“Perfection is real, and can be seen”

Josh1476 writes:

I’m thankful for Thordaddy’s dialectic. I’m [new] to WN, just about 6 months now, but I can sense my understanding of Our Cause much better with my mulling over wS. TD is most definitely hard to understand, but does that have to be his fault? Perhaps his IQ is so high that it is difficult for him to come down here to our level? And he still sometimes does explain his seemingly autistic expressions, even if poorly, it is always in good faith.

There is another commenter in the sphere who usilizes his own dialect and style of prose, gunslingergregi. He is a Salt-of-the-Earth Hero around these parts. I have a lot of respect for men like William Shakespeare who help Create the language rather than just follow everyone elses rules, whereby those people are also creating the language and it’s rules, but rather by authority instead of Divine Creativity.

Thordaddy has been around for years, most people are familiar with his enigmatic commentary. You never really know who is who behind his screen name, so you take him on face value. Prophet? Troll? I went into the WordPress dashboard yesterday and pulled up all of his comments on this blog in spreadsheet format… all 2,668 of them and skimmed through them. It was like when you pull away from a bunch of pixels to see a coherent picture, and in that body of Thordaddy’s commentary, I saw a man with something to say.

He and I have butted heads, which I suspect is something he’s used to. But I’ve also invariably expressed my respect for him. In part because of glimpses into his life he’s provided, such as this one:

PA… I was recruited as a quarterback… Then went to FS [free safety -ed.]. The drill was old-school one-on-one, ball carrier and tackler amongst our defense. The ordering was random and so I would, as a FORMER red-shirt freshman QB turned FS, frequently tandem with a DL and execute the very scenario I outlined. I ran the ball to hurt people rather than juke them. But I also wanted to get on the field as a “preferred walk-on” and smashing people was the most obviously NATURAL manner in which to do that.

And this one:

I was a preferred walk-on QB for what was at the time a lowly DIV I university.

I ONLY PLAYED FOUR GAMES at QB my senior year. New coach. New offense. “We” were a 1-9 DIV I highschool team.

And I was the best raw athlete of the 5-6 QBs we had when I was a redshirt freshman on paper and the field. But I was not cerebral about the game at all. And certainly apolitical about the whole affair.

I went to FS the next season.

I could dunk in one step with two hands… Easily.

I bulldozed 275lb-315lb d-lineman in the basic old school line-n-up… I ALWAYS TOLD THEM FIRST WHICH DIRECTION I WAS RUNNING… They knew a train was coming and exactly where we’d meet.

And it was there that a “black” senior who did a little stint in the NFL said, “Watch out for this one…”

He glimpsed wS in me before I glimpsed wS in me. Thanks Jason.

Ryu comments:

You will learn a certain admiration for TD in time […] One MUST be thick-headed to be a WN and take on ZOG. The recognition is coming that the white race was at its best under Christianity. Jesus is the perfect, sinless man TD is talking about. Perfection is real, and can be seen.

Ryu also links to the video below. It seems that when Thordaddy talks about Perfection, this depiction of Jesus illustrates his point:

300th Post

After the euphoria of the 2016 election year and the rocky road that followed, it took work on everyone’s part to keep spirits high. We discovered that we’re in a long game, winning the election was just a step — albeit one of do-or-die significance.

October and November 2017 saw my all-time highest visitor and page-view stats. As always, I sincerely appreciate your reading, commenting, and linking. In return, I never make you read stuff you’ve already read elsewhere. Here are the ten posts of the most recent 100 to revisit, starting with the trilogy that reckons across generations:

We inhabitants of Diversityland will be regarded with the awe that historians reserve for survivors of civilization’s great dramas. Dispossession, Youth, Anger, Future:

Welcome to your exciting future, White teenager. No sarcasm: a corollary to valuing something you’ve lost is the fact that the depths of evil make the heights of good shine that much more brightly.

I don’t know anything about music but it’s my favorite blogging subject. Warszawskie Dzieci is about the nightmare of children in armed combat. I link to a contemporary performance of a beloved marching song and Laibach’s mind-blowing tribute. The post offers a few words on the relationship between an original song and its cover:

There are original forms and derivative tributes. The former are often simple, self-contained, and perfect. A creative tribute drinks the waters of the original. Classic forms inspire mannerist interpretations, and as such the cover-form offers tantalizing possibilities that can succeed spectacularly, revealing the compressed wealth of the simple original. At other times, the creative tribute misses the point or runs away with the artist’s ego, and fails.

Be A Lighthouse: a tribute to Ryan Landry, framed in heavier thoughts about our individual responsibilities.

Observations In New York City:

[A] woman is born with three choices: to be a wife, a nun, or a prostitute. The flaw of modernity is the fact that they try to be all three, to farcical effect.

Have you noticed a pattern in professional photos that show a man and woman in love? See if you know what I’m talking about in this example: Photos of Couples In Love

God Bless The USA: thoughts about my adoptive homeland one year after Donald Trump’s victory.

Europe, Rise From Your Knees!”:

As long as these Western people, in the privacy of their minds where there is no excuse for being a slave, consider their governments lawful and legitimate, they are kneeling… Getting off your knees would mean, first of all, that you open your eyes and see the evil that is staining your land.

What would be the next step in rising off your knees?

I don’t tell people to do anything I am not doing. But keep reading.

And No. 11, a word on love.

Open thread.

***

Morning Songs

An aubade is a composition about or evocative of sunrise. As popular songs go, Cat Stevens’ “Morning Has Broken” is among the prettiest. Beck’s euphonic Morning is a keeper:

Can we start it all over again this morning?
I let down my defenses this morning
It was just you and me this morning
I fought all my guesses this morning
Won’t you show me the way it could’ve been?

I’ll relate an experience that might sound like nothing much but it continues to have an effect on me a year-and-a-half later. Make of it what you will. At dawn, my father-in-law and I were passing through a little town in eastern part of Poland, he drove. It’s countryside with birch forests and tall, flower-adorned crucifixes at every crossroad.

Driving slowly through the wioska, we turn a corner and a burst of early morning’s sunlight floods everything. How to describe this. My perception opened for a moment. This lasted for a microsecond. What I saw, when we turned that corner, was a young woman pushing an infant stroller and a little boy walking with her.

They were real people, actually walking on the sidewalk and like I said, the vision was a flash but during it their silhouettes against the golden sunlight made an effect of the light being the sole reality. People who describe their near-death experience talk about an overwhelming sense of being embraced by love and for that moment, without a prelude and ending at that same instant, that is exactly what I felt.

That morning is when I stopped worrying.

“When the Morning Lights Arise” (orig. “Kiedy ranne wstają zorze”) is Franciszek Karpiński’s aubade, written c. 1800. My translation:

When the morning lights arise
To You the earth, to You the sea,
To You the elements sing:
Be praised, mighty God.

And man, without measure
Showered with Your gifts,
Whom You created and saved,
How can he not praise You?

Still rubbing my waking eyes
I at once call to my Lord,
To my Lord in Heaven
And I seek Him by me.

Some into the sleep of death have fallen
After lying down last night…
We still woke up
To praise You, God.

A Comment On GenZ

Anglo nations don’t have much experience with losing at home, American Southerners being a notable exception. Winning and winning and winning makes you morally soft and sets you up for guilt complexes. It makes you ashamed of your ugly, Pyrrhic victories such as the Boer War.

Losing fosters a sense of togetherness and paradoxically, pride. What doesn’t break your spirit or genocide you makes you more fanatical. Eastern European nations have a sense of righteous identity because they know both loss and victory. The Polish national anthem begins with “Poland has not perished yet so long as we live.” Hardly a cocky winning attitude. But boys (and girls) who listen to stories of national against-all-odds going down fighting myths stick together.

There is a reason why the American GenZyklon — White teenage boys and girls — is farther to the Right than probably any adult American generation in modern history — they are literally born losers; in other words, born as a dispossessed, despised minority on their own land. The young know who the enemy is.

Screenshot_2018-01-07-11-03-41-1

A Poem About Gods

I’m discovering Zbigniew Herbert’s (1924 – 1998) poems as we speak. In one of his poems, Herbert described himself as a bard who merely knocks on doors behind which truths are revealed. Herbert’s Apollo and Marsyas below (orig. “Apollo i Marsjasz”) describes a torture-execution. In Greek myth, satyr Marsyas challenged Apollo to a music contest. The contest was judged by the Muses, Marsyas lost and was flayed alive for his affrontery in challenging a god.

As always, I recommend reading along with the musical interpretation. It’s not an inviting proposition, given the language barrier, which is why I made the line-by-line translation.

“Apollo and Marsyas” — Zbigniew Herbert

właściwy pojedynek Apollona  / the actual duel between Apollo
z Marsjaszem  / and Marsyas
(słuch absolutny  / (an absolute ear
contra ogromna skala)  / vs. immense scale)
odbywa się pod wieczór /  takes place in the early evening
gdy jak już wiemy  / and as we already know
sędziowie /  the judges
przyznali zwycięstwo bogu  / ruled in favor of the god

mocno przywiązany do drzewa  / tightly bound to a tree
dokładnie odarty ze skóry  / meticulously stripped of his skin
Marsjasz  / Marsyas
krzyczy  / cries
zanim krzyk dojdzie /  before the cry reaches
do jego wysokich uszu /  his mighty ear
wypoczywa w cieniu tego krzyku /  he reposes in the shade of that cry

wstrząsany dreszczem obrzydzenia /  shaken with disgust
Apollo czyści swój instrument /  Apollo cleans his instrument

tylko z pozoru /  only seemingly
głos Marsjasza  / is Marsyas’ voice
jest monotony /  monotonous
i składa się z jednej samogłoski /  and composed of one vowel
A  / A

w istocie Marsjasz opowiada  / in fact Marsyas relates
nieprzebrane bogactwo  / of the inexhaustible richness
swego ciała /  of his body

łyse góry wątroby  / the bald hills of the liver
pokarmów białe wąwozy  / the white digestive gorges
szumiące lasy płuc  / the murmuring forests of lungs
słodkie pagórki mięśni /  the sweet mounds of muscle
stawy żółć krew i dreszcze /  the joints bile blood and shudders
zimowy wiatr kości  / the bones’ winter wind
nad solą pamięci  / over the salt-flats of memory

wstrząsany dreszczem obrzydzenia  / shaken with disgust
Apollo czyści swój instrument  / Apollo cleans his instrument

teraz do chóru  / now the choir
przyłącza się stos pacierzowy Marsjasza  / is joined by the spinal stack of Marsyas
w zasadzie to samo A  / in principle the same A
tylko głębsze z dodatkiem rdzy /  only deeper and with a touch of rust

to już jest ponad wytrzymałość  / this is now beyond the endurance
boga o nerwach z tworzyw sztucznych /  of a god with nerves of synthetic fiber

żwirową aleją / down the gravel alley
wysadzaną bukszpanem  /  lined with boxwood
odchodzi zwycięzca /  departs the victor
zastanawiając się  / wondering if
czy z wycia Marsjasza  / Marsyas’ howls
nie powstanie z czasem /  aren’t the birth of
nowa gałąź /  a new branch
sztuki – powiedzmy – konkretnej /  of – shall we say – concrete art

nagle /  suddenly
upada mu  / at his feet falls
skamieniały słowik  / a petrified nightingale

odwraca głowę /  he turns his head
i widzi  / and sees
że drzewo do którego przywiązany był Marsjasz /  that the tree to which Marsyas is tied
jest siwe  / has turned white

zupełnie /  completely

A Showstopper Shiv

Attempting to convert a liberal only flatters him, as Lara observed and I agree. But what about this hypothetical scenario:

At first, it’s a friendly conversation in which he asks questions that express sincere interest in your point of view and things go swimmingly. After all, it’s two intelligent men discussing adult stuff, right? But soon his steady hand trembles and non-sequitur interruptions fly.

Here is where you terminate the dialogue and deliver the showstopper shiv.

Because if you don’t end things here, you’re henceforth rolling in mud. If you are considering making an appeal to securing a future for his children, reconsider. His Kool-aid is too strongly spiked. He’ll meet that one with a moment’s blank look in his eyes. He will personally accuse you of killing that antifa girl in Charlottesville, in which case nothing’s lost if you fling the mud right back: “Good riddance. One less pig that hates your kids.”

Liberals are unmoved even by entreaties to parental instinct. They long for death but they want to pull the rest of us down with them.

Here is what to say when he starts to get belligerent:

You know, sometimes when you talk less and listen more, you just might learn a thing or two.

And then, it doesn’t matter what he says. He can cry “Learn to be a Trump voter?! no thanks!” but the damage is done. Don’t pursue, just look at him with contempt.

The First Three “Diary Of A Wimpy Kid” Movies

The first three films in this series are surprisingly unpozzed: the original Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2010), as well as its two sequels Rodrick Rules (2011) and Dog Days (2012). The overarching story is about Greg Heffley, a skinny middle-school kid, dealing with the anxieties of social life, his older brother’s villainy, and his first love. The tone of these movies is light. Greg frets of failing to keep up with the physical maturing of his peers but he isn’t particularly “wimpy” and weakness as such is not a theme in the stories.

There might be a spoiler or two below… but come on. You’re not gonna watch a preteen comedy for the suspense.

Like everything in pop culture, the Wimpy Kid movies will be imperfect. I watch these things with a jaundiced eye, and the unwholesome thing I’d point to in these films, would be a few scenes with boys on toilets or in their underwear. That may well be an innocuous artistic decision but given the pall over Pedowood, you presume guilt.

Other minuses, is that the dad is a passive idiot. He’s weirdly played by a handsome actor whose face for some reason always has a bizarre mongoloid grimace. The dad comes into his own in Dog Days, when he connects with Greg and stands up to his own nemesis.

The big one — Diversity — is almost nonexistent. There is a black extra or two in various scenes (like I said, the movie is not perfect). But the only colored character with a speaking part is a comic-relief Indian kid. In fact, not only is the school nearly all-White, but it’s our familiar faces everywhere, on down to country club waitstaff. Movies six to eight years ago weren’t as heavy-handed with diversity as they are now, but these first three Wimpy Kid films have the racial optics of Friends.

A satisfying irreverence toward feminism, personified by Greg’s obnoxious and tightly wound classmate Patti Farrell, is one of the films’ comic high points. She joins the boys’ wrestling team, triumphantly crowing about Title IX. Paired with her in practice, Greg has no idea what to do, fearing trouble should he get physical with a girl. In another scene, she imperiously invokes her mother’s position as PTA president to coerce a drama teacher into a concession.

There is, in fact, an Eighties feel about these films. The hard rock aesthetic is central, with Greg’s older brother Rodrick being the leader of an amateur heavy metal band. Hairstyles, even clothes in subtle ways, along with the mannerism, felt oddly and nicely retro in that sense.

Holly Hills is the love interest in the second and third film. In spirit with feel-good comedy, she is lovely and kind — and unrealistically available to an average boy like Greg. That’s poetic license, of course: where there is no alpha, there is no conflict over pretty girls, who in turn give unexceptional boys a chance to come into their own. Don’t take that as the script writer’s wish-fulfillment; if you remember your first feelings for girls at that age, you will see in Greg and Holly’s friendship your own formative idealization of the woman. When a boy still stands with one foot in innocence and one in desire, his first intimacy with a girl, and I’m not talking about physical contact as that is not in the story, is nothing less than his discovery of the female eros.

Another thing I liked, was the stories’ treatment of antagonists. What always sat wrong with me in American youth comedies, is that the bad guy was almost invariably annihilated, completely. Presumably to the audience’s catharsis, but not to my moral instinct. Watching those comedies back in my school-kid days, I thought, “OK, the guy is an asshole, but he’s just a teenager. Is it necessary to so viciously humiliate and destroy him?” I didn’t enjoy one-dimensional villains and always preferred man vs. man conflicts resolved with the two rivals reconciling and learning from one another. And in the Wimpy Kid movies, unsympathetic characters were handled fairly enough. For example, a threesome of older-teen bullies in a pick-up truck were the most egregious of malefactors, and they lived to drive another day. The harshest comeuppance is meted to a cartoonishly unpleasant girl, whose Sweet Sixteen party is ruined.

The first three Wimpy Kid movies have a few good lessons and moments of hilarity. The family is identified as Christian, having been shown attending church. The main characters and supporting crew are likeable: the GenX mom with her sexy librarian look, the effortlessly charismatic older brother, the chubby best friend with a twinkle in his eye, and others.

(I haven’t seen last year’s Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Long Haul yet. It has an all-new cast because the original actors had aged out of their roles.)

still-of-devon-bostick-and-zachary-gordon-in-diary-of-a-wimpy-kid_-rodrick-rules-(2011)

Greg and Rodrick