Several years ago, I wrote an article titled The Artless Revolution, in which I observed the lack of a soundtrack for the manufactured revolution of the modern Western left through a political lens.

The observation is obsolete.

The reason I disable comments on my articles and subscribe to no one is that the "encouragement of the community" is as fake and damaging to the soul as the feeling of rejection it gives you when it doesn't respond.  Not giving people the option to comment is as much about preserving the integrity of an individual vision as it is about sparing the commenter the pain of feeling ignored when I don't respond.  People care about that, y'know.  The only question is, are you ignoring them because you're busy,

Or self-righteous?

When faced with the bleak, concrete reality of the abyss, and the hopeless void within, there is an almost zero percent chance that the soul will bounce off the surface of that lake of fire like a gleeful stone will skip across a pond.  The question isn't whether or not your heart will turn black with all the things your polite, self-righteous society will rightfully find abominable.  Of course it will.  Your heart will burn with hard, malicious thoughts and feelings comprised of the flames of hell itself.  That's not the question.  The question is, will the experience of rejection, betrayal, abandonment, abuse, and the horror of the abyss drive you to your knees, in a private place no one sees, for free, before the throne of God,

Or will it turn you into "one of them?"

"One man's righteousness is another man's
Long haul, sentence carried out
Long haul, counting the miles
To the four corners of the world"
Calexico

Rage Against The Machine caught a lot of flak for complying with vaccine mandates a few years ago, and rightfully so.  It occurred to me today that the reason they complied with the vaccine mandates is because compliance with the machine is literally the first word in their name.  "Rage."  Rage.  Against what?  The machine?  Isn't "raging" against the machine to behave... precisely in all the ways orchestrated by the machine?  Is "raging" "against" the machine not to engage in an act of CHOREOGRAPHY in a dance with death and hell and misery itself?  Is it not the equivalent of a Jr. High kid "rebelling" against authority by smoking cigarettes behind the gymnasium?  "This is me inhaling a mass-produced death wish manufactured by a giant corporation in defiance of authority, hear me roar?"

Ridiculous, right?

I have no family, even though most of them are still alive (presumably), and I did not come to Mexico on vacation.  One of the reasons I came here is that, if and when anybody down here gets dark and mean and weird on me, it won't be personal.  I came to Mexico to disable the comment section in my heart, among numerous other reasons.  If you reject me, that's fine.  I promise I will never bother you again.  God bless you.  But be careful.  The chances you're going to "rage" against the machine, and that you're going to turn into the subjects of an A.I. rap video against the machine by default, a video produced by a guy whose name is literally "The F'ing Witch," are not necessarily low.  In fact, if you're not guarding against it,

I think it's inevitable.

"Hands are scarred, heart is charred
Burnt though, and ashen"
Calexico

Be careful not to rage against rage.  To try to burn down a forest fire is a ridiculous, suicidal act, and I have the discography to prove it.  I set fire to the anger I felt at my own abuse and betrayal, and frankly, am blessed beyond measure to simply be alive, whether I'm "happy" or "miserable" or anybody understands a single facet of my being, or not.  It doesn't matter.

Community is a slow-burning forest fire, and I've disengaged from yours because, frankly, you've hurt me.  I'm only saying it because I can finally say it without malice or bitterness.  I love you, and I wish you well.  Thank you for being my nonexistent friend.  But even if we've never met, your disregard for my personal kindness is reminiscent of the acts of burning rage I left my own country to get away from, because the damage I've sustained is such that I'm viscerally, physically more comfortable in the presence of people with whom I share exactly NO cultural, familial, or ethnic heritage.  The abyss is everywhere, and wears masks of community and acceptance precisely SO it can withhold that fake, self-important blessing from whomever it pleases.  Aloofness and disregard are acts of cold, mechanical malice, and to pretend that your pain somehow gives you a self-appointed divine right to disregard... ANYONE... is to become a part of the machine in all the ways the mechanics of hell intend you to.

I'm not better than anybody, and neither are you.

Watch the video from the A.I. witch again, and notice how all the comments seem to think they're "awakening" from the Matrix by watching such an obvious piece of predictive programming.  Even w/o A.I., nobody would have ever thought to make such a video if "The Artless Revolution" hadn't already run its course.  The soundfile isn't even any good.  Judging by the comments in the video above, "awakening" involves believing that a video pretending to "rage" against the thing it depicts isn't conditioning you to accept the thing it depicts, things that wouldn't have even occurred to H.P. Lovecraft to write in ages past.

“To be bitter is to attribute intent and personality to the formless,
infinite, unchanging and unchangeable void.  We drift on
a chartless, resistless sea.  Let us sing when
we can, and forget the rest."
H.P. Lovecraft

Disengage from the machine, don't rage against it.  Being part of the machine has more to do with believing yourself to be above reproach, than anything else.  Technological considerations are an afterthought. 

Politics come after even that.

Self-righteousness is not the answer.  Community may very well be enabling you to reject the reality of the situation, the one that burned your soul and turned your heart black in recent months, or years, or however many decades past.  Being dangled by your ankles over the abyss is a blessing precisely because it's horrific, and gives the sufferer an opportunity that "good people" rarely get.  To run back into the arms of such willfully-myopic sanctimony and accept the fake condolences of the artificially virtuous is to become a piece of charcoal and join the machine at long last, to reject the last shred of humanity you have, and to become "perfect," and "flawless," and even, God help you, "good,"

Just like all the subjects of the artificial Antichrist machine.