In the world I see – you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You’ll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You’ll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower.

– Tyler Durden

Last week I was taken by a violent urge for jihadic eroticism. The reason for such violence was a rendez-vous for a new mission located in the Paris business district. In Neil Strauss’ book, the Game, I read that the perfect date needs 3 different places. On this particular day, my hate story with the current regime of things only needed two : a mcDonald at 9 am, filled with obese people, and an IT department of some random big corp, filled with 40 years old hommes-soja covering their glass cage with space-invaders made of post-its.

Fight Club warned us about such corporate purgatory. In Fight Club 2, the comic book, still written by Chuck Palahniuk, Sebastian, the narrator, is married to Marla Singer, is father of one, works at a video game company and lives in the burb. But Tyler Durden is still alive, and thanks to Sebastian’s psychiatrist, is summoned once a week during a session of hypnosis. Once in control, Tyler jump on his laptop to develop his network of followers via its web-site RizeOrDie, and, session by session, move forward his agenda of mass genocide. 

Fight Club 2
Fight Club 2 , by Chuck Palahniuk and Cameron Stewart

Who does not dream of having a rogue tutor like this? Something genuinely aligned on the maximization of one’s values, whatever the cost is. An out-of-this-world entity, working at night when the whole family is asleep, planning our escape from modern life. It’s such a vivid and recurring dream that I am starting to question its reality. Am I working on crypto and AI, late at night? Am I planning the creation of my Patriarchic State, in the middle of the desert? A city-state, far away from any place, where western women and their husbands could devote themselves fully to some AI enhanced Eroticism.

There would not be virtual AI girlfriends in such a place, but rather State mandated AI masters and mistresses, designed to maximize each byte of sadism and masochism. It would of course have to be an extremely Sadistic architectured place, where women would have to be fully veiled and slaves collared and gagged in public. A phallic dungeon, leather gloved and nuclear powered, where any banishment means death.

It only takes the will of a single man to create an NFT collection and other crypto tokens and use them as an access to these sadistic AI agents. It would make such a man and his degenerated following rich, immune to the bug-life, and ready to embark for this promised land of forniphilia.

Such a man would be the Paul Atréides of Sadism.

Such a man would be called Al Markiz.

ال ماركيز

I’m dead serious about the sadistic AI master and the NFT collection, and I got all the IQ to do it, but not the time. Right now, I am too busy to work on 3Dchan V2, a similar piece (but less polarizing!) on the technical level. If you are interested, contact me at


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