Salting the Earth in Our Wake

“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.” — H.L. Mencken

America is a shit show right now, but it’s been a financially good week for me. After Trump won, the economy had some snap fluctuations before promptly stabilizing again. In addition, precious metals dipped as the dollar gained unexpected momentum, all around the time when I had plans to expand my investments.

If metals stay weak, c’est la vie. If not, it’s just as well that I buy cheap.

Next Stop: Silver Speculation!

Then there’s the meme market, which saw a predictable rally around November 8th, dipped a bit as enthusiasm leveled, but continues to remain bullish with bantz and positively gushing with cancer.

The point of is that we’re safe for now and having good, wholesome fun with a prognosis of fresh made memes, dank as ‘dro-grown New York diesel. Hell, /pol/ even found a new warrior queen.

Mai Trumpist waifu, Candice the Cuckslayer.

The bullish market is encouraging news for those of us who’ve been enjoying the saltiness of the left. In a pathetic yet deeply entertaining display of weakness, Trump’s opponents have thrown off the pretense of reevaluating their worldviews and resolved to see this as an end-of-days scenario. I kept calm through it all, drunk on mead and an awkward soup of hops and spices Blue Moon calls a “seasonal brew,” well stocked, centered, and mentally prepped for most anything, and now, more than a week later, I feel vindicated. The earth kept steady. The global market failed to tank. I didn’t need to barricade my house and perch at my window whilst toting my shotty like a Korean shop-owner. Yes, there were protests and riots, ugly shits flipped from sea to shining sea, but all things considered, we did pretty good.

Liberal saltiness, or “salt,” as it’s commonly known, is a bit of an economic oddity. Delivered through the medium of social media-and particularly memes-it adheres to the law of supply and demand, seeing concomitant peaks and troughs with every turn of the market. However, because salt is virtually free, a monopoly is virtually impossible to hold.

The salt industry exemplifies liberty. It can be rendered by anybody with hands to draw the raw ore of internet rage. This typically means that inferior, mass-produced memes will have weaker salt content and perform worse than those produced by independent creators unhindered by corporate sluggishness or regulatory shackles. However, given time to proliferate, and supposing demand remains high enough to sustain the trade itself, salt quality will naturally improve.

“I am a god.” — Yeezy

Salt’s value lies in schadenfreude, a rare yet agreeable flavor. That’s what made this past week-and-a-half so good. Figuratively speaking, we’re drinking Clinton’s sweet, sweet liberal tears and savoring every minute of it. Sure, they taste like Salafist blood money and the broken dreams of Haitian children, but it’s a flavor so rare that the palate shows a reflexive twinge of astonishment, if not hedonistic bliss.

Notice the haggardness. Not even bathing in the blood of innocents can halt her degeneration now.

Every so often, I feel obligated to remind people that I’ve no more love for Trump than the average apoplectic lefty. He’s a virulent statist and I, for lack of a better descriptor, am such a miserable skeptic when it comes to anarchy’s application that I’ve rejected anarchism itself. Violence, blindness, and mistakes abound on both sides of the political rift. While disturbances flare from both Trumpists and Clintonites, the common operative mechanism is tribalism, not some broad moral failing on one side or the other. It’s low-intensity gang violence, but I don’t want a fucking tribe.

What concerns me most about the conflict is that the ultimate beneficiaries of both sides’ “success” are likely to be our increasingly overbearing, predatory, iron-fisted overseers. The danger is more apparent with Trump now that he’s begun to stack his administration with establishment fuckboys who’ll probably serve with the resentful, power bottom aggression I expect to be visited on their Daddy’s opponents, but the liberals ain’t short on power fantasies. We’ll get to that later.

For now, we consider Trump. To his credit, he has made moves to dissociate from law-and-order hardliner Christie, purge lobbyists, and maybe even cut Iraq architect and foreign policy hawk Michael Bolton. It’d be cold comfort if Rudy “Pay attention to me because 9/11” Giuliani gets tapped for a position, but like everything else, we haven’t a fucking clue how this noxious flower will ultimately bloom.

The possibilities are unseemly, but if Trump is smart about this, he might slip into preexisting ecosystems of power, negotiation, and intrigue with a solid team of wingnut insurgents eager to fuck shit up. To get anything done in this system, you need professional sluts to root around the Capitol District asshole, massaging its oligarchic prostate ’til the dying colon of late-stage empire leaks what little prosperity there’s left to be had. Who benefits is yet to be seen, but it might as well be the whores with the bony, aggressive fingers, right?

Nobody with an ounce of political wisdom expects a perfect translation of hardline election positions into policy, much less miracles. However, there is at least the potential for some good. What Trump can’t get through his peers he might secure with a salvo of executive orders, and according to an election promise from the God Emperor himself, Trump will “ cancel every unconstitutional executive action, memorandum and order issued by President Obama.”

This promise, in spite its bureaucratic handicaps, carries immense possibility. If Congress stonewalls the new prez, which I suspect they will, he’ll have no other recourse to do what he wants, much less make good on the promises of the furious electorate that flung him into power. So he’ll do his own thing. If it actually works, that could mean libertarians itching for smaller government are in for four years of Federally-mandated Christmas gifts.

Imagine, in the below video, that all the Burmese soldiers are unconstitutional executive orders and that each bullet, knife, and RPG round is a Trump-imposed nullification. Then you’ll understand my excitement.


So except for a handful of appointments, a touch of optimism, and a metric shit ton of conjecture, we have nothing substantial with which we can augur Trump’s political game. In my mind, that means he can’t be trusted. However, given his apparent ambivalence toward establishment neocons and his stated intention to gut regulations…well…it might not be a complete disaster…

This is a sensitive, unprecedented time when we can’t just vomit irascible pouts or spit intemperate shrieks of partisan dejection at the first sign of the unknown. I’m unaligned. That means I adapt to possibility, not acquiesce to it like a misguided hope. It means I consider my options before rushing into an abortive revolt. Why? ’Cause believe it or not, a quality fight need not be an immediate headlong charge into your enemies’ guns, or the taking up of someone else’s weapon to counter the fire you might weather yourself. Or maybe just because sometimes the unknown can bring about some good.

That’s why salt is so precious now. It’s not just that its taste is divine, but that it’s supremely effective against an American left that’s so broken, desperate, and without bearings that it’s looking to sabotage its own cause. Trust in the system lies in tatters, but the left still clamors for comfortable leadership, lords to whom they’d gladly-and foolishly-entrust their hearts, minds, mortal coils, and supple upper-middle class rectums. The Democratic Party has been forced, in defeat, to make its progressive fringe their spearhead to save face with its constituents. Mass resistance is subject to co-opting by the same extra-governmental players who embarrassingly failed to hold their line against the populist wave. Even Clinton, once seemingly untouchable, has been savaged so bad that commentators are suggesting her “era” is over.

The left’s post-election damage control isn’t largely outside and in opposition to the ailing crony state, but rather relies on its overwhelming power. In lieu of one potential dictator, they’d opt for millions of petty tyrants, all eager to serve interests that don’t give a flying fuck about them.

Not that some kinda progressive reformation, trimmed and sanitized by the powers-that-be, would stand much of a chance anyway. In case you ain’t seen the polls, Americans largely consider their leaders to be garbage.

Graph sourced from Gallup

There’s a sense that party libs are trapped in a desolate paradigm, completely devoid of perspective, self-critique, or intellectual growth, panicking over the risk that they might lose civil liberties while overlooking the erosion of those same liberties on their own lackadaisical watch.

From this shrill delusion, I suggest we draw salt. To stay our hands now is to give the petulant creep of authoritarian socialism a pass. It denies us the opportunity to find new strategies to handle Trump and neutralize power-starved fear with blatant mockery, much as some among us have already done with the collapsing paradigm of “social justice.”

All things considered, this is a good look for Zoe Quinn.

Partisan objections to “divisiveness” totally miss the point, which is that salt is the cultural solvent that keeps our discourse both effective and dangerous. It confuses, frustrates, and distracts its targets. By igniting conversation and buoying digestible critique above the sclerosis of mainstream media, it keeps the gangrene out of our nation’s deepest wounds. When we dance and laugh, we understand just how fucking stupid it is to beg your masters for freedom. They won’t give it. You gotta take it yourself.

I’m poised for an intellectual, spiritual, and maybe even a physical war to sustain the intrepid sublimity of the American soul. Statist critics come from all directions. Fascists stand supple at the points of all bayonets. No matter where the blades are trained, those steel pinions find threats wherever they’re driven. So let the solvent break down dead, rigid ideologies as the emotive masses tangle themselves in impotent, fruitless rage and the clueless hierophants hazard their vain attempts at social control. Let the bantz block the metastasis of the new counterinsurgency, those cruel words married, as a true revolutionary’s efforts are, with a desperate gambit for greater liberty in the lengthening shadow of a tyrannical state.

When the black flag’s on high, I’ll whet my knife. But ’til then, let there only be salt.

Keep the markets humming, brothers.

If you voted blue, you probably wanna to know where you can send your hate mail. In that case, you can always reach me in my Facebook group, Chilled Monkey Brains, where I’ll look forward to laughing at your death threats.