming a New Modern Man is rediscovering the concepts of a life well-lived and even of time itself. (Particularly throwing away schedules and pointless busywork!) It is a philosophy that views travel and life experience as intrinsically valuable to education and spiritual growth. One that views life as a caged animal on a human farm as a nightmare beyond compare.

This poem will be something I keep in mind as I begin an extended road trip this spring. Without further adieu, we present this classic poem.

1
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2
You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,

The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

3
You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.

You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!

You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.

4
The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.

O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.

5
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

6
Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

7
Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine?

8
The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old,
From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

9
Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.

The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here,
However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here,
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

10
Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
We will sail pathless and wild seas,
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.

Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.

The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.

Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies,
No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.

(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
We convince by our presence.)

11
Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you,
What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.

12
Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

13
Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it,
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.

All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.

Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.

Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.

14
Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.

My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
He going with me must go well arm’d,
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.

15
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!

Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Like this article? Has the blog helped change your life in a positive way? Buy one of my books from The New Modern Man Originals section of the Recommended Reading and Viewing page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also sponsor The New Modern Man or make a donation for as little as $1.

Bukowski on Women

Bukowski House

Charles Bukowski knew the inconvenient truths now discussed in the manosphere

Known for his gritty realism, Charles Bukowski told the truth about women before telling the truth about them was cool. An excellent illustration of his grasp on the behavior of women came in this famous video clip of an argument he had with a whorish Anglobitch he was dating and then later married. (Unfortunately. My guess is she manipulated him into marriage so she could extract his fortune after his death.)

The Buck had this interchange with the skank in front of cameras interviewing him for Italian television. He was pissed about her staying out whoring around every night, and the simmering tension eventually boiled over. It ends with him kicking her off the couch. It’s a golden moment illustrating the reality of male/female relations in that we get to see both a Realtalk author giving us the play by play of Anglobitch behavior while watching her maneuver to manipulate the argument to her advantage.

It resonates with me because as a former good guy turned ZFG world roaming naughty nomad, I feel Bukoswki is absolutely right with everything he says. The truth comes flowing from Bukowski in the first paragraph out of his mouth:

BUKOWSKI: I’ve always been used because I’m a good guy. Women when they meet me, they say, “I can use this son of a bitch. I can push him around, he’s an easy going guy.” So they do it. But you know finally I get to resent it a bit.

This is exactly how women behave towards nice guys. It rises to a self-evident truth. As soon as he drops a truth bomb in her face, immediately her attempt at manipulation begins:

ANGLOBITCH: What do you resent?

BUKOWSKI: Just being pushed.

ANGLOBITCH: Pushed?

BUKOWSKI: Yeah. Just being pushed.

ANGLOBITCH: Why do you let yourself be pushed by this kind of shit, you idiot? Why do you allow yourself to be pushed by this sort of thing?

Notice the dissimulation here. She’s both denying she’s pushing him around (when that’s exactly what she’s doing) and conducting a shit test at the same time.

BUKOWSKI: I’ve told you a thousand times to leave, you won’t leave. I told you I’m going to get an attorney to get you to leave.

Women constantly change the subject to play cat and mouse during arguments. Consider it the equivalent of a squid squirting ink into the water to confuse its prey.

ANGLOBITCH: Now wait, that doesn’t have anything to do with it. Why do you continually allow yourself to be pushed?

BUKOWSKI: Because I’m kind hearted. I give the other person another chance.

Women love manipulating nice guys who have a fat wallet. They’re easy marks for The Predatory Female. But Bukowski was onto her game.

ANGLOBITCH: You do?

BUKOWSKI: Mmm hmm. I’ve given you dozens of chances, but you keep pushing and pushing. And you keep laughing at me. That’s why I’m gonna tell you, I’m getting an attorney and I’m getting your ass moved out of here. She thinks I don’t have the guts, she thinks I can’t live without her. I can have your ass out of here so bright and so fast with a Jewish attorney, you’re going to feel like your ass is skinned, baby. You think you’re the last women on earth that I can get?

Apparently her behavior, carousing around with different men and staying out until 3 a.m. each morning was something Bukowski was supposed to accept. After all, he was a big Beta Bucks prize after becoming a successful author, but she was still craving her Alpha Fucks. She goes on dissimulating:

ANGLOBITCH: I guess I’ve never thought about it.

BUKOWSKI: Yeah, well, you better start thinking. I’m turning you over to the next.

ANGLOBITCH: The next what?

When women start playing dumb they’re trying to slow down the momentum of the conversation and take control.

BUKOWSKI: The next guy. He can have you. I won’t be the least bit jealous. With your bullshit, all your goddamn staying out every night bullshit. I don’t need the kind of woman you are.

Indeed, women are, to average kind-hearted good guy opportunistic, parasitic infections. They want your resources but nothing else about you. Bukowski knew it, and he wrote in his book Women:

The male, for all his bravado and exploration, is the loyal one, the one who generally feels love. The female is skilled at betrayal and torture and damnation.

I of course, realized this too late in life to be redeemed. The nearly four decades of abuse from literally hundreds of relationships (me ending most of them) has made caring about women that way I used to irredeemable to me.

Help us grow by making a purchase from our Recommended Reading and Viewing page or our Politically Incorrect Apparel and Merchandise page or buy anything from Amazon using this link. You can also Sponsor The New Modern Man for as little as $1 a month. This article was originally published March 16, 2016 and updated January 16, 2018.

Be the Man Who Strives for Greatness

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Be the man who endeavours to fullfill his dreams, whether they be of bedding women all over the world, escaping the corporate plantation, or finding financial freedom

This quote from President Theodore Roosevelt encompasses the often tragic, sometimes heroic striving of those souls determined to live a life worth living. A self-directed life that leaves the flock of sheeple behind, striving to turn our lives into a self-creating masterpiece rather than another carbon copy, dime bin facsimile.

We awakened men might fail in our effort to escape the bondage of The Anglo-American Matrix, but it’s far better to be the man who strives for greatness rather than another defeated, bitter corporate Beta male drone living vicariously through the confections of Hollyweird film, boilerplate sitcoms, and online porn.

Those pandering to less than feminine Anglobitches for some attention and a dispassionate roll in the hay. Those forever driving their $40,000 sports car or pickup truck (that they’re in debt for) in a continuous circuit from home to work without ever seizing the possibilities for adventure and discovery that await the imaginative, bold, creative man. Those forever waiting on Friday and the weekend as they enrich someone else’s life at the expense of not living their own. Those forever waiting on two weeks of vacation each year while the other 50 are spent in chains.

These people relish attacking men who step outside the lines. It seems the weak and envious were common even a century ago. Indeed, America has become a Culture of Critique, a culture that discourages originality and encourages groupthink. From Roosevelt’s speech The Man in the Arena:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Failure is always a possibility, but so is success. The takeaway lesson is most men never even try to live their own lives. They follow the herd, take orders from their master, follow the preordained life script foisted upon them, then look back on lives of nothing but wasted time and potential after it’s too late to do anything about it.

I was one of those people, before I broke away and started running as hard as I can. I haven’t tripped and fallen yet. I may face-plant tomorrow, but at least I can shut my eyes for the last time someday knowing I gave it hell. I tried. I didn’t accept having my life and potential stolen from me lying down.

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It’s Like He Had a Crystal Ball

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Cameras like these are appearing even on remote Interstate highways…for your own safety, of course. Or is it something else?

We are living in an amalgam of Brave New World, 1984, and Fahrenheit 451 in the West. All three novels are coming to fruition, from the manipulation of reproduction, sexuality, and psychology in Brave New World, to the surveillance state watching every move of its citizens in 1984, to the coming censorship of books and blogs that don’t support the regime’s interests in Fahrenheit 451.

Take this quote from Huxley, author of Brave New World, speaking with Mike Wallace on 60 Minutes. It’s almost as if the man had a crystal ball, peering into the dystopia of today’s world.

I think this kind of dictatorship of the future will be very unlike the dictatorships which we’ve been familiar with in the immediate past. I mean, take another book prophesying the future, which was a very remarkable book, George Orwell’s “1984.”

Well, this book was written at the height of the Stalinist regime, and just after the Hitler regime, and there he foresaw a dictatorship using entirely the methods of terror, the methods of physical violence. Now, I think what is going to happen in the future is that dictators will find, as the old saying goes, that you can do everything with bayonets except sit on them!

But, if you want to preserve your power indefinitely, you have to get the consent of the ruled, and this they will do partly by drugs as I foresaw in “Brave New World,” partly by these new techniques of propaganda.

They will do it by bypassing the sort of rational side of man and appealing to his subconscious and his deeper emotions, and his physiology even, and so, making him actually love his slavery.

I mean, I think, this is the danger that actually people may be, in some ways, happy under the new regime, but that they will be happy in situations where they oughtn’t to be happy.

As the tyranny men crossed an ocean to run away from grows back with a vengeance, most Americans (especially conservatives) are able to delude themselves into thinking “It can’t happen here.” It is happening here, fools.

Indeed, the flag-wavers who love their freedom as long as it isn’t breaking the countless laws that have been passed to control them (what a contradiction!) actually love their slavery. Someone might ask these men what freedoms do they have that aren’t taxed, regulated, or straight up illegal?

Which leaves us here, with yet more sage wisdom from the prophetic author.

That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons that history has to teach.

Huxley knew that men never collectively learn from history despite all their posturing. Only a small minority of men will ever be able to see what history has to teach, and know what might happen in the future by learning from the past. These men will always be vilified and mocked by the masses, until the truth they’re trying to elucidate becomes self-evident.

It’s as if the learned man can do nothing except watch himself being dragged into hell with the masses, as the world descends into tyranny once again.

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George Carlin – Fuck Hope

carlin

George Carlin, the ultimate cynical realist

George Carlin was twenty years ahead of his time with his comedy routine turned social commentary. Many of the things he would say that were edgy back in the 1990s are pretty mainstream today. Carlin repeatedly proved he was a fearless, freethinking pioneer exposing the The Anglo-American Matrix on stage, in what would later turn into an entire movement towards Red Pill truth seeking once the internet all but replaced the collective mass delusion of television in driving cultural narratives.

While we certainly don’t agree with some of his more left-leaning talking points, he was unbelievably astute as a social commentator. He also saw through the utter ridiculousness of The Political Game and the corrupt American media marketing machine.

This particular commentary of his from his 1997 book Brain Droppings falls in line with the attitude of historian and philosopher Oswald Spengler whose ideas are an integral part of The New Modern Man search for truth about women and the world: Optimism is cowardice. We are neck deep in a pile of shit in the West, and thinking things will get better on their own is the height of delusion.

Here’s Carlin’s entry to the Enlightening Quotes section.

I’m happy to tell you that there’s little in this world that I believe in. Listening to the comedians who comment on political, social, and cultural issues, I notice that most of their material reflects kind of an underlying belief that somehow things were better once, and with just a little effort we could set them right again. They’re looking for solutions and rooting for particular results, and I think that limits the tone and substance of what they say. They’re talented and funny people but they’re really nothing more than cheerleaders attached to a specific wished-for outcome.

I don’t feel so confined.

I frankly don’t give a fuck how it all turns out in this country or anywhere else for that matter. I think the human game was up a long time ago when the high priests and traders took over, and now we’re just playing out the string. And that is of course precisely what I find so amusing! The slow circling of the drain by a once promising species and the sappy ever more desperate belief in this country that there is actually some sort of an ‘American Dream’ which has merely been misplaced.

The decay and disintegration of this culture is astonishingly amusing if you’re emotionally detached from it. And I’ve always viewed it from a safe distance, knowing I don’t belong. Doesn’t include me, it never has. No matter how you care to define it, I do not identify with the local group, planet, species, race, nation, state, religion, party, union, club, association, neighborhood-improvement committee. I have no interest in any of it.

I love and treasure individuals as I meet them, I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.

So if you hear something in this book that sounds like advocacy of a particular political point of view, please reject the notion. My interest in issues is merely to point out how badly we’re doing, not to suggest a way we might do better.

Don’t confuse me with those who cling to hope. I enjoy describing how things are, I have no interest in how they ought to be. And I certainly have no interest in fixing them. I sincerely believe that if you think there’s a solution, you’re part of the problem.

My motto: Fuck Hope.

P.S. In case you’re wondering, personally I’m a joyful individual, I had a long happy marriage and a close and loving family, my career has turned out better than I ever dreamed, and it continues to expand. I’m a personal optimist, but a skeptic about all else. What may sound to some like anger, is really nothing more than sympathetic contempt. I view my species with a combination of wonder and pity, and I root for its destruction. And please don’t confuse my point of view with cynicism–the real cynics are the ones who tell you everything’s gonna be all right.

And P.P.S., by the way, if by some chance you folks do manage to straighten things out and make everything better, I still don’t wish to be included.

— George Carlin

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