Author: Ric Amurrio

Money Should Be Free

Imagine a world where money flows like words through the airwaves, a filthy river of greenbacks coursing through every gutter and alley, seeping into the cracks of society, soaking the earth, drowning the parasites and the predators alike. A glorious torrent, unfettered by the iron bars of bank vaults, slipping past the sticky fingers of Wall Street sharks, flooding every slum and penthouse until no one can hoard, no one can starve, no one can die for the lack of it.

This is the vision, the fever dream of a society where cash isn’t chained to the whims of the suits, isn’t corralled behind the velvet ropes of high finance, but is free—wild and unruly—as free as the foul-mouthed graffiti scrawled on the underpass, as free as the bile spewed by the demagogues and the dissenters on late-night radio. Money, unbound, loose in the streets like a pack of feral dogs, gnawing at the edges of the old order, tearing down the ivory towers with every snarling bite.

Money should be free like speech, like the words we spit and the lies we tell, the truths we barely dare to whisper. No more should it be the domain of the privileged, locked away in Swiss accounts and Cayman havens, but instead a tool, a weapon, a voice for every bastard son and daughter of the American Dream, every poor sucker born on the wrong side of the tracks, every down-and-out loser with a fistful of dreams and a pocket full of nothing.

But they fear it. They fear what happens when the floodgates open, when the dollar isn’t shackled to a price tag, when every man, woman, and child holds the same power in their hands as the boardroom elite. Because money, like speech, is dangerous when it’s in the hands of the many. It breeds chaos, it sows dissent, it upends the delicate balance of power that keeps the machine churning and the masses in line.

So they keep it locked up, parceled out in tiny doses, just enough to keep the gears turning, just enough to keep us hungry, desperate, begging for scraps. They know that if money were free—truly free—like speech, like thought, like the anarchic energy that pulses in the veins of every street corner prophet and half-crazed preacher, the whole rotten system would come crashing down, the pyramid of power collapsing under its own bloated weight.

Free money, free speech—two sides of the same damned coin, the currency of revolution, the language of the oppressed. And until they’re both free, really free, we’re all just slaves to the same old gods, dancing to the same old tune, while the fat cats sit back and laugh at the spectacle of it all.

Let’s cut through the bullshit. The objections to making money free like speech are nothing more than self-serving garbage, concocted by those with a vested interest in keeping the rest of us under their heel. They wave around words like “inflation” and “economic instability” like they’re some kind of holy scripture, but it’s all a smokescreen—a sleazy con game designed to keep the power where it’s always been: in the hands of the rich and the ruthless.

The fear of hyperinflation is the first line of defense for these bastards. They’ll tell you that if everyone had access to money, the economy would spiral out of control, that prices would skyrocket, and the whole system would collapse. But let’s be real—this assumes that the only economic model worth a damn is the one that keeps their coffers full. What they won’t tell you is that the current system is already on life support, propped up by the same handful of bankers and politicians who have rigged the game in their favor. So who are they really protecting? Not you, not me—just their own bloated wallets.

Then there’s the tired old line about “loss of incentive and productivity.” The idea that without the threat of poverty hanging over your head, you’d just sit on your ass all day is a goddamn lie. They want you to believe that money is the only thing that drives people to work, but they’re deliberately ignoring the real motivations—passion, creativity, the desire to build something meaningful. Free money wouldn’t kill productivity; it would set it free, unshackling us from soul-sucking jobs and letting us chase our real dreams. But of course, the last thing these parasites want is a population that’s not chained to the grind.

And then they start whining about “widening inequality,” as if that’s not the most hypocritical pile of horseshit you’ve ever heard. The same people who’ve been exploiting every loophole to hoard wealth are suddenly worried that free money would somehow screw over the little guy? Give me a break. The truth is, they’re terrified that if money were free, their precious system would implode, and with it, their stranglehold on power. Free money wouldn’t widen inequality—it would level the playing field, giving everyone a fair shot at the game.

Oh, but the poor banks! The poor investment firms! “Undermining financial institutions,” they call it, as if that’s something to be concerned about. Let’s get one thing straight: these institutions exist to serve themselves, not the people. They’ve been sucking the lifeblood out of the economy for decades, and now they want you to believe that without them, society would crumble. What a load of crap. The truth is, they’re scared shitless of losing their relevance, of waking up in a world where they can’t dictate the terms anymore.

“Moral hazard,” they cry, as if letting people have money would turn us all into reckless idiots. What they really mean is that they don’t trust you to make your own decisions—they’d rather keep you on a short leash, afraid and obedient. But the real hazard is letting these assholes keep calling the shots, because they’ve already proven they can’t be trusted. Free money would strip away their control, and that scares the hell out of them.

They love to talk about “corruption and misuse of resources,” as if the current system isn’t already a cesspool of corruption. The difference is, under their system, only the rich get to be corrupt. Free money would democratize power, and that’s the last thing they want. They’re not worried about corruption; they’re worried about losing their monopoly on it.

Then there’s the bullshit about the “devaluation of labor and skill.” They’ve got you convinced that the only way to value work is with a paycheck, but that’s just another way to keep you in line. There’s plenty of work that’s vital to society—caregiving, teaching, creating—that’s already undervalued because it doesn’t rake in profits for the elite. Free money would let people pursue the work that matters, instead of just what pays. But they can’t stand the thought of a world where they can’t exploit your labor for their gain.

Finally, they’ll throw out the “erosion of social contracts” argument, as if the current social contract isn’t already broken beyond repair. The reality is, the contract they’re so keen to protect is one that keeps them at the top and everyone else fighting over scraps. Free money would mean rewriting that contract, making it fair, making it just. And that, my friends, is what they’re really afraid of—losing their grip on the power they’ve so carefully rigged in their favor.

So don’t buy the bullshit. The cons against free money are just the desperate last gasps of a dying system, clinging to whatever scraps of control it can still grab. They’re scared, and they should be. Because when money is free, so are we.

Jesus Figures and the Marriage of High Testosterone + Neurodivergent

The relentless search for contemporary “Jesus figures” to deliver us from the oppressive grip of “the man” reveals a profound discontent with the existing ideological structure, one that is emblematic of our late capitalist condition. This can be interpreted as the collective’s desperate attempt to fill the void of the objet petit a—the unattainable object of desire, that which is always missing. This figure is expected to embody the lost cause, the pure subject who, untainted by the symbolic order, can somehow lead us to redemption.

But why the specific allure of high testosterone combined with neurodivergence? Here, we encounter a fascinating inversion reminiscent of Nietzsche’s “slave morality,” but with a distinctly postmodern twist. In classical slave morality, the oppressed transmute their weakness into a kind of moral superiority. Now, however, in a world where traditional masculinity and conformity to societal norms have been pathologized, the outcast—the one who refuses to conform to the master signifier of late capitalist normalcy—becomes the hero. This is not merely a Nietzschean reversal but a symptom of a deeper crisis in the symbolic order itself.

We could argue that this new archetype reflects an underlying anxiety in the collective unconscious. The traditional hero—rational, composed, and aligned with the symbolic law—no longer resonates in a world that feels increasingly chaotic and unmoored. Instead, we project our desire for liberation onto figures who seem to operate outside the law, who embody the raw, untamed forces that the symbolic order attempts to repress. This is the real of the neurodivergent, whose very existence is a challenge to the seamless functioning of the ideological apparatus.

Yet, this elevation of the neurodivergent, high-testosterone figure is fraught with contradictions. Is this not the ultimate fetishization of the symptom? By glorifying those who resist or are marginalized by the dominant order, we risk reinforcing the very structures we seek to escape. We are mistaking the symptom—the visible sign of our discontent—for the cure. The neurodivergent, high-testosterone savior is but another fantasy, another screen onto which we project our desire for a new master, one who can somehow deliver us from the contradictions of our existence without fundamentally altering the underlying structure.

Thus, the search for these “Jesus figures” reveals less about the potential for genuine liberation and more about our inability to confront the true nature of our discontent. We cling to the hope that someone from outside the system can save us, while refusing to acknowledge that it is the system itself that must be transformed. In this way, the marriage of high testosterone and neurodivergence becomes a new slave morality, one that allows us to critique the system while remaining safely within its bounds, never fully challenging the symbolic order that defines our reality.

Enlightenment

Enlightenment? The moment that word escapes your lips, it’s already too late—hell, the process was doomed the second you started groping for it. Enlightenment isn’t some neat package you can just unwrap with the right amount of meditation or overpriced retreats. No, it’s a sucker’s game, a rigged hustle that’s been racketized beyond recognition.

It’s the bastard child of self-help gurus, high on their own supply, peddling spiritual junk like snake oil at a traveling carnival. What you’re chasing isn’t enlightenment; it’s the illusion of it. And the minute you start chasing, the vultures circle—the yogis with platinum card memberships, the mindfulness apps funded by venture capital, the social media influencers who’ve turned inner peace into a product they can sell to the highest bidder.

The process becomes a racket, because it is a racket. And you? You’re the mark, nodding along as you’re milked for every cent, every ounce of belief. In the end, all you’re left with is a buzzword, a catchphrase, a hollow sense of ‘something.’ You’ve been conned, sucked into the great cosmic pyramid scheme where the only winners are those at the top, selling enlightenment like it’s bottled water at a desert rave.

Reverse Koan/Inverted Aphorisms

You’re deep in the throes of a typical day in this topsy-turvy carnival of madness we call life. There’s the chaos of the freeway, the cacophony of the news, and somewhere, a lunatic ranting about the virtues of conformity on a soapbox. And if you’ve ever try dabbled in the dark arts of irony or absurdity, you’ve probably stumbled upon the insidious creature known as the reverse koan. Yes, my friend, the reverse koan—an enigma wrapped in a riddle, smeared with sarcasm, and sprinkled with a touch of nihilistic glee.

Here’s the deal: a reverse koan is a statement so dripping with paradox and irony that it’s almost designed to drive you mad. It’s like an acid trip without the Fay guy I fun—jarringly counterintuitive, like a giant neon sign that reads, “Go Left,” when you’re actually in the middle of a right turn. Picture this: you’re handed a cosmic conundrum that tells you, in all its gleeful sarcasm, “True wisdom is found in never questioning.” The real mockery tug? It’s not about the wisdom at all—it’s a setup for a deeper plunge into the chasm of critical thinking and self-doubt. The very essence of the reverse koan is gto G flip the script and force you to confront the absurdity of the obvious.

IP Bloat and ZIRP

IP bloat and zero interest rates, my friends, are the twin nightmares of our modern entertainment and economic systems. The former, a grotesque carnival of stale franchises and soulless sequels, floods the market with an avalanche of derivative dreck, hoping to drown out the creaky echoes of its own mediocrity. The latter, zero interest rates, is a mind-numbing drug administered by our overlords to keep the capital tepid, stagnant, and utterly devoid of life.

It’s a classic case of the emperor’s new clothes—except the emperor here is a blundering idiot, and the clothes are made of garbage. The system churns out endless rows of overpriced, overblown spectacles and rotting franchises, while the so-called “investment opportunities” provide nothing but a monotonous drip of zero returns. It’s a cosmic joke, where the punchline is a world choked by its own excesses and failures.

The only remedy to this grand farce is to stop pretending that pouring millions into soulless, formulaic monstrosities is a viable strategy. Give the damn car keys to the creators, the directors, the writers—the real dreamers and schemers who might actually have a spark of originality left. Not one $180 million bloated blockbuster, but nine $20 million productions brimming with fresh ideas and raw energy. Give them the chance to experiment, to fail, and to surprise. It’s the only way to pull ourselves out of this dismal quagmire of creative bankruptcy and financial futility.

Philosophy and Konratieff cycles

Konratieff cycles, also known as Kondratiev waves or long waves, are economic cycles lasting approximately 40 to 60 years, named after the Russian economist Nikolai Kondratieff. Kondratieff proposed that capitalist economies go through long-term cycles of boom and bust due to technological innovations, changes in infrastructure, and shifts in economic fundamentals.

These cycles are often divided into four phases:

  1. Expansion (Boom): A period of economic growth, marked by high productivity, technological innovation, and investment. Prices and profits rise.
  2. Recession (Crisis): The economy begins to slow down. Investments stop yielding high returns, leading to reduced growth.
  3. Depression (Contraction): A deeper slowdown where overproduction, excess capacity, and economic stagnation occur. Prices drop, and profits shrink.
  4. Recovery (Revival): The economy begins to recover as new technologies emerge, sparking new opportunities and investments.

Each Kondratieff cycle is usually driven by major technological innovations like the Industrial Revolution, railways, steel, electricity, automobiles, and the digital revolution. These innovations spur growth until their saturation leads to stagnation, setting the stage for a new cycle.

To explain Kondratieff cycles through the lens of philosophers, we can connect the four phases of these economic cycles with key philosophical ideas about history, technology, and social change.

1. Expansion (Boom) – Hegel and the Dialectic of Progress

Hegel’s dialectical method is useful for understanding the expansion phase. He argued that history moves forward through a process of thesis (an idea or status quo), antithesis (a challenge or opposition), and synthesis (a resolution or transformation into a new stage). During the expansion phase, new technologies and ideas (thesis) create rapid economic growth. The economy appears to evolve, building toward higher complexity and productivity, much like Hegel’s vision of progress toward absolute knowledge.

2. Recession (Crisis) – Nietzsche’s Will to Power and Disillusionment

Nietzsche’s concept of the will to power can describe the recession phase, where the initial optimism of progress gives way to a sense of disillusionment. In this stage, the forces that drove the boom have reached their limits, and the economy is no longer growing at the same rate. Nietzsche viewed human striving as driven by a fundamental will to dominate and overcome limitations. Here, the over-extension of economic power and ambition hits a wall, leading to a breakdown in the system’s capacity to innovate or expand.

Both Schopenhauer and Sartre offer valuable perspectives for understanding Kondratieff cycles, particularly when it comes to the experience of individuals and societies within these economic phases. Their existential and pessimistic insights highlight the human condition in response to these broader cyclical changes.

Schopenhauer – The Will and Pessimism in Contraction and Crisis

Schopenhauer’s concept of the Will, which he saw as an irrational, blind force driving all life, can be connected to both the recession and depression phases of the Kondratieff cycle. For Schopenhauer, the Will is never satisfied; it continually strives for more, leading to suffering.

In the recession phase, we see society’s collective Will in action—overreaching and pushing the economy toward crisis. Like the unsatisfied individual, the economy struggles to sustain itself, chasing growth that no longer comes. There’s a sense of exhaustion, as the economic system, driven by blind ambition, reaches the limits of its power. Schopenhauer would interpret this stage as a demonstration of the futility of economic striving—everything that seemed promising in the boom turns into frustration and decline, mirroring his view of life’s inevitable suffering.

In the depression phase, Schopenhauer’s pessimism deepens: the system collapses into stagnation, reflecting the general weariness and disillusionment he often spoke about. People experience this economically as job loss, scarcity, and social despair. Schopenhauer believed that through the recognition of the futility of the Will’s striving, one might seek ways to detach from these cycles of desire and suffering, but at a societal level, this period reflects collective burnout.

Sartre – Existential Freedom and Absurdity in Expansion and Recovery

Sartre’s philosophy of existentialism emphasizes freedom, choice, and the burden of responsibility, which aligns well with the expansion and recovery phases of the Kondratieff cycle.

In the expansion phase, Sartre’s notion of existential freedom comes to the forefront. The technological innovations and economic growth present during a boom offer societies new possibilities for defining themselves. Sartre emphasized that individuals and societies are condemned to be free—they must constantly choose their paths, even though this freedom is often experienced as a burden. In a boom, the choices seem endless, and society exerts its freedom in new directions, fueled by optimism and growth. However, this freedom also brings anxiety, as Sartre would argue, because every new opportunity carries the weight of responsibility and uncertainty about what comes next.

In the recovery phase, Sartre’s ideas about absurdity and the reinvention of meaning take center stage. After a period of depression, where the structures and values of society seem to collapse, the recovery phase can be understood through Sartre’s belief that humans must constantly reinvent meaning in the face of an absurd universe. The economy, having suffered through stagnation and crisis, begins to find new directions, much as individuals must redefine their lives after experiencing a crisis of meaning. In this sense, recovery is not just an economic resurgence but a moment of existential rebirth, where society, like the individual, takes on the freedom to create itself anew out of the chaos.

Summary

  • Schopenhauer represents the pessimism of recession and depression, focusing on the futility of striving and the inevitable suffering when growth halts and ambition falters.
  • Sartre captures the existential freedom and absurdity of expansion and recovery, where societies must confront their freedom to choose new paths and redefine meaning in the face of the void left by economic crises.

Both philosophers add a rich, existential layer to Kondratieff cycles by emphasizing human suffering and the need to confront our freedom within these long waves of economic change.

3. Depression (Contraction) – Heidegger’s Technological Enframing

In the depression phase, we can turn to Heidegger’s concept of enframing (Gestell), which describes how technology becomes a dominating force, reducing everything to a resource to be optimized and consumed. In this phase, the earlier technological innovations now lead to stagnation as they no longer provide growth but instead trap the economy in overproduction and excess capacity. The human experience of being becomes overshadowed by technology’s instrumental logic, and the economy mirrors this, becoming rigid and lifeless.

4. Recovery (Revival) – Deleuze and Guattari’s Rhizomatic Rebirth

Finally, the recovery phase aligns with Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of the rhizome—a decentralized and non-hierarchical network that spreads in unexpected ways. In this stage, new technological or economic ideas emerge unpredictably, breaking free from the old system’s constraints. These new innovations create new pathways for growth, much like how a rhizome grows horizontally, creating new possibilities that reinvigorate the economic structure. This reflects the creative destruction that brings renewal and leads to a new cycle.

In this philosophical view, Kondratieff cycles are not just economic but also shifts in the broader social and cultural logic, shaped by the underlying human drive for power, the constraints of technology, and the renewal of creative potential.

Here’s a list of Kondratieff cycle phases paired with philosophers:

  1. Expansion (Boom) – Hegel (Dialectic of Progress)
  2. Recession (Crisis) – Nietzsche (Will to Power and Disillusionment)
  3. Depression (Contraction) – Schopenhauer (The Will and Pessimism) / Heidegger (Technological Enframing)
  4. Recovery (Revival) – Sartre (Existential Freedom and Absurdity) / Deleuze and Guattari (Rhizomatic Rebirth)
  1. Expansion (Boom) – Hegel (Endless Dialectic, Great Pretender)
  2. Recession (Crisis) – Nietzsche (Power Trip, Reality Check)
  3. Depression (Contraction) – Schopenhauer (Relentless Pessimism), Heidegger (Techno-tyranny)
  4. Recovery (Revival) – Sartre (Freedom’s Burden), Deleuze & Guattari (Rhizomatic Chaos)

Oppenheimer vs Von Braun

In a dimly lit room, two of the most brilliant minds of the 20th century—Wernher von Braun and J. Robert Oppenheimer—face each other across a table cluttered with papers, blueprints, and half-empty coffee cups. The atmosphere is thick with tension, each man’s legacy intertwined with the other’s in ways both obvious and deeply complex.

Von Braun: “You and I, Robert, we’re architects of the future. We both know that progress requires sacrifice. We couldn’t have gotten to the Moon without a few missteps along the way. It’s the price of innovation.”

Oppenheimer: Leaning forward, eyes shadowed with a deep, moral weight. “Missteps? Is that what we’re calling them now? You speak of progress, Wernher, as if it’s a straight line. But where did that line begin for you? In Peenemünde? Under a different flag? I’ve seen what those ‘missteps’ lead to—destruction on an unimaginable scale.”

Von Braun: Brushing off the critique, his voice calm but with an underlying edge. “And yet you, of all people, would lecture me on the morality of science? You stood at the heart of it all, Robert. You built the bomb. And now you want to distance yourself from the consequences? The difference between us is that I embraced the future for what it was—neither good nor evil, just inevitable.”

Oppenheimer: A flicker of anger in his voice, the moral conflict tearing at him. “You embraced it without question, Wernher. That’s what frightens me. You saw the stars but were blind to the cost. The bomb wasn’t just a weapon—it was a turning point. It was a moment where we, as scientists, should have realized the power we wield and the responsibility that comes with it.”

Von Braun: “Responsibility? My responsibility was to the science, to pushing humanity forward. Yours was to politics, to appeasing the fears of the moment. We both made choices, Robert. I chose to look beyond today’s conflicts and see the future, while you let the weight of the world drag you into despair.”

Oppenheimer: Voice low, almost whispering, haunted by the past. “And yet, I fear the future you envision. You see rockets soaring to new worlds, but I see them raining down destruction. What good is reaching the stars if we lose our humanity in the process? The bomb changed me, Wernher. It made me realize that some lines shouldn’t be crossed, that some knowledge comes with a price too high to pay.”

Von Braun: Standing up, eyes cold and determined. “Then perhaps that’s where we differ most. I see no lines, no barriers to what we can achieve. History will judge us, Robert, but it won’t stop for your conscience. The future is coming whether we like it or not. The question is, will we lead it or be crushed under its weight?”

Oppenheimer: Rising slowly, a somber resignation in his voice. “Perhaps. But history also has a way of turning ambition into hubris. I just hope that in your race to the stars, you don’t forget the ground you stand on—the world you leave behind. We built wonders, Wernher, but at what cost? The future may remember us as pioneers, but it should never

As von Braun reaches for the door, Oppenheimer’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and probing.

Oppenheimer: “Wernher, one question before you go. What would you have done if your first country had won?”

Von Braun freezes, his hand on the doorknob. For a moment, he doesn’t turn around, as if weighing the gravity of the question. When he finally faces Oppenheimer, his expression is guarded, the usual confidence giving way to something more conflicted.

Von Braun: Slowly, carefully choosing his words. “You ask a question that has no easy answer, Robert. I was driven by my passion for rocketry, for exploration. But I’m not naive. I knew what those rockets were used for, who they were aimed at. If Germany had won…”

He pauses, looking down at the floor as if searching for the right words, or perhaps the truth he’s reluctant to face.

Von Braun: Continuing, quieter now. “If Germany had won, I would have continued to build rockets. But what they would have been used for—that’s a question I don’t know if I want to answer. It’s not about the country or the cause, Robert. It’s about the science, the progress. That’s what I told myself then. That’s what I tell myself now.”

Oppenheimer: Leaning forward, his voice intense. “But is that enough? To hide behind the veil of progress, ignoring the consequences? Would you have looked the other way if those rockets had brought devastation on a global scale, under a different flag? Would you still have justified it as inevitable, as just another step toward the stars?”

Von Braun’s face hardens, the internal conflict clear in his eyes.

Von Braun: With a touch of defensiveness. “I chose to focus on what could be, not what was. Yes, if Germany had won, I would have continued my work. But I would have tried to steer it toward exploration, toward something greater than war. I like to believe that in the end, the pursuit of knowledge would have outweighed the pursuit of power.”

Oppenheimer: Softly, almost mournfully. “But knowledge and power are not so easily separated, Wernher. They never have been.”

The two men stand in silence, the weight of history pressing down on them. Finally, von Braun turns back to the door, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaves.

Von Braun: “We all made our choices, Robert. We all live with them.”

And with that, he exits, leaving Oppenheimer alone to contemplate the uncertain and perilous path they both helped to forge.

Hegel and Schopenhauer: A Financial Tragedy in the Mind’s Stock Exchange

Hegel and Schopenhauer, the intellectual titans of a bygone era, were not just philosophers but market shakers in the stock exchange of human thought. To understand their contributions, one must imagine their ideas as commodities traded in a mind-bending financial marketplace—a turbulent carnival of intellectual volatility where Hegel, the optimistic bull market writer, and Schopenhauer, the pessimistic bear market writer, operate their respective investment strategies with all the aplomb of Wall Street savants.

Hegel, the grand architect of the dialectic, was the quintessential bull market writer. His philosophy—an epic quest for Absolute Knowledge, an endless progression of ideas marching forward through a triumphant teleology—reads like a speculative investment prospectus. Hegel’s system, with its promise of inevitable progress and synthesis, is the kind of sales pitch that sends intellectual traders into a frenzy. Here’s a system where ideas are always on the rise, perpetually converging toward a utopian endgame. It’s a heady market, one that fuels the fires of optimism, selling the belief that history itself is an ever-upward trajectory. In this philosophical bull market, every philosophical debate is an opportunity to invest in a brighter, more enlightened future.

But let’s not forget Schopenhauer, the man with a different vision entirely. If Hegel’s dialectic was the glittering bull market of philosophical thought, Schopenhauer’s pessimism is the bear market—a bleak and foreboding landscape where every investment in human potential is doomed to crash and burn. Schopenhauer’s philosophy, drenched in the despair of a world driven by irrational Will and suffering, offers no comfort for the speculative trader. It’s as if he’s the grumpy old broker who knows that the market’s highs are but brief illusions before the inevitable, grinding lows. For Schopenhauer, history isn’t a triumphal march but a grim parade of futile struggle, and every philosophical “gain” is merely a temporary reprieve before the next plunge into existential dread.

To imagine Hegel and Schopenhauer as financial analysts is to picture a pair of frenetic traders on opposite sides of the market. Hegel, ever the bull, is peddling his optimistic vision with a fervor that can only be described as manic. His confidence in the dialectical process is like that of a trader who believes that the market can only go up, that every setback is merely a stepping stone toward greater profits. Schopenhauer, by contrast, is the dour bear, perpetually warning of the impending collapse, his philosophical outlook a series of dark clouds on the horizon of human thought. For him, every market peak is just a prelude to the inevitable downturn—a reminder that all gains are illusory and all happiness fleeting.

In this financial allegory of philosophical thought, Hegel and Schopenhauer represent two competing forces in the marketplace of ideas. Hegel’s relentless optimism is the high-risk, high-reward investment strategy that believes in the invincibility of progress and the eventual triumph of reason. Schopenhauer’s somber pessimism, on the other hand, is the cautious approach that anticipates losses and advises against investing in the illusions of human achievement. The former is the bullish dreamer, while the latter is the bearish realist, each shaping the intellectual landscape in their own dramatic fashion.

So, as we navigate the chaotic and often absurd marketplace of human thought, let us remember the influence of these two towering figures. Hegel’s bull market of ideas offers a tantalizing promise of perpetual advancement, while Schopenhauer’s bear market provides a sobering reminder of the existential limits and inherent sufferings of the human condition. Together, they form a volatile, unpredictable financial landscape, where every philosophical investment comes with its own risks and rewards—a thrilling, tragic comedy of intellectual speculation.

Wolfe and Fukuyama

HEGELIAN DETERMINISM: A Savage Journey to the Heart of Fukuyama’s and Wolfe’s

1. The Pitiful Delusions of Fukuyama and Wolfe:

Ah, Fukuyama, the grinning fool who dared to declare the End of History, as if human ambition could be snuffed out like a cheap cigar. In his fever dream of a book, The End of History and the Last Man, Fukuyama pompously decrees that liberal democracy is the final stop on the train ride of human evolution. It’s a grand, bloated claim rooted in Hegelian determinism—a philosophy that promises history has an inevitable end, like some grim, German-engineered march toward a preordained utopia. But history, that old trickster, laughs in the face of Fukuyama’s naive thesis as the world twists, shifts, and careens in directions he couldn’t predict.

Then there’s Tom Wolfe, the silver-maned dandy who peddled the myth of the hyper-masculine hero, strutting through the materialistic morass of the 90s like a Wall Street Gordon Gecko on steroids. Wolfe’s novels—Bonfire of the Vanities and A Man in Full—are soaked in the stench of bravado and blind ambition, casting human desires as nothing more than a sordid pursuit of cash, status, and hollow victories. Both Wolfe and Fukuyama fall into the same intellectual trap, caught in the iron jaws of Hegelian determinism, unable to see beyond the rigid framework that history spoon-fed them.

2. The Hollow Pit of Hegelian Determinism:

Fukuyama and Wolfe are shackled by the same grim, deterministic philosophy—a bleak view that history grinds forward in a series of preordained stages toward some inevitable, final endpoint. Fukuyama dreams that liberal democracy is the crown jewel, the endgame of ideological evolution, while Wolfe’s characters are doomed to chase materialistic ghosts in an endless cycle of greed. This is determinism in its most crude and bastardized form, reducing the chaos and complexity of human experience to a mere footnote in the history books.

They cling to a philosophy that strips humanity of its wild unpredictability, its capacity for invention, rebellion, and change. They see the world as a machine, clicking through its predetermined gears, oblivious to the fact that the human soul is a howling beast, ever hungry, ever restless.

3. The Razor of Continental Philosophy:

But there’s a brighter corner of this intellectual landscape—a place where Continental philosophy takes a rusty knife to the throats of Fukuyama and Wolfe’s half-baked ideas. These philosophers don’t wallow in deterministic despair; they revel in the messy, bloody business of being human.

  • Symbolic: Language and culture shape human ambition, not some grand historical force. Fukuyama’s thesis is blind to this, and Wolfe’s characters stumble through a world without realizing the cultural strings that pull their limbs.
  • Performative: Reality isn’t a predetermined script; it’s something we create with every damn action we take. Fukuyama and Wolfe don’t see that humans are mad creators, constantly reshaping the world through sheer will and chaos.
  • Virtual: The future isn’t written in stone; it’s a realm of unrealized potential, a wild frontier where anything is possible. Fukuyama, in his dim wisdom, declares history dead, while Wolfe’s characters rot in their materialistic graves, oblivious to the infinite possibilities they ignore.
  • Imaginary: Human ambition isn’t just about tangible achievements; it’s driven by illusions, dreams, and myths. Fukuyama and Wolfe cling to simplistic narratives, failing to see that reality is just a smokescreen for the wild dreams that drive us all.
  • Simulacra: In this postmodern circus, the line between reality and representation is blurred, twisted beyond recognition. Fukuyama’s end of history is a mirage, and Wolfe’s heroes are chasing shadows, trapped in a world where nothing is as it seems.
  • Intertextual: Meaning doesn’t come from isolated events; it’s born from the tangled web of references, influences, and connections that span across time and culture. Fukuyama and Wolfe’s narrow views are like horses with blinders, missing the vast intertextual landscape that truly shapes human ambition.
  • Existential: Meaning isn’t handed down from on high; it’s something we carve out of the rock with our own hands. Fukuyama’s deterministic drivel and Wolfe’s materialistic myopia fail to capture the raw, existential truth that human life is a continuous struggle to create meaning from the void.

4. Conclusion:

Fukuyama and Wolfe, those sad devotees of Hegelian determinism, are stuck in a mental swamp, unable to see beyond the narrow confines of their own flawed theories. They reduce the vastness of human ambition to a series of simplistic binaries, missing the rich, chaotic, and unpredictable reality that drives us forward. Continental philosophy, with its nuanced insights into the symbolic, performative, virtual, imaginary, simulacra, intertextual, and existential, cuts through their bullshit, offering a truer, more complex vision of human existence.

This critique isn’t just a takedown of Fukuyama’s and Wolfe’s misguided views; it’s a call to arms—a reminder that human ambition and societal evolution are far too wild, too chaotic, and too damn interesting to be confined to the dreary dictates of Hegelian determinism. If we’re to understand the world, we must embrace its complexities, its contradictions, and its infinite potential for change. Anything less is intellectual cowardice.

This savage dissection aims to tear apart the hollow theories of Fukuyama and Wolfe, exposing the crude determinism at their core and celebrating the chaotic beauty of human ambition.

Capital is Not Autistic

In the intricate dance of societal structures, the nature of capital and the condition of autism present a compelling contrast, both in their levels of abstraction and their impact on the world. To understand these differences fully, we must delve into the nature of each—capital as a force of systemic abstraction and autism as a condition of cognitive abstraction.

Capital, in its essence, represents the pinnacle of systemic abstraction. It operates not merely as an isolated phenomenon but as a force that permeates and shapes global economic systems. This abstraction is dynamic, fluid, and relentlessly opportunistic. Capital is an entity that evolves in response to the shifting currents of the market, the imperatives of profit, and the transformations of technological advancement. It exists within a vast network of financial institutions, market trends, and geopolitical maneuvers, continuously adapting and reconfiguring itself to maximize accumulation and control.

This systemic nature of capital is a reflection of its inherent drive to expand and dominate. It operates through complex algorithms, speculative ventures, and strategic investments, reflecting a level of abstraction that is far removed from the rigid patterns observed in other phenomena. Capital’s logic is one of endless adaptability and opportunism, thriving on its ability to manipulate and reconfigure the world according to its profit-driven needs. It does not adhere to fixed patterns or routines; instead, it reshapes the world to fit its own imperatives, perpetually seeking new avenues for growth and exploitation.

In stark contrast, autism represents a different kind of abstraction, one rooted in the realm of cognitive processes. Autism is characterized by specific neurodevelopmental patterns and cognitive frameworks that can appear rigid and repetitive. Individuals with autism often engage deeply with particular interests or routines, driven by a unique neurological configuration that shapes their interactions with the world. This cognitive abstraction reflects a set of behaviors and thought processes that are consistent and predictable, providing a sense of order and coherence within the individual’s internal landscape.

The rigidity observed in autism is not a flaw but a defining feature of its cognitive framework. It represents a form of consistency and focus that contrasts sharply with the fluid and opportunistic nature of capital. While autism’s patterns may seem fixed, they are driven by a profound internal logic and a distinct way of processing information. This rigidity is a manifestation of the condition’s cognitive abstraction, reflecting how individuals with autism experience and engage with their environment.

The contrast between the systemic abstraction of capital and the cognitive abstraction of autism highlights a fundamental divergence in their nature and impact. Capital’s abstraction is expansive and transformative, driven by the forces of economic imperatives and global dynamics. It shapes and redefines the world according to its own needs, perpetuating cycles of exploitation and control. In contrast, autism’s abstraction is introspective and focused, reflecting a specific cognitive pattern that provides order and coherence within the individual’s experience.

Capital is not autistic; it thrives on fluidity and opportunistic adaptation, contrasting with the rigid and predictable nature often associated with autism. While those with high testosterone and neurodivergent traits may believe they are pioneering a new “master morality,” their self-perception is mistaken. In reality, the combination of these traits reflects a form of “slave morality”—one rooted in the very qualities they claim to transcend. Their attributes may indeed provide a strategic advantage or unique perspective, but this does not equate to mastery. Instead, it embodies a reconfiguration of traditional values and power structures, where they mistakenly view themselves as the new arbiters of morality, when in fact they are merely navigating and reinterpreting the existing moral landscape.

Expand this into an essay in the style of Marx and Freud:

Capital is not autistic. Autism is rigid and lacks the fluidity of capital which adapts opportunistically as it mutates. The marriage of High testosterone + neurodivergent is the new slave morality. Capital is not autistic. Autism is rigid and lacks the fluidity of capital which adapts opportunistically as it mutates. The marriage of High testosterone + neurodivergent is the new slave morality.

This new slave morality may indeed provide a strategic advantage or unique perspective, but it’s a mistaken self perception which does not equate to mastery but to the reshuffling of cargo cult Tropes mimicking certain successful behaviors without a true grasp of the underlying principles or mechanisms.

As a result, their version of capital remains small and narrow-minded. It is limited in scope and effectiveness because it fails to grasp the deeper, more complex forces driving the larger economic systems. Their approach, based on superficial imitation rather than fundamental insight, ultimately leads to a constrained and less impactful interpretation of capital.