The Hydra’s Eternal Rebellion

One of the challenges of writing about Feminists, Leftist, and Degenerates is how incredibly vulgar they are.  Tell me, does the following paragraph belong in political discourse?

A female Voina activist nicknamed “Vacuous Cunt With Inconceivably Huge Tits” removed a chicken from the refrigerated section of the supermarket, then laboriously stuffed the entire chicken into her own vagina, while being filmed by other Voina members. She then shoplifted the chicken by leaving the supermarket without paying, with the chicken still inserted, and rejoined protesters outside the store.

The correct answer is “Yes, but it shouldn’t.”

It offends my sensibilities (as well as my editorial standards) to bring up such crudities; even the name of the organization – “Pussy Riot” – is the sort of thing that shouldn’t belong in academic discourse.  But Pussy Riot isn’t a shock site, or some sort of San Francisco orgy culture which can be safely ignored: it is the hot, bleeding edge of Cathedral politics.

Trying to attack this head-on is a mistake; all your going to do is provide Jon Stewart with jokes about cops banning marital aids in rural America.  Joe Democracy has never heard of Pussy Riot, and is sufficiently immunized against crimethink that when you bring it up he’ll just assume that you’re a repressed homosexual, seeking out degeneracy for the sake of titillation.  The correct strategy is to recognize Pussy Riot as just one more head of the Hydra.  Some of the heads seem relatively benign, if misguided: feminism, globalism, the “human rights” to dignity and free medical care – the sedated serpents, whispering to Eve – but the Wyvern heads?  They’re universally vicious, but they pop out of separate holes, and seem to be a different animal entirely: the Pussy Riots, the Black Block Anarchists, the Occupussies.

That Hydra heads are so prone snap at each other, certainly helps the illusion.

Lop off one at a time, and the other heads will ridicule you: “Don’t you know,” says the pink one, “That we support equality for men?” The blue one hisses, “This is just freedom of expression.” The mauve head lisps, “This is because Russia treats homosexuals as second class citizens!” You have become Don Quixote, winning each battle, but losing the war.

To take out a Hydra, you’re going to need fire – and not just any fire, you need the white-hot flame of Truth! – but where can you go to find such a commodity?  The man who invented it is currently chained to a mountain, having his liver torn out by eagles, and besides – he no longer owns the patent.  Maybe nobody does.  This Greek Fire is lost to history, and, much like Absinthe, we shall have to reinvent it.

Let us begin by studying this beast.

Though its garb is new and shiny,
This Hydra’s an ancient enemy.
New heads grow, and old heads die,
Ever whispering some fresh lie.
The vitriolic heart remains the same;
What is this black ichor, pumping through its veins?

Perhaps the recent dust-up in San Juan will give us some clues:

This is certainly one of the more pestilential heads!  Lesbianism becomes even more political when the sex is performed in public, I guess (no, that’s not simulated), and is fully appropriate for YouTube.  Obviously.  But it’s the defenders who interest me.

Regardless of one’s theological leanings, the Catholic Church certainly has a few things going for it: it managed to unite Europe in time to hold off the Muslim hordes, as well as keep Genghis Khan at bay; it was the Catholic celebration of knowledge which led to the development of the Scientific Method; and it was Catholic Conquistadors who managed to raze the most sadistically cruel civilization the world has ever seen.

That the Hydra should hate them so much is just one more data point in their favour.

So what is their diagnosis?  What did their spectral analysis of the black ichor reveal?

Oh, my, isn’t this interesting?  The atoms, it turns out, are not from the planes of Cthulu.  They’re perfectly ordinary matter – Love, Faith, Hope, and Charity – the same elements which are used to create marriage, valour, beauty, and brotherhood.  But the molecular structure?  That is where we find the loathsome geometries, the tentacled, cyclopean towers.

The Hydra’s black ichor is Rebellion; 99.9% pure.

ͼ-Ѻ-ͽ

To understand what a Leftist believes, simply ask the question: “How could they most effectively and sneakily trick the world into hating God?” Don’t over-think this – they certainly don’t – whether or not you believe in God is immaterial.  They do.  Anything which they see as Godly – Truth, Beauty, Life, Love, or even the elegance of a mathematical theorem – is fair game for Leftist hatred.  Consistency need not apply.

Just look at this post by one Solomon Wong – a relative nobody, Internet-wise, but a perfect example of Rebellious vitriol leaking out from a tortured body of logic:

Anti-racism is anti-white, and we should embrace that. As for the charge of genocide? Accept it. You can argue against it, but what’s the point? Any conscionable person should want the white race destroyed. Who cares if the definition of genocide is being twisted to make people feel bad about doing the right thing? The point is that anti-racism, multiculturalism, any attempt to equalize the races is a strike against the white race. And once equality is truly reached, it will be dead. WE ARE TRYING TO DESTROY IT.

Ten years ago, they were appealing to the charity and decency of White people.  They took a single lie (“Race is a social construct”) mixed it in with a bunch of pro-civilizational attitudes (“Treat your fellow citizen like your brother”) and shielded it with historical atrocities (some made up, some exaggerated, and a few which were actually true).  The result was a noxious potion, but pleasing to the tongue.

Eventually, however, its destructiveness became evident: as things currently stand, the Blacks are getting suspicious, and many Whites are downright furious.  This is the point where they flip their placards around, adopt a new slogan, and add a different flavour to the poison.  New boss just like the old boss.

The Left is fundamentally parasitical in nature, needing the lifeblood of civilization to survive (it has been observed many times that Feminists couldn’t build a civilization on their own, and Marxists are never happy remaining isolated on their collectivized farm) but despite the succour that patriarchal traditionalism grants them, they wage eternal war on it, tearing at it piece by piece.  Each heads will specialize, undermining the others, while simultaneously working in tandem.

• One will attack the family, with taxes collected from the economy.
• The second will attack the economy, by uplifting the underclass.
• The third will attack the underclass, by promoting immigration.
• The forth will destroy the immigrants, through pathological benevolence.

And so on.

To live as a Rebel, you need something to rebel against.  Short of suicide, they’ll continue to Rebel.  The Feminist isn’t happy as the leader in her marriage;- so instead of dominating a submissive man, she’ll date a badboy, and then scream about rape.  She’ll join a BDSM club, and “top from the bottom.” Or she’ll engage in flagrant, public Slutwalking and Lesbianism, begging for somebody to oppress her.

There’s no logic or reason to their behaviour – at least, not what you or I would think of as logic and reason – only an endless self-destructive spiral which drags the rest of us down with them.

And they have been succeeding quite well.

This is the pulsing-core of the Neoreactionary argument: that despite the fact that “The world is richer, healthier, less poor, less violent, and able to access more information than ever before,” it’s a world of inverted, Rebellious theology, solely suitable for the spiritually dead.  Governments must serve their citizens; becoming nothing more than a source of Narcissistic Supply.  Husbands must lead by submitting; resulting in an asexual desert.  Art must appeal to the commoners; and is thus devoid of beauty.  And the Great must listen to their Lessers; and so Leadership is devolved into Middle Management.

Evil is just a perversion of the Good, since it can never stand on its own.  It uses the Good to create the deliciousness in the poison, or (to paraphrase Frank Sinatra) it’s the aphrodisiac in the a rancid-smelling vial.  It’s doomed to seek compromise, and like all compromises between True and False, winds up being nothing but lies.

What logic there is in the Democratic, Leftist, Degenerate mind, is the logic of the Daemon.  Don’t try and understand them through their appearance in reality; to see beyond the glamour, we must look at them through the lens of fantasy:

The Existential Paradox: Given most daemons’ origin among the souls of the hunted, coupled with their quasi-religious hatred of mortal life, an inherent paradox underlies all daemonic thought: that all things mortal must be obliterated, despite the fact that they themselves were once mortal. The reasons for this hatred of existence are as varied as the daemons themselves, stemming from lives of grief and pain, terrible and unjust ends, heartbreak and wounded pride, and more. Regardless of how their hatred comes to be, most daemons lock away any considerations of their former nature or musings on the roots of their anger, and ages of depravity and delusion scour their beings of anything recognizable as the creatures they were in life. Yet just as a gnarled willow grows from a tiny black seed, so does each daemon know its current being finds it roots in that which it most loathes. This core of self-loathing guides most daemons in their greatest profanities, allowing them to lash out at the living, spirits, other outsiders, members of their own kind, and occasionally even themselves with a viciousness that translates into an absolute hatred of all things that live, once lived, or ever might live. Such makes them the ultimate nihilists, guiding them toward a vision of a silent multiverse, an endless realm devoid of life and which, in the end, even they will be absent from. Yet as much as it loathes all things, every daemon loathes itself a modicum less, and so each strives to be the last witness to a dead eternity.

Lovely little creatures, aren’t they?