The Dirtbag Right Goes Live

I'm Done Assembling A Team

My Communism Turned Dirtbag

I finished Hillbilly Elegy in one day. The last book I couldn’t put down? “Revolutionary Suicide,” by Huey P. Newton. Whoops! Forgot, I’m like, so Alt-right, totally!

Well, it’s time for me to come out of the irony closet and reveal the big secret: My roots aren’t Alt-Right like the bubble here. While ya’ll were partying it up, I was doing the same thing on the other side. Solidly Bernie Bro, ride or die, DSA not extreme enough type. I would never carry the label Communist presently. I’m not sure what I am, and given our rapidly changing political landscape, I don’t think any honest person does, either.

It’s been amusing playing with you all—shaming me like I care about an online party line I’ve never had any loyalty to—but now, I want to do something different. No more memes. No more exploration. I know what’s going on in this environment and the mole has finished his magic trick. Let’s start with the basics.

I grew up 15 miles outside Middletown, Ohio. This is the same mythological place our flawed hero JD Vance clawed his way out of. In his Magnum Opus, Hillbilly Elegy, he gives it a nickname everyone with Appalachian roots stemming from the hills is familiar with: “Middletucky.” It’s cousin a, short way away is, “Hamilton.” Just like our fellow kin and brother, we’ve too termed ourselves, “Hamiltucky.”

Vance accurately curates Middletown’s image and my hometown’s as well. The further you get from Cosmopolitan centers managing global capital and cities, the more rot sets in. I’ve always said that Hamilton is like a town on Meth and Middletown is like a town on Heroin. There’s a certain comparable quality, but one is dreary and the other psychotic.

Since COVID, the homeless population in my hometown has exploded. The few times a year I visit, there are a couple more. The backpack meth wanderer became one with the environment, freely grazing in the wild. If you avoid eye contact, they usually leave you alone.

I remember stopping by my local Indian Gas station, with had illegal gambling machines in the lobby. That day, an old fat gentleman with a raspy voice was arguing with the barely understandable Indian Owner about when his booze would arrive. Behind me, a couple young latino men belligerently spoke Spanish. For the finer people I run into on Substack, they’d probably feel uncomfortable, looking over their shoulder, fumbling for the keys in their pocket as a makeshift weapon.

That encounter in a run-down BP is a microcosmic demonstration of the greater whole. The locals who stayed behind were clinging to distractions that would drown out the sorrow slowly killing them. Meanwhile, new arrivals formed an ethnic commune behind my back, relishing in our destitution. This was their dream and our nightmare. I simply smiled as this scene played out and felt an odd sense of melancholy.

It's hard to understate what’s happened to this place. Attempts at revitalization have come in the form of a sports center next to an old factory. The windows are largely busted out, bricks are falling off, and a lingering smell of trash wafts into the car windows as you drive through the street separating each building.

There are countless buildings with a post-apocalyptic vibe to them. If you were put there without notice or awareness, it’d seem nuclear bombs went off and civilization fell. Tearing them down would be one thing but keeping them allows us a way to grieve the loss. It’s a historical symbol of what we once were. I get the same feeling visiting my father’s grave.

When speaking to the commoners that were born, raised, and stayed, age is the distinguishing factor. An older gentleman or lady will reminisce on the past, about the jobs that used to feed their families. They’ll talk about the great flood, when 129 was built connecting us to the interstate and tristate area, and the old robust community downtown.

Pain and loss fill the older folk’s voice. It’s been overrun with drugs, crime, and mass immigration. Going outside, you’re greeted by 20-30% of people traveling in ethnic packs who can’t speak your language. Alleyways have some man stumbling around, another overdosing to the side, and some psychotic meth head screaming obscenities somewhere down the block.

The younger folk don’t know anything different. Sure, it’s gotten worse over time, but those factories never ran when we were children. Drugs became more common place, and everyone knew someone in the family struggling with addiction. Overdoses were common and you’d be hard pressed to find someone, regardless of economic status, that hadn’t lost someone to Fentanyl or heroin.

The youth became nihilistic, or arguably, just accepted what was. We can talk about our issues, but there’s an irony to it that frightens the gated off individuals down yonder. In one breathe, we’ll say our home life is completely broken, but it doesn’t matter because parents are for the weak anyway. Such humor doesn’t just make the lingering minority of those blessed with what’s left of an empire in decay uncomfortable but offends them.

My generation lacks opportunities and the ability to truly escape. The few blue-collar occupations left nearby are largely warehouses facilitating mass transportation. I know more than one person I went to high school with who now work at Billstein, and when they started, earning 15 an hour was considered decent pay. The only other options seemed to be food service or retail, both paying pennies on the dollar, roughly 10-12 an hour. At least at the Warehouse you had a consistent work schedule, some kind of benefits and time off, and opportunities for advancement.

It's hard for middle-class and upper-class folks to understand the trap. A lot of young folks are kicked out of the house at 18 or can’t take it anymore and leave of their own volition. It’s not like they tend to have robust familial structures that they can fall back on. One may say, well, just move, but how does one do that if they can’t even afford transportation? A vehicle, which many take for granted, is a status symbol where I come from.

So instead, they get locked in a trap, where they need to pay the bills, but don’t earn enough to save. If anything, they get locked into a cycle of debt, where it increases, and thus their monthly payments do too. They slowly dig themselves a deeper and deeper hole just to survive, and by the time it’s deep enough, it feels hopeless.

Giving up seems to be the only answer. Poverty weighs on the psyche and destroys drive. There is no frontier to conquer, no greater community to be part of. However, a Netflix subscription is 20 dollars a month, video games don’t go bad, and weed isn’t as expensive now and days. Social media grants the illusion of friendship, but there’s always something lacking. Loneliness is the norm and numbing pain the solution.

I made my grand return to this place at the age of 18, after I left home with nothing more than a backpack. My entire life, all I had known was loss and despair. There was no will or drive to speak of. I called my grandmother and asked if I could stay with her, and that’s where I spent my 18–20-year-old life, with a temporary reprieve in-between. I was fortunate enough for her to say yes, because otherwise, I’d probably be dealing dope.

False Dialectics

I’m not going to sit here and pretend I was a well-adjusted individual my entire life. For those who read Words Are Power I lightly allude to what I was sparing details. For the record, from 18-20, I lived off life insurance money and was slowly whittling away at it to survive. I wanted to figure out why life seemed to be the way it was and who was responsible for my people’s suffering.

It’s easy to fall down a rabbit hole online and start blaming shadow fixtures responsible. To me, it seemed there was a difference in afforded economic opportunities for different classes of people with separate personality profiles and backgrounds. There weren’t many masculine occupations left us men could get our hands dirty while working together to accomplish a mission.

Instead, we had to spend our entire lives in a Feminized Public education system, to maybe get the opportunity at doing it for four more years, to maybe have that transition into a corporate office in a cubicle. Even barring this as a solution, it would require mountains of debt, no guarantees, and nothing to fall back on if we failed.

I started connecting the dots. I read Marx, Lenin, Mao, Kropotkin, and a variety of other Revolutionary figures from the left. Breadtube was on the rise, ChapoTrapHouse was massive, Bernie Sanders was ascendent, and DSA membership was exploding. Back in 2016 I wasn’t some Alt-Right sycophant and Larper, but someone with real struggles ready to pursue action.

What I discovered by talking to the newly emerging left-wing in the Democratic party were people with a distinct difference in worldviews. Even though I seemingly read the same books, knew the same pundits, and traveled the same circles, I was never truly accepted. It was full of Middle-class college educated whites, PMC monstrosities, DEI minorities, and Tech Adjacent workers.

They were blindly ideological, not caring to hear about mass migration, the necessity of a national community, or the why we needed a Drug War. Instead of focusing on real world misery, they took up abstract thought experiments regarding how to best tone police the deplorables in society, which just so happened to mirror me.

At best they wanted to increase the minimum wage, which would largely benefit our imported serf caste. At worst, they hyper fixated on student loan repayments, which eluded the Working-class Americans they claimed to speak for. Sometimes, they’d talk about free healthcare, which while being better than a privatized system, largely seemed to benefit those earning between 50-100k a year, because the working class already had Medicaid.

That seemed to be the extent of their economic purview and incentives, which uniquely coincided with their economic situation rather than any genuine proletariat that did real work and created material value. There were countless women working bullshit jobs (you know what I’m talking about) acting like they were a victim, when really, in any rational system they wouldn’t even be employed. Their misery was because they couldn’t buy a house; my people’s misery was losing our towns and killing ourselves in despair.

This demographic of so called, “leftist,” are notorious for cancel culture. It’s become all encompassing and it seems the present resistance is smokescreen, if anything. Other than for political organization purposes, the real impetus they had for their deeply held ideological beliefs was to avoid feelings of shame.

They were radically risk averse, harm avoidant creatures, and since they’d never broached the jaws of danger, words became the greatest threat. If they weren’t trying to incorporate you into the cult, the only thing they’d discuss politically is inter-sectional politics. This isn’t some grand mystery. Just watch some commercials.

I wasn’t allowed to traverse these circles, because I saw the value in community and family since I had little. Funnily enough, you say something like this, and instead of listening to my, “lived experience,” they’d respond just like Alt-Righters, and say I was essentially innately inferior and deserved what I was born into. Sometimes, I was lucky enough to be an oppressor paying back incurred debts.

White, Masculine Workers had no place in the left’s cathedral. That was made clear to me time and time again. It didn’t seem like my people had any options. The Alt-Right was the exact same in its alignments and proclivities, attaching themselves to a blind ideological basis, and when push came to shove, responded the exact same way.

Now that I’m older and wiser, I recognize both were co-opted movements and charades. Both were serving Globo-Homo Capital in their own way, guided by egotistical delusions and over-socialized rationality. This was made manifest in Charlottesville, when this mass of Cluster B larpers got together and started ramming down their “opposition,” with vehicles.

What the Alt-Right Millennials wanted was community. What the Bernie Bros wanted was better living conditions. I want both. Other than terminally online spergs, that seems to be what everyone else wants too.

Working Class Vigor

After my nephew was born, I stopped waiting to die and started trying to live. It seemed like a perfectly normal impetus at the time. There was a factory nearby where my neighbor—whom I introduced in Words Are Power—was employed. We had a few lingering conversations, and he got me a job earning an enormous $11 an hour. I didn’t care; I just wanted somewhere to start.

This was the first time in my life that I truly got intimately involved with the working class. I had worked in food service before, and prior to that, in retail. The way these people relate, both in their method of being and their working conditions, is separate—both materially and ideologically. Instead of theorizing outside the material conditions, I sought to understand them firsthand by becoming the guy creating those conditions.

It was a loud, dirty factory that produced windows. Machines were everywhere, and it was an assembly line environment. I started on Line 4, putting the parts into the vinyl that make Window go shut. I went in to work my fingers to the bone, thinking that maybe through struggle, I could come out the other side better for it.

Young, naive, and ideologically driven, guided by philosophical and historical texts, I went in expecting some kind of class consciousness to be unleashed. Instead, I was introduced to having my balls busted by a drunkard showing up to work and a heroin addict nodding off in the bathroom.

The truth is, I had no business speaking to these people on the level I was attempting. Not only did they have no interest, but they also had no desire to understand what I was pitching. In the words of old-school Prussian military leaders, "One must learn to follow if they are to lead." So, I followed.

I wasn’t particularly popular at work. I had spent my entire life reading books, advancing my knowledge base with a desire to learn, but with no desire to enter the cathedral where that took place. I always found people in higher institutions boring and received nothing but contempt from them in return. The thing is, it can be incredibly lonely carrying knowledge that no one else knows or cares to learn.

There was one thing my coworkers respected: my work ethic. I hardly talked and hyper-fixated on increasing my efficiency. I figured if I could master the external world, maybe some internal mastery would coincide. At first, it was new and difficult, but every day I got a little better, and every day I built a little more muscle. This led to an extra two dollars an hour in three months, even though I wasn’t particularly socially astute.

This attention eventually got me on the line with what I termed Gary Bot 9000. As efficient and hardworking as I was, he was always on his own line, with two other people handling every stop while someone cut his windows and another transported them his direction. The machine couldn’t keep up, so there was no reason for Window Bitch to ever leave his station. I was Window Bitch’s replacement.

For the first week or so, neither of us said anything more than introductory phrases. It was fascinating that we didn’t have to. Over time, a bond developed, and it went from a three-man line to two. After two weeks, we started talking, and I learned that he was an old-school Marine vet with 20 years of infantry experience.

Old anti-imperialist me would have found this morally questionable, but after spending time with him on the line and getting to know him, it was my first step toward leaving blind ideology behind. I began to leave Academic school Marmary behind for deeper understanding. It’s not knowledge that mattered, but the few ideas you could take from a massive text and incorporate to your own internal and intuitive will.

It's not that you couldn’t speak to working class uneducated people. They have an intuitive nature and method of being that does not require knowledge for its own sake but knowledge for practical purposes. You could discuss Plato’s Republic without them even knowing, but still enamor them all the same, and perhaps come to greater understanding yourself in doing so.

This man smoked 12 joints a day to ease some of the pain. It’s not my business to share these stories, but at the very least, I watched him pull a piece of shrapnel out of his knee in his truck on break. I was incredibly confused that he was working here with me, at this place, with multiple properties under his name, retirement money flowing in consistently, and equity built up.

I got an answer I’ll never forget, something along the lines of: “Because I like to push myself, and nobody fucks with me here. I could run that line by myself if I had to, but you make it a lot easier. I never wanted to do none of that gay office bullshit anyway.”

This is a man who’s seen war most of his adult life. He’s killed people and watched people die, and he isn’t shy about it. The specifics are his own to carry, but he wears it like a badge of honor: "I did what few men could ever do." He’s been a leader in a military organization and been put through some of the most grueling difficulties a man can face.

For the upper-middle-class alt-right larpers on this site, if they looked at his resume, they’d consider him a peasant—some lower-level life form to spit on from above, all the while living off inheritance and familial insurance when their next vanity project inevitably fails.

It can seem personal, and it is, a little. It’s not me who takes a slight when some privileged white guy starts trashing their impoverished brothers while claiming the title "White Nationalist." I think about people like Gary, or other honorable men I’ve met in these environments, who wouldn’t blink to give their lives for their friends, family, and community. They’d give you the shirt off their back just to see someone smile, and they might not have many shirts to give.

In this neoliberal rat race and individualistic culture, we’ve forgotten that a man is more than just his income or occupation. He’s more than just how many hags he can bag or how many young, impressionable women he can traumatize. What truly makes a man is his character. This is something that exists beyond IQ, the Big Five, or socio-economic status. It’s hard to empirically measure, but everyone knows what it’s like to meet someone with a lot of it.

We lost sight of this after we were separated into differing economic classes in relation to the means of production that transcend the old-world “employer/employee” dialectic. This disconnect broke down our sense of community and nationality mirroring a divide-and-conquer strategy.

Instead of recognizing that we are European Americans all having a place in our nation and community, a certain segment of our population began benefiting from cheaper goods through mass globalized production, while the old-world salt of the Earth American slowly watched their wages and jobs disappear so line on the chart could go up.

Outside of the elites, those gaining the most out of this arrangement were primarily STEM workers in the digital tech boom after the 90s. Luckily for our over-bloated bureaucracies, these people love charts. They tend to be college-educated, empirically minded, and more likely to trust major institutions.

So, when the experts get out and say goods are getting cheaper and living standards are rising, they take this zoomed-out view of a nation that is whole. But the nation is no longer whole, and there was a certain segment of the national community being sacrificed for their luxurious lifestyles.

It’s not that someone like Gary couldn’t hunker down and learn to code. Even if he’s not the smartest man in the world, he had more grit and determination than any blessed gated-community school marm could ever hope to achieve barring collapse and years of suffering.

That very grit, that very character Gary possessed, is why he’d never take up pencil-pushing. I’d like to imagine that if you sat him in a room and put a laptop in front of him demanding he learn JavaScript, with a pistol on the other side, he’d choose the bullet. He knew what he was: a fighter. He’d rather bleed on a line and be left alone than get fat and lazy while drooling over a computer.

I also began to experience this grit and the joy it brought. I was under no delusion that pushing myself was materially beneficial to me. The game at this point in my life was understood at a basic level. The more I produced, the more excess value they could scrape off my corpse, but it was not for their recognition I rampaged for 8 hours a day.

It was for me. Not out of some harm avoidant pursuit, material value, or even a promotion. I surmised that if I could learn to push myself here, I could push myself anywhere. Sweat became a luxury and scars that I still carry brought a sense of pride. Such is the folly of youth, because there are far greater aspects to master for the self than something as simple as labor, but it was my first step out of despair towards happiness.

The working class is disgusted with its so-called vanguard. They had a contempt for their representatives, the bug-men, and college-educated school marms claiming to speak for them. They had an intuition, even though they didn’t understand the underlying theory, that they were being left behind for this PMC and ascendant tech class claiming their title.

We used to recognize this about our people. There was a certain quality everyone had, and even though it may not be just like you, there was a recognition that he was one of "us." That we needed hard-ass men to be soldiers, just like we needed the nerd IT guy wandering the barracks to fix dumb dumb infantryman’s computer. We unknowingly welcomed a competition in our over-socialized public education system: Who is the boss, and who is the worker?

"The nerds will be your boss one day," was one of the most common sayings I heard growing up from my teachers. For the poor kids in class, whose parents worked in some occupation they hated, with a jackass of a boss who took pleasure in making their life hell, we knew what this meant quite viscerally. The teachers were using the less fortunate or academically gifted children in class to justify their prior lifestyle and choices, which is uniquely disgusting.

Now that I’m older and wiser, I disdain the older generations in America, but it’s hard to explain. I see it every day when I go out, no matter the social environment. There’s a certain sense of entitlement, resentment, and egotistical state of mind they all have. This includes Millennials. Matter of fact, I’d say they’re the worst of the bunch.

My cohort sees the world very differently. We see how much of us struggle below the age of 25, even the best and brightest, chafed with student loans, high rent, and rising prices. What a lot of people over the age of 30 fail to realize, outside of charts, is that they were able to build some level of equity before things got as bad as they are now.

When they got their first car, there wasn’t a massive inflationary bubble. The middle class still existed, so there were acceptable budget choices that weren’t beaters but weren’t 2025 Ford F-250s. Now that the middle class has been destroyed by and large, the only thing we get to choose from is trash or something we could never afford. This is just massive corporations following market incentives... which seems to be a frequent issue.

Instead of our weekly eggs being 70 cents, they’re three dollars. Building wealth is all about starting early, and if you were to examine the cumulative effect of this, you’d see we’ll forever be behind. While those before us could keep those two dollars, we lose it, and this happens with every purchase, every time rent increases, and with every car payment.

We can’t have an ego, and the trash that seems to have an ego are influencers completely disconnected from the struggle they claim to speak for. I’ve seen it happen more than once where someone obsessed with a famous guy on TikTok or YouTube in high school, saying, "I’m just like that guy," fails and becomes completely disillusioned with that whole class of people.

What I see is an avalanche of built-up hopes and dreams based on seeing others partake in them through social media. When that bubble pops, and they’re faced with the reality of what it means to be an adult in this desecrated nation, the whiplash will be severe. It’s one thing to not have anything, or really any hope to have something. But a mass of individuals online trashing them, their friends, and what little familial unit they have left for not being in the top 0.5% of their generation? Now that’s dangerous.

H1B Visas

The so-called "economic prosperity" we're witnessing is nothing more than a slow, painful siphoning of material wealth from working-class Americans. The goods that used to be produced here are now made in Mexico and China, by low-wage workers who, thanks to covert monetary mechanisms and currency devaluation, arguably live better material lives than many of us in the so-called "developed" world.

Despite the systematic depreciation of our wages through mass migration, that’s still not enough. We now face a new insult: we’re told we must also endure the violent consequences of a system that imports unlicensed drivers from places like Haiti ramming our children with vehicles. The beneficiaries? A privileged class who gets a cheaper laptop through their brother’s suffering.

The tide of new arrivals, from Haitian immigrants to illegals from Mexico and South America, began 60 years ago, and only grew stronger. These newcomers have taken the few remaining scraps of our economy, gobbled up housing, and flooded low-wage jobs with cheap labor. What's worse, many are subsidized by government programs that effectively elevate them to a six-figure salary—benefits included—at the expense of the native working class.

For a long time, my people have been tumbling down the hill. Some of us survived and now exist in pockets across what used to be an industrial heartland. If we're lucky, we’ve seen a shift to logistical nightmares like massive Amazon warehouses. But even that shift is a bitter pill: where once there were unionized factories providing decent jobs, now we are left with warehouses that barely pay enough to survive, let alone build a future.

My people still have our community, no matter how fractured or decayed. The temptation to make a name for ourselves through parasocial relationships, by competing on stage like a monkey begging for a banana escapes us. The one thing we have left is our damn being. We’d never sell that. But it doesn’t matter. We are the eternal scapegoat.

Globo-homo is already celebrating their victory over us. We were seemingly promised retribution through mass deportations and elected Donald Trump accordingly. This obviously won’t solve the problem of anchor babies and arguably second-generation immigrants with familial ties, but it seemed like a start.

See, us hicks with dip don’t really use X. Matter of fact, we hardly use social media at all. The fact that I’m even partaking in this troglodyte mess is a curse you all are just gonna have to learn to deal with. My people tend to enjoy things like Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok, if they partake in social media at all.

Let’s face the facts: young white men are increasingly opting out of college. The ones still partaking are the ones who can afford to, primarily men from cosmopolitan, middle-upper-class backgrounds. The people pissed off ain’t the dumb-dumbs who use words like "ain’t." See, it’s YOUR people, my terminally online right-wing Millennial friends.

The middle-class, college-educated whites growing greys look down their noses at my people for daring to say we didn’t want to compete with the globe to turn a wrench. That we are uniquely evil because we didn’t want diverse racial gangs, who hardly speak our language, forming in the workplace and hampering unionization efforts.

The rapidly aging Alt-Right has this mistaken idea that it’s my people leading the charge against H1-B visas. This massive online backlash against Indian H1-B visas is stemming from a very different place—it’s a youthful rage originating from college-educated, middle-class whites instigated by our current ruling class. Tech oligarchs with actual leverage and power are stomping on a disorganized stratum of social capital with no leverage of their own.

The Alt-Right is in its death throes as its primary recruiting station sees it abandon them to do the uniquely evil thing Boomers did before them: pull the ladder out from behind them. There’s a certain tragic poetry in this. The Millennial generation, who coined “Ok Boomer” and ran with it like it was some hilariously unique slur, is now engaging in the same behavior it originated from. They could never really get over their public indoctrination and radically liberal/libertarian roots, even after all this time.

People love to examine the dynamic split between the Alt-Right, Dissident Right, and Trad Cons. They primarily examine this through an ideological lens, but as always, ideology stems from a collective will rooted in a people. As rational as these terminally online, college-educated right-wingers like to imagine they are, they always forget they are human first and foremost. Humans have a way of telling themselves stories to give causality to an effect… and it’s almost never correct.

They’d pull out their stat sheets, look at a chart, and declare immigration is necessary for economic prosperity given our declining birth rates. That legal immigration is good for GDP if we bring in people with the right values. That free trade is efficient, and tariffs would hamper our economic output.

Now the chicken has come home to roost for their younger cohorts. These middle-class younglings are going ballistic, because what they were promised now seems outside the realm of possibility. The very thing their parents saw as the norm and morally righteous thing to do, let, “the good immigrants in,” is happening their cohort.

These young men, primarily between the ages of 20-35, are largely college-educated STEM workers. This demographic leans Republican, not even necessarily Trump, but for a myriad of reasons interconnected with their gender. They desire a distinction that gives manhood meaning.

Office politics is uniquely feminine, so they yearn for a 1960s-style return to tradition to give their life some masculine trajectory, which is lacking in their day-to-day life. Their sense of identity is disconnected from their biological impulses, so they seek out a separate identity guided by blind political ideology and religion. The Trad-Caths online aren’t me or my people, but semi-productive white-collar professionals building digital infrastructure, teenage middle-class boys, and PMC bachelor holders.

These are the people leading the charge against H1-B visas and Elon Musk. It’s not the dumb-dumb wowkers. Anyone misplacing this characterization to Trump’s blue-collar base is completely detached and out of touch. The feral H1b ragers on X aren’t driving trucks. They’re largely middle-class Bachelor holders who have been locked out of institutions.

Internal Strife

I tend to avoid generational infighting and strife because I find it fundamentally counter-productive and illusory. Since this is the primary divide in the modern Republican party and overarching movement, I have no choice but to address the elephant in the room. This isn’t to create a conglomerate of those, “in,” vs, “out,” but to explain where the fracture lies.

Millennials were the culmination of the 1960 Boomer revolution, embodying the underlying current of a post WW2 counter-reaction to collectivist ideologies. It’s ironic this is the generation notorious for despising the thing they are. Ok boomer was their favorite internet slang that overstayed its welcome.

Their hatred for boomers isn’t necessarily because they disagree with their method of being and lifestyle choices. Instead, it’s a neurotic jealousy that they are Boomers without wealth. It’s a fundamentally empty existence of hedonistic pursuit mixed with live and let live radical individualism that loses its allure without the ability to mindlessly consume. The Youthful Natives in our Nation weren’t afforded such an opportunity.

It’s hard not to feel sympathy for Millennials. They were the first generation of American’s sold a lie their entire lives only to have the rug pulled out from under them. They followed the rules, believed the correct things, and were artificially locked out of entry level job opportunities and housing after the 08 Recession. Their reward for believing in the American Dream sold to them was a pile of debt with nothing to show for it.

The elite that did survive became a hyper-feminized HR advocate tone policing discourse, embodying a pathological altruistic affinity for oppressed identity groups. Just like the boomers, they bought into the global financial capital psyop on blank slate idealism. This meant that any inequality must be artificially enforced based on innate characteristic separate from class.

Funnily enough, the unconscious manifestation was a disdain for so called working class deplorables they considered, “dirty,” and, “uncultured.” Identifying with their perceived lower American brothers and sisters was incomprehensible. They were put through the rigmarole we call higher education and became an over-socialized husk devoid of inner identity for status attainment, material gain, and harm avoidance. Anyone that truly went in to rock the boat was artificially squeezed out by a nepotistic and insular filter of networked boomers.

For this demographic, their oppressor became, “boomers,” because any real examination of American power politics would reveal an insidious plot to turn America into a global marketplace for the benefit of trans-national corporations and finance capital. The only way to reject this dynamic is to see America as a “people,” rather than an “idea,” which would separate people by nationality and benefit an oppressor class of, “Primarily White Americans.”

It is the primarily American Natives under 30, largely white in racial makeup, who are currently under assault. Not only do our college educated brethren have to compete with artificial DEI policies, but they are also experiencing the very artificially mass migration that destroyed my communities. Just like the working class, it’s their turn to have their wages artificially deflated and to be locked out of institutional power.

I could very well hold onto resentment, but that would merely play into the ruling classes hands. After years of pretending what was happening to my people was our own fault rather than over-arching Governmental policy, I could look on in joy as this ego fueled and harm avoidant demographic finally got what was coming to them. We’ve been told for years our plight was just some primitive racism guided by our dumb dumb and lesser natures.

The Hill Folk are used to being discarded, despised, and thrown to the side. The Cosmopolitan Middle-class are not. In their minds, they were elites, destined to have a decent paying job with good benefits lording over their lesser. Now, they’re starting to realize they weren’t better than their fellow man.

The same over-arching policy that decimated my community is now trifling with theirs, and turns out, no matter how innately superior they are, it’s damn difficult to compete with someone who can be hired at half your wage with less self-respect and no loyalty to anything more than dollar signs.

Just like we need Commanders, inventors, and policy makers, we also need Soldiers, Builders, and tradesman. This nation was founded on that basis, as a European experiment to overcome Ethnic Derisions. We were built by immigrants, but that immigrant was always curtailed, conscious, and of a certain type and quality.

The Globalist shadow government that’s taken root here and seized the levers of power has broken that alliance up to incorporate a global serf class to destroy the American Dream. Instead of owning our own property, owning our own things, or having a community to dance with, we are expected to rent, take up another subscription, or curate a persona online.

I for one can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to see a world where my people can own nothing and be happy while some slave caste of Indian’s, Hatians, South Americans, and Mexicans rape our children, flood our communities with drugs, and compete with us in the market on the one hand, while on the other H1B visas spit on us from above.

We aren’t lazy because we don’t want to spend 80 hours a week working and ten hours a week blowing Elon Musk under his desk. We were trying to build a better life for our people here, and we’ve lost sight of the fact that a better life doesn’t involve slavery.

This is the most humane genocide the world has ever seen. They no longer put us in camps and cull us, but fill our veins with digital heroin, addiction, and despair. It’s about slowly demoralizing us and making decay the norm. As our infrastructure crumbles and communities die out, we are expected to thank them for the opportunity.

It’s not that I hadn’t set my life trajectory up for an elite position in this new world order. If I just keep doing what I’m doing, in 8 years I’ll be earning 200k, with some of the best benefits in the country and an occupation I enjoy. There was just an emptiness to it all as I saw everyone else get left behind and communities die out.

The Solution

I’ve been told by my people to take up a mantle and write. Expose my ideas to the world. I never felt worthy of the position. I still don’t. All I know is that I’ll feel empty if I don’t do something, anything to get the word out or try and prevent what’s happening. I’m not special or unique. If anything, I’m an average guy. Perhaps that’s exactly what this space needs.

Just like us, my middle-class brethren, you to will be used as a lemming, as mere social capital, to elect oligarchs to office. The white working class has shifted from Democrat to Bernie to trump, constantly searching for a voice and representative. When someone does, even they don’t give us everything we need or want, we cling to them out of desperation. Yet they never deliver because we lack leverage.

What we need aren’t heroes who are distant and disconnected from our struggles. What we need, first and foremost, is to recognize we are a community, a people, a nation. We need to understand that we are not each other’s enemy. The real enemy is a global ruling class that imports invaders, who spit on us from above, and rape our children down below. We do not need an Elon, A trump, or a Bernie. What we’ve needed all along is to rely on ourselves.

It’s not that we lack power. The dirty folk in the trenches could shut down the entire economy with a coordinated strike in a trainyard or on a shore. It’s not about legality or anything else. Of course, we’re never allowed to leverage our greatest asset: the labor that builds the nation and keeps our people fed. The law is a funny thing, which is applied selectively, and we need to recognize that what would be considered a peaceful protest—a strike—should not be selectively rejected.

It’s easy to understand why the slaves want to replace us. It’s no surprise the contempt they hold for us. The disrespect is incentivized. It was so easy for them to come here, and the only thing they’re told by our elites in power is that it’s their RIGHT to displace us. Yet somehow, it’s not our right to keep them out! We’ve given non-citizens lawful protection to steal what little we have left.

The invaders are lemmings being used as a cudgel against us. Blind hatred for some Haitian on the street will not get us anywhere. The only thing spitting on them back will do is inflame tensions and create a second front. We need to be better. Recognize that they are a tool wielded. They left their homeland and people to pursue the very thing crushing our spirit and killing our will to life.

We need to rebuild our communities, to be proactive once again. For too long, we have been reacting to an artificially constructed political duopoly that serves the same Global Financial Masters. The Judicial Branch was seized decades ago by men behind the curtains to push a Globalist agenda, without our consent.

I, too, choose to be better—for my fellow American Brothers and Sisters who for so long have ignored our plight, driven by some blind ideological liberal drive. It cannot be a coincidence that while the Ruling Class promises Mass Deportations in one sector, they simultaneously push for an influx of invaders in another. It is typical divide and conquer, and this time, my side of the aisle is supposed to snidely remark that your replacement is just better.

That’s not what this is about, and we all know that by now. It’s about siphoning off our wealth through the Stock Exchange, the Federal Reserve, NGOs, and Finance Capital. We are one of the few remaining places on Earth with agency, property, and the ability to be self-sufficient. That’s why the very same Globalist who demolished the Blue-Collar Working class are now targeting the White-Collar Middle class, using the same strategy. It's so obvious. So overt.

Their confidence will be their undoing, because minus our ability to regain our agency as an American People, there are too many internal contradictions in our nation for it to remain cohesive and united. The only thing we can do to safeguard our people, future, and what used to be our nation, is by finally coming together. Just as we once were, but this time, we can pursue something greater.

The Dirtbag Right

I have stayed far away from social media my entire life. It always felt vacuous, fake, and more about the presentation of the self rather than the true person underneath. Experiences with real-life sub-e-celebs confirmed my suspicion. I joined this platform anyway, to converse with like-minded individuals about topics I don’t often get to discuss in real life.

In my engagement here, I re-discovered an aspect of my identity, buried beneath the surface for survival purposes. Those born in the trenches of rot and decay understand where I am coming from. As an idealistic creative with little familial structure—either in graves or fractured—the idea that I would engage in a starving artistic existence seemed ridiculous.

In my own right, and past delusion, I did attempt something like this from 18 to 20, but the birth of my nephew changed my perspective. I could continue to be a degenerate with no passion or drive to create a healthy structure in my life, or I could man up and give my nephew a role model.

I was lucky enough to find the passion and drive necessary to stop being a bitter child and engage in a process that’s been ongoing for roughly four years now. While I am no paragon of virtue or success at this point in my life, compared to where I was and what I was doing, I’ve practically ascended a mountain.

In that arduous ascent, something broke inside of me. I climbed and climbed, for so long, until I finally reached the top, staring down at the cracks and crevices behind me. I’ve been sitting on the summit, just waiting for the inevitable reward that comes with a normal, structured existence. I stopped caring about the top. Everything began to feel empty and bland. I had stopped climbing.

I’m not sure if what I’m doing now is climbing or stagnating at the peak, but I do know that the process I’ve engaged in has brought me a result I didn’t know I wanted. It was very simple, really: to find interesting people I could talk to about the inner ruminations of my mind. It turns out, those interesting people had goals of their own, and past me got caught up in the current that is the present.

I launched a Discord server with the simple goal of keeping a dying book club alive. It started with three people and organically grew to 25. Invitations led to more invitations, and I enjoyed every new arrival. Even those I suspected to be enemies became allies. Those I thought were allies disappeared.

I’m not here to sell some grand vision. There’s no reason to politically organize something that doesn’t exist. What we’ve lacked for the longest time is community—genuine connection formed through something that’s not ideological but human. Instead, everyone mindlessly stares at a screen.

Cavemen didn’t have watches. They didn’t have digital heroin. The hunt began at sunrise, and Grug was late because, "the sun 'bout there," meant something different to him. The two waiting for Grug to arrive spoke to fill the air. There were no distractions, just a way to bide the time. They picked up sticks and sparred. In the modern age, that’s what we’ve forgotten: the ability to do something without purpose, without material attainment—just because Grug didn’t show up and there was nothing else to do.

This may be a mythical anecdote that didn’t happen, to be sure, but it’s in these moments that I’ve formed the deepest bonds with people. We didn’t need external tools to pass the time—just the people around us, throwing a rubber ball in the air until it got stuck on the ceiling, insidiously waiting for its ambush, falling in front of the commander at final formation.

The H1B debacle and elite overproduction have left a very talented class of people without institutional power. There are people in that Discord server with too much going on in their day-to-day lives to worry about building some influencer empire, but their prose and methodology are worth more than any PhD.

Influencers would scorn and turn their backs on them after asking what exposure they could bring with 300 Substack followers. This is assuming they’d even give them a moment of their precious time. In these parasocial relationships, the ability to see someone beyond their Social Credit Score eludes them. Ironically, so does their ability to build something greater in doing so.

The Empyreal College, launched by Darian and Sai, was formed in this very community, or in spaces adjacent to it. Critics may say it’s delusional, a lofty idea birthed by illusions in the mind. There’s some truth to this, but the same critics despaired me because I engaged with social media for the simple goal of finding like-minded verbal sparring partners.

Heaven forbid I didn’t charge them to build some social media empire. I didn’t sell them on an idea born out of egotistical supply. I didn’t pretend to have all the answers to solve their problems. Most importantly, I committed the ultimate sin by saying I wasn’t an elite or part of the masses, but a peasant who had to claw his way out of poverty and liked to think about things.

The quiet yet capable Crown, lurking in the shadows, dares to dream the lofty dream of reviving a book club. I know, a drastic goal with no purpose. What on earth will he do with this book club? How will he monetize it and increase his influence? How will he encourage obscure Substack writers with modest subscriber counts in the four digits to branch out?

What will I do with the Discord server? Nothing—unless I want to. The reality is, I could sign off of Substack, nuke my account, and go through life happily content after this wild ride. I did exactly what I set out to do, and it just so happens that people want me to share my ideas with the world there as well. At this point, I will do exactly as they request.

All this internet stuff is fake. The likes are fake. The replies are fake. Everything is about how to sell yourself, rather than what you are. Everyone’s obsessed with methods to destroy the soul and spirit for the flesh. Both are destroyed in the process, and emptiness is all that follows. I didn’t do this to be a writer, make a living, or be an influencer. I did it because it was fulfilling for a time. I found that fulfillment elsewhere in the Discord, hence my absence.

After some internal hesitation, this insular group of people has come to the radical conclusion that whatever this collective entity and will is can bring value to others and the world. No, it will not make you rich or provide you with elevated social status. The truth is, only you can give that desire shape, because it is unique to you, both in the bricks laid and the building constructed. The internal world is each individual brick, and the building is the material result.

That’s the community I have sought to cultivate this entire time. I wanted to find "interesting people," and I did this by becoming interesting myself. Even that was not the end goal, because “interesting” slowly gained definition with time. That definition is people who not only want to be the best they can be but have the lived experience necessary to recognize that others should have the same opportunity.

It is through past failures that we get closest to success. No one there is a shining beacon of virtue, and the group is largely youthful in its makeup. It turns out, the youth struggle consistently, and it is our misery that unites us. Many of us have failed. Few have succeeded. There is an individual component to this, but that doesn’t negate the veracity of the claim: We are being artificially locked out of wealth-building, decent jobs, and healthy communities.

The rot is systemic and intentionally incentivized. If the best of our generation’s success seems to involve crippling student loan debt, no ability to buy a house, and competition with a global serf class, the system is broken. Yes, we could aim to be the star in a crumbling hierarchy, and I’m not going to say we should stop trying as individuals. If you can achieve material success, do so, but it is our national duty to not spit on the majority left behind.

What I offer is something we lack in our real world: a sense of genuine connection and community. It exists outside of just me as an individual. Bonds have formed between others there that I am not part of. This is what we used to seek as the norm before the advent of social credit scores based on follower count and likes. Now, internet psychopaths demolish this organic process and suck up what little life remains by offering parasocial interactions in its place.

Granted, it seems ironic to rail against the internet and build this very thing in the same place. I am pragmatic in my outlook and realize that this is where my generation is. Perhaps not on Substack, but on the internet in general, even if they aren’t consumed by it. The ideal for the future is to bring this beyond the digital realm and into the real world, where it used to belong, while using social media for its original purpose: to keep up with what already existed, rather than build what never will.

Community events and branches outside the bubble will slowly grow over time. We will be able to have our voices heard as normal people desiring a better future. The best part is, you might get to laugh while it happens.

The Dirtbag Right