Rainbow Blight (4 of 4)

Child as adult, death as life.

Links:

• Part One

• Part Two

• Part Three

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In writing this series, I predicted my previous entry might ruffle some feathers. It did. But my intention wasn’t to attack your fondest childhood memories. I was merely suggesting we open our minds to two related possibilities:

1. Every generation alive in the West today has been manipulated by screens more or less since birth.

2. This manipulation heavily involved the marketing of chaotic colors and forms, as well as an underlying transhumanist ethos that conditioned us to see what’s strange and horrifying as friendly and mundane.

The problem when you go after something like The Muppets is that the Devil’s core tactic is to interweave truths with lies, in the hopes that we’ll be unable to untangle them in other instances. Because so many of us have fond memories of those sweet and funny puppets, our instinct is to protect them. Or, more specifically, to protect those corners of our hearts in which they dwell.

That’s not even a bad instinct; we should want to defend such turf, even if our memories don’t quite line up with the reality of what was done to us. But on the other hand, if we choose to ignore that reality, we’ll endlessly chase our tails asking questions like:

“How the hell did this happen?”

“How did we get here?”

So when I point out that frogs were one of the plagues of Egypt; or that Legion was chased into a herd of swine which then promptly suicided off a cliff; or that the song “Rainbow Connection” is about demonic possession, written by a man addicted to drugs and jumping out of airplanes, I’m not attacking those innocent versions of Kermit and Piggy who live in our hazy memories. I’m exposing what I see as an early tactical maneuver in the Enemy’s grand strategy to rule us all under his grotesque battle standard.

And, as the song mentions, “Look what it's done so far…”

“Is it Garb-AGE or GAR-bage?” is a real question asked, on an actual “news” broadcast, of a man who makes the mutants of Pink Flamingos look Amish by contrast. He goes on to recite the usual pabulum about “communities” and whatnot. But one aspect of his clown makeup I found interesting was the framing of his lower jaw with hard lines, which make it look suspiciously like the hinge for a puppet’s mouth. A string is pulled, a bunch of divers-a-speak pours forth. Garbage in, Garbage out, I guess. Hmm.

Anyway, when he speaks of being “free to be ourselves,” I feel only pity for him. If his version of Self is a prop from a horror movie about zombie mannequins come to life, what must this fellow’s dreams be like?

More importantly, was something terrible done to him, which conditioned him to see himself in this broken, ugly light? And, if so, can such damage be undone?

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What is “Gay?”

Down at the mechanical level, the answer is quite simple: gays do not want to insert Tab A into Slot A, instruction manuals be damned.

In that narrow sense, gay men can be compared to pre-pubescent boys. Until age twelve or thereabouts, girls are yucky, and to be seen in their excessive company provokes insults and shame. But right around that age, a mysterious force begins to rotate that shape 180°. The accursed female enters our dreams and waking fantasies. We rescue her from wizards and dragons, sweep her into our arms for a kiss. The process is bewildering at first, but the sensibility of Nature overwhelms and conquers the boy, who must begin his final transformation into a man.

But it seems that on rare occasions, this transformation either never occurs or does so in the opposite fashion. The traditional “sissy boy” and “butch gal” models of gay find purchase in an adulthood of effeminate men and masculine women, who seek out alike partners for sexual games. While these games come in many forms, the mainstream appears to be something like a compromise: “I will play the woman if you will play the man (and perhaps we can switch roles from time-to-time).”

For the longest time, the question was something like:

“Is being gay a choice?”

I don’t think that was ever the right question, because Being in itself isn’t fully knowable. Even when interrogating our own states of Being, we are often untrustworthy narrators who mix the fantasy of What Could Be with the reality of What Is.

It’s blatantly obvious that Doing Gay is a choice, just as Doing Straight is. Because we are conscious creatures, Nature can’t actually compel us to Do anything. No, not even to live. We can, for just one example, willingly starve ourselves to death, or commit suicide in a multitude of ways. In other words, we can and do throw out the instruction manuals all the time.

But even though we can’t be compelled, we can be tempted and lured by those mysterious forces I mentioned. So when a homosexual says, “I was born this way,” I don’t really have an argument against it. Mysteries abound in Nature, after all, and humans are natural as well as Divine. For all I know, the statement is sometimes true, even in the homosexual’s own conscious thoughts.

By “sometimes” here I mean that each human soul is unique, including those souls who aggregate under the growing umbrella of LGBTQIP2SA+’s boutique sexual categories and/or genders. And because of our uniqueness, there isn’t a one-size-fits-all method for alleviating such a disastrous self-image as has possessed Avant Garbage above, let alone for the legions who now identity as birds, wolves, pixies, dragons and, yes, cake.

When confronted with these novel pseudo-identities, one is tempted to think of it all as an imaginative children’s game (and I think it’s at least something akin to that). Like all horrors, there is a seed of comedy buried in it. “Let’s confuse and piss off the grownups!” is a very old game, after all. Equally old is the game in which the child tries to snatch up any scraps of agency and social power it can find. As the kid’s mind grows in complexity, it begins to see the world as an unfair prison. If the kid can force an adult to behave in a certain way, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

Even the sexual components of such games are old. Parents naturally fear the sexual maturation of their children, as it means they are becoming a part of the larger world outside of their control. It also signals that their hearts and loyalties will someday not be wholly owned by mom and dad, but must eventually be shared with those lovers and spouses they’ll find out in that larger world. Puberty is therefore a minor tragedy for parents, to hopefully be repaired someday with the gift of grandchildren.

Except, of course, if the child is gay.

But again, what is “gay?”

Beyond the mechanical description, it might be described as a sexual predilection (i.e. a bias to choose) or a proclivity (i.e. an instinct to do) towards beings with the same morphology. To simulate copulation between these incompatible forms, various body parts are promoted as ersatz replacements for the default set. Rectums for the man; dildos for the women; fingers, mouths and tongues for all. In their minds they were born with the wrong equipment for lovemaking, and so they try their best to adapt.

Certainly that’s the case with the so-called “trans phenomenon,” where the entire body is declared a falsehood. In a description with obvious gnostic undertones, the transsexual claims that his or her sexuality somehow emanates from a place beyond biology, and that one’s social identity is derived from what preexists in this phantom zone. We can think of it as a kind of immature, half-blind epistemology. The man knows he’s actually a woman, even though he can’t describe the feeling of his first menstrual period. The woman knows she’s actually a man, even though she can’t describe the feeling of an erection, or the difference between the one we wake up with and the one that points towards the person we desire.

This goes far in explaining the obsession with pronouns. What’s demanded is an external validation of how the transsexuals (and, more and more frequently, the transhumans) “see” themselves. But what they see isn’t inward to some sexualized phantasm of Being, but outward with an imaginative envy at an ever more distant and virtual world of representional shapes and sounds. When humans feel powerless and pitiable, others sometimes begin to look like mirrors in which they can imagine a happier version of themselves. They have come to believe that if only they were wrought like that elusive Other, they could find peace and happiness at last.

This is a delusion, of course. And a dangerous one.

But it has apparently become a incredibly potent one in recent years. Not only is it vigorously promoted by the rich and powerful, it signals that transsexuality is itself a form of social power, even displacing the old-fashioned gays and lesbians from their roosts. Many of the latter have began to notice and despair. Some are even questioning whether gayness itself is being destroyed, and whether, in their flagrant excess, they helped plant the seeds for its destruction. In other words:

Trannies Takeover the PRIDE Movement!

Lesbians Hardest Hit!

What’s happening is not sexual libertinism reaching its apotheosis. Quite the contrary, as we’ll soon discover.

Many gays of the West sense that the transgender craze is erasing them on multiple levels. The T’s haven’t merely stolen their victim clout and social credit cards. What they attack is the very foundation of homosexuality that says: “I am a man attracted to other men, or a woman attracted to other women.” Instead, gays are now increasingly rendered as broken transsexuals who missed the boat, because there weren’t enough “gender-affirming” clinics and drugs around to help them “transition” when they were young. In a very weird way, transsexualism is reifying the core logic of heterosexuality: If you are attracted to men, you must therefore be a woman (and vice versa).

The more churlish among us might say that gays are being hoisted on their own petard. I even think that’s somewhat true: as gays allowed their sexual predilection and/or proclivities to be co-opted by governments and giant corporations, they were unknowingly sealing a pact with the evil people at the helm of those. In exchange for being validated and glorified by these elites, they would devote vast resources of political energy and social capital to protecting and expanding their wicked monopolies.

Not all gays, certainly. There will always be heretics like Douglas Murray and Camille Paglia on hand to skewer the Politically Gay. But enough of them to matter. And in the course of their social validation, they were also trained to use the Enemy’s language of war. Just like the captured race-essentialists, gays would now deploy military jargon like “ally” without a trace of irony, to describe any straight who meekly submits to their unearned authority. Gays would essentially be joining up with Fanon’s Wretched Army of the Earth: a brigade of moral shock troopers charged with flaunting their sexual desires to humiliate the normies.

Of course, the problem with taking pleasure in another’s discomfort is that they will eventually acclimate and start tuning you out. So in order to get your fix of schadenfreude, you must escalate your tactics, behave even freakier than you actually are in order to grab their attention. Your outward affect must become more aggressive, more provocative, more poisonous to the ears and eyes. You must steal their words and symbols, too, invert and mock their meanings, accuse them of that which you yourself are guilty.

Take that, oppressors!

That craving for negative attention appears to be one strain of gay (and, in fact, one that isn’t limited to homosexuals). But it does appear to be reaching its ceiling in a culture where very little shocks us anymore.

That’s why publicly-funded school libraries are now stocking How-To manuals about the best way to suck dicks, why teachers are secretly colluding with students about their gender delusions, why California is advertising itself as a sanctuary for kids seeking puberty blockers and Frankenstein surgeries. It’s the Devil pointing at his own face and screaming, “Look at me, motherfucker!” while simultaneously pretending to not exist. If that sounds illogical, welcome to Clown World, pal. Check your logic at the door.

But what about the so-called “normal” gays?

These would be the men and women who, like so many of us, simply want to be left to their own devices. These people would merely say, “If our behavior turns out to be sinful, please leave us to be paid those wages, as you yourselves must be paid. For who among us is without sin?”

And that simple statement was true enough to make a great number of us placid. The deal as struck was something like the following: they will be reasonably discreet, we will tolerate without endorsing. Those who’d prefer such a deal include intelligent and honorable men like Dave Rubin. You could watch his videos for many hours before guessing his sexual proclivities, because those haven’t managed to swallow him whole.

These are also the gays who don’t take themselves quite so seriously, and could therefore laugh along with Buddy Cole. They certainly wouldn’t be caught dead dressed up like a fucking rainbow.

For our end of the bargain, we agreed to mostly keep our feelings of disgust to ourselves. There’s at least a social utility in that; if they are respectful enough to not bring up buttfucking, then why should I? But the deal says we’re still allowed to both feel and express such disgust, if and when they do.

When the claim is made that disgust at gay sex is equivalent to hatred of gays themselves, one normie reaction is, “But I have a lot of gay friends.” Such statements are defensive and reflexive, regardless of whether or not they’re true. This should answer the question once and for all of who wields social power in the current arrangement.

I do have one gay friend, who I’ve known since my high school days. I haven’t seen him in several years, but I know that if and when I do, our friendship will be easily resumed. I know that he struggled with his homosexuality, as the version of him I first met was still nominally chasing skirts back then. But regardless of my disgust with his sexual activities, I also know other aspects of his being that I respect and even revere. Some of that is likely the result of foxhole bonding. Our teenage years were often like a war, complete with literal casualties that we buried.

He and his boyfriend have been raising several adopted children for many years now, all of them somewhat older kids who would’ve otherwise been doomed to foster homes and other machinations of the State. Because of my knowledge of this man and his kind spirit, I don’t fear for their safety. If anything, I fear he might be too strict. On the other hand, perhaps extraordinary discipline is what’s required now, if they are to survive in our disintegrating world.

I don’t dwell on what he gets up to in the bedroom. That’s just plain gross, as far as I’m concerned. But what I do wonder about him and others like him, who do not seem obsessed with drawing attention to their sexual habits, is how intrinsic to Being those habits are. His desires don’t seem to own him, as they do the shrieking exhibitionists and twerking parade queens of PRIDE, but rather run parallel to the other mundane aspects of his life. This minimalistic form of gay is of a character that sometimes appears arrow-straight, like a vessel knocked a few degrees off course in the dead of night.

What I wonder most of all can be summarized with this study (emphasis mine):

Of 327 homosexual and bisexual men participating in an ongoing cohort study pertaining to risk factors for HIV infection who completed a survey regarding history of sexual abuse, 116 (35.5%) reported being sexually abused as children. Those abused were more likely to have more lifetime male partners, to report more childhood stress, to have lied in the past in order to have sex, and to have had unprotected receptive anal intercourse in the past 6 months (odds ratio 2.13; 95% confidence interval 1.15-3.95). Sexual abuse remained a significant predictor of unprotected receptive anal intercourse in a logistic model adjusting for potential confounding variables.

When I say that I cannot hate gays, it’s partially because I suspect so many of them were young victims of the most horrific crimes imaginable. This would produce a category of “gay” as a survivor’s instinct to rewrite history, and thereby sooth an unbearably traumatic wound.

How many homosexuals does this model describe? If it was even one, my deepest beliefs would drive me to love instead of hate that individual.

But whatever “gay” is or was, in whatever categories and percentages, what’s clear to me is that it has changed at some fundamental level. It’s no longer an exclusive, underground nightclub, run by a witty and stylish Buddy Cole. It’s not even about lust anymore. It’s about what it says on the bottle:

Pride.

But pride in what?

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The Banner of Death

The ultimate destination of all this colorfully ugly, schismatic chaos, the symbol of its militant ethos, was always going to be the PRIDE flag itself.

There is no other way to put it: this is by far the ugliest flag I have ever seen, an assault on the eyes and mind. Imagine painting your bedroom like this. Or any room, other than a torture chamber.

It’s worth noting that this is only its latest incarnation. The PRIDE flag has been mutating ever since the 1970’s, but the recent explosion of boutique sexual identities has sparked a surreal growth spurt of new shapes and shades. It’s gotten to the point that nobody really agrees on what the latest acronym even entails. At my last count, it was LGBTQQIP2SA+, which (I think) translates to the following:

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning, Intersex, Pansexual, Two-Spirited, Asexual (plus more, TBD).

Also worth noting is that each of these sub-categories has been given its own ugly battle standard to march beneath. The method by which aesthetic agreement is reached in each group is murky — is there a Betsy Ross of Non-Binary? — but here’s a taste of just a few:

With such a staggering (and growing) number of sexual IDs, gender personnae and transhuman unicorn-monsters, one’s forced to wonder what, if anything, the unifying Rainbow ethos is? What’s the root that binds them together beneath these awful flags?

In a word:

Infertility.

The people who indulge in these forms of non-reproductive sex are probably not going to have children of their own. Yes, there are medical interventions like artificial insemination and surrogacy. But scarcity breeds rarity, and the product of any such birth will not be a union of the lovers, but rather of one of them with an opposite sex donor (who might even be an anonymous stranger). Adoption is the far more likely method, if that route is even pursued at all. And as for the castratos of transgenderism, they have, quite literally, cut themselves off from the great chain of life altogether.

The recent addition of “asexuals” to this infertile army is also instructively absurd: for a tribe that was supposedly formed with regards to sexual liberty and its suppression, I can’t think of a weirder fellow traveler than a man or woman who doesn’t want to have sex with anyone at all. What “structural oppressions” does such a person face? Who’s forcing you to fuck or be fucked, apart from actual rapists?

Such unreason and illogic is music to the Devil’s ears. For example, we’ve been hearing from more “traditional” homosexuals a lot of bewilderment and angst with regards to how the transgenderites and other peculiar rump factions have staged a hostile takeover of the entire movement, a coup conducted in the blink of an eye. They rightly fear that letters like the dreaded P(edophilia) and B(estiality) will slither into their prideful alphabet, just as the sweaty preachers of yore always predicted they would. They wonder aloud what the process was which led homosexuality back to this brink of total suspicion, rejection and ruin.

The answer is stitched into the atomizing, protean design ethic of the flag itself. As

Duncan Reyburn

put it, near the end of his masterful piece on Chrétien de Troyes’ account of an Arthurian legend:

Everything must be queered, disrupted, destigmatised, deconstructed, decolonized and subverted. In practice, especially as the word subverted suggests here, this just sets up a whole new set of hierarchies. We don’t end up without any power structure and with no abuses of power. Rather, we end up with a new power structure and all kinds of new abuses. The patriarchy is replaced by the matriarchy, and the head of this matriarchy is Medusa, the enraged Gorgon. 

I can’t right now think of a single exception to the rule, although there may be one, that at the top of the list of what must be dismantled in this frenzy of resentment is not the power of the patriarchy but purity itself. Virtue itself is very unpopular among the rainbow alphabetirati, that amorphous and self-contradictory organisation that splits white light into its constituent components at the expense of illumination. The white stag must not belong to the King, apparently, but must be defiled by the prideful, envious, and lustful. We see this sort of denigration of purity especially in what I do not think is an exaggerated slur; I mean the arrival on the world’s stage of the so-called groomer.

The secret of the Pride flag is that it’s not ultimately about homosexuality, but rather the expression of a kind of Nietzschean Last Men nihilism that seeks to stamp a period on the end of Creation. The rainbow of God’s covenant which signifies a hopeful and fertile future is thereby converted into a twisted parody that champions the opposite desire. It symbolizes the Enemy’s yearning for the quietude of a dead universe, the end of all stories and songs.

The end of children, too. The rainbow is also the banner of child sex traffickers and their clients, whose victims will too often become adults too traumatized to engage in productive sex and family life. They are fed into this brutal machinery by monsters at a tender age, and emerge as either broken adults or as monsters themselves. For the homosexual predator, this is perhaps rationalized as a form of vampiric propagation (“If Nature won’t provide me with enough sex partners, I’ll just make some myself.”). But lurking beneath all homo and hetero versions is a raw, demonic lust to vandalize innocence and shoot God the middle finger.

To see this machine in action is to know it must be destroyed. With your help, such mass exposure may be coming to a theater near you.

People who use children as sexual playthings are also terrified of getting caught. Or, at least, they used to be. The ever-splintering light of the rainbow flags has emboldened the notion that they, too, can someday “come out of the closet.” That’s why we hear talk of integrating MAPs into the coalition, why Furries look suspiciously like cartoon characters and plush toys — or even like some friendly puppets who hang out on magical street corners. That’s why Biden’s weird hair-sniffing and casual sexualization of young children is laughed off by progressives who even ten years ago might have publicly blanched.

These aren’t coincidences. They are evidence of an obscene, long term strategy finally coming to fruition. We were groomed to accept children as sexual agents, and some were groomed so well that they can’t even see what’s right in front of their faces.

And so we arrive back where we started.

They are coming for your kids.

They always were, since the days of Moloch, Ishtar and other eldritch spirits of the pit. These old demon-gods have awakened after a long slumber, roused by the corrupted anti-covenant and its sycophants.

And they are starving.

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I’ll leave this series off with a few thoughts about symbolism, and religious symbols in particular.

I’m guessing some of my secular readers cringe when I mention the Devil or demons. But as I’ve taken pains to explain before, the claim that the Devil doesn’t exist isn’t the same as the claim that devil worship also doesn’t exist. In fact, you’d think a typical atheist would assume that all kinds of strange and misguided belief structures abound, although they would trace their roots to evolution rather than an ultimate spiritual reality of Good and Evil.

I consider this view shortsighted, but it at least has the advantage of internal coherence. While you may substitute the story of Satan for something reducible to a lab test, you can also see how the story itself might attract a “fandom,” so to speak. The archetype of the Self-Creating Rebel can be found not only in those who worship the Rainbow Flag, but scattered across all mediums and messages since the day we were born. That some of us notice the symbols of the occult embedded in them isn’t pareidolia — or, at least, not necessarily so.

Much of it is the result of plain observation and logical extrapolation. There are people who literally worship Satan and his minions (or analogs with other names), and who believe they can draw power from these beings for use in the material world. For much of our lives, this worship has been conducted in shadows and fog. But this is changing as well, and at as remarkable rate of speed as the other transformations we are seeing. Whether or not — or to what extent — we believe their theories are accurate is beside the point.

With that said: the hour is late.

We must bring those tools to the battle lines which best suit us. If your own tools demand secular jargon, so be it. The very least we must agree on is that my Enemy is yours, and that it must be defeated. They have their symbolic battle flag to guide them towards the final victory of Death, and so we must have our own to identify each other in the field.

What should that look like?

I’m not sure. It shouldn’t be endlessly transformable like the Rainbow ethic, obviously. But it should at least contain one design element that accommodates for future growth, just as Life itself does. Instead of the disintegrated rainbow colors, perhaps this changing element can signify unbroken white light.

But in addition to the unbound future of luminance and growth, it should also honor the unchanging past, scars and all. This element should point to the shared duty and sacrifice of those who came before us, the giants upon whose shoulders we stand, and to whom we owe a debt of eternal gratitude.

Maybe someday, someone will dream up the perfect symbol for what we are. But in the meantime, I can think of no better one than this:

Happy Independence Day, brothers and sisters.

We will win.

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