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The Burning Platform
Crackpot Mailbox: Manny Soprano Has An End of Easy Days Heads Up
Jun 4, 2019, 10:20 AM (2 days ago)
Funny, we were just discussing this last night.
Manny Soprano
The other night, as Manny and I discussed the possibility of a second American Civil War, Pinky Celeste, Manny's standout dancer was trying to get his attention verbally. He spared her barely a glance and barked, "If I cared what you thought you'd be wearing business casual, not that fucking G-string."
He then continued with me, "Americas are to goddamned fat and lazy to fight a Civil War. ZOG is going to keep pinching us until I'm in the gulag, in the cage next to you..."
Then, as if he were Michael Angelo slapped by God into the realization of some beautific alignment of the spheres, he spared his little cutesum one a glance and offered something of an apology, "Sorry, Baby, I just realized that when I finally get locked up for my thought crimes the warden is going to torment me by playing a recording of a woman's voice at regular intervals—that's what you need to start a Civil War, broadcast recordings of bitches whining and complaining until we all go insane and start shooting the shit out of each other..."
[Actually, I think this is essentially what is happening in America. This is why I travel to the Jersey Shore to study at the feet of the Master.]
The cute one then snarled softy in the background, "Asshole," and the man who taught me that all human action can be modelled on strip club operations reiterated the ultimate cause for these increasingly shrill and troubled times, "We were fucked as soon as we let women vote...doomed to follow the path of ruin trod by ancient Rome, Rhodesia and your fucking home town—have a drink, Brother..."
The lead graphic of The Burning Platform is a perfect metaphor for postmodern human hive conditions as we struggle, some few of us to remain human, while the shrill majority strive for one kind of thought slavery or another. Unfortunately, I cannot open up websites that are so heavy on graphics and advertisements—they just stall my computer. So what they have to say will remain a mystery to me.
The conversation above was sparked by my confiding in my benefactor that last week, three nights in a row, three long time friends of extremely different worldviews confided in me about their deep fear that the United States of America is sliding down the slippery slope of Civil War.
On the Left the fear is that Rural Christian Gunowners will rise up against liberal urban rule and cut off food, water and power supplies to the Sacred Temples of Diversity.
On the Right population replacement is the primary fear, darkened by the ennui engendered by the dawning suspicion that the 1954 standard of living for working men will never return.
From the Third Position [Read: just let me garden on a couple acres] One World Rule by a Corporate Oligarchy looms as an all-consuming threat so pervasive that the Right and the Left seem like squabbling straw sock puppets on a smoldering stage.
The various discussions of this blooming conflict, which I believe began in earnest with the Fergusson and Baltimore Riots of 2015, is generally discussed in a big picture fashion. All of us have never been here before, as no society like America has ever existed at this tech level. So, rather than join the bobble-head civil war modeling discussion, I will survey it and examine extracts, sift current and personal events for evidence that my suspicion that we are in an actual war of some new type is or is not supported by the incident, and most importantly try and depict what perils and opportunities await these three men in the increasingly troubled times ahead.
Americans are especially ill-equipped to consider a multifaceted struggle in a suddenly dying society, due to the conventional historic narrative of a two-sided Revolution, followed by a two-sided War of Succession, considered in the deeply irrational context of perpetual lineal growth of the economy, population and their complexity. We are a nation blinded by a daily view, weekly planning and a three-month economic cycle! No one incubated in this fishbowl can get a true read on the monstrous dynamics which our petty greed, soaring hubris and sickening perversities have set in motion. We are 330 million Doctor Frankensteins squabbling over such considerations as whether or not our collective Prometheus will have paint-on eyebrows or branded blue jeans.
My goal, as a science-fiction writer, is to place these three real men in the crosshairs of this society which seems dedicated to the their erasure.
An Inner Mirror
Last week, my ailing and aged Uncle Fred hosted a crab feast to commemorate his eldest grandson's graduation from university. A dozen of us sat the table and ate of his generosity. Two men treated him—our fading patriarch—with grudging, cringing respect, stunned by his sudden decline. The women, one in all made fun of him, complained about him and mocked him for insisting on paying the bill. One of his daughters, a dykish darling who I have always quite liked, led the indictment of his character, for the crimes of being a traditional provider and speaking his mind. That's all, he's bent and crotchety, misses his beautiful wife and his only anchor is his self-image of being a provider, for having led his family, which consisted of poor folk when he was a boy, into the prosperous present through his sacrifice and industry and good sense.
And we mock him?
Much of the mockery has to do with him having voted for the current president and not withdrawing his support and repenting when the president has been declared a heretic by the media. No one there understands the concept of loyalty other than he and I, that when you back a man who burns his life to work on your behalf that he deserves your support for the length of the contracted term, in this case 4 years, even if he is an asshole.
Unk smiled at me a few times when he noted that I committed such crimes as complimenting his grandson on how pretty his "Frail" was and otherwise failed to worship at the altar of sterile feminine superiority.
Finally, as we left, understanding that my cousin was so vicious to her father largely because she had no man of her own to steady her shipping soul as her mother had in her father, I put my arm around her shoulders and said humorously with a soft kindness, "Now, please remember to be obedient to your father."
To this she punched me—and she is a strong athlete—as hard as she could in the solar plexus, with no warning, a complete sucker punch that I never imagined coming, which bruised my upper abdomen and bounced harmlessly off, not affecting my wind but triggering my laugh. The entire family cheered her on from behind wry smiles, as if I had hit her, rather than her me [does this not sound like "bash a fash" political morality?], and I simply gave her a hug and complimented her on the punch, to which she threatened to crush my balls with her knee before marching off in a sad caricature of a man.
I did not get angry but felt sad for her, being in such a dark place that she is beyond humor. My entire family that was present, including my youngest son, felt like she let me off easily, that I had gone beyond the pale in my humorous support of my ailing uncle—her dying father. My family is utterly broken and I have no desire to spend any more group time with them, but will only continue with a few one-to-one relationships. My family has caught the disease that is eating America and has caught it in a very feminine way.
No man in my family would ever consider punching a family member in public over a gentle chide about dealing with the fading elderly. The man's legs which once carried him to a brutal grid iron victory in Texas in the 1950s when he broke another man's leg [with whom he became good friends] were folding under him and all my family did was scoff at him and sneer and bemoan his misplaced pride for trying to walk on his own rather than calling for help. This man bankrolled a third of the lives at that table and they spit un his undug grave.
To my family I say, "No more, you disgust me." In so doing I take the Gray Way, the third position as my small fractured portion of this disintegrating nation collapses morally and physically.
The Red Way, the fathering way, that of respect for the past—and I quite agree that the American past is largely evil—is represented by my dying Uncle who has come to be my father figure these past two decades—the only person in the family who understands me, he the Alpha and me the Omega and both of us seeing the shrill schooling Betas from the edges of the fish bowl.
The Blue Way, the mothering way, that of nagging complaint and constant appeal to our lesser nature—based as it is in the pathology of victimization and entitlement—is in my family represented by its female and millennial male elements and is far in the ascent over the masculine. I have recently been with other families fracturing as miniature mirrors of the greater society, and it is the same—4 people, 4 dinners, 4 TVs and 4 unreconcilable worldviews. Indeed, no man in my life has been done unto more dastardly than by is wife. I know numerous men who have lost everything due to women using the legal system to destroy him in every way for such crimes as not having a hard enough cock or a big enough bankroll. I pay attention to mirrors, near and distant and suspect that America will break up much as the multitude of families that have been destroyed by its iniquitous rule have come to pass—some portions bitterly hoarding assets, some portions fleeced and homeless, some drugged into oblivion and many simply adrift and alone within their windowless minds.
If the American Civil War were fought amongst my family I'd be in the position of having to beat down my sons and cuff about women until my nephews were ordered to restrain me by their mothers. I see this as the Red Way, whose adherents, though they are mostly in late middle age and have been consistently fucked by the System, somehow believe that the police and military will favor them.
Ironically, the Blue Way, whose people on the face of it are weakest, being females and feminized males, also assume that the police and military will come down on the side of the hated "whiteman" and his abandoned "Christ." They have actually won a prepositioned victory and do not know it and this ignorance may trigger the true bloodshed and the second Inquisition. Indeed, Left Liberal America is completely ignorant of the fact that they are the true Postmodern Church, that they will fill the dungeons, man the scaffolds, torch the stakes and break heretical minds on the wheel. What is going to make this a worthy holocaust is the overkill of victors so steeped in victimization that they are unable to perceive their triumph and of the fatalistic last stand of the overwhelmed enemies of the Liberal World Order.
In the end, the only thing I'm sure of is that Islam will avenge the betrayed Western Society by enslaving it's spoiled sons and daughters. But that is some decades off. In the meantime, what might it be like to take the Blue, Red or Gray Way?
I see a dawning dark age.
Please scoff, so that after I die smiling as I escape this feedlot of souls that you will have many an occasion to feel my haunt when the hammer I predicted comes down on those external assumptions which serve as your sacrificial crown.
Take Me To Your Breeder: Letters from an Extraterrestrial Anthropologist
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Add Comment
PostPhysiqueFebruary 24, 2020 6:37 AM UTC

There's a 4th way, the Black way: become a predator yourself.

Study the system and use deception to turn it to your advantage. Gather resources and establish a spiritual pirate's den, a bandit's hideout on land that is owned by a religious corporation you incorporated. Claim to be hippy Sufi Muslims, and raise your kids in the art of lying and misdirection. Their first assignment is to not trust anyone you're not related to by blood, spirit, or soul; and that it is acceptable to lie to outsiders.

Teach them the evils of the modern world using metaphors like demons, and what you must say to get them to leave you alone.

If necessary, adopt a African, Hispanic, or Asian boy and raise it as a girl to prove your tranny-loving bonafides. Thus you protect your own kids and neuter an ethnic rival.

Read up on Social Security Disability and Service-Connected Disability, study the symptoms of the diseases therein, and determine if you are afflicted by them. Make arrangements for medical treatment for your ills to get them documented, then file. NOLO has excellent books on the subject.

Sustain and expand production capabilities of your fiefdom, and build businesses which you kin can do.

There's more to it than that, but otherwise hunker down and wait for central authority to crack. Help it along using any fully legal and non-attention-drawing method at your disposal.

When the citadels come crashing down, send out feelers in your area and carefully, clandestinely establish yourself as a local lord in everything but name.

Forget trying to ride the tiger; become the tiger.
BP BollocksworthJune 7, 2019 5:20 AM UTC

“My family has caught the disease that is eating America and has caught it in a very feminine way.“

This whole post sounded uncomfortably familiar. You’re not alone in these sort of encounters, James. It’s particularly painful to see once respectable blue collar boomer men feminized and functionally gelded by the decades long effects of television.
responds:June 9, 2019 10:34 AM UTC

TV, the ultimate Trojan Horse.