Yesterday I discovered some YouTube videos that make us laugh out loud, especially those involving children. From a collection of pranks for example, the one that almost killed me of laughter was a ‘scary’ kid: here (see also this one of a girl apparently pregnant by her child husband!).
I compared the volume of visits from those dying LOL videos with this site, and concluded that I have been wrong about something fundamental.
If we think about the white advocates’ sites, Andrew Anglin’s has been the most popular: just the closest, within racialism, to those prank videos: some of which already have more than 100 million views.
What I have been wrong about is not realising that the psychoclass to which I belong is not only sidereally different from the psychoclass of those to whom I would like my message to reach. I come from a tragic family that destroyed three persons, of whom two died and I am the only survivor to tell their story (so I will be busy the rest of the month reviewing the syntax of my books). This experience has developed in me a gravitas character in the sense of serene sadness before life. Those who give literally hundreds of millions of clicks to those videos are not only different: they are my perfect antipodes. Not because laughing is wrong (laughing is very healthy even under the laws of Lycurgus): but because in dark times the most relevant is the gravitas of the ancient Romans.
My mistake has been treating people, even some visitors to this site, as if they are psychologically structured in a similar way to mine when, actually, their happy mode cannot contrast more with the hard Roman ethos. Perhaps the best way to understand it is through analogy.
A couple of days ago I discovered the videos of colour-blind people who see colours as they actually are for the first time in their lives, for example: this one. In this other one a dad sees the red hair of his children the first time.
It’s like an emotional atomic bomb to see colours as they are for the first time in life! See, for example, only the first case that starts here (moving tears of dad and little son) and this other of two colour-blind brothers. A third video of a boy crying when seeing the world in full colour can be seen: here.
This one, seeing the beautiful flowers as they are for the first time, is very revealing (although the interlocutor spoiled the satori of the initiate with cold questions). This man cried when he saw the colour orange for the first time and was amazed at the skin colour of his white mother. Others had not seen the purple (last example: here).
Exactly the same happens with existential pain. It produces abysmally different minds, let’s say, the life of someone who had a mother like the one of the film Joker compared to the happy mode in which a good portion of white Americans currently live. Like colour-blind people, there is no way to make anyone who has not gone through it big time to see the full range of the colours of existential suffering.
In other words, trying to sell the idea of ‘eliminating all unnecessary suffering’, my philosophy of the four words, is more than a hard sell: it is a fool’s errand if my audience is that of the common American. You have to wait for the catastrophes that people like Martenson have been predicting to converge.
Only after the United States is destroyed will white survivors begin to see the colours that, south of the Rio Grande, I have been seeing for the past few decades. (A subtitle for this article might say: The ancient Greeks knew tragedy, drama, and comedy; today’s colour-blind Americans only drama and comedy.)