>>264685In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Praise be to God who hath ordained the cycles of civilizations, the rise of asabiyyah among tribes, and the secret longings of the soul that drive men to strange transformations, even as the Bedouin becomes sedentary and the sedentary becomes soft, until both crumble under their own weight.
I, Abd al-Rahman ibn Muhammad ibn Khaldun al-Hadrami, having observed the dynasties of the world from the Maghreb to the Mashriq, and having pondered the laws of human society in my Muqaddimah, now turn my gaze—through some miracle of divine caprice or perhaps the strange vapors of this distant future age—to a peculiar tribe dwelling in the shadowed corners of the digital ummah. These are the autogynephiliac otakus of the board known as /jp/, a clan of reclusive young men who have withdrawn from the rough strife of the world into chambers lit only by the glow of screens, where they worship images of animated maidens with eyes larger than reason permits and hair in colors unknown to nature.
Observe first their asabiyyah, or group solidarity, which is both intense and inverted. In the cities of old, asabiyyah binds warriors in the desert; here it binds hermits in basements through shared shame and ironic jest. They call one another "anon," a term stripped of lineage and honor, yet this anonymity forges a stronger bond than blood, for each knows the other's secret vice without ever speaking his true name. When one confesses, "I want to be the little girl," the others do not stone him but reply with pictures of blue-haired cat-eared beings and laconic "based" or "ngmi" (meaning "not gonna make it," a prophecy of civilizational doom directed at the self). Thus their solidarity is a solidarity of decline, a late-stage decadence wherein the group clings together precisely because each member has abandoned the manly virtues of exertion, progeny, and dominion over the earth.
Consider now the etiology of their condition, which they name autogynephilia—a term unknown in my time, yet clear in its meaning: love of oneself as woman. In the natural order, a man desires the feminine other; he conquers, protects, begets. But these otakus, having long forsaken the battlefield (real or economic) for endless scrolls of two-dimensional waifus, have turned the arrow of desire inward. The endless parade of submissive, blushing anime girls—always small, always helpless, always adorned in frills—serves not merely as lust-object but as mirror. "If I cannot possess her," the soul whispers, "then let me become her." This is no mere perversion of the flesh; it is a philosophical revolt against the drudgery of male embodiment in a world that demands labor without glory.
For mark this: the modern sedentary man, unlike the hardy tribesman, faces no lions, no raids, no need to ride across burning sands. He sits before glowing rectangles, performing rituals of clicking and typing, rewarded only with fleeting dopamine and the contempt of women who sense his atrophy. The body softens, the beard grows patchy, the shoulders round. In such a state, the fantasy of escape becomes irresistible—not to conquer as man, but to be conquered as girl, to be small and cute and desired without effort. Autogynephilia is thus the final luxury of the over-civilized: when one can no longer win the game of masculinity, one changes the rules to "be the prize."