There's something about the night. It strips away illusions, leaves nothing but the raw truth. And that's exactly what we're doing here. Welcome to Knox.
This is more than just another episode. This is a turning point. Knox is now fully dedicated to bringing you the unfiltered text of the origins of genius and fascism by Alexander Nevzorov. And for the first time, it's available in English.
I read this book and I knew I had to make it accessible. I had to share it. Because this is the kind of book that doesn't just inform you. It shakes you.
It forces you to rethink everything. Tonight we're diving into chapters 10 and 11. Two chapters that tear apart the illusions of genius, intelligence, and everything we think makes us special. And remember, this is a joint project between Trickster Collective and the Mindset Maverick YouTube channel.
Make sure you're following us everywhere. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook. All links are in the episode description. And you can listen to Niax on all major platforms.
Spotify, Apple Podcasts, SoundCloud, you name it. Now, let's get started. Chapter 10, the Generator of Stupidity. First suspicions that Homo had a fatal brain threshold should have arisen the moment someone laid eyes on the first ancient Egyptian pyramid.
Even back then, it should have been crystal clear that things were going horribly wrong and that there was absolutely nothing to expect from the future of human history. Let me remind you, evolution equipped Homo with speech, with a luxuriously dexterous hand, with heavy cerebral hemispheres and even pushed it onto the grand stage of existence. The Sumerian era was already a compilation of alarming mistakes. The reek of idiocy emanated from both the whims of the first kings and the escapades of the mythical Gilgamesh.
And yet, there was still a flicker of hope. Perhaps these were just rookie errors and eventually things would sort themselves out. But then came Egypt. And Egypt shattered all illusions.
Egypt confirmed that the Sumerian anxiety was not in vain. Under the roaring chance of Egypt's temple choirs, Homo confidently embarked on its march toward the sex shop and the furnaces of Bukenwald. And with that, the fleeting chance for an alternative history of the homogeneous was forever lost. Just look at the facts.
These nub-keeper-whatnots managed to hold global leadership for nearly 3,000 years. They had unlimited resources. They had all the gold in the world and all the available labor force at their disposal. They occasionally displayed minor successes in civil and household engineering.
With some effort and just a few centuries, the Egyptians could have easily launched a steam locomotive. A steam locomotive is a ridiculously simple piece of machinery. So simple that it practically begs to be invented immediately. All the necessary components were always there.
Steam, metal, coal, the fundamental need for transportation. The next step, penicillin. To create the first antibiotic, all they had to do was combine a wound with some mold. And 100 years later, by simply tossing a pebble, someone could have suspected the existence of gravity.
The impact of precise knowledge and advancing skills is always colossal. Even these basic discoveries could have launched a true civilization of knowledge and, perhaps, the birth of actual intelligence. Something that during the Sphinx era was nowhere to be found. But instead of trains, all of Homo's efforts went into drying and painting corpses.
And instead of penicillin, they groveled before Osiris. And the primary medicine of the time became the dung of a sacred crocodile. Prayers and requests were to be directed to dung beetles. Yes, the mighty scarabs.
And the skin from a corpse's feet had to be sliced off so that earthly dirt wouldn't stain the heavens. The pinnacle of absurdity came in the form of military parades and the construction of idiotic pyramids. And what exactly do pyramids prove? They prove that for the sake of the dead, humans have always been willing to kill the living.
This epidemic of paranoia, known as Ancient Egypt, lasted for 2,700 years. Of course, the manic obsession with drying corpses, building pyramids, worshiping reptile feces, and holding conversations with beetles creates the full impression that the banks of the Nile were populated entirely by dangerously insane individuals. It's hard to say who was dumber: the pyramid builders themselves or the Egyptologists who try to find meaning in their ridiculous labor. But if such a civilization were to be discovered today, the UN would immediately launch a special program, mandating that all subjects of the Ramesses dynasty, all Ramesses themselves, and all children of Ramesses be immediately relocated to psychiatric institutions around the world, while their schizophrenic pyramids would be sold to construction companies and dismantled.
No, there's nothing funny about this. Being the descendant and heir of imbeciles is a dubious honor. Even more depressing is realizing that, though involuntarily, you are still a continuation of their work. Because Egypt never truly disappeared.
If the caves of the Pleistocene were the school of idiocy, then the era of mummies became its university. It is no surprise that all of Homo's subsequent history would be drenched in God, death, and power. The gilded poison of ancient Egypt immediately seeped into the bloodstream of civilization and continues to circulate in it to this day, dictating not just perversions but also norms. Listen closely.
Tug on the mustache of any given Stalin and you'll hear the hissing of all the pharaohs at once. The sacred kinship of these figures is undeniable, just as the connection between Tutankhamun's golden smile and the relics of Christian saints is irrefutable. Equally obvious is that every Notre Dame is a conceptual grandchild of the pyramids. By the way, the technology of burning people alive is also an invention of the pharaonic era.
Undoubtedly, the desire to incinerate one's fellow man had been a dream since the first taming of fire. But it was Egypt that made this ancient fantasy a reality. The Egyptians managed not only to shove a person into the flames but also to keep them there until they were properly cooked. Apparently, this new form of entertainment was somewhat dampened by the insane cost of firewood.
But even here, Egyptian ingenuity found a way out. They replaced wood with dried camel dung biscuits. A blasphemer who had disrespected the god Ra or the pharaoh was tightly bound and packed from soles to chin in dried manure. Igniting this punishment structure was a slow process, but ancient Egyptians were never in a hurry.
Camel shit, of course, did not provide spectacular flames, but it produced the necessary temperature. So, the world's first heretics were not burned. They were slowly roasted in their own juices. And it was from these dung ovens that the flame eventually jumped onto the firewood of the Inquisition.
It should also be noted that the concepts of borders, homeland, and monuments to military glory were also inventions of those sadists and fake jackal heads. It was they who equated submission with happiness. To the devotees of the scarab, slavery was the norm, while freedom was a rare and pointless deformity, one that had no explanation, no justification. After all, a life free from the will of the pharaoh and the gods simply had no meaning and had to be terminated.
Later, this ancient Egyptian concept would become fundamental. It would gleam in the gold of iconostases, glitter in the crowns of kings, and be stamped onto swastikas. It would become the rotten little egg from which the monstrosities of communism, patriotism, and monarchism would hatch. The worshipers of crocodile dung managed to thoroughly mutilate the mind of young humanity.
Mysticism, magic, faith, the afterlife and heavenly shelters. Rituals, prayers, repentance, resurrection and communion. Everywhere you'll find the same label: made in ancient Egypt. Yes, yes, all of it was invented back then.
The religions that followed the cults of Osiris and Amun hardly had to come up with anything new. They could simply take the groundwork laid down by bald-headed priests and slightly tweak it to fit their own cult. As we can see, Homo civilization was indeed built upon an Egyptian foundation. But let's not blame Egypt itself.
It wasn't the author of idiocy, it was simply its first full-fledged masterpiece. The true author? The human brain. Egypt merely developed the practical mechanisms to bring that idiocy to life.
The technological achievements of the subjects of Upper and Lower Egypt, those so beloved by Egyptophiles, are nothing but a trick of historical fast-forwarding. The technique is simple, but it works flawlessly on fools. How does it work? Let me explain.
You take any random, impressive little detail and present it as a sign of an advanced era. And then, you simply omit the price that was paid for that little detail. No one clarifies that this supposedly brilliant invention actually took centuries of trial and error, slowly evolving, endlessly revised and refined before it finally became functional. Of course, it's a fraudulent trick, but a damn effective one.
And now, about the middle finger. If the ability to raise your middle finger in defiance takes five seconds to master, then it's a minor anecdote. But if that same gesture requires months of deep contemplation and intricate finger manipulations, then suddenly, we have a problem. Yes, in the end, the middle finger is proudly displayed.
The proud finger wielder rejoices, shaking his perfectly formed screw-you salute. But we know the truth. We know how much time and effort went into forming that gesture. The fast-forward effect.
The fast-forward trick is all about taking the magic scissors of history, snipping out the shameful months of failed attempts, and tossing them into the void. The moment this trick is pulled off, the middle finger wielder transforms from a complete idiot into a highly sophisticated gentleman. But all those Egyptian trinkets, their jewelry, their astronomy, they all belong to the same category of deception. The real picture of Homo's ability to invent?
Tragic. Unfortunately, for humans to grasp and connect even the simplest patterns, they need dozens of generations. Let's take something insanely simple, the pipette, a primitive liquid dispenser. The need for precisely measured drops is as old as civilization itself.
It was necessary for medicine poisons, perfumes, cosmetics, fortune-telling, occult rituals, torture embalming, gilding paints, alchemical experiments, lubricating mechanisms, picking locks, and so on. Despite the fact that the need for droplet precision was critical, the invention of a basic pipette took about 5,000 years. Yes, 5,000 years. Its year of birth: 1,660.
A portable and reliable source of fire was also an absolutely crucial thing. But it took precisely 5,300 years to come up with and produce the first lighter. Ancient Egypt also proved that success in the arts and intelligence are in no way connected. And why would they be?
Art, just like logic, fascism, reason, and everything else, is not a human invention. It is a basic natural phenomenon, one that arose alongside matter itself, as one of its inherent properties. This law of universal embellishment governs the plumage of peacocks, the formation of crystals, the design of galaxies. It is the foundation of sexual selection and the invisible beauty of neutron streams.
This is an all-powerful, all-pervasive force. Through the clumsy acrobatics of the genome, this property eventually found its way into the nature of the Pleistocene scavenger. And that's when the circus began. Homo, in accordance with its primary profession, is a creature of extremely simplified design.
In terms of external aesthetics, it falls short even compared to a caramel-colored crab, let alone masterpieces like dart frogs or cheetahs. It's all perfectly logical. The human exterior is a direct consequence of its primary role. A scavenger had no need for vivid patterns or flamboyant crests.
Early Homo wasn't bothered by its bland appearance, but over time, after climbing the ranks to pharaoh and god, the scavenger decided it should at least try to match the beauty of ostriches. And that's when this deeply embedded property of matter, so firmly seated in the genome, finally came in handy. It allowed Homo to start improving both itself and its surroundings. The law of universal embellishment can manifest not only through the natural metamorphosis of matter but also through external effort, just like in decorator crabs.
Naturally, humans took the crab's path. It all began with feathers, paints, and shells, continued through Leonardo da Vincis, Notre Dames, and Dolce & Gabbana sneakers. In short, the lack of dazzling crests was, in principle, successfully compensated for. This property permeated the behavior of the species.
Thus, art was born. Of course, compared to the hypnotic aesthetics of mirror spiders or the grandeur of volcanoes, it all turned out rather underwhelming. But still, just enough for smearing paint onto canvases, constructing music, and other amusements. End of chapter 10.
So, there it is. A creature that began in filth, crawling through the bones of the dead, dreaming of something grander. It built temples, painted ceilings, composed symphonies. It declared itself divine.
It forgot what it was. But stand a human next to a tiger, a snake, or even a spider, and tell me, which one looks more complete? We dress ourselves up, drape ourselves in illusions. But beneath the gold, the paint, the marble, the scavenger remains.
And before we go further, let's sit with this truth for a moment. This is where we pause. This is our tradition. Every episode, every descent, every revelation, we step back.
Not to escape, but to let it sink in. To let the weight of it settle and while we do, we let the music take over. A carefully chosen track. One that fits the moment.
One that speaks when words can't. And while you're here, follow Nox. Find us on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook. Links in the description.
Now, breathe. Sink into the sound. Forgive me. Creeping in the dark, searching for the unknown.
I took it too far. Changed the beat of my heart. Sweetest blood dripping in. Feed the raw scream within.
Chase the taste, chase the taste. Sweetest blood dripping in. Feed the raw scream within. Chase the taste, chase the taste.
Oh, forgive me. Oh, forgive me. Oh, forgive me. Oh, forgive me.
Creeping in the dark, searching for the unknown. I took it too far. Changed the beat of my heart. Sweetest blood dripping in.
Feed the raw scream within. Chase the taste, chase the taste. Sweetest blood dripping in. Feed the raw scream within.
Chase the taste, chase the taste. Oh, forgive me. Oh, forgive me. Oh, forgive me.
Oh, forgive me. Creeping in the dark, searching for the unknown. Well, I took it too far. Changed the beat of my heart.
Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.
Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.
That was Forgive Me, Olaf Stuut Remix. A hypnotic, immersive soundscape perfectly tuned to the atmosphere of Nox. Deep textures, evolving rhythms, and that melancholic tension. It grips you, doesn't it?
What's even more fascinating? This track was released 10 years ago. And yet, it still sounds like it could have dropped yesterday. Timeless, forward-thinking electronic music at its finest.
But now, I want to hear from you. How does this track resonate with you? Does it capture the essence of NOX? What kind of sound do you think belongs in this space?
Let's talk. And if you're here, it means you crave something more. Something deeper. Nox is just getting started.
Make sure you're locked in. Find us on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook. Links in the description. And stream Nox wherever you listen.
Spotify, Apple Podcasts, YouTube, you name it. Now, let's push forward. Chapter 11. Planet of the Stupid.
A little earlier, I wrote about the fatal brain threshold. That was an incorrect, deeply flawed formulation. There is no threshold. There are only the natural properties of the human brain.
Unfortunately, by its very nature, the brain's cognitive potential is incapable of producing anything but idiocy, and any independent product of its thinking will, at the very least, be absurd. The fact is, the brain is fundamentally incapable of establishing cause and effect relationships, distinguishing good from evil, or truth from lies. Not because it is blind or defective. Simply because evolution never designed it for that purpose.
Let's illustrate this with an experiment. We'll take a sterile, knowledge-free, biologically healthy, fully developed human brain, and we'll give it a test. We'll pose a few trivial problems, problems concerning fertility, contraception, and disease. And what kind of answers will we get?
Let's start with fertility. We'll ask the human brain how to ensure a good pumpkin harvest. It will grind its convolutions together and respond that the optimal method for growing pumpkins is to flay the entire skin off a 13-year-old girl at the exact moment of her first menstruation. Yes.
The girl must be slaughtered and skinned, not just anywhere, but inside the temple of the appropriate goddess, on a designated day, of course, with songs and dancing. If the flaying ritual is performed correctly, then no drought will ever destroy the pumpkin crop. The connection between the girl's skin and the growth of pumpkins might not seem particularly logical, but for millions of Aztecs and Maya, this was the ultimate agricultural strategy. Not for a year or two, not for a single bad harvest, but for centuries.
And not in some prehistoric cave era, but in the 13th to 16th centuries AD, during the time of Copernicus, Bruno, and Galileo. Now, let's move on to contraception. We ask the brain, what can prevent a woman from getting pregnant? "She must drink her own menstrual blood," the human brain confidently replies.
After a brief moment of additional thought, it adds, "It can also be diluted with water from seven different streams." This was the widely accepted method among Russian serf women. Some of these peasant sweethearts would dilute it with water from seven streams. Some wouldn't. It wasn't particularly tasty and wasn't particularly effective.
But peasant women dared not argue with the wisdom embedded in the skulls of their mothers and grandmothers. And so, the joyous cycle of feminine fluids gurgled on for eight centuries straight, right up until the 1920s. Let's conclude our conversation with the brain by asking about the treatment for epilepsy. How can one be cured of this affliction?
"Ah," here the brain does not hesitate and, without missing a beat, presents its method. "To cure epilepsy, one must stab a newborn albino boy to death, grind him into paste, and rub oneself with the mixture." Even today, this practice is followed in Tanzania. As we can see, the exam is a total failure, not a single correct answer. One might try to dismiss the Aztec, Russian, and Tanzanian examples as merely the barbaric ignorance of uncivilized ethnic groups.
Fine. Let's dismiss them and take a closer look at that senile old lady called Europe, the withered grande dame of civilization, the old continent that never tires of flaunting its enlightened reputation. Let's not even look at her savage 10th century, nor her reckless 16th, but rather her glorious 19th. Yes, the century of Maxwell, Claude Bernard, and Pasteur, an era of scientific revolutions.
And yet, every individual not directly involved in precise knowledge continued to display the same intellectual gymnastics as Russian peasants or Tanzanian sorcerers. For example, in Normandy, urinary incontinence was treated with mole ash. Of course, the mole had to be burned alive. In Orléans, people tried to cure psoriasis by strangling a mole with their right hand.
Meanwhile, in Agen, using the right hand was considered a foolish superstition. A live mole could only be crushed with the left hand. But rural Britain was perhaps the most obsessed with moles of all. There, peasants were so rapidly and densely covered in warts that wives stopped recognizing their husbands and children mistook their mothers for strangers.
The only true cure for warts was believed to be the severed, still living paws of a mole. The treatment method was simple. One had to walk across the patient's face, gradually picking up speed, all while chanting Psalm 37, known as the cosmetic psalm. In Paris, however, things were slightly different.
After all, Paris was considered a progressive city. Paris did not believe in the healing powers of moles. Paris laughed at peasant superstition, but Paris did believe that a drowned corpse could be resurrected by blowing tobacco smoke up its anus. This spectacle of inflating the dead could be observed almost every morning along the banks of the Seine.
What was blown in usually came right back out. And if there was no wind, the smoke rose in neat little rings over the corpse's wet, exposed ass. If, however, there was a slight breeze, the tobacco rings merged with the incense rising from Parisian churches, where devout Christians, chanting in unison, feasted on the flesh of their long-deceased God. The conclusion is grim.
No matter the time period or place of birth, if a person isn't Pasteur or Claude Bernard, then they are, by default, a complete idiot. And if they are Bernard, then they are, at best, a partial idiot. The annals of human history are stuffed with millions of grotesque examples of the pure human brain's inability to function properly. The moment this mysterious and supposedly great organ is cut off from systematic scientific knowledge, it immediately descends into absolute lunacy.
And after reviewing 5,200 years' worth of the brain's greatest masterpieces, perhaps we can forgive human history for its grotesque ugliness. Because, truth be told, things could have been even worse. And no, the brain is not to blame. It was never a cosmic phenomenon, never a seeker of truth.
That legend was fabricated by culture, a culture that fundamentally misunderstands what the human brain actually is. But we can't really blame culture. I trust we all remember, if science is the truth about humanity, then culture is the lie about it. And culture can only exist within a completely false understanding of reality.
The more deranged the illusion, the more vibrant the culture itself. When depicting humanity, culture and science paint two completely different creatures, creatures that have nothing in common whatsoever. It was culture, not reality, that slapped a bunch of labels onto that ancient chunk of fatty acids encased in bone. Labels like curiosity, a thirst for knowledge, an endless drive for discovery.
None of that exists, not even a trace of it. It's pure artistic bullshit. Or if you prefer, just another detail in the cultural fairy tale that humanity has been drunk on for three centuries straight. Every mystery of the brain begins with a false premise, with an attempt not to study the brain itself, but to study the legend that culture invented about it.
And that's where the secrets begin. In other words, the brain has only one real mystery. It is catastrophically stupid. And that's not some accidental flaw, it's simply the result of its physiological purpose and evolutionary history.
Let's not forget. Every poem, every equation, every symphony, these are just accidental byproducts of an organ that was never designed for such things. Rational thought isn't even a secondary function of the brain. It's not a built-in property at all.
It's nothing more than a freak accident of its activity. A waste product of neural activity in certain regions of the cortex. Under specific conditions, this epiphenomenon arises and Homo can make use of it. Let me explain.
Yes, the human brain consists of approximately 85 billion neurons. Undeniably, that's an impressive number. Certainly enough to brag about when standing next to a pig with its meager 2 billion, or even a gorilla with its 33 billion. And that's all very wonderful.
But the sheer abundance of neurons and their connections, unfortunately, it has almost nothing to do with intelligence or thought. End of chapter 11. And there you have it. A brain, a machine that never asked to think, a system that wasn't designed for logic or reason or truth.
And yet, here we are, staring into the abyss of our own making, trying to find meaning in a biological accident. Every poem, every equation, every masterpiece, just an unintended byproduct, an evolutionary glitch, a waste product. So tell me, if your thoughts are nothing but a malfunction, does that make them meaningless? Or does that make them the only thing that truly matters?
Think about that. Tonight, we tore apart chapters 10 and 11, breaking down the grand illusion of intelligence. And next time, we go even further. As you know, Nox is now dedicated to delivering the raw, unfiltered text of this book.
But the deeper discussions, the real breakdowns, they're moving to a parallel podcast and when it's ready, you'll be the first to know. Until then, subscribe. Nox is on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, YouTube, wherever you listen. Follow us on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook.
All links are in the description. Next episode drops in a week. Stay awake, stay questioning. In night we trust.