Violence in the New World

Listen… Hi, hello. I don’t really want to be a writer, ok?

When I was frequently drawing and painting I didn’t want to be an artist.

When I meditate, do yoga, do psychedelics, I don’t want to “be that” either.

There is one thing alone that I want to be, and I can’t be, so I’m fucked. I can focus on that as the source of my depression, the anxieties of youth, the rage, the RAGE, ThE rAgE…

Those fires did their burning, and now I’m cold and ash. A husk.

I dissociate, I do not allow myself an identity.

I became Death, worshiper of Nihil. That nothingness became my mask.

What I am is illegal.

I am Ares bound by Saturn, in shame I wear the crest of those who extinguished my kind. I know there are others, but many forgot; they now fit in fine with the New World regime, we forget everything but to kneel and obey.

We’ve done this for so long we think that’s our true height. Down with our face to the stone, those with flickering memories that come to the fore are treated as if they’re diseased. The pills wash away all the anger and hurt, we bury the trauma and revere those who rape us.

We retreat to our imagination, this shared fantasy of impossible scale. Our simulacra of the real.

You go to school, then to work, you were a wild thing with life once… how short those days became. Every generation got clipped a little sooner than the last.

Our ancestors as close as 200 years would not have allowed such tyranny… but we as men have been a lobster boiled slowly. Generation, by generation, war after war, it gets hotter. We don’t notice, it’s a numbers game, if only 10% notice, and only 1% of those 10% have any plans to stop the damage… it’s easier for most to mark those helpful folks as sinners. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, easy living, just sell your soul and keep your head down. If you raise your kids right they wont even remember what a soul is, it’s easier for them that way, right?

Those who know have spun a yarn to keep up with the changes, we call it progress, compassion, there’s been many names given to the symptoms of decay that make it seem to be a good. But morality has always just been whatever the authorities say… only difference is now we’re in deeper than we’ve ever been. The authorities have fractaled out, one authority after another in this endless chain of belief systems that contradict and terrify.

What is wrong? What is right? I don’t know, they tell me new things every day. You see they say one thing and do another, it’s confusing… keep us confused, thinking, divided amongst ourselves.

Through people I saw the entire chain of human development, but I didn’t know what it was. I saw a lot, but had no words for it until much later; I’ve been writing some of it here on substack, putting words to things I knew.

My parents and paternal grandparents were those adults I spent most of my time with, I would rise into clairvoyant states, a kind of half imagination daydream where I saw all of the forces that came to influence right now. It was hazy, hard to interpret. Flashes of knowing, faces of people, world currents throughout the ages—spirits of the times. Only later could I begin to unpack my experiences.

I’ve always been attentive, but what was most important never seemed to be what others wanted me to focus on. I think everyone is slowly conditioned by society to focus on the sleight of hand and not see through the magic trick… for a time I was conditioned, they won, and I died…

No. Not dead, enslaved. My soul was sold by those around me and I kicked and screamed until I fell apart. There was a time in our history where the entire world became a brothel, a slave market; it became so subtle of a deal that people thought they were free, but we had simply lost all comparison. Physical capture of bodies had become a thing of the past for most—and where it does occur we would rather ignore it. As long as the material element seemed fine, we could look past all other abuses.

Mental health and its abuse became discussed only recently, and it’s already become a grift.

I got into psychology, later “spirituality”, and found out all the ways damage could be done while leaving the body unscathed—of course, it would eventuate into disease later on, and be the cause of death for most much later. They found a way to poison everything, and sell fake cures that grant us joy for moments.

You can single out some special bad people, but that isn’t quite what I mean when I say “they”; it’s complicated. We’re born into participation in various corrupt systems, a christian might call it “born in sin”, but that isn’t very helpful. It isn’t absolute, as in, we don’t have to be in this situation—but we live in this great big ecosystem, and for a long time some powerful players have been dosing everything with various forms of toxin. It’s like microplastics, but in our soul :/

We’ve all grown up in this metasystem, in various iterations of its development. It will now be powered by Ai, and I am so sorry to all who grow up in the coming world, that this technology be monopolized exclusively by those least devoted to The Good.

I feel guilt for allowing myself to be bound, sorry that I follow the rules and attempt to fit in… when what you need is what I am, and what I am I cannot be.

The mask was quite corrosive, and when I finally pried it off… it seems it stole my face. Maybe somewhere in this void I can rekindle what I am?

I wonder…

What am I then huh? What great thing are you, with some messiah complex thinking we all need you?

That isn’t what I meant, that isn’t the tone of it. Not great, and not only me.

We all need everyone to be who they are, to go through that transformative effort to break out of their conditioning.

In your shadow there’s so much of you that’s hiding, in all that you’ve rejected or may not know consciously at all. It’s that space behind your eyes, always darting out of view. How can you see what you truly are? What is the sound of one hand clapping?

If I watch myself over the years, keeping track of my core essence… I find that I am War. Love. Peace. I am Adversary.

I realize all the world has worked to keep this part of me restrained, out of fear and confusion, at the behest of those who understand its power and campaigned to cage the spirits of all who are like me.

Kill the warrior, but allow the poet.

That jester fool who sings for kings, we can allow this mockingbird. But clip his wings, dull that beak, those talons. Tell a tale to all around that this is what is right and good, for their safety and his own, but in reality we do this to disarm all who would protect and serve the people.

I am a product of generations being dulled like this, the warriors all sent to die in foreign wars, executed so they would not serve their people—pushed out of the way.

I am a failure in a culture of failures, waking up to the horror I allow by my rejection of righteous anger.

I am a failed warrior, a nothing of a man. That half of me with blood and steel is long gone. The pain I’ve always felt has been that phantom pain, a soul carved out, a sword turned into my own chains.

My silent begging scream for God to kill me, the guilt of being crippled as I watch others abused and can do nothing.

No I do not mean a soldier, a cop. In their ranks there may be some who resonate with righteousness, but they support a system of depravity by their chosen occupation. Some don’t know any better, they don’t understand the machine that puppets them to harm their fellow men… many do and do not care, they are sadistic and abusive. Some just follow orders, that is not the warrior, the hero, the king.

I learned early that these paths attracted awful sorts, that the way of the warrior is long dead, that honor is laughable. That governments work more like gangs who high five after they drug and rape a victim, be that individuals, families, or entire countries they infect with chaos. The systems are too big, too complete, to get away with goodness. A company of merchants or a company at war, to do what is right is to get left behind. Of course it’s all covert and obfuscated, you have to shine light on the actions most accepted by the public, or create contained scandals to vent outrage that doesn’t interfere with operations.

It is so complicated now, the information age, Ai and drones changing the game further.

I’m thankful at times that I was graced with blindness, getting glasses early, it upset me, made fighting harder—contacts kinda suck. But maybe that was for the best, added a little hesitation to any thoughts of joining ranks, of being too combative of a youth; glasses were expensive, my parents never stopped complaining to me about being poor… I never liked to break things anyways. I’ve always respected tools, my body less so.

It created some distance, another thing to think about. A layer away from involving myself in further fighting.

But then I started studying, I realized school ain’t teach me shit!

Psychological warfare, spiritual warfare, realized language and culture are the primary methods of war and always have been—the physical conflicts and land disputes have always been in service of the subtle. To control hearts and minds.

Maybe that’s what I could focus on, solving those great big problems… working to prevent the conflicts before they start, working against the competing agendas to enslave my people to the rule of forces they were unaware of…

I guess that’s what I’m doing now. A tiny ember in the void of the half I cast away, a Satan to their upside down, these false gods, attractive delusions they keep selling us… but I lose hope. That fire keeps on going out, motivation runs from me.

Maybe no one wants a better world, that the punks and freedom fighters are all just pretending, that if people like me were to ever gain power and start meaningful change… it would rob them of their grift, their identity of complaining.

Maybe there is no one left to fight for.

Maybe if I raise my shield, the world would rather stab me in the back, while others look away in shame.

Just let them take from us Darian, no one else wants freedom, sovereignty, or to know. Only you.

Nobody cares enough for it to become real, to gain traction, to change the way things are. Just focus on something small, meaningless, and attainable. Something that pays the bills, just buy in and accept it.

Don’t bother us, we all prefer the mask.

An alarm in your deepest sleep, there is no want or need of me.