My intestines hurt. What is it about visceral pain that makes one turn their mind to all sorts of crankish social philosophy? It’s enough to stir even someone sunken into the deepest lassitude. Pain makes you not care that what you’re doing is a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. It makes you relish your blatant thievery and your celebratory lack of originality. It’s all part of being a thoroughly bad person. Why am I bad? Because it’s the only recourse in a world where everyone is just so damn holy!
Yes, it’s a great world for holiness and the holy! Just showing your tits will get you on the quick list to beatification and canonization, where you can be *Our Lady of the Lantern Jaw* complete with t-shirts and laudatory television show guest appearances. God help you if you present like a baboon in heat; you’ll be the second coming! No, no, no. I am no prude. A prude is disgusted because they are secretly and shamefully aroused by the spectacle. I am disgusted because nothing arouses me anymore. But I digress.
So I come to it: The Neoreaction. It goes by other names, most of them rather juvenile “the Dark Enlightenment” which makes one think of teenaged goths cooking up a philosophy half Schopenhauer, half Bauhaus lyrics in some suburban basement of Tempe Arizona. Even worse yet, “The Red Pill”, which strikes one as something someone who reads mostly movie novelizations (when they can be arsed to read at all) came up with while popping their pimples. Reheated secular gnosticism from someone who doesn’t even know what Gnosticism *is*.
Hah! Lest you think I’m being far too critical, I am not. I’m a failed academic, a disenchanted intellectual, who cleans toilets and empties dirt to eke out a rather meager and colorless existence in a back end town of a back end province of the Great American Empire. Just a little forgotten nook of their far-flung colonial holdings. Picturesque, but rather expensive and bereft of serious minded people. Let’s be honest: The Neoreaction is a creation of our times. We are an era that educates and provisions talented young men with everything they need to enslave themselves… or set themselves free. If there was enough opportunity, enough chances to carve out a meaningful and satisfying existence, there would be no Neoreaction. The Neoreaction is the creation of a generation of superfluous men who discovered their superfluity. Seeing what they were embedded in, they decided to go another route.
The other route? Well it depends on taste, I suppose. If you could, imagine a city. Not some orderly planned city of square blocks and superhighways, but a city built on cart-paths and only halfway modernized. All the roads squiggle and loop and intersect multiple times. I like to think this city has a certain Central European flair, where you can stand at an intersection and turn one direction and see buildings once looked on by Hapsburgs, turn 90 degrees and see a rotting block of Marxist poured concrete, and then turn once more and see a glistening skyscraper of mirrored glass and steel with a McDonald’s on the ground floor. We are going on a walking tour to find the neoreactionaries in our grand city. For if anything is true, the neoreaction is not seperate from the world but built into it, as an emergent entity. I wish to go through each and every avenue and comment at length at what we find, after all, I am a flâneur first and foremost. I am not a regular at any one spot. I am always just visiting. A word of warning: those looking for some sort rigorous sociological analysis, shall receive none. There’s already countless electrons spilled on that. Expect little in the way of inline citations. This is a dilettante’s impression. Savor it not as you would by going to a library, but as by walking through endless cafes and parks! How you live is far more important than the coherence and complexity of how you *think*.
So I hope, anyways, my track record is not great for this sort of thing. In fact, one could say I always pick the worst possible time to do such things. But still, It seems like fun, a nice way of passing the time.