The Dawn Was Fake
(Working title. Proto-version. A concept)
Humans remain primates, even when wearing suits, sitting in Security Councils, or writing dissertations on free will. Only now packs are called clans, and the battle for bananas is called markets, finance, and spheres of influence. This book – the third in the cycle – brings together everything that came before: from biological instincts to global management through meanings.
We’ll start simple.
People are obsequious followers. Herd.
They run in circles, obey impulses, fear rejection, and believe in invented systems. Gender roles? They’re managed better than internet advertising: through feminism, consumerism, fashions of freedom, and fear of loneliness. And if someone thinks they’re making free choices – welcome to the experimental enclosure.
States are alpha males.
They growl through media, wave flags, mark territory with laws. They gather human females into symbolic harems of power and influence. They collect tribute – not from money, but from obedience, attention, loyalty. Like primates collecting fruit and worship – from those lower in hierarchy. And most remarkably – the majority of socio-primates – humans – are content with this. Even proud. Because dominant hierarchy provides feelings of warmth, order, and imaginary safety. Like having the pack leader nearby.
But all this is basic level.
Here – we’re at scale level.
The world long ago became one big battlefield. First for minds, then – for flows. Flows of logistics, capital, attention, influence. Everything’s divided: who supplies meanings, who produces people, who monetizes chaos. Clans, families, corporations, religions, intelligence services. Old coats of arms and new algorithms. And humans? Humans are just cells in a spreadsheet, segments, targets.
Religion, morality, law?
These are training mechanisms. Some – toward meekness, others – toward proper rebellion. Imposed morality is perfect pretext for manipulation. Everything that triggers shame, guilt, or pride in you – excellent control handle. Who holds it? Good question. The answer’s in the book, but you probably already suspect.
Digitization?
This isn’t convenience. This is new flesh for Babylon 2.0. The network knows what you eat, whom you like, what you dream about at night. And if before there was Big Brother, now there are thousands – algorithmic, invisible, but no less greedy. Humans were always a resource. But now their sleep, attention, anxiety, thoughts, money – are already on the exchange.
In the 1960s, one of the most enduring taboos began to crumble – sexual hierarchy. Women coalesced into ideological packs, armed with slogans, self-esteem, and the gloss of feminist prose. They declared their right to be themselves – to earn, to vote, to bear children by choice rather than by schedule. Men, meanwhile, as if on cue, began losing their aggression: growing their hair long, donning pastel shirts, and going forth to make love, not war.
Make Love Not War – there it was, the motto of the new castrated epoch. Without jest: civilization’s former soldiers had transformed into tamers of themselves. Their metaphorical disarmament was accompanied by the ecstatic screams of females losing consciousness to the Beatles’ chords – as if signaling biological approval: the male is now safe, one may scream with pleasure.
This was not liberation but a reconfiguration of hierarchy. The camouflage had changed: strength no longer displayed itself through crude dominance; now it mimicked softness, care, progressiveness. But someone still had to remain alpha, didn’t they?
For managing the masses – those dwelling at society’s bottom, content with the pack as long as there’s a bone – primitive, obsessive propaganda suffices. The key lies in frequency of delivery and simplicity of formula: if you repeatedly tell a pig it’s human, it will continue grunting – but now with pride.
For those who suddenly began thinking – a minority afflicted with cognitive itch – another instrument exists. They’re thrown more complex bait: philosophical wanderings, religious constructions, esoteric loops. Such thinking specimens begin roaming among meanings like a badger between three burrows – choosing none but sniffing each.
And for those at the top – those with resources, access, control – more refined leashes are prepared: secret societies, lodges, clubs of interest. Many names exist – from Masons to Sufis, from brotherhoods to closed Alpine conferences. They’re convinced they’re special, chosen, bearers of light, while being discretely handed instructions: how to govern, what to believe, whom to consider ally, whom expendable.
This represents power’s highest artistry: not to suppress but to embed the script directly into pride. Let them think they’re steering. The crucial thing is that the route has already been mapped.
Welcome to post-everything.
Post-capitalism – because money no longer equals labor.
Postmodern – because seriousness has become obsolete.
Post-truth – because truth no longer serves anyone.
Posthuman – because the boundaries of body and consciousness have dissolved.
Post-hope – because all stories have been sold, and everything has already been.
What remains for us?
The game. Or more precisely – navigation through chaos. Living has become like chess where rules change mid-game. You play white – suddenly you’re black. You were a queen – now you’re a pawn. But they still ask you: So, have you chosen your calling?
And now – the essential point.
How to be? Not how to win, not how to fix everything. The age of missionaries has ended. Now adaptation is fashionable – reading signs, acting with cold blood.
Here begins the real task: preserving oneself, avoiding becoming a cog while not transforming into a maniacal eccentric with a Telegram channel about “global conspiracy.”
This book is not a manifesto. It’s a navigational chart for those who refuse to drift with the current. There’s no consolation here, but there is understanding: how the world operates, why you feel anxiety, and how to live without becoming another successful primate with burned-out eyes.
Will there be answers here?
No. But there will be precise observations and ideas that strike those very places everyone habitually shields with self-deception.
This is an intellectual electric shock.
But gentle, almost tender. Almost.
