Amelia lighting her fag with Too Queer Kier
For those not in the know, Amelia is a meme character much like Pepe the Frog. She is not an actual girl but instead a depiction of an attractive, punky white woman with purple hair. Like Pepe the Frog, her origin story is accidental and organic. Some leftist think tank (a.k.a. a clown car of well-educated idiots) authored a propagandistic video game in order to better demoralize British white boys into handing over their country and sovereignty to foreign rapists and welfare grifters. This State-devised game, called Pathways, featured a young school “friend” named Amelia whose role was to tempt the player, Charlie, into joining her ostensibly far-right causes, including the return of invaders to their homelands, not throwing people in prison for Facebook posts, and the avoidance of they/them pronouns when not referring to two or more people.
As often happens with leftist brainwashing materials, the intention behind Amelia was hijacked by memelords. In short order, Amelia was launched into meme superstardom when one guy said that she was kind of hot. Within seconds of this observation, the internet birthed a tsunami of Hottie Amelia comics, memes, and AIs. Amelia is buoyed on the waves of hopelessness, frustration, anger, and despair of lonely men far beyond the British Isles who want a good woman who stands for something and cannot find her. She is an It Girl, a creature typically used as a bludgeon to advance the wills of corporate fascism that has been repurposed to become a populist nuclear arsenal. As a totem and mascot, she is the heroin to Pepe the Frog’s marijuana (feels good, man) because she squirms into the toxic feminine insecurity Death Star in a way Pepe cannot.
A Charlie, like a Robert, is an old name for a jester or fool. He is the main character in this weird game which is supposed to make him decide to be a good little Maoist. Notice the they/them pronoun gaslighting. British taxpayers unwillingly financed this.
Both my husband and I have repeatedly felt as if we caught the last chopper out of ‘Nam by getting married in the year 2000. I got one of the last and only men who was serenely unobsessed with sports and gaming who could also build an entire house if he had to from basement to roof. He got one of the last women willing to cook, clean, and generally labor for someone besides herself and her own pets without having to maintain and hand over his lucrative salary.
When I was in high school in the late 1980s, my school had roughly 2500 young women whose only experience with cooking from scratch was a mandatory Home Ec class that lasted a single semester. I was one of maybe two teenage girls in the whole school who could make a sandwich with food other than cold cuts, bake cookies, and put together a casserole. Most of my friend’s parents were either divorced or in the process of divorce, and divorce does not lead to functional, productive kitchens as an outcome. The few who you would think would have cooked for themselves and their households were the children of first and second generation Asians. The Chinese girl I was friends with was an 86 pound anorexic who decanted and drank her own blood and the Indian girl I was friends with had an overbearing Karen of a mother who did all of the cooking. As I say in my book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, you cannot expect to eat well if you don’t know some basic cooking, and heaven help you if you don’t have capable cook in your house. The plague of women who neither cook nor clean and men who are too helpless/hapless to pick up those duties has resulted in a plague of etheric starvation, a condition that reliably results in disease, chronic fatigue, addictions, and insanity.
In rides fantasy Amelia to the rescue, a digital Joan of Arc to galvanize the lumpen male proletariat into action against leftist groupthink oppression. Her flame burns hotter than the tradwife because she is not a deferential, docile, opinionless mirage waiting for her man to do all the the heavy lifting. Instead of modeling crusty tropes from the 1950s in a housedress, she mouths off to Mohammed in a miniskirt. She champions sensible norms that middle aged people like me took for granted back in the day. She is an advocate of schoolgirls being able to walk down the streets of Liverpool without being acid attacked or drug into fenced areas to be assaulted. She suggests Britain is for the British and that it should not be handed over to the same hordes that have been trying to overrun it since before the Middle Ages. She suggests that men on all sides rise up and outgrow Puer Aeternis — to the invaders, she insists that they cease their infantile dependence routines and go back and fight for their own country on their own soil. To the white native islanders, she suggests they grow a set and defend their nation while it still stands. Nothing that Amelia wants or espouses is extreme. She is a middle-of-the-road pundit who could run for office on a moderate platform (or what used to be considered moderate in my day before everything in the middle was categorized as far-right) and win. She’s not exactly Hitler, no matter what the leftie pearl clutchers claim.
If only she was real. Amelia has been called a tulpa, which is a Buddhist term for a thoughtform that is forced into existence and made to do tasks, much like a Jewish golem without the clay and awkwardness. I don’t think Amelia is a tulpa. She is nobody’s bitch and she was not created on purpose. Instead, Amelia is an egregore. Imagine your old school mascot was a giant, anthropomorphized tiger. Perhaps there was a person who dressed up as a big, striped cat for games every now and then. Now imagine that your mascot became extremely popular across the world and every sports team adopted him as their mascot too. Now imagine that your big tiger began appearing randomly in the nightly dreams of people who were very into sports, and then after a few years, non-sports fans. Tiger fan fiction was inspired by the egregore. Tons of giant tiger merch was sold both at games and in regular stores. Imagine if chick lit writers wrote ghastly bestiality porn about the giant tiger, and entire genres of tiger man erotica bubbled up online. You would begin to think perhaps there was consciousness behind the tiger man image, and if you did think such odd things, traditional occultists would take your side of the conspiracy theory.
An egregore is a shared image that gains its own consciousness. Any given novel’s character is essentially alive, gaining his/her/it’s own consciousness, ego, and world. For a time, there was a trend on TikTok where people (mostly teenagers) were actively trying to transpose their consciousness out of this world and into Harry Potter’s milieu of the Hogwart’s school, quidditch matches, and misappropriated Latin. They called it “shifting” and because TikTok is a visual medium, they filmed themselves doing it. Shifting was nothing more than bedrotting that billed itself as transcendental meditation-induced reality manifestation.
J.K. Rowling ultimately broke the spell by spoiling Potter World for mostly-liberal shifters and Emma Watson with her strong opinions. Apparently her world was not captivating enough to supercede the leftist politics of shifting devotees. Despite the setback, I would argue that Harry Potter is as real as you or me, but the difference is that he will never set foot on the physical plane. Harry Potter, Dumbledore, Snape, and Hogwarts exist because they were created and powered by a billion human imaginations. It’s not a great idea to try and replace your reality with theirs as the shifters try to do, but it is wise to consider the power of such a frequently imagined set of characters. Harry Potter has a great deal of power, and a large part of that power is to promote retarded, materialist notions of magic as belonging only to the chosen few. Harry Potter also promotes the boneheaded idea that proof magic exists is that it takes the form of lightning bolts shooting from fingers. Everything Harry Potter achieves by “magic” could be done by either a gun or a robot, and there is no subtlety to anything he does. Harry Potter’s best spell is his glamour. He makes himself look like a powerful wizard when in fact he’s a know-nothing written by another know-nothing, at least where magic is concerned. Despite his magical shortcomings, Harry Potter is destined to outlive you and me because as I say in Sacred Homemaking, the astral plane outlives the etheric plane outlives the physical plane. The more subtle the plane, the longer it lasts. The most subtle plane of all, the spiritual plane, lives forever.
Jesus is an egregore. I am not saying he never lived: the jury is out on that. Whether or not he existed as a person, he definitely exists as an egregore. He is a much more powerful egregore than Harry Potter, as he is older and worshipped as God.
As I say over and over in these essays, the astral plane is not a separate place. It is right here, right now, superimposed and infused in everything we are. Amelia is an astral plane dweller and this is her main power. If Amelia was real, she would be just another physical plane It Girl. She would be subject to aging. If she got fat and old, married someone who wasn’t Charlie, or found some other way to sour the fantasy, she would be as eventually hated as she is currently loved. The best she could do as a real girl would be to die young as a martyr so she could be catapulted into sainthood. Luckily for Amelia, she lacks the albatross of a physical body. She is one step closer than you and me to potential godhood because of it.
You go, girl!
She also has a nearly infinite reserve of male anger to keep her image alive and well. She is cute and sexy, like Belle Dauphine without the pick me impulse and dirty bathwater for sale. Anger among men is not going away any time soon. We have arrived at the point where men have given up on women and women are in the process of giving up on men. As a result, birthrates have plummeted almost everywhere in the world. I think this has everything to do with the Earth correcting human overpopulation in the gentlest way she knows how, but others think it is because so many women in the world must work outside the home, the Covid shots, or microplastics. Whatever. Amelia is an eternally young, slim sprite because every other form of woman has become unpalatable, especially if she has an opinion. Modern men have retreated so far into porn and video games that most of them cannot read above a ninth grade level. I thought it was bad in my day when my choices were limited to going gay or being with a guy who lived to watch football every weekend. Nowadays, the average young man is both impotent and insolent, a wraith of weaponized incompetence who bitterly complains about womanhood between microwaved tendie binges and beating his meat to toddler bukkake. He blathers on about going to war (or about others going to war on his behalf) while enjoying the peace won for him by other men. Can Amelia reach him in his cocoon of acedia and provisional living? No other woman can.
Amelia says what men cannot say, and it is good because she does it in a way that is unsquelchable and eternal. She is bad because she is yet another symptom of provisional living. On the plus side, she makes toxic liberal women super mad because unlike a real girl, they cannot tear her down or cast her out of the longhouse/take her ability to make a living away in order to force her compliance. She highlights all of their shortcomings without having to try, and that is why she will have much hate projected upon her. Their evil eyes gaze into the digital mirror. This force may be enough for them to completely self-destruct, given enough time and distance.
There are some men who see Amelia as some kind of savior. If you are one of them, let me assure you she is not going to save anyone any more than Pepe the Frog. If you want to save and be saved, please go outside. Be with the sky and the trees, and don’t feel you have to pick up a fishing pole, soccer ball, or a toolbox to be out there. When you do come back inside, instead of turning on the dopamine drip and immersing yourself in the antics of fantasy girlfriends or dreaming about invading Haiti, please use the internet to learn manly skills. My husband, whose father was largely absent before he divorced my husband’s mother when my husband was 12, taught himself nearly all of his considerable skills via books and the internet. If you are a visual learner, the internet holds a treasure trove of knowledge. For those would be warriors who are not currently serving or who will never serve in the armed forces, please go out and defend real girls on the streets from the monsters, creeps, and traffickers who make it impossible to feel safe as a female. Where are the men willing to watch the streets and to at least threaten various immigrant scum with retribution for their terrible behavior? Where are the volunteer neighborhood patrols that ensure women and children can walk to and from school without being harassed? In the stranger danger/Satanic Panic 80s, we had a thing called Neighborhood Watch where you would put a blue star in your window so any little kid who felt threatened could knock on the door and find a safe house. Where are the blue stars? Where are the boys with baseball bats? Go out there and defend your country. Do it for Amelia.
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kallianeira
