This is not a character assassination.
This is not even a description of a specific individual.
Rather, this is a captured zeitgeist, a Parable of our Age, a symptom of our present sickness. Note that I said Dissolute, not Profligate (Caesar was always careful with his words); he is as much a victim as the rest of us.
The Dissolute Man is not found in some movie studio, deep within the bowels of Hollywood, buried amongst the ancient tomes of memetic biology, manufacturing the contagion – far from it. The bright lights of the Nightclub are what call to him. For he is merely a carrier. An asymptomatic carrier, a Virulent Vector of transmission, but a carrier nonetheless.
He’s far from blameless, but he’s not to blame. I paint him because he makes such an excellent lens.
Rihanna is a talented woman. Beyond just having a melodious voice, she’s a genius at capturing the Id-urges with her lyrics. She wraps them in frenetic energy, skillfully vivisecting the Art of Love. Pancreas and intestines are removed while the heart still beats. The shameful complications of the Ego purged, resulting in a glistening, throbbing display without a trace of catharsis.
It is a Performance that most pornographers can only dream of achieving.
However it was only with the involvement of Fellow Artist Rick Ross, that her song “Rude Boy” achieved its full potential.
Take her original lyrics:
Come here, rude boy, boy; can you get it up?
Come here rude boy, boy; is your big enough?
Take it, take it baby, baby
Take it, take it; love me, love me
In her original, she starts with subtlety; could this be romance?
Tonight I’ma give it to ya harder
Tonight I’ma turn ya body out
Relax; let me do it how I wanna
If you got it I need it and I’ma put it down
Buckle up; I’ma give it to ya stronger
Heads up; we could go a little longer
Tonight I’ma get a little crazy, get a little crazy, baby
Certainly not! What do you take her for, one of those old fogies like Sinatra? But her lyrics, when listened to by a thoughtless, allows an interpretation of Lovemaking. The intersperal of Ross’s lines help emphasize, and embolden the message of the song.
Beamer Benz or Bentley I’m equipped to pick a rapper
half an hour late I’ve been the corner like a hustla
she looking like a freak I know I’m going in
if she keep it wet I’m guaranteed to call again
This interplay between the two cements and turns Neon the message of this song; nothing more need be quoted. But I’d be remiss in not mentioning some of the greatest Lyrical Complexity to grace the Hip Hop genre.
she swinging from the ceiling,
I’ma make you feel it
time to make you feel it
I’ma make you feel it
This song is a proud celebration of Rutting. There isn’t a trace of intimacy to be found, nor of regret. The real world consequences of STDs and date rape are washed clean. The consequence – or intent? – of pregnancy is thoroughly excised. Here we see two perfect creatures: the Testosterone Laden Gangsta, rutting and grunting as he plunges into a Wanton Recipient. Rihanna truly is the Voice of a Generation
“Rude Boy” is the Dissolute Man’s backdrop.
He isn’t an Evil Man; he isn’t even an amoral man. What he is, is morally insufficient.
He has a moderate to high IQ; a good work ethic, is no more or less criminal than anyone else… but he lacks conscientiousness. He has no savings. His long-term objectives are indifferent to the fate of society at large. He participates in non-participation. A Natural at Game, he lives the life of a playboy, working just long enough to afford his pleasures (women, wine, and video games), and not an hour more. He is leagues better than the ‘man-child’ derided by Man Up Conservatives, but infinitely inferior to the Patriarch of yesteryear.
He is an Alpha; and he will ruin dozens, if not hundreds of women before he settles down.
So what is the difference between the Dissolute Man on the one hand, and Roissy or Roosh on the other? Heck, what’s the difference between him and Sigmas, like the Captain and I? On the surface we’re indistinguishable.
The Christians have a concept called ‘falling into grace’. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis: once you’ve fully accepted that you’re a sinner, that you’ll forever fall short of the standards God has set for you, once you’ve learned to live with your Damnable Self – you’ll come to realize that Grace has always been with you. You’ll find your salvation and forgiveness even as you fall short of deserving it.
Read Mere Christianity for a more thorough Indulgence.
It’s a powerful concept, which neatly matches parts of my own Martial Code; but Grace only exists in the spiritual realm. Here in the physical realm – that Kingdom under Siege – one can only find Damnation.
The modern world is Evil and Perjuracious. Noble codes of conduct – chivalry, responsibility, growing into a Pillar of the Community – expose one to existential risk. Call it Socialism, call it Keynesianism, call it Cultural Marxism, or call it Anarcho-Tyranny – the present order targets those who Produce, while subsidizing those who Mooch. We can espouse Virtuous Values all we want; it doesn’t change the reality of the battlefield.
So the Sane Man falls into Damnation.
When responsibility is punished, we become irresponsible. When commitment is devalued, we become capricious. The best in a generation dedicating themselves to living minimalistically, outside the grid, using up young women during the years of their peak beauty.
On the surface we’re living the lifestyle – sex, drugs, and rock’n'roll! – but underneath there’s a deeper game at play.
Undermining the system, allowing it to collapse, -we are not Rodin’s Fallen Caryatid – ever faithful, blaming ourselves as society crushes us:
We will not be accessory to our own victimhood. Our surfaces may be callow, but in the depths there are structures forming.
Last time Bill Powell commented: “…what we are going to do with this info? Sit back and let it all go to hell? I think not.” He echoes James-G, who says: “If the reaction is serious, it should therefore transfer into meatspace sooner rather than later.” As much as I Love the written word, paradigm-shifting and awareness-raising are only going to get us so far. With a long enough tail, the Androsphere becomes little more than Cheerleading. We need to start organizing.
Men’s Rights Activism is not the solution, however – too many blue pills implicit in lobbying and reform. You can’t defeat Democracy by voting, after all, and Dialectic itself will only feed the Cathedral. We don’t need anything so mean and mercenary as a political party. We only need to recognize our Brothers when we see them.
Recently I ran into a man during a long journey. As the hours passed and we conversed, we both kept returning to the topic of When the Shit Hits the Fan. Innocuous at first, but as time went on we both realized we were talking to a Like Mind. He has an accurate assessment of the Landscape out there, despite his ignorance of the alt-right blogosphere; he’s the sort of person that’s going to survive.
Stable societies are an emergent property of stable relationships. This is how we start moving things into meatspace.
DangerAndPlay wrote about a pivotal moment in his life, not dissimilar from my own, where he realized that the friends he’d chosen were holding him back. A similar approach, then, for survival: choose carefully between those who see the decline, and those who don’t.
The Parable of the Dissolute Man is the Parable of the undercover Ant. In the original story, it is the Ant who wisely prepares for the winter months by working hard and storing his harvest. In these Dark Times, the Ant is being set up to be cannibalized by his brother.
Ants disguised as grasshoppers – that’s the ticket, baby!
The Dissolute Man, spreading his viral degeneracy, is perfectly adapted to the present climate. Feminists reward him for the Alpha Male Fuck, while punishing the Responsible Beta for his doting kindness. In that sense we mimic him, wearing the green, oily slick of Locusts on our carapace. But while the Dissolute party, drink, and whore about, thinking the summer will never end – or at least, that when it does ends there’ll be no shortage of Ants to eat – we have our machinations to fall back on. Cannibalism will burn itself out. When it does, with the right relationships and substrate-alliances in place – we might just make it through intact.
EDIT: I rant into this not 24 hours after publishing. It’s good that I didn’t see it earlier – it’s such a perfect complement that I might not have written this.