The Death of Eros : Part Two

The critical symbiotes that make us into real people instead of NPCs play-acting at life

When you lose the ability to produce oxytocin, you will desperately try to release some by eating anything salty, fat or sweet. Is the last chance gas station of unbelievably damaged metabolism. It is resort to force by cramming stuff in your reward system in place of a real life.

Oxytocin is more than the “the love hormone.” That’s a radical oversimplification seemingly designed to make it sound like a nice emotion to have but optional. Nothing could be further from the truth.

People who no longer produce oxytocin are damaged goods incapable of love, family, patriotism, virtue, loyalty or honesty. They are an open doorway to demons of all kinds because nature abhors a vacuum and what is empty of all love will soon be filled with rage, resentment and a deep hatred of anything that is good or commendable. In time it will be filled with animosity against all living things. It is like introducing the cold emptiness of outer space into a living warm biological system. It’s not supposed to happen under any cirumstances.

Oxytocin makes badly wounded bleeding men in a trench rise to their feet and mount a counter-offense when the logical thing to do is retreat. Men see the flag or hear a rallying call and suddenly they surge with strength and get their second wind. Oxytocin saves nations from destruction. Oxytocin makes men crazy with anger such that they defund USAID and the Department of Education in one week. Bad men know instinctively that men filled with oxytocin will die on this hill if necessary and bad men love nothing so they beat a retreat. Once they smell oxytocin on the resurgence they know people are ready to fight and kill on this issue. They are not afraid any more. They are not scared of dying because they love something other than their wretched lives.

Men flush with oxytocin think The truth is I was never going to live forever anyway. This is important enough to split some wigs over. … Suddenly the bad guys know it is prudent to abandon their demands for “Drag Queen Story Hour.” The jig is up. The sheeple got a temporary oxytocin transfusion.

Evil people are cowards who love nothing and sense when the party is over. They smell the oxytocin and know the racket has to end unfortunately.

I was wondering if maybe my recent stroke had somehow improved my cognition. I believe some of my motor skills were damaged a little but I seemed to be recovering. I have realized that the effect was indirect. As a result of the stroke I lost more weight. I think I crossed the Rubicon at 247 pounds. (Down from 342 (!) originally when I arrived back from Australia) At some point, the insulin to my brain rebooted after thirty years and I was able to think clearly again as when I arrived in Oz thirty years ago at 212 pounds of pure steroid-free muscle. Wow, I thought. So I walked around like the guy Bradley Cooper played in Limitless all the time, I just didn’t appreciate it. You don’t notice the forest for the trees until somebody cuts down the trees.

All of a sudden and out of the blue, the Oxytocin conclusion leapt full-blown into my head like a thirty year old fog clearing up. The same day I was discharged from the hospital.

With Superman, you have to drag the kryptonite far enough away for him to start to recover his superpowers. With me, you have to drag my ex-wife far enough from my proximity to allow me to lose weight, get my insulin function back and lower my blood pressure enough so can actually think again. When all that happened three years after returning to the U.S. I recovered sufficiently that I began to resemble my former self before I met my “wife” and that whole thirty year nightmare started. The oxytocin thing just snapped into my head as if somebody had sprayed WD-40 onto my upper cortex.

The iodine deficiency in the diet that was created by removing iodized salt was not the primary cause of the change in character of Americans. It was the finishing cut, like when an animal is killed kosher. It was the last part of the completion to let the animal bleed out with no brains and no hope of survival.

I thought of my original Substack post “The Death of Eros” and realized I had been so self-absorbed about my personal problems fitting in to the society I found when I left the service I had missed a really obvious conclusion right in front of me the entire time.

It was the loss of oxytocin that started it all.

Things had changed in the United States when I was gone. My gut instinct was right. Things had changed profoundly at the biological level. The Americans had changed into another type of creature altogether when I was away. Not exactly human any more.