The question is: is consoomption the problem, or is the problem what you're consooming? Is there a meaningful difference in buying funko pops that are worthless immediately or buying silver bullion that you have no intention of ever selling?
(Adapted from a less-developed reply posted to the above.)
Once, men ate berries, roots, mammoth; they danced around great fires, they loved promiscuously. Were they consoomers? Were they coomers?
Clearly not. When you try to touch that brush to them, your hand recoils; you can't quite manage it. They were clearly something else; something that stands apart from the great blubbering mass of modernity, and seems distinctly greater beneath the layer of dust. You couldn't say why; it's just instinct. Your lizard brain wouldn't sort a land-wriggling seal into the same associative category as a cheetah, and so it is with ancient men and soyboys.
For some reason, the ancient man slaying a beast and feasting on it with his brothers, tearing a rib off and handing it along the line, does not provoke the same emotion as the bearded fat-man tearing open his newest amiibo.
They of old consumed with abandon, yet were not consoomers. They rutted in ways foreign to most moderns, yet were not coomers.
No; they just consumed and fucked, savage, innocent, wild, pure.
So what's changed? The men of old weren't uniquely blessed with a shield against blubberiness, were they? Then why does a caveman orgy over a dead mammoth seem so much more respectable than a furry convention?
Why do we recoil in disgust when we look at the Soyboy? Uncanny valley. They're a perversion of something genuine and healthy: stunted, warped men, who've had something important sucked out of them.
Food, drink, getting tools and goods and weapons, love: your brain rewards these because they're the shape of a successful life in the ancestral environment.
Take a young consoomer and put him in an ancient tribe at the Dawn of man, and he'll grow muscles and a brain, and die happy (if he lives a day).
Take a stone-age tribal and put him in our world, and he'll be devoured by predators he didn't co-evolve with, that turn his deepest instincts against him so deftly he doesn't even notice until he's turned soft and pliant and slow in their gentle grasp, that distract him with loud noises and flashing lights while they girdle him in velvet tendrils that slowly smother him and his children's children, that do to him as his would-be progeny did to the Auroch.
Fruit flies are built to eat fruit, but they don't know that. They just know it's good and right to suckle from brightly colored things that smell good. They're so good at this that they spread across their environments. All is well. Then flytraps evolve, and suckling on the brightest, best-smelling thing around is suicide. Worse: it's feeding the monster that arose to prey on your kind.
Men are built for a purpose, but they don't know that- or at least, what it is. They just know they like to eat and drink and gather and play and fight and fuck. They're so good at this that they spread across the earth. All is well. And then something I can't put into words evolves, and eating the best-tasting food, playing the best games, lusting for the most beautiful women, is suicide. Worse, it's feeding the monsters that arose to prey on your mind.
What are these monsters? I'm not sure. Ideology, Corporation, Government, Mother, Network, Meme, Capitalism, Communism, Christianity, Incentive structures, Language itself, The Prisoner's Game and other problems- they all have something in common, there's some great shape on the horizon just out of reach and sight, and it's what's at the end of the tendrils. Scott Alexander named it Moloch.
All men could be glad, and the world good. Food could be tasteful, but healthy; women could be fair, but faithful; words could be beautiful, but true. Physics denies us none of this. But instead, we live in this shithole, even though everybody- even the evil ones- hate it. Why? Moloch; a deficiency in the structure of the reality; the work of the Demiurge.
Because of Moloch, people come together to form the predators that crack open men's skulls and suck them dry, so they can snatch them up and sell them loot crates and manscaped products and loans and ideas. But speaking of these things in concrete terms is misleading; we can't see the forest for the trees. We need to step back. We need a metaphor.
We already have a mythological being preys on humans, yet is birthed from them- a predator subspecies: they're called vampires. Vampires that prey on your mind are called psychic vampires.
This is why Alex Jones is the Prophet, and an artist. Art brings forth what we can't describe with the words of the day, and forces its smoky shape into some sort of shattered focus, without straying too far into temporal specifics, into expediency.
This is what Jones does; through poetry and anger and art and talking about alien interdimensional psychic pedophile vampires, he tries to let you catch a glimpse of the unknowable thing on the horizon.
(He also tries to sell you super male vitality.)
(I'll tackle the 'pedophile' part some other time.)
So, what's the difference between consoomption and consumption? Well, first things first: are you buying what the psychic pedophile vampires are selling? Are you paying Moloch, or are you paying the little god of the humans?
Fruit flies, if they could wipe out flytraps and no longer have to live in fear, would want to eat fruit. But there are flytraps.
How should a human live, in a world full of human-traps?
lol just don't get eaten nerd