My name is Scorched Earth Policy and I love beautiful women.
I want to have sex with beautiful women.
This expression is being evaporated by a sinister silent war against male vitality. There was once a time when men could gather around and mutually publicly share this sentiment
I want you to picture a mechanics garage. An old school place where people get their hands filthy and smoke cigarettes. Oil stains on a concrete floor, rusted well worn wrenches. On a particle board shelf with half empty oils & random bolts, a playboy calendar is taped up proudly
In a young boys room during summer of 1997, there is a poster on the wall. In the corner it says Sports Illustrated. An athletic supermodel sits on her hands and knees, sand stains creep up her tanned thighs. She wears a bright bikini and smiles. His whole family has seen it.
These are minor examples of a forgone time in America, western society has once coveted the beautiful woman. The naked woman. Men openly would comment to their cohorts on the excitement they felt when a beautiful woman entered the room. Today there is a distinct shame to sex.
I'm sure your first objection will be, "Scorch! Sexuality is more open than ever"
There is a twin perverse element of "sex" that has pervaded society and crept in to the minds & hearts of young people. It has replaced what was once red blooded honest and pure virility
The modern zoomer boy will keep his walls bare of any element of young lust. He avoids the innocent teasing of his family. He is a eunuch on his surface, taught by so many cartoons and YouTube vids to avoid revelation. Yet he hunches over his phone and masturbates to FILTH.
There was once a time when films chose to consider the romantic interest as a necessary element of film. A non-negotiable part of the package. The hero and the maiden flirt in the open act. The climax of the movie sees them climaxing. The ending sees them kiss before a sunset.
Now what? How many sterile millennials have written vomit inducing buzzfeed articles about how "refreshing" it is to see movies where a man & a woman behave asexually to each other, simply so they don't fidget and squirm for a 2 minute sex scene when watching with their parents?
This neutral dishonesty hides the veneer of pornography, increasing in escalation. The most prudent defense of the modern digital man is to call me a coomer?
Who are you if you are so weak to the nudity of a beautiful woman you cannot help but think of masturbating?
I am tired of the forced asexuality in the world. I want a world where young men proudly put up beautiful naked women in their rooms, their garages, their gyms, their wallpapers, their art, and their lives. I want openness & honesty. Tasteful nudity is the path to our redemption.
Sex is sacred and to deny it completely, to curtain it out of view like some nervous stilted shame like some anxious child is unnatural. By curtailing this basic masculine pride, we have opted for the steady spiral into increasingly filthy perverse fetishes and pornographies.
Semen retention is a step in the right direction, but just as the teetotaler merely replaces one addiction for another, the no fapper replaces hedonism with fear. I say no more.
No more hiding.
No more shame.

My name is Scorched Earth Policy and I LIKE TO FUCK.

Do you?

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More from @Scearpo

23 Mar
There is a man who has only one purpose in a place where everything is a game. He must lose one billion times. He works 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and gets paid a moderate wage. He is the Designated Loser. In this simulated arena, he loses so that others can feel like they won
The Man Who Loses has gone through a series of emotions when he began. At first enthusiasm. Then irritation. Then weariness. Then despair. Then subdued rage. Then crazed enjoyment. Then emptiness. This spectrum of reactions is a minute fraction left behind early at his job.
The Man Who Loses regards all reaction to his work as a distant memory. He is beyond elation or despondence. His work is automatic. Participants enter a translucent arena, he manifests before them. He responds with perfect rhythm, knowing when to move and how to fail convincingly
Read 12 tweets
23 Mar
There is a feature to your memories that doesn't reveal itself until you've accrued a great deal of them. When you are a child, your memories are mundane recollections of the recent past, a tube TV crammed inside your skull with a VHS player, little rewind buttons on your teeth.
With time, the places, people, and moments that were always available will change or disappear. The moment a totem of familiarity that participates in your life is gone, you start making copies of copies. Your memories are not of things, rather you remember previous memories.
As you reach maturity, whether that be at 16 or 42, you will have accumulated a great deal of loss. And furthermore your memories will start to trim themselves to make room for more. In comparison to your whole life, you choose to remember less, only for special occasions.
Read 11 tweets
27 Feb
Do you practice death meditation every day? The arguably most relevant handbook on death is the Hagakure, an account of bushido philosophy written in the 1700s by a hermit samurai. The fundamental principle behind this warrior philosophy was to live as if one were already dead.
"Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one’s body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire-"
"-being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one’s master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead" - Yamamoto Tsunemoto.
Read 11 tweets
22 Feb
Ever since I was a little boy, my Scorched Earth Mom would apply her face & hands with this cream she kept in the refrigerator. I started pilfering it in my late teens and found it was better than any chapstick or storebought cream for dry skin. Today I'll show you how it's made. Image
2 tbsp Organic Beeswax
1 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 tbsp Jojoba Oil
½ cup Rose Water
2 tbsp Glycerin
1 tbsp Vitamin E Oil
1 tbsp Japanese Green Tea
A few drops of lemon juice from a freeze squeezed organic lemon Image
You'll want a sturdy glass container you can safely steam. Bring a small pot half filled with water to light boil on high heat. Put your olive oil, beeswax, and jojoba in the glass container. Use a strainer to make sure the container isn't touching the bottom. Set to low-med heat ImageImageImageImage
Read 12 tweets
13 Feb
There is a secret subconscious cult that all young women participate in unknowingly. A thirty thousand year old sisterhood shaman priest knowledge passed down from mother to daughter, friend to friend, as memetic timebombs. A Mystery School of condensing and concealing language.
Technology has only made this power more apparent. With innate instinct, a young woman, plugged into a digital reality with fluent appendages for the chaotic hyperevolution of communication can string together hundreds of chess moves in a 7 letter text message with emojis.
In cosmic spirit, the Woman subscribes to a mystical cult of learning how to condense a thousand implicit meanings in a glance, read tomes of data through a second of eye contact, express speeches through the slightest wrinkling of their face. Like female monks mastering language
Read 7 tweets
25 Jan
Do you approach your life with a Cyclopian focus? Laser beam face melting lung exploding winddrift velocity heralds you now. Today is Monday. Today is a good day. Today is the day you purchase a hammer from a local hardware store. Open your mind for the next 5 minutes, it's time:
First, I want you to think about a specific time in 1993, some of you remember it well as adults, some of you remember blurry DMT style past life reincarnation memories as toddlers, some of you remember dualistic hivemind memories of being your dad's cum and your mom's egg.
Next, I want you to detonate a localized trigger reflex instinct, a great and total pain or an absolute ambrosial pleasure. Nothing in between is allowed, we're working with extremes here. Think of a rapid beat. Elevate your heart rate. Clench your fists. Stare 1000 yards ahead.
Read 14 tweets

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