The Joy of Desolation

By Porter Via The Kakistocracy

A follower on Twitter today expressed disappointment in our recent opioid post here: I was hoping it was going to be a post on finding purpose with life over and above choking on “red pill” outrage porn on a daily basis. My initial response was to advise that the most certain means to avoid such letdowns in others is to articulate your preferred positions yourself. And that made me realize this is probably the very content he wished to see. I’ll return to this in a moment.

But first I wanted to discuss the concept of “outrage porn.” In particular as it is customarily deployed as a pejorative. Of course any piece of writing can be poorly conceived or executed, and most are. But if the term is meant to be descriptive of a genre, its wholesale dismissal is the work of a fool. Outrage porn, or alternatively “mockery or alarm lit” has a long and auspicious history of catalyzing necessary social counter-responses. These responses being much more robust than dry dialectic has ever produced, I would argue. That’s not to say dialectic isn’t critical; it’s the concrete foundation of western civilization. But men don’t fight wars with concrete as a weapon.

If we were to objectively evaluate outrage porn through the course of history’s endless tribal conflicts, we would probably find ourselves immensely impressed with its effectiveness. Some of its most frequent users are successful tribes indeed. It’s interesting that you never see jews dismiss even the most lurid rhetoric of their co-ethnics by calling it “porn.” But it shouldn’t be interesting at all. This is a key tool in how they avoid the temptation of complacency while maintaining in-group cohesiveness and out-group antipathy. And whose tactics are winning precisely?

Further, there is a subtle but substantial delta between saying Look how stupid this is, har har! And Look how stupid this is. Here’s the lesson we should take from it. Some people seem to forget that sexuality isn’t synonymous with pornography, particularly when its purpose is to produce a child. In other words, titillation isn’t exclusive to masturbation.

Though returning to the idea of finding purpose in life beyond despair, why ignore the best part? There’s an abundance of purpose in gloom and discomfort. Seeing so many anesthetized positivity-preaching zombies, I sometimes feel a thrill at having desolation’s rich motivational vein seemingly all to myself.

As a mildly successful man, it’s difficult to not give despair its due. I fought through an acute youthful shyness around women out of despair at the prospect of being an incel with crippling monthly Kleenex bills. I labored long hours to advance my earnings power out of despair at the prospect of being an Applebee’s waiter in my 70s. I exercise daily and binge on broccoli instead of bon bons out of despair at the prospect of my gut looking like Michael Moore’s neck. Truly, if I had always thought everything would be copacetic I’d be alone on the back porch of a shack counting the birdies in my backyard. That I am sitting here blogging instead may not actually be the most compelling point in favor of my thesis.

But setting aside the vast motivational efficacy of doom, the advice I would offer those in the clutches of drugs, personal rot, or merely apathy is one perhaps they’ve heard somewhere before: You don’t have to live like this. Contra liberal doctrine, the future isn’t fixed. Yours, like that of the West as a whole, is still to be written. Both have a higher purpose than lying supine on the floor.

Rising to a more regal posture is much easier than most choose to recognize. Whether in a state of fulfillment or decay, our lives are nearly always the fruits of our habits. The human psyche is remarkably prone to inertia. Thus whether self-destructive or beneficial, we tend to keep doing the same things while wondering why nothing ever changes. But the best thing about habits is that bad ones can be broken and better ones formed. Even the thickest dullards can usually ascertain the difference between the two.

For me, good habits have always blossomed from negative concerns. That’s why I keep a stack of outrage porn always close. I have a greater ambition for me, my children, and my civilization than to be someone else’s meal pellets. While working against that bleak possibility isn’t always fun, you do get in excellent shape from the effort. And that’s about the most positive thing I can think to say.

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Tommy
Tommy

May I ask what you did for a living, or do for a living?

Uncola

When launching onto the interwebic blogosphere, there are many factors which may contribute to a long and satisfying passage regarding any post or comment. These might include intelligence, irony, honesty, eloquence, or humor; in any combination.

However, when it comes to blasting the number of upvotes, and/or maximizing the degree of viral propagation, into the uppermost elevations of the ethernetic stratosphere, it seems anger and schadenfreude are powerful and effective rocket boosters providing unparalleled lift against the gravity of apathy and haste.

On another note, I can honestly say I have never heard of the word “incel” before this reading in spite of firsthand immediate experience with such in the past. Thanks Porter. Thanks Mario.

Iska Waran
Iska Waran

That picture of the dude in the rowboat made me decide to relate this little adventure. Couple nights ago I was walking around our local lake, and – having had a double beverage – I decided to see whether all of the “tenders” (rowboats) at the dock were, indeed, locked. Lo and behold, one was only tied up, so I decided to borrow it for a little midnight voyage. I was just going to row down the shoreline a bit, then turn around and put it where it had been, but damned if there didn’t appear a vehicle that looked suspiciously like a cop. Goddamn rollers. The car stopped along the roadside with its headlights on as I floated 50 yards offshore and debated whether I was going to have to row across the whole goddamn lake to avoid capture. Eventually the vehicle rolled slowly down the road a bit, I tied the boat to a different dock (it was making quite a noise due to the waves) and skulked away as fast as I could, looking over my shoulder and ready to hide behind the weeds at the shoreline if the fucker came backing up at breakneck speed. It was a close fucken call, as best as I can tell.

Not the joy of desolation, exactly. More like the thrill of desperation.

jimmieoakland
jimmieoakland

In other words, quit complaining, cowboy the fuck up, and start improving yourself, taking care of your loved ones, and be a good citizen where you live. We live in a fallen world. Agreed. Do the best you can with what you’ve got.

ubercynic
ubercynic

I feel like a guy who knows how to fix the leaks in the boat taking on water that he’s on, but everyone else on the boat insists that punching holes in the bottom of the boat will let the water out.

MuckAbout

Panic of the week..

muck

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