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I’m still technically on day 4 of a complete fast, but I’m almost at the end.
At this point, I’ve begun wondering: is 8 days really a good goal? Or should I try to push it further?
I guess that will depend on how I feel on day 8, but I’m thinking right now that there is no reason to not just keep pushing this to 10 or more days.
There is no real problem here. I don’t have high energy. I think if I was trying to write it would be difficult. But there is no suffering, and in fact, there is a kind of euphoria, which is a nice feeling.
When my mind wanders, I start to say “wow, I better go eat something,” and then I remember. But that’s all. It’s not really difficult for me. Though I’ve always been good at suffering and at self-discipline, so maybe I’m unique.
But if I’m going to 8 days, and I am definitely going to do that because I already told myself I was going to do that, then why not go further? I’m not going all the way to Easter, because I’m losing 0.5 kilos (1 pound) per day, and so that would not be viable.
But I feel great. Everyone should do this. I think most people could do this while working, if they used coffee (black, obviously, although I shouldn’t have to say that – black coffee has zero calories). How hard actually is your job? But to be fair, I quit my job because it sucked and it was boring and everyone just complained and I didn’t make any money, so now I can sit around and discover for the third time in my life just how shitty William Faulkner actually is. Man, is he shitty. He’s actually somehow worse than James Joyce. I thought maybe with my head in a bit of a different space, I’d be able to “get” what I was apparently “missing” in Faulkner, but there is nothing to get. It’s just complete garbage.
Most literature, in fact, is garbage. At least 90% of celebrated literature is an “emperor has no clothes” situation where people are supposed to believe it is good because someone who convinced them they are smart told them it is good. Some of the aesthetics are interesting, but if there is no commentary beyond “life is shitty and people are sad and also look at how clever I am,” then what is actually the point of wasting your time?
I do think there are a lot of good books, however. Because there are just so many books. But I have always felt I needed to go through and read the “celebrated literary classics,” and though I’ve done many of them, so many of them I end up just saying “what the hell am I doing here? Why is this worth my time?” Faulkner is especially painful because it is just so much work. I would rather dig a ditch. Maybe it’s not worse than Infinite Jest, and it’s just that Infinite Jest doesn’t have so many words that I do not recognize. But I would rather read Infinite Jest than Absalom, Absalom!, and I would rather dig a trench in the Donbass than read Infinite Jest.
Show me a man who would rather read Absalom, Absalom! than watch Inferno with Jean-Claude Van Damme, and I’ll show you a yellow bastard who deserves to die in the most humiliating way imaginable.
I have been rereading the bibliography of Ed Brubaker. I’m almost done with the Criminal omnibus and I’m not sure what I have to say about this just yet, other than that it is better than everything anyone ever won a Pulitzer for, combined.
Check the list. I’d say maybe Sinclair Lewis, I guess Steinbeck just because I mean, okay. Upton Sinclair, maybe. And yea, The Old Man and the Sea is good. Norman Mailer should have been hanged right alongside John Updike. Some of these are black women (????). They literally put Michael Chabon on there. I’m serious. Empire Falls is fine I guess. Cormac McCarthy should have been exiled to a toxic waste zone like in Stalker. Then after 2007, it’s just DEI and standard Jewish nepotism. Except for maybe the Sympathizer, which I guess is DEI because it’s anti-American and written by a Viet traitor.
Honestly, I haven’t read all those books. Obviously I haven’t. It would take forever. But I’m familiar with most of them, and I did a project a few years ago where I tried to read parts of all of them. Maybe there is some gem in there I’m missing. But actual good stories are not on the list. How is it possible you don’t give the prize to books people actually enjoy reading? What are these literature people trying to prove?
Why did Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas not win in 1971? Um…
How did Kurt Vonnegut never win anything? Elmore Leonard? Philip K. Dick? Tom Clancy?
You want to tell me “To Kill a Mockingbird” is better than “Clear and Present Danger”? This is like some straight-up tranny-tier gaslighting.
How is it possible that The Bonfire of the Vanities, possibly the greatest American novel this side of Moby-Dick, lost in 1987 to… some book I’ve literally never even heard of?
How did neither Aldous Huxley nor Anthony Burgess ever win for anything?
Here’s the real question: how in the actual fuck does Michel Houellebecq not win every single year he publishes a novel?
He is the master of the universe. No living writer begins to compare, and very few of the dead ones do. And people actually admit that, probably because much of the material is just as vulgar as anything Cormac that old coot put out and the people reading it don’t understand that they’re the ones being targeted. Well, maybe since he published that Islam book, people do sort of understand who is being targeted here.
I don’t know. Maybe I’ll read more of these Pulitzer books and try to gain some further understanding of what is going on. They are not all anywhere near as torturous as Faulkner, which is literal ditch-digging labor to read. I’m not reading any of those books by niggers though, I can tell you that much.
Anyway, yeah, I started with Ed Brubaker, and specifically Criminal, which is the best of his comics work. The character studies are as good as anything you’re going to find in pulp crime fiction for sure, but sometimes the plots are pretty strained, and feel a bit rushed. And the women are written poorly. And the way men, who are supposed to be very hard, deal with women, is not realistic. But the reflections on male emotional motivations and the complexity of identity are pretty good, and it’s fun, even when the plots sort of collapse in on themselves.
Part of the issue with comics is that they are first a visual medium before a literary medium, and Brubaker uses Sean Phillips, who is one of the single best comic artists of all time, and the books would be worth looking at even if you didn’t bother reading the words. It can become hard to separate the art from the writing.
Criminal is largely a tribute/homage/rip-off of Sin City, and it is not as good. It’s much different. But Sin City was always tight as a noose. It also didn’t have leftist bullshit or stupid woman behavior or ridiculous reactions of hardened men to ridiculous women behavior, because Frank Miller is a fascist and he’s Irish and he doesn’t fuck around with pansy nonsense.
But then you have the “visual medium” issue, and is Miller, who drew the books himself, as good of an artist as Phillips? It’s too different to really make a fair comparison.
In some perfect universe, Frank Miller would write a new Sin City story and let Phillips draw it. Miller is only 68, but he might be too wasted to actually do anything of value at this point. Those last Dark Knight stories he did were complete trash. Like, straight irredeemable garbage. To the point where I don’t even know if he wrote it. It was about like, Trump being a fascist? Controlled by the Joker and Darkseid? I guess he was trying to get back into good graces after making a bunch of comments he wasn’t supposed to make. But it was like he told someone else “just write an apology book about Trump or whatever.” It was goofy and the satire wasn’t really even satire so much as just a cartoon. A total waste of Rafael Grampá’s art.
If that is what he is up to now, he couldn’t write a Sin City story. Or rather, he shouldn’t try. Time to do the proper and honorable Irish thing and die of liver failure alone in some dark room to be discovered days or weeks later, all bloated and stinking.
And that brings me back to the point about fasting.
When you fast, you can’t drink alcohol. I think this is necessary if you are prone to alcohol abuse. It’s much easier to stop drinking while stopping eating at the same time, because the drive for food definitely overpowers the drive for alcohol. My dreams are now all about food, not liquor. It also removes the sex drive, which also offers clarity.
Basically, everything you experience while fasting informs you as to why it is such a big thing in the Bible. Clarity of thought and purpose, calm, lack of sensuous desires, and various other things I’m not sure I can totally put into words yet.
Also, fasting cures cancer. Dr. Joseph Sun, who is not Jewish, is proving that chemo therapy is a gigantic big pharma scam that just poisons people and has a success rate somewhere in the range of Alcoholics Anonymous, while cancer cells are very hungry all the time, much more so than healthy cells, so when you cut off the food, the cancer cells are the ones to get eaten by the body first.
Also, you lose a pound a day. So if you’re twenty pounds overweight, fast for twenty days.
It also boosts testosterone and increases sexual health generally, which will help you keep the weight off.
This will solve every problem.
Of course, you have to have eat good food, but one would think that should be obvious. The government is poisoning us. All of this gluten free shit – go eat pasta every day in Italy and see if you still have “gluten sensitivity.” They are poisoning the food. Maybe it’s not a conspiracy, and it’s just that they use the cheapest ingredients possible and there are no regulations because America is so cartoonishly corrupt that lobbyists write laws, but it has the same effect: you are being poisoned by food. Not even third world countries allow this shit, other than Mexico, for obvious reasons (it’s right next to America so there is much overlap).
I used to fight the Jews but I’ve now come to the transcendental understanding that Jews are only possible because everyone is so pathetic. If men were not so pathetic, the extent of the Jewish problem would be exclusively based on the supply of firewood.
