All conflicts turn over time into conflicts of exploitation.
Or, "Every conflict reduces to a conflict of attrition".
Winning conflicts is usually not about making the right move at the right time in the right way in the right place.
Sure, you can kill someone with a single bullet, but in conflicts where the winner is not immediately determined, and where the conflict involves far more than an individual person, or individual groups, you see the same pattern - a pattern of attrition.
Millennials and unambitious leftists lobotomized of all willpower and autonomous thinking are zealously focused on individual small comments that 'own' someone, on individual saber thrusts to 'cancel' people, on producing the right kind of 'witty' lines at the right times to devastate someone, pin someone to the ground.
The more tired and lethargic someone is, the more they place importance on individual 'ownings'.
Why? Because these people want to get rid of antagonistic forces as quickly as possible, as they cannot endure protracted conflicts - which they lose. If they are dragged down into the trenches of attrition warfare they wither as quickly as spring flowers.
As a rule, you don't defeat a person, a movement, a group via individual blows, but rather through exhaustion.
For example, a person who has been 'giga owned' can rise - as if from the dead - if the person in question has enough grit to rise again, and again, and again, and punch back, absorb blows, while he also grows or re-grows - brings others into the struggle on his side, broadens the front, expands, widens again, finds new angles of attack, powers through to find new resources to tap into, more ammuntion, new ideas. The shots may come ringing past you, but for the opponent, any attempt at subjugation is like sowing wind straight into a hurricane - they only feed a growing storm.
In melee, the one who wins the battle of attrition - as I said - is the one who gets up again, and again, and again.
In writing, the one who wins the battle of attrition is the one who writes the longest, the most, the one who is prepared to fire reply upon reply upon reply and drag the other down in an eternal duel of attrition. The enemy is expecting his artillery to clear the positions in front of him and leisurly walk across nomans land in triumph, not ready to find fanatical stormtroops still in place, shaking off the dust, not having moved an inch, ready to recieve them like posessed fanatics firing machinegun fire of butchering text at them as if nothing had happened.
And in the larger perspective, the one who constantly reinvents, recalibrates, relaunches himself is the one who wins, the one who ignites his whole soul with the passion for the struggle and carries it like an Olympic flame, in an immortal relay.
Many on the right ruminate, in various cocktail lounge texts, about the so-called 'will' to power—but you have not understood, not even to the smallest of degrees, what will is, what will in practice is, if you have not at the same time understood refusal.
Refusal is the solar fusion chamber of will, and without refusal, will is like a reed in the wind, like streaks of light in a stream: ephemeral, a constant pursuit of an unattainable dream, a dying song to drown one's despair in.
Ask a person what they 'want', and you have, regardless of the answer, nothing to judge the person by. The will is simple, everyone has the will. Instead, ask what a person refuses, what he sincerely refuses - and you will learn everything about the person.
You can live a life of passive will, of dreams, and flow with the current of time towards the desolation the world chooses for you, in your own absence. But all those who get their way in the end stand atop an immovable mountain of refusal.
Men love war, because there is no purer and more unbridled primal form of refusal than war itself. But we can channel that power everywhere, through our entire lives, that power of refusal; and we who do so inherit the fire we burn, the fire that burns the world.
We are the inheritors of the situation the 1848 revolutionaries found themselves in, a movement exemplified by hairbrained ideas mixed with winning ones cooked up by over caffinated brains in hidden coffeehouses filled with establishment informants. Dreaming men who refused to accept that the world should be allowed to go on as it had the past centuries who asked themselves “What is Germany? Is it the snaking river Elbe? Is it the mountains of Bavaria? Is it the uneducated beer swirling peasants? Is it the pompous middling mayors of rural towns? Is it the magistrates and effete aristocrats?” -No, they concluded. Germany is an idea, and the idea of Germany burned darkly in their minds as their contemplated the pen in their hand. An idea so all encompassing and powerful one is ready to refuse all compromise, all half-measures, all obstacles and realities and bulldoze all existing institutions and noble POC estates to achieve it. Ready to commit ones life to the struggle of its realization, even if that ended in certain death in front of a firing squad. Those who talked about the revolution failing in 1793 and not liking Robspierre “because he lost” are dismissed as cuckolds useless to us. They are sidelined in the relentless march of history we are embarking on.
We are the inheritors of the situation the 1566 dutch found themselves in, a movement for freedom of their people from swarthy cosmopolitan imperialists and their religious NGO. Spreading the righteous truths declared heretical texts by the authorities in whispered voices of taverns that would land you ontop a burning pyre if caught. Keeping up pretenses in public while fomenting ideas that would detonate the current world order in violent struggle if let out in private. Ready to one day march into the enemys holiest places and smash all the icons of their false saints, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Martin Luther King. Defile their altars to sodom and drive out their appointed credentialist priests. Not negotiate but declare complete independence from the world order as your puritan shocktroops bulldoze the pagan monasteries known as Harvard, Cambridge, Oxford and all the others. Outlaw their pagan holidays of pride month, black history month. Those who talked about the reformation failing in 1547 and not liking the Shmalkaldic league, feeling a need to distance themselves from it “because they lost” are ignored as impotent bitchmales. We dig ourselves in and await the Empire to strike back, surrender and you and your descendants will be reduced to slavish belgians, left to degenerate into tax cattle forever. Stand on top of that mountain of refusal not to give an inch, with irrational zeal and certainty in the in the Lords promise and God will reward you with freedom, prosperity, lands across the world to shape after your liking, and bless your descendants to multiply countlessly.
We are not debaters or thinkers of the old conservative order wishing to maintain some shreds of what is good, we are revolutionaries. We are dynamite ready to explode. We are a lion roaring on top of a cliff, we can only exclaim “Here I stand, I can do no other!”
Banger
Damn, that resonated.