Not a Writer

I once wrote something to the effect of “he who writes is a writer” he who wishes he was a writer is one who wishes he was a writer. I still believe that is true and that it is probably more profound than you first realize. Concurrently, I believe that there are many different ways to define writing and writer and even when we are native speakers of a language our personal experiences lead us to a differently vague conception of writer and similar words.

Seen from other conceptions of writer, I am either not really a writer or, what’s worse, I am a poor writer. Uninspiring and boring. I rarely edit a post. Its all just stream of consciousness.

Three journals ago I began writing on paper primarily because I expected shit to hit the fan at any day and I did not want the FBI to come not knocking at my and kill me in my sleep in the twilight days of the American empire and the dawn of what comes next. I might be a shaman or an ubermensch, but I’m not a fucking ninja. So I deemed it best to begin writing my thoughts on paper so that I could enjoy more than the first couple of days of the blossoming apocalypse.

So much has changed in the last couple of years, however. Musk buying Twitter really changed the intellectual and political landscape in America. It is still changing rapidly. Things are moving quickly. The government appears to be in control at the moment – and I am in favor of about half of what they do – but the pace feels dangerous. It feels like it must either catch the world on fire or burn itself out in the next 18 months. If it keeps up this pace for the next 18 months, the world will be a notably different place.

There are already signs of slowdown. Very strong indications that tomorrow will always be several dozen tomorrow’s away (at best) and that what is given is less than promised. A calculation of risk – promises as much over what we can deliver as we can get away with and promise a couple of months in advance of when it will actually be shared or enacted.

The approach seems to reason that after multiple exposures to exciting new things, people will forget about old things. And they begin to draw back on earlier half filled promises to bring the numbers back in line with The Cabal’s expectations. Again and again and again.

But you know what. I just got me a tractor, so I don’t have to worry about that shit. I think the best that I can do for me and my people is to model how to leave the system that is designed to suck their blood (ie, surplus labor). The good people are the tax slaves for the rich, who pay off the poorest and laziest and more incapable in society in exchange for their votes to keep the middle class under chained and in check. This is the same process whereby the monarchy uses the tax farming Jew and the jealous peasants to curb the power of the aristocracy.

Anyway, so I started writing my thoughts down in journals rather than typing them in a word doc or a blog. These seem to be chaotic times. What I can’t really know, however, is how common it is for times to feel this chaotic. My guess is that it is fairly common. But since I have been in high school, it seems to have been one crisis after another, coupled with decreased competence in all leadership positions in society. I suppose the latter has actually really ramped up in the last decade. But what do I know?

To return to the beginning, I recognize that I am not a writer so much as a thinker who for some reason feels compelled to write his thoughts down.