Gun control is for fools. How about citizen control?

Which is the worst of two evils?

The way things are going, the surveillance state will win this war. Regardless.

So what do we allow them to trample over?

Guns are not even important now; it’s the nexus of incontrovertible world-views they represent that we shall never resolve in this society.

FYI, Donald Trump won’t fix a thing. He’s an exaggerated mouthpiece and a billionaire. People with that much money innately learn to horde and protect. He ain’t giving up any of that bank. Ironic that it took someone with that much money and clout to be heard, but by the same token, it also reduces his populist legitimacy.

California…~finally~ a terrorist target?

Steve Sailer published an interesting chart, courtesy of the L.A. Times, at The Unz Review earlier.

extremists chart

It’s not the best design in the history of news graphics; I think this is owing to the fact that a true, genuine, honest-to-God data cruncher designed it. It’s actually a very lucid data representation for those who appreciate such stuff.

The figures on the left represent the number of extremist deaths, in sum, since 9/11. It’s quite revealing that the United States, for most of the past 15 years, has escaped relatively unscathed since the brutal Twin Towers assault in 2001.

However…there is an escalation. This is very apparent.

An acceleration.

This is demonstrated by the rising graphic tide as imaged by the Jihadi influence represented by 2010’s Fort Hood’s mass shooting at the hands of Nidal Hasan.

This week’s San Bernardino attacks have amplified the pattern aptly.

I believe the noteworthy thing to note is that these are the first of the major “modern” attacks to take place West of the Mississippi.

I’m surprised this hasn’t been mentioned.

Living in Los Angeles, I’ve come to darkly appreciate the fact that Northeastern cities have been the primary targets of such attacks. There has been an apprehensive sense of “ease” living here. Los Angeles is not “serious” enough to warrant such an attack. Ironically, it wasn’t Los Angeles, but its darker, feebler sister exoburb, San Bernardino, where all the darkies and sub-economic groups flee expensive urban housing prices while seeking cheap jobs.

After the news broke, it occurred to me…San Bernardino is actually an incubator for Muslim soldiers.

Close enough to the big city to focus a rage, but far enough to blend into that drab, lowest-of-the-lowest middling citizen Bee.

Fontana, another Inland Empire city, not far from San Bernardino, has become known to “socially conscious, liberal” Angelenos as “Fontucky.” This should tell you everything you need to know about the contrasting cultures between Los Angeles and San Bernardino.

The terrorists struck Los Angeles, but they didn’t.

Judging by their arsenal, that might have been next.

And maybe we are…

Never roar with a hollow voice.

So the scene, the other night, my son, having that early adulthood woe-is-me anguish, battling from within the fish bowl of self-devouring futility and hopelessness. In which you’re prone to say really stupid shit. All of us. We’ve been powerless and emotional and emotional. Woe is me. Life. Death has to be better.

Yada yada.

I’m no New Age POS cuck father flailing desperately to garner modernist kudos for passive intervention and nicey-talk. I’ll leave that up to the rest of the gobbledygook-spouting parents. Fuck that.

My weapon is wit, and my armor, pathetic irony.

Yeah, life sucks. I do agree.

That is what makes life special. That’s why this glimmer of the spotlight we share for a few decades in the infinite whirls of space-time are so precious and unique and unrepeatable and unprecedented. Never before, never again, so are you. So am I.

I told my son yeah, it’s fine, welcome to the club.

I dove into despair with relish. When I was 20, even 17.

I hated with a fury, despised myself with all the might I could muster. I wanted the world dead.

Some men want to watch the world burn, baby. Some men never stop. That was me. Scorch this fucking rock to the bone, everyone on it. I don’t care your religion, your gender, you fetishes, your lifestyle proclivities, fuck you. In my anguish, I thought you could all die and I would not give one stinking shit. I hated it all. I sank so deep that the sky seemed but a glimmer of a fleeting, powdery dream.

I grew up. We all must.

You grow up and find an inner drive, a locus of strength within those trembling, weak bowels and roar mightily for no reason other than just because.

Never roar because society tells you you must; don’t roar to impress others with your cacophony. Don’t roar to stoke the embers of fear and intimidation in others. They do not matter.

Roar because you must and because you thrive on your animal spirit.

But ultimately, embrace the futility. You must find a cause in life and mine was misery and despair. These were the lifeblood of my existence. I found succor in grievance, energy is animosity. I reveled in the harsh tides of human nature. I wallowed in the fierce uncompromising cruelty of a life that would never hand me what I expected was righteously my own

Fuck you.

I learned to embrace the pain, the misery, I harnessed it for my own persistence and resilience. As Suicidal Tendencies told us, you can knock me down, but you can’t knock me out. To life I said, “I will embrace your demise, but in so doing, render your manipulations powerless, moot. I will step into your world of dishonor, live it, breathe it, and defeat you by being one, with you. With the agony, with the disrepute. I defeated you.”