your mask ennobles me. public health as pretext for hierarchical validation

Have a look at this candidate for the last word on mask-o-mania, and never mind the hostility to upper case:

of all the utterly discredited non-pharmaceutical interventions around covid, perhaps none stands as pervasive in its application and as universal in its failure as masks.

it was a flat out cargo cult belief set from the beginning and the inefficacy of this purported intervention was known and knowable beforehand and was confirmed, again and again, by all the emerging data.

the studies undertaken to “prove” efficacy were shams, lacked control groups, used cherry picked data, fraud, and methodologies so hilariously bad as to call into question the basic competence and honesty of those pushing them. the CDC has been a disgrace.

and yet the intensity of the push for this meaningless mitigation ratcheted ever upward. a certain class of person loved this, demanded this, needed this. no data could dissuade their desire.

even those who gathered the data that proved so helpful in proving this such as emily oster backed away from their own output because it so clearly contradicted the narrative of their tribe. she, an ivy league economics professor, disavowed her own discovery and flipped to team emotion. (another dark day for the gato alma mater)

it was sad to see, but altogether predictable.

masks are signs of subjugation. they dehumanize. they alienate. and this is WHY they are so attractive to so many.

this is why forcing them on kids to dominate them and force them into compliance with state over self or even parents is such a high priority goal for those that have collectivist plans for their futures. it establishes precisely who is in charge.

masks are not about public health.

masks are about hierarchy.

they not only represent a high visibility in-group/out-group tribal marker, but they have wonderous potential as a form of separating the powerful from the powerless, the nobles from the commoners, the dictators from the dictated to.

it has become the opiate of the classes. . . .

more more more . . .

From the marvelous Substack columns of bad cattitude.

A week to which there is no return

Maiden voyage, 12/1/21:

Man with coffee, seated, looking around . . . 3:30 in the p.m. on Colectivo patio, a few yards from Clark Street reading Richard Hughes’ Fox in the Attic. Very careful writer, says intro, author who takes time to do it right. It shows.

Lo, on Clark and the side street Rascher, where the man sits, mad monks walk by. Mad monks — he’s never met one, it’s a Gothic trope — are his fellow citizens in masks, covered nose to gullet, one after another, heads down, avoiding so much as a glance at this man in snappy red sweater under stylish green, chilly-weather vest.

They walk quickly as if he were emitting darts of sickness. They remind the man that these are the days of the virus, the evil spirit which hovers over all.

To dentist today . . . He had my “partial” ready to try. . . .

more more more . . .