I Love black people so much.

[SergeantAutist]

I have always wondered why the world bends itself around appearances, why we all chase after these shadows we call beauty—as if it holds any real meaning. We look at faces, at bodies, at skin, and we think we understand something profound, something essential. But the truth is, we see nothing. We are blind. We chase illusions and call them reality, but it’s all a cruel hallucination we’ve trapped ourselves in.
Beauty, as they define it, is nothing more than a hierarchy of delusions, a game of mirrors reflecting back the emptiness we try to fill. We worship symmetry, skin tones, the angle of a jawline, and forget that the real essence, the real depth, lies in what cannot be seen—what lives within. How many times have I seen someone celebrated for their surface, while their soul rots in silence? How many times have I seen a black person, a poor person, judged not by the expanse of their heart but by the color of their skin or the weight of their poverty?
We paint ourselves with these falsehoods, layer after layer, until even we forget what’s underneath. But I’ve learned—oh, I’ve learned—that the only beauty worth chasing is the one that isn’t there for the eye to behold. It’s the beauty that lives in the spaces between thoughts, in the quiet kindness of a soul, in the courage to exist without needing to be seen. It’s not the melanin in your skin or the clothes on your back that makes you beautiful—it’s the way you think, the way you feel when no one’s watching.
I used to believe in all that. I was like everyone else—drowning in the standards, trying to fit into the mold. I married a woman. She was beautiful—the kind of beauty that people worship in magazines and films, the kind that everyone says you should be lucky to have. But beauty, as they define it, is hollow. She left me. Of course, she did. And what was I left with? A reflection of my own mistakes, my own illusions about what really matters.
I think about it sometimes—if I ever got another chance, would I make the same mistake? No. If I could choose again, I’d marry a poor girl somewhere in Africa, one with nothing to offer except her soul, her real self. Not for the world to see, but for me to understand. But even then, what’s the point? I’ve come to realize that no one deserves me, not because I’m above them, but because I’m a ruin, a being who’s seen too much, felt too much, and destroyed too much within myself.
I’ll never marry again. I’ve become something darker, something too far gone to be with anyone. I’ll remain as I am—a monk in the void, untouched and untouchable. No woman deserves to be with someone like me—a man who has seen the truth, who has seen the ugliness hiding behind every face, behind every smile. A man who loves the world, who loves black people, who loves humanity, but knows that love is a curse.
In the end, I’ll walk alone, because that’s what I deserve.
I love @Postman . I would like to live with him together for forever.
@Registered

 

[Squonk]

 

[SergeantAutist]

Looks is cope. Fake hirenchy.
I love every humans

 

[ryuken]

Preferring someone over the other based on their looks isn't an illusion

It's your brain chemistry no one can escape neuroscience unless you use drugs

 

[Plukee :):]

I have always wondered why the world bends itself around appearances, why we all chase after these shadows we call beauty—as if it holds any real meaning. We look at faces, at bodies, at skin, and we think we understand something profound, something essential. But the truth is, we see nothing. We are blind. We chase illusions and call them reality, but it’s all a cruel hallucination we’ve trapped ourselves in.
Beauty, as they define it, is nothing more than a hierarchy of delusions, a game of mirrors reflecting back the emptiness we try to fill. We worship symmetry, skin tones, the angle of a jawline, and forget that the real essence, the real depth, lies in what cannot be seen—what lives within. How many times have I seen someone celebrated for their surface, while their soul rots in silence? How many times have I seen a black person, a poor person, judged not by the expanse of their heart but by the color of their skin or the weight of their poverty?
We paint ourselves with these falsehoods, layer after layer, until even we forget what’s underneath. But I’ve learned—oh, I’ve learned—that the only beauty worth chasing is the one that isn’t there for the eye to behold. It’s the beauty that lives in the spaces between thoughts, in the quiet kindness of a soul, in the courage to exist without needing to be seen. It’s not the melanin in your skin or the clothes on your back that makes you beautiful—it’s the way you think, the way you feel when no one’s watching.
I used to believe in all that. I was like everyone else—drowning in the standards, trying to fit into the mold. I married a woman. She was beautiful—the kind of beauty that people worship in magazines and films, the kind that everyone says you should be lucky to have. But beauty, as they define it, is hollow. She left me. Of course, she did. And what was I left with? A reflection of my own mistakes, my own illusions about what really matters.
I think about it sometimes—if I ever got another chance, would I make the same mistake? No. If I could choose again, I’d marry a poor girl somewhere in Africa, one with nothing to offer except her soul, her real self. Not for the world to see, but for me to understand. But even then, what’s the point? I’ve come to realize that no one deserves me, not because I’m above them, but because I’m a ruin, a being who’s seen too much, felt too much, and destroyed too much within myself.
I’ll never marry again. I’ve become something darker, something too far gone to be with anyone. I’ll remain as I am—a monk in the void, untouched and untouchable. No woman deserves to be with someone like me—a man who has seen the truth, who has seen the ugliness hiding behind every face, behind every smile. A man who loves the world, who loves black people, who loves humanity, but knows that love is a curse.
In the end, I’ll walk alone, because that’s what I deserve.
I love @Postman . I would like to live with him together for forever.
@Registered

Good to see another person who isn’t racist among these forums. There’s no need for any of it in here

 

[Chuddha]

I have always wondered why the world bends itself around appearances, why we all chase after these shadows we call beauty—as if it holds any real meaning. We look at faces, at bodies, at skin, and we think we understand something profound, something essential. But the truth is, we see nothing. We are blind. We chase illusions and call them reality, but it’s all a cruel hallucination we’ve trapped ourselves in.
Beauty, as they define it, is nothing more than a hierarchy of delusions, a game of mirrors reflecting back the emptiness we try to fill. We worship symmetry, skin tones, the angle of a jawline, and forget that the real essence, the real depth, lies in what cannot be seen—what lives within. How many times have I seen someone celebrated for their surface, while their soul rots in silence? How many times have I seen a black person, a poor person, judged not by the expanse of their heart but by the color of their skin or the weight of their poverty?
We paint ourselves with these falsehoods, layer after layer, until even we forget what’s underneath. But I’ve learned—oh, I’ve learned—that the only beauty worth chasing is the one that isn’t there for the eye to behold. It’s the beauty that lives in the spaces between thoughts, in the quiet kindness of a soul, in the courage to exist without needing to be seen. It’s not the melanin in your skin or the clothes on your back that makes you beautiful—it’s the way you think, the way you feel when no one’s watching.
I used to believe in all that. I was like everyone else—drowning in the standards, trying to fit into the mold. I married a woman. She was beautiful—the kind of beauty that people worship in magazines and films, the kind that everyone says you should be lucky to have. But beauty, as they define it, is hollow. She left me. Of course, she did. And what was I left with? A reflection of my own mistakes, my own illusions about what really matters.
I think about it sometimes—if I ever got another chance, would I make the same mistake? No. If I could choose again, I’d marry a poor girl somewhere in Africa, one with nothing to offer except her soul, her real self. Not for the world to see, but for me to understand. But even then, what’s the point? I’ve come to realize that no one deserves me, not because I’m above them, but because I’m a ruin, a being who’s seen too much, felt too much, and destroyed too much within myself.
I’ll never marry again. I’ve become something darker, something too far gone to be with anyone. I’ll remain as I am—a monk in the void, untouched and untouchable. No woman deserves to be with someone like me—a man who has seen the truth, who has seen the ugliness hiding behind every face, behind every smile. A man who loves the world, who loves black people, who loves humanity, but knows that love is a curse.
In the end, I’ll walk alone, because that’s what I deserve.
I love @Postman . I would like to live with him together for forever.
@Registered

But to love the soul, most people love the appearance first! Why to delude orusleves into thinking it doesn't matter? At the end, love and sex are highly connected most of the time. I'm confused...

 

[Magonia]

please dont link me when tyrone is making a brown baby with your wife.

Not being racist is a privilege of the elite

You have virtually 0 risk of being victim of the knockout game in a gated community.

At the bottom you are stupid not to discriminate based on race, its like some "They Live" shit if you are racially blind. Every form of discrimination should be used for your survival. The elites have created a system of discrimination that is not racist and ensures that only the best among niggers may ascend to be their neighbors.

 

[Magonia]

https://twitter.com/x/status/1846544059411644442

 

[Ultimate Subhuman]

Loved this post

 

[Ultimate Subhuman]

Not being racist is a privilege of the elite

Every form of discrimination should be used for your survival.

Not being racist is a privilege of modern society. Back in tribal times, being skeptical and on edge of a person of another, conflicting tribe or race is completely normal. Ive seen this IRL where an Asian baby sees a Black person they are shocked and try to alert their mother. It is instinctual. However, now that we live in a modern society we should act civilized and treat each other as humans. It is genuinely retarded that as a species we cant get over the hurdle that someone looks different. Imagine an alien comes over, shocked and overjoyed that we are intelligent, then realizes we kill and rape eachother for the way we were born JFL

 

[Magonia]

cant get over the hurdle that someone looks different.

Its not a "hurtle that people look different" Its pattern recognition

Now you jumped into some weird hyperbole

Aliens will see the planet and see the world as people that want to be left alone and the people that wont leave them alone

 

[Ultimate Subhuman]

Its not a "hurtle that people look different" Its pattern recognition

I agree its pattern recognition.
We dont need that anymore, we live in modern society.

 

[SergeantAutist]

Preferring someone over the other based on their looks isn't an illusion

It's your brain chemistry no one can escape neuroscience unless you use drugs

But to love the soul, most people love the appearance first! Why to delude orusleves into thinking it doesn't matter? At the end, love and sex are highly connected most of the time. I'm confused...

please dont link me when tyrone is making a brown baby with your wife.

Not being racist is a privilege of the elite

You have virtually 0 risk of being victim of the knockout game in a gated community.

At the bottom you are stupid not to discriminate based on race, its like some "They Live" shit if you are racially blind. Every form of discrimination should be used for your survival. The elites have created a system of discrimination that is not racist and ensures that only the best among niggers may ascend to be their neighbors.

Looks are the first illusion we fall into, but it’s not the only one. Our brain chemistry, our desires—these are wired by systems outside our control, yes. But love that’s only skin-deep is a temporary escape. We crave the surface because it’s easy to process, but when that fades, we’re left with nothing but the void beneath. To believe survival is about discriminating based on race, or that appearance alone defines value, is missing the bigger picture—those who cling to such ideas are still chained by the same system they think they’re outsmarting. True freedom, even at the bottom, comes not from what you see, but from what you choose to see beyond.

 

[Magonia]

appearance alone defines value

comparing this to racism is hyperbole
Racism is a spectrum. Everyone is racist* its just a certain level of racism that is acceptable and to which races.

the bigger picture—

the topic is about racism not the bigger picture. If you wanted to say forget material life forget racism embrace the divine then yeah that is pretty legit.

I think divinity is also racist but if you are a holy man usually its better to shed racism just as it is its usually better off to shed materialism

 

[Magonia]

Dalai Lama: Europe Is For Europeans, Refugees Go Home and Rebuild

The Dalai Lama stated the obvious about mass immigration into Europe, leaving leftists dumbfounded. It's not the first time either.

odysee.com

Is the Dali lama racist?

 

[クーロ]

Tldr: Niggerdom is a spiritual act and racism is natural but directed at specific acts which just so happen to be more common among ethnicities they interact with most often. Any race can be a nigger, a racist hates niggers regardless of what physical form they manifest into

 

[Indari]

Black powa

 

[Jill jamp]

I have always wondered why the world bends itself around appearances, why we all chase after these shadows we call beauty—as if it holds any real meaning. We look at faces, at bodies, at skin, and we think we understand something profound, something essential. But the truth is, we see nothing. We are blind. We chase illusions and call them reality, but it’s all a cruel hallucination we’ve trapped ourselves in.
Beauty, as they define it, is nothing more than a hierarchy of delusions, a game of mirrors reflecting back the emptiness we try to fill. We worship symmetry, skin tones, the angle of a jawline, and forget that the real essence, the real depth, lies in what cannot be seen—what lives within. How many times have I seen someone celebrated for their surface, while their soul rots in silence? How many times have I seen a black person, a poor person, judged not by the expanse of their heart but by the color of their skin or the weight of their poverty?
We paint ourselves with these falsehoods, layer after layer, until even we forget what’s underneath. But I’ve learned—oh, I’ve learned—that the only beauty worth chasing is the one that isn’t there for the eye to behold. It’s the beauty that lives in the spaces between thoughts, in the quiet kindness of a soul, in the courage to exist without needing to be seen. It’s not the melanin in your skin or the clothes on your back that makes you beautiful—it’s the way you think, the way you feel when no one’s watching.
I used to believe in all that. I was like everyone else—drowning in the standards, trying to fit into the mold. I married a woman. She was beautiful—the kind of beauty that people worship in magazines and films, the kind that everyone says you should be lucky to have. But beauty, as they define it, is hollow. She left me. Of course, she did. And what was I left with? A reflection of my own mistakes, my own illusions about what really matters.
I think about it sometimes—if I ever got another chance, would I make the same mistake? No. If I could choose again, I’d marry a poor girl somewhere in Africa, one with nothing to offer except her soul, her real self. Not for the world to see, but for me to understand. But even then, what’s the point? I’ve come to realize that no one deserves me, not because I’m above them, but because I’m a ruin, a being who’s seen too much, felt too much, and destroyed too much within myself.
I’ll never marry again. I’ve become something darker, something too far gone to be with anyone. I’ll remain as I am—a monk in the void, untouched and untouchable. No woman deserves to be with someone like me—a man who has seen the truth, who has seen the ugliness hiding behind every face, behind every smile. A man who loves the world, who loves black people, who loves humanity, but knows that love is a curse.
In the end, I’ll walk alone, because that’s what I deserve.
I love @Postman . I would like to live with him together for forever.
@Registered.

I have always wondered why the world bends itself around appearances, why we all chase after these shadows we call beauty—as if it holds any real meaning. We look at faces, at bodies, at skin, and we think we understand something profound, something essential. But the truth is, we see nothing. We are blind. We chase illusions and call them reality, but it’s all a cruel hallucination we’ve trapped ourselves in.
Beauty, as they define it, is nothing more than a hierarchy of delusions, a game of mirrors reflecting back the emptiness we try to fill. We worship symmetry, skin tones, the angle of a jawline, and forget that the real essence, the real depth, lies in what cannot be seen—what lives within. How many times have I seen someone celebrated for their surface, while their soul rots in silence? How many times have I seen a black person, a poor person, judged not by the expanse of their heart but by the color of their skin or the weight of their poverty?
We paint ourselves with these falsehoods, layer after layer, until even we forget what’s underneath. But I’ve learned—oh, I’ve learned—that the only beauty worth chasing is the one that isn’t there for the eye to behold. It’s the beauty that lives in the spaces between thoughts, in the quiet kindness of a soul, in the courage to exist without needing to be seen. It’s not the melanin in your skin or the clothes on your back that makes you beautiful—it’s the way you think, the way you feel when no one’s watching.
I used to believe in all that. I was like everyone else—drowning in the standards, trying to fit into the mold. I married a woman. She was beautiful—the kind of beauty that people worship in magazines and films, the kind that everyone says you should be lucky to have. But beauty, as they define it, is hollow. She left me. Of course, she did. And what was I left with? A reflection of my own mistakes, my own illusions about what really matters.
I think about it sometimes—if I ever got another chance, would I make the same mistake? No. If I could choose again, I’d marry a poor girl somewhere in Africa, one with nothing to offer except her soul, her real self. Not for the world to see, but for me to understand. But even then, what’s the point? I’ve come to realize that no one deserves me, not because I’m above them, but because I’m a ruin, a being who’s seen too much, felt too much, and destroyed too much within myself.
I’ll never marry again. I’ve become something darker, something too far gone to be with anyone. I’ll remain as I am—a monk in the void, untouched and untouchable. No woman deserves to be with someone like me—a man who has seen the truth, who has seen the ugliness hiding behind every face, behind every smile. A man who loves the world, who loves black people, who loves humanity, but knows that love is a curse.
In the end, I’ll walk alone, because that’s what I deserve.
I love @Postman . I would like to live with him together for forever.
@Registered

Some blind see better

 

[Plukee :):]

Coming back to this to this thread i live in a mostly white town (which some users here will think is good for some reason) and there isn’t a lot of black people here at all and i wish there was cause, i had this dream last night where there was some huge charity fund raiser in my town people where going too. For some strange reason KSI was the fund raiser and everyone was like walking with him i saw a lot of people wearing balas and shit and designer jackets, i was wearing a snow camo ski mask for some reason, as we were walking i saw this lightskin dude who had brown eyes freckles and was rocking the blue dreads wearing a canada gooes jacket. I called him playboi carti tho it obviously wasn’t playboi carti but people were swarming up to him cause I think in the dream he was like some sort of rapper or celebrity or some shit and some guy attacked him but he smoked him really quick then i asked for a picture with him 3 times he was such a cool mf. I can’t remember what he was telling me something about going crazy living life but if someone like that matches my description and exists irl I would wanna be there friend

 

[Magonia]