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The outsider

I’m an outsider—a real one. There are many people who say they are outsiders—even as they convene self-congratulatory covens. Yet I have always liked to be alone; and Heraclitus has always been my favourite philosopher—he was the original outsider, the first Western philosopher. Plato was a footnote to him. I have been ejected from offices because I spoke my mind, and I have been ejected from clandestine “dissident” circles because I spoke my mind—and refused to lie.

There are people who want to play at “dissident”—and form secret circles linked into sex clubs run by Jews (yes, how the world really works), those involved in “effective altruism” as it happens. I have seen, I have been invited—I have been ejected, or ejected myself. I know the game—the game does not interest me. I am not a dissident, do not consider myself so—I am just someone who says what he thinks and feels, tells it how he sees it. If that makes me a “loyalist”, so be it—if it makes me a “dissident”, so be it; perhaps, altogether, it would be better not to put a name on it. I am the unspeakable.

Indeed, someone once sent me a comic strip called “The Unspeakable Mr. [my surname]”. How true—I didn’t realise how true, until now. I suppose the outsider has to be unspeakable—somewhat horrific; or, at least, you have to pretend I am horrific; deep down, if you were honest, you would know I am not. If you met me, you wouldn’t think I am horrific at all—I’m as mild as can be, as it happens. You can ask me anything—if you ask sincerely. I’m shameless, I’ll tell you anything—that’s why I’m unspeakable.

I’ve always been this way: at childhood birthday parties I would wander away from the group right to the garden’s boundary—sometimes I just left the party altogether and wandered about. One time I was chased by some geese—it was an experience, to wander is to wonder. Even my phone number is correct for this role—it ends in “333”; it’s the number no one ever dials, though, if they did, all their troubles would end.

Don’t you feel alone? No—it’s because you think that way that you’ll never dial the number. It’s what people say to get you under control, mostly—“Don’t you feel lonely?”, “You’re doing this for attention.” There are many variations—many attempts at control, to bind you.

The reason I can walk alone is that I know I am one drop in a waterfall. I am one thing, I am many things—I am the drop that knows it is a waterfall. How can I be alone in a waterfall? There is nothing special about this condition—you are the same, except you do not know it yet.

Hence I will walk alone, alone over the high Scottish mountains—yet I will not be alone. I will be the mountain knowing itself. As it happens, in such conditions, the mind floods with messages from other people, over the astral plane—the outsider is the man closest to everyone else in the world, it works by magical reversal.

I have scanned your hearts, and I have found them wanting. I see people in love with their image—the hard man, the good man, the clever man, the victim. I see many images that you love. You think you know what you want—you do not know, you know an image; an illusion. You are not my Grail knights—you self-seekers, you will not save the West (you will talk, you will complain, you will not be real). I only need twelve, the masses are irrelevant—the twelve will be summoned by magic, to me. We will break the iron hand of Satan, served by Judeo-Masonry, that holds the West captive. It is not a political position, it is not a negotiation—it is reality.

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