2:6:25

“We don’t know who anyone is. It’s a coordinated clandestine operation.”

-News Treason Media

The Gospel of Saint Lucy

They always say, “Support your local bookstore.” I always said it too. And I meant it. I didn’t use Amazon for 5 years, only Abe Books and a few used bookshops in town. But this is why I no longer go to bookstores in NYC, or in cities like New York, or in towns in NY ( for example, Woodstock, where my parents live, where there are permanent Pride flags in the windows and Obama and Clinton and Fauci memoirs), because this is the kind of shit that covers all the display tables. This is the shit that wins all the awards and ‘Best of Lists.” So what is the point of browsing through it and being reminded of what this world has come to and who rules it. For the record, I’ve known and read LUC Sante’s work for decades and did readings with him. He barely ever spoke to anyone and was a rude gruff weird prick. It’s interesting, isn’t it, the weird white men who were creepy or shady their entire life now get to rebrand themselves as the perfect woman, or what Andrew Klavan calls “make believe women”? Now he’s a girl and everyone loves it. A year or two ago, while walking in my neighborhood, I saw a very strange and creepy “woman” approaching. A “woman” who was clearly not a woman but someone unhinged, looking at me very strangely. It looked like the transvestite, “Bobbi,” from Brian De Palma’s Dressed to Kill (1981), mixed in with Bette Davis from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Bright red crooked lipstick, wobbly legs in tights, and a terrible blonde wig. A face that looked a bit like Andy Warhol’s, with his bad pale skin and white wigs. And now look how far “Lucy’s” come. I spent my life browsing bookstores—my sanctuaries—and about 10 years ago I stated to feel depressed by it. I started to notice these trends, these curated table displays, these usual suspects who kept getting all the attention. Browsing books used to be one of my favorite things to do. I did it all the time with my father growing up. It was a source of wonder and mystery. He’d take me to Soho Books and Saint Mark’s Bookstore (I have a lot to say about them in retrospect, but I won’t do it now). But now, like everything else in this City, and in this country, ideology, Wokeness, and dumb trends/engineered popularity have completely taken over, making it unbearable. These are not books. These are acts of propaganda and government ops sponsored and rewarded by the State. Don’t let the “costume” of identities fool you. This is the oldest form of indoctrination, mind control, and censorship there is. Notice how the “victims” are always wildly successful and institutionally protected? The amount of insanity, perversion, and bullshit one has to swallow and accept—and participate in—in order to, what, BE in the arts? BE an artist, critic, or intellectual? No. There is no way one can operate in these worlds/circles if one has any kind of counter opinion/point of view, or what Walter Kirn calls rival opinions—or good old fashioned critical opinions—at this point. Let alone a real critical and truly imaginative mind. If you were to openly disagree verbally, or in writing, at either an event or social function, in a City like NYC, with any of these current cultural and political issues, I guarantee you you would be decimated, and even thrown out of the venue. So that means you can only have a career/place in the arts or academia, if you either: keep you mouth shut, or, you support, praise, and endorse these ideas. Those are your options. That’s it.

To me, being a true artist, writer, critic, and thinker is to never follow the herd or mob, even if it’s on your side. To always stand alone in your ideas. If people agree and value what you do, great. But writers and thinkers must stand alone. Stand apart. The group thing is never a good idea, even if it’s working in your favor. Most friendship groups are more like cults. You belong to them. So do your choices. If you want to be the modern-day Truman Capote, and be a psuedo-socialite posing as a writer or publisher, and hang out with celebrities and politicians (there’s a reason Capote is such a popular figure again for people like Ryan Murphy and Hollywood. My question about a lot of famous writers and artists now is: did they actually even write these books or make this art, or was most of it ghostwritten? I suggested the same about film composer John Williams in a post a few weeks ago after watching the 2024 documentary about him), go for it. That’s not my bag and never was. But don’t tell me what my bag is, especially when it comes to being a woman. Or a thinker. Ever.

You can’t do drag when it comes to race, right? Even as a child, you can’t go anywhere near “cultural appropriation” for Halloween without being lambasted.

The big question for me is: If everything is in favor of the lie/liar and coward, what happens to you when you tell the truth? How does one live and love and think in a world of conformists? Vicious conformists. I’m beginning to think that people don’t even know how to tell the truth anymore because there is no value in it, personally or collectively.

New York Stories, 1989 (Oedipus Wrecks)

First old Ken Wark started with this, then Luc Sante. Both white married men with families who left their life-long wives, and whose literary careers exploded once their started calling themselves women and wearing bad make-up and little dresses made for 13 year old girls going through puberty, Dylan Mulvaney-style. Wark was—is?—chair of film and media studies at The New School (talk about infiltrating academia and getting to the kids), where I taught for 6 years. He hired me but he never let me advance despite all the highly original film classes I came up with every semester and their popularity (long waiting lists for every single one). But we knew each other for years before that; ran in the same circles, published with the same presses. He reviewed my work and was supportive towards me in the beginning, as a young writer, and then turned when I didn’t play by his administrative rules. Over the years, a lot of female students complained to me about Wark’s behavior with them and his weird sexist interpretations, in which he positioned himself as a constant victim, in his classes. I always felt a tinge of jealousy in his so-called admiration for my work. Like Sante, he was always awkward and very difficult to talk to. Almost never made eye contact. A typical Leftie man, posing as a feminist, who acted like anything but (read his book on Kathy Acker, I’m Very Into You. He was her lover. Even then I didn’t like the things he was doing and writing about. I knew something was up. My first thought when reading that very odd book of “love” letters was, ”Why the fuck would Kathy Acker ever be gaga over a man like Wark?” Which according to hose private letters she was. It made no sense to me. He came off as a typical ‘sexually fluid’ anarcho-narcissist). Now I know why. The timing for Wark’s and Sante’s “transitions,” and what was exploding both in the culture and academia at the time (around 2017/2018), was perfect entry for them. Both were in their late 50, early 60s. Imagine how their wives and young kids must have felt. Oh wait, they’re not allowed to feel anything except what the Woke Left and their lunatic fathers tell them they are allowed to feel. I remember Wark’s radical feminist wife (who taught in the same program as me and was friendly with me) trying to put on a brave face and act like it was the greatest thing in the world that her husband was still living at their family home, while clubbing all night in mini skirts with Twinks and doing drugs. If Wark were a regular straight guy (do those still exist?), we’d call him a prick having a middle aged crisis while cheating on his wife. But no, this is liberation. This is heroism. As soon as I sympathetically pushed back against his wife’s narrative (he didn’t even bother to divorce her for years), she sort of caved, and became more critical of it. What kind of asshole continues to live at home with his wife and kids after putting them through something like this? And then writing about it endlessly in every publication he could. And wining awards for it. Doesn’t it sound like the age old story of men in their 40s and 50s leaving their first wife and first family in order to have a brand life and identity with a new woman in her 20s and 30s? But this is a new spin, one you cannot be criticized or scolded for. You’re not even a guy, so how can you be accused of acting like one? You’re not allowed to call these men selfish dicks because, they don’t have one! Or, they don’t “identify” with having one, even if they have one, which most of them still do. Why would a man ever give up such a powerful appendage when they can just claim they don’t even want or need it while still wielding the phallus and fucking with it?

Identity is now one big giant legal clause and ideological loophole. You can use it to gaslight and psychologically ambush anyone about anything. They have been trained to fight you to death (and I mean trained), which proves that this is not an organic phenomenon, nor is it about being an unprotected victim or a threatened class. With Wark’s salary, he had more than enough money to find his own place after he started openly living as a “woman,” and should have regardless. But this beautiful and incredibly touching thing happened yesterday, so there’s that. This is what all Divine Masculines should be doing, helping to protect women and children, when needed, not killing their dreams and breaking their spirit. And here is the Blair White with a good run down of the psyop.