Cobra Kai, S2E1 – “to show them a different way”

Season 2, episode 1. That’s all I’ve seen of the second season so far. Minor spoilers ahead. A look back at Season 1:

  • HERE I said why The Sopranos epitomized the George W. Bush era, Breaking Bad was about the Obama years, and I saw in Cobra Kai the spirit of Trump’s election.
  • HERE is the fun of identifying the allegories behind the characters.

Back to Season 2. This dialogue between Daniel LaRusso and his student Robbie Keene is a show-stopper:

ROBBIE: You lost focus?

DANIEL: Not anymore. Ever since the tournament, all I’ve been thinking about are ways to destroy Cobra Kai.

ROBBIE: [smiling] And now you have the answer?

DANIEL: Yes. The answer is, we won’t. Cobra Kai isn’t the enemy. There are no enemies. Your dad, his students, they’re just like you and me. They’ve just been taught the wrong way. The goal of Miyagi-Do Karate isn’t to fight them, it’s to show them a different way. Right? A better way. For them and everyone in the Valley.

That bolded line blindsided me. My blog’s tagline is “we don’t have to live like this” because I know, along with everyone else on the alternative/nationalist Right, that there are alternatives to the Tower of Mudworld Babel.

The best and most honest propagandists let people see for themselves that evil is evil and good is good. We live in a world that hisses abandon all hopeThe men who run it guard their power by censoring anything that is contrary to their nation-wrecking program. They do not want anyone to know that there is, as Daniel says, a different way.


Two killer komments about the first episode of the second season:

Johnny Lawrence — “His emotional turmoil is as attractive as his redemption arc and blue eyes”

Chakrates makes observations about several of the minor characters and Johnny Lawrence, the most compelling pop culture protagonist in the past 30 years:

The black girl, I rather like her. I know girls like her, mixed, smart, looking to fit in. I don’t really mind it, but I’m sad for her. You can see the lines being drawn. She’s not a thug or a hipster, or a rich kid, or anything other than a (former) wallflower who has found a place. She’ll be either the wise negra savior or a sacrificial lamb. Either way, not pleased, but she has pathos, it’s undeniable.

Hawk is Kreese/Johnny 2.0, they cannot telegraph that any harder. I pity him, too, and frankly, I worry about Miguel and Robby. Both are fatherless children, metaphorically if not literally, like Daniel and Johnny, looking for a replacement figure.

Billy Zabka is still hot. His emotional turmoil is as attractive as his redemption arc and blue eyes. Yes, that jazzes me. He’s as much a lost soul as the kids he mentors and seeing his humble admission that he was never taught the different between mercy and honor. It’s a simple thing, but a “wow” moment for anyone not used to paying attention. I love his character.

And I just knew that greasy smile was going to cross Kreese’s face, at the end…ugh and arghh and thicker plots.

[end quote]

Daniel LaRusso — “You can see it in his eyes”

Suburban_elk snapped me out of my complacency about the series with this observation:

The lifestory theme that Life can be a long journey and some form of redemption may yet still. Or to put it in American: you didn’t necessarily peak in high school. (or did you?)

These themes have always been around, but they are topical now to 40-somethings aka gen xers. And here’s the point to remember: These themes are fairly “better left unsaid.” By their nature, everyone knows about them on a gut level: There’s the big gorilla (and it’s not you). Or if it is, wow: very impressive silverback you got there! (can I touch it?)

Some meta commentary though, about how these manly yet sensitive (and therefore better left unsaid) themes, these very lifestagey themes, is particular to clown world and even more particularly to America. Because somehow such life stagey themes get buried under pavement of amusement park reality. They get lost entirely. The unconscious superstructure or whatever tf, even that has gone away and disappeared for with which to guide us.

LaRusso gets all this. You can see it in his eyes.

[end quote]

Pop Culture Never Dies

Putting aside the matter of whether or not I like today’s Top 40 sound — which skews heavily in favor of the right side of my pairings: feminine, glam, synth, etc. … — my question is: will it go on forever? Is today’s studio-centric hegemony a build-up to a hairpin turn toward performance-driven, sweaty musicianship — a playing out of history’s many earlier revolutions in mainstream sound — or … with apologies to Fukuyama, [is this] the end of music?

The above is a meditation on pop culture that segues into the adolescent’s phenomenon of psyche that you felt once too and maybe forgot.

Pop culture never dies — at least not as long as there is a medium of mass transmission. Back in the day, a friend’s mom told us that as you get older, you lose touch with popular culture until your own kids start following it, which is when you once again become interested in it.

Now, though, popular culture is fragmented. Naturally so, as Anglophone countries are a mess of alien cultures, which necessitates that the industry’s mass-distribution products cater to a watered-down lowest common denominator of sophistication and authenticity. People naturally coalesce around their own and gravitate to purer expressions of their temperament. And now, a new development makes the centralized entertainment industry less relevant and helps with niche-formation: the internet-driven dispersal of talent. One word: YouTubers.

There are several who are popular with White kids. The big names on that scene have hundreds of thousands of subscribers, millions of daily views, upper-bracket incomes from their channels. Collins Key is one such act. It’s two young California brothers, Collins and his younger bro Devan. Cool looking dudes, excellent positive energy, astounding creativity.

Their show is profanity-free and makes absolutely zero references to politics or culture-war stuff. What their act is, is hyper-energy slapstick, very often involving insanity with food. Representative episodes:

Devan’s wisdom teeth. If you or your friends have biological brothers, then you understand the bond. Beat each other up in childhood, have each other’s back for life. The younger brother Devan is under the influence of narcotics, having just come down off dental surgery. Funny as always, but you also see the fraternal bond.

Collins, who is recording this episode, gets on camera after the 11-minute mark… that’s when the yodeling starts. Now you’ve seen everything.


The messy twins telepathy challenge. (See the video below). The Merrell Twins are regular guests on Collins’ show. Pretty girls, and here they are mercilessly abused by Collins good and proper, and loving every moment of it. If I hadn’t mentioned it yet, the young man is a natural alpha and likable.

In that episode, the twin girls blurt out the name of their favorite band: Five Seconds Of Summer. Never heard of them, so I looked them up; “She Looks So Perfect” is one of their older songs. It’s from five years ago. It’s not a new style for a new generation; it sounds to me like classic Taylor Swift with its youthful energy and soft verse / hard chorus pattern that comes from grunge, which in turn is borrowed from 1980s alternative Rock.

The song’s video shows people having fun and, you know, stripping down to their underwear. I’m sure that’s a metaphor for being honest with each other, like those dreams everyone has about being naked. The aesthetic is California (mostly) blond. What’s not to like in seeing nothing but kin faces? The video does show diversity: age, body type, socioeconomic status — a full social ecosystem. What you ask — what about the you-know-what-I-mean Diversity? I know not of what you speak. All the diversity that needs be shown is right there in that music video.

Back to “The Messy Twins Telepathy Challenge.” It’ll put a huge smile on your face:

Ballad of the Burning Cathedral

The storied Lady’s burning
To the smiles of darkling mob

An original new song sprung to life right here on this blog’s pages.

  • Lyrics: Lucius Somesuch
  • Music and performance: The Vendettas

This is excellent. Vendettas, thank you for recording this. Lucius, thank you for your wit amidst the clownworld.

A Miracle In Minneapolis



The latest:

Landen Hoffmann, the 5-year-old boy who was thrown from a third-floor balcony at the Mall of America, has “zero evidence of brain damage, no spinal cord injury, and no nerve damage.”

According to CBS Minnesota, Landen’s grandfather was eager to share the amazing news after doctors assessed a five-hour MRI and called the family’s pastor, who declared the results “truly a miracle.” According to the pastor, the boy’s remarkable recovery has “amazed” doctors.

If you’re inclined to think that God has taken a keen interest in this accelerating globohomo abomination apocalypse and wanted to give the righteous a sliver of “don’t give up… trust me,” then this miracle might just be such a sign.

Every Day Is Earth Day

We recoil at the sight of the destruction of forests. The European soul loves the forest. Poor is the White man who knows not the peace of solitude deep among the trees, the moss, the lawless cries of birds. Celts, Teutons, Slavs all have their own customs that flow from their blood-kinship with the forest.

The land developer is a particularly loathsome insect. He hates the trees but loves money and especially monetizing (liquidating) the forest, parceling it off, clear-cutting the wood, selling and settling it with alien biped economic units that he imports to keep the churn at high percolation until it all withers like a dead branch and then he moves on. Even if he’s of our ancestry, his soul is twisted in the image of the eternal merchant.

Dr. Seuss knew:


And at that very moment, we heard a loud whack!
From the outside in the fields came a sickening smack
of an axe on a tree. Then we heard the tree fall.
The very last Truffula Tree of them all!

A triple-shot from Suburban_elk:




“The leftists claim the high ground on the Environment but hunters do more work for it. If the GREEN on Outside RED on inside watermelons cared about the environment they wouldn’t import 3rd worlders into white nations where their CARBON FOOTPRINT is so much larger on welfare than they could achieve in their homelands.” – @BGKP

Capitalism is not the answer.


The Great Tradeoff

Eastern European commenter ‘Passerby’ validates my wistful reminiscences of having marched in two Communist May Day parades in Warsaw, one in 1978 with my elementary school class and one in ’79 with my dad and his coworkers, for whom participating was mandatory:

Communism was not supporting social liberalism and identity politics. Our communism was about the rich vs the poor. For some reason it protected EE from liberalism. In some ways, communism was traditional.

The West’s “communism” is about women vs men and minorities vs whites. With us, it was about “equality” between rich and poor. With them, it is about gender equality and racial equality.

I remember the first time i heard about “racial equality” from western media. I immediately thought, my God, these people already have communism (a different type), but they did not even know it. It is there already!

Equality was the catch word. I heard “equality” many times by communists, so i can smell the same thing happening in the West. They both have the same source, but communism was different than the left in the West now.

The communists saw liberalism and identity politics as something that weakens society. So they were against drugs, LGBT, sexualisation of society, and were natalists, trying to support higher birth rate. They also did not support immigration.

In key ways, communism was traditional. This praise necessarily glosses over a lot of villainy under communism but I’ve seen far worse in the Free World. The political atmosphere in the east varied by country and things were brutal in Poland through a decade after WWII. Stalinism was a reign of terror, but by the late ’60s the judeostalinist old guard had been purged.

There is always a tradeoff between short-term vs long-term orientation in economics. The economic repressions and counterproductive incentives of Soviet Block communism were, at least in their effect, an effort on the leaders’ part to think long-term, given the fatal attractiveness of free market economies just to the west of us. Socialism is its own bag of tradeoffs. Done in the national spirit, it serves traditional ends. Done the way we see around us now, it’s a White Pays, Mud Plays clownworld.

Free market economy devolves to a race to the bottom of short-term profit mentality. Everything’s for sale — from that patch of woods next to your neighborhood, to children’s innocence, to the very future of our people.

The West, from behind the Iron Curtain, looked like freedom from behind prison bars. But the West was being set up. Crank up the credit, channel the European creative spirit toward economic productivity… create this flower-garden and then release global vermin upon it.

May Day Parade 1975 in the video below: first you see the Communist Party leaders march, then yesteryear’s war veterans, then kids and youths and university students to inspiring effect. Man, it’s so easy to long for that world.

PS: it might seem that I’m looking back, but I’m in fact thinking about the future. To contemplate socialism today is to anticipate alternatives to metaphorical and literal cannibalism of our nations.

The Infection

Untitled, written by Lucius Somesuch:

You turned on the latest news from
Some benighted Western land
Where they welcome Moor and Arab
Upon their fabled golden sand
And in the town where sin aspired
First to raise Reason as a God
The storied Lady’s burning
To the smiles of darkling mob.
Oh the pulse it starts a pacing
As you soak in the sorry view:
Don’t you think the time is ripe yet
To shoo the black and gag the Jew?

Old Jefferson and Brutus
Show how to die or live
But the vision from the Talmud
Tends to put you in a bib
Your ideals so Medieval
They say it’s time they burn
And the Prophet hailed from Mecca
In your shrines deserves his turn.
May you appeal to the authorities?
Macron’s just there to cruise
The next exit’s round the corner:
Shoo the blacks and gag the Jews.

You can peruse the gypsy’s globe
Searching out your fate
But Bill Kristol says the synagogue
Comes first, which ends debate
The gay shepherd who asks the questions
Your anxious answer swift retires
If you bleat about the import
Of so many recent fires.
Don’t look like you get a say, boy
And the browns will beat you blue
If you make polite demurral
So shoo the black and gag the Jew.

You’ve heard the goodly promise
That you’re dear to mighty God
And shall rise again in glory
Though today you live a sod
But every hour the wicked burden
Wears another notch in your knee
Soon your sons will crawl on all fours
Your girls lost to history
Tomorrow won’t break brighter
Long as you’re beset by the devil’s crew
Cry havoc and kick the dogs out
Shoo the black and gag the Jew.

UPDATE: There is now a musical interpretation of this poem, making it a song. Here.


There will be a time for war anthems but that time isn’t now. “Libertà” is a 1987 song from the second-greatest pop act of all time. Looking at the very serious faces of Al Bano and Romina Power, their performance is more fitting today’s mood than that of the 1980s. The preternaturally gorgeous Romina is just starting to show her years.

Liberty is when our land and our future are ours, and ours only. The song expresses the sadness before the hate. My imperfect translation from Italian:

Verse 1

Scende la sera sulle spalle di un uomo che se ne va
Oltre la notte, nel suo cuore un segreto si porterà.
Tra case e chiese una donna sta cercando chi non c’è più
E nel tuo nome quanta gente non tornerà.

A man walks away in the evening’s light
His heart carries the night and its secret
In homes and churches a woman searches for someone who’s gone
How many will perish in your name


Libertà, quanti hai fatto piangere 
Senza te quanta solitudine 
Fino a che avrà un senso vivere 
Io vivrò per avere te
Libertà, quando un coro s’alzerà 
Canterà per avere te 

Liberty, how many have cried out for you
Forsaken without you
So long as life makes sense
I shall search for you
Liberty, the rising choirs 
Will sing of having you

Verse 2

C’è “carta bianca” sul dolore e sulla pelle degli uomini.
Cresce ogni giorno il cinismo nei confronti degli umili.
Ma nasce un sole nella notte e nel cuore dei deboli
E dal silenzio un’amore rinascerà.
(Cercando te)

Into oblivion fall human lives and pain
Cynicism, not humility, grows each day.
But the sun will rise in the night and in the hearts of the weak
And in that silence love will be reborn.
(Searching for you!)

[Chorus outtro]

Articles in which I previously featured this musical duo:

Idle Thoughts: Songs About The City At Night

The city at night casts a spell over the young heart.


Survivor,  The Search is Over. Summer of 1984. I was in my early teens. My friend Dave’s dad took me and two other boys from the neighborhood to an Orioles game. For any baseball buff readers, that was at the old Memorial Stadium. Afterwards, he took us all out for pizza. The long, exciting day turned into an evening, which turned into a late evening, so energies ebbed during our long ride back home and we didn’t talk in the car. Just listened to the radio as Dave’s dad played it loudly. A new song came on and I liked the melody. A line caught my attention:

You’ll know certain the man I really am

What could I then, in the twilight between being a boy and a man, make of those words? The first impulse was to identify with the speaker: yeah baby, that’s me! But then a thought came: what kind of a man am I anyway? It was less words, and more abstract mental images that pointed toward the existence of, but not revealing, this ideal called “manhood” and my measure relative to that ideal. As an adolescent, I had already acquitted myself well. “But what about in the future,” I asked myself on that silent ride home.

First it was a mystery, then it was a journey, and now I’m in the driver’s seat.

The video shows the hero on his journey. He leaves his woman alone in bed and wanders the city at night. He visits a pool hall, which in that day represented men’s world. A world of cynicism, but also freedom. She calls him there, he won’t take her call. He knows that to complete his journey, he needs to complete his passage through the underworld.

He continues walking alone through night, reminiscing of his past pleasures, such as when his band-mate pulled up to him with two lovely, eager groupies. Cut to present time, he’s in that same spot alone at night. Just him and the city night.

He then recalls a time with his woman, and another friend pulling up on a motorcycle. A good woman grants her man the time to find his destiny, which she knows is with her. You see that strength, tinged with a mix of pain and hope, at 2:40 as she waits for him on that overpass. That’s the face of a woman in love and that’s his home at the end of his journey.

I once met a man near the end of his journey. This was in the early 1990s at a shopping center parking lot. I was meeting a groups of friends, including this feral minx I ended up banging. An older man, parked next to me, gets out of his car as I get out of mine. He was a heavyset fellow, wearing office slacks and a partly untucked blue shirt hanging over his belt. He asks: “How old are you, young man?” I told him I’m twenty-two. He grimaces, still looking at me and says with a shaking voice: “I’m 67…” then he starts to cry and continues, “I thought that at my age I was supposed to have it all figured out but it’s not at all like that…” and he breaks down sobbing.

I said “I’m sure it’s gonna be okay, sir” and looked at him a moment longer. Then I walked away, pumped up with anticipation.

Then good luck, it finally struck
Like lighting from the blue

Everyone gets that stroke of good luck, right?

George Michael, Father Figure. The song and the video are Gothic American art like the Brooklyn Bridge. Like an Edgar Allan Poe story.

“Greet me with the eyes of a child.” “Put your tiny hand in mine.” Creepy lyrics? It’s whatever you want them to be. That’s what it’s like between a man and a woman. When a woman loves you, that’s how she is sometimes: like a little girl.

In my immature teens, the song was a wild promise and the video even more so. It invoked the hiss of a snake from a Jim Morrison poem. “Sometimes love can be mistaken for a crime” — Gothic American art.

Loverboy, This Could be the Night

I’ve been down the streets of desire
Sometimes I was so uninspired

Neonatal genital reduction assignment for boys. Born in Europe, I wasn’t marked that way at birth. The self-consciousness of being different in America ended for me after a woman moaned oh my god it feels so much better going in. It’s a personal subject with very social ramifications: sexual morality is never a matter of private choice; there is the accepted way and the deviant way.

Nightcall is a song by French electro-house artist Vincent Belorgey, stage name Kavinsky. There is the city at night in this video, but no girls. Men’s world.

There’s something inside you, it’s hard to explain
They’re talking about you boy, but you’re still the same

A getaway driver works his way through Los Angeles and melts into a sea of normies to evade police. With the tracking technology in phones and newer cars, White freedom fighters will certainly invent a bigger mouse to beat globohomo’s mouse trap. But whatever happens — and it will happen — the fundamentals never change: like in the video, it’s about decisiveness and sang-froid when in the driver’s seat.