I had no choice.
This was the only way to overcome the high-low vs middle. You couldn't call me the bad guy. I had no choice. I had no choice. Would you pull the trigger if you had no choice? Would you set the cage, the key, the gun, and the sandbag? Would you even know what choice meant? Or would you just judge, oblivious to situational positioning of the human being? Did anyone have a choice?
Maybe I was feeling guilty, asking questions to a fictional 'other', while deeper down on a subconscious level just trying to reassure myself.
I was the hero.
I was the bright spark, the shining star, the man overcoming, ready to flip the law tables... or perhaps just a stormcloud, another speck of dirt on the path, a plank upon the corpse rope over the chasm between the animal and the Overman.
Could I carry that weight?
"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him" I reassured myself looking at a forbidden picture of the King.
They didn't want us to know about the Sky King. He was the Rosa Parks of the 21st century, but they had memory holed him.
I had held onto this treasured artifact instead of purging it. It was the the ways of this world that needed purging.
I, Reinhart 'Lodestar' Zephyr would destroy this world. Chatmore had guaranteed my success. I really had no choice. It was either this or... Depravity City...
It all began long before I was born into it. Could I really judge myself for the debasery and debauchery I had indulged in?
In Depravity City (Mega City #616) chasing a constant stream of maximizing hedonistic highs was the norm.
The endless unliving. I moved yet I did not move. I felt yet I did not feel. I worked but I did no works. Ours was a perverted way.
Over 60% of the young were molested by the teachers as a means to propagate LGBTP+ foot-soldiers. I was one of the lucky ones, I had managed to hold onto my innocence, but as time elapsed, I realized I was being eaten alive by Depravity City as a young adult. It was easy to get lost in the hedonistic highs maximizing lifestyle.
The 'Events'.
The constant fucking and drugs, and high risk living. Always living in the now with no thought for the future. The perfect WcOoRnKsEoRoSmers.
It was only through working my way up the Auditing Bureau did I glimpse worlds beyond my own.
Historically harsh winters and future planning for crops was our selector. Now we were selected for dysgenic behaviour.
We were pushed towards short-termism. Towards lower IQs. Towards retardation. Towards total submission and controlability. Towards kitschy dysgenic fantasies. Selecting for those most living in the now, those most thinking "MUH DICK! MUH MAGIC! MUH FEELS!"
Even the managerial elites were hit by the dysgenic behaviour; they were the embodiment of the anti-human.
...
I remembered my past life in Depravity City. It was a Tuesday. I was drinking diluted Ayahuasca mixed with Benzofury and a select synthetic cocktail of drugs.
We took the pod car to the docks. The drugs made it feel like a movie. They carved this moment into an indelible memory. We chugged my personal concoction. The innards of the pod car are still with me. So much meaning, carved out of a period of transport to the circus and bread. It was all prepackaged consoomption, down to every last detail.
There would be an endless many just like us experiencing the same consoomption of the Event (or perhaps they had already experienced this event, or would do so at a future date). The only thing real that night was the non-standardized drug concoction. I had mixed it myself, based on my own understanding. Two of the ingredients were not sanctioned, but I had to have it.
Rooby Joobs, a negroid DJ was performing. It was a fun night with my group, Trolio got up to his usual pranks.
That night I looked at her. My love... but where was the love? Where was the sacred? Where was the soul? She didn't love me. She loved pleasures.
I was disillusioned, I was freed from the illusory perception. I could see reality.
I remember I had once asked Trolio during a drug orgy event what was his meaning or purpose to living.
"To find the magic" he responded.
It was then I knew I was surrounded by children seeking Peter Pan-esque innocence and avoidance of consequences. They all wanted to find the "magic", the short-term living in the now hedonistic high that gives you that fleeting rush and momentary validation.
That reaffirmation; the renewed optimism for the future, for people, for life itself. And it was true that this was something that must spread like a disease/virus/a wildfire through the population. But for them, for the people of Depravity City, this "magic" was mass sold, mass consoomed, and it had no caloric or nutritional value. It had the nutritional content of cardboard. Once you had put it in your mouth, you were already down from the high and requiring another fleeting peak.
Where was the pain? Where was the suffering? There was only emptiness. And nothing to contrast it with.
What was the relevance realization? Facsimiles of humans unaware of the loops that trapped them.
My generation was a mirage, but I could not believe the younglings. They were walking up to the women and physically molesting them as if this was the norm. I stood between this one youngling babe and some CHUD who was trying to grab her. Her immediate reaction was that she wanted to do me. I couldn't believe this crass Kitsch generation. As if Bio Mass wasn't enough... Who had taught them to behave like this? What depravity had emerged from such depravity?
And that's when it happened. I began to self-reflect. Where was my soul? My lodestar? My guiding star? What was meaning in consoomption? Even if that consoomption was a pre-packaged bought and sold social events with containment rebel stars such as Rooby Joobs? Was it all artificial meaning? Was any of it real? Did it have any bite? I had ever really lived?
I became disillusioned (breaking free from the illusion), but I didn't lose my self control. I didn't let my self go. I held steadfast, I held harder than anyone else. And my grip over reality began to tighten. And the stronger I became, the more flexible reality became. Chatmore helped me bend things towards my will to power.
"MUH DICK!" was for the lessers, the weaker, the unwise; the low impulse control savages and dysgenic hordes. They were not my people.
...
Our world had already fallen. It was like the fall of Rome.
We had let the homosexuals, the women, and the foreigners run amok.
The specific formula to destroy Civilization was the promotion of Sodomy, treating foreigners as natives, and it being common for women to hold office.
Every civilization has suffered from The Terrible Triumvirate of these dysgenic ideas before its collapse.
The world we lived in now was a highly technological sustained collapse. We were ghosts.
...
And so here I was outside of Jonestown. Watching the virtue machines conflict, as the people spoke the forbidden word. It was the Linchpin.
"Nigger! Nigger! Nigger!" they chanted.
If words control you, then that means other people can control you.
"Hey wanna hear a joke?" Chatmore asked.
"This isn't the time..."
Chatmore continued "A negroid says to a chosen one;
"what time is the pod shuttle due?"
"six thirty Nigger!"
The high-low versus middle phenomena was the act of the prevailing power (the high) teaming up with a client (the low) to keep the competing power (the middle) from gaining control. This was a balancing act, as the low would eventually become a competing power. Through using dysgenic hordes and Negroids as the low, the high was able to maintain indefinite control with no fear of being usurped.
They did everything they could to perfect this status quo. The power (the high) and the competing power (the middle) can be seen as castles. No matter what the high was planning there was something baked into our DNA, into our very souls that it could not prepackage. They couldn't stop the castle in the sky.
Humans are anti-fragile. I couldn't believe it at first, as we had been taught that we shattered like glass. We followed the behavioral scripts, indulging in maximized comfortable hedonistic highs, masking for what we were missing; a constant papering over of the soul. There was no script to tell us what we were missing.
It was purposefully built for us to feel incomplete, to feel hollow, like there was something missing, as this increased our levels of consoomption. We had been beyond atomized, and now we were reaching critical mass, and about to achieve fusion. A self-sustaining reaction would occur. It was inevitable.
I watched Jon Don as he confronted Tyrone N' Darius the third. There was something about Jon Don. I had chosen him due to his personality type, which would bring him to this point, but there was something more to him.
"What are you at war with? An idea?" I wondered.
There was something about him. He wasn't merely following scripts to eventual conclusion. Chatmore couldn't verify the outcome.
But the outcome was certain. The Pure Bloods rose up. Not even the Cops Corps could stop them.
"The hell? I thought cops were tougher than this" I overheard some Pure Bloods on the outskirts of Jonestown.
They had made quick work of the initial Negroid invasion. Chatmore had sent gun schematics to their printers, allowing them to arm themselves and rise up against the Monopoly of Violence.
The world as we knew it was was falling apart. But that would not be enough for change.
They would never concede. Hubris was theirs. Only total destruction and total war against the dysgenic elites could lead us unto salvation. There was no other choice. They had to be cleared out.
And us deracinated from history... how could we know truth? What was to stop us from repeating the same mistakes?
I followed Jon Don, keeping my distance, soon we would meet, our paths would cross, two worlds would collide, and history would irrevocably be changed. Nothing could stop me now!
Chapter 1 Killing Pride
Chapter 2 Save the Jew Save the World
Chapter 3 Faker Than the Holocaust
Chapter 4 Planet of the Niggers
Chapter 5 Twelve Angry Jews
Chapter 6 One Flew over the Jewcoos Nest
Chapter 7 From My Virtue to My Principles
Chapter 8 Gods of Culture
Chapter 9 The Twin Towers
Chapter 10 Totalitarianism of Compassion
Chapter 11 Day of the Rope
Chapter 12 The Infantilization of Man
Chapter 13 Talmudic Influence on the Polyhedron World
Chapter 14 DIE
Chapter 15 The Usurper
Chapter 16 What a Nation is Built Upon
Chapter 17 Chinese Terminator
Chapter 18 A Simulacrum on a Simulacrum
Chapter 19 Future Perfect; the Godless World
Chapter 20 The Cost of God
Chapter 21 Riddle Me This, Nigger
Chapter 22 Lodestar; the Love of Christ or a Change of Heart
Chapter 23 They Don't Think It Be Like It Is, But It Do