Fuck it we ball

Wait, so the founder of Anthropic is "Amodei," as in "loves god"?
And he leads Anthropic, meaning "human-centered," which is being used in military strikes?
And the creator of ChatGPT is "Altman," as in "an alternative to humans"?
And he leads OpenAI, which is completely closed?
And then there's "Gemini," meaning "two-faced," from a company that promised to do no evil?
And the whole global AI arms race is being driven by people who claimed to be worried about AGI taking over the world?
Either the universe is an extremely cliché writer, or has a brilliant sense of humor
https://x.com/fortelabs/status/2026681391384068260

Beauty is the highest organising principle. It matters — not only in matter itself, but in the way everything can become art: the quality of narratives, the structure of personality, and ultimately the shape of a biography.

But beauty cannot be fabricated. It must be embodied. It has to be functional — it must stand for something.


The more I am ready to die (for something truly valuable), the more beautiful I become.
A death that is not heroic, is in vain. And beauty is never in vain.



@h_miller76

Are you winning, son? 🚪😳

We got "Buddharoids" before GTA 6

WHAT MEN ARE SEARCHING FOR


Since Iran is being “liberated,” men all over the world seem excited by the fantasy of exploring and claiming Iranian women.

And once again it made me wonder what exactly men believe they will find there. What kind of ideal woman they are so desperately searching for, how they imagine distinguishing one similarly beautiful girl from another.

Obviously, it all comes down to projection. There will be nothing truly new about Iranian women — nothing men have not already seen, in the exact same shades and shapes, countless times before in porn. These women will demand the same things every other woman has demanded, will nag about the same weaknesses, will expose the same insecurities.

And perhaps the appeal is not simply novelty.
These women appear untouched, outside the familiar noscripts.
And that allows men to entertain a comforting illusion:
that with them things might finally be different. Easier.

That the same developmental pressure they already know — the demand to confront their own limitations, incompetence, and shadow — might somehow disappear.

The hope of running from one’s shadow forever, of never having to face one’s inadequacy, runs deep.

And even when some men manage to actually reach a true dead end in that search, there still is a final escape route that is rarely refused: children.
Because it is difficult to imagine an Other less capable of judgment.


So what exactly are men projecting?

What ideal are they holding on to?

What seems to be happening in the collective masculine subconscious is this:
How much can She make me feel like the luckiest and most powerful man on earth?

In Becoming Under Love I wrote about how the Other becomes a proxy for the world. She is the world He can touch, the reflection of his greatness and his effect. To truly own Her would mean to own the world.

So what men are actually wondering — when they seem so lost in lust — is something closer to this:

To what extent will She open herself and surrender?
How deeply will She let me in?

Will She give all Her holes to me? Will She let go of control so completely that Her body begins to move on its own, so relaxed it melts — until wherever I touch Her She trembles, breaks open, squirts all over me?

How much control could I have over Her emotions?
How deeply could I move Her?

How loud would Her screams be, how plentiful Her tears — stretched violently between laughter, moans, and sweet, trembling confessions?

Would my effect be so overwhelming that I finally become the sun in someone’s galaxy?

Because if the pleasure She experiences with me reaches the heights of my fantasy, She could never leave. No one else could give Her that. She would do anything for me — even abandon Herself entirely, forced to bend to my every whim.

And only through that could I know the extent of my power.
The magnitude of my identity.
The meaning of my existence. 


But it always fails.


In Becoming Under Love I explained why.


What the Masculine wants to admit the least is how dependent its power is on the Other. He likes to imagine power as absolute freedom. But power is only experienced through effect — and effect requires response. Someone must react to you, answer you, be moved by you.

That is why the Masculine so often prefers to imagine the world as made of objects.

Objects are interchangeable. With them, you cannot truly fail. Their responses are simple, predictable; they do not demand competence or depth. 

But all  you can really do with objects is move them through space-time — or, for maximum effect, destroy them.

And yes, that should remind us of a certain list and a certain island. That was simply the peak of this logic. 
But the uncomfortable truth is that the same attempt is happening everywhere, all the time: in Islamic regimes, in capitalism, in pornography and in the quiet dynamics of your relationship with your ex.

This mechanism cannot be removed. It can only be made conscious — and forced to evolve.

What the Masculine must understand is this:
the striving for power is the most dependent state imaginable.

It does not free you.
It binds you.

Work with that vulnerability instead of pretending it is not there.

And finally make a choice. It is long overdue.

The world is already collapsing because it is treated the same way the Feminine is treated: as an object — consumed, exploited, nearly destroyed.

Soon it will all be emptied out until only plastic objects with drawn-on faces remain. Not even little girls left to break when everything is already broken. 


Or you choose the other path:
to treat the Other as a subject, and to acknowledge that power is inseparable from dependence.

Yes, that is a constant provocation.
Yes, it means you must earn and prove your right to every breath.

But it is the only way to truly experience the effect you dream of. And it writes a far better story.


There is no shame in the drive for power, nor in the different developmental stages through which that drive must pass — even if criticism is necessary at this step.

But I keep wondering:

What finally forces Him to choose the subject over the object?

Is it pain?
Or is it boredom?
It certainly isn't love.

Or must She first prove that She is not an object at all?

At what point does the path of the infant tyrant become impossible to walk?
When will we be old enough to stop playing enemies and become lovers instead?

Seine Angst ist meine Angst
Seine Wut ist meine Wut
Seine Liebe ist meine Liebe
(this is divine intervention)
Sein Blut ist mein Blut


https://youtu.be/7fyufPkXLbs?si=ympQlzygTW5QPYln