Postcards From New Suburbia

Sipping a glass of cheap moscato and in between watching episodes of Vega$ on dvd, I thought I would take a break from my “new suburban man of leisure” lifestyle to give a few updates…

I’ve been busy editing Robert Stark’s novel, which can only be described as an insane masterpiece, written in such a way that it will offend just about every type of person. Having seen my fair share of depraved 70’s and 80’s porn and spent several years hanging out in fringe political circles, I’m somewhat desensitized to offensive content at this point. However, what I have found problematic is the atrocious grammar and spelling in the book, for no other reason than I’m lazy, and it ultimately takes longer for me to edit the project. That’s just the trade-off though for a book that runs on pure imagination I suppose. In my own books, I would agonize for ages over a single typo, ready to swallow a bottle of pills over a misplaced apostrophe or improper usage of an idiom. In that sense, I envy Stark… who clearly does not give a fuck about anything but the characters and the storyline.

Some people who have followed my blogs for a long time, may wonder why I don’t write about racial issues as much as I used to. To be honest, I just don’t have a lot to say on it. I’ve written probably close to 70 essays about race, and at a certain point you just become a crank if that’s all you write about. The exception of course is if you’re one of those HBD type bloggers that treats the subject as an academic area of study. I’m not. Admittedly I don’t care that much about “hbd.” I find it to be more of an academic question at this stage. My interest in the topic of race has always been purely for practical purposes. Most non-whites openly say they have no interest in living in a color-blind western society, much less the kind of transhumanist, retro futuristic mini-empire of the sort I advocate… so it’s kind of moot whether or not they theoretically could flourish equally and sustain such civilizations adequately. They don’t even want to, so who cares? It’s like two people arguing whether I’m biologically capable of being a top-tier professional golfer when I don’t even have a slight interest in playing golf, (except perhaps miniature golf…which I’ve been having a bit of nostalgia for having not played since the summer of 1998.) Academic questions are still worthwhile to pursue, but in this case plenty of others are already on it. Anyway, by now most people know where I stand. I have no interest in getting involved in the drama and feuds between various factions and personalities. I don’t care about winning over the masses (who there aren’t even mathematically enough of to make a difference in an electoral system) or appealing to “the eternal normie.” I don’t care about global empires and geopolitics. I’m interested in small-scale tribalism and radical escapism.

Anyway, what else is new? Well, Trump continues to screw the pooch and at this point has almost fully completed his retrogression into a neoconservative republican. He’s essentially useless to anyone who cares about consumer advocacy, workers rights, and staying out of pointless foreign conflicts. His strategy appears to be to talk shit to reporters and celebrities on social media, in an attempt to distract his supporters from the fact that he isn’t implementing any substantive policies that would benefit them. 4D chess? Yeah right. If Trump is playing anything it’s Electric Football…that old tabletop game where the metal football field vibrates and the players move around semi-randomly, occasionally going in the direction you want them to.

Brandon Adamson is the author of Beatnik Fascism

Official Response to Trump’s Remarks on the AltLeft

As many of you may well know, President Trump conducted a press conference earlier today in which he specifically made disparaging remarks about the AltLeft. Many of these statements were slanderous and well off the mark. No one that I know who is associated with the AltLeft (which by the way has existed for years) would ever support or engage in violence. As anti-alpha male anti-heroes, we don’t care for brodozers and machismo and people who eat chips loudly. We like our testosterone bound to SHBG, not left unchecked where it is free to bind to receptor sites willy nilly or converted into its more potent forms. I personally don’t even like to attack bugs. In fact, I once had a black widow spider web in my shower and continued to shower next to it for a year, leaving the web completely undisturbed. Occasionally I would glance over at the spider, its red hour glass glistening through the steamy water droplets, and I would say “hey bud. how’s it going?” I have no empirical proof, but to this day I like to think we had an understanding. The idea that we would attend rallies and assault people, could not be further from the truth. I could not harm a fly. Speaking of insects I was as shocked as anyone when in the 1958 version of the film “The Fly,” Vincent Price and the detective just stood there idly watching as Al Hedison was devoured by the spider. They made absolutely no effort to save him despite his desperate cries for help. Militants? Violence? Yeah right. To paraphrase Mike Myers in Wayne’s World “I don’t even own a gun, let alone many guns, which would necessitate a gun rack.”

Trump’s comments are a slap in the face to anyone who believes that the less aggro elements of Antifa and the AltRight should combine forces to get single payer health care passed and a plan for student debt relief. They could focus their dual energies on dismantling the college football industrial complex. Time to get rid of the obsession with national championships, ditch the needless playoffs and restore conference rivalries. Go back to naming bowl games strictly after fruits, plants and other commodities rather than mega-corporations. If the AltRight and Antifa groups are to have skirmishes, they should take the form of squirt gun battles, their classic Super Soaker 50s and translucent squirt guns, filled not with bleach but with Hi-C, Tang and Capri Sun. Yeah that’s right, the red pill is for squares. The AltLeft is all about the orange pill. That’s where instead of spending a bunch of your hard earned mooncoin to attend a rally in Podunk USA and get maced by strange looking subhumans, you simply head on down to the food court at your local dying mall and order up an Orange Julius, quietly(!) slurping it while daydreaming about the cosmos and reminiscing about the Radio Shack you used to buy remote control cars from in the late 80’s, which has now been replaced by some kind of ethnic eyebrow waxing place (thanks to both globalization and greed induced corporate imperial overextension.) Go ahead, call us chic nihilists, fedora nationalists, new suburbanists, retro futurists or snorters of Pixy Stix. We don’t care. Deep down, orange you glad we didn’t take the black pill or the turquoise pill or the periwinkle pill? You know you are. By the way, as I’ve mentioned many times I’ve always disliked the pill analogy. The Matrix is a terrible movie. The camera work practically gave me motion sickness, and the whole cheesy “he’s the one” thing made this cynical GenX’er roll his eyes while mentally barfing at the screen of this melodramatic spectacle. It was a total corn muffin, not a sci-fi movie that I cared for that’s for sure. I hated the digital effects and didn’t even enjoy the overall ambianic aesthetic as much as that of Damnation Alley, which is really saying something.

Trump’s statements are also a violent assault on every intelligent, well meaning, teal haired white feminist beauty who works her ass off in retail and reluctantly complains about how Indian customers are disproportionately cheap, and how they’re constantly demanding discounts and other free shit. Furthermore, Trump’s words betray every Xenu fearing person who has been stuck in line at Starbucks behind someone who couldn’t just simply place a fucking order without asking questions about every item on the menu…the calories, the ingredients, the special requests, the whole shebang.

When Trump condemns the AltLeft, it’s an insult to every person who recognizes that Vegas Vacation is the superior film in the National Lampoon’s Vacation franchise, even though Ethan Embry became kind of an SJW. What is it with former child/teen stars becoming SJWs anyway? I don’t care about Will Wheaton, as I never got into Star Trek. Tristine Skyler (whom I had a brief childhood crush on after seeing her in the film Kidco and who outshined Christian Slater in one of the best ABC Weekend Specials, The Haunted Mansion Mystery) was a little bit more disappointing. She went to Princeton though, so good for her. I really don’t understand how any 70’s or 80’s kid could get more than superficially into social justice. Our childhoods were filled with grossly offensive things, (remember Cabbage Patch Preemies? like ewww wtf I love social justice now) and those same childhoods were radically unmatched in their total awesomeness. Anyhow, suffice to say that Trump’s presser was a personal affront to anybody who found Back to the Future III to be a lackluster finale to the trilogy. I’m not sure how many people that works out to be, but it’s more than a few. You know it’s true. What Trump said is mind boggling for anyone who was inspired by Warren Beatty’s charismatic “Guy Named Porpoise” speech in the 1978 film Heaven Can Wait only to wonder why 40 years later nobody prioritizes these issues.

Trump’s criticism of the behavior of the AltLeft feels like knuckles to the creep to every laid back Beatnik Fascist that doesn’t care much for blabbing the drab gab but rather chatters hep patter on twatter, if you catch my drift. Not everyone wants to take the long trip to Roman Salutesville, but if we decide to rig ourselves a little shindig vessel, what’s the harm in a few kicks? After all, we’re peace loving moonboots, and you’re the tabby cat with the codes to the missiles.

Every left transhumanist who seeks bionic upgrades, mind uploading, immortality and the resurrection of wooly mammoths should be disturbed by Trump’s pontificatory declarations about the fabric of our being. Like Box in Logan’s Run we are “more than machine, more than man, more than a fusion of the two. Don’t you agree? Wait for the winds. Then our birds sing. And the deep grottos whisper our names.” Trump may have “one of the highest IQs,” but he’ll be no match for us after we transcend our earthly bags of bones and fuse our collective consciousnesses to refurbished Tandy 1000s.

People always claim that Trump is playing 4D chess. His moves are so unpredictable and counter-intuitive, and yet you just know the only possible explanation is that it must be because he is 12 moves ahead of you. I know this because I myself have beaten a computer at chess several times on the “very easy” setting. We here on the AltLeft have our own preferred game though. It’s called Hungry Hungry Hippos, and we’re playing for our fair share of all the marbles.

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Brandon Adamson is the author of Beatnik Fascism