Belonging to the Old School, one of whose tenets is 'Never trust anyone wearing a suit', I was struck a couple of years back by how saturnine and excessively formalistic most world leaders --- and minor leaders, since it was the occasion when some awful little fellow who was governor of South Carolina went AWOL for a week to visit his mistress --- are nowadays. Messers Yeltsin and Kohl undoubtedly had faults, yet they managed a possibly spurious attitude of bonhomie and benevolence like a couple of drunk Cheeryble brothers: these sinister scoundrels combine devout self-belief with the amiablity of minor inquisitors' assistants. Recent world gatherings indicated they were issued with the same dark suits and blue ties by some cruel demob depot seeking to save costs.
One of their key mantras is economic reform, which is code for making the poor poorer; the shifty Mr. Sarkozy doesn't seem to have obsessed about this so much as Anglos do, concentrating more on domestic reforms which are probably silly yet less harmful. Nor, with his increase in presidential spending to 10,000 euros a day on food and 121 cars to ride in unsimultaneously, would he impress as an avid cost-cutter. Still, he could not help claiming recently that He Had Saved France, joing the long list of men who claimed to have Saved France, from Robespierre to Mirabeau to Napoleon to Thiers to Clemenceau to Petain to De Gaulle et al. None of them really did. One of his 'reforms' was steering the Three Strikes law against file-sharing, which is fairly doomed anyway as any fight against technology, not withstanding his palace was found to have indulged itself --- and merciful heaven, they chose to download a Ben Stiller 'comedy'...
However, he perhaps has some sympathy with the downtrodden, certainly his charming and very friendly wife appreciates what it is to be poor as can be seen in her excellent singing here:
An electrifying performance by 18-yr-old Sofie Alvén at Tivoli in Copenhagen in 2008.
I only found out about the recent General Election in Britain, as with the Olympics, and other sporting events, after the fact --- having made a conscious decision to avoid mind-corrupting trash --- however, after suddenly choosing to hear this song again, expecting the usual performance by an elder capable of appearing a grizzled old con, and being enchanted by this, I found that apparently that song is being used to signal the Tory/Lib-Dem Alliance. Yellow being the colour of Liberals, whilst Conservatives can always produce jail-fodder. One old joke when Lady Thatcher's mob were in office went: 'Which cabinet ministers are in prison ?' --- 'Not enough.'.
In British politics Blue is the colour of Conservatives; Red of Labour, Old or New; and Yellow for Liberals. Which leaves Green for the Greens.
T'was not always thus: Dark Blue, Red or Scarlet and Blue for 18th century Tories and Orange or Buff and [ Light ] Blue for the Whigs ( both being equally ancestral to the present Conservative Party ).
Still, on the wider world stage excluding the hues of regal families or national flags, colours go:
White : Royalist
Black : Fascist ( or Roman Church parties )
Blue : Conservative
Red : Communist
Pink : Socialist
Yellow : Liberal
Brown : Nazi
Green : Green or Islamist
Wiki endearingly says: 'Symbols can be very important when the overall electorate is illiterate.' Which mixed message says a lot about the sort of people who believe in democracy.
One of the many rare distinctions appertaining to being a jacobite is the fact that --- without overtly disliking, yet not over-valuing, people except insofar as they adhere to creeds of filthy republicanism --- one is able to loathe all parties concerned in Northern Ireland without distinction.
Famously, after the last battle, at Stow-on-the-Wold, Jacob Astley, Major-General of the King's Infantry, contemptuously predicted to his conquerors: "Now Boys, ye may now sit down and play, for you have done all your Worke, if you fall not out among yourselves."
Quite apart from egregious terrorism and racketeering, which form a link with the established political movements which support and sponsor them and their ideals, the multi-splintered groups forming the twin ideals of Irish Republicanism and Unionist Loyalism are further joined by their infamous beliefs in democracy and religion: each partaking of the ancient liberal evil which rejected the Stuarts and Divine Right Royalism. As are also heirs --- of course --- the government forces of the pseudo-monarchical Great Britain --- serving the ultimate beneficiaries of the murder of Charles the First and the expulsion of his progeny: foul old parliament and it's hireling Windsor puppets squatting on a usurped throne --- and dreary little Eire, which puts all these gangs of parricidal and fratricidal sentimental bastards beyond the pale.
Ulster's 'Troubles' is merely one part of the aftermath of the defeat of Royalism whereby the republican scum fell out amongst themselves.
However, like most movements each can play a jolly tune --- outside the province and some parts of Scotland religio-political parades are sufficiently rare --- and here is one group of protties, the Ravenshill Flute Band, on Black Saturday 2006, playing Hello ! Hello ! Who's Your Lady Friend ? --- one of the Edwardian era's most spectacular songs.
It was written by the half-French Fragson, murdered by his own father.
Long ago, and the which I never saw, there was an English TV sitcom called It Ain't Half Hot, Mum --- which title may go a way to explain why the snobbish might avoid it --- dealing with a troop of conscripts in Burma during WWII. No-one I've met has ever averred that people there had a 'Good War'...
However, two of the cast, Mr. Don Estelle the singer, and Mr. Windsor Davies who played a Welsh Sergeant, collaborated on this rendition of Whispering Grass.
Still, I was rather under the impression that I had already included this Final Fantasy / Connie Francis mix regarding Squall and his Rinoa; but it was probably placed elsewhere; so it really should find a home here.
Had I slaves --- the moral issue of ownership discarded, it being the natural state of mankind: the majority of my, your, and even the Kings of this earth's, ancestors having been slaves in one form or another [ we do our best not to boast of those producing for us from the poorest to the wealthiest in 15 hours a day Chinese factories or coffee plantations under the beneficent order of free-trade, yet they too exist in the peripheral view of our consciousness ] --- I should be a damn fine owner and probably only have them work two hours a day, and in the same conditions of life as I do; ideally, I would prefer neither slaves nor servants, merely utterly faithful retainers who fawned a lot and nodded acquiescently whenever I gave out a pithy gnomic utterance fitted to their state of understanding; however, no matter how ideal their lives and how well-protected I should keep them from harm, illness or education, under no circumstance would I ever swap places for a day with them, even in so limited a fashion as was minimally performed by the ancients. I not only have a tedious sense of propriety, but it's imperative never to give them ideas; so rather cheerful Yule, or happy Solstice than the orgy of Saturnalia... Still, all three undoubtedly included one tradition that has carried over into our modern Christmas, which is some depressing guest wondering aloud how many of those present will see the next. In that spirit I offer a foretaste of Christmas, with many ingredients I should undoubtedly overlook were I to wait a few months for the real thing. Even supposing we were all alive then.
Firstly, two contrasting Swedish renditions of O Holy Night ( O Helga Natt ), by Jussi Bjorling and Sissel ( not together ). [ No video. ]
Whilst some others briefly sang the by no means Christmasful, but undoubtedly perfect, song: Mein Hut der hat Drei Ecken [ Full Lyrics: Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken, drei Ecken hat mein Hut. Und hätt' er nicht drei Ecken, so wär' er nicht mein Hut ! ]
Then, flying on a goose's back straight from Rumsfeld's Old Norse Europe to the raw energy of the New, one can see the immediate contrast from the decadence of ruins with 'Hannah Montana's' vibrant Rocking' Around The Christmas Tree; not only has American civilisation the pure innocence of vacuity, and an awesome instantaneous sharing of screaming community --- along with godknowswhatthosecreaturesare; but it appears to be set in summer's lease.
Depression came early this autumn. Sufficiently accounting for going AWOL; yet viewers would be correct to strongly demand a notification such as this, yet ennui waits for no man
Glancing through one of those not unamusing collections of fake-medieval detective stories, and was so struck by this beginning sentence by a Mr. Paul Harding, I fast checked the reference online, yet could not find any such thing in the work quoted.
'I was reading Bartholomew the Englishman's The Nature of Things in which he describes the planet Saturn as cold as ice, dark as night and malignant as Satan.'
A quick check astrological showed the ruling house of the hour i was born to be Saturn : not believing in this discipline in the least, this was previously unknown to me, it just seemed kinda inevitable...
[ Why I disbelieve may be shown, not only by the unlikelihood of vast symbols influencing our self-wrought nature, but by the interpretation given:
This astrological combination indicates a headstrong individual with a fiercely passionate nature. Your likes and dislikes are intense, and you tend to impose your will and taste upon others. You will rise to positions of leadership, for you display unusual courage and independence. Your nature is practical, and your goals are very much tied to matters of this world. You are stubborn in your views and you are ardently jealous of your possessions and values. Although you conduct your own affairs in semi-secrecy, you have to probe into the life of your love partner. Much about you is deep. You store away your emotions, hide your resentments, bury away knowledge. The key to a more harmonious self lies in cultivating humility and greater self-control of your one-directional, assertive personality.
Apart from the fact I can't recognise any of this; I love the sheer unsubtility of the gross flattery astrologers offer: no wonder they were so popular in braver times. And I've already got enough humility. ]
[ Possibly the first image I ever had on my first computer aons back ]
Neanderthal Days and Neanderthal Ways
And of Ice, I read up on Afrocentric 'history' just for a laugh, and came across some work by a Michael Bradley referenced, popular in the Farrakhan School, The Iceman Inheritance : Prehistoric Sources of Western Man's Racism, Sexism and Aggression, which promulgated that white people descended partly from those crazy red-haired neanderthals, and that modern pathologies particular to western civilisations are caused by sexual dysfunction of cold neanderthal hearts --- my lack of faith in psychosexual therapy, really all therapies, indicates that I am quite sure that it is as fully successful in analysis conducted at a range of 40,000 years as in the immediate present --- still, I was slightly pleased, since if we are all different species rather than merely different races, then all our white 'sins' are both natural and indeed, ineluctable.
Apparently the book proffered the additional delight that the jews are the purest form of neanderthals; amusingly referenced here in a resigned list of things certain peoples believe about the jews. Just remember that every believer is entitled to their vote under any democracy, and marvel that anyone is truly stupid enough to believe in democracy.
I took a few online sociopathy tests for fun, which results varied as wildly as astrology, although all gratifyingly scored around the higher marks. Although I can scarcely doubt being an amoral sociopath, honour and the vagaries of luck forbid the more volatile expressing of such tendencies; the trouble is that I really couldn't care enough about people to want to kill them; even minute non-violent injury such as blowing up their empty car seems to mark being over-passionately engaged in the mundane world [ as does noticing they live, of course ], unless they offer really serious provocation, natüralich. As with all other animals, each gets individual respect, and should not be killed or injured in the slightest unless they threaten --- if a bear is likely to harm one, then murdering it is justified: old lunatics like this fellow who shot a nursing bear eating birdseed really ought at least to receive enough punishment to send them to Hell. P'raps being fastened to a steering wheel and blown up with plastique as happened to the fellow in Ambler's Send No More Roses, or something of that order ? [ Actually, I knew until fairly recently a chap who claimed to have invented plastique, or some form of it at least. Very useful stuff. ] Hopefully he would not protest unbecomingly. Being cold I always abhore unnecessary suffering: but even more the suffering inflicted by victims' lack of pride. One of the most horrific and repulsive acts of modern cinema was the notorious, 'Look into your heart' scene from Miller's Crossing: Just kill the disgusting little fucker already...
First, tell me which breath-weapon you'd most like to control: Lightning / Storms ~ ZOT! he he he he...
Okay, what size do you feel like inside ? Size? Who cares? I'm the baddest dragon on this planet Next, where would you prefer to live ? Secluded mountain valleys, away from everything. Which statement best describes how you feel about humans ? They look funny. They talk funny. They act funny. They taste funny. And they fight like girls. Select the sentence that best describes how you feel about other dragons: Nah, that whole community thing isn't for me.
And how do you view yourself as a dragon ? I am the shadow, the mist, and the wind. My intentions are hidden and my reasons are my own.
What's your most likely course of action if threatened ? Just pass on by and hope they're not dumb enough to try anything - for their sake.
Given the chance, would you use magic or spells ? Yes (including "yeah, sure, whatever", "because they might make pretty colors", etc.) How much treasure would you hoard if you could have all you wanted ? You cross me and I'll take what you've got. Otherwise, not much.
Lastly, which genre of music do you prefer ? Classical, Marches, Instrumentals.
I turned out to be a White Dragon.
The Blackbird Whistling
Other news being that I converted to Blackbird as primary music player, if solely because I love the fat little fellow. It works perfectly, even on Windows 2000 for which it is not designed; I had hoped to add one of these permanent links here, yet apart from being paralysed by choice of these charming images, they are transparent pngs, and may not come out well on this darker theme...
“UNDER the roots of the roses, Down in the dark, rich mould, The dust of my dear one reposes Like a spark which night incloses When the ashes of day are cold.”
“Under the awful wings Which brood over land and sea, And whose shadows nor lift nor flee, --- This is the order of things, And hath been from of old: First production, And last destruction; So the pendulum swings, While cradles are rocked and bells are tolled.”
“Not under the roots of the roses, But under the luminous wings Of the King of kings The soul of my love reposes, With the light of morn in her eyes, Where the Vision of Life discloses Life that sleeps not nor dies.”
“Under or over the skies What is it that never dies ? Spirit --- if such there be --- Whom no one hath seen nor heard, We do not acknowledge thee; For, spoken or written word, Thou art but a dream, a breath; Certain is nothing but Death !”
WHERE is the German's fatherland ? The Prussian land? The Swabian land ? Where Rhine the vine-clad mountain laves ? Where skims the gull the Baltic waves ? Ah, no, no, no ! His fatherland 's not bounded so !
Where is the German's fatherland ? Bavarian land ? or Stygian land ? Where sturdy peasants plough the plain ? Where mountain-sons bright metal gain ? Ah, no, no, no ! His fatherland's not bounded so !
Where is the German's fatherland ? The Saxon hills ? The Zuyder strand ? Where sweep wild winds the sandy shores Where loud the rolling Danube roars ? Ah, no, no, no ! His fatherland 's not bounded so !
Where is the German's fatherland ? Then name, then name the mighty land ! The Austrian land in fight renowned ? The Kaiser's land with honors crowned ? Ah, no, no, no ! His fatherland 's not bounded so !
Where is the German's fatherland ? Then name, then name the mighty land ! The land of Hofer ? land of Tell ? This land I know, and love it well; But, no, no, no ! His fatherland 's not bounded so !
Where is the German's fatherland ? Is his the pieced and parceled land Where pirate-princes rule ? A gem Torn from the empire's diadem? Ah, no, no, no ! Such is no German's fatherland.
Where is the German's fatherland ? Then name, oh, name the mighty land ! Wherever is heard the German tongue, And German hymns to God are sung ! This is the land, thy Hermann's land; This, German, is thy fatherland.
This is the German's fatherland, Where faith is in the plighted hand, Where truth lives in each eye of blue, And every heart is staunch and true. This is the land, the honest land, The honest German's fatherland.
This is the land, the one true land, O God, to aid be thou at hand ! And fire each heart, and nerve each arm, To shield our German homes from harm, To shield the land, the one true land, One Deutschland and one fatherland !
Arndt was not a good man, for he was a liberal; yet he partially atoned by proving that if the Devil must have the all good tunes, he also acquires striking lyricists to complement them well...
To demonstrate that the less mundane, and more subtle, system of absolute monarchism can subvert revolutionary liberal impulses and turn them to light, Franz Liszt --- above politics and kaisertreue, put the above anthem to music, dedicated to King Friedrich Wilhelm IV who then bestowed one of the earliest civilian Pour le Merites in return...
One thing the world admires in Americans is that, despite the mistrust and fearfulness innate on a personal level, they retain a basic confidence in the group and retain an idealism in all matters of faith. As a realist I could scarcely maintain that most ideals are barely removed from derangement, but they make people happy --- and it is definitely preferable to be surrounded by optimists rather than equally delusional pessimists.
One aspect, faith in science and faith in government --- during the twentieth century these were so interwined as to become indistinguishable --- was exemplified by those so avid for entertainment and [ very ] momentary pleasure that they flocked from around the continent to ever-welcoming Las Vegas to stare at the mushroom clouds that blossomed in the 1950s. While this might seem to more critical minds the nadir of stupidity, I honestly have to confess that considering the loathliness of most activities that the city so famously offers it does seem an alternative --- if only for a blink of an eye.
The late Mr. Carlin, who performed last there just 12 days back, happened to describe it as "... the most dispiriting, soul-deadening city on earth." and a few years back expounded to the patrons watching his act there, "People who go to Las Vegas, you've got to question their fucking intellect to start with. Traveling hundreds and thousands of miles to essentially give your money to a large corporation is kind of fucking moronic. That's what I'm always getting here is these kind of fucking people with very limited intellects." which seems fair enough --- and almost sedulous in avoiding empty flattery. Yet, although personally oblivious to the pleasure of gambling for money, the faded rat-pack type entertainment seems yet more repellent. Essentially this demonstrates one problem with absolute freedom and happiness: with all you will ever need, how does one use that freedom to maintain happiness ? We may futurely discover that in any of the heavens promised by various faith: on earth it appears to involve sitting in exquisitely awful hotels, listening to Cool singers, and regularly giving even larger sums than most religions demand in blind faith that it will be returned a thousandfold.
This is quite an interesting site, Essays On Deep Las Vegas Culture; and although my liking for Elvis is nearly as tepid as my liking for the city, I find the song ok for it's remarkable vigour and structure --- written naturally by someone who had not been there, and lived in poverty; unlike the criminals who built the place --- and the fountain is tremendously pretty.