Shots Of Wisdom, Part 9

Alternative Rock. Noted elsewhere: “I think the New Wave of the late seventies and early eighties was a direct backlash against disco and the integration of groups and music that you describe from the seventies and eighties…”

That New Wave backlash continued and evolved thru the late 1980s into Alternative Rock, such as early R.E.M. It then took a harder edge and ultimately branched into Grunge when the Seattle sound was discovered. Alternative Rock was as much a reaction against the implicitly-black and integrated pop music, as it was against heavy metal, which was a lower class taste.

There was snob-drift toward feyness in that alternative genre, until corrected by the aforementioned Seattle injection, which had proletarian roots. Early Grunge bands had no idea that they were creating a new sound. They thought that they were doing metal and punk.

Caliban. Frightened = peaceful


Calling Them Out. Before Trump, nation-wreckers were like a home invader who pretended to be a guest, and we meekly went along with it. Trump’s candidacy was a lunge for the robber’s gun. Presently, we’re wresting over that gun. Only one side will see the next sunrise.

Expatriation. Fred Reed was my red-piller on America’s imperial adventurism. I understand his self-exile in Mexico but not his ill will toward that, which he had left behind.

Ok, that’s not entirely true. I do understand his ill-will. I don’t share it, its wellsprings are not in my nature, but I’m familiar with a type of Eastern European immigrant to the USA who loathes everything he had left behind. Those individuals’ feelings are real. In part, it’s the vagabond’s love of greener pastures, roots be damned. In part, it’s a product of the bitterness resulting from the defector’s youthful aspirations that were shot down by that, which had revealed itself to be a corrupt system. And in part, sadly, it’s retro-justification for his decision to leave, emigration entailing familial ties that get cut and the lingering regret.

I was thinking of a Ukrainian stripper in the United States. Someone asked her about her homeland. She twisted her face, explaining to us how horrible it is. The bridge that was burned: she wasn’t a whore there… and her daughter had a grandma.

Americans don’t have much experience with emigration, aside from the oddball expat here and there. In Eastern Europe, that’s a big devil and sometimes it produces a Joseph Conrad, but more commonly, people who buy SUVs they can’t afford.

Fred Reed is that, which hopefully for Westerners won’t become a thing: someone who runs abroad because for one reason or another, his homeland had failed him.

Hierarchy. Tell boys that there are three kinds of men: (1) ones nobody wants on his team — don’t be that guy; (2) ones others want on their team — everyone can reach that level of character; and (3), ones men want to lead them, a rare talent that you either have or you don’t.

“It’s Not About Race!” Best now to stop saying that — forever. It is about race. Human nature demands ownership of public space. Aliens have theirs but demand that ours be inclusive. There is also misplaced desire to assuage their fear of racism. Frightened = peaceful.

Witching Hour. What a bizarre way to order a society. Wishing to avoid the loud nagger-noise that will inevitably be played at local venues that have a DJ on weekends or a jukebox, a friend and I agreed on a brew pub that streams manager’s-choice Pandora. At some point that evening, I turned my attention toward a booth with the sole non-White patrons in the place, two black women who were arguing with the waiter.

I couldn’t hear their conversation over the loud music, which was a salubrious mix of classic Rock and contemporary alt-ambiance.

The aggressive one of the two was about thirty years old and looked like she had a college degree and a well-paying dead-weight job to go with it. Her bovine eyes muddied with malice as she berated the server and her face took on the soullessness of a sociopath: the compassionless look that black women project when the veneer of nice is scratched.

The waiter was also around thirty. A big blond dude, positively not a wimp. He marches past me on his way toward the kitchen. I draw his attention and ask him: “What the fuck is their problem?” He rolls his eyes and says something in frustration, and I offer: “They just want a free meal, right?” He spits out: “Oh, they’ve already gotten all kinds of free shit.”

The moment the waiter left them, the black women’s pantomime of righteous entitlement morphed into conspiratorial glee. The two hyenas were laughing. One of them catches me looking, and I keep staring. They drop their smirks and leave shortly after one final visit from the waiter. The guy then walks over to the bar, which is close to us and talks with a manager and another waiter. He is visibly shaken. Literally, his hands were shaking.

A bit later, he comes by with our check. After taking care of the payment (I left a yuuuge tip), my friend and I get up and as we do so, in jarring incongruence with the atmosphere at that pub, an unimaginably vile Rap song comes on. WTF, he and I look at each other, glad at that point to be walking toward the door.

“New shift manager?” He looks at his phone: “It’s just after midnight, seems a bit late for a shift change.”

Once we’re in the car, he said: “You forget, people around here don’t think like we do. Including that waiter. Millennials have Stockholm Syndrome, you blogged about that.” I laughed, “The manager probably heard my n-bomb when they were talking by the bar.”

Paranoia or witching hour? He said: “And the garbage that came on is his message to us.”


Part 8 picked up on the sounds of war.


14 thoughts on “Shots Of Wisdom, Part 9

  1. heavy metal, which was a lower class taste.

    You know, I never understood this, given the quasi-baroque guitar melodies and mytho-historic lyrical themes. There’s something *right* about music that brings together blue-collars and geeks.

  2. If bars don’t play real albums in full, they should keep silent. The best of them maintain an atmosphere of quiet, dimness, and restful contemplation. Always scarce furniture.

    The grunge tale will always have its parallels. A Modigliani just went for more than 157m. The painter just wanted to immerse himself in his Cognac and some of Cezanne’s leftover angular residues. It makes real headway. Amazing how life works!

  3. Pingback: Shots Of Wisdom, Part 9 | Reaction Times

  4. In the totalitarian state, the most creative are prohibited from conceiving (P)erfection and the most “intelligent” are tasked with propagating anti-(S)upremacy.

    This is the definition of mass degeneracy.

    And yet only the most creative and most “intelligent” of white male is truly accountable at the end of the day for this totalitarian state of affairs.

    This is Right with no alternative.

  5. Black people are scared of Russians. There is an article titled 50 Things That Scare Black People and “Russians” is one of them.

  6. — You know, I never understood this, given the quasi-baroque guitar melodies and mytho-historic lyrical themes. There’s something *right* about music that brings together blue-collars and geeks.

    No doubt. Metal songs have a lot of energy. How does the function work, where a style of music can infuse you with its energy, and it can also drain you after a while. Metallica (or their gothic-metal contemporaries like Sisters of Mercy or Ministry) has that effect. Listening to it compares to a workout with a heavybag.

  7. Recently, I participated in a Ten-for-Ten daily post on FB with a friend. 10 albums you love and still play. It was a nice little rehash and visit to my last and why I am who I am. Culture, art, shapes us, whether we want to believe it or not.


    And then I’ve come to another thought. The Mental Urban Space. It takes off from a CH post about the Maladjusted Bumpkin. I grew up in a semi rural area. My home, where my parents still live, was not in a planned community but was definitely “in town” albeit a small one. I worked on a farm in my teens, and never cared for life in the small city that was home to my university. I enjoyed trips to NYC and DC and Boston, but just to visit, never to stay. At heart, I’m country, and mountains are my bones, and fewer peop,e is usually better for me.

    But the Urban Headspace…it’s in us all. Some notion of not having *made it* unless we’re crowded by people and culture and food and ideas. It is difficult to shed. Never measuring up until you’re as chaotic and glitzy as the city.its easy to say “oh, just forget Hermès handbags and Louboutin heels, and go be simple” but simple even takes on an urban definition. It’s not ok to eat off of Corelle, which is Walmart simple. No, simple becomes handmade white pottery serveware and mismatched but real *silver* forks. The city…once it invades you, you cannot dispel it, without wondering if you’re ever measuring up.

  8. “The city…once it invades you, you cannot dispel it, without wondering if you’re ever measuring up.”

    This reminds me of something I read when researching my German ethnic roots and the immigration of my ancestors to America in the 1840s. An article from the time about life in Germany mentioned that since there were now shops in the small towns of Germany where dresses were sold, the farmgirls were no longer content with their homemade dresses, and pined for ways to make some money so that they could afford the nice store-bought dresses.

    I think it’s one of the big mileposts in life when you genuinely begin to get past needing to keep up with the Joneses. A big part of the challenge is entertainment media which constantly fills our minds with images of beautiful people living fascinating lives in gorgeous locations. The carefully generated eye-candy images they broadcast can’t help to make us feel that we’re missing out on something really good, that we’re wasting our lives wherever we are currently.

    Then you get old enough and you see enough times that the reality of the situations they portray is not like they seem in the pictures and movies, and you see that even when you do somehow manage to attain some aspect of those lifestyles the thrill fades almost immediately and you are left feeling there must be something even better somewhere else.

    I think eventually you come to accept the essential “ordinariness” of life, and with that acceptance you can begin to enjoy it for what it is. When you aren’t preoccupied being restless and dissatisfied with your less-than-glamorous life, you can start to see how really good it is, and how good health, freedom, and friendship really are the best things in life.

  9. Funny you talked about Fred Reeds seeming disdain for what he left behind. As a PA ex-pat of sorts, I hate Pennsylvania and the shit festival I grew up in. I’ll never go back, or speak well of that state, ever.

    I understand where Fred may be coming from.

  10. John de Nugent aka ‘the phenotype’ used to extol on the virtues of rural Pennsylvania. He said it was very old school out there.

    Of all the fifty nifty United States, the most cucked out has to be Minnesota. Just today they upped their cuck rep by giving away suitcases of cash, literally, to Somali women for daycare expenses, who promptly would fly them out back to their relatives.

    No one cares, it’s all just money right? I mean the government prints it and we use it and what’s the problem. It’s not like anyone has to pay for it. Right?

  11. “Her bovine eyes muddied with malice as she berated the server and her face took on the soullessness of a sociopath: the compassionless look that black women project when the veneer of nice is scratched.” -PA

    Holy shit, James Joyce, move over! Chills from reading this as it’s not only true and in a way funny, but so exact in comparison to my observations. I risk coming across as too much of a fanboy here, but bravo!

  12. you see that even when you do somehow manage to attain some aspect of those lifestyles the thrill fades almost immediately and you are left feeling there must be something even better somewhere else.I,

    @Jim-Bob, I would like to tell you how profoundly I appreciate this comment. It’s serendipitous – my wife and I have been heavily discussing exactly this, in context of a broader discussion about family finances. It’s really only been this past year that I’ve learned – had it deeply etched in my brain, you might say – that a lot of the things I thought I wanted when I was younger, things that would convince me I’ve “got it made” if only I could achieve them, are actually kinda hollow once achieved.

    Like a man who breaks a thing to find out what it’s made of, and then regrets it, I don’t know whether I could have learned this lesson in any other way. But there you are.

  13. them folk extra hate niggas.

    they have grown a little too accustomed to whites in the west being dutiful cucks. the very thought of a white man standing his ground is a chilling prospect to them. that hued gentleman’s statement should be printed out and made into outdoor signs all over Western Europe and North America.

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