Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts

'THE INVISIBLE TWINS' BY ANDY NOWICKI: MENGELE'S MUSE

Andy Nowicki has published the first part of his new fictional work, The Invisible Twins, which now may be purchased via Kindle. The Invisible Twinsa sequel to Nowicki's 2012 novel Heart Killer—will be published in serialized form. An exclusive excerpt from Part One follows below.
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At our last meeting, you began by speaking to me with as much dispassion as ever.

THE PORN GULAG: "PRETTY MAIDS ALL IN A ROW"

The following passage is taken from Andy Nowicki's collection of essays, Ruminations of a Low-Status Male, Volume 3: On Being UnwantedVolume 1 and Volume 2 are also available for purchase.

A lesser-known film than "The Graduate," but one which charts roughly the same thematic course, albeit in a rather more openly sleazy manner, is Roger Vadim’s 1971 movie “Pretty Maids All In a Row.” 

DON'T BE A 'SAD SACK': LOW-STATUS MAN'S FALL FROM GRACE

This passage is taken from Andy Nowicki's newly-published Ruminations of a Low-Status Male, Volume 3: On Being Unwanted, now available on Kindle and in paperback)
                                                                                            
Every man wants to be wanted.
Unfortunately, desire is not an infinite or even an abundant trait; therefore, some men must needs go unwanted. That is to say, their desire to be desired must needs go unmet.

What truly weeds out the wheat from the chaff, or the men from the boys, is how a man responds to being unwanted.

THE STRANGE CASE OF 'PSEUDO ROMEO'

This passage is taken from Andy Nowicki's newly-published Ruminations of a Low-Status Male, Volume 3: On Being Unwanted, now available on Kindle and in paperback.
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There is a certain boy I remember from my youth. 

As an adolescent, he was a slight, gawky lad with a wide mouth and incongruously beady eyes.  Unfortunate-looking though he was, he wasn’t of a resentful frame of mind; nothing in him seemed inclined towards viewing life in such a light; instead, quite oblivious to his miserable social state, or in any case utterly unmindful thereof, he relentlessly projected an attitude of thoroughgoing optimism; what was more, he was an inveterate and rather pesky romantic, much  after the fashion of Looney Toons mainstay “Pepe Le Pew.” 

'UNSPEAKABLE RITES 'AND EXCRUCIATING EMPATHY

The following is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's new book Meta-Pizzagate, now available on Amazon.com in paperback or on Kindle.

"At Comet Ping-Pong": An Image Shared on Instagram


This treatise, again, is not an investigative report; therefore, it is not within my scope to demonstrate the reality of either the #Pizzagate claims nor those surrounding these other notorious events. I know that many readers will doubt that our political, social, military, and financial rulers might in fact be remorseless human traffickers and depraved child-predators; such allegations will strike him as deluded, lurid, and paranoid.

"META-#PIZZAGATE": THE DEMONIC DELECTATION

The following is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's new book Meta-#Pizzagate, now available on Amazon.com.


It is not my place here to make a case that events like these are taking place right now, that they have been taking place for a while, and that they are unlikely to stop taking place anytime soon, if ever. It is my considered conclusion, however, that the diligent investigator who searches with open eyes will find exactly what he doesn’t want to find: namely, that the ritualized ravages of the strong against the weak, of the debased against the pure, of the remorselessly potent against the pitifully disenfranchised, have been pouring forth in one form or another for decades, if not centuries.

We must thus refrain from making our cause a partisan one. I spoke before about certain theological and moral notions held by the “dark” ones who hunger and thirst to possess and maintain power and control, who are both willful and ruthless, cunning and cruel; who, whether by nature or by choice, can indeed be called “cold-blooded” and “reptilian” even if they are human in form and substance.

9/11 TRAUMA: INSIDE JOB OR INSIDE JOKE?

The following passage is taken from Andy Nowicki's book, Conspiracy, Compliance, Control, and Defiancepublished earlier this year.



How did the remarkable sight of dissolving, crumbling iconic skyscrapers play upon the psyche of the unsuspecting viewer on September 11, 2001?

REPTILIAN, ALL TOO REPTILIAN

The following is an excerpt taken from Andy Nowicki's book Conspiracy, Compliance, Control, and Defiance.


Surely the exercise of psychological control, as wielded by the contemporary elite, is not an exact science; indeed, it is probably more of an art than a science. Still, it cannot be doubted that man is indeed an easily exploitable creature; there is no “one size fits all” manner of exercising dominion, as each individual is at least to some degree unique—to control for the quirks in absolutely everyone’s programming would be costly and time-consuming. Yet there does exist a baseline for control, a way of dominating the thoughts of the mass of men (even if some men manage to escape this widely-cast net), of strafing this weary load of penned-up souls with a barrage of stimuli to the extent that their minds are blown and their hearts are wrenched in a manner that aids and abets their psychological enslavement.

THE ALCHEMY OF NOSTALGIA

The following is an excerpt from an as yet unfinished work, tentatively titled Alienated in the 80s: A Compendium of Negative Nostalgia



Nostalgia is always unfathomable, except in retrospect, which is why one only “appreciates” the present when it recedes into the past.

This may appear to be a mere reflexive observation, since nostalgia refers to a yearning for the past, and the past cannot be regarded any other way than retrospectively, but a greater point is concealed within this bit of staid factuality. One never misses something until it is no longer present; indeed, one never comprehends that what is gone is worthy of being missed until one suddenly finds one’s nose pushed against the mystically malign barrier that divides the present from the past. When it becomes apparent that one can no more gain access to the past than step into a magical fairy realm, one at that moment feels oneself overcome with a sense of wonder and awe for that which had previously seemed drearily mundane.

EXCERPT: APOLLONIUS OF TYANA AND THE ALTERNATIVE EMPIRE


"I stood for a moment on the scent, smelling this shrill and blood-raw music, signifying the atmosphere of the hall angrily, and hankering after it a little too. One half of this music, the melody, was all pomade and sugar and sentimentality. The other half was savage, temperamental and vigorous. Yet the two went artlessly well together and made whole. It was the music of decline. There must have been such music in Rome under the later emperors." – Hermann Hess, Steppenwolf

Apollonius of Tyana is a mysterious marginal figure in the history of the classical world, and is only known to us in any detail because of the chance survival of a lengthy and highly anecdotal book written by the Greek Sophist Philostratus the Elder (c. 170 – 247AD).

Despite this obscurity, there is something fascinating about Apollonius. Like the last late pagan emperor Julian (361-3), whose unlucky death closed so many doors, he represents an alternative dynamic of the Roman Empire, one that could have avoided the political dead end that Christianity proved to be. His legend casts a wan light over the ruins of that great empire, and points to some of the clues of its demise.

THE CHRONIC MELANCHOLIC

The following passage is taken from the text of Andy Nowicki's new book Conspiracy, Compliance, Control, and Defiance. Additional excerpts can be found herehere, and here.



The suffering soul must ask himself the question: Why is he sad? 

In typical cases of acute or chronic melancholia, there is usually a proximate cause, such as, inter alia, the death of a loved one, the dissolution of a marriage, the loss of a job, or other failure, setback, sorrow, or similar provocation of grief, sorrow, or distress. When, however, the source of one’s melancholia is more generalized or abstruse, then the antidote to this condition is elusive, if not plainly non-existent.

OUR REPTILIAN RULERS

The following is an excerpt taken from a soon-to-be-published longer work by Andy Nowicki, tentatively titled Conspiracy, Compliance, Control, and Defiance. 



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.

ALL WAS WELL... UNTIL IT WASN'T


(The following passage is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's latest book Notes Before Death: Three Essays, now available on Amazon.com in paperback and on Kindle.)


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I have long harbored a conspicuous suspicion that I ought never to have come into existence in the first place.

Not that I ever had any say over the matter, of course. At least, I have no memory of an ante-existent “existence” where I can recall giving the expectant authorities the go-ahead to have me incarnated in a fleshly vessel and bundled away to this earthly inferno within which we all now languish.

"THE STREET HARDLY UNDERSTANDS": THE CASE OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK

The following is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's new book Notes Before Death: Three Essays , now available on Amazon.
Hear Andy read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," the poem discussed in this excerpt.

"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each
I do not think that they will sing to me."

Today, viewed from the perspective of a middle-aged English teacher, whose hair, like Prufrock's, is growing thin, I still find myself most captivated by Eliot's earliest work. As for "The Four Quartets," written later in Eliot's life and long after his conversion to Anglo-Catholicism, they leave me cold. There is something about them that is too airy-fairy, too abstract. "The Waste Land," Eliot's most celebrated poem, has its moments of power, but I can't make head of tail out of much of it, and really, couldn't he have cut back on the abstruse literary allusions just a touch? (Those who call Eliot a pedant are no doubt mostly prejudiced against him for his political and social views, but honestly, the guy could lay on the references and footnotes a bit thick at times.)

A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH

You may not have been aware of it, but April has been "Sexual Assault Awareness Month" (SAAM) in the United States. The best place for White readers to acquaint themselves with this issue is our own frontier history. The following is drawn from my recent book, Rape Hate: Sex & Violence in War & Peace
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Interracial rape victim: Catherine German


The little bottle lay on the sand. Nearby, waves lapped softly against the beach. How long the bottle had been laying there no one knows. Whether it was the tide or a storm that placed it, we do not know that either. This much we do know: At some point, someone walking along the sand spotted the bottle and instead of breaking it or hurling it back out to sea, they stooped to pick it up. We also know that when the finder uncorked the bottle he discovered that a note was folded inside. After fishing out the note and reading the words on the paper, whoever held it must have been dumb-struck. Finally, we also know that soon after the finder read the note and recovered from his shock, word quickly spread.

Thus ended one of the most remarkable journeys ever recorded.

The little bottle's story began somewhere on the high and dry plains of northwest Texas or eastern New Mexico, hundreds of miles from where it was found. Here, at a camp of the Southern Cheyenne Indians, a ragged and frightened young white woman secretly brought out her hidden treasure—a bottle, a cork, a pencil, a piece of paper—then nervously scratched out a note, a desperate plea for help. The girl quickly folded the paper into the bottle, corked the end tightly, then tossed it into the headwaters of the Brazos River. In this arid region, the Brazos during the best of times is a mere trickle of water; at worst, it is just a sandy draw. Nevertheless, this bottle and the tiny trickle that floated it were the best, and perhaps last, hope for freedom that the young woman would know.

GAMERS ARE DEAD?

This excerpt is taken from Scott Cameron's new book Understanding #Gamergate, now available for purchase at Amazon.com

On August 28, 2014, the gaming and mainstream press officially broke their silence (on Gamergate) by simultaneously publishing 10 articles denouncing gamers. All of the articles claimed that gamers, the gaming culture, or the gaming identity were “dead.”

One of the articles, a Gamasuta piece written by Leigh Alexander titled “’Gamers’ Don’t Have to be Your Audience. ‘Gamers’ Are Over,” describes Gamergate as a group of “angry young men” reacting to a changing industry that is neglecting them. Alexander writes that young men whom gaming companies marketed their products toward in the past have matured and are either not playing games or have migrated to “more fertile spaces.” Today, (so her thinking goes) young men are but one of many consumer groups game developers tailor their product to. Hence, young men have become “angry”; hence, Gamergate.

AN EYESORE IN THE ARCHITECTURE

                                                               
(The following passage is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's latest book Notes Before Death: Three Essays, now available on Amazon.com in paperback and on Kindle.)

As has been extensively recorded elsewhere, things turned sour for me at roughly the time of my initiation into puberty. It was at this juncture that I came to recognize that my previous impression of being at ease in the world had perhaps always been mistaken. Indeed, having become self-aware, I now saw that my very presence, when I dwelt with others, seemed to have the effect of making those others uncomfortable. Increasingly, in fact, the distressing notion came over me that people would be much more at ease with one another if I weren’t around to muck up the works. My existence in itself seemed to be an inconvenience which caused them irritation and annoyance.