“If I am mad, it is mercy!  May the gods pity
the man who in his callousness can remain
sane to the hideous end!”
H.P. Lovecraft

Ever been drunk and looked back the next day at what you said and did and found it hard to believe?  "I said that?"  "I did what?"  And you can't believe it, because it's inconceivable.

Maybe some time goes by, enough to realize that the drinking life isn't really for you, and so you quit.  Every day of sobriety that passes puts canyons and unscalable mountain ranges of freedom between you and your former bad decisions.  Even if it isn't blissful, even if "happiness" is still elusive, anything beats going back to drinking.  As bad as it gets, as "boring" as it can be, anything is better than that.

By separating yourself from drunkenness, you find yourself naturally distant from people who are still engaged in that behaviour.  Even if they're in the room with you, or in your immediate circle of intimate cohorts, watching them drink is like watching a boring, ancient movie.  The most boring, ancient movie ever made.  Some of them might even actually be casual, recreational drinkers who actually, really only have a glass of wine with dinner, or 2 beers at the most.  They are like the people in a healthy marriage, compared to the damaged MGTOW monks.  Even if you're friends, you may still look at each other as a curious form of alien life.

MGTOW guys get a surprising amount of flak for being MGTOW guys.  There is no shortage of derision, from men and women alike, for guys who have chosen to stop playing a game that is not only stacked against them, but which they are in fact expected to lose as a matter of natural course.  A game which it seems they are not only expected to lose, but which they are expected to lose for the amusement of others, at great personal expense.  MGTOW guys are like the prisoners sent out to fight the gladiators, who decide they don't want to fight the gladiators anymore.  Why should I play this game?  There is literally nothing to gain, and everything to lose.  This is stupid.  I am leaving.

And so the guy walks off the field, and all the other people who have their entire lives and identities and reasons to exist tied up in the game deride them loudly.  The chorus of myopia persists from every angle.  Even smart, conservative people like Jordan Peterson and Lauren Southern are apparently oblivious to the TOTAL INDIFFERENCE the MGTOW guys have toward their opinions.  Listening to people deride MGTOW is like listening to a homeless guy berating you from his piss-soaked pile of rags on the sidewalk.  What rational, reasonable person takes the derision of a raving drunkard to heart?  When you walk by the furious demoniac, do you go home later and think, "he has a point, maybe I should reconsider my life and the reasons for my existence.  I only understood half of what he said, but what I heard was compelling.  He sure did give me something to think about.  Where did I put my bottle of Night Train?  Perhaps I hid a bottle of it somewhere in the nightstand of FREEDOM AND REASON, next to the peaceful bed I have been blessed with by the grace of the God who got me out of that nightmare in the first place.  But that raving drunkard sure did bring back some lively memories.  I wonder if I should revisit them."

Hahahaha.  Ridiculous, on its face.

But that's what anti-MGTOW people think.  It's most amusing to observe in women, but whoever it is, you can read the lack of self-awareness on their face in neon letters 40 feet high.  It's visible.  From space.  You can see that it never occurs to them that MGTOW guys actually don't care what they think anymore.  About anything.  The derision of a prosperous married guy with tons of skin in the game, or a woman, doesn't even register on the Richter scale of MGTOW guys.  We've survived earthquakes that have swallowed entire civilizations.  Nuclear explosions in the spirit realm that have leveled our faith in the lies that hold our disingenuous, fake society together.  The radioactive fallout of playing a game in which half the participants are actually told (and actually believe) that they couldn't make a mistake if it was part of the job description, covers everything.  Everything is blanketed in smug, radioactive arrogance and pride pretending to be strength.  There's no way not to lose.  Since love isn't supposed to be a competition, but apparently I am legally obligated to lose in the event my "opponent" decides to make it into one, which is likely...

There's only one "winning move."

Only one.

So I'm out.  I put the bottle of cyanide-laced rat poison down.  I don't want to drink from it anymore.

Why should I?

I don't like it any more than you do, single female MGTOW-derider.  But I don't even see you anymore.  When I see you in the store, perusing orange juice and lettuce, my training kicks in and I look through you like a ghost.  It's not a conscious act.  I just don't see you anymore.  I've been trained to look through you.  You're not there.  I'm not "happy" about it either, but I'm not going to pretend that I can see you, for the benefit of anyone's delusions.  The derision of people who think they're going to shame me into killing myself for the greater good isn't even audible to me.  It's a dog whistle.  There is no reason to expect me to actually hear the buzzing mosquito of derision from people who think I'm "weak," or "a loser," or whatever soft, sweet pudding they try to pass off as poison, as they serve it to me.

Oh, this is supposed to be a toxic, deadly insult?  I thought it was dessert.  My bad.

It doesn't matter.  I wasn't going to eat it anyway.

I'm not even going to address the "misogynistic" or "incel" accusations except to say that, in my opinion, true MGTOW is way beyond misogyny (hate?  I have to see you first), and that if your immediate assumption when you see people walking away from a toxic emotional, spiritual, and legal situation is that they just can't get laid, you're a moron.

So, what does this have to do with Ginger Rogers and Cthulhu?  Is Cthulhu a MGTOW monk?  Is Ginger Rogers Cthulhu?  Was she really a burlesque dancer in the 2005 film The Call of Cthulhu, or was she pretending to be one for the film?  Does it matter if she was dead at the time of filming?  Does it make any difference if she was drunk?

Not if she was Cthulhu, it doesn't.

“Almost nobody dances sober,
unless they happen to be insane.”
H.P. Lovecraft

"It's What It's (Hell reprise)" is a song I wrote in a Motel 6 in Northwest Arkansas.  Rogers, I think.  Rogers is where we recorded it, my friend and I, at his friend's place, on the same day I wrote the song.  He also played drums and bass guitar.  I remember being insecure about the vocal performance, since it was the first or second time I'd ever sung the song.  My friend didn't hear anything wrong with it.  He was right.

Unwittingly steeped in hardcore MGTOW empowerment doctrine, "It's What It's (Hell reprise)" is obviously about what happens to your heart and mind when you hear the (inevitable?) news that your lady-friend has been cheating on you.  I call it "The Divine Right of Sluts."  Not all women have it.  But it's common.  "It's What It's (Hell reprise)" takes the listener through the many stages of hell that accompany the morbid awakening in the graveyard of your fairytale beliefs in the sanctity of "love," and the like.  I wrote it a few days after Halloween, which is when I got the call.  It was a monstrous night indeed.

"It's What It's (Hell reprise)" is on the Wild Hearts Forever album, and also happens to make a good soundtrack to The Call of Cthulhu, a MGTOW documentary/burlesque horror movie starring Ginger Rogers, which I have posted above.  Is she the timeless octopus, seducing men with her alluring tentacles of love, as she squeezes them to death?  What is that substance she is applying to their faces with the powder puff?  Baby powder?  Fentanyl?  Cocaine?  Delusions of interest and a desire for money posing as a desire for affection?  Is she the siren of death, from the great and infinite beyond?

Or is Cthulhu the MGTOW monk, destroying the culture with his selfish unwillingness to die on the altar of other people's sense of entitlement?  Is Ginger Rogers actually the hero, protecting society from guys who "can't get laid?"

Hard to say, but according to the mini MGTOW Cthulhu burlesque documentary posted above, the men all go crazy and writhe around on burning boats, dreaming of graveyards and burlesque shows, screaming in their beds.

Is it love that drove them to the edge?  Alimony?  Madness?  An inability to get laid?

Again, it's hard to say.  But the true MGTOW monk can make an educated guess.

Thanks for listening.

It's What It's (Hell reprise)

I was lying in bed
on Halloween night
holding my monsters
up to the light

Vampires, skeletons,
all the terrible things
that an honest assessment
of reality brings

The banshee started ringing,
so I picked her up
she spilled her guts
into my half-empty cup

I drank it all down
thought it caused me great pain
another two-headed medicine
taking a piss in my veins

    So get on your knees
    and kiss my tits
    I do as I please
    it's what it's

Exiled from reason
on an island of doubt
I found myself lost
I couldn't get out

Surrounded on all sides
by a fiery sea
I ran like a river
into a tree

I cursed the waters
even as I kissed the flames
I bled the sun dry
until the sky turned grey

For out of the abundance of the heart
the mouth spews forth
like the difference in true
and magnetic north

    So get on your knees
    and kiss my tits
    I do as I please
    it's what it's

I awoke from the vision
exhausted and spent
on a bed of brambles
all twisted and bent

Songbirds were picking
at the bones of the dead
in the burial ground
between my heart and my head

So I picked up my guitar
and started to kill
my useless emotions,
against my will

You were my lover,
you were my friend
and I'll love you forever,
but I'll never see you again

    So get on your knees
    and kiss my tits
    I do as I please
    it's what it's

©2016 Nathan Payne