Dunzo

I'd love to talk about how fun it's all been, but liars are abundant enough as it is

I’ve decided to discontinue writing on Beck of the Pack. I won’t delete anything I’ve already posted, and although paying subscribers will no longer be charged, I encourage people to cancel their subscriptions anyway just to be safe.

I’m stopping because not one aspect of this is any fun anymore. I’m sure this is obvious to most regular readers, and I began sharing these intentions with a few people weeks ago, maybe longer.

I’ve come to regard writing itself as an unenjoyable and frustrating task, but what I’m most eager to shed is the primary obligation this project entails: paying attention to what other humans are doing and saying. I can now unsubscribe from the Substacks I myself have been reading, though I will continue blindly supporting a few.

Apart from things that affect me and the people (and other animals) I care about, I have no real interest anymore in what the rest of the planet’s stench-and-nonsense-machines do to their own communities or to planet Earth as a whole. I can’t really empathize with most normies’ practical concerns, as I’m one hundred percent confident that I won’t be here in five years (another reason to quit writing now, as I’m not interested in chronicling my own path to terminating my already overextended experience of consciousness). I don’t concern myself with retirement accounts, what the grandkids are up to, or the inevitability of my own declining health with advancing age. Fuck that noise even in stable world with ten times the inherent appeal of this one.

And I really don’t care about battles between different tribes of this shit-encrusted hoarder-deceiver ape. The main reason I knew early on that I didn’t want to have kids is not wanting to subject a naive mind to everyone else’s irritating, shrill, and usually misguided or intentionally dishonest noise—mine, the unfortunate mother’s, and yours. (Another reason, though this took longer to crystallize, was not wanting the rest of the world subjected to whatever keening monstrosity would have been sculpted from my genetic contribution to the mess.) Perhaps this path—while the only one I was ever going to choose—has left me rudderless and unfulfilled, but it also means I have the rare luxury of avoiding almost all of this noise and essentially checking out of this unbelievably degraded and contrived version of a cooperate primate society.

If you could deal with no more than a dozen human specimens for whatever remaining time you expect, wouldn’t you at least consider it? Maybe not. And that’s fair. I have a low and still-plummeting opinion of the human being as a conscious and purposeful creature and despise being one, with as much potential for being a flaming fuckup and a detriment to things in my path as any other shambling ape. Even when I try to play optimist, which feels a lot like jerking off with my left hand, it’s got to be plain that this takes work. And since it flirts with fraudulence, I don’t consider myself a useful voice apart from no longer wanting to use it.

I also don’t have any interest in following the almost-sport of running anymore. A big part of this has been driven by the rot the sport has suffered owing to what amounts to a forced incursion of self-loathing cowardly cunts, Afrogluttons and other insincere bloat-abouts, dopers, trannies, trail runners who fly by private jet from one climate-ravaged place to the next, and some of the least educated smart people in the history of the United States, the crowning achievement of which nation is faking a bunch of moon landings and being the bitch of a slice of Middle Eastern loserdom populated almost exclusively by ululating psychopaths.

I doubt I have to really say this, but this is not a call for any kind of reaction. It is a deliberate move and exactly and only what it looks like, and I already feel relieved knowing I won’t wake up and start thinking about what to spazz-load onto this dumb fucking site. And while I know I’ll receive emails about this, I won’t be in any hurry to respond to them. I’m considering deleting my primary Google account anyway and am switching to a flip phone so that I won’t have the option of using apps.

Finally, I deeply appreciate the people who have been paid subscribers, as this has allowed me to be less than aggressive about outside employment. But at this point I would prefer to make up the difference by doing things that don’t annoy me. Time is flying by for me at an unlikely rate, and I would rather the closing scenes arrive without an audience, whenever that is.

Some of this really was fun, even until recently. That’s not returning, though.

Not as short a goodbye as I wanted, but for me, peak brevity.