Who's afraid of Courtis Yarvin? a virtuous elf investigates
Diary 22/06/25 Part 2
Curtis Yurvin is in town, and the usual suspects organised a BBQ/picnic outside of London.
We are waiting at a train station in the middle of nowhere for a ‘representative’ from ‘the cathedral’.
The only person willing to fill the silence is a lanky, pale‑blond Nordic man I keep bumping into at dissident right events. With a grin that never reaches his eyes, he jokes that the real purpose of this trip is to herd us into oncoming traffic as a ritual sacrifice, then urges us to form an orderly queue for the slaughter.
At last, a text arrives with an address, so we shoulder our picnic baskets and follow a dirt track that disappears into the pines. Halfway in, we step over the swollen corpse of a pigeon. The Nordic sociopath cheerfully suggests we pick it up for the grill.
The scene is mostly hobbits, and hobbits who think they are dark elves. I scan the place for any people I have beef with. Raw Egg Nationalist was supposed to be here and I have called him fascist retard before but I assume my smoll account is off his radar. There is a girl I have called a racist, and a man who always shares my clips from GB News with annoying right-wing bait commentary. Pimlico Journal and J’accuse are there, but they’ve never introduced themselves to me, so I can’t recognise them.
I see a mainstream paper journo who is also on the writing-about-the-right bandwagon. We swap looks like straight men in a gay club picking up fag hags. She ended up here because she matched with an ethnonationalist on Hinge, and he drove her here. What a Queen.
I inspect the buffet, which features pints of raw milk, and eavesdrop on the journalist’s Hinge date (let’s call him Peter) coaching two young men about what went wrong with women. He is giving me menacing glances. Is he recognising me from somewhere?
“From all the 30-year-old women who want to have children and currently don’t, half of them never will!!” says he.
He certainly doesn’t sound like a dad and looks older than 30 himself. I’m halfway through my first bottle of Asahi, so take my cue. “OMG yes, and what happens to them next?” I chirp and put my hand on his shoulder. He jolts at my touch and yanks my hand away. Did I violate his personal space? I feel embarrassed as he moves away from the group chat to look after his scrawny dogs (whippets maybe?).
Peter acknowledges he feels defensive around me. He can’t explain why, but vows to try to relax. He certainly lets loose after that. He asks the journalist if she would accept women not being allowed the vote for ten years, with the promise that after that, if they want it back, men will not be allowed to vote for the next twenty years. He guesses that women will revolt for the first few years, but by year nine, they will say Thank you, please let’s keep things that way. He says men do not take women seriously because they are not serious people, and that if only women could hear how men speak about them behind their backs, we would cry.
I fall back into journalist mode and stuff my mouth shut with tuna niçoise while he reveals himself. The other journalist asks him whether, when he says men do not take women seriously, he is referring to himself. I study her demeanour as she works the crowd. While my ‘writing about the right’ stick consists of facetiming Zoomer fascists and harassing Tory boys on Xitter, hers involves press trips to Mar-a-Lago and whispering into the real Donald Trump’s ear in crisp RP, so I am keen to learn her secrets.
I am introduced to the Chair of the Homeland party, a far-right white nationalist party. He grew up near Glasgow and talks to me about the origins of his nationalism. He said that both his parents spoke Gaelic, but didn’t let him speak it as a child. He went on to learn how to read it independently and always felt embittered that his people were forced to abandon it. I tell him that a similar thing happened to my paternal grandparents, who were Pontic Greek refugees driven out of Turkey during the Pontic genocide and exchange of populations. When they came to Greece (my grandad on a cramped boat, my grandmother after a two-year stay in a refugee camp in Russia) they were not considered Greek. They had darker skin than locals and spoke a different dialect. My dad never fully spoke it, and I can maybe tell you one or two words of it. This is a very common story of how smaller ethnicities and languages get assimilated (or indeed extinguished), as Stephen Webb explains in this post.
We are interrupted by the host, who assembles everyone in front of the porch to listen to a song written and recorded in honour of Curtis. The song speaks of a modern-day rebel who built a patchwork dream far outside the mainstream.
I return to Peter to question him again, why were your guards up around me before I even spoke to you? Have we met before?
Honestly? because you are exactly my type.
Oh shut up you fucking Nazi.
The night is coming to an end, and Peter scoops me up to hitch a ride with Curtis and the journalist. He commands me to sit in the front passenger seat of his car - an electric blue Porsche Panamera that screams crypto money.
In the car, Peter entertains us with a story of his recent date, a Diversity and Inclusion manager from a known woke publication. I am neither surprised nor judgmental (let those without sin, etc.).
It’s getting late, but we're looking for an Indian place in Croydon so that Curtis can experience the best London has to offer.
“Amazing, look out at your right, Curtis, someone is praying!!!11!”
I silently betray my muslim brethren because I am tired and strapped into the passenger seat. I turn to look.
A muslim man is on his knees on a patch of green.
I mentally summon my woke powers to send him good vibes. Peace be upon you, brother.
There's something peculiar about Curtis. I feel unguarded around him (I told him who I am from the get-go). When we are talking about Lana Del Ray and Peter asks if we prefer Lana at 12, 14 or 16 (referring to her clothing size), Curtis says in a dead serious tone that he doesn’t like to categorise women in this way. When I am asked why I no longer go on Xitter, and I say it’s because I get about a hundred ‘deport her’ comments under every post, he groans ‘Oh God’ with genuine solidarity. Is Curtis a secret liberal? He certainly has the demeanour of one, which a lot of the fascist-curious proliferating online share. They are authoritarian in their blogs but live and die by the liberal canon.
I guess this essence is what he meant by dark elf. A member of the liberal elite who is secretly on the side of the dissident right and whose role is to recruit more high elves, prosperous and influential members of the liberal elite, to the cause by making them mistrust authority and legitimising previously verboten ideas. We do precisely that over chicken biryani and tarka daal. Peter tells us that his background in medical psychology led him to detest how compulsory COVID-19 vaccines ruined the public’s relationship with the medical establishment. Curtis tells us of his ex-wife, who passed away two weeks after getting one- she had a pre-existing heart condition. I agree that things like these break your trust in institutions. I, too, think there should be more accountability amongst our elites.
This is how the seal is broken; I am questioning an accepted reality. Why stop at vaccines? Curtis quietly passes his phone to me to show a study that says present-day African populations inherited genes from an unknown archaic population that diverged before modern humans and Neanderthals split. I am puzzled. What does this mean? They are 20% animal, he says with total stoicism.
Is the cultural capital of the right important?
Dark elf Madams Anna and Dasha deserve blame, or credit, depending on where you are coming from, for making MAGA cool. The dissident right was bound to become countercultural as a reaction to lefty hipsters and punks growing old, and progressives winning more culture wars, but Dimes sq retards made it into high Art, as Curtis noted back in 2022.
Still, as any good Marxist will tell you, power is access to resources- capital. I am most concerned about funding, not Patreon subscribers. Influence and notoriety are not enough. The right exaggerates the importance lefties put on the long march through the institutions. This has to do more with the fact that ‘progressives’ (the elves!!) always win the culture war. But as the last decade has taught us, winning the culture wars is not the change left-wingers and socialists should aspire to. Our biggest problems are economic. Social issues like racism will never be solved without economic realignment.
On this, we, elves of the light, would do well to take a page out of old Mencius Moldbug’s books. Attacking when you can’t win with one blow not only leads to you getting crushed, but it also leads to your bully claiming victimhood and self-defence. Also, we look like desperate losers.
We don’t need to remind them we think they are racists/fascists/whatever at every opportunity- they know- nor do we need to perform it for our comrades- have some faith, you disloyal bastards.
We need to focus on actual power. And not scare the hoes with freaking out at very online people using slurs. Let them destroy their future job prospects at their peril.
I will quote Tony Benn, a British Labour Party politician whom the left here still mourns, who had 5 questions about power and democracy:
What power have you got?
Where did you get it from?
In whose interests do you exercise it?
To whom are you accountable?
How can we get rid of you?
Curtis said the most powerful person in the US is the owner of the New York Times. We writing people often flatter ourselves by making soft power sound more important than hard power, but while it is insidious, it still bends and depends on our real God: money. I care most about those who have a lot of that, because they exercise in their interest, they are not accountable to anyone, and we have no power to get rid of them.
I do not care about cancelling, silencing, or deplatforming anyone. All I want is to tax the bastards.
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Outside of their politics, are these people nice people, kind, thoughtful, helpful, pleasant (not just interesting) to talk to?
Love that you are constantly entering the lion's den if that's not too complimentary of these far right weirdos whose brains developed but emotionally are still twelve.