Open Letter to Ryan the Lion:

I guess all I can say is this: that the very existence of a mental health institution renders it ironic that paranoia and cynicism are regarded by it as symptoms of ill health, since the evidence overwhelmingly indicates that the entirety of adult human life is a struggle to survive within an authoritarian bureaucracy of which absolutely every single human being is a participant, whose primary function is to determine which genes are worthy of enduring expression in the human genome, a principle which is so pervasive throughout human psychology that it even determines who is or is not allowed socially to feel certain emotions which are both intrinsic to the mind-body and reinforced and normalized by social trends. 

Furthermore, the simple exposure of the existence of such a system in itself produces directly social anomie, alienation, and eventually legal retribution, since it is presumed that only those who are unworthy of the survival of either their bodies or their genes would become so afflicted with the consequences of social alienation that they might even find the motivation to conceive of such a bureaucracy, whose operations are only visible from the underside by those who are disadvantaged by it. 

So that’s been on my mind for the last ten years of my life, fairly consistently, though I have tried to put it from my mind by leisurely escapes into such disciplines such as spirituality and artistry, both of which were produced by the same machine in order to keep those people who were social rejects in a passive state of neurotic complacency, resolved to their fate as designated non-breeders. This message is in itself an example of this.

Do understand: up until this point, I have maintained a feeble but enduring hope of transcendence by appeal to the existence of universal principles, anticipating my induction into a society of rational adults who were unified in unequivocal agreement in all matters pertaining to the human condition, among whom would be my romantic partner and my business associates, not one of whom would think to assail my character or to question my rightful position in the World. I contented myself in the knowledge of the fact that most people never matured past the adolescent psychological state, but given that this rung of development lay clinically beneath both the spirit and the word of the Law I knew that I had the True Authorities on my side: an oligarchy of enlightened men and women whose principles I had adhered to since birth. 

Yet what if it should be discovered that no such oligarchy has existed to preserve the timelessness of human dignity? Would it be possible to live with the knowledge that one year I would hold different convictions than the next, though all of them had been decided by some impersonal force tantamount to mob rule? How can a mind tolerate such an internal contradiction when any semblance of external contradiction is met with such ruthless ridicule by one’s fellows? It is impossible to imagine adapting to the constant flow of trends in both fashion and ideology; one’s only hope in transcending such a state rests in the attempt to conceive of this flow as a whole: a unified and calculated conspiracy. I had imagined Society to be a functional meritocracy wherein any rational man can attest to his own worth and the integrity of his own feelings. But I was arrogant to believe that my own feelings carried any value whatsoever. This was made clear to me, time and time again, by those whom I have regarded with the greatest affection. Artistry was simply a form of absurd protest: an attempt to salvage that childish state wherein emotion is a universal birth-right. Even in writing this, I feel your condescending gaze, frowning upon my infantile narcissism.

Dm.A.A.

Public Letter. (to Someone Else.)

Each time I played a part

Believing myself closer to

Escape.

I offered you my heart

Within your paradigm.

You offered me only

Red tape.

Aware that I’m

Alone. You still

Required of me

That which you

Would never

Grant.

You want me to atone.

And though I’m prone

And want it, too

With you:

I can’t.

Let me just make this clear to you:

You have no moral authority over me.

You do NOT retain the Higher Ground, from which you might preach to me and reprimand me for my insolence.

Over the course of half a year I agonized over you, running in circles, falsely believing myself with the conclusion of each cycle that I was coming closer to escape. With every one of your letters ended one torment, and no sooner came relief than came the next, each time growing, like the anticipation of the next drop in a water torture.

This you did.

And you were not the worst.

Many I have known like you, yet each time I loved each of you as an Individual. Each time, I adapted my Being to you.

Yet each time it was not enough. You were much too unclear in your prescriptions. You penalized me ex post facto. I was put on trial for sins I knew not to be sins. Yet you could not supply me with evidence that you represented an Absolute Meritocracy. No matter what I did, the promise of transcendence remained elusive. Your own words made it clear to me: nothing was promised. I will go on, slaving away in search of some algorithm by which at least one woman’s consent might be ensured. You will always dwell, among all your fellows, within the back of my mind, only to remind me that no such algorithm might exist. Those Great Men who believed themselves to have found it have been publically defaced, imprisoned, and excommunicated. But I shall run that risk in the pursuit of that elixir which will act as my key to the Erotic Domain within which you navigate so gracefully and with such ease. I will pursue that Love Potion, only to prove to you that it exists. And if its components should include those platitudes which you prescribed, then YOU shall be redeemed within my eyes, not as a manipulator, seeking to mold me to your fancy as I lie awake both day and night, but rather as a Saint, one privy to that Transcendent Domain wherein Human Life makes such glorious Sense that all of our errors are made more readily apparent as tragedies. If no such Domain exists, truly, then all of your prescriptions for me amount to nothing more than mind games. Yet if I can but prove that such transcendence is possible, having secured consent by my will AND MY WILL ALONE, then I acknowledge the possibility of your righteousness, I bow low before your Authority, I venerate your Sanctity passionlessly, and I adapt myself, yet again, to your Vision for me. Yet if these were but Imminent requirements, know this: there is no warrant for them outside of your own preferences. I may never be blamed for having been negligent of them. I stopped trying to impress you only AFTER I saw just by what margin you had failed to be impressed.

Regards.

Dmytri.

Public Letter to Alexandra Nicholson Tercero:

I understand that night most clearly now.

Estranged from the influence of your father, cloistered in your matriarchal fantasy, you were most intimidated by me because I represented the Force of Reason. You mocked logic by pretending towards its dignity. There never was a method underlying your madness. I had read your records; I knew you better than anyone else. Yours were not decisions predicated upon an established tradition, a logical order, moving towards a collective goal. Your fancies were born out of an incomprehensible ether of shameless Absurdity. You DEPLORED Reason and all of its instruments, seeking to rob me of them at every turn.

I almost lost my dog to you. I almost saw him get run over by a speeding car. Worse yet: I almost blamed myself.

I had only to prove to you that I was among those worthy of having their genes reproduced.

I still believe that to be the case.

Though I have never managed to persuade anyone else of this, I am worthy.

In return, you gaslighted me. You made me believe myself to be ill. You made my family believe this, too.

You were wrong.

I remembered everything more clearly than you ever did. I have been constant. And I have spent the last seven years keeping records of my thought, just to prove it.

I know my place in the Universe.

I wrote this to make clear to you that these ten years have not been spent in vain.

Goodbye.

Dmytri.

Post-scriptum: my honest prayer is that when you DO meet the World, you will see how much of you it has exposed, as well as how little of It revolves about you.

[Peace.]

FEM!NO: Why I am Not a Feminist.

Many of you who have known me probably have wondered: why do you hate feminism? If you love women, why do you hate that ideology which represents them? The most blatant and impartial answer: it does not; it represents the worst in you. It represents that part of you which is allied with meaninglessness and depravity. It represents the Devil within you.

The most personal answer: I was abused. I dated a narcissist. I’ve spent ten traumatic years recovering.

When I first heard again of feminism, it triggered me. It comes as no surprise now to discover she was one of them. That ideology can only pander to the worst in female nature. But the better part of masculinity has healed me, with no thanks to feminism, but a lot of thanks to the few Good Girls in my life.

[({DM.A.A.)}]

STRUGGLE:

Heterosexuality is NOT a privilege. It is a tormented struggle, the most difficult ordeal I have ever undergone, and this is not simply “my” experience; the entire history of humanity abounds in accounts which attest to this, within both fact and fiction. It was out of the primordial passion of procreation that ethics developed, and out of those ethics homophobia was born, if not homosexuality itself, but the renunciation of the phobia and the liberation of the homosexuality did nothing to make heterosexuality, the deeper difficulty and more mindboggling mystery, any easier. No amount of self-policing, just to appease a liberal platitude, could provide an answer to the most fundamental riddles of intersexual communication, questions which, in my experience, MOST women, as well as men, never even bothered to ask.  I could not even articulate them off the top of my head, though most moral and metaphysical matters I literally resolve in my own sleep. So you can imagine how livid I grow by the day in finding myself blatantly and shamelessly excluded from the “Pride” community, as though my mere presence were a threat to some network of ideological delusions which this cult holds in common. It has become clear to me what happened: someone compiled a list of minorities, and instead of going about the painstaking work of unriddling the suffering which hung between them, he or she sought to alleviate that suffering by unifying them against an enemy, a minority who was simply a confluence of majorities:

Me.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

BOTHERED:

Growing up I never understood the cowboys who would ask, “is this guy bothering you?” The cliché seemed always skewed, as if it leant too much authority to the arbitration of the lady who was addressed. At first, I thought it was only a film cliché: a cue for action, a romantic trigger for conflict. I understood it in the context of chivalry: the interrogator challenges the virtue of the other man, as if not only to preserve the dignity of the woman against lechery but to illustrate his own. As I grew older I came to lose faith in this tradition, not for lack of wanting to believe in it but rather for the lack of seeing the belief affirmed and valued. DID I bother anyone? Perhaps, and yet how rarely did they wonder WHY!! I was myself quite bothered, reasonably so, but even when my will was base my means were pure and my intent more scrupulous than any peers I used to call my friends. I have to ask them this: if they should ask her if this man was BOTHERING her, they should ask her WHY. Why was she bothered? And why would he want to? I refuse to fathom that for something universal I might be refused. If an intent is so transparent you can call it, it is surely general enough that you can’t judge of its humanity. It was not MY fault they were bothered. They had yet to prove me to have been unchivalrous, and if they were yet unattracted to me, then the REAL question is: HOW? How can one choose a man of lesser stature over one who values Righteousness? By what authority can I then be removed? By none. So long as I am right, I must remain persistent.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

POSTPOST:

One of the principal themes in K---- D---- H-- W---- is that of the finite life of the individual mind-body, set against the grandiose backdrop of the Multiverse. More specifically and politically, the theme at work is that we are stuck with the bodies that we have, that they are not only restrictions upon our Minds, but also that we are born into them for certain karmic reasons which establish them as our moral burden, as individuals. On some level, the Life of the Mind transcends these mortal restrictions, so at our most fundamental level of psychological awareness we all have the power to decide which chains to wear, and the nature of the chain reflects the decisions of the Soul. This pertains also to such features such as “beauty and brains”, and, given the immediacy of intuition, it functions as a reaffirmation of the Platonic approach to attraction. First impressions cease to be superficial prejudices, produced out of social “conditioning”, but rather they become the very measure of genuine depth and the possibility of transcendence; while “getting to know someone” is an attempt made by the conscious ego to reduce the Other to some expression of the sovereign Self, genuine Encounter with the Unknown is always produced through some sort of “Love [or, more generally, Recognition] at First Sight”. People become the embodiments of Gods and Goddesses in ordinary Life, though they seldom know this and far less often approve of the observation. Be that as it may, to love remains more valuable than being loved, especially by one’s self, and so the ultimate identity is defined more by how one perceives Others than how one WISHES to be perceived BY Them, and more is to be learned by studying how people TRULY see one’s self than by how one wishes to be seen, the latter of which amounts to nothing more than persona and convention, the most tragic outcome of whose overvaluation is the mutilation, denigration, and destruction of the Body. Within a psychosocial context, this presents some bold attacks upon the post-structural ideology of gender identity, though it remains well-meaning towards the ideology’s representatives. If the physical body is one’s own cross to bear, so to speak, then one acts in destructive bad faith if one tries to “escape” its strictures by appealing to an abstract and disembodied conception of “gender as a social construct”. It involves the internal contradiction of at once blaming “Society”, in the abstract, for one’s feelings of alienation, while at the same time making an appeal to Society’s liberal and philosophical traditions in an attempt to alter one’s social standing in the most superficial and conformist manner, pinning the blame upon those who “conform” to those conditions for which they accept responsibility. In this sense, the use of mythological archetypes, most notably expressed as Ancient Egyptian Deities, might be my only recourse in cutting through the pretensions of millennials who avail themselves liberally of abstract thought but abstain from any philosophical inquiry. “Society”, in my World, is NOT the antagonist who has to be overcome by manipulation, outwitted and brought thus to the negotiating table, in an attempt to restore some semblance of a lost autonomy. In K---- D---- H-- W----, that autonomy remains to be attained, as in olden days, outside of This World, to be EARNED in the Next World, which in itself has fallen into disrepair upon a level that mortals struggle to conceive. This form of transcendence is not simply an archaic and regressive alternative to the secular advent of deconstruction; it is a Living, Breathing Cultural Universal, representing the final stages of Moral Development. “Society” is not the enemy but the helper, serving as a stepping stone, as in Kierkegaard’s books, to the properly Religious (“Spiritual”) Domain. Yet Society is more than a series of moral dictates. The Body is the limitation, and its laws are those of the Suffering, Moral World. Yet Society is one’s first source of transcendence, supplying the Mind with Dreams of Another Life, instilling both the desire and the hope for fulfillment. To reject Society in the pursuit of one’s desires is self-defeating; to work with Society is to discover one’s Self.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]