Yes, albeit endemic narcissism is a symptom of late stage civilizations.
Indeed Evola critiques bourgeois mating as lifeless procedural status posturing and box ticking, and BAP waxes lyrically about dissociation as necessary for truly vitalist expression of sexual union in healthy polities.
And certainly evocatively and shamelessly vocalizing everything your body compels you to insist on doing to a woman is the greatest aphrodisiac.
But there is a reason those who practice sex magick evoke the occult. Desire absent narrative is transgressive, and doubly so when you start intentionally navigating its darkest underbelly.
And in the following days she is still part of some milieu. Her social reality includes the hyperreal mating ideological narratives of the day, and even though no one really believes in them anymore, people still perform them because life narratives are typically Girardian anyway and what else is left? Nowadays it's usually, depending on her milieu, either Christianity (and "God is Dead"/that train has left the station) or Progressive Feminism (which is self- and socially destructive decadence). Going Stirnerian Unions of Egoists is a mentally exhausting exercise in tightrope-walking metacognitive presence-maxxing for hypersocial primates. Essentially: your persistence in her life would require that she explain you in some way, and that requires coherence in some language game or other.
And so unless you're going to devote full-time to such an exercise and construct your own religion and institutionally develop deliberate independent EXIT institutions for any potential children, which also means having the power and resources to be able to do so (and Malcolm Collins is the only example of this I can think of at the moment), then not being part of a narrative, whether an individual's narcissistic attempt at making one's own Hero's Journey or victimhood angst out of everything they do, or an appropriate box-ticked cog of the ambient mileu's mating ideology, means that you, for all intensive purposes in today's hyperreality, don't exist.
A pleasant memory, a rare moment of Sartre's "life is happening" in an otherwise appropriately sensible and coherent life trajectory, but completely and utterly moored. Depending on her inter and intrapersonal narrations, that you bear no witness to, you'll be just as quickly and "inexplicably" gone. Maybe with an occasional pop in when things get a little too dreary and dull for her (and with that you certainly can't predict when or even if).
And so the alternative may be thrilling, but any thrill has a shelf-life and giving up the control you speak of, in the present day, is a profoundly and starkly solitary existence.
This is my favorite thing I've read this month. Incredible work!!
Owning your desire is the only path worth following. Otherwise, you will fall prey to the drugs of pain avoidance that are everywhere. But you are going to feel pain in this world. Pain of waste (why did I spend hours on twitter instead of working on the company I want to build??) or pain of action (I'm building this company, lost all my money, and now I have to pay rent).
Pain of waste hides you from you. It allows you to create a fiction in your head around your identity: "I'm the kind of person who could build a generational business, and I will once I get off twitter and lock in."
Pain of action is much more honest - it reveals you. You tried to build a generational business. You failed at that goal.
Everything that I'm proud of required pain of action. That's true for all of us. Nobody is ever proud of pain of waste.
This post is out of my league for me to leave serious comment.
I just wanted to say that I should have expected that final photo, but I didn't. Well played.
I fear you never miss big dawg
Yes, albeit endemic narcissism is a symptom of late stage civilizations.
Indeed Evola critiques bourgeois mating as lifeless procedural status posturing and box ticking, and BAP waxes lyrically about dissociation as necessary for truly vitalist expression of sexual union in healthy polities.
And certainly evocatively and shamelessly vocalizing everything your body compels you to insist on doing to a woman is the greatest aphrodisiac.
But there is a reason those who practice sex magick evoke the occult. Desire absent narrative is transgressive, and doubly so when you start intentionally navigating its darkest underbelly.
And in the following days she is still part of some milieu. Her social reality includes the hyperreal mating ideological narratives of the day, and even though no one really believes in them anymore, people still perform them because life narratives are typically Girardian anyway and what else is left? Nowadays it's usually, depending on her milieu, either Christianity (and "God is Dead"/that train has left the station) or Progressive Feminism (which is self- and socially destructive decadence). Going Stirnerian Unions of Egoists is a mentally exhausting exercise in tightrope-walking metacognitive presence-maxxing for hypersocial primates. Essentially: your persistence in her life would require that she explain you in some way, and that requires coherence in some language game or other.
And so unless you're going to devote full-time to such an exercise and construct your own religion and institutionally develop deliberate independent EXIT institutions for any potential children, which also means having the power and resources to be able to do so (and Malcolm Collins is the only example of this I can think of at the moment), then not being part of a narrative, whether an individual's narcissistic attempt at making one's own Hero's Journey or victimhood angst out of everything they do, or an appropriate box-ticked cog of the ambient mileu's mating ideology, means that you, for all intensive purposes in today's hyperreality, don't exist.
A pleasant memory, a rare moment of Sartre's "life is happening" in an otherwise appropriately sensible and coherent life trajectory, but completely and utterly moored. Depending on her inter and intrapersonal narrations, that you bear no witness to, you'll be just as quickly and "inexplicably" gone. Maybe with an occasional pop in when things get a little too dreary and dull for her (and with that you certainly can't predict when or even if).
And so the alternative may be thrilling, but any thrill has a shelf-life and giving up the control you speak of, in the present day, is a profoundly and starkly solitary existence.
tldr: don't be so hard on yourself
hey this is fucking good
This is my favorite thing I've read this month. Incredible work!!
Owning your desire is the only path worth following. Otherwise, you will fall prey to the drugs of pain avoidance that are everywhere. But you are going to feel pain in this world. Pain of waste (why did I spend hours on twitter instead of working on the company I want to build??) or pain of action (I'm building this company, lost all my money, and now I have to pay rent).
Pain of waste hides you from you. It allows you to create a fiction in your head around your identity: "I'm the kind of person who could build a generational business, and I will once I get off twitter and lock in."
Pain of action is much more honest - it reveals you. You tried to build a generational business. You failed at that goal.
Everything that I'm proud of required pain of action. That's true for all of us. Nobody is ever proud of pain of waste.