Great Britain now has a new Prime Minister; I barely noticed --- not that it makes the faintest difference swapping one democratically elected republican vermin for another... If American presidents definitely run to the freakish side of hireling weirdos [ Jefferson, The Adams family, Jackson, either Johnson, Wilson, Harding, FDR, either wretched Bush, Kennedy, Clinton... What were they thinking ? etc. etc. ] the people elected over here are far worse, because more self-righteous in person, not just for inane public consumption as over there; more subserviently crafty; more dull.
Blair will be forgotten soon enough; yet let him become a byword for mendacity, corruption and slavishness beyond the call of duty to his American masters.
In the novel, there is one exquisite and mysterious collision of Roth’s two lost worlds, the empire and Galician Jewry. The Austrian army is on manoeuvres in Galicia. The Emperor is greeted by village Jews, dressed in black and led by a white-bearded patriarch carrying the scroll of the Torah. The old Jew lifts the Torah scroll towards the old Emperor and recites the blessing Orthodox believers say in the presence of a sovereign: ‘Blessed art thou !’ said the Jew to the Emperor. ‘Thou shalt not witness the end of the world !’
I know, thought Franz Joseph. He shook hands with the old man. He turned. He mounted his white horse.
He turned left and trotted across the hard crusts of the autumn fields, followed by his retinue.
The words that Captain of Horse Kaunitz addressed to his companion next to him were carried to the Emperor on the wind: ‘I didn’t understand a syllable of what that Jew was saying !’
The Emperor turned in his saddle and said: ‘Never you mind, Kaunitz, he was talking to me !’ and he rode on.
'Your statement,' he repeated, 'was a lie, and, as you now admit, a pointless one. You have admitted that, yes ? Very well. We don't yet know what kind of man you are, but the evidence so far suggests that, although you may not be a criminal psychopath in any of the generally accepted senses of the word, you possess many of the characteristics often attributed to the so-called moral defective. Still, for the present we shall have to be content with an ad hoc classification, such as --- oh, what shall we say ? Variegated delinquent, perhaps ?' His eyes sought the witnesses' approval. 'There is, in any case, one thing of which we can now be certain. Our delinquent is an inveterate as well as a resourceful liar.'
I was weary enough to lose patience with him.
'Where,' I asked, 'did you get this extraordinary idea that you have a prescriptive right to be told nothing but the truth ? Does it come up through the seat of your academic chair ? Or is there some tatty sociological saint who once taught that all who have to submit to your questioning are, by divine decree, automatically on oath ? Of course, that must be it. And what happens when the poor souls perjure themselves ? Obviously, burning at the stake would be too mild a punishment. Instead, we're slowly and brutally classified ! Right, Professor ?'
Connell chuckled, but Krom only nodded encouragingly. 'Slowly and brutally ? Yes, I expect you're right, Mr Firman. And so ?'
'And so, the only time you'll hear a truth from me is when it happens to suit me better than a lie or when none of the available lies is good enough to stand inspection. Truth games are dangerous, even for children.'
The second time I have had Hammerheart played beside an open grave. Aware these things go in threes, I did not linger; cemeteries are nice places to visit, but you wouldn't want to make one your permanent home.
Now that the wind called my name And my star had faded now hardly a glimpse up in the empty space And the wise one-eyed great father in the sky stilled my flame
For the ones who stood me near And you few who were me dear I ask of thee to have no doubts and no fears
For when the great clouds fills the air And the thunder roars from o, so far away up in the sky Then for sure you will know that I have reached the joyous hall up high
With my bloodbrothers at side All sons of father with one eye We were all born in the land of the blood on ice
And now you all who might hear my song Brought to you by the northern wind have no fear Though the night may seem so everlasting and forever dark
There will come a golden dawn At ends of nights for all yee on whom Upon the northstar always shines
The vast gates to hall up high Shall stand open wide and welcome you with all its within And Oden shall hail us bearers of a pounding hammerheart
After dinner, no one went out, because of the excessive heat; the company assembled in the gallery for music, until the hour for walking. A portable harp, of very elegant shape, was placed on the knees of Juliette. After several brilliant chords and harmonious sounds of enchanting sweetness, she sang to her own accompaniment a charming air by the Queen of Holland: “Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra” ( Do what thou must, come what may ). The relation between these words and the situation of the illustrious exile, the charm, the beauty of Juliette's voice, the grace of her attitude, caused an admiration which was expressed with enthusiasm. The prince listened with rapture, and when she had finished singing, he looked at her with inexpressible emotion and cried. "And talents also !" The exclamation expressed so many things, it was pronounced in accents so penetrating that it made Juliette quiver.
Curs'd be the Papists, who withdrew The King to their persuasion Curs'd be that covenanting crew, Who gave the first occasion. Curs'd be the wretch who seiz'd the throne And marr'd our constitution.
And curs'd be they who helped on That wicked revolution Curs'd be those traitorous traitors who By their perfidious knavery Have brought our nation now into An everlasting slavery. Curs'd be the parliament, that day Who gave their confirmation And curs'd be every whining Whig And damned be the whole nation.
Fr: James Hogg's 'The Jacobite Relics of Scotland'
The great man, however, is not only stiff in his demeanour; he can also be extremely savage and unyielding towards those who displease him or who differ from him in opinion. His rejoinders in reply to members of the opposition in the Reichstag have, as a rule, been exasperating and offensive; and several instances are recorded of his having, in private life, been guilty of actual violence. One day, when he was very thirsty, he went into a cafe in Berlin and ordered a bock [ glass of beer ]. At the tables adjoining his were seated a number of worthy Berliners drinking white beer and talking politics. The conversation gradually became animated, and presently some remarks were made respecting a prince of the blood royal. It would appear that these remarks were not too flattering to the exalted personage in question, for suddenly Bismarck rose to his feet, and, addressing those who were conversing, said, --- "Get out from here now, all of you. If I find a single one of you still here when I have emptied my glass I'll break it on his head." The politicians were thunderstruck, and the talk ceased for a moment; but it soon went on again in the same vein as if nothing had happened. Bismarck quietly emptied his glass, and then, rising and walking slowly up to the man who was talking the loudest, struck him on the head with his glass and smashed it. The poor fellow fell off his chair and rolled under the table, but his companions were intimidated by Bismarck's bold assurance, and never said a word, and the future Chancellor, who did not for a moment lose his self-possession, paid his score and left the place without being molested.
Insane islamic zealots in Afghanistan sentenced two parents to eight years in jail for serving alcohol to teenagers; later reduced by moderate secularists to merely 27 months... BBC
It may be noted that in Old Europe: in Great Britain children may drink alcohol from the age of five; in Germany it is entirely up to the parents; and that Poland has no laws at all on the matter.
The net has been filled with the voices of shrill muslim loonies defending this theological punishment, as in:
Europeans (and Australians it seems) are always using these arguments. The fact is, you cannot safely get around in America without a car, period. What's more, we do not want to be a new Europe, where among other things, alcohol is a cultural icon.
Teach your children that they can have a good time without getting high. Teach yourself.
To which the correct antiphonal response is 'Screw yourself'.
The American Empire is being undone by its bigness – no one can centrally plan such an enormous undertaking.
The rise and fall of the Bizarro Empire is going to be an object lesson in how greatness, and liberty along with it, is lost. The story promises to be Spenglerian in its tragic denouement yet oddly inspiring in that the old republic survived as long as it did – up until at least the fatal year 1917, when we were dragged into the Great War and the seeds of the next were planted. The beginning of the end was when America embarked on its long overseas crusade to make the world safe for democracy against the villain of the day. Twice the villains were Germans, and since then the Russians, the Iraqis, and now the "Islamofascists" have all had their turn. Tomorrow it may well be the Russians again, and then there's always the Red Chinese, whom the Fates have entrusted with much of our debt – a weapon more deadly than any H-bomb.
America, having exhausted itself militarily, economically, and spiritually, will one day be found washed up on some foreign shore, a hapless Gulliver overrun by hordes of angry Lilliputians and bound by a thousand threads to their feuds. When the history of the American Empire is written, any fair and objective author will have to concur that it didn't have to turn out that way: if we choose the prerogatives of Empire over the ascetic ideals of our republican tradition, we go willingly to our doom. Justin Raimondo
Nah, it was written from the beginning. Starting with the profoundly wrong assumptions and beliefs on which America was founded --- sort of, since the canny old founding fathers were mainly driven by a desire to increase the power of their own class, and most certainly had to put out a cover-story of ideals for the gullible dumplings --- and which are held as self-evident truths by all simple-minded Americans today: the belief that all people are the same; a recursive belief that perfect equality stemming from people's sameness, starting as equal blank slates capable d'tout, is the ultimate null goal of final progress; that everyone deserves what they get; that life is rational; that outcomes are mechanistic; that Providence specifically loves a particular nation or way of government or individual; that fortune is not a determinant --- instead, putting faith in self-invention through striving, and a pious understanding that the whole ultimate end of creation is use.
According to various observers there are many parallels between communist ideology and practices, and the economic and political system in The Smurfs, a popular comic book and animated series originally created by Belgian cartoonist Peyo. While some strongly support this theory, others see it as an ad nauseam overanalysis of something primarily aimed at children.
Papa Smurf has a bushy white beard, which resembles Karl Marx's. He also wears red slacks and a red cap, displaying the stereotypical color of Communism throughout the world.
Brainy Smurf, like Leon Trotsky, has round spectacles. There the similarities more or less end, although in their position in society can be seen as similar.
The Smurfs wear standard clothing (with the notable exception of Papa Smurf): a simple white Phrygian cap and white slacks.
Gargamel can be seen as a pure capitalist (from a socialist perspective); he wishes to turn everything into a commodity -- including the individuals of a living society.
Gargamel forces Azrael, his ginger cat, to do almost all of the laborious and dangerous activities in his various plots to catch the Smurfs. Azrael can be seen as the lumpen-proletariat, being exploited by Gargamel, the reaction. Azrael is uncomplaining, or, since he has no voice (i.e. class-consciousness), is metaphorically unable to complain.
But the Smurf society can also be seen as an anarchist economy where everyone produces goods and services according to its skills, without planification, and where harmony emerges from the complementarity and good will of all Smurfs, with Papa Smurf being only in charge of organizing some important works that necessitates the collaboration of all Smurfs, for example large infrastructure works, or security activities. In that case it is closer to a primitive community economy, than a society inspired by communism and planification.
Each member of the community is a Smurf, and each has Smurf as a suffix to their own name; this can be seen as analogous to the use of "comrade." The Smurfs have a tendency to use the word 'smurf' as a prefix or suffix to many sentences. This could be seen as an identity to create a strong group identity or a way to eliminate influences from other cultures. This is similar to what was practiced under Soviet Russia.
At various times it has been agreed that communists should be liquidated --- even, and more often than not by fellow communists --- the parallel can surely be extended here...
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all from love and fear and lust. Twine our torn hands ! O pray the earth enfold Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust.
Whittaker Chamber's famed jibing jeu d'espritThe Ghosts On The Roof published to pro-communist screams and whinings in 1945 in Time, and reprinted here by that strange organisation. In which the seven murdered Romanovs alight on the rooftops of Yalta during the carving-up of Europe, and have been converted to bolshevikism thanks to the pan-slavic successes of the regime that slew them. Which is fanciful: yet many a White Guardist reactionary succumbed to the call back to the motherland and accepted employment from the Reds, despite all. They were generally found surplus to requirements after their usefulness at spying, etc. was exhausted; but face it: the same happened to the old bolsheviki themselves.
"Besides, I doubt if you know what it's like to be a ghost: le silence éternel de ces espaces in finis m'effraie --- the eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me. Pascal said that, you know. Not bad for a man who had never been liquidated."
"...I must say, though, that for a Muse of History, you seem to have a very slight grasp of the historical dialectic. It is difficult for me to understand how a contemporary of the dialectician, Heraclitus of Ephesus, can still think in the static concepts of 19th-Century liberalism. History, Madam, is not a suburban trolley line which stops to accommodate every housewife with bundles in her arms."
"I think I liked you better, Nicholas," said the Muse of History, "when you were only a weakling Tsar. You are becoming a realist."
"Death," said the Tsarina, "is a somewhat maturing experience.
Whittaker Chambers is a paragon of a conservatism that draws its insights, its intensity, and something of its perspective from first-hand experience of revolutionary politics. He is remarkable in his rejection of a pristine conservatism utterly indifferent to the seductions of the political Left. He remained all his life a kind of radical. "I am not a conservative," he wrote to Wm. F. Buckley Jr. "I am a man of the Right." By this he meant he persisted in seeing the world in terms as apocalyptic as the terms of Communism. In this sense it may well be true - as some have argued --- that Chambers was a Bolshevik for life. He "never really liked leaving the winning side for ours," T. S. Matthews once confided to me. "You never changed, Whit," a friend told Chambers in the 1950s. "You just changed sides." This was something Chambers himself understood. By his own admission he was an absolutist who saw the world in stark terms - not in simple terms, barren of nuance, but in terms that required unhedged responses. This is why he did not yield his respect for Communism as a worldview, nor his admiration for its towering thinker, Marx, and its brilliant political leaders, Lenin and Trotsky. They too were absolutists and saw with clarity that the modern world was irremediably different from the world that had gone before. Things had fallen apart. The old continuities had been severed. The political center would not hold. For this reason it was not enough, in Chambers's view, simply to put his own Communism behind him. He must instead become, as he put it, a "counterrevolutionary," actively engaged in the fight against the enemy. The fight had to begin with the acceptance of moral accountability, with owning up to the misdeeds of his own past, with an atonement conceived not only in political but in religious terms, a plea for grace.
During the Hiss affair, when that old sinner was tried for perjury, his attorneys accused Chambers of: "being an enemy of the Republic, a blasphemer of Christ, a disbeliever in God, with no respect for matrimony or motherhood." which is kind of cool, but approaching the surreal considering it was basically commies saying this about a quaker...
He is a stranger to me, but he is a most remarkable man --- and I am the other one. Between us, we cover all knowledge; he knows all that can be known, and I know the rest. Mark Twain on Rudyard Kipling
Her hair was like the gold, Her eyes, like cloud, were grey; We sailed away for the blazing South All on a summer day, We sailed away for the blazing South All on a summer day. Ramsey Town, O Ramsey Town, Shining by the sea !
No grey eyes southward are, Nor locks of curly gold; But in the flash of eyes of jet, lies wealth of love untold, But in the flash of eyes of jet, lies wealth of love untold, Ramsey Town, O Ramsey Town, Shining by the sea !