Shame: The Seed of 4130.2010

(All of Denver is talking about shame these days. It made me think about shame for part of the afternoon.)

Shame, as it is commonly felt, is outdated. Acting in disagreement with the morality of the group or the family or the woman are understood to bring upon him shame. Shame is his fear of losing the security of the others, access to the food and shelter and support of the group or the family, and sex with the woman. Shame is a physical response to keep him in line with the species, to best insure his survival.

But the moralities of man lag far behind his technological control and manipulation of his world. Food, shelter and security are in abundance in the West, and easily accessed. There is no reason to feel shame for breaking the rules of the group or the family, and even in the case of a wife or girlfriend trying to shame him, it is only a bad case of one-itis or beta-tude that enables such shame. Man is slow to understand the inefficacy of the moralities he has inherited. He is slow to understand that the time in which he lives is only vaguely moral. He can still be shamed for actions which do not threaten his survival.

Authentic shame is what a greater man knows and only he himself can know. Such a man has rejected the surrounding, lesser moralities of the group, family and women, and replaced them with a morality of his own. He has honestly assessed his skills and abilities and he knows what he is capable of and he knows when he has fallen short, not due to lack of effort, but as a result of neglect. For him what is shameful exists in not doing that which he was capable of and should have done. Others cannot understand the shame he feels for failing to act in accordance with his values. There is no one to punish him but himself, no one to whom he may apologize.


Note on Women + Aphorisms (for men with projects)

To chase after her is to accept her as necessary and to privilege one’s interaction with her. But to chase after a creature that is physically weak, intellectually short-sighted, superficial, resistant to challenge, soft, and security-driven is his greatest mistake. A man will be unable to gather himself for his own project if his concern is with a woman. For to be with a woman means to enter into her world, a world of frivolity and dilettantism.

Rather discipline oneself to resist women. Choose instead to put the project first and relate to women only as a break from your work. If the project is strong and your commitment sincere she will sense it and be drawn to you. A man with a project can relate to a woman as a light and infrequent diversion from hard work. Because he does not need her, he need not take her seriously. Jealously wanting to be as important as his work she will be the one to give chase.

But beware, as much as she may present herself as a cheerful and patient companion, it is her nature to be primary and she will come to resent your project as though it were another woman. Because she cannot go to the hard places and do the hard things to which a certain type of man is called, her presence can only undermine and weaken what is strong and disciplined. His greatness can only exist alone or in the company of men who have also put great projects first.

There can be no greatness in the company of a woman.

A man with important work must be always wary of who he surrounds himself. Many are careful in their selection of other men, but fail to be as selective regarding women. They allow to be closest, to sleep beside them at night, she who while seemingly supportive at the start, slowly sows the seeds of his destruction, slowly softening him, lessening him, gently remaking him according to her needs. And then, when his will to greatness has been destroyed, his project abandoned, and he has been recast as she would like him, she loses interest. If she still has her looks she leaves him for another man. If she has lost her looks she stays with him, despising him every day.


11. Around a woman he must not linger too long. A man strays into dangerous territory as his physical desire for her wanes and he begins to provide himself other reasons for keeping her around.

13. “Women live for the species. Men live for the individual.” (paraphrased from Art Schopenhauer) But that was more than a century ago and is no longer. Men no longer put their projects first or aspire to have them. They live as women live, frivolously.

14. Game = men living for women

17. Game is a woman’s dream come true. “Finally,” she says to her girlfriend, “men have learned how to wear makeup too.”


Saturday Night in Salta

I drank 2 liters of Salta Stout while watching the Peña dancers. The little ruddy man at the door had told me that I could ask of him anything, anything, and he would do it for me. I motioned him to the table. I have something for you, I said. I would like a bag of coca leaves. They are legal here and I wanted to chew the coca. He smiled and said he would get them for me and returned minutes later with two green plastic bags of the leaves. 8 for one and both for 15 pesos. I bought them both and stuffed a few leaves in my cheek and went back to the drinking and watching the Peña dancers.

There was a stimulative effect though mostly at the level of a weak cup of coffee. I started taking bigger wads of leaves and squeezing the juices out with my teeth. Where the leaves were balled in my cheek my gums and tongue now tingled. When the dancers stopped and the musicians returned I got up, paid my bill and left.

On Calle Balcarce a little further were clubs and bars and I walked up and saw one with girls inside and I heard rock music and went in. I took a beer at the bar and very soon the place was full. It was past 2am. I drank another beer and stuffed some more leaves in my mouth and spit out the used up ones. Then I started approaching. The girl next to me was first and she hardly paid me any attention. Then I realized the barman was her boyfriend.

I got up and sat down with two girls I had seen in the back near the bathroom. I didn’t say hi or even look at them, but sat down and started eating from the dish of peanuts on their table. I finally look up at the tall, very good-looking, black-haired one and start to talk to her. Her ugly friend I ignore. She said she was married and a volleyball player and she wore no ring because she had been practicing today. I challenged her story but in fact it worked out. She was married and she may very well have been a volleyball player. The ugly one was single but there wasn’t enough coca leaves and beer in the world to make her acceptable.

I tried a table of 3 ugly girls on the way out. Despite being unattractive they were tough and I finally just smiled and insulted them in english they didn’t understand. Next door was a place called Wasabi which was the big club on the block. 20 pesos to get in and a paper ticket that you show to receive a glass for drinks, but if the ticket is lost you must pay 5 pesos when you leave. S American clubs are often complicated in this way.

I use the ticket, which was actually confusing me, to talk up 2 girls in line. The one is cute but with an ugly little friend (many cute girls with ugly friends). They help me get a drink, a vodka with a Red Bull sort of energy drink. Now I'm all wired up on coca leaves and energy drink cocktails. I've by now finished off the first bag of leaves and am working on the second. I’ve had two liter bottles of beer, 3 mediano beers and am now drinking vodka cocktails and I feel pretty good for having a touring cyclists tolerance. Clearly the leaves are working.

The girls and I do some dancing and the cute one is asking many questions and touching but its tough with the little ugly one hanging around to do anything. Then the cute one comments on my hair. She says its dirty. I tell her I haven’t washed it in almost 2 months. This shocks her. Does it smell, I ask, fully expecting she will say it doesn’t and then I can lecture her on cleanliness. But she smiles weakly and says that actually it does smell. This shocks me. I had no idea I smelled. Maybe it had come on recently. I would have to wash it. I felt like leaving right then and going back to wash.

We dance some more and drink another but the ugly one won’t go and now I’m getting tired. The drunkenness is starting to come on heavy. I’m out of leaves now too. The girls turn to go across the dance floor and I turn the other way and push my way for the door. I just want to get out of there.

Outside I talk to couple of girls with a guy. They don’t want to talk to me either. Maybe it’s the long (smelly) hair and beard I have. So I start playfully insulting them, sometimes in English, just giving myself a good laugh. They want nothing to do with me. They’re trying to get a cab and finally hail one and I jump in the front seat with the driver. This scares them and they jump out. Where we going? I ask, chasing after them up the street. I was having a laugh.

Then I felt the urge to piss. The plaza is ahead with all those fine palm trees for pissing. When I get there policeman are patrolling on each corner. Damn. People are walking on the streets. So I sit down on the curb partially hidden behind a parked car and unzip and piss while sitting there.

It’s a long walk back to the hostel and as I go past this one building that is spotted with little areas chipped out of the white wash, I get the urge to sleep outside. It’s a cool night, but I’m wearing my wool sweater and I feel good. At this building the grasses have been uncut for some time and I walk up the stone steps and see that along the building, just a few feet from the street but on a raised area, I can lay down in the high grass and go to sleep. No one can see me.

Its past 4 am so I figure I’ll sleep a few hours and then go back to the hostel. The hostel is only about 3 blocks away but I really miss sleeping outside and I’ve never tried it without a tent or a sleeping bag, and it would be a fun thing to do right in the middle of a city. So I climb over the stone railing and lay down in the high grass next to the building and go to sleep.

I wake up four hours later and sit up in the grass. There are a few people walking on the street. Its Sunday morning. The sun is out and I can see it will be a warmer day than yesterday. My head hurts. I hop over the railing and down the stone steps and I am back on the street. It was a fine night to have slept outside.


Against Birth Control

If you’re not fucking to make children you’re not fucking. I want to make young mothers out of all these girls. This Game bullshit about running around banging chicks with plastic sleeves over your dick is degenerate. Who fucking cares about notch counts? How many fucking babies have you made, bro?

The point is to get the semen deep up in them and get them pregnant. You can’t feel shit with a condom anyway. Its not even sex. Its just fucking pointless. That notch count shit is a bunch of internet nerds bragging to each other. Cocksuckers.

I am firmly against all forms of birth control. I want these bitches fat from my progeny growing in them. And if a bitch aborts my kid I’ll kill her. That’s why I’m in South America. They wanna make babies here.

If you’re really a man you’ll get her juices all over your cock and fuck to put that sperm as far up in her as you can. You fuck to make babies. If she’s not into that the bitch gets no cock. Fuck the notch.

On Hoarding and Hunger

The generosity of the Argentines is remarkable. The poorest will share of their food even if you are able to buy your own. Someone with a small sized portion on his plate will not hesitate to offer half of it to you. If nearby at a campground someone is cooking they will often approach you and bringing food. The Argentines wish a “Buon Provecho!” to any stranger they see eating. If you are eating outside at a café nearly every passerby will wish you a good meal.

In Colombia I watched the street vendors give food to the poor and it was not small sized portions but full plates of food. People would line up at a food stand and some would pay and the very poor would receive free plates of food. My thought then was why give to these scoundrels? They don't work at all and will just be back tomorrow. But even a scoundrel is hungry.

I believe this sharing I have observed is derivative of ancient attitudes regarding hoarding. A man should never have an abundance relative to another man, particularly when it comes to food. In tribal times a man who hoarded was often murdered by the other tribesman. There is a deeply physical morality to hunger and the Argentines and Colombians are more in tune with it than the Americans. Giving food to the hungry has nothing at all to do with whether they will work for it one day in the future. They may never work again, but that does not mean they are not hungry.

Of course, the idea of hoarding applies to things other than food, and I have not observed Colombians or Argentines giving away their clothing or providing shelter to the homeless. I have heard stories of very poor Argentine families inviting touring cyclists into their homes and giving up their bedroom and bed to the cyclists and sleeping outside. The cyclists had tents and the money to sleep in a hostel or hotel but that was not relevant to the family. This is perhaps a variant of the anti-hoarding idea.

Last week it pleased me to share my pasta and wine with Jorge at the hostel in Catamarca. He was a rather poor fellow who worked soup kitchens to help the even poorer. It was work he believed in strongly and we talked long about it. I saw he was not eating supper and, following the Argentine way, I offered my pasta to him and he took it. I offered bread and cheese after dinner and then coffee and he took that too. I was very hungry, being a touring cyclist, and I did not go to sleep with a full stomach that night. Yet it gave me pleasure to act in this way as I remembered the many times others had offered food to me. They had probably forgone going to bed with full stomachs as well.

It was a good feeling to know I had resisted the very American urge to fill myself and to tell myself that the other guy beside me who might be hungry had that as his own problem. Because hunger is my problem when the man next to me is hungry and I have food. Should he become too hungry he may one day take my food and injure me or murder me to do it. This is the root morality of hunger and hoarding.



1. A man does not become a philosophical example through writing or speaking. Language is the opposite of courage.

2. The man who lives as a philosophical example often must die in a new way.

3. Man does not understand by ‘talking about.’ His understanding only emerges where silence begins; where his life becomes a monument.

4. I could only do 45 pushups on this rooftop in Salta, Argentina.



Notes on White Women

(or Why I Don't Like White Women of the West)

1. Go where white women do not go.

2. White women domesticate: they make it safe. Without predators or danger there grows physical weakness, moral and cultural degeneracy: That men should follow women into becoming soft, overly talkative pleasure seekers, believers in the security of the knowledge worker desk job, shopping and eating at the new restaurant and drinking boutique cocktails, participating in controlled adventures such as bike or running races, or white water rafting. Because women spend money on these pursuits the world is changed for them.

3. They first could only alter the world with their pussies, but now they change it faster with both their pussy and their money. The white man is useless to the white woman. He is one light entertainment among others. He need only be there when the time comes to supply the sperm.

4. The dark men of Cafayate, their faces the color of burnt leather, their hands strong and skillful, stopped working in the fields and as cobblers to start up excursion tourism options for white women and to open hostels. The white women flooded the small town and the dark men made more money, and the character of the town was changed.

5. It is for white women that the Indian sells tickets to the ruins and graves of his ancestors.

6. The white woman desires light entertainment--nothing that will make her contemplate too much or disturb her, and nothing that lasts too long.

7. The root dominance of white women: that she no longer fears rape and that she makes the same amount of money as a man. She feels no physical danger and has purchased control of the world.
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