Incorrect. Art is something that moves society forward, to an egalitarian state of being. The communist manifest is art. The bible is art. Anime, jrpg's, and visual novels are not art. In fact, they've caused society to regress, leading me to believe they are in fact "anti-art", a term I just invented.
Weebs are degenerate creatures.
To quote another learned man:
You find very few people who want to eat things that really are not food or to do other things with food instead of eating it. In other words, perversions of the food appetite are rare. But perversions of the sex instinct are numerous, hard to cure, and frightful. I am sorry to have to go into all these details but I must. The reason why I must is that you and I, for the last twenty years, have been fed all day long on good solid lies about sex. We have been told, till one is sick of hearing it, that sexual desire is in the same state as any of our other natural desires and that if only we abandon the silly old Victorian idea of hushing it up, everything in the garden will be lovely. It is not true. The moment you look at the facts, and away from the propaganda, you see that it is not. They tell you sex has become a mess because it was hushed up. But for the last twenty years it has not been. It has been chattered about all day long. Yet it is still in a mess. If hushing up had been the cause of the trouble, ventilation would have set it right. But it has not. I think it is the other way round. I think the human race originally hushed it up because it had become such a mess.
C. S. Lewis
As anyone who has witnessed the downward spiral of beloved friendships into animated degeneracy could tell you, indulging in weebery begets even worse weebery. It begins with the "cool" or "cute" underaged animated girl, then moves to girls or women with improbable or even impossible bodily proportions, nearly always including belief defying, body clinging fabric (which are almost always ill-drawn anyhow, yet the instinctual crying defense for the "waifu" is already present when confronted with any such critique). Next comes the "tame" hentai, the anthropomorphized women of all sizes, shapes, and bestialities, the "genderbend". By these means, every person, object, animal, or piece of imagination in the world is reconstructed into an object of sexual gratification. By this point there is no recovery. The weeb has abused his sexual desire into a curse, in the vein of Erysichthon of myth:
Erysichthon once ordered all trees in the sacred grove of Demeter to be cut down. One huge oak was covered with votive wreaths, a symbol of every prayer Demeter had granted, and so the men refused to cut it down. Erysichthon grabbed an axe and cut it down himself, killing a dryad nymph in the process. The nymph's dying words were a curse on Erysichthon.
Demeter responded to the nymph's curse and punished him by entreating Limos, the spirit of unrelenting and insatiable hunger, to place herself in his stomach. Food acted like fuel on a fire: The more he ate, the hungrier he got. Erysichthon sold all his possessions to buy food, but was still hungry. At last he sold his own daughter Mestra into slavery. Mestra was freed from slavery by her former lover Poseidon, who gave her the gift of shape-shifting into any creature at will to escape her bonds. Erysichthon used her shape-shifting ability to sell her numerous times to make money to feed himself, but no amount of food was enough. Eventually, Erysichthon ate himself in hunger. Nothing of him remained the following morning.
As Erysichthon's hunger only grew from his attempts at sating it, so too does the weeb's lust for "lewds" grow with its lack of fulfillment. It is common among the disinterested and lowly educated to assume the ancients were foolish believers of sky people that controlled the elements. Not so. All myths contain lessons and warnings for the ordering of society, for human nature has never changed, and with the weight of recorded millennia at our back, it is a safe conjecture that it never will change; therefore, their wisdom is our wisdom, if we but have the grace to listen.
Friends, countrymen, I spend much of my time in these forums in jests, capers, "trolls". Yet now I implore you, sincerely, if you have love for kith and kin, look for the signs. Save them from the path of weebery before it is too late. Do not assume a spate of fascination with Eastern animation is a passing fancy. Do not listen to entreaties that so-called Visual Novels "have merit as art". Indeed, art is that which makes us feel, yet
our feelings betray us. They are chemicals, endorphins, hormones, supplementing our rationality with unthinking instinct, and while a useful tool, as all tools, they can be
warped and
misused, to our intellectual ruin. Do not allow your loved ones to become slaves to unfulfilled desire. That is the way of marriage to body pillows.
Be vigilant. One blink is enough for one's course to be unsalvageably waylaid. Embrace the Prophet Muhammed, Peace Be Upon Him, and move to Universal Oneness in spiritual fulfillment in the love of God and his sons, Buddha and Gerald "Slink" Johnson. Thank you.
This post was written in memoriam to CrimsonPheonix, RundownRabbit, and Lost Gryphon aka "Tsun Tzu". May they be graced with the light and peace they did not find in life, in remembrance of halcyon days of innocence.
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
William Wordsworth
