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Great Video! 
I admire your spirit of defiance. You shall be remembered well.I, for one, will support the incoming dissenters...
ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ!!!
Just gonna leave this here... This makes a lot more sense to me than what you claim to believe... But I suppose I'm just a dumb old marineI'd let girls be the leaders. Dunno how other guys can vote for another man. For me that's humiliating. I prefer girls to tell me what to do. And my opinion they wouldn't embrace wars. I do realize this may be an extreme comment. But that's who I am. Don't take it personal. I don't actually hate anyone for their beliefs. I only tell you what I believe in. I wouldn't want to be a leader myself, I'd let her lead the world. That's the world I believe in.
I'd like to point out that we have gods of war in about every pantheon. And if we understand gods as henads, or faces of Oneness then why would there be gods of war? If war is a human invention or product of human frailty then why would dieties of war be an existent thing? In order for a god of war to be a god then war would have to be a transcendent first principle, a universal. Maybe the idea that war is some kind of human invention, or product of men is a profane understanding. Maybe war transcends man and mankind. I find it rather curious that war is the set and setting in which Krishna hands Arjuna the revelations on Universal Oneness, the collapse of duality, ultimately exposing the veil of Maya.War seems to be necessary to maintain our illusionary fractal reality.
War is a gift inherited by man.I'd like to point out that we have gods of war in about every pantheon. And if we understand gods as henads, or faces of Oneness then why would there be gods of war? If war is a human invention or product of human frailty then why would dieties of war be an existent thing? In order for a god of war to be a god then war would have to be a transcendent first principle, a universal. Maybe the idea that war is some kind of human invention, or product of men is a profane understanding. Maybe war transcends man and mankind. I find it rather curious that war is the set and setting in which Krishna hands Arjuna the revelations on Universal Oneness, the collapse of duality, ultimately exposing the veil of Maya.
Perhaps war is a part of the design.
From my (current) perspective belief all gods* participate and operate within the fractal reality in which we inhabit.War seems to be necessary to maintain our illusionary fractal reality.
Brother admits he'd be dictator 'for the greater good'...classic shadow projection. You're right we never threw off kings, just swapped visible crowns for invisible oligarchs who rule through fiat sorcery and red/blue puppet shows.if you ran things what government would you set up?
As society has evolved we threw off the power of kings and rulers (so we say). yet in 2022 the governments we elect decide who we vote for, waste our taxes, etc...and we demonize dictatorships when our history of interfering in other countries is no better, I think we just paint America as the greatest place to live, I love America yet we shouldn’t sugar coat history. It reminds me of history in schools where we make our founding fathers out to be Saints when Lincoln had racist views and Washington could be a grade A asshole.
imo if I ran things I would be an absolute dictator, having said that, people should have the right to over throw their government when it becomes tyrannical.
the reason for my choice is that people don’t seem to have the capacity to use their ability to vote in a responsible way.
Curious, isn’t it, how the fantasy of the benevolent dictator keeps resurfacing—like a half-remembered dream of order in a world that feels increasingly chaotic. But maybe what we’re mourning isn’t political dysfunction. Maybe it’s the loss of a shared narrative. When people call for a strongman, what they’re often really asking for is coherence. Simplicity. A story in which someone—anyone—knows what the hell is going on.
Once, we believed the world was governed by rational systems—by leaders and institutions capable of shaping the future. But as the chaos of modernity deepened, another story emerged: that a hidden elite controls everything. It’s comforting in its own way. It implies that, somewhere, there’s still a plan.
The desire to concentrate power always dresses itself up as pragmatism—as the only way to “get things done.” But power doesn’t attract wisdom. It attracts interest. And interest, left unchecked, consumes truth.
In the 17th century, as England tore itself apart in civil war, a man named Thomas Hobbes watched cities fall to factions, neighbours slaughter each other in the name of God, and society unravel. From this, he imagined something monstrous but necessary: Leviathan—a human-made machine of absolute authority, built from fear, designed to keep the peace.
Centuries later, in the quiet hum of an American office, philosopher Larry May revisited Hobbes. He believed the Leviathan could be redeemed. That sovereignty could be tempered—not just by law, but by ethics. That the state could protect without devouring. That we could reject torture. That we could build a moral engine of governance.
But while May was sketching a kinder Leviathan, the world was shifting.
The Cold War ended. History, we were told, had reached its conclusion. The West had won. A new global consensus emerged: markets, globalization, human rights. It was sleek, data-driven, and full of optimism.
But it was also an illusion.
Beneath the polished rhetoric, wages stagnated. Communities were hollowed out. From the American Rust Belt to the north of England, factories closed, pubs boarded up, lives frayed. Yet politicians insisted everything was fine. That this was progress.
Then came John Gray.
Once a liberal philosopher, by the 2000s he had become its eulogist. Gray argued that Hobbes hadn’t given us a blueprint for moral government, but a warning. History doesn’t progress—it repeats, forgets, mutates. Liberalism hadn’t failed because it was wrong. It had failed because it was naive. People don’t crave perfect rights. They crave order. Security. A future.
And when they’re denied that, they revolt.
Populism, Gray said, wasn’t a glitch. It was Hobbes resurrected. Brexit. Trump. The Gilets Jaunes. These weren’t outliers—they were the return of fear. Fear of being ignored. Of being replaced. Of a machine that no longer protected them, but served someone else.
Meanwhile, the political class clung to nostalgia. They promised to “restore the centre”—but the centre had already collapsed. The Leviathan had become incoherent. It no longer safeguarded. It performed. Law replaced politics. Courts became arenas of ideology. Even speech was no longer regulated by the state, but by society—policed through shame, cancellation, and silence.
Larry May still believed in redemption—that the machine could be made good. But Gray saw a trap: that in trying to eliminate tragedy from politics, liberalism had produced absurdity.
And now, as endless wars grind on, as economies wobble, as algorithms whisper and machines learn, the people watch.
Waiting.