Recently me and my wife – who both really enjoy horror films went to see the Quiet Place. I won’t spoil much of it, but the premise of the movie was essentially that silence would guarantee the survival of a family on a rural farmstead amid a kind of post-apocalyptic world inhabited by creatures with no known weakness. This film makes the ultimate use of every sound.
We had heard some of the reviews and many of them were justified in celebrating how good this movie actually was. Leaving the theater and feeling like the cost of our tickets had been justified, we briefly chatted about what we enjoyed about it. In fact, I highly recommend seeing it.
One thing this movie is about is the concept of sacrifice in a world where much has to be sacrifice must be made. It drives home the questions of how far you would go as a parent for your family to survive.
Surprisingly, this film was given reasonably positive reviews by the critics and for good reason; it takes a concept we’ve seen before a bit and explores it in a way that make’s you lean in a bit closer, look at the non verbal language coming from their faces and bodies, and jump.
Foremost, this film made you think instead of just mindlessly vegetate waiting for action sequences or the usual jump-scares and cliches. It presented a world where there were no easy quick solutions, just the harsh reality of trying to survive.
Now of course, there is the usual brouhaha about how something in the movie was “regressive” by the New Yorkers standards – I’m still not exactly sure how, despite being well versed in grievance and identity politics.
The NYT had a more objective review regarding it, but of the several comments that were negative about the film because of muh 1950s culture and because the father apparently is bumbling, fumbling moron who can’t cope with the world like usual. That said, one comment struck me in particular by “Arthur” via April 8, 2018
“Am I the only one who wants this family to get eaten by the monsters? Why – because it’s anti-urban, they’re essentially a metaphor for upper middle class white suburbia’s desire to be free of the constraints of an urban multi-cultural society and all the inherent complications of seeing other people as equal and worthy of participating in their world. In this fantasy the ideal is presented without shame, the white cold war nuclear suburban family, quirkily upgraded, but with their paranoia made rational because MONSTERS, read drugs, sex, gender, the poor, foreigners, socialists, all the things they are irrationally afraid of can be forgotten and their irrationality celebrated here in an entertainment product. I’m not asking all sci-fi dystopias to have more inclusive values among the survivalists, but it would be nice to think that simply keeping your family safe in free standing home on a two acre wooded lot in suburbia isn’t the only option which will be left us when the real monsters get here.”
At first I thought it was a troll, but he does appear to be serious. Notice just how much was read into the movie. This guy is so entrenched in his progressive dogma, he can’t simply enjoy a movie for what it is. Instead it’s been interpreted as not reflecting a desired social commentary that adheres to a certain progressive worldview. Sad.
Most of us horrible bigots over here in the Dissident Right have been able to enjoy quite a few movies that depict people even remotely similar to us as ever kind of “ist”, “ism”, and “phobe” to be loathed and laughed at.
Despite the hopeless hapless doofus father that is enduring in just about every prominent sitcom, crime drama, TV series, and movie, I can still enjoy that media for what it is rather than what I want or think it should be. This isn’t a novel concept.
We don’t want to be like that commentator mentioned earlier – something that’s far easier then we realize. Life is short, and if you don’t enjoy it, you likely won’t have many friends and people to spend it with if everything and anything is seen through the lens of cultural critical analysis.
Sure, we don’t have to come out and pay for some of the “white christian cis straight males are terrible people” crap Hollywood keeps droning about, but letting loose with laughter with a movie like The Hangover without looking for how it fits with one’s worldview is good for the soul – especially in an age where even humor is under attack by newly arrived leftist combatants.
I can’t believe I’m saying this to our very numerous hedonistic narcissists that dominate our society, but live a little dammit. If you are going to pull a Conan on the front lines in the culture war, you’ll likely need to be able to take a break and disengage regardless of your creed.
Remember to relax and enjoy this film with an inquisitive mind.
Color me confused that in today’s modern world of global communication, we appear to still be in those fraught times where the Chinese don’t want you getting too cushy with any members of the Mongol horde and contact might get you viewed as spy and saboteur. Don’t even go near their horses.
What alarmed me in particular this time was that to some gun control advocates, anyone who didn’t denounce the NRA as a terrorist organization or opposed gun control was personally responsible for the shooting and was of course a vile, despicable, human being who supports kids being murdered.
That’s a pretty easy strawman to beat in public for an applauding mob. But wait, are’t these the same people who are interested in diversity? Not when it comes to worldview and politics apparently. In fact dissenters need to be isolated, dehumanized, and possibly targeted. If you can cost them friends and family as well as various public shamings, all the better right?
Welcome to conversation in the 21st century on the internet which is now spilling over into people’s actual real lives. Rid yourself of dialogue and arm yourself with a cell phone and your targets contact information and workplace details that can be submitted to a two minute hate twitter mob.
Have the wrong opinions and be at the wrong rallies and you can be beaten by AntiFa to the applause of self-professed very tolerant people. They aren’t humans after all, they are apparently fascists and violence against them is justified. (You don’t want to end up like AntiFa.)
Perhaps we are much more divided in terms of worldview and culture in America then we ever have been, but since when did dissenting views equal incompatibility with even spending time or associating with someone? When did it start to approach being okay with violence toward them?
Recently I was having a conversation with a family member – one that I very much respect -who was surprised at how I could become “friends” with someone in the Dissident Right who my family member considered to have rather reprehensible views. (Granted, most of my family members would consider him to have said reprehensible views.)
He was particular surprised by me using the word friend. Why would you become friends with someone with views and speech seen as inexcusable or unacceptable? (While I don’t agree with this friend on everything, he is still a friend.)
Well regardless of where you are on the political spectrum, it’s a damn good question.
How I Became a Deplorable With Detestable Views
Picking my friends, associates, or villainous enemies to be denounced on twitter based on what they think or hide in perspective closets has always simply been a matter of how and where I meet people.
Hookah lounges. Bars. Concerts. Churches. Raucous Parties. Parties I will not mention. Internet Forums. Gaming Circles. Gaming Servers. Family functions. Work. My Old Campus.
Years ago before Trump was a thing, I used to play an online browser game called Astro Empires. While I’ve retained a friend from that game, one other “friend” – a rather progressive one – on Facebook told me he couldn’t be friends with me anymore because my views were detestable. We even really enjoyed soccer too! (At that time I was first stumbling across the Manosphere.)
When I reflected upon that moment, the recent conversation I had between me and my family member prompted that EUREKA moment in my puny bigoted backwards brain; plenty of people today view life style, worldview, political, or even cultural differences and disagreements as the whole of a person.
If their views are too far out there or “offensive”, their friendship is something that’s found to be shocking. I find this notion troubling as to what it implies; you are what you secretly dare to ponder upon in the late night hours when you entertain crimethink thoughts about the nature of man, society, and any other specifically touchy controversial subjects where voicing opinions on what you actually think could get you fired from your job because guilt by association.
Talking to people, associating with them, or even communicating or working with them on mutually agreed ideas – even if you differ with them on everything else is certainly not allowed.
What happened to Quinn Norton, which while it certainly didn’t happen to me reminds me of myself. She got fired hours after being hired by the New York Times for talking with the wrong people. Quinn dared to “associate” with Weev or the greatest deviant villain alive on the internet today, Andrew Aurenheimer founder of the Daily Stormer. Whoops.
Obviously Quinn is the opposite of a Nazi, but the fact that she had communicated with him on just ONE idea they shared the same opinion on and that she felt was important produced some sort of alternate internet depiction of her as a Nazi.
I was called a Nazi because of my friendship with the infamous neo-Nazi known on the internet as weev—his given name is Andrew Auernheimer; he helps run the anti-Semitic website The Daily Stormer. In my pacifism, I can’t reject a friendship, even when a friend has taken such a horrifying path. I am not the judge of who is capable of improving as a person.
This philosophy also requires me to confront him about his terrible beliefs and their terrible consequences. I have been doing this since before his brief time as a cause célèbre in 2012—I believe it’d be hypocritical for me to turn away from this obligation. weev is just one of many terrible people I’ve cared for in my life.
I don’t support what my terrible friend believes or does. But I strongly advocate for people with a good sense of themselves and their values to engage with their terrible friends, coworkers, and relatives, to lovingly confront them for as long as it takes, and it would be wrong to not do so myself. I had what I now see as the advantage of coming from a family of terrible people.
This taught me that not everyone worthy of love is worthy of emulation. It also taught me that being given terrible ideas is not a destiny, and that intervention can change lives.
One article that covered her reaction to her Twitter scalping had this particular gem of a comment posted:
“There’s a big difference between being friends with people in private and changing their minds personally, one-by-one, and being friends with people publicly and normalizing their BS. If friendship with the Nazi is so important to her, let them be friends. But if it’s part of her public persona, that makes it part of NYT’s public persona, that makes a big cultural voice voting for white supremacy – welcome to 2018. Everyone can see everything, everyone can hear everything.”
Right there in this tripe of slime comment is everything that is wrong with social media, the internet, and our outrage culture in general. I’m picking on this comment in particular because this is EXACTLY the kind of attitude I see reflected by so many saintly twitter and social media stake burners when they light their torches.
Being friends with bad people – or those deemed to be by our new cultural overlords – is the same thing as “normalizing” their views. Pious peasants don’t associate with heretic harbingers or they risk becoming them or promoting them.
Even if you are friends with a Troll, Sauron, Nazi or worse -a Communist considering their body count in the 20th century – talking, eating, communicating, gaming, participating in gay orgies, or shooting the shit with them isn’t going to “Normalize” anything.
We aren’t our political or worldview beliefs. We are Jack, Jon, Joan, and June who are living life in the 21st century in the digital age afflicted by social media Popes who think that too many “radical” blog posts or social media rants are the absolute embodiment of what someone is 24/7.
Can’t the friend police ever take a damned break? Don’t they have lives? Is this really what they want to reflect upon gloriously when on their death beds?
I always viewed having various friends and associates like a 9-5 job where after you got done talking about what you thought – no matter how heinous it was deemed to be, you then went on with your life. You kept drinking beer, smoking stogies, and telling stories late into the night with them.
In fact, I would imagine myself as a professor or his neighbor. I could have a daily talk with some uber male feminist ally like Michael Kimmel, have very different conclusions, and go back to grabbing a beer with him later while throwing darts.
The disagreements, while fundamental to our worldview differences and how we choose to life life and spend time would fade while we live our normal lives. One would leave work, go home, unwind, and enjoy time with family and friends. Another would go to the bar, play softball or volleyball, or watch the newest Game Of Thrones episode together.
That right there. Normal life.
Journey Of Self Discovery
When you form your worldview and outlook on life, it happens over time – often in a kind of butterfly and domino effect of situations, events, friends, and where you spend your time. It’s a journey, just maybe not as adventurous and epic as something out of Lord Of The Rings.
I’m far from a modern day Jesus, but I have and do associate with plenty of sinners, reprobates, and people who are today’s version of heretics.
Lately there’s been a wave of miserly curmudgeons who want to dictate who you can and can’t hang with. If you deviate, you are labeled some sort of ist /ism or more frequently a fascist or Nazi lover.
It’s not like I went out trying to make friends with hardcore druggies, dangerous online deviants, violent biker types, or Molotov cocktail wielding AntiFa activists. Rather I simply kept looking for the truth and I was going to wherever it led.
I wanted to find out who I was. Being drawn to controversy, mischievous and dirty humor, abstract in-the-clouds freedom of speech ideals, gaming, history, rebellion, cigars and smoking, etc all played apart in the paths I would choose at the forks in the road.
In fact, it was similar creating a character class with attributes in an RPG. I was forging an identity as there were flaws in my current thinking and approach at the time that left me feeling like I was wasting away in the wind while others clearly were not.
What led me even more into the devious, deviant, and every “ist” and “ism” under the sun circles is the simple fact that they were as hostile as I was to control over freedom of association.
Not once did the mean miserly misogynists sexist racists in the manosphere writhe in constant shouting, shaming, and denunciation of myself for being friends with feminists, social justice advocates, Black Israelites, “liberals”, Trump haters, ect.
Neither did those in the #GamerGate, the Dissident Right, and even in horrible dangerous despicable your-soul-may-perish-for-eternity places like the Roosh V forum.
In fact, not once did some White Nationalist or Supremacists types I talked to flip shit over the fact I talked to Jews, had Jewish friends, and didn’t loathe them. Even in the case of me being mixed race, my family being mixed race of various sorts, and plenty of friends and associates being every kind of ethnicity, race, culture, factions and members of various “groups” did this occur.
After a while, I realized where the real “bigots” were coming from and who was surprisingly far more “tolerant” despite having all sorts of views I didn’t agree with. At the end of the day, I didn’t have to be fully 100% on board with Nazis jackbooting in Harlem with a Hivemind to agree with them that feminism is bad thing.
Look what happens to people like Laci Green who are still ardent feminists and social justice advocates who dared to ask questions and not be completely in lockstep. They of course get all the nasty labels deliberately designed to rid them of their humanity, making them acceptable targets.
After all, if someone isn’t human and their views have no place in “acceptable” society, then there are no rules that limit what you can do to them. The insane exaggerated hyperbole and straw-men they are tarred with is therefore not only “acceptable” but apparently some sort of cosmic justice.
Dissenters must be squashed. For some in uber progressive circles where they spiritually and mentally self-mutilate themselves for not being better allies, they reach a breaking point. The term “Peak Trans” comes to mind. Now they not actually suddenly jump to the right politically, but they end up realizing that they can’t survive in a hive mind which allows for no free thinking.
Social media just exacerbates this problem of free thinking. Express views where you question a popular and accepted narrative? People lose their minds and you become a Nazi, ist, or ism. People will take screenshots of denouncing you and “defriending” you.
One is either a hero or a villain – no in between. If you associate with them in anyway or dare to be friends with them, then via guilt by association, you also become a hero or villain.
Pearce Tefft proclaimed that “Peter Tefft, my son, is not welcome at our family gatherings any longer. I pray my prodigal son will renounce his hateful beliefs and return home. Then and only then will I lay out the feast.”
To quote the guy from 300 who get’s kicked into that bottomless pit, “This is madness.”
I have two sons, and regardless if they became die-hard SJWs who loathed every view I espoused, they’d be welcome in my house. I’m not pouring years of time, smelly diapers, long nights, and the joys of watching them crawl, walk, and start talking down some drain filter because of what they might believe.
In fact the mere thought of it really bothers me. I can see not marrying or dating someone because of it, but your very own flesh and blood?
However, this isn’t a new phenomenon. It’s one of human nature. Plenty of family members, villagers, tribesmen, etc. have disowned each other to the point of the sword because of differences in belief.
However that was then, this is now. Right?
Supposedly the Enlightenment and Age of Reason were supposed to put us past this, but they haven’t. I’m not going to bother to go into the reasons for that, but I will say that social media obviously fuels this polarization and dichotomy of us vs them.
For some people, they aren’t just content to “de-friend” and dehumanize you, they also believe you need to lose your job, be unable to pay your mortgage, and ensure you are out on the streets. Your family who you support financially? They don’t give a shit.
I’ve been an advocate of fighting fire with fire – specifically those people who threaten to or go after people’s jobs. However, with finances being tight for myself and with me being the sole provider for my wife and two sons, it’s hard for me to imagine attempting similar retribution to someone, even if they were the aggressors in trying to get me or people with whom I hold similar views with fired.
At some point, we have to draw the line as to how far one should go in a polite and civilized society – while it still barely remains one.
To all you activists out there, regardless of your stripe and creed, how far are you willing to go?
Seriously, consider that so many ardent screaming activists are often far removed from the situations and people they express outrage about. Do those who scream about gun control the loudest with the biggest platforms live in Baltimore in the ghetto? Often they don’t.
Those same people are then shocked when they exit their bubble and briefly enter another where very different views are held. You’d think they’d embrace that diversity, but often they just point, shriek, and scream “HERETIC!” Often, that’s where the mutual conversation ends and the pitchforks and torches begin.
Is this really how any of us want to live? Where we can’t separate someone from their politics or opinions? I certainly don’t, but I fear far too many do.
“Friendship is like standing on wet cement. The longer you stay, the harder it’s to leave, and you can never go without leaving your footprints behind.” – Unknown
Beginning Your Quest
“Stand By Me” is what crosses my shitlord mind when I think about the ultimate meaning of the word “friend”. Hopefully something of similar aspiration and brilliance crosses your mind as you agonize late into the night about your lack of instagram followers, likes, and retweets.
The 1986 classic is a tale of boys who bond while on the adventure of their lives – to find a dead body first. A dead body was the goal of their quest, but the story of their lives is related by how they got there. Their story, retold by our venerable writer, is what we all desire deep down at our frothy cores.
Even more important, it makes their quest worthy of completion, instead of merely just beginning. Think about the movie Sandlot and Scotty’s quest to make friends. Their adventure expands and culminates in getting that baseball back. Scotty didn’t know it yet, but the neighborhood kids became his family and the quest he began with became something grand – and a classic in American cinema.
Every man needs his quest. He might not know it yet, but ever man at his core has a quest in mind for his life. Myth, legend, history, and memorable fiction is filed with the larger-than-life stories of Achilles, Caesar, Genghis, Harry Dresden, and Huck Finn for a reason.
Real friends” make that quest worth undertaking, as well as make the quest into what we never imagined. Experiences and encounters with friends shape the stories to be told to our grandchildren. Chunk was essential to the group in the Goonies just as Huck Finn was impossible without Tom Sawyer.
They also shape what our quests become and give you those “life is worth living” feelings that everyone want of us wants. You may start off in the Shire, but the way to Mordor is packed with many different stops.
Before I go any further, let me shout something at the rest of you, “STOP CARING WHAT OTHER PEOPLE WILL THINK!” When you don’t shift with the wind and popular opinion and consensus to “fit in”, the friends you will attract will be a of a high caliber and more likely to be TRUE actual friends.
Friends should be thicker than water. Crazy stunts on your bikes, nerding out laughing and gaming on xbox late into the night, and enjoying a pickup game of baseball created a bond that you didn’t easily forget.
I still haven’t forgotten me and my best friend Tim bingewatching anime late into the night while slamming mountain dew. A decade later, we had switched to bud light. Conversations late into the night about plans for the future were the norm. (Think “Second-Hand Lions“)
Yea, I know, “Nerrrddssssss!”
Friendship was a bond between people that extended beyond the normal worries of life. Bonds weren’t necessarily established because you both held up similar signs at a protest, but because you had been through thick and thin together.
You legitimately had not just commonality, but a sense of enjoyment and purpose in the company of someone you considered a friend. Speak friend, and enter. (We all need our Sam, Frodo, and Gandalf in Moria.)
In these dark times, we force the term “friend” to also mean comrade, ally, etc. Obviously, you can be a friend, but not necessarily an ally willing to hopscotch onto those landmines. Well, this used to be the case.
That distinction matters because everyone assumes that you have the same exact views as your friend – or that you should. Become the hivemind. You are identical symbiotic cells according to Facebook feeds.
The current political sphere entails that while you may be a gay Asian lesbian who voted Trump, you are still apparently a Nazi who hates humanity. You are either in the camp getting gassed, or you are the one’s laughing maniacally as you usher the Zyklon B into the shower vents.
Either a deplorable Nazi bastard, or a trans black disabled two-spirit. This thinking has done wonders for those shallow people whose lives depend on political schadenfreude for purpose.
Believe it or not; Trump being the devil or the messiah, the ethics of trannies in the girls bathroom, and whether God exists are great conversations while in a drunken stupor that won’t be uploaded to Facebook. When amongst friends, disagreement/agreement shouldn’t matter.
Agreement and disagreement aren’t what drives your friendship. If they do, you have many like minded acquaintances, but likely no real friends who will stand by you. A rather unsettling thought. So what does a friend look like?
Do you know someone with the history, proximity, life-goals, to some extent common-cause, and shared experiences/ stories that you want to tell your grandchildren? How about that feeling of purpose, fulfillment, and sense of belonging?
Did you think to yourself, “I’d love to grow old with this guy?” Were they always at your back in the thick of life with you? Did they stand by you in times of strife when everyone trashed you? Was there couch always available when you needed it and their ear open when life had you bent over? If so, that’s a real friend – and they don’t make em like they used to.
Go back to the year 1000 and gaze upon a man who was excommunicated. Modern self -loathing Christendom hate aside, the heretic was often avoided by the community and usually dead to his family. At that time, it was essentially a death sentence.
Despite our scorn of those bigoted terrible Christians as we beat on our enlightened snobby chests about how awesome we are ,we’ve actually brought that same mentality back. This time it only dooms you to bad jobs, little opportunity, and scorn from your elite educated betters who’ve studied long and hard for their liberal arts degree.
If you are one of the lucky converts, you’ll be seen as a sinner who needs an extended time of penance in the mines of ally activism to repent for your sins of privilege. You filthy white devil you. Prostrate and repent – but make sure to donate. Forgiveness isn’t cheap.
Will they stand by you? Surely he knows you are a good person at heart, just misunderstood in the shouts for your burning at the stake – but will he voice it in fear for his own hide? You better damn hope so Solo.
The casualties of heresy aren’t necessarily just the one’s you see on the front page of Drudge, but on your social feed as they defriend and block all trespassers of wrongthink. Surely they can’t be seen to have such deplorable friends. After all, what would people think?
Peer pressure makes for likes on Facebook, but will any of those people drive out of their way to pick you up in the middle of nowhere? Will your “friend” have time for you when you actually need it? True friends are indeed rare.
Will he denounce you to the other virtue signal despondent deviants desperate for Faecbook likes and acceptance because you didn’t support #BlackLivesMatter loud enough, check your privilege, or didn’t prostrate yourself low enough for that offensive joke?
Stand By Me
Rest assured that if I call you a friend, I’ll always have your back when the storms rage. It’s exactly why I’ll never denounce men like Forney, Roosh, Aurini, Quintus, etc no matter how many people recoil in horror because they deem their perspectives deplorable. Guilt by association is nonsense and anyone who appeals to it should be disregarded.
Even more so for the close friends I’ve known for the better part of my life. When told that it makes me look like I share their reprehensible heresies, my response is simple and emphatic:“I don’t care.”
Be honest with yourself; the shrieking wolves of Twitter will always assume that friendship equates to a cult like hive mind of absolute agreement. Their goal is isolation of their targets. When they’ve finished, they will still come for you next.
Consider closely who you want to be in this short life. You are never guaranteed tomorrow. Sure, plan for the future, but exactly what future? In fact what would your friends and family say around your gravestone? Deep down, we want a future filled with people, family, and FRIENDS, which make it worth living.
Even if I don’t agree with someone or their supposed racist, sexist, misogynist bigoted uttering – of which I am accused of frequently – they are still my friend no matter what they have or will say.
That’s what true friends do. Your friendship transcends the frequent winds of “change” on the “right side of history.” The right damn side of history is by their side, and they by you.
History won’t fondly remember the con artists who appeal to the moral authority of the majority to scold those who aren’t on the “right side of history” – if it remembers them at all. Face it, history won’t remember virtually any of us, but good friends make our short lives worth getting up in the morning to go to that job we hate to feed our families.
My best friend may be very liberal, but he’s welcome in my home at any point, and I in his. The trust we’ve built over the last 20 years can’t be shaken. Our kids will play together, and our wives worthy of defending regardless the reason.
A word of warning to those who think long-term friends can be replaced: Those who throw their friends away – especially over politics – will be treated with contempt by their newfound like-minded revolutionary comrades, because none of us at heart will ever be truly radical enough.
“Betrayal” no matter how you want to dress it up is not invisible to new bedfellows. Trust will never be built, and thus loyalty will never follow, as they assume you will do the same to them at some point. So goes the common cause.
No matter how much faithful zeal you may have for social justice you will tire, even just slightly of being beaten for your privilege while living paycheck to paycheck – cis straight white males in particular. It is then you will be chastised and exorcised for your lack of allyship.
Meanwhile your best hope is that the friends and family you shunned know well the parable of the prodigal son. You will know them to be true friends and family when they welcome you back with open arms and no demands to get on your knees and beg for sweet forgiveness.
That is what marks a true friend. Value them above all else.
I’ve been unsure of just how to write this review of Quintus. He is a friend of mine and I hope I can relay accurately just how incredible his work is. I want people to be able to realize the grasp of what he’s been doing and it’s significance to us men today and our children in the future.
Inspiration for the subtitle of this post comes from me reading through his site and chapters from his book right before bed, enjoying a new piece of history that was previously unknown to me – similar to the late great Paul Harvey’s “The Rest Of The Story”. Enter his treasure trove of untold stories and you will know my comparison is not exaggerated.
“In times like these it helps to recall there have always been times like these.” – Paul Harvey
Chatting with him over the phone, through emails, and in conversations of various kind, I’ve realized that Quintus is exactly who he says he is. His lessons from both personal experience and from history are coming from someone sees past much of the political and culture war aspect that dominate much of the manosphere and anglospheres. He really is our very own Paul Harvey.
It’s with that comparison you realize just how much of a breath of fresh air Quintus is, especially in recent days when everyone on both sides is screaming about Trump, feminism, immigration, and white nationalism.
As NeoReaction (NRx) is the thinktank and shares overlap of many in our spheres, Quintus is our philosopher for those who don’t wish to learn the language of the NRx crowd of infiltration, as well someone who provides a different but important set of foundations and principles. His work seeks out an audience consisting of those who search for substance instead of viral entertaining prose about fleeting events.
True actual Renaissance men – are rare to encounter these days, let alone one’s who are public, articulate – yet readable by the us laymen, and can write with both a fiery passion and a fine tuned nose for taking the stories of history and presenting in a simple manner as to why they matter to us today.
Meet Quintus Curtius, the manosphere’s own historian, translator, philosopher, and writer – though he would describe himself as a “humanist”. Further credentials for you of an academic mind include being a former marine, current world traveler, publishing four books – including a phenomenal and readable translation of the two thousand year old classic”On Duties” by Cicero, and having taught himself Latin, Arabic, and Portuguese. Channing Tatum may have the looks, but Quintus has the brains that so many of the most esteemed scholars of today wish they possessed.
Quintus has his own site via Fortress Of The Mind, but he has been writing for Return Of Kings for 3 years with a weekly Monday column without fail – to give you an idea of his dedication, consistency and perseverance. Now when we think of that “most vile” website Return Of Kings, we think first about it’s viral articles.
Whether it was Tuthmosis talking about signs you know shes a slut or Forney’s 5 reasons why you shouldn’t date girls with tattoos or piercings, ROK’s truest and most important gems often go unnoticed.
That gem has been most of the articles Quintus writes for ROK and his own site. Fortune is finally and justly smiling on Quintus in recent days with a curious attack on his work was launched by Mark Zuckerberg’s very own sister. Of course, this is boosting his recognition and scope of his audience.
On his site in the “About” section, you’ll notice that he says his goals are to educate, inspire, and to entertain and the different method he goes about achieving this. Of course we all know feminists are harpies, but more articles about slutty Western women aren’t going to help men become their best and reverse our cultural decline. Understanding this Quintus points out his educational mission:
Educate. My books deal heavily with themes from history, philosophy, and biography. I use these subjects as the trunk of the tree on which I can graft my own ideas and interpretations of these subjects. I do not belong to any political affiliation; rather, I see myself as a “humanist” in the Renaissance sense of this term. Several chapters of my books “Thirty Seven” and “Pantheon” deal specifically with this subject (i.e., the education of the young).
The current educational curriculum in the United States (as well as in much of the West) has seriously neglected classical learning and humanistic knowledge for some time. This has resulted in the degradation of the training of character, morals, and masculine virtue. Women have also suffered from this neglect of the cultivation of virtue. A good portion of my readers are women, believe it or not. My goal is to bring this neglected or forgotten knowledge to a new audience who may have never had any exposure to it before. I have done this through my translations, books, and blog articles.
Most of the people we know have neither time nor reason to further their own self-education. Netflix is too easy, gaming is too pleasant of a distraction, criticizing feminism and SJWs easy slap-on-the-back choir noise, and the 24/7 news cycle an addictive dopamine to convince ourselves we KNOW what’s actually going on. So why bother?
To this extent, Quintus provides inspiration to delve deeper. Stumbling upon a writers best work is how you get hooked, and I’m glad I did. While some of the more elite writers might scoff, awakening the desire to learn once again is how a cultural renaissance begins. Quintus demonstrates why inspiration is so important:
Inspire. Good writing inspires readers. Reading about great figures in history, literature, art, science, medicine, and any other field of endeavor can inspire readers to their own achievements. I have the ability to take incidents from history and to write about them in a way that focuses their relevance to contemporary affairs. I also have written extensively about my own personal experiences and views of life. Taken together, these subjects let readers know that they are not alone, and that others have shared their struggles and emerged triumphant.
Do you gentleman want to awaken some of that inspiration ? I’d highly recommend the survival story of anarartic explorer Douglas Mawson in which Quintus demonstrates the importance of why his survival story MATTERS and what we can take away from it.
Mawson would survive through shear willpower alone one of the most harrowing and vicious conditions I’ve read about. Here’s a quick summary: 310 miles from his main base in Antarctica him and his companion lost their sled-dog team and all of their food and resources which fell off an ice ledge. He would drag his companion through the bitter freezing subzero conditions with winds that regularly reached 200 mph toward.
His companion would die from the conditions, but Mawson would refuse to give up even with his flesh falling off his bones . Continuing toward a hut filled with supplies that was over a hundred miles away, he would LITERALLY will himself to survive, crawling and stumbling the last 26 miles to it. Let Quintus relay the eloquence of this incredible feat in his own words:
“As he approached Commonwealth Bay, Mawson made out a black speck in the distance. He approached it, walking, stumbling, and crawling, and he could eventually see that it was the hut. One of the remaining search party, a man named Frank Bickerton, chanced to see Mawson lurching about in the distance in the snow. He and several other men ran out to make contact with the desperate figure. They did not know who he was at first. The skin was falling off what remained of his flesh, most of his hair had fallen out, his hands and feet were barely functional, he was covered in frostbite and frozen sores, and he could hardly speak. Mawson collapsed in their arms, and his ordeal was over.”
It was this story – which he tells in vivid detail in his book Pantheon, which I’ve read and poured through multiple times. That leads us to another point actually – all of Quintus books should have notes taken on them during readings . Each time you come back to a particular essay, you can come away with new insight because his material is designed to be re-read and studied.
His approach to history is wide ranging, full of such depth, and dare I say; inclusive – and I don’t mean in the current sense of the buzzword. Many of his lessons from history include the best of the Arab classists, poets, and historians ranging from Ibn Khallikan to Ibn Khaldun. Quintus even delves into the work of Lu Hsun, Machiavelli, and Libanius.
This wide range also includes the importance of Brazilian explorers and photographers such as Candido Rondon and Sebastião Salgado as he find nuggets to share via Brazilian history. Again, one that stands out in particular concerning Brazil is their “Rubber Soldiers” and how through their efforts in the Amazon, the US was able to have access to rubber during World War Two. In my greatness, I’d never heard of them before. But that’s not all.
Quintus realizes that an entertaining writer is one who can bring men out of their slumber. Sometimes all we need is that small push to drive us toward finding a fire within ourselves. Laziness is often far more difficult to overcome, but that bit of entertainment in one’s self education can be the spark. Quintus points this out as the 3rd significant part of his mission:
Entertain. Everyone likes a good, engaging story. One cannot convey a message unless he is able to maintain the attention of the reader. I have designed my books in such a way that they can be opened at any place, and read with profit and entertainment at that place.
My personal observation is that the youth (and adults) of today have lost touch with the values, mores, traditions, and glories of the past. It is my purpose to hunt down these forgotten treasures, dust them off, and bring them to a new generation of readers in a way that is unique, engaging, and entertaining. That is my purpose.
Quintus Curtius’ thorough examination of these men isn’t because of any faux appeal to “diversity” and political correctness, but because of the merit of their work. That is exceedingly rare these days when it comes to trying to find extraordinary and worthy snippets from world writers past and present that isn’t being pushed for some kind of social justice-esque motive.
Do you really desire more than just mere “self-improvement”, but an understanding of history, philosophy, and culture that will teach life lessons? Quintus is then VERY worthy of your time – much more so than many of the writers out there that dabble in justifiable outrage porn – that we all enjoy.
What he seeks to give us is the wisdom that so many men have only managed to acquire late in their life – and if you look at the stories he unearths from the past, you may indeed come to know not just the rest of the story like Paul Harvey, but why you should take inspiration and motivation from it. Take hold of the future for it lies before you. Don’t let your youth be wasted on the young. Invest your time in Quintus’s work and begin your quest.
Those dreaded useless words I hear uttered frequently by everyone ranging from my 14 year old cousin to my pot-head friends of yesteryear to my lovely lass wife. Yes, she doesn’t want to watch Netflix or some other movie for yet ANOTHER night, but finances are tight as I’m the only one working for the man right now.
We aren’t just bored. We go to bed expecting tomorrow to be exhausing, unfuffiling, and frustrating knowing nothing worthwhile will be accomplished. Stuck in a trance-like state, we’re going through the motions, even when lazy and lounging around. Yes, we are tired from caring for an infant, and my pregnant again wife is always exhausted, but still it’s not supposed to be like this.
An endurance in the fulfillment and contentment in what we’ve accomplished as a family – in a short time. Our phones and Netflix are just a distraction in our attempt to relax and ignore reality for the moment because it’s too painful. Idle hands really are the devils workshop. Of course there is some context.
I’m an asshole to myself and in my leadership role. Hunkering down each night in the living room to watch da Netflix and waste time informing myself via the news, twitter, and the blogosphere isn’t because I desperately desire it, but rather because money is tight and our infant son needs to be in his crib. It’s a convenient and even truthful excuse
Even with it being a valid excuse, I KNOW I need to get us off TV at night time and toward something productive so we aren’t “bored”. Between getting fat and gaining 20 damn pounds over these two pregnancies and working a sedentary call center gig, I’m the fattest I’ve ever been. Exercise, I need you.
Yes, I should be taking us on fun adventures with plenty of walking that you see in da movies, but can we really take a 9 month old infant out on a stroll at 10 PM in 20 degree weather regardless of how well bundled up he is?
Take into account the meth addicts that seem to be prowling the streets and parks and the possible excitement we might encounter goes against our parental instincts. When you become parents, you have to be far more responsible then you actually may want to be in your struggle against . The delayed maturity that men in particular deal with hits hard and fast – or at least it should when you become a father.
We remain hunkered inside our bunker, trying to get our minds off life watching movies, still bored, and my wife still stressed though her pregnancy. (A recipe ripe for producing arguments between couples.)
Ideally, I’d love to go out, grab some food, feel cool, splurge the cash, and not worry about spending money for once. Showing off our 9 month old son to everyone at that establishment makes us feel like we’ve done – or rather made someone worthy of plenty of gazing.
True story, as every time we take him out, women drool and gush over how cute he is. Yes, he is very cute.
However, when we go out, is it a useful investment of our time? Who are we hanging out with? Will sharing time with them build us up?
Going out makes us feel like we are taking a break from our mundane lives living in a place we shouldn’t even be. It’s why us millennial blow so much damn money on food when we should be saving it for that house that won’t be coming from a job that won’t we be getting because of our useless degrees. Forgetting about life for that moment really is key.
For my pregnant wife, it takes some of the stress off. Otherwise, it’s back to our dinky apartment where I will get yelled at for something all stemming back from boredom. First we loved this apartment, as it was a place of our own.
Now it just reminds us of bad decisions, filthy and thieving neighbors, and all the food places around us which we shouldn’t spend money because we need to be responsible for once and save some of it.
Are They Really Down On Their Luck?
Hell, at least when we do blow dat money, it’s not on meth like much of the surrounding “homeless” population seems to do. In fact, these “homeless” folks often walk a mile down the road to their truck, throw that cardboard sign “Homeless and Hungry” into the back and drive on off.
I’m sure their plight is as bad as they want us to believe, but you’d think they’d make it obvious by dressing worse instead of like they just went shopping at the mall. Panhandling is the way of the future.
Just the other day I was approached by some guy who asked me if I had change for the bus. Immediately I was annoyed, irritated, and actually tired. Where I’m from in Illinois, people beg for “change for the bus” all the damn time only to spend it on booze, cigs, drugs, or other fleeting pleasures.
Frankly, it pisses me off because unless I personally know them or someone I respect vouches for them, I can assume they are trying to shake me down like I’m some kind of hipster white costal elite type who is plagued by guilt and a trust fund who needs his good deed for the day.
Telling this guy I knew what he was up to, he still held frame. So I decided to give him a 1$. He then went straight into Walgreens to buy his bus ticket I’m sure. Add getting that buck out of me to his wall of accomplishments. What a waste of time.
Currently where I live, there is a horrible meth problem – one of the worst in the nation – as well as “homeless” people everywhere. Sorting through the actual victims vs the pretenders makes me a jaded man. I promise I’m going somewhere with this post.
Looking In A Cracked Mirror
However, it’s made do some soul searching. Me and my wife have gotten food from the local church pantry here. Did someone else need it more? Yes we have 100$ left in our bank account, but we did do frivolous spending prior.
Taking her out multiple times for dinner, buying her a maternity coat for the winter that actually fits, and getting us numerous other things at Walmart that while we could utilize, we didn’t absolutely need has got me thinking.
If I’m honest, I need to wonder if we are abusing the local safety nets – even slightly. Yes, it’s just me working and I can barely pay all the bills sometimes. Hell, we were down to 2$ in our bank account for about three days to get us through to pay day.
On the other hand, baby food is expensive, as is formula, clothes, etc. Wages aren’t great and the cost of living still isn’t low enough to really save any money on one income with one infant and another on the way. Is this all included in the thought process when charitable places don’t have a problem giving us food, aid, and help?
I’ve seen people with a far worse plight then my own; families literally on the street outside my apartment complex. I have a smart phone, wifi at my apartment, and we only have to pay the electric bill when it comes to utilities. Sometimes I’ll even have around 150$ something left over after bills to get us through to the next check. Our two door car is in good shape, and while small, it get’s us where we need to go with no car payment. Yes, it could be much worse.
The admirable American dream is still currently out of reach for me. My wife is planning on getting a nursing gig here and seeing if they will pay for part of med school, but nothing is assured.
Our families have been very helpful. My parents have bought us diapers, formula, and even shipped some non perishables to our house. Our relatives have all given us some money. My wife’s grandmother who loves us dearly has sent plenty of cash our way when times have been dire.
Essentially, we are blessed. We just keep forgetting because there is plenty of time on our hands stuck inside our apartment to ponder on what hasn’t gone our way yet.
So shouldn’t I render the same to the discarded rubbish on the street nearby? I want to, but I’m not entirely sure who really needs help and who is just pretending. Then again, that thought goes through my head – are we pretenders as well?
We aren’t standing out with signs, but we have gotten help. Did people think we were worse off then we were? Surely, I hope we have not misled anyone.
Crawling Toward The Endzone
Even with self-reflection, it’s hard to be content and grateful for what we have because we aren’t anywhere close to reaching our goals and living our dreams. Then again, even if we do, what then? Will we have a similar trance state of life, just with less worry, wondering what then shall we do?
“Ease and relaxation are wonderful. But they are not goals. They are temporary, transitory conditions of the spirit.” – Quintus C
My wife isn’t thinking about how lucky we are to have a car – she’s thinking about how she’s pregnant again, unable to go to school and/or work, how finances are tight, and how much we miss our friends and family. This in spite of how much we’ve actually accomplished this far together. Why the sense of not just failed dreams, but of a lack of fulfillment in the one’s we have lived?
We need a mindset shift. In a post about the struggles of life, Quintus Curtius talks about the “Endzone” and about how we create goals for ourselves and yet still feel unaccomplished.
“We must never allow ourselves to feel broken, defeated, debilitated, or beaten by life. I will not allow this. I will not permit this disease of defeatism in my life. Will not. Ever.”
Boredom and that trance like state spiral toward feelings of despair and failure before driving us toward any other kind of reality – Netflix for example – to take our minds off it instead of actually fixing it. Eventually, it seeps through our diversion shields and breaks them.
When we falter toward the above, boredom and distraction from it lead to that feeling of being beaten up by life lying down and reaching in vain for that fresh green endzone.
I’m not even in the endzone – I’m struggling within 80 yards of it, on my hands and knees dragging my burdens along. But life is just that – a constant struggle to the day we die trying to arrive. This is no cause for despondency and acceptance of vanity however.
Through the struggles in life is where we make and leave our mark. Our character is refined in the furnaces of life and reputations are forged. Obstacles are overcome and foundations set. Stories are born and tales of your golden days are told to your grandchildren gathered around you.
You just can’t see it yet.
“But this does not mean that life is an endless sequence of gloom and doom, of conflict on top of conflict, signifying nothing. No, far from it. It only means that life is for the living. Life is for the stout of heart. For the coeurs de leon.” – Quintus Curtius
Patriarch. Patriarchy. Such delicious terms that always cause a firestorm when you throw them around. Granted they mean as much as the word “fascist” does these days, but they are still great words to make a point with.
I’m not a Patriarch. I don’t think anything even remotely like it is possible in the World anymore. That said the word brings about some worthy triggering, so I intend to use it as much as possible.
Recently, my life has become like one of those sack races at a school party. My wife is in the sack with me – almost twice a day on average – and often we are trying to hop in different directions when it comes to our plans, ideas, and how we want to spend our time that day. Our marriage is yet young. As we seek to better communicate and understand the stubborn other, a new path in life opens.
As the experts hum repeatedly, much of marriage is all about communication. Usually, you don’t start off to well in that department. The specific verbal and non-verbal manner of that communication is a different skill all in itself – one that is often unpolished.
Through the communication we stumble through now, I’ve learned something important. Your priorities will shift so much in your life – especially with an infant that much of what you did and who you were before marriage wont be the same.
If you want to be that great family patriarch of old, most of your available time in a day must be spent nurturing your family – specifically your wife in the early years and your children. Just as anything substantial in life requires much time and investment, your family is no exception. (Infants are quite the time investment when they won’t fall asleep at night and continue to cry.)
I’m now building my legacy, but that is a time and life investment that will consume my time in life. Less going out with friends to the bar. Less video game binges into the wee hours. Less wasting of time period. My hobbies now tend to include research about the best ways to get my son crawling early and my social activities tend to involve my wife. (Father and son hobbies will come as my son grows older.)
In a way, I’m being forced to be more productive and deliberate as to how I spend my time – an odd side effect of having a family that I had no clue about. It is however a welcome one, in that it forces some discipline upon you, something I’ve struggled to do over my life. Dragged by my heels to be better, so to speak.
Much of my generation is hedonistic in we view ourselves. Usually, it’s all about what makes me happy and satisfied now and anything that get’s in the way is a problem – or in the cases of some RP enthusiasts – supposed Beta behavior. What most players don’t realize is that when you get married, your wife needs your time. It can feel a bit strangling at times with a loss of space being your gut instinct, but new instincts will develop as your marriage goes on.
Essentially, if you want to build that next generation and a culture that will last – think of what Roosh is trying to build – your excess pleasures, desires, and frivolous hobbies will have to take a back seat. It becomes less about what makes you happy and more about what is necessary for the success of your family. I’m selfish and I’ll admit it, a hard RP to swallow is that what makes me happy isn’t necessarily going to make my wife happy or even my children. (Have another one on the way in that department.) Basically, we mature as men because we must.
Some men might take it as the nail in their coffins of their prior lives, but it simply means that a transition is taking place. What I’m realizing now is that if you want a family, a legacy, love, growing old together, and many of the usual romantic dreams, much of your bachelor self will shed it’s skin permanently. So in order to get your new skin, you have to shed the old.
I no longer have as much time for video games and my usual pleasures of flesh. Instead, I often limit them to an hour a day at most so I can focus on spending time with my wife – who needs my attention and help even more so being that I knocked her up again. Remember, marriage is a different adventure and the skills needed are far different from the arsenal of most players. Finding that key balance becomes as valuable as gold and a key component into becoming that patriarch.
In a young marriage, your wife is needy – as is mine. When you decide to have your first kid, pregnancy adds another element to that. We hear alot about shit-tests but not alot about comfort tests. I recall a conversation with my wife when she was in tears about how I didn’t comfort her, wrap my arms around her, and tell her everything was going to be okay when our son was in the NICU for 3 weeks after he was born. She wanted me to hold her in my arms and not let her go. I was supposed to be strong, but while I thought I was, I didn’t pass that strength on to her.
Logically I thought that she already knew she had my support – and I was coming to be with her everyday in the evening when I got off work. (Remember how powerful and dominant a woman’s emotions are, especially after birth.) However, I didn’t verbally communicate my thoughts on how she was feeling and how everything was going to be fine. I probably wasn’t physically affectionate enough either and obviously we couldn’t bond and come together through sex in the weeks after birth. (You really do have to be on your game and making it an intrinsic part of yourself.)
This was a hard lesson for me to learn. Men… we often have to learn how to love – both in how we show and how we do it. Love is what girls so desperately need, just as respect is something men need when it comes to marriage.
Now do you lose who you are? Everything that makes you… you?
Your family becomes you.
I as a man and father, and my wife as a woman and a mother, are now putting our feet on the next step up the stairs of life. It’s all happening very fast as is the excitement about it. About 3 months ago, we moved down to Missouri. I won’t say where, but I do like what I see down here. Housing is cheap – though so are wages.
(Luckily, I’ve got a job in which I can make a good amount of money. It’s a sale job, and I will essentially have to internalize game in a sales oriented manner. )
Arguably, it’s probably one of the most important skills a man can learn that he can apply to many other aspects of life. I never realized its application that many had waxed eloquently about until training for my current job. (Also, a quick pro-tip I’ve learned: He who complains the most gets the most. ) Furthermore, me and my wife are going to be moving into an apartment, which is will be our first place on our own with each other.
In order to start a community, you have to have a place of your own to do it. I’ve seriously considered trying to start an RVF tribe where I live. However, I’ll need to devote more time to conversing with the men of my area – specifically fathers. Even in my online reading, I find myself reading more of Dalrock, DeepStrength, FreeNortherner, and Davis Aurini. (Vox Day as well.)
I often want to help men who struggle with women out – as I see who I was in them. At the same time, I’m also realizing that men with families really do need other family men to come together to eat, drink, converse, and to sharpen each other’s lives. The conversation at the table really will differ then it did in our bachelor days. Behold, the next step in life.
Monday, April 18th, 2016 at 1:37 PM, my son Julius was born. His birth was the culmination and the reward for all of the various fights, strife, conflicts, and plain out stress that me and my pregnant wife had gone through leading up to that very moment. That said, I don’t think I was as nearly prepared for it as I thought I was. While fatherhood strikes whether you are ready for it or not, the process leading up to it can be both a joyous and tumultuous affair. Score one for my continued legacy and that evil Patriarchy with my sons birth though, as we are about to strengthen it’s ever growing resolve. (My wife already told me just the other day, “I’m ready for another one.”)
That said it’s still been stressful as my son couldn’t go home with us. He wasn’t breathing enough oxygen and had to be transferred to another hospital. My wife’s been there every day, sometimes for 12 hours a day, with me heading there the second I’ve gotten off work. Up until just a day ago, she couldn’t even hold him in our arms. As a new mother, it’s been killing her.
I can see the pain in her eyes, the stress in her movement, and the easy escalation of disagreements – though we’ve fought way less since he’s been born. My wife is young – almost 20 – and this is our first child, so we as new parents are still barely scratching the surface in just what it means to be parents. (If you’ve noticed, I try not to say my wife’s first or maiden name so certain assholes can’t target her or her future employers.)
Yes, married couples – especially newer ones fight way more than anyone want’s to admit.
Now, we hear alot about the taking the Red Pill and what it can do for a man. We know it can mean much more then just discovering the truth about feminism, social justice, and gender relation as Hawaiian Libertarian has pointed out. But what happens when you miss certain aspects of it, or dare I say, other “Red Pill” entirely?
Marriage isn’t something talked about nearly enough in whatever is left of the “manosphere”, though Roosh and many at ROK have made observations about about how men move past the player stage and what more from life and the worldview of Neo-Masculinity. When it is talked about often, it’s about how men should never get married and how you should only marry foreigners if you do.
That’s good and all, but those of us like myself who have not only gladly taken the risk, but are creating families from it, there might be a bit lacking in the RP advice department, especially on when your wife is pregnant. While game doesn’t end when you get married, but instead evolve, I often ask myself the following:
1. Am I being supportive enough?
2. Am I taking too much shit that I never would have taken before? Again, pregnancy is another aspect. Women use words as weapon very effectively, and my wife is no exception when she is stressed, in pain, has a baby kicking the inside of her, and is full of hormones. What is the appropriate course of action?
3. What should I take a stand on and what should I understand is merely a result of pregnancy? What disagreements should I compromise on or give 100% into her on. (Stress can cause miscarriages.) Did she mean any of the nasty things she just said in a fight after she apologized for them just an hour later?
4. What kind of game should be run vs what kind of game is even acceptable? Honesty is important, alas why my wife knows what my worldview is.
5. How should I resolve fights? I have my normal RP way of dealing with women, but my wife isn’t just a woman, she’s the mother of my son and is love of my life. Red-Pilled wisdom from older married men is something I wish I had way more of. Yes, I know of stuff like this, but it doesn’t go far enough.
In our young marriage, we’ve had some terrible fights, but they’ve ended pretty quickly. Sometimes I’ve put my foot down, and it does lead to more respect. The thing is I lack the necessary wisdom of when to use a gentle word to turn away wrath and when to be firm. My dad gave me a piece of wisdom in that hurtful words said early are bad for the early foundation of your marriage. No brainer, of course.
For the most part when my wife is on the verbal warpath, slashing me with her tomahawk of vicious words, I usually won’t say nasty things back; something I would do in return to anyone who wasn’t my family or my wife. I made a specific exception because she is my wife, and was pregnant. One time however, I did slip and I was so mad, I called her a piece of shit. Despite she had said far worse things to me during the car ride in which we were fighting, all of her nasty barbs didn’t matter. I was blown away.
Surprisingly in many way, Bill Burr was right:
Why was my wife acting like a teenager? Then it me; she’s 19. She still is a teenager. In fact, I’m her first real relationship. Her expectations and mine have been different on a few things. I want my alone time – she strongly objects to this sometime, the pregnancy being part of that. I often wondered, why does she say the nastiest shit when she’s angry?
(Sometimes whenever she is irked by my actions/words she will say in this disproving motherly tone, “Seriously?” It irks me even more and makes me want to say, “Yea, fucking seriously.” Then, I remember that I do indeed love her. I just wish there were more guys out there like AverageMarriedDad and TheFamilyAlpha who know what it’s like and have advice on how to have a successful happy marriage and a resulting healthy family. Too often, we get alot of marriage advice from men who aren’t actually married or are bitterly divorced and have a strong bias against it – somewhat understandably so.
Marriage is hard work, but it’s worth it. Yes, it like any other major life choice is a risk, but it’s a worthy one, despite the quality of good women in our generation, the courts, and a system rigged against men. Marriage is a risk, but what else in life isn’t a risk? Some of the best thing in life involve risk – whether that be in time investment, finances, relationships, etc. Don’t let your life be hindered by aversion to risk, simply decide what risks are really worth it. I do believe marriage is one -provided you find the right woman which definitely is worth it.
Holding your son for the first time is worth it. Oh and stopping fights as they happen with sex – which we do alot – is totally worth it. In fact, if there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that if the fight is about to escalate, pull her pant’s down. Her words, not mine. Well, she was definitely right about that. (Also make-up sex and I’ve never had to beg for sex. Ever.)
I encourage men who aren’t sure about marriage to really look for a good woman. They are out there, though you won’t find them on Tinder, bars, etc. Are you looking hard enough? Are your glasses filtering out the good girls? Many of you say you want one, but do you really? When you marry young, you do face different challenges and you would be wise to ready yourself for them. Being good at being a man is hard work.
Do you want your legacy to continue? Do you want the pleasure of having your child gaze up at you and look deeply into your eyes? Do you want to statistically have far more sex as a married man than single men do – especially when you are young? Obviously don’t marry for just sex or even just love. Find the right woman. You don’t marry someone who is your soulmate. You marry someone who becomes your soulmate. Remember that dear Gentleman, and Godspeed to you.
I’ve seen people who have been so thoroughly damaged by their past that their anger consumes them and is dished out upon the surrounding world.
Their inability to let the past go cripples them. Unlike the song, they shall not overcome. Instead, they give into a formidable and dangerous form of envy, because its easier then taking any responsibility. Why work on yourself, if others are completely at fault?
It is indeed envy more than it is jealousy because envy is the reaction to lacking what others have while jealousy is the usual reaction to losing what you have – usually not just in possessions, but people as well.
Look at the roots of the Social Justice dogma that plagues my millennial generation; it is a fundamental belief that you have been deprived, wronged, and prevented from having what is rightfully yours. Everyone else is oppressing you.
The 1%, the cis straight white male with a decent white collar job, the normal everyday blue collar worker with no criminal record; they don’t deserve it, but the fact that they have it and you don’t leads to that boiling rage and all consuming fire of envy. It’s not even just limited to success, as people covet the looks of others, blaming those looks and their lack of them for their inability to succeed. On social media, this has been dubbed, “The Instagram Effect”.
Look at the results of that fire. It destroys the lives of those who social justice types and feminists who have subconsciously and unknowingly became nihilists as the logical conclusion of their ideology tears into reality.
Consider the critics of men like Mike Cernovich. What is at the root of their anger toward him? His success. His influence. His ability to self-publish a book and sell over 15,000 copies in less than six months. Because they can’t have it, no one else can. They want his “fame” and “fortune”, but they don’t want any of the hardwork that went with it and the family that Cernovich has created in these last few years.
They firmly believe that they are simply “leveling” the playing field, but don’t actually realize that they are destroying it because they hate themselves and what they have become.
Of course they can’t realize this because they are so thoroughly broken by their pasts, that they can’t see beyond their own pain, nor see the pain of other “privileged” people in front of them.
The resentment that Quintus talks about is all consuming. People who have more then you do aren’t just “privileged”, they are an enemy. Because they have what you don’t, they must be taken down a notch and made to “check their privilege.” Why create when you can steal, plunder, and destroy what was your enemies?
But even that isn’t enough. They are a kind of evil, to be vanquished. The homeless cis straight white male on the streets isn’t evidence of holes in their ideology, but rather a confirmation that the “Patriarchy”, “White Supremacy”, or whatever other buzzword effects the “privileged”.
Envy when left unchecked, and the anger and resentment that give birth to it, eventually result in a complete lack of empathy. Ironically, that lack of empathy is exactly what they credit as to leading up to “systematic racism”, “white supremacy”, “Patriarchy” and the rest of it.
Why? What is turning them into Medusas that turn to stone everything they see?
Nietzsche was right when he said, “Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”
They are now that monster, fueled by anger and resentment of what others supposedly have which they do not. Leveling the playing field isn’t enough anymore; they must now destroy and dismantle everything that the previous “establishment” has created and produced.
This is why political correctness isn’t just running amok, its becoming more personal each and every day as the political becomes deeply personal.
It’s why Huck Finn is too “dangerous” to be allowed in literature classes because it hurts the “feelings” of those who have supposedly has much less and therefore it’s educational benefits that other students may gain from it simply doesn’t matter.
Envy is indeed dangerous, especially to those who are desperate to find a cause to give their life meaning and in turn adopt causes like “Feminism”, “Fat Acceptance”, and “Cultural Sensitivity” because they know their life doesn’t have purpose. So does everyone else.
Because of that, no one else’s life can either.
This doesn’t have to be any of us. It doesn’t have to be you. Even if everyone else is completely at fault for your problems, it won’t change the fact that you still face those problems.
“Stop hating and start creating.” – Mike Cernovich
It’s October of last year in the evening. I’ve made it to the train station just in time, half-walking and half-jogging. My mood is somewhat relieved and I’m looking forward to listening to some music in the bliss of the ride home.
Hopping on the train at the Lake Forest stop, I grabbed a seat on the upper deck, put the other two down near me, and proceeded to lay down on them as a kind of makeshift bed.
Laying down, I glance up at my phone as I browsed through reddit and the newest stories of the perpetual outraged, headphones playing loud angry music in my ear. Yes, I find Senses Fail to be quite relaxing.
It looks like the guy across is talking to me. His lips are moving.
Yes, he is.
I take out my headphones and he wants to know if I’m okay, as I was coughing while laying down. He mentions that, “I’ve seen people die on this train.”
His tone of voice and his non-verbals are seeped in “hidden” distaste for me. I ignore it, brush it off, and assure him I’m fine as I go back to Reddit.
15 minutes later I notice he is saying something again.
I take out my headphones to hear him.
By the way his mouth is moving and the look on his face, he doesn’t look happy. This time he seemed VERY agitated about the way I was sitting. Apparently he thought I might be taking pictures of him with my phone, which I wasn’t. I thought this odd considering how I was sitting and the direction I was facing.
He is now quite upset by the way I was laying down.
Again, he tells me that I am being rude. How? My semi-open dangling legs were exposing my crotch to the Indian girl sitting several seats down and that was apparently very rude.
It was then that I realized I had been targeted.
He wasn’t going to let this go. He was looking for a verbal confrontation and his cross-hairs had landed directly on me.
I sat up, took the initiative, and attempted to deflect and diffuse the verbal attacks. I am a communications major after all. Finally, perhaps I can see how well some of theories apply to real-world situations.
He’s in a half-rage mode; a strawman here and an angry passive-aggressive accusation there. The anger and frustration in his voice is starting to build. Conclusions and assumptions about me are landing left and right.
I’m taken back for a second. I was startled – almost confused.
What is this tumblr? Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration.
Apparently I was some punk ass-kid/student from Chicago coming down here to get off at Libertyville station stop and I didn’t give a fuck about the other people on the train. Perhaps it’s my “hipster look” that planted the seeds of wrath. I prefer to think of it instead as well-groomed and well-dressed for my stature.
I pointed out to him that NO ONE has ever objected to the way I’ve laid down before.
In fact, it had NEVER happened before. He was the first damn one. I’m starting get irritated now with him and how this has all started.
He insists its a matter of being respectful. My inner philosopher ignites and I assume that he will have a post-modern framework for his concept on “respect” and as to what constitutes as my previous “rude” behavior. I begin my philosophical adventure.
I proceeded to question him on how he knew what was “Respectful.” He appeals to the way he was raised. Interesting. Apparently us young punks know nothing about respect – I secretly agree with him.
Further in the conversation reveals that he is basing his view of the concept on experience, tradition, and essentially his parents. This actually creates in me some respect for him and it causes me to pause in my planned verbal retaliation.
I started trying to think to myself about why he was giving me such a hard time. It was a serious, “Dude, wtf?” moment of thought. Should I stand up for myself and not put up with this crap? Perhaps I wasn’t giving him a reason to respect me.
We were now at a point where I suspected that other people were going to become involved as his tone of voice kept getting louder.
I wasn’t in the mood for this to escalate and as much as I enjoy uncomfortable situations, this was lacking the humorous and adventurous side to it. Also, I was hoping the conductors weren’t going to get involved, though I was certain they’d side with me.
No, I was going to fight my own battles. That’s what a man does – when he can.
It was here the conversation turned.
I pointed out to him I lived in Fox Lake, I also told him about how I thought his age had nothing to do with whether I respected his opinions or not. Living in Fox Lake meant that I wasn’t some spoiled rich yuppie from Libertyville who thinks that the world is my trash dump.
I ask a few questions meant to flush out what was bugging him – what had caused the initial simmer of suppressed rage inside him. I knew there was more here than meant the eye. No one flies off the handle over something so small…
Conversations like these – maybe not as heated at first as this one was – are something I live for. They break up the routine of my day. I made the most out of this one and I’m glad I did, because I learned something.
This fellow’s name was Jim.
I plied Jim for more about himself and he told me his back-story. He’s a 53 year old micro-biologist who works his ass off to put his two of his three daughters through college. His marriage leaves much to be desired and “support” isn’t something he’s experienced in a while. He’s struggling financially, but fishing with his buddies at least gives him some reprieve. Put blankly, he feels unfulfilled, confused, and somewhat jaded through life – a state of almost mental and emotional exhaustion.
Even though, my situation isn’t even close to his, I felt a kind of kinship for Jim – as man to man. It’s no accident that I feel as I’ve met people just like him before with similar frustrations with life.
I feel a sense of sympathy for him.
During the rest of the ride and our conversation, he would apologize several times to me. Throughout the conversations, he would continue this regarding the initial assumptions he had made about me, but I told him not to worry about it.
“The past is the past,” I told him. For the most part, that is a motto I live by.
Jim you see is a classic example of a guy going on through life who needs a chance to vent every once in a while, but doesn’t. I don’t know if he’s ever really been given the chance, but I suspect he’s had this bottled up in him for a while.
It was the small action of the way I laid that set him off. I had experienced my own WW1 spark in interpersonal conflict.
Jim is a good guy, but he’s been through a lot more than I would have thought. . He tells me stories about how he’s been attacked and beat up in Fox Lake outside of bars. Drinking sometimes has a steeper price than a hangover.
He was starting to see crime, drug deals around the Fox Lake train station and even right outside the Thortons nearby. The realization of the scuminess of my town and that of humanity was getting to him. He emphasized that no one cared about what had happened to him or what was happening around.
That was what got me. No one cared about what he had seen, heard, and experienced so he never bothered to vent about it. No support, he just kept it tightly wrapped and wound up.
What happened to Jim – just one action- that magnifies to a great extent the rest of what he has been feeling and seeing can happen to myself.
I literally told him when we got off the train, “There’s only so much a man can handle before he explodes.” I’ll never forget the look on his face. It was one of gratitude and of shock in that he realized I understood him – despite our difference in age and situations.
In every story and conversation there is a lesson.
All men out there need a time and a chance to vent. This isn’t toxic masculinity; it’s the necessary expression of rage and anger that we are forced to keep a lid on.
This of course doesn’t change the fact that most men keep this rage, frustration, depression, and anger pent up. Some have found ways to manage – the gym, 1st person shooters, sports, ect, but is it enough? I suppose these methods won’t get your a way that won’t get you arrested, hated, and in constant fights with your wife, but there must be more.
We all need friends – real friends – as an outlet and as support to get things off your chest that no one else will understand or be able to hear. Your wife, girlfriend, or effeminate therapist wont’ be able to console you in the same way that other men will. These male friends can provide you with the wisdom that is gained from the experience of life, as well as the understanding of the vast challenges that men face in today’s culture.
They won’t BS you, but they will hear you out, and offer the necessary – if rough – advice that others won’t. Reddit might be one way to do this, but face-to-face with close male friends is the best. This isn’t homosexual, it’s simply men getting close with another and bonding over the challenges and quest that is life.
Get it all off your chest.
We all have pent up rage that builds. It’s a matter of fact of life. The people who explode are some how seen as terrible, immature, ect but the reality of life is that this is just a natural part of humanity.
Let it go.
Don’t be afraid to tell your friends what’s really on your mind. Be yourself and I’m not saying that in a BS “feel good” cultural way. Find and make close male friends who are willing to help you out and offer you solid wise advice.
Before we parted ways at the station, Jim told me he was glad the conversation happened.
I was too.
It was a raw unfiltered and genuine conversation that should happen between men more often.