Humans are a tournament mating species. The caste system is established by existing power structures maintaining themselves and their in-group, as well as by the sorting out of who can conform to the expectations of the feminine fantasy world, while exiling those who cannot. The untouchables and the tournament competitors are separated, and those who lose or get disqualified from the tournament for “excess consciousness” are demoted into the “untouchables” category. Narratives of “caste system rooted in reincarnation karma” are likely just relatives of the narratives that provide a context story for someone to accept their life in exile, while believing that they are paying penance, so they can still offer resources as a slave to the system itself. The moment someone starts noticing the game in a way that threatens participation, they’re tagged as bitter, autistic, dangerous, or spiritually impure and ejected downward. The reincarnation-karma story is then the sedative: “Your exclusion is cosmic justice; keep paying taxes to the temple.”
Just as the sperm fight to reach the destination, so do the men who some of those sperm become. The micro mirrors the macro. Just as the sperm fight to get into the duplication chamber, so too the men fight to repeat the process. What seems to be the purpose of this is a repeating system that continually harnesses both entranced competitors and disillusioned conscious ones by means of the will to live. It forces the human race into a position where it is an energy resource by its own design, and the narratives and illusions are just “context” to justify suffering and hide the underlying mechanics of the nature system. The losers aren’t wasted; their metabolic energy still feeds the larger organism (taxes, attention, clicks, muscle). The system is total.
The genius is that the stories are partially true: effort does correlate with outcome at the margin, which is enough to keep hope alive and the treadmill spinning.
There might be a God, but it certainly isn’t one that loves human beings. It probably just created the human race as part of mechanics for some overall personal result that it wanted.
We are a tournament mating species. In our species, instincts manifest as language that mystifies us.
Some of us were quite happy to worship a God of love, to look forward to standing for the truth, to look on the bright side, and even to take upon ourselves the charge of being “born dead and sick” in order to prove ourselves to such a God. However, upon repeated failures of any evidence to the contrary to present itself, such a God must be abandoned and charged with being an absentee landlord. And so it was: I released my loaf into the chalice of the Lord and went on my way. I ejaculated the black anus jizzum of hell into the cup of Christ, and covered the Lord in rape juice. If you want to harm children in such a way, I will send you into the rape dungeon for corrective punishment. You may have the muscle, but I too can crack the dick of hell upon your asshole, and piss the rotting blood. I will press the foul stench of unwashed morning cock upon your lips, oh God, and release the backed up coagulated semen. Good day, Lord.
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