Alcoholism. With regards to drinking, there are two kinds of people. One type of person will have two drinks, feel the buzz, and his body tells him “I’m done.” The other type of person will also have two drinks, but then the fiend within whispers “feed the buzz.”
Angels. If a stage play is written about the late Lawrence Auster, one can do worse than my premise: one of Lucifer’s rebellious angels seeks to make amends with the Almighty. As penance, he assumes a body of bachelor intellectual in New York City who struggles to overcome his Jewish tribalism and achieve wisdom through his writing, ultimately to die of pancreatic cancer. He appears to have fulfilled his journey of penance in the final act and becomes an angel, as evidenced by the short blog post he wrote ten days before he died.
Authenticity. As presidential candidate, Michael Dukakis presented himself as a phlegmatic, mild-mannered man, ridiculed for his goofy pose in a tank and for his bloodless reply to a debate question involving the hypothetical rape and murder of his wife. No doubt, the campaign’s merciless judgments stung, but there is a lesson: stand by your persona when the image is accurate. Running from it only amplifies the caricature, as Dukakis demonstrated twelve years later in his guest appearances on Fox News, looking ridiculous in his leather jacket and affecting a guido posture. If you’re a coupe, be sleek like a Camry, don’t rev your four cylinders like you’re an F-150.
Despair. It smells like a dog park in an SWPL district.
Devils. This was in the twilight between sleep and lucidity, sometime during my early teenage years. I wake up in the middle of the night to see a large, flat face filling the entirety of the wall opposite my bed. The face was luminous. It was God, it told me and it wanted to talk with me. Terrified I said “NO!” and heart pounding, I curled up under the sheets in icy sweat, making sure that no part of me is exposed and I frantically crossed myself and prayed. Later as an adult, I described that vision to a man with prodigious knowledge of the Bible. I told him that I once saw God but it was terrifying. He lost his smile and said “It wasn’t God and it’s good that you refused to talk with it. What you saw was a demon.”
Due Process. Angela Merkel’s half-hour’s trial for genocide and treason begins immediately after her arrest. For twenty minutes, the prosecution recites a list of accusations for the sake of historic record, in a manner that breaks her down to chest-rattling sobs. She gets five minutes for a statement of defense, also for history’s record. She stumbles over her words and falls silent. The verdict of “Guilty” is delivered. She is granted five minutes alone with a priest, if she chooses to take them. She is then led down the stairs, out into the courtyard, toward the wall.
England. The persecution of Emma West, as well as the Rotherham revelations, should have—by conventional wisdom—sparked an English revolution. Instead, nothing of the sort happened and the English slumped down in despair. Their response is consistent with historic templates for social change. A beaten dog licks its tormentor’s hand. The master must show weakness for the dog to begin to hate and then to lunge for the throat.
Feminism. Nations that liberate their women perish. Ones that subordinate their women, live. I want to live, not die.
Identity. Men generally enjoy meeting men from other nations and races. There is a lot that is interesting, even fraternal, in the crossing of cultures—so long as these three conditions are met: both parties are coming from positions of equal relative status, each man has a home of his own, and each man knows who he is. Even Pashtun tribesmen are famed for their hospitality toward strangers whom they do not perceive as invaders. But multiculturalism, by imposing strangers on another’s home and codifying this intrusion with the Marxist duality of oppressor and oppressed, precludes any such fraternity. E.M. Forester’s “A Passage to India” asks whether an Englishman and an Indian can be friends. The answer comes via the Indian doctor’s reply to the liberal Englishman: they cannot be friends until the English leave India.
Revolution. Revolutions are created not under the conditions of despair but under conditions of hope. Hope in this case is coming from a confluence of diminished respect for our leaders and inspired fresh words of an upstart champion. The groundwork has been laid. Now, it’s just a matter of a spark.
Trump. Suburban_elk has asked if White Americans exist. The established positions of every mainstream liberal and conservative institution over the past 50 years make that answer clear. Yet now there are stirrings of a glacial but unstoppable recognition that Whites as such do exist as a legitimate population with its own rights and interests. We’re certainly not there yet; our identity, our grievances, our demands aren’t yet articulated in everyday conversations. Whites’ low voter turnout in the 2012 election may have been the proverbial rock bottom.
Soul. You can appraise a person’s intelligence just by looking into his eyes. People with low IQs have lifeless bovine eyes, like there is no animation behind them. A very intelligent person’s eyes are drawn by a talented artist. A very dull person’s eyes are sloppily drawn with a crayon.
Zoology. Even the lowliest living organism resists its own physical destruction, even when the struggle is against pressures it does not understand.
The will to live: the scene is from Krzysztof Kieślowski’s “Decalogue 2: Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” The man in the bed is a cancer patient who wakes up feeling that he will make it.