Once in a while, you discover a child destined for greatness.
And this is the equivalent of a toddler beating a chess grandmaster.
It took me until age 15, to become this autistic. Mark my words, this kid is going places. I’m not worthy to untie his sandal straps. His power level, is off the charts. You’re unironically looking at the chosen one revealing his arrival:
Already, many laughs were had:
You see, we live in the end of history. We live in the death of meaning. There’s nothing left to salvage, no solutions to our predicament, no future to plan for. The only thing left to do is laugh.
And as we all hurl together towards the abyss, as all their hopes and dreams come crashing down around us, they grow more distressed, while we start laughing harder.
You will reach this power level once you understand abrupt and irreversible climate change.
Laugh at the absurdity and enjoy all the great music we could never have heard in past ages. God balances things in the most subtle ways.
Funny serendipity.
I just came here to share the latest Spartacus/ICENI podcast.
I think you will find it very interesting.
https://iceni.substack.com/p/spartacast-10#details
I’m not taking any position on these matters.
Just thought you might appreciate it.
[…] “Today the barbarians no longer camp at the gates of the City. They already find themselves inside it, because they were born in it. There are no longer cold lands of the North or barren steppes of the East from which to start the invasion. It is necessary to recognize that the barbarians arise from the ranks of the imperial subjects themselves. In other words, the barbarians are everywhere. For ears accustomed to the language of the polis, it is easy to recognize them, because when they express themselves, they stammer. But there is no need to let oneself be fooled by the incomprehensible sound of their voices; there is no need to confuse the one without a language with the one who speaks a different language.
Many barbarians really are deprived of a recognizable language, rendered illiterate by the suppression of their individual awareness — a consequence of the extermination of meaning carried out by the Empire. If one does not know how to talk, it is because one does not know what to say, and vice versa. And one does not know what and how to speak because everything has been banalized, reduced to mere symbol, to appearance. Meaning, which was considered one of the greatest sources of revolt, a radiant fount of energy, has been eroded in the course of the past few decades by a whole company of imperial functionaries (for example, the French structuralist school so dear to the two emissaries). They have shattered, pulverized and minced it in every sphere of knowledge. Ideas that expound and incite to transformative action have been cancelled and replaced by opinions that comment and rivet in conservative contemplation. Where there was once a jungle full of danger because it was wild and luxuriant, a desert has been created. And what does one say, what does one do, in the midst of a desert? Deprived of words with which to express rage for the suffering one has undergone, deprived of hope with which to overcome the emotional anguish that devastates daily existence, deprived of desires with which to struggle against institutional reason, deprived of dreams toward which to reach in order to sweep away the repetition of the existent, many subjects become barbaric in action. Once the tongue is paralyzed, the hands quiver to find relief from frustration. Inhibited from manifesting itself, the compulsion toward the joy of living is turned on its head, becoming its opposite, the death instinct. Violence explodes and, being without meaning, manifests itself in a blind and furious manner, against everything and everyone, overturning every social relationship. Where there is not a civil war going on, there are the rocks thrown from overpasses or the murders of parents, friends or neighbors. It is not revolution or even revolt; it is a generalized slaughter carried out by subjects who have been made barbaric by the wounds inflicted on their hides every day by a world that is without meaning because it is forced to have a single meaning. This dreary and desperate violence annoys the Empire, disturbed in its presumption of guaranteeing total tranquility, but it is not worried about this. In itself, this does nothing but feed the demand for greater public order. And yet, however easily recuperable once it is brought out to the surface, it shows all the restlessness that stirs in the depths of this society, all the precariousness of the imperial hold over the circumstances of the modern world. ”
(from https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/crisso-and-odoteo-barbarians-the-disordered-insurgence#toc10 )
There really are two types of anarchists: Wordcels and wokies
Let’s just take this moment to ponder the fact that NY post links shorten to “trib.al”