A Civil War Between Wanting to Die and Wanting to Kill (schizopost)
A diplomatic way of saying “I want to fucking die”, would be something along the lines of “I have been struggling with depression and suicidal ideation for years”. A diplomatic way of saying “I want to fucking kill”, would be something along the lines of “I have been struggling with sociopathy and anger issues for years”.
But today, the non-diplomatic ways of saying these sentences feel true to me, while the diplomatic ways feel dishonest. I want to kill to reaffirm something that my world doesn’t have but my ancestors’ one did. I want to die because I know that thing will never come to my world.
Social media has been a cancerous tumor. It makes me want to kill. I want to hunt down the boomer homophobes, the red-faced racists, the slimy influencers that make up the right-wing social media rabbit hole, the soulless grifters endlessly praying on people’s insecurities, the terminally online who spread bullshit misinformation to push their destructive agendas. The disgusting and smelly old people who like to beat up gay people. The incel losers and religious conservatives who want to hunt down women living their life. I want to fucking kill them. I want to take a saw to their balls and rip them apart. I want to take a drill into their nostrils. I want to burn off their eyeballs with lighters and use the molten eye matter as lube for the jackhammers I shove up their anuses.
I feel justified for doing it. They have harmed the people dear to me. And they have perpetuated the sociocultural infrastructure that continues to harm those people to this day. I feel protective of my queer friends. I feel I have a responsibility to make sure they have as uncomplicated a life as possible. The masculine urge to defend the weak coinciding with the progressive notion to protect queer rights (It is also concerning that I am more comfortable exchanging fists for their sake than participating in mutual aid for their sake).
But on the other hand, I also want to die. Unlike the communities and minorities who can find meaning in their quest to be accepted and tolerated, I have no endgame of progressivism that can ultimately liberate me (foreshadowing is a literary devi-). As the height of non-economic social privilege in my country, I find that the only lane for me to find meaning in the culture war is to help the disenfranchise gain the same privileges I do. But still, that isn’t enough for me. I will never find complete self-actualization from being the Batman that protects my trans friends from reactionaries. There are many who arguably could, but I feel bad that that isn’t me.
And even if I did, that could never serve as a model for the whole of cishet society. I still feel depressed and alienated. I feel fear that if the mission of trans and gay acceptance is ever concluded with victory on our side, the end result is that of the queer community finding the same impasse as that of the cishet community. The privilege of seeing global neoliberal collapse at the front seat. The disillusionment of capitalist ennui shared with all sexualities and all gender identities. So knowing that, I want to die. I want to die very badly. I used to take pride in having not contemplated suicide since 2019, but sadly I broke that streak on the April 28th of 2024.
I stared at a wall. I stared at it for so long that I tired myself. Then I thought about the convenience of dying so I could finally be free from the exhaustion of staring at walls. And soon, it wasn’t the exhaustion of staring at walls. It was the exhaustion of existing. Existence felt like a lake of molten Play-Doh you’re struggling to swim through. You are imminently aware of how faster you could swim if you were swimming in water. But instead of the smoothness of water that never clings to your skin, you are stuck in the slow grip of disgusting Play-Doh. Attaching to all of your skin’s surface wherever it can. Slowing down all the motions of your hands and legs wherever it can. Adding more and more weight for your body and limbs to swim through wherever it can. It is exhausting.
Death could be a release. The death of me or someone else I deemed worthy of death. But that’s what I struggle with. The anger at those who slow down the social reality I want. But killing and dying are both surrendering. For me, dying is the acceptance it will never get better. And for me, killing is the acceptance that it will never get better, but at least those who prevent it from getting better will feel the same anxiety and fear that I once did. Compared to committing to change and work within the currently existing political system, both killing and dying feel like the easy way out. I don’t have the strength to be an AOC or a Judith Butler. I don’t have the strength to be a politician fighting for the justice of the marginalized and abandoned. My limit starts and ends with the weakness of thinking that taking a life matters.
Believe it or not, I have continued to maintain a day-job. An ordinary white-collar office job I maintain that is slowly but surely chipping away at my own sanity. While I don’t post as often to present the implication that I have nothing to do all day but writing, I am immanently aware that the subcultures and subjects I dabble in indicate someone who only has one foot in the waters of corporate career prospects. As a matter of fact, I should be at work right now. But I pretended to be sick so I can go home to drink and cry. I’m actually lying, my tear ducts are too constipated to cry at this point. (haha totally not a men dont cry joke)
I do think there is a baseline amount of sanity that all white-collar jobs eventually chip away at until a person simply cannot take it anymore. The response to passing that limit is different for everyone. Some people merely quit and convince themselves they are the main characters of an Office Space sequel. Others in their deep disillusionment will merely acquiesce that this is all they may ever possibly amount to, and simply commit harder towards sanding off their individuality into dronehood. Those kinds of people may also retroactively make the exit more difficult for themselves by proposing marriage to their significant other.
You heard it here first, girlies. When a working-to-middle class man proposes to you in the 21st century, it’s not solely because he loves you so much that he is satisfied with nutting inside you forever, but he is merely seeking to establish one constant in this flurry of neoliberal white-collar corporate precarity. The one constant that he could maybe depend on when he tries to fight through this awful reality. Honestly, my suggestion would be that instead of being taken off-guard by random motherfuckers proposing to you, you should take the initiative to propose instead. It’s not like you don’t reach the limit either. You do. So go on and propose.
As a matter of fact, the 21st century man starved for the feeling of being worthy of unconditional attention and affection would honestly really appreciate believing himself to be such marriage material that women propose to him proactively. The ultimately sad reality of men is that with the rise of white-collar service work taking over economies and the abolition of their self-actualization through handiwork as done in previous centuries, the classical conceptions of functional masculinity have been rendered economically obsolete for an increasing amount of people. Such is the great tragedy of being raised by fathers who only share experiences from a world that no longer exists, for the son’s inability to live up to it due to technological and human development birthing a world that no longer economically mandated him has seriously degraded his self-worth. No wonder the Manosphere exists. Because right now, it looks like it is either the Manosphere or blue-collar work lucrative enough to support single-income families.
So then…...the only answer we have left is to feminize men. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA. THIS WAS THE PLAN ALL ALONG. TO CREATE A GENERATION OF WEAK FEMININE MEN WHO WILL BE SUBORDINATE TO THE ILLUMINATI NEW WORLD ORDER.
No.
It is ridiculous to think that men are the only victims of a rising HDI score. Women are too. Something that feminists from the Soviet Union had frequently mentioned and talked about is that when the USSR was first established and had feminism as an explicit agenda for their government, the actual practice of Soviet feminism was rather lackluster in retrospect. Early 20th century communists liked to talk about the concept of “kitchen slavery”, where even if the female gender is no longer discriminated as inferior in the workplace, their roles in the household as the person with the lion’s share of housekeeping duties have remained the same. You and your husband can both be high-earning managers, but in the house, you are the one who cooks and cleans, not him (Side note, the ginormous centralized canteens most associated with Mao Zedong’s chairmanship over China was a response to the kitchen slavery problem, for the intent was that with breakfasts, lunches and dinners all distributed through these canteens, women could finally be liberated from the undue duty of kitchen slavery). Stalin’s period of lazy feminism that worried more about removing the veils from Central Asian women than reconfiguring the role of women in households had merely entrenched the incompleteness of Soviet feminism, and it never truly advanced until the USSR’s dissolution.
The laziness of 20th century communist feminism betrays quite a lot, not about the communists, but about how women are perceived within all modern societies of all manners. Because the female is the only gender perceived to have intrinsic value. The female is responsible for birthing the new generation after all. And those who deem themselves “only trying to see the big picture”, those who eventually dabble in the sport of statistics and statecraft eventually force themselves into the perspective of seeing women’s value of “increaser of population” as not only sacred, but perhaps the only possible value that exists. But with women already being granted this sacrosanct intrinsic value (a value that didn’t really earn them more rights, mind you), the value of men became that of the disposable. Men became the thing you throw at a problem. You throw men at labor, at industries, at wars. But in that was the compromise. For the root of self-actualization through traditional masculinity is the ultimate narrative that men are the one’s responsible for taking risks (whether in war or in industry) because they are the ones disposable enough to be thrown at risks. Men’s value is to be earned. And in the world where the socioeconomic functions of traditional masculinity are no longer needed, the precondition of earned value to life lingers on like a dying folk religion (This is why gay, trans and non-binary people are perceived as women by proxy, because discovering the prospect of freely exiting or entering conceptions of masculinity existing this whole time can be low-key traumatic, and the brain’s only response is to reaffirm the identity of the queer person as a failed simulacrum, as something perceived unworthy of acceptable respect, someone to treat like how your daddy taught you to treat a misbehaving woman)
But what the fuck are we doing to do when technology finally enables us to breed without dicks and breed without pussies? What then? Do women also join the replaceable gender now? Or will men finally be allowed to feel like they have intrinsic value? Whichever way is gender equality, my friend. In the age of genital obsolescence, a conservative society will merely pivot to perceiving women as valuable as short men. Which leaves the future of progressive thought as not something to make society see women as equally as competent as men, (for the social inhibitions imposed upon women were not for their inferiority in work but for them steering away from their “socially intended” path) but men as people as equally intrinsically valuable as women.
So here is me from the 22nd fucking century ranting at your inability to make up your own fucking mind. I am not fucking irreplaceable, damn it. Fuck you and fuck yourself. I have a life and I have value as good as any woman. And all women are as equally worthless as I am. You may think in the realm of statistics where I am something to merely be accounted for as the “gender that tragically can’t multiply so must be thrown into the grinder”, but I have value. Fuck you, I have value. I will continue to have value even without doing shit. Fuck you. I can fap all fucking day for decades and I will still have latent value. Fuck you. And I am going to fap until my balls dry out like raisins. Fuck you. I will not leave my fucking house for weeks and months and years on end. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
Go and rape your own fucking mother. Go and staple your fucking dick. Go smash your balls with the fucking door. Women are not your breeding stock. And I am not your worker ant. Us men weren’t born to be sacrificed on your altar of disposability. And women weren’t born to be shackled and chained to shit out more men to sacrifice. I wasn’t born to die. And she wasn’t born to give birth. We were both born to destroy. And we shall.
I want to kill. I want to hurt. I want to inflict pain. Just as much as women want to inflict pain on the men who make them feel unsafe. Bloody dirty vengeance is a privilege I want for all genders. I want a world where I am afraid of women killing me. I want to be afraid of dying in this bitch’s hands. I want her empowered enough to hate me enough to cut me open from the perineum to the parietal bone. Even if she isn’t muscular enough to do it, I want a world where she will try anyway. Please, I really do.
And if you can’t handle that, that’s fine. Three hundred thousand of years of human existence have we gone with your way. Your way of the breeder and the soldier. And the ultimate result is me. It is us. Your glorious three hundred thousand years of gender fundamentalism has only resulted in a world where such fundamentalism is unnecessary.
But isn’t that what you wanted? A world without struggle? A world without hunger? A world without suffering? Did you not struggle and strive because you wanted a tomorrow better than today? Is the peace you died for not the peace to live free and die like a crazy motherfucker? Isn’t the optimization of having men die and having women breed ultimately the ploy to have the human race multiply enough to see a world where the harsh reality of the medieval past is no longer with us? Well, it is no longer fucking with us. So, fuck off. If you really wanted your “traditional gender roles” to exist, you wouldn’t be a capitalist, you’d be a Luddite. So, fuck you and fuck off. Go establish your misogynist utopia that only makes sense sans semiconductors.
For technology is always on and always will be the side of power. There is indeed a chicken-and-egg situation of whether countries are technologically advanced because of their wealth or are wealthy because they are technologically advanced. Whatever the answer to that dichotomy is, your world is not in it. To side with technology is to side with deterritorialization, to side with technology is to side with the death of tradition. We can invade you or we can assimilate you, it does not matter. I am happy to watch you go extinct by the gun of your choice.
And in this land of ours, I am valuable. I am valuable merely for existing. And I will exist again. We can end this entire planet now in nuclear fire and three hundred thousand years after that, and you will still find me preaching the same damn thing because your society reached the same damn impasse.
If you wanted to protect your masculinity, you should have let the Soviets win.
