Are We Too Demoralized to Stand?

have the mind-games of the Unreality become too strong for the masses to resist--and if there are only a few of us, what can we do?

I find myself oscillating between hope and despair—whitepilled and blackpilled—on a regular basis these days. Sometimes, it feels as though we have the makings for a great underdog story, the seeds sown for a glorious charge, a come-from-behind sweeping victory against all odds. Other times, it feels like staring into an unknowable, unconquerable abyss crawling with all sorts of manmade horrors beyond our comprehension—and probably a few Lovecraftian beasties as well.

And I know I’m not alone in this.

Recently, I wrote about Modernity and the death of the romantic: how our sense of beauty and grounding within reality has been poisoned with the arsenic of subversion, sending us all down the rabbit hole into a world of Wonderland rules where the only thought on our minds is constantly, desperately: survival. There is no more room for imagination, creation, or art: the things that build and sustain a noble culture.

This did not happen by accident.

Here is a small fact: Truth will always hold power over lies. Reality cannot be bent, merely distorted. And distorted it must be in order to psychologically bludgeon the masses, to bend them to the will of the Mad Queen. If Wonderland is to survive, the world must operate on the ingrained assumption that, We’re all mad here.

Now, you know you aren’t crazy. You know the truth. You believe in objective reality. Of course you do. So why does it feel like you’re losing your mind? Why do you feel so desperately, frigidly alone? Why does it seem as though you could shout into the dark and fear that eventually, you will no longer hear an echo?

The answer is simple: You are being made to feel this way by deliberate design and a dedicated campaign.

We’ve been waterboarded in propaganda for decades. Everything is propaganda for the Unreality. And what is the purpose of this? After all, the Unreality, by definition, can never be made real. Just as men can never become women, lies can never become truth. Underneath even the most carefully-constructed masquerade, the bedrock of Reality will always persist, while Wonderland remains nothing but an acid trip.

Now, on some level, the cult fanatics—the true believers in Wonderland—genuinely do think it’s possible to transform their fantasies into reality. These, however, are the naïve ones; the NPCs. The true purpose of the relentless, psychedelic campaign for the Unreality is to bury Reality because, unlike the followers, the leaders of this cult have an existential understanding that Reality cannot be deconstructed; merely obscured—and, as denizens of the abyss, they loathe this fact. As a result, their only true weapon—and it is a deadly one—is demoralization.

So, they must keep the truth from being spoken. They must keep it from being seen or heard or felt, even for a second. They must keep humans severed from any form of true relationship they might experience amongst one another, with nature, and especially with God. If we were to rediscover these things; if they were to spark, spreading like a flame along paper, well, we might reignite our sense of romance and purpose and honor, and the world born of that fire would burn theirs to the ground.

I’m aware that this sounds whitepilled—and it is—but my fear is that demoralization, like a disease, has settled into the bones of the West. The miasma has grown too thick, the vapor too stifling, and we, as a collective, have become too weak and addled to withstand the never-ending advance of the goblin armies of the Unreality. It feels as though we’re teetering on the edge of what could be a sea change (the developing Omni-Boycott signals perhaps), and possibly the dominos of their destruction will start to fall—or else, we’ll witness the ultimate, unstoppable collapse of Western civilization.

I just don’t know. But this boulder has to tilt one way or the other. I sense it. You sense it. They sense it. We are close to something—some seismic shift in history.

Understand this: Our enemies believe they have us pinned beneath their demoralization spell. They cackle as they parade their hordes through our streets and raise their flags in the triumph of conquest. They expect no resistance, but I know that some of us have managed to tear ourselves free—an act of resistance unto itself. We may be small in number (I hope we aren’t), but either way, I hope we will meet whatever comes next as Théoden met his foe on the Pelennor Fields:

“Forth, and fear not darkness. Arise! Arise, riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken! Shields shall be splintered! A sword day. A red day. ‘Ere the sun rises!

Ride now! Ride now! Ride for ruin, and the world ending!

Death! Death! Death!”