RadFems, Cenobites, and the Lament Configuration

Folks, this post is going to be a doozy. It’s been rattling around in my brain for a very long time, and I finally feel that the time is right to post it. For this, I will blame the esteemed Tom Kratman, who accidentally reminded me of it in a conversation earlier. It’s going to be long, and dark, and go into places the human psyche is not always comfortable in. I have faith my readers can weather it, but if you’ve any question… now is the time to check out. Take my warning seriously, here.

In the manosphere, the various hodgepodge collection of sites emphasizing a return to masculinity for men, I encountered a comment some years ago which stuck with me. In it, a man who had been banging a number of women lamented that every woman he encountered was a Cenobite, one of Clive Barker’s seekers of pain through pleasure. They would say “choke me until I pass out, hit me, spank me until I bleed, cut me…” They would demand ever-greater excesses, because they were unable to feel pleasure if it did not include pain. He didn’t care — all he wanted was to get laid, so he’d do whatever they asked of him — but he didn’t understand why women were this way, or why he could find so few who weren’t like this. He seemed to have a sense that things were not always this way.

In my DJ career, I have spent a great deal of time in communities and scenes that normal folks would regard as underground. For many years, I DJed BDSM parties, Fetish events, and the like. I’ve DJed warehouses and clubs with no names, buried in the wreckage of abandoned industrial parks. The marketplace of sex is one which I know exceedingly well. I’ve been DJing these scenes for the better part of 20 years.

To quote Blade Runner, I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.

As that commenter lamented, so I’ve seen first-hand. These SJWs, the radical feminists who spend their lives fighting the Patriarchy? They come to my clubs to be beaten senseless on crosses, chained to them by men dressed in uniforms very reminiscent of the Nazis. Yes, it’s a thing, as anybody who has ever been to a Goth club can attest. They demand to be tied up, burned, bruised, and battered.

Go on social media, and you will see SJWs telling us that Nazis are everywhere, that they are evil, and foul, and legion. They are in the White House, they are on Youtube, they are on Twitter, they are in Video Games. Nazis, everywhere. And so they march out into the streets, the Black Bloc, Antifascists engaging in what Tom Kratman calls a bit of political theater (not unlike Fascists once did).

But at the end of a long week of fighting the cisnormative heteropatriarchy, they come to be beaten by men dressed as Nazis, to the gritty beats of loud Industrial music in the depths of an Industrial park.

And what’s more, RadFems have come to resemble these very same Cenobites, covered in piercings, dyes, and tattoos, such that the difference between Hellraiser’s Pinhead and the average denizen of Slut Walk is minimal at best. And then they say “I’m a slut, but that doesn’t mean I consent.”

Then, off they go to have simulated rape, to cry “yes Daddy” to the men they hate, after a day of fighting the Patriarchy in the streets.

Now they will say there is a difference, that it’s all okay because they consented to it. They came to the club. They asked for it. And it is true, to some extent. There are rules in such communities. But why, if you hated a thing so much would you come to love its reflection so deeply?

There is something deep here, some psychological damage present in the West, such that we, as an entire civilization, have lost the ability to take pleasure in anything, and have merely exchanged pleasure for pain in everything we do. Pleasure has lost its novelty. We are like Slaanesh in the Warhammer 40k world.

Where once we celebrated achievement, putting a man on the moon, inventing, building, and learning… now we celebrate victimhood in a form of emotional sadomasochism. Everything is about being made to feel bad. Imagine coming to work in the morning, chugging your cup of coffee, seeing a friend and saying “hey, how’s it going?” Said friend responds cheerfully and happily, “oh, it’s been going horrible, I got run over by a bus, and discriminated against by HR, catcalled by a thug, and my house burned down then got sucked into a tornado! How’s it with you?”

It’s almost that ridiculous.

If you walked on the moon, check your privilege, because I’m a bigger victim than you. If you cured AIDS, fuck you, you were privileged because you’re white, or have a penis. They will say things like, oh you want to know what challenge is, Mr. Quantum Physicist? Challenge is trying to make it in STEM when you’re mentally ill, bipolar, on meds, when you’re a genderqueer black Hispanic Muslim lesbian from Somalia. Who got sucked into a tornado.

Forget curing cancer, cure racism, they say.

And then they, too, go to the club and get beaten by the guys with floggers and chains. Business has never been better, let me tell you.

I see it everywhere. I see women spurning “lesser” men, finding the most intimidating, scarred, barbaric thug on the dance floor and making out with him all night, and it hits me. I see barbaric men starting fights over stupid shit, and everybody drinking until they can’t see or walk straight, filing out of the club at 3AM to try and crawl their way home. This is our entire civilization right now. These people are in power, and are doing on a meta level exactly the same sort of thing I see from my DJ booth.

They scoured the world for the most barbaric and twisted belief systems they could possibly find, and said “come to our home. Beat us. Be our Nazis.” Islam, certainly, can do that well enough. It is more than willing. And so they come, hordes of men mostly (why bring the women and children in such a circumstance?).

The Cenobites are at the helm of our civilization, and they solved the Lament Configuration, and are taking us to the dimension where pleasure and pain are meaningless distinctions. Choke me, hit me, tie me to a cross and stone me to death, Islam. Kill me in the streets.

Then they can be a better victim, to achieve even less than they do now, to achieve negative achievement, to actually rollback civilization, to be nothing more than burka-clad objects, who can’t read, or write, or drive an automobile.

These RadFems don’t want less Patriarchy, they want more Patriarchy. They don’t want less Nazis, they want more Nazis. A civilization full of weak-minded fools has broken them, somehow. Deprived of any form of constructive masculinity, people have gone out to seek it among the barbarians. Better a Mohammed than a boy-man who thinks his gender is an Oscar Meyer wiener. You could sell them to a Saudi prince as a sex slave, and they’d experience true joy.

Was this how Rome fell, all those years ago? Some poor asshole solved the Lament Configuration, and out popped Alaric and his merry band of Visigoths?

I’ve recognized local protesters at the club, submitting to a guy who served in the sandbox and took a few rounds for his trouble. He’s everything they should hate, a big scary Right-wing man with guns who’s seen the shit and has that stare that says don’t fuck with me in spades.

And they are all over him — this man who, by rights, should be their ideological enemy. But it doesn’t matter to them. Just like all this drama about fascists and Nazis doesn’t matter to them and never did. It’s theater. Anything to feel good at this particular moment. It’s a way to get in the 11 o’clock news, to be seen saying and doing the right things, before spending the night drinking, smoking, shooting up, and partying.

Maybe, even spending part of it chained to the cross, or beaten, cut, and choked.

Do you think it is an age thing? Let me disabuse you of this right now. The club isn’t the same as you see on TV. There are young 20 years olds, and old cougars. There are young men and old men, and everything in between, and in no particular ratio I can discern.

They all do it. I’ve recognized men of stature, wealth, and power. Millionaires and paupers. And I’ve seen thugs from the ghetto, and financiers of renown… all there, all in the same place, all doing the same things.

And do I care? Not personally. This is a job, and to be honest, some of the people who go to these places are good and fine people, and I get along with them famously. But that’s not the problem here, that’s not the contradiction. People who find a thing they like, even if normal folks regard it as twisted, aren’t the issue.

The trouble is the hypocrisy of it all, the person who protests Nazis, then wants to be beaten by a Nazi, the person who says all sex is rape, and then fucks a dozen guys in a cocaine-fueled mega orgy.

If you want to experience these things, and admit it to yourself, that is one thing. But the next day, you are suddenly a neo-Puritan? The standard bearer for why every time a guy in front of his computer jerks off, he’s committing the equivalent of rape? You say you are anti-fascist, dressing in black and either pretending to be a Nazi, or wanting to be dominated by one?

Or, perhaps since they are good Communists, they will summon the spirit of Lavrentiy Beria to do the deed? The Left has a history with this sort of thing, after all.

And so the TV cameras come out, and you’re Cotton Mather, praising the Salem Witch Trials… while at night, you are the witch. Who is the real you? These people are so very confused.

They are Cenobites who have lost entirely the ability to distinguish between pain and pleasure anymore. But what’s worse, they’ve lost the ability to distinguish the real and the unreal. Some of them don’t even know what gender they want to be, much less actually are. Another will say she has the soul of a kitty-cat. It’s solipsism in the extreme. What happened yesterday didn’t exist, and what will happen tomorrow will never exist.

Leftism has always had a fascination with erasing history in the Orwellian manner. So much the better if you don’t even believe history exists, or that yesterday ever mattered at all.

Only today, the moment, exists at all. Only the feelings of right now matter at all. There is no right and wrong, no pain and pleasure. Only present experience. It’s beyond Fatalism, which tells us that individual choice doesn’t matter, doesn’t really exist, that all such is illusion. They have gone beyond this, in that nothing objective exists.

So today, they want to pretend to be a superhero punching Nazis, and tomorrow they change their minds and want to go on a drinking binge in the club district and find the most Nazi-like human they can, and have sex with him. They are all heroes of their own little fantasy narratives, like every song is a personal movie soundtrack, and every event is a momentous struggle. Hailing a taxi cab is the equivalent of the Battle of the Bulge, getting up the stairs in a drunken stupor is the evacuation of at Dunkirk, losing weight is a quest Jason and his Argonauts would fail.

I guess burn more calories than you eat isn’t as dramatic as a quest to the ends of the Earth.

A poop swastika splattered on the wall of a University bathroom is a racial struggle reminiscent of the Million Man March. Enforcing border security is the same as Auschwitz. Donald Trump is literally Hitler. PewDiePie is a fucking Nazi. Calling an obese woman fat is the same as stoning them to death for being raped. Making a sexual joke is literal rape. Abortion is sacred, but everything we do is For the Children ™.

You can’t interrupt the narrative, the struggle in their own heads.

And meanwhile, Islamists stream across the borders of the West in numbers, and bring with them a culture that countenances the very same thing they claim to oppose, but seemingly want in secret, behind closed doors.

Why yes, she says, I will cover my head and body for you, my Islamist master.

I said, once, that much of the decline of the West could be seen from my DJ booth, and I wasn’t bullshitting you. There you can see the fruits of a society at war with itself, unsure of its own direction, helmed from the highest spires of Academia and government by solipsistic lunatics, hell-bent on destroying their own lives, and ours along with them.

My father is fond of saying that the time will come when evil is called good, and good is called evil. But today, we have a people who appear to be unable to even tell the difference, because they are no longer grounded by a belief in objective reality at all. It feels good, in that particular moment, to submit to Islam, and so they do it. There is no other reason. No good or evil.

The rationalizations all come later, after the decision is made and the thing is done.

They come to my clubs for the same reason.

I’ll see them again on Saturday.

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