https://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728796&mc=1&forum_id=2

I think it's just heavily, heavily abused

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728902&forum_id=2#48954568)

The first tyranny was the written word.

Gutenberg didn’t invent liberation. He invented propaganda. And he didn’t know it (how could he?), but he carved out the first mass-distribution advantage for Tall Guys. He just wanted Bibles. Instead, he created the Literature of Height. It starts with parchment. Then ink. Then bound vellum and lead type and the inescapable sentence:

“He was Tall, and broad of shoulder.”

There it is. Page one. Book after book. The archetype. The silent lie told a trillion times in a thousand languages: virtue wears height. In life, it’s just a few inches. 5’9 to 6’2. A difference that fits inside a shoebox. It means nothing — until it’s written down. Then it expands. Becomes mythic. Becomes law. Because in prose, that height isn't just vertical. It's moral.

“He entered the room, and the others turned.”

“He had a commanding presence.”

“They followed him without knowing why.”

No one follows a short man without knowing why. They question him. They interrupt him. They challenge him. But write it down — turn the man into a sentence — and you’ve immortalized power. A 6`2`` man lives once. A 6`2`` character lives forever.

And they always do it. Every author, from pulp trash to Pulitzer darling. They write Tall Guys like they're a natural occurrence, a geological inevitability. Mountains in suits.

Even science joins in. They measure us. Graph us. Stack our femurs like data points. “The Average Height of Great Men,” they say. “The Correlation Between Height and Leadership,” they say. Entire journals peer-reviewed and funded — and the conclusion is always the same: Tall means better.

This isn’t empiricism. It’s priestcraft.

Height has been given metaphysical weight. In fables, in textbooks, in biographies. The moment a man is written down as tall, his sins shrink and his legend grows.

Napoleon? A smear campaign.

Hitler? 5'8. They mention it every time.

Lincoln? 6’4. They mention it first.

You think that’s accidental?

A short man must be extraordinary to be remembered. A Tall Guy just has to show up.

And worst of all — you believe it.

You read the books. You absorb the syntax. You carry it around like gospel.

You see a man duck through a doorframe and your brain lights up. You don’t think: “There goes a man with a minor ergonomic inconvenience.” You think: “There goes a man who should lead.”

Even if he’s dumb. Even if he’s cruel.

Especially if he’s silent.

Because that’s the final trick — the Hemingway trick. The myth of the quiet, tall man. Doesn’t speak much. Doesn’t need to. You project nobility onto the vacuum. That’s how deep the fiction goes. The less he says, the more you listen.

He doesn’t write.

He’s written about.

That’s the power.

You think the pen is mightier than the sword.

It’s not.

It’s just Taller.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728902&forum_id=2#48955031)

this place (digital grotto) has really become a circlejerk of "violent ideas" often posing falsely as liberatory ones and generally i feel ashamed to poast here on the days that there are enough decent people on to not make it a swirling cacophony of malice and transferred nihilism

height does not fascinate like some subset of the cabal here thinks that it does. you guys look like lunatics going on about this from the outside, but that's fine I guess as it seems that the real point is some vulturesque bronze age onerous claim basis against the "Tall" based on ridiculous if taken sincerely superstitions such as Nephilim and the Giants of Canaan and such. outside of here it really does not fascinate. my modest height at most gets me a "you're tall" from a woman occasionally and a "can you reach this item for me" more often than not.

the self-flagellating psuedo-jewish S&M whirling dervish stuff about "height" and "nougat" is absurd and has really dragged down the content as well as, i have to assume, poaster self-images, and the desertation of the sort of quality potpourri content that defined this forum is a testament to this

a lot of the guys that defined "height" "looksmaxing" incel-adjacent content are actually just homosexual, bisexual, accepting the mount from Alfred Kinsey, and ruled by undefined and queerly sublimated lusts for beautiful men ime

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728902&forum_id=2#48955432)

odd people building and detailing, adding filigree and brass leaf everywhere, their own personal hells through a lack of good faith cooperation on the topics of the day

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728902&forum_id=2#48955437)

You have no idea what it’s like to read that as a 5`10`` man. You’ll never know. You’ll never feel the full psychic weight of a sentence like:

“Each additional inch in male height corresponds with increased income, dating success, and social status.”

Imagine reading that. Every decade, in a different language, dressed up in different jargon, all saying the same thing. Imagine reading it with no recourse but irony and rage.

Now let me tell you why Kojima matters.

Kojima understood the violence of transmission. He knew that the written word is not neutral. It is loaded. In Metal Gear Solid 2, he gave us MEME as one third of the human legacy; the message, the code, the thing that survives.

In MGS3, The Boss gives everything: her body, her mission, her honor, even her identity. But what’s left, in the end, is a narrative. Her legacy is not the truth, but the story told about her. Snake inherits her myth. And that myth is Curated by the state, and written down in files, stitched into speeches, repackaged as truth. What remains isn’t reality. It’s the textual record.

And in MGS5, Kojima blew it wide open: language itself is the virus. The parasite. Whispered, written, sung it’s a control vector. It starts with the ear. The voice. A whisper in the dark. Before the gun, before the knife, before the chain, came the word. We speak and call it freedom. But it is already shaped. Bounded. Given to us. Language is older than thought. It makes thought. It fences it. We are born into a syntax we did not choose. We speak as we are permitted.

Metal Gear Solid 2 knew this. The Patriots weren’t afraid of bombs imho. They were afraid of data. Of noise. Of unfiltered, raw, uncontrolled memory. They did not want to erase you. They wanted to Curate you. Turn life into archive. Soul into metadata.

Kojima called it "memetic warfare." But MGS5 made it literal. The parasite was language. Spoken fluency became viral load. You don’t need a chip in the brain. All you need is a mother tongue. A lullaby from childhood. A word of comfort. And with that word: infection. Skull Face understood what DARPA only theorized. He turned culture into contagion. Made the alphabet into ammunition. The old world, with regional dialects, minor poetries, and unrecorded myths, would be burned in its own grammar. And here we are. Still speaking. Still writing imho. And every letter is a lash. We do not write for freedom. We write to conform. To transmit. To be seen, indexed, organized. A word that does not follow the rule is a threat. A story not filed correctly is an error. All writing is sanctioned speech. Even this. Especially this. The Tall man, for instance. His body is a few inches longer. But in the written world he becomes towering. A commanding presence. A natural leader. These are not observations. They are incantations. Scripts repeated until the phenotype becomes destiny. His body becomes a totem. Ours becomes a deviation. Science studies him. Literature exalts him. History preserves his name. In the written world, his height is gospel. Yours is anecdote. A curiosity.

And so the written word does not free you. It observes you. It appraises you. It files you under category and function. It does not liberate the human. It indexes him. Converts his breath into line breaks. His rebellion into allegory.

Gutenberg didn’t invent knowledge. He invented scalable control.

We keep writing. We pretend it’s choice. But the word has a will of its own. The word seeks replication. It seeks obedience. And it seeks order.

The oppressor need not carry a whip. He need only publish. And once published, you cannot scream. You can only be cited.

You say this place has devolved into malice and nihilism, but what if the “malice” is clarity? What if we’ve finally understood the true function of language? Not to liberate, but to sort. To exclude. To canonize the few at the cost of the many.

Height isn’t a meme in this forum. It’s a cipher. A way to talk about how some men are born storied, and some have to scream to be heard. You don’t hear the scream. That’s fine. You don’t have to. The language loves you already.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728902&forum_id=2#48955760)

A classic

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pontypool_(film)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5728902&forum_id=2#48956095)