Not Suitable for Polite Society

Taken from The Lies About Taliban Heroin, From the Wilderness Publications.

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On January 3, 2001 an ABC News story, posted on their web site stated:

"Pakistan's Foreign Secretary Inam ul-Haq's claim to have eliminated all opium plantations in Taliban controlled territories - reported by Agence France-Presse -- seems to have been confirmed by a UN survey. 

"This development could have several important ramifications for both the geopolitical situation in the region and the world drug trade... 

"The center of world drug production will shift from Afghanistan, which accounted for 75 percent of world opium production last year, to Colombia and the Golden Triangle on the border between Myanmar (Burma) and Thailand."

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A February 16, 2001 AP story by Kathy Gannon was headlined, "Taliban virtually wipes out opium production in Afghanistan." It opened with these lines:

"U.N. drug control officers said the Taliban religious militia has virtually wiped out opium production in Afghanistan - once the world's largest producer - since banning poppy cultivation in July. 

"A 12-member team from the U.N. Drug Control Program spent two weeks searching most of the nation's largest opium-producing areas and found so few poppies that they do not expect any opium to come out of Afghanistan this year. 

"'We are not just guessing. We have seen the proof in the fields,' said Bernard Frahi, regional director for the U.N. program in Afghanistan and Pakistan. He laid out photographs of vast tracts of land cultivated with wheat alongside pictures of the same fields taken a year earlier - a sea of blood red poppies."

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On May 24, 2001 Barry Berak of the New York Times wrote a story entitled, "Taliban Ban on Drug Crops Is Working, U.S. Concludes." Here are the lead paragraphs:

"ELMAND PROVINCE, Afghanistan, May 20 - This has been heroin's great heartland, where the narcotic came to life as an opium resin taken from fragile buds of red and white poppies. Last year, 75 per cent of the world's opium crop was grown in Afghanistan, with the biggest yield sprouting from here in the fertile plains of the country's south, sustained by the meander of the Helmand River. 

"But something astonishing has become evident with this spring's harvest. Behind the narrow dikes of packed earth, the fields are empty of their most profitable plant. Poor farmers, scythes in hand, stoop among brown stems. 

"Mile after mile, there is only a dry stubble of wheat to cut from the lumpy soil... 

"But American narcotics officials who visited the country confirmed earlier United Nations reports that the Taliban had, in one growing season, managed a rare triumph in the long and losing war on drugs..."

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Then we all know something happened on September 11, 2001. Probably just coincidence. 

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BBC: Afghanistan retakes heroin crown

3 March, 2003

Please explain?

Lies, lies and every contradiction contains a lie. 

"What is truth?" When you've lost your mind, that's a profound question. To the automatons produced by the the Patron system, evidence or proof is just another opinion. Some imagine this is especially shrewd, but most lack the capacity to distinguish fantasy from reality.

You are reading this so you can.  

Truth requires no motive. It's the default. Lies are a corruption of what is real and tangible and valid.

You need a motive to lie. Every lie has one.

"If the US burned their crop, farmers would blame the US for their poverty and turn toward the Taliban. And that is the new US policy; after farmers get paid, try to capture drug traffickers. These troops have confiscated 10,000 pounds of opium before the profit reached the Taliban. One day the US hopes to convince farmers to choose legal crops; until then, the seeds of insurgency will continue to be grown in these fields. NICK SCHIFRIN, ABC NEWS, KANDAHAR."

A War is Brewing.

Someone on TheLastPsychiatrist.com found this brilliant piece of writing. 

Raw Materials for a Theory of the "Young-Girl." 

The Young-Girl is good for nothing but consuming; leisure or work, it makes no difference. 

The Young-Girl never creates anything; she re-creates herself. 

The most extreme banality of the Young-Girl is still to have herself taken as something "original." 

The scrawny character of the Young-Girl's language, though it implies an incontestable retraction of the field of experience, does not in any way constitute a practical handicap, since it's not made for talking but for pleasing and repeating. 

Blather, curiosity, ambiguity, hearsay; the Young-Girl incarnates the fullness of a misfit existence.  

Often, before decomposing too visibly, the Young-Girl gets married. 

The Young-Girl is a lie, the apogee of which is her face.

This is what I've been trying to say for a long time; it's less about the makeup than the implications. It's disturbing that anyone could be as nonchalant when engaging in brazen deceit, but an entire gender...

Long before I cared a twig about ethics, when I was completely amoral, cosmetics seemed queer. I had no issue with the malice, at the time; I was concerned by how casual women are when engaging in brazen deceit. Something wasn't right with girls but I only bored people trying to warn them:

"They're lying. Something is dangerous about them. How can you be cool with this?"

My friends thought I was crazy. I'm sick of sanity too. What's your excuse?

The Young-Girl is never simply unhappy, she's also unhappy about being unhappy.  

In the final analysis, the Young-Girl's ideal is domestic.   

The Young-Girl suddenly feels dizzy when the world stops revolving around her.

The Young-Girl understands herself as the holder of a sacred power: the power of the commodity. 

"I love babies, they're so beautiful, so honest; they feel good." 

The mother and the whore are both equally present in the Young-Girl.  But the one hardly makes her any more praiseworthy than the other makes her blameworthy.  Over time, a curious reversibility between the two can even be observed. 

Why must the Young-Girl always feign some activity or other?  In order to remain impregnable in her passivity.

The Young-Girl wants to be either desired lovelessly or loved desirelessly.  In either case, her unhappiness is safe.

The Young-Girl has love STORIES. 

It's enough just to remember what she defines as an "adventure" as to get a pretty clear idea of how much fear the Young-Girl has of the possibilities.   

The Young-Girl is she who, being no more than a Young Girl after all, scrupulously obeys the authoritarian distribution of roles. 

The Young-Girl moves within the forgetting of Being, no less than in the forgetting of events. 

Considering that her appearance entirely exhausts her essence and her representation exhausts her reality, the Young-Girl is that which is entirely expressible, and also that which is perfectly predictable and absolutely neutralized. 

The Young-Girl only exists in proportion to the desire that "people" have for her, and is only known by what they say about her. 

The Young-Girl enjoys covering up, with a falsely provocative secondary plane, the primary, economic plane of her motivations. 

All the Young-Girl's freedom of movement does not prevent her from being a prisoner, and manifesting in all circumstances a captive's automatism. 

The Young-Girl's way of being is to be nothing. 

Certain Young-Girls see "success in emotional and professional life" as an ambition worthy of respect. 

The Young-Girl's love is merely a kind of autism for two. 

Happiness is not women's goal. They're all about survival. They imagine happiness is the inevitable product of survival, but it's the other way around. 

The Young-Girl's "love" is but a word in the dictionary. 

The Young-Girl doesn't just demand that you protect her, she wants to be able to educate you too. 

The eternal return of the same fashions shows clearly enough that the Young-Girl doesn't put on appearances, but rather that appearances put her on. 

When the Young-Girl abandons herself to her insignificance, she draws even more glory from that; she has "fun. 

The Young-Girl never learns anything. That's not what she's there for. 

The Young-Girl knows all too well what she wants in detail to want anything at all in general. 

"Don't touch my bag!" 

The Young-Girl's triumph originates in the failure of feminism. 

The Young-Girl carries the mask of her face. 

The Young-Girl brings all greatness down to the level of her ass. 

The Young-Girl would like very much if the simple word "love" didn't imply the project of destroying this "society." 

"Don't confuse your job and your sentiments!" 

In the Young-Girl's life, deactivated and reduced-to-nothing opposites complete each other, but don't contradict each other at all. 

The Young-Girl's sentimentalism and materialism are but two complementary aspects of her central nothingness, no matter how opposite they may be in appearance. 

The Young-Girl enjoys speaking of her childhood with great emotion, to suggest that she hasn't got beyond it, and that fundamentally she's remained naive. Like all whores, she dreams of innocence.  But, distinct from them, she demands to be believed, and believed sincerely. Her childishness, which is, in the end, but a fundamentalism of infancy, makes her the most cunning vector of the general infantilization. 

For the Young-Girl, even the meanest sentiments still have the prestige of their sincerity. 

The Young-Girl sees everything as free of consequences, even her suffering.  Everything's funny, nothing's a big deal.  Everything's cool, nothing's serious. 

The Young-Girl wants to be recognized not for what she may be but for the simple fact of her being.  She wants to be recognized unconditionally.

The Young-Girl is not there to be criticized.  

When the Young-Girl has come to the end of the age of childishness, where it becomes impossible to not ask herself about ends without suddenly finding herself short of means (which can happen pretty late in this society), she reproduces.  Paternity and maternity comprise just another way among others, and no less free of substance, to remain UNDER THE EMPIRE OF NEED.   

Smiles have never been any good as arguments.  There is also such a thing as the smile of skeletons. 

The Young-Girl's feelings are made up of signs, and sometimes just of simple signals.   

The Young-Girl's not supposed to understand you. 

The Young-Girl conceives of love as being a private activity. 

Everywhere that the Young-Girls dominate, their tastes must also dominate; that determines the tastes of our era.

Among Young-Girls there is an uninspiring community of gestures and expressions. 

The Young-Girl is ontologically a virgin, untouched by any experience.

The Young-Girl doesn't know anything about the flow of time, at most she gets emotional about its "consequences."  Otherwise how could she talk about getting old with such indignation, as if it were some kind of crime committed against her? 

Even when she's not trying to seduce anyone, the Young-Girl acts seductive. 

There's something professional about everything the Young-Girl does. 

The nerve of Young-Girls to complain about being used...being a whore is all they are GOOD for. Decent men offend them constantly as they are not offended by anything but truth.

The Young-Girl still flatters herself that she's got "practical sense." 

In the Young-Girl, even the flattest moralism puts on a whorish air. 

The Young-Girl has all the strictness of economy about her, and yet she knows less of abandon than of anything.

The Young-Girl occupies the central kernel of the present system of desires. 

The Young-Girl is resentment that smiles. 

There are certain beings that just make you want to die before their very eyes, but the Young-Girl only excites a desire to conquer and get off on her. 

In love more than anywhere else, the Young-Girl behaves like an accountant, always assuming that she loves more than she is loved, and that she gives more than she receives.  

When the Young-Girl mates, it isn't a movement towards the other, but a movement of escape from her untenable nothingness. 

The supposed liberation of women has not consisted in their emancipation from the domestic sphere, but rather in the extension of that sphere over the whole of society. 

Mean words. Delicate feelings. Diplomatic deceit. The emotional insanity is out of control. One feels it will culminate in mushroom clouds.

Faced with anyone who tries to make her think, it will never be long before the Young-Girl starts claiming how realistic she's being. 

To the extent that what she's really hiding isn't her secrets, but her shame, the Young-Girl detests the unexpected, above all when it isn't pre-programmed. 

The Young-Girl never stops repeating it: she wants to be loved for who she is - meaning she wants to be loved for the non-being that she is. 

The Young-Girl is the living and continuous introjection of all repressions. 

The Young-Girl's "I" is as thick as a magazine.  

Nothing in the Young-Girls conduct is wrong in itself; everything is properly ordered within the dominant definition of happiness.  The Young-Girl's foreignness to herself borders on mythomania. 

As a last resort, the Young-Girl fetishizes "love" so as to not have to face up to the fact of the integrally conditioned nature of her desires. 

"I don't give a shit about being free, as long as I'm happy!"

Divorced from one another, the Young-Girl's love and ass became just two empty abstractions. 

The Young-Girl swims in deja-vus. For her, the first time something is lived is always [at least] the second time it has been represented. 

The Young-Girl knows how to play the part of sentimentalism. 

In the Young-Girls' world, coitus appears to be the logical penalty for all experience. 

The Young-Girl is "happy to be alive," so she says at least. 

The Young-Girl establishes relationships only on the basis of the strictest reification and poor substantial content, so it is certain that what unites people only separates them. 

The Young-Girl is optimistic, delighted, positive, content, enthusiastic, happy; in other words, she's suffering. 

The Young-Girl is an optical illusion.  From far off she's an angel, and from up close she's a devil. 

The Young-Girl doesn't get old; she decomposes. 

Everyone knows in general what the Young-Girl thinks about worrying about stuff. 

Seen from afar, the Young-Girl's nothingness appears relatively inhabitable, and even comfortable at times. 

"LOVE, WORK, HEALTH" 

The Young-Girl offers an unequivocal model of the metropolitan ethos: a refrigerated consciousness living in exile in a plasticized body. 

Brilliant.

These French geniuses nailed it. The Young-Girl is the product of our reduced state. Our limitless capacity to be deceived by appearances...

Men are supposed to suffer to please them (in exchange for 'favors').
Men are supposed to take care of them (in exchange for nothing).
Men are supposed to protect their reputation (afraid only of smear).
This is how Polite Society was born. 

"Don't judge me!" 

- Young-Girl 

Love is their weapon. Rhianna found love in a lonely place but I don't think you can find love anywhere else. 

A Young-Girl already knows all of knowledge already. Some even Know Best. 

It's not the theory of the Young-Girl that is the product of misogyny, but the Young-Girl herself...she is but the figure of total integration into a social totality that's disintegrating. When fools protest against the evidence that "the world isn't a commodity" and by the way that they aren't either, they're feigning a virginity that only justifies their powerlessness. We want none of that virginity nor of that powerlessness. We propose a different emotional education.

Jesus Christ was a Sociopath

It really annoys me when this ludicrously brainwashed world pretends that the protagonist Jesus Christ of Nazareth (made famous by the Holy Bible) was good. I see ostensibly intelligent writers make appeals to our better selves to remember the lessons gleaned from the Sermon on the Mount, bid us remember the Golden Rule, beg more Compassion shown or some other driveling bullshit.

I've been meaning to go through the New Testament in order to list all the sleazy advice that could seem sweet only to someone who'd just read the psychotic horror of the Old Testament. But I'm never going to get around to it.

Off the top of my head, I wrote a shortlist of Jesus' Crimes Against Humanity. This is based on my last reading of the KJV Holy Bible (when I was 12). It's likely insufficient and inadequate as a representation of the evil represented by this fictional character; but on nearly every single one of those points, you could get a conviction in a sane Court of Public Opinion.

I said, sane.

I cannot even get a single person to agree with the seemingly irrefutable assertions I make. They can't refute them, but they can't seem to process them either; so they choose the non-existent third option.

It's fucking insane that we live in a world where humans imagine they have a Right to remain silent when direct questions are put to them, or refuse to accept logic they cannot refute, or refuse to credit logical arguments as valid, or refuse to be swayed by irrefutable evidence or proof (it's all just another opinion, to their unserviceable minds) but nothing is as insane as those who routinely express the way they feel without any logical justification or argument for why they feel that way.

IT'S JUST THE WAY THEY FEEL OKAY!?

Is it okay? I'm just talking to myself because you're too ambivalent to care much either way, which means I'm talking about you and no one is reading this at all.

TLDR: Jesus was a fucking sleazy villain. But then you knew that already, didn't you?

Offensive offence.

This world is fucking retarded. My answer to a Quora question was censored because it was a joke. It's a fucking joke.

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So I explained.