Afraid? Afraid. Afraaaaid… Though if you think about it for a moment, then it turns out that it’s not really “scary” but rather “fuck how scary!“, very! Hands are shaking! Knees! Palms are sweating!.. sweating like niggers in the galley! Shaking like a druggie at the sight of the last dose!.. “I’m about to be beaten up, if not kicked!” – plaintively scratches against your skull Pasha Emilevich, a character from the “Twelve Chairs“. But “I’ll fight for two! No, four! For twelves! For…” – protests your inner Captain Smollett, an old sailor and soldier…
Experiencing stress and crisis is accompanied by such an intense internal dialogue that even the characters of “Fight Club” would be jealous, it clearly illuminates the chasm between the imagined behavior in an extreme situation and the behavioral scenario that is realized directly. That is precisely why “How much can you know about yourself, you’ve never been in a fight?” and it is exactly why fighting/jumping with a parachute or onto people/conquering mountain heights and etc, is often time necessary and healthy, if not to satisfy the need for an adrenaline rush then to at least for the purposes of self-exploration. A kind of Socratic “Nosce te ipsum” with a bloody-purple steak for a face. Surprising, but this was explored by both the aristocrat of spirit Ernst Junger and the successful literary writer Chuck Palahniuk – flesh and blood of mass culture. Perhaps the thought of the sizable role of a critical situation in the process of exploring internal depths may seem banal, however it has the strong smell of good old ultra-violence, capable of playing a mean joke on the newfound Alex.
One can without food or rest read time and again the memoirs of the fiery blackshirt Concutelli (or any other man of long-reaching will), ecstatically savoring the details of the massacre of Vittorio Okkorsio, however it won’t provide a significant contribution to the process of fortifying the “internal core” and stress-resistance, allowing one to successfully overcome the intrusive “scary“, such literary masturbation is of no help here. The only similarity to be found between the author of these words and the author of the book “I, the black man” (“Io, l’uomo nero. Una vita tra politica, violenza e galera“) is their common love for tobacco, «Gauloises» cigarettes. And we probably experience “scary” differently… Art, literature in particular, can act only as an engine that launches the process of personal formation, but turns into a fetish soon as it becomes a goal in of itself – the whole is being replaced by the part, all the while “scary” grabs hold of the throat with the same strength, despite the diligent stale Breivik worship.
In conclusion I’d like to remind you of a figure that in this context becomes central and solely capable of overcoming the Sword of Damocles that is “scary“, hovering over mankind. It is the nameless Russian soldier who prefers the timeless sleep in the snowpile to the hardships of a military campaign. It is the Caucasian swordsman Lermontov, the main fatalist of Russian literature, who experiences fate under fire from the mountain folk. It is fatalism, however fatalism of the highest order, the fun Russian indifference born from contempt for death, the incomprehensible to European mentality, and defined by Julius Evola as “innate dark fatalism“, suicidal “avos’” [на авось – to do something with blind hope that maybe it’ll work out], with entrails escaping from a cut open belly, bringing joy from destroying yourself and others.
The soldier marching towards the tenacious embrace of death performs but one action – adds to the firm formula of “scary” the daring “fun“, tucking old crone Death beneath the soldier’s belt. He’s afraid. It’s scary and fun.
Original article in Russian by Danila Master [Данила Мастер]
Translated by Alexander Slavros