The following is an excerpt taken from a soon-to-be-published longer work by Andy Nowicki, tentatively titled Conspiracy, Compliance, Control, and Defiance.
by Andy Nowicki
So what are the makings
of a true Reptilian, be he scaly-skinned in his authentic body, or merely
cold-blooded in spirit?
We must make
distinctions. Not everyone said to possess “sociopathic” traits can be called a
full-fledged Reptilian. It is not enough merely to be cruel, conniving, and
empathy-deficient; one must also be smart,
well-connected and utterly ruthless to qualify. To be sure,
it helps to be born into a powerful bloodline, but failing that, there must be
other ways to opt into the ruling reptoid caste. Of course, I must plead
ignorance regarding how such matters fall out in their finer details; I have
not had even the remotest brush with this phenomenon. Yet I comprehend, I
think, the manner by which a person can grow overfond of the prospect of possessing
something that he was previously sure he had to do without. In fact, even temporarily possessing something desirable, which one had forever previously felt destined to having to do without (and in the process, finding that one didn’t necessary have to do without it in the first place, as one had previously believed)—can have a plainly intoxicating effect upon one’s soul.
That I know this, albeit on a mere “micro” level, enables me to sense how such a principle would prove to be even more true if the stakes were higher, at least in the perception of someone whose unbridled ambition and determined campaign for traction have so far yielded disappointing results. I like to style myself a stoic, but I strongly suspect that if the prospect of real power and its attendant perks were dangled before me, I’d have great cause to pause. Temptation is real, understandable, and relatable, yet what is (humanly speaking) supremely alienating to contemplate concerning the Reptilian’s state of soul isn’t merely the aspect of the one who has given in to a grave series of temptations, but instead, the contemplation of one who has traveled so far down the trajectory of corruption, committing acts so vilely grotesque that he is barely recognizable as a member of the same species as oneself, and instead appears to have become an altogether different being entirely, one of a patently non-mammalian cast, who may still possess a warm-blooded body, but whose soul has assuredly assumed room temperature.
That I know this, albeit on a mere “micro” level, enables me to sense how such a principle would prove to be even more true if the stakes were higher, at least in the perception of someone whose unbridled ambition and determined campaign for traction have so far yielded disappointing results. I like to style myself a stoic, but I strongly suspect that if the prospect of real power and its attendant perks were dangled before me, I’d have great cause to pause. Temptation is real, understandable, and relatable, yet what is (humanly speaking) supremely alienating to contemplate concerning the Reptilian’s state of soul isn’t merely the aspect of the one who has given in to a grave series of temptations, but instead, the contemplation of one who has traveled so far down the trajectory of corruption, committing acts so vilely grotesque that he is barely recognizable as a member of the same species as oneself, and instead appears to have become an altogether different being entirely, one of a patently non-mammalian cast, who may still possess a warm-blooded body, but whose soul has assuredly assumed room temperature.
It is indeed a state
of being that an exorcist might term a “perfect possession,” one in which the
subject in question is so fully gone that he can be said to have come back
around again, albeit in a very different form. He is humanoid in shape, but
demonic in essence. He now seems utterly impervious to such recognizably human
reactions as guilt, remorse, and pity, yet at the same time, he has become remarkably adept at feigning such emotions, even to the point of being able to
frame whatever display may be needed from moment to moment; in fact, he has
such responses on automatic inventory, ready to be summoned forth whenever
necessary. These displays, viewed properly, are in fact chillingly contrived in
their execution, at times almost comically so. Yet the Reptilian feels no shame
for the easy, casual manner with which he dons and doffs his phony faces, nor
is he necessarily even aware of his own propensity for ill-timed
gaffes—moments, that is, when his adopted viperous nature manifests itself
brusquely, and his human mask slips severely, and very nearly shatters.
 |
| Reptilian trick: wiping away a non-existent tear |
He might, for example, go “off script” for an unguarded moment, causally revealing something
which had never before been spoken, a mistake which later necessitates his
having to backtrack and “clarify” his earlier, careless remark. He attends to
this ritual of “clarification” dutifully, almost robotically, again hitting allof the requisite notes of contrition for their manifestly improper insensitivity or thoughtlessness, all the while retaining an essential air of detachment from this prescribed penitential gesture, which in his heart he
finds deeply irritating, if not intolerable, to have to perform. He is in fact contemptuous of the notion of ever having to be apologetic or contrite for his behavior, which he instinctively take to be self-justifying, regardless of the circumstance. Power, after all,
is to him its own reward, a means and
an end, the be-all and the end-all;
still, he knows that power, while highly desirable, is not self-conferring—else
he wouldn’t have to endure the vexing but necessary rituals that accompany the
campaign to achieve good “PR.” For this reason, and this reason alone, he
maintains his delicate dance of mummery, masquery and deceit, keeping his
contempt desperately contained under a carefully constructed veil of seeming earnest
benignity, even as the arrogance of his hatred pulses fiercely against the very
people whose trust he pretends to solicit.
 |
| That scaly grin. |
Calling such
behavior “sociopathic” is accurate enough, but not fully adequate to the task.
Those designated as “sociopaths” are known primarily for lacking a conscience,
for displaying behavior that is manipulative, conniving, and calculating, and
for possessing no semblance of empathy for others. Shame, guilt, and remorse
are for them utterly exotic concepts. All of this also holds true for the
Reptilians, as I have envisaged them here; generally speaking, there are surely
so many overlaps and parallels between these two groups-- the one discussed
much in mainstream pop-psychological circles, the other’s existence darkly
hinted at by some conspiratorially-minded “alternative” news enthusiasts—that
it may well be said that every Reptilian is a sociopath; still it most
emphatically should not be believed
that every sociopath is a Reptilian. In fact, most sociopaths, however
deficient in conscience, possess neither the requisite intelligence, nor the
capacity to forge elite-level alliances, nor the sheer, unalloyed black-hearted,
single-minded ruthlessness, to be
enabled to ascend to such an exalted post as those held by our scaly-souled,
black-hearted rulers.
Many sociopaths, in
fact, entertain little real ambition at all; they are not so much moved by the
allure of possessing power as they
are by the appeal of managing to elude
it; they lead the existence of a
“catch me if you can” drifter, daredevil, or con-artist, indulging their
fearsome appetites without consequence and using people however it suits them
to do so, yet for most sociopaths, this aimless, lawless trajectory doesn’t
amount to any sort of wide-ranging, far-reaching design upon becoming a “master
of the universe.” Far from seeking to take his presumed rightful place as a
demigod among mere mortals, the run-of-the-mill socio only sees himself as a man among men; if he even bothers to
take any kind of reflective vantage point whatsoever, it is generally a rather
humble one. The fact that he feels nothing for his fellow men, and that he can
be brutally callous in his general behavior attitude towards them, has no necessary
bearing upon how he conceives of his standing in the world; though
conspicuously different in temperament—apparent from the fact that he lacks
conscience, compassion, and empathy—he isn’t one who views himself as superior, nor does he have an aspiration
to enslave others (though the idea
doesn’t appall him on moral grounds, since he has no interest in, or engagement
with, morality).
 |
| The standard-issue sociopath: categorically different than the Reptilian. |
For these reasons,
the standard socio will always be a
marginal figure, prone to the commissions of petty crimes or inconsequential
swindles, but bound to be ignominiously forgotten just like every other
“nobody” who “struts and frets his hour upon the stage” for his appointed time,
before being laid into the soil to feed worms. The Reptilian, in
contradistinction, aims to achieve immortality, and seizes upon a patently
grandiose notion of domination. He regards himself not just as different from, but as qualitatively better than the bulk of humanity, a
species he resembles only in form, not in essence. The Reptilian has massive
goals, sweeping ambitions, expansive and intricate schemes—he would never settle for being just another
low-level grifter! Thus, in a certain ironic sense, the Reptilian could be seen
as a sort of “role model” for the simple-minded, unambitious, no-account socio; he is the sociopath “made good.”
(Related: a previously published excerpt from Nowicki's upcoming Conspiracy, Compliance, Control and Defiance, "Slaves to Our Programming.")
Andy Nowicki, assistant editor of Alternative Right, is the author of eight books, including Under the Nihil, The Columbine Pilgrim, Considering Suicide, and Beauty and the Least. He occasionally updates his blog when the spirit moves him to do so. Visit his Soundcloud page.
