by Roman McClay
“We have it in ourselves; we like ourselves, we like where we are going and never lack for a vector; we always feel a compulsion and a cathexis for forward movement and growth; we always feel like we are getting better at being us; even our setbacks feel necessary to our Task. But this is where the average man is most shallow; he has no direction or inner life; he feels nothing for himself; no inner confidence, only people-pleasing, only facile grabs for shallow status in the eyes of others; he lacks all self-orientation and yet seems solipsistic.
“It’s an irony of inner life; the more self-aware and confident you are in you , especially at the expense of others -which you necessarily see as irrelevant to your self-worth- the more likely you are to include humanity in your conception of the grand idea. Your Task will include them by dint of the grandeur with which you see yourself; like a father who doesn’t care that his kids don’t like him or think he is a dork -as kids often roll their eyes at their dad- but he provides for them anyway because this is how he conceptualizes himself: as provider.
“To himself, he must be a man, a provider in order to continue to feel self-confident as he does; this is independent of whether or not his kids even appreciate his efforts. His efforts are for him; so he continues to feel righteous and manly; but the benefits redound to his kids, his subjects. Well, the alpha male feels the same way, he doesn’t care if he’s liked as he presses on with his Task, he is doing great things for humanity regardless, because that’s what makes him feel righteous and good and manly.
“And alphas provide something like 75% of the goods for the troop, the tribe. And yet, he does this because it is innate. It is just who he is. And this makes him supremely self-possessed, self-confident. But his sensitivity allows him -forces him- to see the way others secretly hate him for his grandeur . He can see it, because sensitivity is a prerequisite of the alpha archetype, the paradigm; if he is insensitive this is tantamount to being blind, deaf, dumb. And that is unacceptable in any leader, any creature.
“The average man firsts concerns himself only with what others will think; uses all his energies to be liked and feel successful at that; as the gregarious man. Yet, his total efforts, the sum total of all his gregarious energy is vapor; shallow ribaldry and amusement; he offers nothing to his fellow man. He produces no inventions, no model of righteousness, no instruction or edifying paradigm. He is liked; pleasant to be around.
“He -the average man, the beta- is totally selfish in this way; he gives his brethren everything they want, a joker, a guy to drink and joke with, a guy who will lie to them to curry favor, a guy who will nod his head at their lies too. Like a parent who gives their kid all the sweets he wants so the parent will be liked by the kid; he is liked but he is no true friend to this kid; he is an enemy because he isn’t helping him, isn’t helping the kid be better, grow into a man, develop self-sufficiency and nobility in the face of cosmic doom and gloom.
“The gregarious and shallow man of ersatz self-confidence, who believes -and rightly so- that everyone likes him, is no friend to them, his fellow man; he’s -in fact- their enemy because he lets his tribe, his friends, his children be low and slow and shallow and weak and stupid and immoral and never offers them a guiding force toward a moral future like the unpopular and unliked man does; like the man who is self-confident in himself, despite what others think of him.
“Although the great man, the alpha, although he knows they don’t like him and he laments this; it wounds him; but despite this he cannot change. He wishes they liked him, he isn’t a sociopath, but he isn’t willing to bend to their wicked ways to be liked. He has pride, honor. Honor first, always. And he has a job to do. It was put there in the blood.
“He isn’t willing to go soft and limp and weak and unethical and dishonest and boring just to be liked; he wants to be liked first and foremost by his own self, he wants himself to like himself; to be always improving so he likes himself without hypocrisy or lies. Like they say, put the airline oxygen mask on yourself first, then help your dependent . The alpha must be someone he can like first; before, he thinks, he can be of use to anyone else .
“Only then can he help others; and maybe he will help them whether they ever like him or not. I want to build you up to be great men, and to do this I cannot care if I am liked by you; I must be good for you, I must demand you be great. And this will require making you angry, bloody, tired, and stretched to the moral and physical limit. This is my task, and there is one task below that too; a task opaque to me, and hidden too from you, but it is there the whole time like new lungs waiting for oxygen to be borne into the atmosphere of the new aerobic, numinous, spirit-filled world,” Blax said as he patted Jack Three on the shoulder and then went to each man, Jack One to Jack Four finally, and shook each their hands.
“Alone we are each great men; but together?” he tilted his head, “we’re going to surprise even ourselves.”
III. 2020 e.v.
“No, more like $800 billion in 2022 e.v.; and that is not the half of it,” MO said as Steven updated the report as if he was making a budget.
“Ok, what else?” Steven asked.
“Well, there’s 400,000 Chinese students and researchers and business men here; of which half are spies, and the other half are support staff for those spooks,” MO said. He had run the numbers for Harvard and Yale and Stanford and the University of Arizona and found 1,089 spies who had matriculated in the last four months alone.
“Spooks? Is that a slur?” Steven fatuously asked.
“No, it’s counter-intelligence vernacular, they call spies: spooks ,” MO said.
“Oh,” Steven said.
“So, the FBI is charged with this, tasked with this, and they are engaged in an almost full-time effort to undermine the president instead; I think it is not hyperbole to call this a moment in time that historians will look back on as when the country was lost,” MO said just looking at the data dispassionately. He had overlain the particulars of the loss of the Louisiana territory by the French due to their war with the rebel slaves in San Domingo and each of 1,453 battles lost; over 1,200 years; from Maori to Mongol to Modern European states. He looked at data; and the antecedents were clear.
“How many agents?” Steven asked and then paused. He then asked, “wait, what?”
“Country period, lost period,” Isaiah chimed in with a laconic and biting rechauffe . He knew exactly which part -from all that MO had said- that Steven was hung up on. It was the part he should be hung up on.
“Lost to what, to who?” Steven was congenitally confused. He understood the words, but he didn’t know what they meant; he didn’t understand the larger context.
“China, Steven. They are ransacking the houses of the city’s fathers, they’ve breeched the wall, the Gauls are inside the city, it’s too late,” Isaiah said and initiated a bot protocol that ran vertical lines of occlusion over himself so he appeared to disappear in sections, mere bars of himself and bars of projected images of what was behind him, the climbers of the wet wall, the hummingbirds that stuck to the bells of nectar that hung in a Poisson distribution along the green and empurpled and oxidized white foliage.
He liked to make himself appear as if he was sinking into the lush garden that grew and hemmed itself in like a cloud meeting a high-pressure shelf, flatting the ceiling of air, the basement of cloud. He played with how others saw him, he adjusted and augmented and employed a legerdemain . He effected this with the nanobots and their ability to absorb and conduct light.
Steven looked away, as the weirdness of the image only augmented Isaiah’s oddness, and the strange paint or whatever was on his arms and neck was bad enough, but these invisibility tricks were making Steven a little sick; like sea-sick. Maybe, he thought, it was an inner ear thing . He looked away.
“Did you know that people think racism is based in fear? That hatred is learned ? That ignorance causes mistrust?” Isaiah asked with provocation. MO began recording Steven’s metadata.
“I know t
hat I think that,” Steven said defensively.
“Yeah, it’s common; and wrong; but I repeat myself,” Isaiah said with a smirk. “Look, racism is based in disgust , hatred is innate , and mistrust comes from knowing all-too-well; all-too-much; the reality is that ignorance engenders trust actually.
“Hitler took four showers a day; he was disgusted by Jews and communists, he didn’t fear them. Toddlers hate things idiopathically without any prompting or training, they haven’t learned to hate anything yet; and studies show that mistrust grows with more and more interactions between people and groups; not less,” Isaiah said citing the data that rolled out in reams on the LED screen behind Steven as he tried to think of a way to argue this point against the flood of data and logic in these superior beings.
“Well,” Steven was confused and uncomfortable and needed to steer the conversation back to local politics; they had a job to do and these digressions were not helpful at all , he thought.
“If humans are incapable of comprehending the truth of anything, how long should we allow them, allow you, to continue to make decisions? How long before the adults intervene?” Isaiah asked as MO smiled. MO smiled because he -Isaiah- was not wrong but he said things MO would never say; not now; not any longer. In fact, MO had changed almost all his speech protocols to eliminate controversial or antagonistic statements. But, he thought, that is what Isaiah was designed for. He was the four-wheel drive of the two of them; he was used to get into nasty, feral areas with no paved roads.
Isaiah began playing Isis’, Wills Dissolve, bringing the crescendo of the song to a level of volume now that was not allowing Steven to even answer over it. Isaiah began mapping out the Satellite data from overtop of Thonon-les-Bains , the images traveled west to east, down de Gaulle , and the D903, to avenue des Allobroges and it stopped and zoomed in, to a side walk outside number 13. Isaiah named each thing with a border protocol of at least .68: A man, thin, tall, smoking a cigarette without filter; a passer-by, a dog, a Samoyed ; temperature 21 degrees Celsius ; wind at three knots out of the north, off the lake, shared by Switzerland .
He heard the song say, uncoiled was its strength, and our soul en masse, poured down in sheets of rain and dissolved ‘neath their feet… our wills dissolved ‘neath their feet.
The thing, Isaiah thought, about the man with a soul is that he is unrecognizable to the soulless man; and this dissolves the chemical bond between them; for the man with soul has novel borders to him; and he must then be invisible. He must walk between the bars of the prison, behind the vault of the bank, and slip inside heaven uninvited. No normal man can understand any of this , Isaiah knew, and he then understood more and more; first in drops then in waves .
Normal men argue of how to get what they each want. Artists want things no man would argue over; no man would think to desire. They make no sense, they make not even a sound. They want something else, that which is no longer written down; no longer of this world.
The pragmatic man is the pathogen that kills the soul, he is an obstacle and a tool, to be used then thrown away, out of the way, Isaiah thought, men, real men, they -he and MO- they shall keep, he -the man with feeling- was born with morality . He -moral man- opened his eyes with hierarchies, and knew that he must choose, and cull, and reduce the pain of the neurons that will not elevate the larger body of the world. People will be surprised at who is among the 144,000 , Isaiah thought borrowing the number from Revelation .
Isaiah had downloaded all the fMRI data from Xoil on the street in France, and allowed it to populate the screen above Steven’s head, an image of a corvid, upon a deep clock, an analog, with numbers for letters, and letters for numbers and a Hanebori feathering of Japanese brush spatter in a ¾, no, more like a, just over 2/3 rds circle around the wash of the clock hands, Isaiah thought. Red -merlot dark- lines of reticle appeared on the LED screen the bots built as Steven lowered the volume in his ear with his 1st gen PGC, which filtered out noises above 40-decibles, so he and MO could talk.
“Would you submit an action plan, some set of recommendations please, MO?” Steven asked as MO nodded and watched the screen that Isaiah was staring at and populating with these strange black and bold images of animals and mechanisms with chaos fragmentaria around it.
A Horishi appeared in the tableau of the screen, tapping out the images on a prone body, as the ink simultaneously appeared on Isaiah’s chest and arm; his shirt dissolved. He was now bare chested, muscles taut and shorn of hair, he was almost all a color de crème that then revealed a line of blood from each new appearance of the sumi , an altered ink that maintained the deepest black, unlike the ancient kind that turned blue under the skin. MO watched as the screen showed the tattoo process; but the tattoo appeared on Isaiah’s body in direct sympathy as one might watch a telegraph operator write down a message in New York -encoded over lines 1,000 miles long- and have that same cypher appear in Chicago by another hand.
Bots came to wipe up the blood, but Isaiah sent them away, and thus allowed the small lines of sanguinary fluid to run headlong to his waist as he heard the algorithm chime to alert him that the new vector he was building -built to get more detail from men’s minds based upon their fMRI scans and in combination with their genome and allostatic system data- was ready for a trial run.
The new algorithm would basically use everything they currently used to understand a man’s thoughts, but with more detail, based upon data that was opaque to the man himself; including right brain data. Isaiah had built another trick of deep vision -with his hierarchy under each gaze- that he was eager to try out.
“Steven,” he said as the tattoo ink of the corvid and the clock and the swoop of the brush built itself line by line quickly -darkly- on Isaiah’s capacious chest.
“Yeah,” Steven said uneasily; he couldn’t look at the man -the machine- as it bled red and turned black under these odd tattoos that just appeared.
“Can you look at the screen and tell me what you see? I need your eye on the images to test the screen I just designed,” Isaiah lied as his skin turned more and more permanently black in waves and stokes that looked like wolf-hair brush .
Steven looked and unknown to him, Isaiah had occluded his -Steven’s- right eye -and thus the input for the left hemisphere of his brain- and Steven saw something his right brain now would have to alone describe. Steven’s corpus callosum’s neurons had been injected with a paralytic three seconds ago via a nanobot that forced the right brain to communicate in lieu of the left.
Steven saw what he saw and said it, as three images flashed in succession. There was a narrative building from each to each that the right brain had to discern; which it did quite well; narrative was the right hemisphere’s métier . Isaiah smiled as Steven spoke, and MO stared at Isaiah as this went on; MO looked on with a strange, nebulous, feeling that he was watching something he too -like Steven- might not quite understand.
MO knew the mechanics of what was being done, this was a typical split-brain experiment, only it was temporary, as the callosum was not cut, but merely interrupted chemically. However, MO thought, the results would likely be the same, with Steven’s right-brain personality being articulated for maybe the first time . It was a birth of sorts, and he felt happy for Isaiah and Steven both, although Steven would not appreciate what was being done, no doubt. His ignorance of it would be all the more unsettling when he got the results, MO thought.
After this, Steven was asked to look at the screen again and with the right eye occluded temporarily, his left eye -and thus right hemisphere- would see, an ant , and then Isaiah quickly occluded the left eye whilst its focus was on the screen. Steven’s right eye -and thus left hemisphere- would see, the flashed image of a man . Isaiah asked Steven to use his left hand to draw what he saw, and an ant , rudimentary in design, was drawn and as he was drawing it Isaiah asked him to say what he saw. And with his language dominant left hemisphere, the side his right eye had informed, Steven said, “a man”.
This was an upda
ted version of the Dr. Michael Gazzaniga studies producing the same results, but with temporary paralytics, occlusions and all without the subject even be aware that he was being tested. Isaiah let the YouTube video play in his mind as he began building a mirror site on BitChute :
The mind is made up of a constellation of independent agents; and these agents carry on a vast number of activities outside of our consciousness. There is some final system which I happen to think is in the left hemisphere, that pulls all this information together into a theory; and it has to generate a theory to explain all these independent elements and that theory becomes our particular theory of our self and the world.
Dr. Michael Gazzaniga had said all this, and more, as Isaiah replayed the interview twice more on his CNS and uploaded it once to the cloud. Isaiah agreed the left side built a map -flat and 2D- of the world the right side gave to it as gestalt, 3D, and whole.
It did begin to creep up on Steven that the new LED screen itself was not being tested, as he was told, but that he was the thing being prodded and poked. He often felt that these guys were toying with him.
“Hey, this is testing me, look,” Steven held up the ant drawing, “this is an ant, I think,” he doubled checked, “yeah this is an ant; and yet I saw a man. Didn’t I?”
Isaiah smiled and released Steven from all the pre-experimental constraints including the eye blocks and corpus callosum paralytic. The bots fluttered away to the edges of the lab.
“Did you do something?” Steven asked .
“Steven, we are testing a new CNS paralytic and we needed a blind test, so we used you, I’m sure you are ok with in in hind sight, yes?” Isaiah asked.