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'The Bitter Job of an Empty Universe'
Remembering Emil Cioran by Guillaume Durocher

Question: who is more black pilled; Lafond or Cioran?
Viking Age Barbarian

My favorite passage from Mister Durocher's remembrance is:
“And Cioran brings the same insightful objectivity to bear on other nations and ideologies: the clinical analysis of Italian Fascism, knowing infatuation with the explosive power of Hitlerism, and above all a cruelly exquisite autopsy of France — the forerunner nation who proves by her pathetic historical trajectory the corrosive vanity of mere reason.”
Overall, the type of whining tone of articles such as this, suggesting a look into the abyss in search of a portal into the bright hope of bliss, screams beta-male cock-suckery and worship of authority, worship of anything—even of a dictator or a Christ or a Good Cop—who will save us from the onerous burden of defending ourselves and our own. The Modern Western obsession with civil cocooning under a pink slipper or an iron heel, is all fake, gay, phony and lame to the limp-wrist degree. While I treasure this site for such preservation of cultural history as this article, the whining biobot search for a managerial savior class of sissies to preside over some safe-space for a unified lack of human color in the form of a science-fiction race invented in the 1630s, is irritating. However, it does demonstrate how false polarities swirl and meet and repel one another like a primitive ping pong video game. Because, after my barbaric fellow, Viking Age Barbarian send me this article dripping with cuckery, I correlated it in my mind with nary a thought.
For Counter Currents, standing at the high cultural end of the reactionary “Right” in current philosophy and social critique pines vegetable like for a gardener to save its lotus petals from the cycles of winter cold, the antifa members I spoke to in Portland a month ago hold the same worship of state systems of control from their perspective on the far “Left.”
The political and cultural poles of Western Civilization all represent moral children, pining like orphans for a domineering parent, who disagree only whether that unified tyrant should by Mommy or Daddy.
As for the color of my pill—it is gray.
As for hope, I am flush with it, brimming with hope that this wretched civilization will someday fall and men of my hybrid kind will once again hunt their enemies across a world drowning in its hubris. There remains much to grin about in this Meat-Puppet Metropolis.
-James LaFond, Friday, April 9, 2021, Baltimore, Maryland
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