It’s summer vacation (peak Dadness), I’m distracted by Relentless Wife-Nuzzling (stop everything, run across the kitchen, stick my nose against a spot about half-way up her neck, inhale deeply and moan audibly) and the careening up-mountain scramble to get an album mixed and mastered and eventually, maybe, pressed. So: not so much time for Analytical Ranting. But I keep an eye on Media (which is a window on The Empire’s Id)… hence:



1 RELICS of MY FAVORITE MAD SPIRITUAL UNCLE (we’ve heard the audio, now here’s the video)









Et Tu, Christiane? Did you really need the money? As I just posted somewhere:

This looks scalp-numbingly bad (not to mention moronic). If there IS an afterlife, we can expect reports of terrifying supernatural activity at the Kubrick Estate this summer. Next up: DEEP FAKE ORANGE, a sequel to Kubrick’s cult classic, using the magic of runaway technology to replace all the familiar faces in the original with Justin Bieber as Alex, Ariana Grande as The Writer’s Wife and a diverse cast of fresh young American Instagram Influencers replacing everyone else! Watch for the Easter Egg of a cameo appearance by Christiane Kubrick as the Cat Lady!





Everyone hold hands (or hold your Zippos lit, aloft) and sing along!

I’m closer to the Golden Dawn
Immersed in Crowley’s uniform
Of imagery
I’m living in a silent film
Portraying Himmler’s sacred realm
Of dream reality

Awwww…  (wipes sentimental tears from eyes). But seriously. Himmler’s “sacred realm”?

Do you people have any fucking clue? What the fuck do you think he’s singing about?  Laugh. Read the comments under the video… enjoy the cognitive dissonance (except there appears to be one appreciative neo-Nazti in the threads who knows the actual score, an ugly little wolf among the huggy hopey sheep). Note how, @ 0:40, Dave mumbles “Himmler” as “himmel” (the German word for Heaven)… oh, you know you’ve been naughty, Dave.  And you also know you got away with it.

Thought Experiment: what if Hitler had been really, really good looking and died while he was still hot (instead of having been short and ugly and growing old in Argentina)? How would the vast majority of the Kiddies feel about Hitler now…?

When do you suppose TFIC are going to engineer a super-cute Popstar Dictator-President for us?





Palahniuk is a higher kind of Pulp Fiction writer. I’m not into his stuff but he knows how to write and can do so far better than most super-lauded Lit Fic mediocrities. Go to 14:20-16:58

A passage near the beginning of Wild (book mentioned in the part of the clip referenced above) reads … and don’t for a moment delude yourself that a woman who gets a “Bachelor of Arts degree […] with a double major in English and Women’s Studies” does not view, and/or arrange, every subsequent drama in her life with an eye toward transmuting the experience into bland Oprah Gold…  as follows  :

I was living alone in a studio apartment in Minneapolis, separated from my husband, and working as a waitress, as low and mixed-up as I’d ever been in my life. Each day I felt as if I were looking up from the bottom of a deep well. But from that well, I set about becoming a solo wilderness trekker. And why not? I’d been so many things already. A loving wife and an adulteress. A beloved daughter who now spent holidays alone. An ambitious overachiever and aspiring writer who hopped from one meaningless job to the next while dabbling dangerously with drugs and sleeping with too many men. I was the granddaughter of a Pennsylvania coal miner, the daughter of a steelworker turned salesman. After my parents split up, I lived with my mother, brother, and sister in apartment complexes populated by single mothers and their kids. As a teen, I lived back-to-the-land style in the Minnesota northwoods in a house that didn’t have an indoor toilet, electricity, or running water. In spite of this, I’d become a high school cheerleader and homecoming queen, and then I went off to college and became a left-wing feminist campus radical.

But a woman who walks alone in the wilderness for eleven hundred miles? I’d never been anything like that before. I had nothing to lose by giving it a whirl.

There it is again: the Grand Blank Style of the Modern American Bestseller. Writing for time-poor people so awfully ambivalent about Reading. Serviceable narrative concocted by the Hive Mind. Who will save us from this hokum?  Palahniuk was right.  The grandfather raping/ babybird-crushing would have been the most striking and honest material in this dull empowerment-package (spoiler alert: she completed the hike, one way or another, and went on to have a bestselling book about the adventure she set off to have a bestselling book about), sure, but look closely at Palahniuk as he tells the story in the clip. He knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it with that spookily innocent face and in those unnervingly dulcet Mr. Rogers tones of his… but he’s quite clearly in attack mode.  And well he should be. If you’re over thirty and reading books like Wild there’s something worryingly off about your intellectual development; you might even be the perfect kind of faceless and credulous cog in the shitty apparatus of a Crypto-Fascist Hypnocracy.




Jordan Peterson’s most lucrative Beleaguered White Guy arguments are so half-baked that it’s miraculous that he wins any of these “debates”… but he keeps doing it. He’ll argue that the notion of “The Patriarchy” is a Lefty-Liberal myth merely because low-status males aren’t profiting from it (“It” being the Patriarchy set up, with superior firepower,  by high status males to benefit high status males) or because Sociology Departments at Uni are dominated by women and that (to cite his own example) Plumbers are vastly male in number for no other reason than that Plumbing is a naturally male activity (just as Nursing, and Sociology, are naturally, he would argue, Female). Peterson doesn’t care why there aren’t more Female Nuclear Physicists or Black scullers in The Head Of The Charles Regatta: there just aren’t, okay? “Why” is a neurotic Leftist fixation. Okay?

Peterson seems unaware of the fact that the Dense Pervasive Relentless Propaganda Field in which we all soak starts in on us so early in Life that we can’t even talk when the images start doing their sneaky business. But Wife and I kept the TV demon out of our living space and never let anyone else (ever; not once) “babysit” our Daughter. We kept her out of school as long as we could (but by the time she started Kindergarten, she could name all the planets by sight, knew that a Photon is a “little packet of light” etc). She’s a teen now, clearly a girl, physically, but not even remotely girly. She has a quick wit, a huge vocabulary, serious commercial art skills and dresses like a member of The Strokes c. 2000. Most of what we now call “Gender” is brainwashing. Any born-physical-male who claims to be a Woman trapped in the wrong body has been hit by Propaganda aimed at people born with vaginas, although, of course, wanting nicer boobs and a vagina instead of boring boobs and a penis is as valid a consumer choice as any. It’s none of my business. My business (and it should be yours) is understanding the world. Born-physical-males who want to swap genital configs should be able to do so without resorting to paradox-riddled, pseudo-scientific excuses. There will be as many Whys as there are people, regarding some topics, but, even more importantly,  should Desires require justification if their realization hurts no one (else)?

No job/talent/field of knowledge is inherently Gendered. The Empire brainwashes poor boys into being cannon fodder and poor girls into being sex & reproduction bots. Peterson isn’t an idiot, so why are so many of his apparent Beliefs so foolish? Answer (?): he is either an Adolescent Boy or an Impenetrably Self-Justifying Charlatan. I’d say he’s both. Which explains his huge following among adolescent/ post-adolescent boys. Emotionally/ Intellectual speaking, Peterson should be ready to shave soon. But that milestone won’t sensitize him to the bizillion Truths he prefers to pathologically unsee, unhear, unthink in order to sail with a self-righteous scowl through his money-making days.

The interlocutor in this linked clip (below) doesn’t know how to handle Peterson because she’s not old enough to have had a precocious teenage son, although their relative body postures, in the clip,  place her, subliminally, as a Mother Figure whom Peterson is suing for independence. He wants to set his own schedule, he wants zero curfew, he doesn’t want to check with Mommy before he makes The Big Moves in his Life. Oh, and his girlfriend gets to sleep over, too, no questions asked.

Peterson, like an unusually focused (and dangerous) teen, thinks long and hard before responding to questions from Mom; this is a crafty form of humility he can afford to project… it’s also a winning debate formula. The interlocutor is still behaving like an Amateur Debater (aka Parent) who answers quickly, without having to think first. Which is where Peterson has her; doesn’t she realize she doesn’t get points for speed? No parent does,  when the Dreaded Debate Years start. Take your time, Mom, and very calmly, and fairly, dismantle Peterson’s immature (strawmanny) logic.

Even worse:  precociously articulate Adolescents are more, and more often,  correct than their parents want to admit, another fatal error. If you can graciously and fairly concede the points on which the precocious teen is correct, you have earned the right to nail the Whoppingly Jejune Errors with gusto… but only if you are crafty enough to neatly,  calmly dismantle these errors and show exactly how they don’t work IRL. Condescend to a preciously articulate teen and lose the debate.

Lewis did so poorly (interviewing/debating Peterson for GQ, Oct 2018)  that Lewis/ GQ  (and other venues) issued a good many wound-licking, ad-hominemy postmortems for weeks after*. Yipes. Have any of these staircase-wit comebacks mentioned how constipated Jordan “I eat beef and salt and water and that’s it” Peterson looks in this clip… ?

Opportunity lost.


*She even went to Reddit, fergodsake… right to the volcano’s cloaca! That’s how badly Peterson trounced her with his half-baked adolescent certainties. This debate certainly showed me how to prepare for my Daughter’s next Socratic attempts to have her allowance increased.

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