Our babysitters, the Internet

The so-called millennials, of which I am a cohort, are arguably the first generation to be essentially raised in part by the Internet. Mostly white and middle class, our mid-management or self-employed parents may have had any or all of the now comical iterations of personal computers released through the 90s, which they used mostly for work.  Thanks its near ubiquity post millennium, however, many of our formative years were formed by access, in some way or another, to the Internet.  Just like being front of the television was, and still is, a sickening, lazy (but often necessary) technique to raise a child in a time-strapped, single parent family, the internet was, for many, the “tv” of our youth.  Being in part ‘raised by the Internet’ has had huge implications, for better or worse, on our role in Post-Industrial society.

A familiar site for many of us growing up with or around a computer

While films such the Matrix and the entire genre of Cyberpunk made allusions to the deep sub-cultures that had existed within the Internet since its inception as a research and communications tool (DARPANET) for the military, techies, and nerds, they were effectively still a small, tight-knit set of communities on a budding new platform that was in no way user-friendly. It was chaotic, unruled and its obtuse nature gave it an undeniable sense of mystery. Now, however, children swipe mindlessly on tablets with an aloofness that would make William Gibson himself blush.

The millennial generation was their immediate predecessor. Whether it was at the school library or the creaking AOL connection at home, many budding young people had a glimpse into the wonders (and horrors) of the Internet in a way that differed greatly from our parents or grandparents whose accounts we were using.   Where my own superiors seen it as a way to email and make basic inquiries into still primitive search engines, we ‘surfed’ and found games, communities and information. I remember splitting my time after school between watching Cartoons and playing Runescape, posting on forums (including the famous and defunct AvidGamers) and learning things outside of my small world. I was also a total goober.

In a world of single-mother households and living in an existentially boring “nowhere” (ie. a soul-crushing subdevelopment surrounded by stripmalls and highways), the internet was my window to an otherwise inaccessible outside and sense of community. There were no forts to build, no forest to explore, no downtown (or town, for that matter) to bike around. I and many other of my generation had the choice between 6 lane highways, greenbelts and cul-de-sacs or dragons, mysterious worlds, and a nascent online community that would serve as validation. Many of us were imbued with a common framework of language, images and content which hold the same meaning for us as neon, synth and Kevin Bacon hold for the 80’s cohort. Looking at many blogs, ‘art’ and even some musical genres conceived by this generation one wouldn’t be surprised to see, say, a Charmander, a MySpace reminiscent layout, or Zelda referenced both earnestly and ironically.

This mainstream access to the Web was of course part and parcel of a rise of corporate hegemony and the beginnings of globalist capitalism, of which we were blissfully ignorant. While we read Animorphs and sat through another tortuous login of AOL, adults spoke of NAFTA and outsourcing. While we ‘collected them all’ , Wal-Mart ‘destroyed them all’. We were growing up and unwittingly contributing to a hyper-consumerist, materialist and increasingly vapid mainstream culture in which only our small, inconsequential internet communities could offer us the solace we didn’t know we needed. In those long-gone summer days of calling each other ‘pussys’ , ‘fags’ and ‘bitches’ on Halo matches, we had no idea something called a ‘feminist’ would eventually come to bearing down on our little world.

As I ‘matured’ I spent more time reading literature which I had only learned about through sleuthing and surfing, as my peers, teachers (too focused on standardised tests) and parents had no interest in Dostoevsky, Marcus Aurelius or other foundational texts made known to me only through the Web. Cite /r/iamverysmart all you want, but as far as my own intellectual journey is concerned, the internet was the primary resource for knowledge until I attended University.

I think this is where my path split from many of the so-called Social Justice Warriors, for they had a similar white, suburban, internet-raised background as I did, but perhaps my focus on great Western texts had imbued me with a sense of pride in my own people and their history, than, say, a neo- “White man’s burden” narcissistic tumblrite who spent too much time adjusting their top 8 on MySpace.

Am I projecting? Maybe. But many of the Manosphere and Redpill are also millenials, can draw on the same ‘cultural’ commonalities we share via internet and cartoons and a strong reliance on a tight-knit internet community, yet have obviously deviated from the path of SJW’s , ‘betas’ and neckbeards who have all fallen into the Mariana’s trench of the Clickbait/Facebook/Web 6.66.

This is one of the fundamental problems Western men have today, and it’s critical to our survival. Truly. They let the internet turn them into pasty, weak pseudo-intellectuals with nothing but Wikipedia, a Liberal Arts degree and shitty quotations pasted onto pictures of historical figures serve as their intellectual foundation. Instead of a tool, the internet has turned them into tools. Consuming, playing, consuming, masturbating, consuming, dying. We have been reduced to mere consumers whose employment is only to facilitate more consumption.

One of the most striking products of millennial culture is the lo-fi, lo-quality form of rap known as “Vaporwave”. To put it simply, Vaporwave is a genre which takes the jazzy, nondescript music from infomercials, the mall and ‘on-hold’ telephone calls and stretches them out, loops them and edits the disparate results into an ironically titled song written in a foreign script. The albums (which will never have a physical copy) will have visual references to childhood days long past, with Gamecubes, Pokemon, Anime or Windows 98 as common motifs. “Sad Boys”, a ‘group’ of rappers consisting of one kid, Yung Lean, epitomizes the ‘paradox of prosperity’ found in the West: Ennui, depression, obesity and consumerism as the norm for Men growing up in ‘the Matrix’ of corporate hegemony, globalism and forced egalitarianism. His videos are a cacophony of corporate symbols either in worship or crude parody of the consumer temples from which the music is sampled. This might be gleaning a bit too much off of untalented hacks unaware of what they are doing, but they are certainly reflecting this through their ‘aesthetic’ and sound. It’s a subgenre only millennial can truly ‘get’, to a degree.

yung lean
Here ya go son, why don’t you play with that there computator for a few hours

‘Vaporwave’ is but a drop in the bucket as far as internet sub-cultures are concerned, but I feel it is especially relevant regarding men and society. Within a service-industry oriented society where we work fast food and retail in order to ourselves afford fast food and consumer trinkets, many are mostly weak, sad, unfulfilled and refer meekly to the few symbols and toys of our youth, to Pokemon cards and Super Nintendo, to find any semblance of far-off bliss.  I know boys (they are no men), aged same as me, who still live as if they were 10, as if the caricature of a Vaporwave “Sad Boy” was walking in the flesh. They are weak, foolish degenerates wasting their life away with the only solid relationship they ever had: The internet and videogames.

The Great Men of our past: Antigonos Gonatas, Iulius Caesar, T.E. Lawrence would be considered racist, homophobic, colonial.  As children they would have been succumbed to the gauntlet of prescription drugs and mental diagnoses due to their avaricious desire to move, explore and fight with other boys.  Their insatiable thirst for ‘glory’ and their marked interest in ‘honor’ would be seen as perverse and backwards. They would at the least physically and mentally intimidate the sweaty neckbeards and vegan feminist males. Their undeniable manhood would be taken not for strength of will and body, but for a ‘personal crisis, ‘compensation’ or simply a ‘show’ by feminist authors. Were it not for the very traditional leanings of my stern father, a construction worker and golden glove in his youth, I too would probably have fully succumbed to the dystopian world Western progressives have been building for us all.  I am guilty of all of the sins I so vehemently condemn the ‘Sad Boys’ of this generation with. I was vegan, once. I attended college. I sat through the lectures. I’ve learned all about diversity, white guilt, white privilege and every other wrong my ancestors have done. As a proud German-American, I’ve learned to feel utter impotence, shame and dishonor in the face of non-white nations, creeds and ethnicities. I’ve “embraced diversity” so much it hurts.

Cultural appropriation! how dare he!

The issue with the millennial man and his fitting stereotype as a bumbling, effeminate weakling is that these men could rule the world. They could do anything. We really do, as white men, have the cumulative legacy of all the Great Western Men who have come before us at our advantage.  Each nation has their own heroes, their own stories, and I respect that.  But to me no one compares to Siegfried, Heros von Borcke or, of course, Theodore Roosevelt. Not even the racists (ahem, racialists) over at Radix or Counter-Currents would deny we are privileged in the sense that our Western ancestors were so disproportionately influential on the state of the world today.  This is what we came from.  This is what can continue to do.

The internet is a powerful resource which provides us with more knowledge than all of the Great Men combined had access to. Instead of striving to be like them, we harangue on the latest, greatest injustice a world away through a post on Facebook, or make token gestures against Capitalism while browsing Pinterest on our iPhones.  We demonize the very traits which have built the great cities, crossed the great oceans, and launched us into space.

The Internet which had served as a babysitter, the outside, and our reservoir of knowledge has turned into a massive circlejerk for most users. F5 F5 F5’ng our lives a way as we whittle time, consume media and masturbate.  It is in many ways still  our babysitter, ensuring good behaviour in ways x1000 spankings as a youth couldn’t have afforded.

Thankfully, there is an antidote.  A way to turn the degeneracy enabling WWW into a tool for intellectual, social and physical betterment.  The Red Pill and the wider Manosphere is a community of  (mostly!) half-coherent, computer literate individuals who pretty much dedicate their entire content to turning sloppy, fat neckbeards into assertive, confident and intelligent Men worthy of our legacy. They recognize the issue that Nth Wave Feminism and Post-Industrial degeneracy. It is reshaping the transformative power of the Internet from a breaker of men into a maker of Men.


“Might is Right” by Magnar Redbeard

What is death that it should make cowards of us all? What is life that it should be valued so highly? There are worse things than death and among them is a life of dishonor

Talk about an overhyped, disappointing work. This “forbidden” book has been lauded by so many on the far/alt-Right as this almost religious text (which is ironic, given the content) it’s hilarious. and sad.  What’s funny though is that, when it’s not being totally redundant, this can be a pretty fun book.  It’s full of superlative and memorable lines such as:

I; even I, am my own redeemer

Ultimately, this is kind of like a harlequin novel for Nordic Manly Men who need their beards stroked.

“Forbidden love on a longboat: A novel of romance”

My version began with a healthy introduction by some casual, unabashed white supremacists (not just nationalists, who I more or less agree with), one of which is currently in prison for what he calls “alleged civil rights violations”. Riiiiiight.  As decoration stand various images of broad-shouldered Norsemen with battle-axes to visually reinforce the point that, well, might is right! (only if you are white though?) If you didn’t get that point yet. By the title. or the text. Or the hundreds of times he repeats the truism.

The publishers take a lot of pride in the fact that the original version, in all its resplendent, ungrammatical, misspelled glory, has been untouched by the (probably Jewish?) hands of editors.  Cultural Marxist editors. Weakling, Christian editors. The superior Nordic editors of course see the value in a text riddled with comical levels of ungrammaticality and typos of what was clearly a hobbled-together, rushed draft composed of other, more rushed drafts from a variety of authors in a variety of languages.  This does have its own charm, to a degree, but there is certainly something to be said of the power editing. and of brevity, which this tome lacks completely.

More than anything, the text is more akin to a hurried, rushed blog post by a highly erudite, if not irate, commentator on an Alt-Right, Libertarian blog or Stormfront thread than a masterful tome by the alleged Nietzsche (or Jack London? Probably neither).

I’ll admit, at around halfway I was just done with the book. At that point he (they?) had incessantly repeated two pretty simple concepts: Might is Right. Law / Religion / Politics is slavery.  Over and over and over, without much substantial evidence to back them up for they are to be taken as truisms, self-explanatory concepts understand a priori, as if merely reading it repeatedly will somehow break the hold religion has on us.  It was working in a strange, roundabout way, as I suddenly felt the urge to take my finely honed battle-axe from under my pillow (if you don’t have one, you are a pussy / fag / weakling amirite?) to smash my kindle! The shackles of slavery, however, restrained me, and I continued to struggle through this tome until I could no more.

I would really love to discuss the ideas in this pamphlet (or zine entry, really) in a serious manner, but they are portrayed so comically as to come off as satirical in nature.  It reads like comedy.  I’ve found myself rolling my eyes one too many times for me to want to dissect, whether in agreement or not, anything herein. In fact, some believe this to be a work of satire, which I can absolutely understand, seeing how the content is so poorly substantiated.  Take this quote, for example.

If criminals are criminals, by descent or by birth, is it not equally probably that slaves are slaves by the facts of their breed and ancestry? Does it not also follow that heroes and strong, powerful, resolute, personalities, have derived their solid stamina from their forefathers? Indeed all history and all genealogies prove that this is a mathematical fact. Great men are ever the descendants of mighty warriors and conquerors, that is to say, of mighty animals

Wait, what? For such an erudite, educated person the author takes himself to be, this statement is so comically false one can’t even begin to posit a counterargument.  Aren’t there hundreds of examples, even in fiction (inspired by real events) of Kings rising from poverty? Of Heirs being physical eunuchs in comparison to their Father-King? Of Cowardice rising from Bravery, or Bravery coming from a ‘lineage’ of cravens?

This isn’t to say kin don’t share traits; Strength will oft beget strength, like the corn-fed clans of Kansas (from which half my Nordic lineage stems), but not always.  Or Woody Allen types begetting, well, eccentric Jewish artists (look at Lena Dunham, well, don’t, she’s ugly, but glance at her). Circumstances do have an influence, no genetic-determinst can deny that. Or, even minor changes passed between kin can result in great contrasts between Father and Son, Mother and Daughter.  Again, how many Great Kings had utter failures or inepts as sons? Were Schwarzenegger’s own family Olympic body-builders, or did his father want him to become a police officer like himself? (hint: he did).

Sometimes he advocates individual agency as the greatest power, yet here and elsewhere he advocates totally genetic determinism! Which one is it? Does Might (agency? Will zur Macht?) make Right, or does lineage? Does training? Learning? Mastery?  Isn’t he more mighty who overcomes his obstacles to greatness through dedication and training than he who was simply ‘born with it’?

Ultimately it’s these sorts of contradictions that absolutely riddle this book as to make any thing of value it might have to say be utterly worthless. He’s his own unreliable narrator of his own schizophrenic ramblings.  There are real gems in this work, like this on the role of man and “the state” (Satan):

The man who prays to be ‘protected’ by politicians, guarded by armed Janissaries, saved by idolatrous priests, and redeemed by State Regimentation is indeed a miserable sinner -a vile, despicable, un-manly wretch

Here’s a hauntingly beautiful passage on “Vae Victis”

She [nature] loves the writhing of sword blades-the rendering of tradition, the crunching of bones and the flap of shattered shot-torn banners, streaming out savagely (in the day, in the night), over the battle-weary, the mangled dying and the swollen dead.  Christs may come and Christs may go, but Caesar lives forever.

Coupled with total garbage:

What power on earth can permanently keep the Negro on a parity with the Anglo-Saxon?

It’s one thing to be prideful of your heritage and accomplishments as a people (indeed, black Americans are told to be) but to disparage hundreds of ethnic groups, each distinct from the other as Greeks are from the Irish, due to a common skin color, in comparison to a particular subculture of the ‘white’ race (though he often disparaging Irish, Russians and Italians, now considered white?) is disingenous at best.  The blatant, contradictory nature of his statements (working for yourself is best! but calloused hands are for calloused minds… so get some slaves!) are just too much sometimes.

In sum, this is indeed an important, amoral, irreverent iconoclastic work worth at least a perusal of some of the more poignant sections. Once you “get the gist” in the first few pages, however, he simply just repeats it in admittedly sometimes badass, but ultimately redundant, ways.  I feel that Jack Donovan’s piece on the matter is far more cogent and respectable, and most importantly, its curt message is contained within a blog post. Whodathunk?

Hate for hate

and ruth for ruth,

Eye for eye

and tooth for tooth.

Scorn for scorn

and smile for smile,

Love for love

and guile for guile

War for war

and woe for woe,

blood for blood

and blow for blow

Blood-Brotherhood and other rites of Male Alliance


Written by a tag team of the “manosphere” mainstay Jack Donovan and otherwise unknown (afaik) Nathan F. Miller, Blood-Brotherhood is a fascinating work on the various ways men have created bonds between each other, either as individuals or between entire families and tribes.  The authors hoped to not only provide historically verifiable (through colonial observations or primary sources) examples of this very specific, yet universal, type of ritus, but to have these examples serve as inspiration for new, organic forms of blood-brotherhood between the growing cadre of the nascent “Menaissance”: Alt-RIght, Tribalists, Redpill, MGTOW and other “reactionary” Neo-Patriarchs united in “positive masculinity” and their disdain for Nth wave feminism.

The structure of the book is as follows:

Regional / Cultural Group blood-rites (Africa, East Asia, etc.)

These sections were the meat of the book, quite literally listing out, one by one, the mundane, arcane or sometimes simply strange rituals that have existed in a given geographic region.  From nicks on the finger to sharing blood draughts from multiple men, the main purpose was clear; Instill loyalty and dedication to a degree that often exceeds that of so called “milk” brothers or other family.  The concept of choosing family was fundamental to blood-brotherhood, and its significance was such that initiates often could not intermarry between their otherwise unrelated families.  On the other end of the spectrum, blood-brothers could be obliged to share wives between each other!

Consequences to breaking blood-rites were almost always associated with curses, death and far worse things, and it’s for this reason that rites often included consumption of certain fruits or berries, said to burst within the body upon oathbreaking. This was a world when a man’s word was his bond, so to take the implicit trustworthiness of fellow men to the next level was indeed something to be respected.

Pertinent Anecdotes / Stories involving Blood-Brotherhood

Bridging the gap between shifts in geographic area were stories where blood-brotherhood form at least an important, if not primary role in the story.  Gaelic, Germanic and African tales are the most memorable to my mind.

My personal favorite was a tale from Africa known as “The Eagle and the Lizard”.  This fable tells of a deep friendship between an Eagle and a Lizard cemented by a blood-rite.  Part of their agreement, as with many historical agreements, was a vow to share and help your blood-brother regardless of the request or the circumstances (even if the brother in need was completely in the wrong, as in cases of murder).  This ultimately led to the Lizard demanding the feathers of the Eagle to help fletch bows with, despite how much this would hurt the Eagle and his family.  The Eagle, however, obliges, and relinquishes his own feathers and is weakened by this for some time until they grew anew.  The Lizard is pleased, of course, until the Eagle comes to demand something of his own: Leather for drums, of which Lizard skin makes the best.  The Lizard dies, a victim of his own blood-brotherhood!

The authors don’t miss out on the most American of blood-brotherhoods, by the way. Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer’s famous pledge (that they do eventually break) to ‘stay mum’ on a murder they saw takes on a new meaning within the context of this book.

Tattoos as expression of Masculinity

After a tour around the world of cuts, nicks and blood-draughts, Donovan (its clear by the huge shift in tone) takes over a sort of hybrid afterword where he discusses tattoos as manly expression throughout history and through the modern day.  I follow his instagram which is comprised mostly, well, of what seems to be his art! So he has a greater degree of credos here than many would on the subject.

Why Blood-Brotherhood at all?

Luckily this book doesn’t assume that we, as readers, feel a gut, primal understanding of the concept a priori without a more explicit explanation of why this practice is so universal in the first place. Donovan explains the root of this manly universal quite simply; Men cannot honorably display signs of affection towards other men the same way men are expected, or encouraged, to show affection towards women.  Groveling, compromising and overall completely shaming oneself to attain or prove ones affection towards the fairer sex would be seen as completely submissive and, most importantly, dishonorable (a key word in Menaissance texts, as we will see).

The moment where a man puts aside his dignity and throws himself at the foot of his beloved is the climax of countless tales of romantic love, new and old. But to put aside honor for a woman fits into the scheme of things precisely because she is a woman… Because men and women are essentially different, wanting different things and operating under a different set of social rules and expectations, there is no real conflict of status or honor within the context of male/female courtship. -Donovan, Jack. Miller, Nathan F. Blood-Blood Brotherhood and Other Rites of Male Alliance.

With men, however, there is a conflict of honor when it comes to showing or displaying affection (whether homoerotic or simply, and far more often, as friend to friend) to another man.  The entire concept feels different, from body language to actual language used.  Both men want to maintain their status as respectable, non-vulnerable men while still showing affection, or even love.  What, then, do all men across color, creed and place have in common? The brutal, dangerous task of fighting, hunting, defending. That is, spilling blood.  

What is important, ultimately, in the blood-rites we see regardless of the context, is the sacred nature the exchange or spilling of blood takes between the initiates. Much more meaningful than a handshake, feast or written document, we see blood as being holy and requiring a personal, literal sacrifice to the other party.  A man willing to shed his own blood for a brother in the blood-rite shows, literally and symbolically, a willingness to shed blood on behalf of a blood-brother in disputes, conflict or the hunt.

In a world where meaningful male bonds are seemingly non-existent outside of gangs, motorcycle clubs and the military, this book is a great primer as to something uniquely virile.  Women may, as an exception, create such sisterhoods, but not nearly to the extent as Man has, nor is their drive to camaraderie, to brotherhood, to cooperative action the same at all.  Ultimately, however, this book should serve as a practical guide and inspiration to action, and not merely to intellectual porn to mull over.

We should attempt to recreate, at least in spirit if not through literal blood-rites, brotherly bonds through ritual and mutual trial.

-Vae Victis-