#Efilism

[elhopper1sm]

There's two different kinds of 'I think this person deserves to die'.

There's type one: You're a piece of shit and I hate you and you deserve to rot in hell

And then there's type two: You deserve the peace that comes with death because life has just tortured you so much and you don't deserve to live in agony anymore. Death is the most merciful outcome. You're sweet and deserve so so much better than life.

[vegantinatalist]

Anyone and everyone is welcome to send me asks or dms with questions about veganism! I am like a walking library and very much encourage it.

[whyisthislife]

If you think you are a failure, an idiot, or are worthless and useless, think about whatever it is that created this universe, this world. You will never be as bad as that thing, be it a cold, indifferent cosmic big boom or a mad sadistic devine mind. The thing that created a world where living beings are brought without their consent to suffer and die.

You're just fine.

Unless you are god

[paperlunamoth]

Nature is not your friend.

Nature is a not a force of benevolence. It does not think, it does not feel, it does not want. It is incapable of caring about the wellbeing of any living creature. It is not inherently good. An inherently good thing would necessarily either be inherently good in character, which nature cannot be because it is not a conscious being, or inherently good in what it does, the effects it has on the world, which nature is clearly not.

The evils born from human action are not separate from nature. They are a part of nature. They are examples of how the evils of nature manifest. Humans do not exist outside of nature. We are just as much a part and product of it as any other creature, as objects even, as water and the moon. And while nature is not a conscious thing, it can and does cause immeasurable harm. It is evil because of this harm caused. Not in the way a man is evil, but in the way cancer is evil, in the way an earthquake taking hundreds of lives and leaving people trapped, injured, and starving for days is evil. Not evil as in a being who is morally corrupt, but evil as in a thing which generates injustice. A child who suffers the fate of dying horribly from disease is a victim of evil just as much as a child who is poisoned by another human is a victim of evil. True evil is in the experiencing of injustice, not in the deliberate creation of it. A victim of evil is created when a being is made to suffer. The nature of the perpetrator, what blame, of what kind, and to what extent, can be placed on it, is irrelevant. A victim is a victim whether they understand why they were harmed or not, whether they hate that which harmed them or not, whether they judge it or not, whether it can be held accountable or not, their pain is just as real and their suffering is just as unjust, just as wrong, just as unfair, just as undeserved, just as cruel, just as evil.

Whatever hate you hold in your heart for humanity, hold it too for nature, who imbued humanity with both the ability to experience harm and the ability to inflict it. Who gave humanity its impulses, its urges, its instincts, prejudices, and perversions. Whatever sympathy you feel for animals who are made to suffer through human action, feel it too for the animals who suffer independently of the influence of humanity, who succumb to torturous diseases, broken limbs and open wounds, tape worms and bot flies, and deformities which render them incompatible with survival from their very birth.

To detest evil is to detest nature itself. To love nature is to dismiss its evils as not truly evil, to dismiss suffering as not truly unjust. To love goodness is to love happiness, joy, and pleasure, to love what of these things can be felt, created, spread, and preserved. But there is no loving of goodness in the love of nature. If nature can be, and often is, seen as good through the good it births, regardless of its status as a mere force, then it can be seen as evil through its creation of evil as well. And just as we would not consider a person who committed uncountable horrible acts to be redeemable through any number of good ones, we should not see the good that nature creates as capable of excusing or justifying its innumerable works of evil, which include amongst them all the evils of humanity.

[nicklloydnow]

“Against the World, Against Life

More so today than ever before, Lovecraft would have been a misfit and a recluse. Born in 1890, he already appeared to his contemporaries, in the years of his youth, to be an obsolete reactionary. It's not hard to imagine what he would have thought of our society today. Since his death, it has not ceased evolving in a direction which could only have led him to hate it more. Mechanization and modernization have ineluctably destroyed the lifestyle he was attached to with his every fiber (it is not as if he harbored any delusions about humanity's ability to influence events; as he wrote in a letter, "Everything in modern existence is a direct & absolute corollary of the discoveries of applied steam power & of large-scale applications of electrical energy"). The ideals of liberty and of democracy that he so abhorred have spread all over the planet. The man who declared: "What we detest is simply change itself" could only have bristled at the degree to which the idea of progress has come to be an indisputable and almost unconscious credo. The reach of liberal capitalism has extended over minds; in step and hand in hand with it are mercantilism, publicity, the absurd and sneering cult of economic efficiency, the exclusive and immoderate appetite for material riches. Worse still, liberalism has spread from the domain of economics to the domain of sexuality. Every sentimental fiction has been eradicated. Purity, chastity, fidelity, and decency are ridiculous stigmas. The value of a human being today is measured in terms of his economic efficiency and his erotic potential — that is to say, in terms of the two things that Lovecraft most despised.

Horror writers are reactionaries in general simply because they are particularly, one might even say professionally, aware of the existence of Evil. It is somewhat curious that among Lovecraft's numerous disciples, none has been struck by this simple fact: the evolution of the modern world has made Lovecraftian phobias ever more present, ever more alive.

(…)

True, this is a treacherous path that only leads to narrow straits. Not because of censorship or litigation. Horror writers probably feel that marked hostility toward any form of freedom in the end breeds hostility to life itself. Lovecraft felt the same way, but he did not stop halfway; he was an extremist. That the world was evil, intrinsically evil, evil by its very essence, was a conclusion he had no trouble reaching, and this was also the most profound meaning of his admiration for Puritans. What amazed him about them was that they "hated life and scorned the platitude that it is worth living." We shall traverse this vale of tears that separates birth from death, but we must remain pure. HPL in no way shared the hopes of Puritans; but he shared their refusal. He explained his point of view in a letter to Belknap Long (written, moreover, only a few days before his marriage):

"And as for Puritan inhibitions—I admire them more every day. They are attempts to make of life a work of art—to fashion a pattern of beauty in the hog-wallow that is animal existence— and they spring out of that divine hatred of life which marks the deepest and most sensitive soul."

Toward the end of his days, he did come to, at times, express poignant regrets in the face of the solitude and perceived failure of his existence. But his regrets remained, if one might express them thus, theoretical. He remembered the periods in his life (the end of adolescence, the brief and decisive interval of marriage) where his path might clearly have bifurcated toward what is called happiness. But he understood that he was probably incapable of behaving any other way. And in the end, like Schopenhauer, he concluded that he hadn't fared too badly.

He faced death with courage. Struck by intestinal cancer that spread to his entire upper body, he was transported on March 10, 1937, to the Jane Brown Memorial Hospital. He was an exemplary patient, polite, affable, whose stoicism and courtesy impressed all the nurses, in spite of his very intense physical suffering (thankfully attenuated by morphine). He underwent the pangs of death with resignation and perhaps with a certain secret satisfaction. This life that was leaving behind its carnal envelope was his old enemy; he had denigrated it, fought it, he would not utter a single word of regret. And he passed away, without further incident, on March 15, 1937.

As biographers have said, "Lovecraft died, his work was born." And indeed, we have just begun to put him in his true place, equal or superior to that of Edgar Poe—in any event, resolutely unique. In the face of the repeated failure of his literary creations, he at times felt the sacrifice of his life had actually been in vain. Today we can pronounce a different judgment; we can, for he has been our essential guide, taking us on initiatory journeys to different universes that lie somewhere well beyond the limits of human experience, but that provoke in us a precise and terrible emotional impact.

This man, who did not succeed at life, did indeed succeed at writing. It was hard for him. It took him years. New York helped him. He who was so gentle, so courteous, discovered hatred there. Returning to Providence, he composed the magnificent tales that vibrate like incantations, that are as precise as a dissection. The dramatic structure of the "great texts" is impressively complex; the narrative procedures are precise, new and bold. Perhaps all this would not suffice were it not that at the center of the ensemble, one feels the power of a consuming interior force.

Every great passion, be it love or hate, will in the end generate an authentic work. One may deplore it, but one must recognize it: Lovecraft was more on the side of hate; of hate and fear. The universe, which intellectually he perceived as being indifferent, became hostile aesthetically. His own existence, which might have been nothing but the sum of banal disappointments, turned into a surgical operation, and an inverted celebration.

The work of his mature years remains faithful to the physical prostration of his youth, transfiguring it. This is the profound secret of Lovecraft's genius, and the pure source of his poetry: he succeeded in transforming his aversion for life into an effective hostility.

To offer an alternative to life in all its forms constitutes a permanent opposition, a permanent recourse to life—this is the poet's highest mission on this earth. Howard Phillips Lovecraft fulfilled this mission.” - Michel Houellebecq, ‘H. P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life’ (1991) [p. 135 - 140]

[theotherday1002]

Venus, the second planet from the sun, A barren world with no life to be won, A planet with a thick atmosphere, And a surface that's hot enough to sear.

The temperature is over 800 degrees, And the pressure is high enough to squeeze, The rocks and minerals into submission, Creating a world that's devoid of ambition.

There's no water or air to breathe, No plants or animals to see, Just a lifeless world that's barren and dry, A planet that's left alone to die.

But in this emptiness, there's no suffering or pain, No wars or conflicts to drive us insane, Just a world that's peaceful and serene, A place where nothing is ever mean.

~ Bing AI

[harakira]

[kvn-waldo]

True Detective (2014)

[juliansummerhayes]

What has become of us?

As you know, the question “How did it get like this?” is one I continue to wrestle with, if only to remind myself that it hasn��t always been like this, i.e. we haven’t always had to face an existential threat of such magnitude.

As for the rest of the human malaise, atrocities and inequality, that appears to have been there (practically) from the very start – and I don’t say that to in any way excuse what’s happening now or to come.

But how did it get like this?

How did we not see that that which goeth up and up would eventually bring ruination and destruction on such a scale that whatever we might believe we can do to ameliorate the consequences, the effect of big business, big pharma and big egos was simply that: too big a problem to change.

And yet, as COP28 and similar talking shops aptly demonstrate, our inability to accept that globalisation and our desire for a better life – better than what? – is simply unsustainable on a finite, animate world. 

When I think back to the late 70s and early 80s, when it’s arguable that things really got going – e.g. there is no society and greed is good and we’d never run out of oil – there were no cautionary tales to tether our hubris and self-belief that we could be anything we wanted to be, have what we wanted and enjoy the best of everything. I’m not saying everyone was so in love with materialism and be all you can be but I don’t remember any of my teachers, and certainly not my parents, telling me to aspire to be less than what I was capable of and that meant, of course, consuming and destroying as I went along.

Imagine it otherwise.

Imagine that there was at least an elder or two who could have applied a gentle brake to my putative runaway success, and asked the simple but profound question:

“. . .[B]ut at what cost?”

We know only too well, now, the cost, and the Gods have spoken but still we don’t take heed or not on a scale anywhere sufficient to give us a wee bit more time to find a way to leave this planet for Mars – or wherever the dot.com money is taking us.

As a slight segue, I remember watching one or two videos of the father (apparently) of efilism, Immendam*, who promulgated the idea that all life was inherently bad and someone should press the Red Button to end it all. Radical, nihilist and pro-mortalist for sure but at least there was someone who had a very different narrative on what it meant to be human. I’m not saying I agree with his thesis, and certainly I’m not endorsing him or his material, but I am pointing to a different version of what I’d been exposed to throughout my adult life. Not in the same bracket, but Professor David Bennatar’s book, Better Never To Have Been, was also something that made me think that if only I’d had the benefit of someone in my early days who was prepared to explain what our growing population was and would do to the earth, and that once we all succumbed to the neo-capitalist messaging and adopted mutatis mutandis the same modus vivendi (apologies for the Latin), that it was game over.

But I’m going off the point.

The question is and will remain, how did it get like this? And it’s one I feel duty bound to explore and to share my musings on, if only because I don’t want it said that I didn’t leave a few web-based breadcrumbs for the next generation who are being or have been hoodwinked to believe that this is ‘normal’ (more like insanity if you ask me).

I’m sorry if my message, at least for now, seems repetitive and a little anodyne but it’s where I’m at.

Blessings, Julian 

*Antinatalism led to efilism, a school of thought pioneered by a man known as “Inmendham” on YouTube. Efilists don’t only subscribe to antinatalism but believe all life — animals included — is inherently negative. – We need to talk about extreme antinatalism, Unheard, 5 April 20023

Photo by Chris Yang on Unsplash

PS. I have updated my Ko-fi page where you can support my work for as little as £1 either as a one-off payment or recurring subscription.

[crookedm1lkshake]

A woman (یک زن)

این گفته زنی است که در کشورش در درجه دوم و سوم اهمیت قرار دارد و جان او نصف جان یک مرد است. به غیر از  حاکمان

هیچکس نمی داند بعد از تولد قرعه زندگی تا کجا به نفع یک کودک است. پس از بررسی، روزانه بیش از ۱۰ کودک در کشورها ربوده می شوند. بدست قاچاقچیان فروخته شده یا اعضای بدنشان، حتی چشمان و انگشتانشان، میلیاردها دلار به منظور فروش و کسب سود قاچاق می شوند

هر کودکی در این ریسک قرار دارد. آیا با اطمینان می توانید بگویید تا آخر عمر عصایشان خواهید بود؟ در ۸۰ سالگی هم مراقبشان خواهید بود؟ با چه تضمینی؟ 

آبهای زیرزمینی کشور من به عمق ۲۰۰ متر رسیدند. دریاچه ها خشک شدند. خونابه های بیمارستان، مواد رادیواکتیو و فاضلاب های صنعتی در رودخانه های شیرین در جریان است و ما آنها را می نوشیم. گازهای سمی و ذرات ریز خاک در هواست. ما آینده ای نداریم

لطفا آگاهیتان را افزایش دهید تا بدانید این ارتش حکومتی که به دنیا می اورید تا چند درصد و با چه تضمینی به کودکان اینده ای که در رویایتان نقاشی کرده اید خواهد داد؟

These are the words of a woman who is treated as a second-class citizen and whose “life” is worth half that of a man in her country 

No one knows if things will work out in a child’s favor after birth. Around the world, it is estimated that over 10 children go missing every day. Their bodies are sold for the purpose of child labour or prostitution. The selling and buying of their organs alone generates billions of dollars 

Every child is at risk. Can you confidently say that you will be there for them for the rest of your “life?” Will you take care of them when they grow older? Can you guarantee that you will?

In our country, groundwater depletion reached 200 meters. Our lakes have been shrinking. Hospital, radioactive and industrial wastes have been released into our drinking water. Our air is unbreathable. We simply have no future

Please ask yourselves: can you guarantee that the chattels you give birth to will see themselves in the picture of the future you painted for them? 

[There is no guarantee. You may realize that nothing can be more horrifying than “life” or birth itself]

[elhopper1sm]

People apparently make friends thru social media somehow. I don't know how the fuck that works. Every person I see looks like they could use a good shot to the head. Ngl. I hate most people I see just walking down the street. Just them breathing pisses me off. I hate all of them. Stupid fuckers.

[vegantinatalist]

When you're dESPERATE for attention (but not from fckin murderers)

(btw i didnt remove an artists watermark, this is just some ai generated image found on google)

[whyisthislife]

[vegantinatalist]

"how to ensure your slave with extra steps cant get away"

Me

[hunxi-after-hours]

"If rest becomes a form of recovery from work, as is the case today, it loses its specific ontological value. It no longer represents an independent, higher form of existence and degenerates into a derivative of work. Today's compulsion of production perpetuates work and thus eliminates that sacred silence. Life becomes entirely profane, desecrated."

—Han Byung-Chul, The Disappearance of Rituals (trans. Daniel Steuer)

[harakira]

Virginia Woolf - Mrs. Dalloway