A word on GenX

The defining event for Generation X was the 1986 amnesty. 1983 and 1989 were different worlds. 1983: “what are mestizos? Never heard of em. Oh, look, there’s that Zebra video Martha Quinn was talking about” 1989: “the HR department has informed us that if you want large items to be thrown out by the cleaning crew you must label them ‘basura,’ not ‘trash’” – Wharf Rat

It definitely was in its results. Did it feel impactful at the time? Not over here on the East Coast, where I’d not even seen a single Mexican until around 1991… and I worked in a restaurant kitchen! Much less a Guatemalan. Immigration was an abstract matter over here at the time.

Generation X didn’t really have those world-changing single-event defining moments in our formative years. The closest to those were:

– Reagan’s reelection victory
– Televangelist scandals
– Challenger explosion
– The O.J. Simpson verdict, but most of us were already well into our twenties then.

– Waco and Ruby Ridge were, for most of us in the United States, faraway events. Clinton’s election victory (again, many of us were young adults by then) was a weird experience regardless of one’s party affiliation. There was something unserious and thus disorienting about having a saxophone-playing, briefs/boxers-discussing U.S. President.

– The end of the Cold War, followed by reunification of Germany, independence of Ukraine and Baltic states, and war in Yugoslavia was the first time we saw lines on the map of the Western world change.

We are a skipped-over, transitional, forgotten generation. Even our teen anthem is titled Don’t You Forget About Me. We had Grunge as our one proprietary thing, plus the privilege of being teenagers in the ’80s.

Other than that, we “don’t exist.” See this great rant by Steph (kid youtuber, almost certainly has an adult collaborator). She goes off on Boomers, goes off on Millennials, no mention of us.

GenX is a messenger, ghost, witness, invisible helper generation. We created the AltRight and we are Generation Zyklon’s spiritual ally.

The video has the grey graphic look like it had been taken down, but it’s perfectly good and playable at the moment.

Related: the five best geopolitical events of my lifetime.

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The cognitive dissonance of a generation

Vox Day quotes a Bloomberg News article this morning, which is to the effect of (White) Millennials’ seeking of less-diverse places to live and work. The article doesn’t word it that way but that’s the message. Vox sums it up:

Apparently “natural beauty and legal marijuana” are the new “good school district”. No matter how much equality they profess to believe, no matter how much diversity they claim to love, whites always prefer to live amongst those who look like them and live like them.

But the diversity never stops coming. And it never will, until it is prevented from doing so.

Educated striver Millennials. People in their late twenties through early forties. Career not yet at its plateau; married and with young children for the purposes of this analysis. (See the so-called “secular horoscope” and its explanatory use with generational cohorts.)

Many are most definitely not liberal. Many, however, are. Overtly Trump-haters from the beginning, the older ones having hated G.W. Bush from the left. They deified Obama while his tissue-thin charisma lasted, voted for Hillary but would have preferred Bernie two years ago.

And they’ll never say this but they organize their entire lives around avoiding Diversity. They’ll wear Diversity as an inoculation amulet where opportunity allows, such as when fawning over one of their friend’s African wife. But in a world in which local demographics make the difference between a nice life and hell, between financial stability or ruin over depreciating real estate… Diversity terrifies them like nothing else. This isn’t some hypothetical Millennial. It’s a description of people I know well.

Here is the thing: is there another historic period during which a mass of people professed to believe in one thing but was motivated by its exact opposite? And to such an extreme pitch of cognitive dissonance that demons flash in their eyes when they hear “Trump” or even more puzzlingly, when they hear “Keep mentally ill men out of girls’ bathrooms.”

Or when someone, not me, says: “You’re out of your mind! Ocasio-Cortez as President would spell disaster for your family!” Response: [Flash of demon in the eyes and writhing snakes push out through her lips. Metaphor]

This isn’t extremely new. Steve Sailer wrote a long time ago about striver-liberals’ coping with the dissonance, including how the Gay Thing is their flight from Negro Fatigue.

Millennials went through a mindfuck, as a generation, that’s difficult to appreciate by those of us who are older. Ecstasy, raves, Ouija boards in their teens. The removal of mudsharking taboos and in-your-face mixing as they hit puberty. Then Columbine. Then 9/11. Few were given a Christian upbringing by their materialistic parents. Then George W. Bush made every traditional virtue toxic by using traditionalist rhetoric toward evil ends. Barack Obama was then going to absolve them of the fake original sin of racism that their schools had filled their heads with, but that was a lie. Obama came not to redeem but to effect submission through terror.

A world of Crazy we can’t comprehend is the mental landscape in the heads of many of those liberal, status-conscious Millennials. Yet they still want to live and face the sun as the quoted article at the top suggests.

Animal Control in Augsburg

An African invader in Augsburg, Germany harasses local women at a cafe and is dealt with by local men. The short video is embedded in the linked article. Augsburg is a city in Bavaria, one of Germany’s oldest cities and one with gorgeous traditional architecture.

Rule of law throughout the modern West tends to discourage the use of fists in solving problems. In the schoolyard, there is some leeway as far as legal consequences go. Among adults, not so much. We hesitate and pull our punches as long as it’s possible.

With the use of physical violence, there are honor codes instinctive in European men. The big one being the use of proportional force. Ordinarily, you don’t have many men beating up a few; if it’s a fight to settle a score, we do it one-on-one. Multiple-on-one is done to subdue a troublemaker, not to hurt him. One also would deal with a fully developed young male aggressor differently than with, say, a handicapped, a very young or old, or a drunken one.

As adults, we’ve learned to be careful even in these “fair fight” scenarios. If you’ve ever been in a serious confrontation, you probably know that it’s prudent to let the other guy make a move or touch you first. Not the ideal arrangement, as it leaves the offender a lot of room to be a pest short of assaulting you first. In fact, it encourages effeminacy because you often end up with two men trash-talking to provoke the other to swing first. But as long as there is perceived fairness in the letter and enforcement of the law, along with the feeling that the justice system works for its rightful beneficiaries (ie the legitimate citizens of a given country, das Volk inside German borders), then you are satisfied that your government provides for public order and is therefore legitimate.

That’s not the case in many parts of the West, including Germany, where their people live under anarcho-tyranny. As such, those governments are illegitimate and people know it. We know the deal: afroasian migrants are pumped in to biologically replace the European nations and so there will be war. In the meantime, it’s salutary to see masculine behavior in Europe; there is a point past which the splashing-up of those cherry-picked images of eurocuck behavior becomes harmful.

See the video. Fundamental rules of proper conduct were violated by the alien, who is shown dragging a nicely dressed, attractive woman from the cafe so by natural law he has forfeit any claim on the protection of civilized restraint and hospitality toward guests (had he in fact been a guest such as a tourist and not an invader). A White man, unclear if he’s her companion, stands up and takes it outside with the African. Three other White men follow them outside, and then more. To the extent that you can see that fight, you can see that the migrant is in the so-called “chimpout mode.” Deescalation is ineffective against him at that point, only decisive force.

People whose governments grant them absolute dominion over their public space (otherwise known as liberty) are free to enforce rules of acceptable behavior in that space. A government that would in any manner and to any degree side with the dark-bodied foreigner in the above case is a government that’s ripe for overthrowing.

A Day in the Countryside

During the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s, Iraqi president Saddam Hussein held a meeting with his senior advisers to set the course of action during the stalemate of that protracted war. One of his advisers suggested that Hussein publicly step down as leader of Iraq, just as a ruse of course, with the desired result being Iran standing down their belligerence. Saddam Hussein heard his adviser out. Then he asked the rest of the men in the conference room: “Who else supports this idea?” Nobody raised his hand. Hussein gestured for the adviser to follow him out of the room and once outside, shot him in the head. Then he rejoined the meeting.

What does that have to do with a visit to the American countryside? You’ll see.

We recently went out into the countryside to visit a family farm in the rolling hills where we picked apples last fall. The place is run by robust country boys and beautiful healthy girls. But there was insanely loud, alien music booming from just behind the main store. It was Central American laborers having a party. Are the owners trying to keep the customers away?

We spent a short time on the farm doing what we came there for. But with how hot and humid it was, we wrapped it up quickly. By the time we walked back, the volume of the music had been turned way down.

Aside: there is a short history lesson here. It’s on importing third world agricultural labor: Haiti, antebellum South, French Algeria, Rhodesia, South Africa. The first generation of laborers is grateful to work. The second generation thinks that they should own the land.

That story about Saddam Hussein executing his advisor. Looking ahead to after the West is reconquered by European man, there will once again be hand-rubbing about bringing in cheap foreign labor. In every such instance our descendants will be wise to ask, “Who else supports this idea?” Then put a bullet in everyone who does.

We’re on course toward interesting times, when with the passing of the Baby Boomer generation which, for all of its failings, does provide a measure of competence in public service along with demographic ballast, the institutions of the United States will not be seen as legitimate by anyone. The nationalist American Right will see the US federal government as a hostile occupant. The brown Left will see it as an impediment to violence against Whites and to the confiscation of our property.

(End aside.)

So we drove all that distance just to head back home after fifteen minutes? No way. I said, “Let’s go to Amish country.” The beautiful day was ours and ours only. My idea was enthusiastically received. After a long drive, we were among the Amish.

A recent post about Eighties movies had a bit about the 1985 film Witness and some discussion in the comments about the Amish.

Just a few observation: young Amish men, teenage boys in particular, look like rock stars. Literally, that was my first and lasting impression. Lean, confident, and all had the same scissors-cut hairstyle where their locks of hair abruptly ended without tapering. The young women were slender plain-Janes. With female vanity being frowned upon in that culture, their natural beauty expresses itself in their bright eyes. And there were the occasional stunners. One I did a transaction with was a tall, gorgeous blue-eyed young woman in a white bonnet and modest traditional dress. White bonnets are worn by married women. Single women, which is practically none over the age of 20, wear black bonnets. Amish women don’t wear makeup or jewelry because that’s considered vain.

The glow of nordic human beings who had never gazed into a glowing screen.

A funny thing I noticed behind a business where the Amish park their horse-drawn buggies was a sign in their German-derived dialect: “Denkie fa da gaul sie scheisse uf picka!” I speak enough German to figure out what that means: “Thank you for picking up your horse shit!”

It was a fantastic day out in the country. Soul cleansing. It was time to head back and of the various anecdotes, I’ll end on this one:

Starting my drive home, I crested a hill and saw two young Amish girls on a roadside pulloff area selling home-baked pies. That’s what the sign said. I pulled over just as they came into my view over the hilltop. The older girl wore a black bonnet and she stood further back. The younger girl, still a child and so without head covering, approached my open passenger window with a smile.

“Hi ladies, what kinds of pies do you have?” I asked.

The little girl resolutely explained: “We had the large pies but they are sold out. But we still have the small pies.”

She spoke with an overenounciation of someone whose English is excellent but not her native language. Come to think of it, that’s how I talk. Anyway, I thought her reply adorably missed the meaning of my question.

“What kinds of fruits in the pies, I mean.”

Beaming with pride about her home baking and with a what other kind of pie could it possibly be, she cheerfully said: “We have shoofly pies.”

I had no idea what a shoofly pie is but I said: “I’ll take one.”

What a sunny way of ending our visit to the Amish. The world felt so good and so young. Weeks later, it still does.

We each had a bit of the shoofly pie as I drove home. My wife said, “I can tell the crust is made with fresh cow’s milk.” She was right. The pie crust, solid but powdery as all good pie crusts are, nevertheless had a creamy sort of taste. Yeah, that organic whole milk from the store is not exactly real milk. The modern world is fake and it will continue to get more and more fake until we take back what’s ours.

***

If you liked this travelogue, visit its older companion piece: my account of a daytrip to the big city.

St. Sylvester’s in July

How many of you here in the northern hemisphere miss the winter? All in good time. The European spirit runs on the four-seasons cycle. Here is the second-greatest pop act of all time, the Italian duo Albano Carrisi and Romina Power. They are performing at the 2018/2019 New Year’s Eve concert in Zakopane:

They sing these four of their hits:

  • “Ci Sara” (There will be) – a harmony of hope. Previously featured here.

Their performances of that song always end on a cliffhanger. The song ends with, loosely translated, “There will be a sweeter way of saying… I love you.” The two are divorced, so their fans want to see them reunited. They have four children, one of whom, Ylenia, went missing in New Orleans in 1994. Albano had a private investigator on the case for twenty years and believes that his daughter is dead. Romina believes that she’s still alive.

After their divorce, Albano went on to have a son and a daughter with a new girlfriend. He joked about doing his part to help Italy’s demographics.

The cliffhanger: at 3:30 the fans watch Albano pause just before the last three words as Romina looks on. Catering to their audience, he belts out: “Kochamy Was,” or “we love y’all!”

  • “Sharazan” [4:08] – a dream of a journey to magical lands
  • “Sempre Sempre” [9:07] – a romantic confession
  • “Felicita” [12:55] – an ode to joy, their greatest song. Previously featured here, along with great amateur cover performances.

They don’t perform “Libertà,” their serious song, but here it is.

The arc of life. They are young in the scene from a 1967 musical below. As I gather from the film’s plot summary, she is a rich debutante with her rich friends, he is a poor but talented suitor. Even her sexy patrician mother approves as she looks on. A great scene. Romina was preternaturally gorgeous when young; she’s about 16 that year, Albano is in his mid-twenties. As Jaded Jurist once remarked:

OMG they were cute in that piece. They make Sonny & Cher look like retarded muppets.

Here is the original post about this act. Albano is Italian, named in honor of his father who was on the WWII Albanian front during his birth. Romina is American or Mexican, depending on how that’s counted. She’s of mixed western European ancestry.

Someone who remembers the Sixties said that it was in fact a straightlaced decade. The hippie aesthetic didn’t catch on until the Seventies. Yeah, going by what those characters are wearing. The portal to Hell was reopened shortly after the election of George W. Bush.

Open thread.

Exquisite twists in ordinary songs

A bridge, a guitar hook, or a transcendent lyrical verse can lift an ordinary song to a higher level. This post is about young eros.

Air Supply, The One that You Love – As revealed by the music video, the ballad is about an intergalactic romance. Human female, space alien male. Just look at Russell Hitchcock’s munchkin face and that extraterrestrial poof-fro.

AirS1

OK, I’m being a dick. Maybe not everyone has the look of a romantic lead. But as the saying should go, in a well-ordered civilization there’s someone for everyone.

The key change after 2:55 is what makes this otherwise formulaic song great. Air Supply’s secondary vocalist Graham Russell, who does look like a blond romantic lead, enters with a falsetto: “The night is gone, a part of yesterday.” And like clear cascading waters, Russell Hitchcock responds with his unearthly voice.

While in Army basic training, I got a ‘Dear John’ letter from my high school girlfriend. We both sort of knew it, as I was going into the military and she was heading off to college, that this is the end. But we got together after my three-month training. My hair was shaved, which she remarked is a good look on me. It was a warm night, the streetlamps cast a green glow through the leaves as we walked. The finality of a breakup.

Another girl, a couple of years later: I had her on an emotional roller-coaster over the summer that we dated and she loved every moment of it. Young dumb and full of __ means peak vigor, peak testosterone. I was maxing out every physical fitness test and ran in an alpha clique. She was a doll. Perfect legs, twinkling green eyes. I broke up with her callously but, and this is important, I did not leave her feeling used.

That’s when the scorned woman unleashes hell. Certainly, you risk getting hit with a false rape accusations when you stick your dick in crazy. But a sane woman will still loathe you afterwards if she feels that she was either tricked into sex by a fake alpha or, as mentioned, if you leave her feeling used. I talked with her a few weeks after the breakup. Asked her how she’s doing. “There’s this guy who likes me but he’s too nice, not fun like you.” She looked like a mess. Heartbroken.

Radiohead, Creep. It’s the lock-and-load sound that occurs just before the chorus, the first time at 0:57. The late comedian Patrice O’Neill, as guest on the late Opie and Anthony show, did a monologue about how that hard click speaks to wypipo soul.

Pink Floyd, Dogs. The song played while I read a newspaper article about a serial killer on a Florida college campus. Just as I looked at a photo of a shrine that a murdered girl’s friends had cobbled together, the guitar hook after 3:30 came on. A synchronicity of the tragic story, the anguish of people I never met, and Gilmour’s plaintive guitar.

Anna Nalick, Breathe. Women have maternal feelings for wounded boys, which is why they fell for homosexualist propaganda. They don’t see a bug-chasing pederast, they see an unloved boy and they feel protective of him. Their instincts aren’t entirely wrong, as in many cases they do pick up on evidence of childhood abuse in his past.

May he turn twenty one on the base at Fort Bliss
“Just a day” he sat down to the flask in his fist
“Ain’t been sober, since maybe October of last year.”

Here in town you can tell he’s been down for a while
But my God it’s so beautiful when the boy smiles
Wanna hold him, maybe I’ll just sing about it.

A fair question: why are women so prone to showing tenderness for gays, but not for unloved incels? The answer: because it’s the difference between what they see as a boy vs a man. With the young gay’s Peter Pan asexuality (toward women), reproduction is not in the picture; a chance to nurture and heal a “child” such as Matthew Shepard in that iconic photo is. That, in fact, is also the reason for liberal women’s sympathy for Trayvon and other causes involving nonwhites playing the victim in a Leftist narrative.

But with the unattractive heterosexual man, reproduction is part of the psychosexual calculus so women instinctively recoil from potential contamination.

As female headship is mockery of family, so is love without Christ an abomination. The things we tell those we’re breaking up with. Pretty lies.

Meat Loaf, For Crying Out Loud. It’s a directionless song defined by its great, long ode to his woman beginning at 6:20. The entire five-verse interlude counts the ways in which she is valued, including this one:

For taking in the sun when I’m feeling so cold
For giving me a child when my body is old
And don’t you know, for that I need you

Mother Love Bone, Stargazer. Not every song on this list is ordinary. “Stargazer” is the most sublime obscure song in all of Rock because of its bridge. As goes the Seattle sound that the late Andrew Wood never knew as “Grunge” (those guys thought they were bangin’ out Metal/Punk), the lyrics were idiosyncratic. That was the magic, really. You just listen to the song as though it were in a foreign language and your idle imagination creates its own images. The song meanders, and then that magical bridge just after 3:20, and that vocal chorus:

stargazer you cry in blue
anything i’ve ever seen
it ain’t as good as you, child
[guitar: D Dsus4 D Dsus2 D]
i’m not trying to push your feelings
but i know you hold me like putty in yo’ hands
…oh xana come back again

From an old fan site:

This song is about Xana [La Fuente] (Andy Wood’s girlfriend) … She was his lover, his only one, he loved her madly and she did the same (maybe she still does) She was his muse and she tried to help him, but his addiction was bigger.

Lynyrd Skynyrd, Tuesday’s Gone. The greatest Rock song of all time, edging out Guns N’ Roses’ November Rain, another epic ballad about love’s loss. The long instrumental part begins at 3:20. First it’s the upstart keyboards, then the guitars reassert their rightful place but the piano will not yield and they duel it out until the strings section takes the stage.

From the moment our people begin to feel their first primal urges, they crave an ordering of a society that arranges love and lust according to our better nature. Wolves that are made to live by rabbit-rules go insane.

What Went Wrong? Part 2

If you’ve ever dealt with a desouled female, you will hear her icy voice as you read this:

sms1

The cynicism that aims in the direction of truth but lacks the range to embrace it: “Soul of a woman was created below.”

Complementarian realism has longer range: Men are expendable, women are perishable. A boy must earn his value, a girl must preserve hers. Men respect honor, women respect strength. Disown the faithless daughter, wait for the prodigal son’s return.

How to help prevent mudsharking: my guidance on raising a girl. It transcends its title.

How to repair a bad daughter: Begin by not petitioning her. She is sitting on that high perch and by extending unconditional love after she had already turned her back on you, all you do is validate her attitude. If she talks to you like in that screenshot, anything short of completely cutting her off will make her feel bottomless contempt for you. It’s not so much about the NPC idiot girl mouthing this or that ideological line she had been fed, it’s about the fact that she placed the abstractions that her little head can’t handle above family. If her rebellion weren’t about Trump, it would have been about something else.

Just looking at people I know… a good daughter, one that’s already a married mother, can be one of the brightest joys in life. A bad daughter, though, is a heartache best excised with no regret.

What Went Wrong, Part 1 is about the rebellious son.