A Communist Manifesto

Last night when I saw this, there were 23 Likes and 31.1 thousand Dislikes. No typo — a ratio of 1 : 1,352. Those likes/dislikes are now deleted.

There’s a lot to unpack in this video. That hate that you feel projecting toward you is downstream of can. When the cat’s away, the mice come out to play. When a nation lets down his guard, the value-extractor revels in his newfound license.

Bucket Lists

“Bucket lists” make a commodity of experiences that would have been best allowed to unfold organically in the course of a life well-lived, not collected to a checklist under controlled conditions for their own sake. For example, a combat jump would be a part of your legacy that your descendants talk about proudly but a commercial skydiving jump is just a more extreme kind of self-amusement. Adrenaline matters when cranked up in service to a higher cause, or when you’re struggling against events larger than you. Chasing novelty for its own sake is fighting ennui with thrills.

Certainly, there might be some place you’ve always wanted to visit that you never got around to, or something you have always wanted to do. That’s normal, as long as you don’t turn those things into a list of activities that are an end in themselves.

Because ultimately, nobody cares that you hiked in Nepal where logistics and safety were not in question. In fact, you might not even care beyond the selfie-value of that trip. In contrast, a farmer who had spent his entire life raising livestock and repairing his equipment and who had never left North Dakota will have had a more satisfying and meaningful life than a bungee-jumper, even by the standards of adventurous people.

Typing the above paragraph just now, I recalled a scene from Kieslowski’s “Blue,” in which Juliette Binoche’s mother was dying in a comfortable hospice. The old woman sat there with that lifeless look in her eyes, blankly watching bungee jumpers on her television. That scene is the apotheosis of meaningless materialism.

There is also a science-fiction story I read in my adolescence, don’t recall the author. It is set in a future in which man had achieved mastery over all chaos, eradicating all danger and harm. The consequent malaise of spirit created a demand for adventure, for heroism, for self-sacrifice. So in response to a market demand, companies formed to provide their clients with an experience of adventure, heroism, self-sacrifice; all perfectly safe, natch. You could pay, for example, for this service-provider to stage a “boating accident” in which you heroically rescue someone from drowning. The potential victim, who is an actor, was never in harm’s way, of course, but the protagonist got to experience the facsimile of handling an open-ended crisis in which something important was at stake.

Bucket list chasers also forget that inner life is important. It doesn’t require external stimulation and it can be cultivated under the most restrictive conditions. All you need is silence. Just put yourself into the consciousness of that North Dakota farmer. The hours and days that he had spent under the big sky, the sounds of birds as the summer evenings darkened.

Life is to be lived and I’ve always had this restless, risk-taking edge. I’m successful because I made daring moves under apparently hopeless circumstances, doing things that made little sense in terms of conventional wisdom at the time, but they made an inarticulate kind of sense to me as long as I trusted my instinct. And I’ve had a good time along the way, which is why I don’t have a bucket list.


Life also has its spices, like on the following list. It’s not the kinds of experiences you’d see on a typical list of things to do before one dies, as they are rather low-key and foolish in some cases. They also give life its flavor if experienced as a byproduct of more consequential endeavors:


Things on that list I haven’t done:

  • Broken a bone. Knock on wood.
  • Drugs.
  • Tattoo.
  • Ridden a horse.
  • Gone on a cruise. Hell no never.

Of the things on that list that I did, “No. 1. Skipped school” in high school is the best. My friends and I always hooked school with Ferris Buelleresque panache, never out of mere laziness. There are geographic landmarks where the ghosts of our carefree days had left a mobile palimpsest. You can hear them if you listen closely.

Sentimental Pop Songs

This is about songs I heard on the radio in the 1970s, as well as samesuch from the Eighties I discovered on YouTube in recent years. Viewers on YouTube share my enthusiasm for those kinds of songs, from that time and place. Representative comments that I’m translating into English:

“Anyone listening in 2020?”

“Everything today stinks in comparison. The five-minute celebrities, the actors with no acting school, the silicone tits, all the rest of that television trash.”

“One has to grow up to get this tune. I’ve heard that song all my life but it’s only now, at forty, that I consider it a gem. That’s because you have to have experienced life to understand it.”

“my god, i am 30 years younger”

“The majority of the songs that were recorded back during the People’s Republic have one thing in common. They are perfectly crafted. The arrangement is excellent, no instrument is too much or too little, and so they are (also because of their lovely melodies and performance) truly pleasant to the ear. They connect with the listener. In layman’s language, they are beautiful.”

“I’m almost 60, as a kid I was a fan of the Beatles. They were quite good. With time though, as many years have passed, I’ve come to know the value of our artists.”

“God I love Poland and the Polish language!”

Four such songs. There are so many more, but I limited myself to just these:

Sidewalk Cafes (Irena Jarocka; orig. Kawiarenki). Vocals like honey in this 1975 ballad. Wistful, mellifluous, the sounds melt into synesthesia bliss. Irena Jarocka, the singer, died of brain cancer in her sixties, about ten years ago. She lived the final decade of her life in the United States, continuing to perform here and in Europe. She sang at the Pulaski Day Parade in New York City twenty years ago. Bummer, I was going to go but didn’t.

Two Hearts Like Two Trains (Grażyna Świtała; orig. Dwa serca jak pociągi dwa). Dan Baird’s 1992 song “I Love You Period” is the happiest song of that decade, the happiest video too. Bad feelz impossible after watching. The trope is school-theme lyrics standing in for the teenager’s crush on someone. “Two Hearts Like Two Trains” is a 1987 song with the same idea. My favorite part is the refrain with its buoyantly galloping 4/4 beat like a cowboy song:

Two trains like two hearts set out
From town B to town A
And from town A to town B
I must determine where they meet.

I know their speed, their distance too
I know the cold sweat on my face
Upon the mention of towns A and B
And the professor’s evil eye.

I’ve Been with You so Many Years (Krystyna Giżowska; orig. Przeżyłam z Tobą tyle lat). An adult-themed pop song from the point of view of a woman whose long marriage has been the stuff of normal life. Its ups and downs with its better and worse times. The 1987 song is a reflection on all of it with a peaceful heart.

I’ve been with you so many years
I gave you my whole world …
… Look, our children are all grown up
And only you and I
Haven’t changed at all

The White Sail on the Horizon (Alicja Majewska; orig. Jeszcze się tam żagiel bieli). The 1980 song’s very first notes have you anticipate something cathartic. It’s the xylophone intro hinting to what will, in the latter half of the song, build up to a powerful refrain. The tension grows along a gentle grade, Majewska’s whispers grow in their intensity.

I am not a fan of big-voice female vocalists but she lets the power of the song build on its own with its theme of great hope. The lyrics celebrate woman’s faith in her man, along with her virtues of patience, forbearance, and unshaken faith in her man’s homecoming. It could also be about a mother waiting for her son’s safe return. Partial lyrics:

The white sail on the horizon
Of the boys who sailed away
Persistent hope plays the silent drum
In the chapel of the heart

Because it’s man’s business
To be far, but a woman’s – to wait faithfully
Until another tear is born
Beneath the eyelid, a tear of joy

It’s man’s business – to run and tame
The crests of the waves
Our business – to stand at the shore
Stand and believe, and gaze into the distance

Open thread, bonus if you can tie a sentimental pop song to your story.

A Generation Too Early

Good times made gullible men, which is why the post-war generation of Westerners bought in to cultural marxism and this so-called civic nationalism. Conversely, you wisen up young when growing up in the crosshairs of your enemy. A comment on Gab, related to Twitter posts that follow:

They’re trying to move in for the kill world wide… Them going for broke a generation too early could be the best thing that ever happened to us.

There’s a new version of Ragnarok that came out a few days ago. I don’t really watch anything nowadays, but I like the Norse stuff so I gave it a chance. First episode they made it about faggots, dykes and global climate warming change. Should’ve stopped there, but I gave it one more episode, and I’m not exaggerating here, in episode two Thor literally says that world is dying because of white men. Lol. That’s too much too soon.

The purpose of civic education is to teach the child how to answer the question, “Who am I?” And when your government is not solely yours, when its functionaries in the school systems want you destroyed, they will teach him who they think he is. White kids aren’t buying it any more. See below; poster Dissident American is calling out this Ursula, a teacher who says that despite decades of experience being a “white kid whisperer,” she is no longer adept at lying to them.


The expression of free vs sublimated conviction

A short comment about the above confrontation, h/t Suburban_elk:

… John Dennis, who is apparently Nancy Pelosi’s challenger. He’s got quite a jaw on him, and he stands up for himself. He’s one of those manly high-t boomers we know so much about, and love.

However, he is well matched by the brown, who maybe is Puerto Rican? They are exactly the same size and height. And by my reading, the brown slightly kind of wins the battle of intimidation, or maybe it can be called a draw. But /our guy/ Dennis repeatedly, slightly, averts his eyes and looks down. He doesn’t back up; but Dennis showed some fear by looking down —

John Dennis was picking up trash in San Francisco as part of his political campaign. That’s according to the comments under the tweet. His antifa-antagonist says: “I want you dead,” “You’re a piece of shit,” and “You’re a racist.” And twice, he makes a specific threat of violence. John Dennis came away from the confrontation looking good, under the circumstances. As a measuring stick, how would Trump have spoken?

Dennis’s hands were tied by the narrow range of politically acceptable conduct, at least by conventional thinking. Applied unconventional thinking is for someone with Trump’s charisma, a rare thing. And absent charisma, for someone with purity of heart, purity of conviction. A saint perhaps, or a patriot who accepts martyrdom like the twelve executioners of Franz Kutschera, whose hearts were made pure by the events of open war.

John Dennis likely lacks Trump’s gift or a martyr’s purity. As do most people. This isn’t a criticism of the righteous boomer, it’s an analysis of contemporary circumstances. The antifa-antagonist was not going to be won-over with kindness. His side’s hatred of Whites and lust for our enslavement is free and primitive. John Dennis’s hatred of Third-World invaders, speaking of him as a symbol of the cause of Western nationalism not him as the individual, is deeply sublimated. That’s the situation at the present time.


So it happened. Fake News CNN headline: “The UK has left the EU — and the implications for the world are huge.” So even they concede defeat.

Europe is the motherland of Western Christendom. The greatness of Europe is its separate nations, for better and worse. No more migration of peoples. No more of siphoning of youth and talent from one country to undercut the people of another.

This is the time to build a momentum toward cleansing the land of Shakespeare and Newton and Pink Floyd and one sunny day, to settle the remainder of the scores. What was brought in can be taken out. Rotherham was not just a humiliation of England, it was a humiliation of all of us.

Meanwhile tonight: cheers, England. A video aptly chosen by Lucius Somesuch: