The following is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's new book Meta-Pizzagate, now available on Amazon.com in paperback or on Kindle.
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by Andy Nowicki
This treatise, again, is not an investigative report; therefore, it is not within my scope to demonstrate the reality of either the #Pizzagate claims nor those surrounding these other notorious events. I know that many readers will doubt that our political, social, military, and financial rulers might in fact be remorseless human traffickers and depraved child-predators; such allegations will strike him as deluded, lurid, and paranoid.
I felt the same way at one time, not too long ago, but again, earnest scrutiny will bear out that, when it comes to the behavior of these cold-blooded beasts, one’s worst fears and apprehensions are often gravely understated. Merely bearing cynicism towards this vile brood—commonly expressed by waving one’s hand and dismissively declaring, “Ah, they’re all just a buncha crooks” or some such-- turns out to be itself a weird kind of wishful thinking. In the end, after learning the facts, one devoutly pines for such a comforting delusion: namely, that our rulers were merely “crooked,” instead of being something infinitely more grotesque at heart!
But what am I speaking about here, when I make reference to “vile brood” of “cold-blooded beasts” with grotesque hearts, and the ascertainable “facts on the ground” concerning the doings of this claque of singularly foul beings?
If there were a manner to simplify the sort of behavior one finds oneself appalled to witness—indirectly, of course, with some mediation of distance, but still with all too much shattering clarity—it is this: a propensity on the part of the very powerful to make a sport of preying upon the weak, particularly children, particularly in a manner that could be defined as abusive, if not positively murderous, in both intent and practice.
Indeed, it would seem that a great number of those drawn to the trappings of fame, glory, fortune, and wealth possess a concomitant proclivity to savor the thrill of indulging in certain “unspeakable rites” with regard to the vulnerable and powerless. They seem, that is, to enjoy ceremonially feasting upon their patent opposites; specifically, those who lack every privilege that they possess. The more pitifully without they are, that is, the more prized as “prey” they become. Indeed, the aspect of their victims which they appear to find the most delectable is innocence, a quality which in part garners its value in again representing the polar inverse of the character of the victimizers, whose minds are blotted with fathomless blight, whose souls are putrid with every conceivable species of corruption.
These matters are, of course, almost too terrible to mention. Talking about them at all feels like an ignoble act; one would rather behave as though they don’t even exist (“Don’t say it, don’t think it!”), vainly hoping that this blight will crawl out of one’s consciousness of its own accord if one simply decides it is no longer welcome there. One in fact feels slimed and repulsed by even bringing this matter up, however gingerly, as I have here. No one who is brought into intimate contemplation of these terrors will ever find his way back to “normalcy” again; indeed, he cannot help but feel strangely complicit in the very act that he looks upon with such horror. Though never personally subjected to abuse, he has been left scarred nevertheless.
Indeed, it has become real to him. Of course, this must be qualified: for him it isn’t real in the same way that it is to an actual victim (or victimizer). Yet, via some entirely involuntary psychic photosynthesis, he finds he has ingested the consciousness of both actors in this terrible drama. He has absorbed the quailing, cringing, keening pain and horror of the poor victim, just as he has soaked in the sweaty, entranced, queasily ravenous awareness of the victimizer immersed in his foul pleasures. The once mere-“researcher” into events and eventualities has thus endured an awful initiation; he now knows, to a point of excruciating empathy, the bitterly rancid stench of a vile and obscene spectacle: that of man in a state qualifiedly worse than that of the bestial, of man perfectly possessed by that which is undeniably infernal in origin.
Those unwittingly initiated into this knowledge cannot help but find that it savors of something positively cancerous to the soul. What one is forced to comprehend here is an intimation of actual evil in its undistilled form. And as soon as one becomes aware of this presence (one can only use hyperbolic terms to describe it, but it is nonetheless quite real), one simultaneously can’t help noticing that it is not now tucked away in some swampy netherworld, nor contained in a few hellish boroughs or ghettos; instead, one finds with astonished dismay that this horror reigns supreme in our world; that its darkness pokes deep into every crevice of our apprehension, that it is in fact no stranger to reality as we know it, but may in fact be its very Master.
See also:
#Pizzagate and Popular Culture
#Pizzagate and Degenerate Art
Andy Nowicki, co-editor of Alternative Right, is the author of eight books, including Under the Nihil, The Columbine Pilgrim, Considering Suicide, and Beauty and the Least. He occasionally updates his blog when the spirit moves him to do so. Visit his Soundcloud page. His author page is Alt Right Novelist.
I felt the same way at one time, not too long ago, but again, earnest scrutiny will bear out that, when it comes to the behavior of these cold-blooded beasts, one’s worst fears and apprehensions are often gravely understated. Merely bearing cynicism towards this vile brood—commonly expressed by waving one’s hand and dismissively declaring, “Ah, they’re all just a buncha crooks” or some such-- turns out to be itself a weird kind of wishful thinking. In the end, after learning the facts, one devoutly pines for such a comforting delusion: namely, that our rulers were merely “crooked,” instead of being something infinitely more grotesque at heart!
But what am I speaking about here, when I make reference to “vile brood” of “cold-blooded beasts” with grotesque hearts, and the ascertainable “facts on the ground” concerning the doings of this claque of singularly foul beings?
If there were a manner to simplify the sort of behavior one finds oneself appalled to witness—indirectly, of course, with some mediation of distance, but still with all too much shattering clarity—it is this: a propensity on the part of the very powerful to make a sport of preying upon the weak, particularly children, particularly in a manner that could be defined as abusive, if not positively murderous, in both intent and practice.
Indeed, it would seem that a great number of those drawn to the trappings of fame, glory, fortune, and wealth possess a concomitant proclivity to savor the thrill of indulging in certain “unspeakable rites” with regard to the vulnerable and powerless. They seem, that is, to enjoy ceremonially feasting upon their patent opposites; specifically, those who lack every privilege that they possess. The more pitifully without they are, that is, the more prized as “prey” they become. Indeed, the aspect of their victims which they appear to find the most delectable is innocence, a quality which in part garners its value in again representing the polar inverse of the character of the victimizers, whose minds are blotted with fathomless blight, whose souls are putrid with every conceivable species of corruption.
These matters are, of course, almost too terrible to mention. Talking about them at all feels like an ignoble act; one would rather behave as though they don’t even exist (“Don’t say it, don’t think it!”), vainly hoping that this blight will crawl out of one’s consciousness of its own accord if one simply decides it is no longer welcome there. One in fact feels slimed and repulsed by even bringing this matter up, however gingerly, as I have here. No one who is brought into intimate contemplation of these terrors will ever find his way back to “normalcy” again; indeed, he cannot help but feel strangely complicit in the very act that he looks upon with such horror. Though never personally subjected to abuse, he has been left scarred nevertheless.
Indeed, it has become real to him. Of course, this must be qualified: for him it isn’t real in the same way that it is to an actual victim (or victimizer). Yet, via some entirely involuntary psychic photosynthesis, he finds he has ingested the consciousness of both actors in this terrible drama. He has absorbed the quailing, cringing, keening pain and horror of the poor victim, just as he has soaked in the sweaty, entranced, queasily ravenous awareness of the victimizer immersed in his foul pleasures. The once mere-“researcher” into events and eventualities has thus endured an awful initiation; he now knows, to a point of excruciating empathy, the bitterly rancid stench of a vile and obscene spectacle: that of man in a state qualifiedly worse than that of the bestial, of man perfectly possessed by that which is undeniably infernal in origin.
Those unwittingly initiated into this knowledge cannot help but find that it savors of something positively cancerous to the soul. What one is forced to comprehend here is an intimation of actual evil in its undistilled form. And as soon as one becomes aware of this presence (one can only use hyperbolic terms to describe it, but it is nonetheless quite real), one simultaneously can’t help noticing that it is not now tucked away in some swampy netherworld, nor contained in a few hellish boroughs or ghettos; instead, one finds with astonished dismay that this horror reigns supreme in our world; that its darkness pokes deep into every crevice of our apprehension, that it is in fact no stranger to reality as we know it, but may in fact be its very Master.
See also:
#Pizzagate and Popular Culture
#Pizzagate and Degenerate Art
Andy Nowicki, co-editor of Alternative Right, is the author of eight books, including Under the Nihil, The Columbine Pilgrim, Considering Suicide, and Beauty and the Least. He occasionally updates his blog when the spirit moves him to do so. Visit his Soundcloud page. His author page is Alt Right Novelist.
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