Pretty Faces

Hope Sandoval is deep inside herself, a diva reputed for her paralyzing stage fright.

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” ― Pablo Neruda


Mary Hopkins’ finishing-school “daahnce” is a turn-on. Smiling is a vocalist’s challenge. Having a genuine bright-eyed freshness is another professional challenge, but not for her.

“Why, he wondered, should he remember her suddenly, on such a day, watching the rain falling on the apple trees?” ― Daphne du Maurier


Melania Mina Špiler is not as Apollonian as she’d have you think. See her eyes roll back and her breasts heave in preemptive surrender to her great teacher.

“She had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes that were very pretty and very good.” ― Charles Dickens


Courtney Love speaks to our spirit in this live performance, climaxing in whooping cough at 2:45. Her Pacific Northwest accent is pretty, like when she says “pahhhrrrts.”

“She had the secret of individuality which excites and escapes.” ― Joseph Conrad

You remember your first make-out with a girl (or otherwise). Tell us about it if you’re not shy. I described mine here.

Open thread.

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“Warszawskie Dzieci”

This post is about nationalism (which in contemporary context is synonymous with patriotism: love of family and belief in a future), as well as a look at the 1944 marching song “Warsaw’s Children” and Laibach’s creative reinterpretation of the original. If you recall the post titled Zero Hour a month ago, it marked the August 1, 1944 outbreak of the Warsaw Uprising. The campaign lasted 63 days and Warsaw fell on October 2, 1944.

In a time when national monuments in America and Sweden are torn down, the sight of healthy people openly honoring their heroes, freely in their own public space and in a peaceful relationship with the state, is aspirational.

“Taking migrants would do more damage to Poland than European Union’s sanctions… Remember that the now very numerous Muslim communities (in Western European countries) started out as relatively small numbers.”
— Mariusz Błaszczak, Poland’s Interior Minister, May 2017

I think that people in Poland, Hungary, Czech Republic, and Slovakia know that any compromise with liberalism leads to death. Western people in their deluged countries look at the Visegrad Four as the first victors in the long war against globalists.

My translated lyrics to “Warsaw’s Children” are at the end of the post. Here is the original marching song, performed last year on the anniversary of Zero Hour:

The avant-garde Slovenian band Laibach recently created their own interpretation of “Warszawskie Dzieci.” At turns, they sing fragments of the original in Polish and weave in a spoken English translation of a popular prewar song “Heart in a Knapsack” (Serce w plecaku). The video below was made by Poland’s National Centre for Culture.

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.

Does Laibach’s cover of the original song work for you? Frankly, it blew my mind:

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Warszawskie Dzieci

No disaster can break free men
No bloody hardship frightens the bold
We’ll go together toward victory
Our people arm-in-arm.

(Refrain x2, after every verse)
Warsaw’s children, we go to fight
For your every cobblestone we give our blood
Warsaw children, we will go to fight
On your order we’ll bring wrath to the enemy!

Powiśle, Wola and Mokotów [districts]
On every street, in every house
When the first shot is fired, be ready
Like the golden thunderbolt in God’s hand.

Built with hammer, saw, chisel, trowel
Our capital city, proud of her sons
Who stand with her faithfully 
To guard her iron laws.

Glory to the fallen, freedom to the living
May Heavens hear our song 
We believe that righteous Almighty
Will repay for the blood that’s spilled.

Photos of Couples In Love

Did you notice 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:

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That’s a fine couple, may they make many huWhyte Babiez together. I believe the woman in that photo is Vivii Suominen, European pageant runner-up from Finland.

Question: What could have made that photo more true to romantic love?

Answer: Natural sexual polarity.

Explanation: She could have been directed by the photographer to look up adoringly at her man while he — calm and cocksure — looks at us through the camera’s eye.

Reverse-polarity is the norm in contemporary depictions of sexual intimacy. It’s an observation I made a while ago and to test it, I web-searched variations on relevant key words “couples photo,” “man woman love,” “woman adores man,” and similar. What did I find?

  • The woman triumphantly eye-fucking the camera (isn’t she supposed to be doing that to him?), the man lost in her labyrinths such as in this blood-curdling shot:

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Squaaaaawk! cries the bird of prey. Or like in this distressing pic:

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Other combinations included:

  • Both looking into the distance
  • Both looking at each other

But I did not find one single professional photo that showed a man looking at the camera, with her adoringly gazing up at him.

Do we live in a loveless time, or is it just the art directors?

As goes the eternal truth, the next generation can set things right.

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Idle Thoughts on Christian Music

It was a cool October afternoon thirty years ago and we were doing hill workouts. My high school varsity athletic team drove to a nearby neighborhood to sprint up its hilly terrain. It was a loop, where you pump your arms and legs up a steep incline, then walk back down where jogging would be too much like riding your brakes. Several teammates and I formed a small group and our competitiveness drove us to top performance up the hills. I was in a state of runner’s high — a hyper-oxygenated brain awash in natural endorphin — reveling in the functional perfection of my weightless body. I thought: This is an incredible workout for the mind, the body nourishing the brain

But thoughts raced on. Is the brain the end-beneficiary of physical health? No… something whispered. The brain merely regulates everything so that the reproductive organs can do their job. My first encounter with doubt: the body’s purpose is to replicate itself, and the illusion of having a mind or a soul is a byproduct of fluids.

***

The next hill workout was several weeks later. It was late Sunday afternoon and I was alone, catching my breath on the grassy hill overlooking an empty vista of my school’s athletic fields. A teenager’s emotional state is volatile and his mind solipsistic, taking certain things with grave seriousness. As euphoric I was during the previous workout, the rush of oxygen was now fueling thoughts of doom. The air was cold, the western sky was on fire.

Miserable thoughts piled on: Is this the best it’s going to be? The heart pushed jets of bile through my overheated body. Would it be best to die now? What is my purpose?

This is vivid recollection, not poetic license: I looked down from the hilltop and the panorama of athletic fields glowed golden, like the Elysian fields.

***

Ideas that ran in conflicting directions took me, at turns over the course of my twenties, to materialism and then back to knowing of another plane. I’m becoming convinced that keeping your eyes open and thinking without fear, over the course of a long life, will lead you to the foot of the Cross.

What Is Out There?

I can’t convince you of any metaphysical reality because I don’t understand it myself. Rather, it’s a certainty to me that God is more real than the two hands I’m looking at right now. So I’ll just leave you with someone’s comment from a recent thread at Chateau Heartiste:

I always keep coming back to the martyrs of Christianity. From St. Stephen, to St. Paul, to St. Peter, to St. Ignatius of Antioch, to St. Maximilian Kolbe, to the Copts massacred just this last Palm Sunday, and all the known and unknown martyrs in between…

Either:

1. There is absolutely nothing after death. Just the big “Nothing.” Lights out for good. Eternal Oblivion. They’ll never know they were totally wrong. All of them are all the biggest fucking idiots in history, throwing away their lives […] St. Paul himself says as much in 1 Corinthians 15:14.

or…

2. There is something more to all this.

Good and evil. If they are real, than so is God. To get a sense of evil, imagine extremes of depravity, and not necessarily involving violence — just look around you. And to contemplate an expression of good, read John 15-13:

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

Laying down your life for your friends. This next comment is not my original insight but I agree with it: A.B. Breivik volunteered to spend the rest of his life in 23-hour/day solitary confinement to deliver his countrymen from evil.

High Art

It’s not just martyrdom that the Cross inspires. There is also our sublime output. Finally acknowledging the title of this post and starting with high art, there is Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring,” Franz Schubert’s “Ave Maria,” and Henryk Górecki’s “Symphony No. 3.” There is also this Eastern Orthodox hymn from Serbia. Speaking of Coptic martyrs, listen to this Assyrian Palm Sunday prayer in Aramaic.

Popular Songs

Stepping away from high art, there are songs that regular people can sing. A famous example is the immortal “Stille Nacht.” It was written in 1818 by a young Austrian priest, with music composed by a schoolmaster from a nearby village.

“Pescador de hombres” was written in 1979 by a Spanish priest. Pope John Paul II famously said that “Pescador” (Polish version: “Barka,” transl. below) is his favorite song:

Lord, you have come to the lake shore
Looking for people who are ready to follow
To capture hearts with the truth of God’s word

REFRAIN:
O Lord, your eyes have looked upon me
Kindly smiling, you have spoken my name
Now my boat’s left on the shoreline behind me
By your side I will cast a new net

I don’t have many possessions
My treasure is my two ready hands
To work with you and my pure heart

Today we set out together
To capture hearts on the seas of human souls
With Your truth and the word of life

The calling of a priest is to be a holy man. Since the one true religion, by definition, applies to all of humankind (unless you go with an assumption that not all subsets of mankind have a soul), then such a man’s thinking will be catholic, lower-case. I imagine that such a priest would wish for everyone to aspire to godliness according to their nature, on their own land and among their own people, encountering others solely in friendship.

With that thought, what do you make of the scene a little after 3:45 in the Barka video linked above, showing an African man and his son crying at the Pope’s funeral?

***

The great bass-baritone Bernard Ładysz leads a choir in this arrangement of the traditional evening-song “All Of Our Daily Matters” (“Wszystkie nasze dzienne sprawy”). I like the spontaneous feel of the performance. It sounds like a what you would hear in a church with the parishioners singing.

All of our daily matters
Accept mercifully, righteous God
And when we fall asleep
May our dreams praise You

Your eyes turned
Day and night in our direction
Where the frailty of man
Your rescue awaits

Turn away the nightly perils
Protect us from all harm
Have us always in Your care
Guardian and Judge of man

And when we ascend to Heaven
We will sing to You together
God in Trinity unfathomed
Holy, forever and ever Holy

From 966 A.D. onward, men have sang hymns in that language in preparation for putting foreign invaders to the sword.

Christian Rock?

In the live performance below, the eye is on the ghoulish guitarist until the vocalist lets out the pathos in a lung-defying howl.

He looks tormented, maybe possessed. This isn’t a comment about the band members. I don’t know Thom Yorke. Yet even if that dramatic performance is all-artifice, the fact that it expresses the inner state of listeners points to their hunger for something.

Did we just watch an artistic interpretation of a station toward the foot of the Cross?

What Are Liberals So Afraid Of?

The local public radio classical music station has excellent programming and good hosts, as they call their DJs. They had a fundraising drive recently. Yes, I kept the station on because the banter was engaging, and doing so learned that Erik Satie’s Trois Gymnopedies were revolutionary despite their simplicity because there is no progression in those pieces.

Then something made me raise an eyebrow — a caller pledges a generous sum and compliments the station’s hosts for keeping the listeners’ spirits high “through the frightening times we now live in.” The hostess concurred with the obvious reference to The God Emperor. She added that they strive to be an oasis of peace for their listeners, recalling how the station continued playing great classical music through the shock of 9/11. Yes, she compared that calamity to Trump’s presidency.

To flip perspectives yes, I would consider a Hillary Clinton presidency a bigger disaster than 9/11. But I can also explain why, in simple words: her administration would put the globalists in a position from which they are free to destroy us through mass immigration and free trade. They would level mankind down to its most stupid, blank-eyed third world common denominator and acid-bathe everything I value of all that’s good and beautiful.

So, can a liberal similarly explain why the presidency of Donald Trump is more frightening than a terrorist attack? Are liberals afraid of the same thing I am — globalism — except that they are working with different premises than I am, in ascribing its destructiveness to the spirit of nationalism? Or to ask this question differently, why would a patrician custodian of high culture be afraid of the regeneration of Western nations that the past four administrations had made a dire necessity of and that Trump’s presidency promises to deliver? This isn’t about one radio host at this point, but an entire class of liberal Whites.

Let’s look at twelve possible reasons for their fear of Donald Trump.

One: liberals, regardless of their class or intelligence, are herd animals. Imagine antelopes taunting a lion (to take a bit of liberty with this metaphor). They can’t help it, it’s what they do. In the wake of the Trumpenslide, it is dawning on them that the big, fleshy beast they’ve been biting and prodding all that time is now awake and is about shred them to pieces.

“The Dems have a look of rabbits that are discovering they aren’t free, independent agents…they are food.” — commenter at Vox Popoli

Two: worries about funding cuts. The liberal’s worldview is a mirror image of mine, in that we both divide the world into the light of civilization and the darkness of barbarism, but we point to different sources of barbarism. To contrast our perspectives: I believe that our civilization, my descendants’ secure place in it and their identity, as well as our nations’ cultural output, relies on the integrity of organic social pyramids with our own criminal, labor, middle, and upper classes. But while my view is expansive, accommodating of both chaos and order, populist above all (the rose needs a robust, healthy soil to bloom) the liberal’s vision is elitist and claustrophobic.

His world is a perpetual night, with light-bearing government standing as sentry between security and savagery — while to me, the savage sleeps in each of us. And more on-point in the present day, the savage arrives from the global south by land, air and sea. Look at Paris.

Drawn to their own conception of light, liberals seek out others like themselves who are elect, and recognize them by their specific markers of status, such as a proper type of education or cultural signalling. That is how liberals confirm that the person in question has a soul. They are repulsed by what they regard as their lesser compatriots, whom they consider subhuman and depressing. And for modern American liberals, the federal government and its power to hold its boot on the subhumans’ necks is the vehicle through which they — the elect — are safe. So what I am getting at, is that the liberal considers any talk of defunding federal programs an attack on the government itself and as such, an attack on the very light of civilization.

Three: all change is scary. Four: Jewish paranoia. I don’t think that the radio station’s hosts are Jews but liberals have appropriated their prejudices. (This post is about White liberals, exclusive of Jews). Five: they aren’t really afraid; they are playing to the anxieties of their donor base, which takes us back to the original question: what are their supporters so fearful of? Six: they believe all that bullshit about leftists being the nice underdogs.

Seven: like everyone in the West, they feel that something is very wrong. But unlike those of us who want to confront the problem, liberals are appeasement-oriented. Whomever they seek to appease at any given moment — placate any individuals or entities that comprise the patron-client matrix of neoliberalism — they look with horror upon Trump and the Alt-Right’s aggressive challenge to these seemingly omnipotent forces. Liberals would rather let the wolves pace about so long as we don’t give them a reason to bite, even as the animals grow bolder and meaner with each passing year.

Eight: fear of chaos, even as they play that game with us. This is another one that merits a fuller explanation. Do you believe that a race has its destiny? If so, then ours is to build and destroy, at turns. Trainspotter explains this in a long comment that I featured in my earlier post about our love of freedom:

The European soul craves more; it needs more. If necessary, it will upend and destroy the world to get that “more.” It will even destroy itself.

We’ve near-destroyed our whole world. And this brings us to an enigmatic vision of our great race. At some level liberals intuit the slow swing of the eros-thanatos pendulum because for the past seventy years, they’ve done the wrecking. The immediate reason for their fear is that for them, the big questions had been settled and the pendulum may now rest. Racism is bad, women are more equal, religion is best castrated unless it’s Islam, and White men are beasts of burden. I can appreciate the satisfaction that the liberal feels at this point, after almost a century of winning. He has imposed the victor’s non-negotiable terms, dictating a tyranny of his ideals. But there is stasis in tyranny, and that is what the liberal dreads. Which brings me to something MGE recently wrote:

trump is a chaos agent and I love it. […] white people need a bit of chaos to thrive. our allergy to stasis compels us to kick over the apple cart every now and then

Especially when we are harnessed to the apple cart from which everyone but us is grabbing the fruits.

To continue with this lengthy look at #8, allow me a tangent in which I will encapsulate the apex liberal ideal in one anecdote. A while back, a young self-described feminist is hanging out nearby. In earshot, a pleasant older woman is having a conversation with someone else about her work as an engineer. Overhearing them, the young feminist is beaming, vicariously absorbing the rays of her ideal incarnate. Me being me, I start thinking: What is so great about female engineers? I don’t mean this in a contrarian or spiteful sense; what I’m asking is, where does a world in which women are engineers lead and why would someone support that aspiration? The utilitarian calculation is clear enough to me: allowing due acceptance of peoples’ individual choices, women engineers are a negative at both micro- and macro-levels of society. They are not going to make any innovations in their fields because women don’t do that. Their intelligence could have been better passed on to their children and the bigger families that they could have had instead. A man supporting a family could have had her job and being an extra unit of labor supply, she’s depressing wages for all male engineers. But the young feminist likes a world in which women walk on air. The question remains: why?

Now, I certainly understand that we all like a lot of things for their intrinsic value, whether or not their first-causes are socially constructive. For example, some of us have slept with girls our age in our early twenties, making them worse for the men who ended up marrying them. Stealing is liberation, freedom’s depraved sister.

Not having been a saint, I am aware of my own corruption. But the liberal (a feminist in this case but this extends to all of them) does not understand net-loss. The liberal does not understand the violence against the West she supports by promoting female careerism, however passively, because she wants to bask in the gratification of a woman defying nature’s and history’s iron laws concerning the role of the female. Rebelling against laws feels like liberation, and feminism is one of the ways in which the liberal has been kicking over the apple cart.

Liberals want to keep the world in which female engineers exist as an end in itself. Even if the gorging on our social capital continues until the grain stores run empty. And this refusal to let go of liberalism is not limited to feminist advocacy. They want the world and they want it now. The liberated women, the intoxication of throwing everything away — our best of everything, our temperate lands, our beautiful genes — the orgy and the rape.

And late into the night on November 8th, chill wind hit their faces just as consummation was in reach: a recognition that we, the long-suffering and now wide-awake men of the West, have hated every single fucking moment of their joy, of having been their slaves. White man lives free or dies, and it’s dawned on us that we want to live. Liberals are terrified of our awakening because now it’s our turn.

Nine, and this is related to the previous: no more free stuff, which is strip-mined from the social capital of others. Liberalism is like nuclear fission in that its application releases and harnesses potential energy by breaking the structural integrity of an existing system, leaving behind radioactive waste. This works on global levels such as when George Soros destabilizes countries and profits on their downfall, as well as on street levels when protected-class aliens make themselves at home in our public space. The free stuff model has so many incarnations. Fat girls used to be few and they had to work on their personalities. Now they are everywhere and are bombarded with male attention, all of that to the detriment of healthy male-female dynamics. So in essence, what liberals across the spectrum might be afraid of, as the gods of copybook headings return, is the end of the feast.

Ten: they are afraid that their beliefs have been false all along. That they believed in the fantasy that man can transcend his material limits and not have to come back down.

Eleven: deportations, cleansing, bloodshed. A successful reconquista would objectively be good for Whites across the ideological spectrum for obvious reasons. (If those reasons are not obvious to some: the sole alternative to White supremacy in our own countries is White genocide, and with it, no more classical music). But the imagery of reclaiming our lands is scary because where wood is chopped, there fly splinters. And more than one liberal may be called to account for his role in race-replacement.

And twelve: the fight to the death. Members of the striver class pick up on the anxieties of the principal actors of globalism who know that if they regain power, they’ll have to break us. And they know that we know that they know. The globalist and the nationalist, two killers wrestling over one gun. Only one of us will see the next day. And having captured the presidency of the United States and the cultural momentum, we may yet win. Our ideas are the ones whose time has come, theirs are exhausted. Scores will be settled over all that they’ve ruined if we are clear-headed enough to reestablish a future for our posterity.

Kieslowski’s Women

Documentary filmmaker by training, Krzysztof Kieslowski had expressed an array of moral themes through female beauty at least since his Decalogue television series (1988). International audiences first saw his eye for detail and its power to render inscrutable concepts in 1991’s The Double Life of Veronique. The film follows the lives of two women at their crossroads, each played by Irene Jacob: Veronique, who makes the necessary compromises and lives, and Weronika, who flies too close to the sun and falls:

In Blue, the fist installment of the three-color trilogy (1993-1994), Kieslowski works with the earthy Juliette Binoche. The hardness of her character lets her survive a horror that would have destroyed a weaker woman, but the story is about her letting go of her pride to find grace in humility:

In White, Julie Delpy’s angelic radiance belies her cruelty. An even more cruel comeuppance makes her a woman again. In this flashback scene, she’s downright beatific:

Red once again features Irene Jacob personifying feminine selflessness. As I mentioned in an earlier post, there is a scene in which Jacob’s character tells her confidante, a cynical retired judge, that her younger brother is a heroin addict and she wants to help. His advice to her: Être. Just be. She’s confused by his answer, so he repeats: être. As I also noted then, this is not over.

Each of the installments of the trilogy focuses on its respective theme liberté, égalité, and fraternité. That said, I see another dimension to Kieslowski’s nominally Revolutionary themes: a vision that a reunified Europe had an opportunity to become whole by reconciling its humane but frivolous half with its spiritually raw, debased other half.

Short-term, things have worked out a bit differently, but the trilogy ends on a prophecy. Foreshadowing the present cataclysm, the events in Red culminate with a tempest and a new day for its survivors.

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