Enter Mephistopheles

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Betafaust is pacing in the bowels of the university library.  It is finals week, so there is a line at the bathroom.

Mephistopheles enters from stage left.

Mephistopheles: Greetings, mere mortal.

Betafaust: What?

M: I mean, is this the line for the bathroom?

B: Oh.  Yeah.

M: Excellent.  Man’s virtue is sorely pressed by a heavy bladder.

B: Do you think it’d help if I crossed my legs?  That Asian dude is taking forever.

M: I don’t know.  I have a deal to offer, though.

B: I’m all set on addys, man.  Thanks, though.

M: How about twenty-four months of earthly power?

B: Isn’t it supposed to be twenty-four years?

M: Blame Nixon’s dismantling of Bretton-Woods.  And cheap credit.

Betafaust laughs.

B: That’s better than the one about economists and dog shit.

Mephisopheles snaps his fingers.

M: A mere taste of what could be yours, mortal…

The bathroom door opens, and out walks the Asian, carrying his textbook.

B: Oh, thank Christ.

Betafaust exits the stage through the bathroom door, as the Asian exits stage right.

M: That’s just rude.

 

One of the pernicious obstacles to unveiling the true contours of the sexual marketplace is the compromise of identity which occurs when long-held beliefs are challenged.  The artist formerly known as Roissy refers to it as soul-shivving.  For my part, I think it takes on the air of a Faustian bargain.  Knowledge is power, but stripping away the illusions of feminine virtue requires a surrender of the beta soul.  And there is no turning back once the curtain is lifted.

A ‘Murrican Tune

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If shooting is one of your hobbies, you will have noticed that there is precious little ammunition, and guns are pretty thin on the ground, too. The panic-buyers, convinced that the United States will imminently go full-Zimbabwe, have picked store shelves clean. Enterprising hustlers have started buying up the remainder to flip to the Chicken-Littles at vastly inflated prices, ensuring that the supply chain will stay barren for at least a few more months. Needless to say, the specter of a renewed assault weapons ban has not dampened the irrationally exuberant buying of black rifles.

If shooting is not one of your hobbies, stick around, because this post is not just about Mr. Minuteman above: it’s a discussion of how we got to the point where millions of Americans are somewhat seriously preparing for a second civil war, albeit not seriously enough to get in shape.

If one holds that “he who governs least, governs best,” then William Henry Harrison was a truly exemplary statesman. Jefferson, the most eloquently anti-federalist President, expanded the power of the Presidency with the Louisiana Purchase despite worrying that his actions were unconstitutional; subsequent enablers of executive power-grabbing have largely abandoned such concerns, to the point that it took a thirteen-hour filibuster to confirm that drone strikes targeting American citizens on American soil were not, in fact, legally permissible.

The Bill of Rights may still be paid lip service, but most of its protections are long gone. Property can be seized before a trial has adjudicated guilt, protestors are pepper-sprayed and teargassed by police, and Congress is now seriously considering banning private sales of firearms. Sitting Senators have been detained at airports by the TSA, and the rest of us are allowed to choose between assault by radiation via the whole-body scanner, or groping at the hands of the boys in blue.

The house-to-house searches in Boston, conducted on the pretext of “exigent circumstances,” are the new nadir of the Land of the Free. When men and women cheer for police who, hours before, dragged them from their homes at gunpoint, the government can only grow bolder.

Some twenty-nine percent of Americans, it is reported, expect that armed revolution will become necessary within the next few years. The Department of Homeland Security has deemed people who keep more than a week’s worth of food possible domestic terrorists, bitter clingers to the ideal of rugged individualism.

The logic of empire, like the systemic manipulation of financial markets, is hostile to the rule of law, and thus to the long-term survival of the American Republic. It is in such a capricious political climate that fascism has its greatest appeal. At least the Dear Leader will make the trains run on time, and keep the banks from absconding with your money, but that will be cold comfort to those unfortunates deemed enemies of the state.

In the meantime, most of the American nation will slumber on, hypnotized by the wan blue glow of their television screens, gorged on cheap food, and sated by a torrent of Internet porn. Some will wake up, and realize that Columbia is dying on her feet. It is time for last rites, but the priest is nowhere to be found.

People are all too eager to leverage the government against their political foes, until Leviathan is invited to peer into every bedroom, and eavesdrop on every conversation. Where the power of the State does not yet reach, the wicked are crucified by narrative and public opinion. Woe betide the enemies of the clerisy of progress, at least for now; thoughtcrime will lose a man his livelihood and friends.

In Cyprus, depositors (petty creditors, really) saw their assets seized to keep troubled banks afloat. Similar plans have been floated in Italy, Spain, Canada, and New York. Wealth confiscations look to be the order of the day for some time to come, spiking a sharp increase in the price of physical gold. The drop in the gold futures market also seems to have precipitated a reassessment of Bitcoin’s viability.

Poor, desperate, childless young men are the backbone of upheaval, and there will soon be many more of them. While termagants continue to shriek about equal pay, the average dual-income household of today has less purchasing power than the average single-income household of the 1950s. While women throw themselves at rapists and mass murderers both foreign and domestic, half of those men who endeavor to start a family will have it ripped from them by divorce.

Depite all the thunderheads on the horizon, nothing will happen, at least for a while. But the center cannot hold, and ours are certainly interesting times.

Maximum Hedons

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One of the things that has always puzzled me about Utilitarian ethics is how one defines the “greater good;” I’ve seen people use aggregate happiness as a proxy measure, but this seems to be grossly insufficient, mainly due to hedonistic treadmilling. Dopamine resistance is a bitch; just ask any meth user.

I have to admit that Kant’s proscriptive categorical imperative sits better with me than a system of prescriptive ethics. (Too, Hot Fuzz left a lasting impression: “The Greater Good… the Greater Good.”) It is more defensible, from a secular perspective, not least since ‘utils’ are nearly as fatuously meaningless as ‘spoos.’ Too, within a Kantian framework, one is free to pursue biological imperatives without attending to some ephemeral obligation to wider society.

By contrast to the various secular ethics, Christian morality, like the codes laid down by other religions, is both prescriptive and proscriptive, and, provided that everyone agrees on the theology, quite eminently defensible. Unfortunately, however, as the inimitable Dalrock has pointed out many times, Churchians bow down in the service of the feminine imperative, which Rollo notes is ubiquitous in Western culture.

I would like to add another wrinkle to this knotty tapestry:

Nietzsche noted that, in a post-Christian world, the inevitable product of the conflation of Truth and Good, we would value very little but health and happiness. Though the Mother Church and her various prodigals still stand, it would not be a stretch to assert that the rot is in the foundation. We are witnessing the birth of Generation Nihilism, by c-section.

Men and women utterly committed to chasing personal happiness, the dream of “having it all,” seem to not be that fulfilled. They drift on through the world, some under their own power, others not, buffeted by the currents of uncaring Fortune. Few of the Millenials care all that much about virtues of any stripe, Christian or not, but at least the constant stream of videogames and internet porn, snark columns and reality TV, at least that keeps them in a somnolent dopamine haze. What is there to care about, if caring only about your own happiness makes you discontent?

Funny thing about people: they want to believe in things. It’s as natural as breathing for most of us. Unfortunately, as has been noted elsewhere more eloquently and at greater length, modern culture is wholly vacuous. And it sucks.

The End is Nigh!

The apocalypse isn’t coming. Not today, not tomorrow.

Sorry, fellas. Obama’s probably not the Anti-Christ any more than Bush was. Both are merely statist progressives who’ve groped your civil liberties harder than Bubba the overly-friendly TSA agent. The Rapture’s not just around the corner, and you’re stuck with the heathens and the Presbyterians for a little longer.

All that being said, it’s always a good idea to know how to shoot, fight, and fuck like a real man. Not because some mob of scary brown people from the city will be invading your suburban whitopia, you candy-ass SWPL, but because your ancestors are spinning in their graves as you turn your back on the manly virtues which built every last thing you take for granted.

Don’t rush out to buy a $900 AR-15 receiver, take a basic firearms course or ask a friend who knows how to shoot to teach you. Incidentally, many (most?) states’ hunter safety courses include live fire training.

Don’t be this guy: nobody who pukes when a gun goes off would last through a societal breakdown. Keep that in mind while you keyboard jockeys wank about whether an AK or a Mosin would be better “SHTF gun.”

Shooting is a skill all men should have, just like reading a map, or changing a tire. Men who are good at being men have very little to fear from the challenges of today and tomorrow.

Unplanned Pregnancies, Single Moms, and the Impending Apocalypse

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I cross-posted this in a comment thread on this article on Dave Futrelle’s Manboobz:

From The Journal of Sex Research:
“An estimated 3.1 million unintended pregnancies are experienced by women in the United States each year, and just over one half (52%) of these are experienced by women who did not use any method of contraception in the month of conception (Finer & Henshaw, 2006).”

http://www.questia.com/library/1G1-278880601/willingness-to-have-unprotected-sex

This looks a whole lot like young men and women are both throwing caution to the wind. Now, if we could get more of these women on OCPs, maybe that’d help, but something like Norplant or Depo would doubtless be more effective. (I doubt you will get much reliable condom use out of this demographic, and consistent use of the pill may also be putting the bar a bit high.) The breakdown of unintended pregnancies by the Brookings Institute shows that most accidental parents are young and poor, that is to say, likely welfare recipients.

Also, compared to the cost of raising a kid, BC is dirt cheap. I don’t have an issue with the state subsidizing family planning, in fact, I’m a strong proponent for it, but I do not believe that the current trend of (de facto) reproductive subsidy is sustainable, let alone desirable.

Oh, needless to say, that is misogynist and woman-blaming.

I can sort of understand; nobody wants to call time on a party, but the reality is that our welfare state (of which, many single mothers are a beneficiary) is wholly unsustainable.  We’ve borrowed too much money, and now have no way to pay it off.  Debt-to-income ratios have skyrocketed, driven in part by easy-money inflationary policies; hello, Helicopter Ben.  See, people are like bacteria in a bottle; they’ll keep going until they are drowning in their own shit.

Funny thing is, Ben Bernanke even agrees that the current deficit spending is unsustainable.  He’s right that the government does benefit from inflation lowering the real value of its debt.  Unfortunately, that same inflation only encourages the government to assume more debt so they can promise everyone a free lunch pretty much everything.  Housing, food, medical care, you name it.  Coincidentally, the easy money provided by inflation also encourages investors to gamble on increasingly-risky prospects, until the whole thing collapses.

There’s a problem, though.  In European countries, the public health systems require that you pay in more when you fail to take care of your health.  The taxes are up-front.  (Of course, they’re wrestling with austerity measures, themselves.)

In America, though?  We’re not like them, we’ve only got socialized whatever-you-want once you’ve got no money.  And the quickest way to have no money is to spend, spend, spend.

It’s good for the economy, until it isn’t.  But nobody wants to hear that resources are limited, and I don’t want you to have any of mine.

To be clear, single moms on welfare are not the entirety of the problem, just the termite holes on the outside of a hollowed edifice.  Dalrock had a good post in October discussing the degree to which (contemporary) society is built around wealth transfer to women from men, but it seems like the music’s about to stop, and there aren’t too many chairs left.  Or, rather, there aren’t enough young men to pull out the chairs for the single moms having a seat.

Either way, last one out of Western civilization, please turn out the lights.

Big Top is Crumbling Down

Sometimes, when I’m bored on the train in to work, I’ll text snippets of song lyrics to the women I keep in touch with, not only because the non sequitur is more likely to garner a response, but also because it amuses me to do so. The phrasing is odd, but as long as there’s no rhyming, you’re not likely to get called out on it.

This morning, it was “I really, really need a raincoat.” I can’t say I really listen to Counting Crows, but it seemed apropos. (Today, it is indeed raining in Baltimore.)

With her an hour away, nothing is likely to happen, but that’s how it works. It’s still fun to keep in touch and catch up over a beer or three and go dancing when she’s back in town.

In the meantime, the rest of the circus goes on.

Brave New Sexual Marketplace

A few of my drinking buddies are on OkC, and one is even a moderator. Apparently, all you have to do to earn that honor is refrain from sending women pictures of your junk.

The appeal, I suppose, is that you can filter out the people who don’t want the same things you do before you get into anything approximating a relationship. Then again, Skittles and Bring da Movies Man are committed(ish) boyfriends.

To me, running the risk of being matched with a woman who’s been fed one too many times after midnight just isn’t worth it. Though there are some cute redheads, they’ve probably decided to buy a cat or two after receiving a flurry or two of unsolicited dick pics.