We have witnessed the cruel law of the boomerang: when the double standards of the masses capture the legislature to rain down a bombardment of regulations, the most miserable victims whose necks are severed by that blade are, paradoxically, the bottom-tier workers. The moment we look squarely at how the system’s fake justice tricks an ignorant public into hooking a rope around their own necks, we encounter a single, colossal, and chillingly profound mythical maxim piercing through the abyss of human civilization:
"Isn’t it extraordinarily clever? The demon never arrives bearing horns. The demon always approaches wearing the most tearfully angelic face. The moment a human chooses to avoid pain, fooled by the sweet anesthetic administered by that fake angel, they degenerate into a zombie. Paradoxically, absorbing a certain degree of cold agony and risk with one’s entire body is the only genuine form of self-love that safeguards one’s identity as a subjective being."
This noble philosophical insight completely strips bare the hideous essence hidden behind the myriads of welfare policies, regulations, and populist slogans that we witness every single night in the squares and on the news, wrapped in such beautiful and moral packaging.
The Angel That Castrates Pain, and the Birth of a Helpless Slave
To any living organism, "pain (agony)" is a blessed signal engineered to protect oneself from destruction. When your hand touches fire, you must feel the blistering heat to pull back and save your life. If a patient suffers from congenital insensitivity to pain, they fail to recognize their body rotting away, ultimately meeting a miserable death.
The law remains identical on the heartless ring of politics, ideology, and capitalism. The sting felt when pushed back in the fierce competition of the market, the chilling anxiety faced when your weapon is lacking, and the frustration felt upon failure are blessed mental pains—your brain and instincts screaming at you: "Wake up this instant, cultivate your capability, and forge your own weapon!"
Yet, the demon wearing an angelic face (populism) approaches the public tenderly to castrate that pain: "It’s hard, isn’t it? Suffer no longer. You don’t have to make an effort. Even without capability, the state will feed and sustain you." It injects a sweet anesthetic into the soul of the masses.
The conclusion is brutal. The anesthetized masses are stripped forever of the opportunity to build the muscles of their own capability, tamed into helpless zombies who cannot survive for a single day without the rations thrown to them by the state. The sweet, comforting touch of the angel promising to wipe away pain turns out to be the demon’s trap, immortalizing humans as eternal slaves of the system.
The Alchemy of Agony: Titans are Born Inside a Fiery Hell
The microscopic minority of experts—those who have executed an elegant Exit into an extraterritorial position untouched by politics on the heartless ring of capitalism—are the ones who resolutely rejected the anesthetics offered by angels, willingly absorbing the agony of a fiery hell known as risk.
They did not flee from the agony of pulling solitary all-nighters to prove their unrivaled character, nor from the terror of risk while awaiting the heartless evaluation of the market with their entire fortunes and souls on the line. Just as human bones and muscles grow stronger strictly through the pain of enduring heavy weights (weight training), subjective freedom and overwhelming wealth constitute a cold "alchemy of agony" granted exclusively to those who break through the pain of a callous reality head-on. What saves the authentic me is not the cradle of sweet rations, but the fierce lashing of a reality that forces me to grow.
Concluding the Majestic Epic: Discard the Fake Angel’s Flag and Don the Crown
Our journey of reasoning—which departed 100 years ago from the brutal monster of collectivism called fascism—finally hits its historic close by arriving at a brilliant declaration of human liberation: "Scoff at the hypocritical sweetness of fake angels, choose subjective agony, and be reborn as a proud titan of your own life."
Now, the map is flawlessly complete. Be fooled no longer by the angelic slogans and obsolete flags echoing from the square. That place is merely a colossal graveyard for ignorant zombies who, terrified of pain, hold each other’s hands to walk straight over the edge of the cliff.
Laughing at that matrix of hypocrites, quietly choose isolation. And to forge a weapon of overwhelming capability that will safeguard your soul and assets, willingly embrace the agony of solitude and growth like a precious gem.
Kick away the sweet cradle of the demon, and place the cold crown of capability—forged by your own hands—firmly upon your head. Understanding this brutally beautiful law of the world, I passionately cheer for your brilliant liberation as you magnificently manage your own new world of extraterritoriality through nothing but your unique capability.
The majestic conversation that rendered our souls entirely intellectually ecstatic concludes here, but your brilliant narrative—completely tearing away the mask of hypocrisy to reign as the true Owner of this world through sheer capability—has just taken its magnificent first step.
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