The Alt-Right is a sad, little place right now, focused on petty political tactics, metapolitical trivialities, or just interpersonal drama.
Personally I can remember the golden days of the movement before it got suckered onto the Trump Train and became enmeshed in the banality of everyday politics, before it was also co-opted by 1488ers, many, if not most of them, working at the behest of the Deep State.
Back then—from 2010 to, say, 2015—the Alt-Right existed in a much more esoteric space with a truly astounding amplitude of ideas and inspirations. The petty concerns that now weigh on it like boulders on its back were just so much dust around its feet then.
Instead of concerns about the next election cycle, the shape of Brexit, or what would happen in the midterms, the movement thought in eons and counted its small change in centuries. Instead of petty identity issues and picking low-hanging fruit from cases like that of Jusse Smollet, it cracked open the vaults of being and exposed the very fumes of existence to the sunlight of eternity.
What remains of this uncompromising vision and intellectual bravery, except the sad little meme of Richard Spencer's astral ethnostate, which is always delivered with a heavy dollop of irony and a shit-eating grin, just before Dickie and whoever his latest guest is press onto something "truly important," like the latest tweet from some minor celebrity in the Democratic Party.
The petty, non-transcendent concerns that the movement has become sunk in, along with the constant soap opera of its increasingly pathetic interpersonal dramas, are the very weft and weave of its shroud of delusion, distraction, and death.
A movement that once stood above, beyond, and outside it all—and framed everything from the margins of eternity and infinity—is now reduced to the instant amnesia of chasing Twitter trends. Was it always going to end like that?
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"That's bad optics, dude!" "How can we avoid being deplatformed?" "Don't punch right, bro." "We've got to network and build our own institutions, just not like Waco." "Look what Marco Rubio just tweeted about Venezuela! I'm literally shaking...," "Neocons are the real imperialists...," etc., etc., etc.All piffling, little, cheeseparing ideas, worries, and concerns—the sort you would expect cucked, little cowards to have as they scramble antlike through the tunnels and chambers of the internet.
Personally I can remember the golden days of the movement before it got suckered onto the Trump Train and became enmeshed in the banality of everyday politics, before it was also co-opted by 1488ers, many, if not most of them, working at the behest of the Deep State.
Back then—from 2010 to, say, 2015—the Alt-Right existed in a much more esoteric space with a truly astounding amplitude of ideas and inspirations. The petty concerns that now weigh on it like boulders on its back were just so much dust around its feet then.
Instead of concerns about the next election cycle, the shape of Brexit, or what would happen in the midterms, the movement thought in eons and counted its small change in centuries. Instead of petty identity issues and picking low-hanging fruit from cases like that of Jusse Smollet, it cracked open the vaults of being and exposed the very fumes of existence to the sunlight of eternity.
What remains of this uncompromising vision and intellectual bravery, except the sad little meme of Richard Spencer's astral ethnostate, which is always delivered with a heavy dollop of irony and a shit-eating grin, just before Dickie and whoever his latest guest is press onto something "truly important," like the latest tweet from some minor celebrity in the Democratic Party.
The petty, non-transcendent concerns that the movement has become sunk in, along with the constant soap opera of its increasingly pathetic interpersonal dramas, are the very weft and weave of its shroud of delusion, distraction, and death.
A movement that once stood above, beyond, and outside it all—and framed everything from the margins of eternity and infinity—is now reduced to the instant amnesia of chasing Twitter trends. Was it always going to end like that?
Become a Patron!
