The modern world is as such because it is apart from God, from the Absolute, from Being in Heideggerian terms. What underpins modernity — Leftism, progressivism, utopianism, humanism, secularism, liberalism, socialism, communism, Marxism, consumerism, materialism, positivism, Americanism, capitalism, Bolshevism, anarchism, post-structuralism, globalism, universalism, pacifism, mechanism, transhumanism, transgenderism, transracialism, post-racialism, scientism, economism, multiculturalism, multiracialism, et cetera — is as such because it wishes to pull-away from the Divine. Of course, nothing that is can not be within the Absolute, but these sentiments and trajectories want to see themselves as beyond the Absolute (denying the existence of it or disobeying it is of no strong differentiation), as beyond Being. The modern wishes to pull themselves beyond the restraints of Being, they wish to liberate themselves from God, from the essence of “to be,” and in doing so they lead themselves to veneration of the low, or the technical throwing-aside of the very idea of veneration (when in fact all they do in that instance is venerate non-veneration — similar to how the relativist’s claim that there is no objectivity is in fact an objective claim). The modern wishes to put themselves beyond all tangible form and enter, ultimately, the void; non-Being in Neo-Platonic terms.
This is what fundamentally drives modernity. This is where it is heading. A man blindfolded marching towards the edge of the clifftop, and the onlookers gleefully observe him marching forth; and as he falls down to his death atop jagged rocks the onlookers begin autostimulation. This is the essence of Leftism; its core. The Right as it’s perceived wishes to maintain prior, God-originating, structures. Of course the very existence of this dichotomy between Left and Right in political terms is a sign of degeneration. The point stands, though, that those of a traditionalist, reactionary or otherwise genuinely Right-wing persuasion seek the Absolute — or, rather, the Absolute is refracted through their being and the institutions of which they are a part. The legitimacy of both man and law place their origin in the permanence of pure being as it’s seen through a particular cultural lens. Hence there exists the perennial philosophy, the Divine refracted through a cerulean gem, and where various beams of light find their home a particular preference of mankind lies. Do we not remember the Tower of Babel where all mankind came as one, and God punished them and set them again apart? Verily — Being comes to different shades of man in different shades of fashion. The form is the same, but its hue differentiated. This is where modern man takes his differing course; insomuch as instead of being inspired vertically he looks upon the earth he treads and re-orientates himself in a horizontal fashion — thus we come across two different styles: vertical (meaning God-given) and horizontal (meaning man-made).
Is it not true, however, that within us all is a speck of the Divine? Indeed — for we must all look inwards to find God; his love resides in each of us and we must but open ourselves to Him. But what the modern doesn’t do it look inwards in any proper fashion but instead sees the surface-levels of man in all his impurity and seek to build thus a temple upon quicksand. Unto the masses he decries “Look! A steady foundation!” And the masses, after having killed their kings and shunned their betters, are also stuck in quicksand — and egalitarianism is declared. Equality and sameness in filth and squalor. The trouble being that absolute equality requires ontological oneness — we cannot have one thing and another being of equal being as their very differentiation (id est the ability for the on-looker to differentiate between the two) laughs at such a notion as sameness. Different objects with the same qualities? What madness — but modernity likes to pretend so.
This pretension permeates all. Honesty is the single most radical virtue in all of the modern world; that without pretence, obscurity or vanity. The illusory nature of the world as it shirks away to the shadows and sulks to its own songs of sorrow to the very thought of purity. Verily — it is better to be clean than to be comfortable, and just as the modern horizontal man seeks conformity in sludge than to clean the dirt from his ears as to hear a little better, those who awaken from their slumber must take it upon themselves to build ladders hither and thither back to Being, back to the true I, back to the realm of honesty.
To attend to one’s self in the proper fashion requires an understanding of the self in order to know what exactly to clean with which tools. But self-knowing requires self-criticism, and the false happy-clappy television-ghouls wouldn’t want discomfort, would they? No! Just sit back in your sofa and and absorb this advertisement you poor old thing — you deserve it after all the hard work your mouth has undergone to chew that five-hundred calorie burger. You downtrodden victim, you; please but stay a while and clap at the magical box and bob your head to and fro’: this is your fate and your world and your luxury. Don’t tattle tattle tattle! The delivery man will be here soon with the farming instruments to make your living so much more unattainably simple.
Yes, yes! You, girl! Shake your skinny arse to that telluric tribal initiation formula! Let it consume you under filth and fæces and don’t forget to tip the waiter! Or, rather, don’t just take the whole tip — don’t be a racist, now. The gleeful suicide and wide-eyed marching-over-the-cliff too many indulge in is merely symptomatic of something wrong — it’s nothing serious. When boys wish to be girls wish to be dogs wish to be men wish to be children wish to be rulers wish to be prostitutes wish to be mothers wish to die, there’s nothing strange at all! Just continue with the screen and mirrors. I mean, we can all sodomise and snort lines of cocaine as long as we remember Zarathustra — this is my transvaluation! The transvaluation of the lower self in its putridity, partly decayed by modernity as the flesh drips from bones into the maw of hungry murderers.
I seem to’ve gone off-point — nothing new, there. The fact is that only through the most serious and violent self-introspection can we purge the grime from our souls. And as we turn inwards we turn to face the Eternal Man staring back at us. “What the fuck are you doing, you stupid git?” the white-robed man says. And we respond “I’ve not a clue, but I’ve heard you know a thing or two about sacrifice.”
“Human blood — ah, what distilled wine! Two too many for me; I’ll need a sit-down.” “No! You can’t do that,” he, she, ze says. And that’s just too bad.
Force, motion, power, energy, numina — back at it again with the fancy words, I see — in their completeness are merely the exertion of that which is Allmighty. And life is, in its essence as the extension of that which is Allmighty, contains the possibility for this force to manifest — and we men can interact with it and play little games like philosophy, but it’s all beneath the gaze of that which is more forceful still: that which is total in its force.
It’s interesting to observe the metaphysics of mortality, of being so close to God in life and presence, but then slipping back to the edge of wheel in a process of cyclical becoming. There are those few who crawl their way — by the flesh of their fingers and elbows — to the center, but they are few and far between. But we observe the lateral dimension of the wheel in its horizontality, and the modern only knows this view — but the vertical stands juxtaposed and superior: anterior to the two-dimensional in its three-dimensionality as we perceive it.
Careful not to play with geometry for too long, Adam; people might think you’re autistic — and we wouldn’t want such meme-worthiness apparent in such a nonsensical scribble. It’d be misconstrued as per protocol.
But, to say what’s been communicated in clearer fashion prior ad nauseum, to fix anything we must know its first state of order. To “fix” the world, we must fix the interior dimension of the self and repair it back to factory-condition. Not via extinction in ordinary terms, but via the punching-through the falseness of the world to rip-out our own still-beating hearts.
Maybe if I was from south America I’d take a bite.