Imagine

Imagine there’s no mercy
It’s easy if you try
Traitors hang on lampposts
Above us righteous God

Imagine all the coloreds driven from our lands

Imagine there’s no leftism
It’s the easiest thing to do
A time to kill or die for
And separation too

Imagine our people free and true again

Hope burned in the hearts of dreamers
Who saw another way to live
So many have since joined us
The world is starting to believe

Imagine there’s a future
I wonder if you can
No need for nihilism
An awakening of man

Imagine Europeans’ glory yet untold

People said that I’m a dreamer
But I’m just a woken man
For a brotherhood of nations
And White children face the sun

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A few words on why John Lennon’s original is the most anti-human song ever written.

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The 16 Points that describe the Alt-Right’s core philosophy.

***

Something about this man’s words (read them closely) and his face struck me as proof that we won’t be homeless forever:

A homeless [Manchester] man, called Steve, described the moment he had to ‘pull nails out of children’s faces’ following the shocking attack.

He said: ‘Just because I’m homeless it does not mean that I haven’t got a heart and I’m not human still.

‘They needed the help and I would like to think someone would come and help me if I needed help.

‘It’s your instinct to go and help and it was children and it was a lot of children. We were pulling nails out of their arms and from a little girl’s face.

‘It had to be done, you had to help. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to live with myself for walking away and leaving kids like that.’

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(Story above). Source of top image unknown. Alternate lyrics to “Imagine” written by me.

Teen Pop Melody: What Do You Have?

You probably wanna be a little buzzed when reading this post.

If you’re a teenager of the 1950s, you have:

  • … many songs. Houellebecq noted in Elementary Particles that the 1950s teen culture was the heyday of romantic love, something about the era’s harmony of innocence and freedom. Not my time, but I associate the vibe with Bobby Vinton’s “Roses Are Red.”

If you’re a teenager of the 1960s, you have:

  • Beach Boys “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”

If you’re a teenager of the 1970s, you have:

  • Peter Frampton “Baby, I Love Your Way”

If you’re a teenager of the 1980s, you have:

  • [I have ordered my men to tie me to the mast lest the sirens of teenage highs and lows compel me to overload WordPress servers with ballads from that decade.]

If you’re a teenager of the 1990s, you have:

  • Mazzy Star “Fade Into You”
  • Guns N’ Roses “Don’t Cry”

If you’re a teenager of the 2000s, you have:

  • Avril Lavigne “I’m With You”
  • Fuel “Hemorrhage (In My Hands)”

If you’re a teenager of the 2010s, you have:

  • … what do you have?

***

If you remember the 1980s, you will discharge one manly tear when watching this video:

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.

Idle Thoughts on Popular Songs: Synesthesia Outros

What’s the point of starting something if you don’t finish it strong? These songs don’t just tell a story, they bring it on home with senses-scrambling virtuosity:

Morrissey. The title track on his 2014 album “World Peace is None of Your Business” makes him the Edward Snowden of music. And although “I’m not a Man” curses meat and muscle, he is one of the good guys. The song builds up to a grisly outro shrieking in steely flashes of silver, then makes a bright red squirting mess. What kinds of pigs are being put to the knife?

Pink Floyd. I see the outro to “Comfortably Numb” in a rich geometry of green, to burgundy-black and back. It’s a great song, but as a commenter elsewhere put it, it’s a commercial extrapolation of their signature song “Echoes.” There’s a guitar break in “Echoes,” he continues, just before the final verse, that sounds like a sunrise or a sunburst or an explosion of light. I agree, one of David Gilmour’s best moments.

Prince.Purple Rain.” One time while listening half-asleep to its terminal falsetto cries, I saw a man’s spirit ascending over vistas of mountain ranges. The crazy diamond of Minneapolis made whatever he touched shine in violet and pink hues of the visible spectrum, not the least his cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” at Coachella.

The Beatles. Paul McCartney has been the steady Delta to John Lennon’s restless Gamma, and no story of their friendship bears it out better than “Hey Jude.” Lennon rejected his first son Julian in favor of his second son Sean because he fell for his Sean’s mother. McCartney, the stand-up guy, took Julian under his wing and wrote that song to cheer him up, changing “Julian” to “Jude” for reasons of meter. The long na, na, nana na na outro chorus is soft blue and breezy.

Pearl Jam. No, this time I will not be talking about this blog’s most favored hit “Black” and its anguished why why, whyyyy! howl of a dispossessed generation. Rather, I am looking at Vedder’s story of feral motherhood, the song “Alive.” A USO band once visited our outpost in the Far East. A young Lieutenant from our company jumped on stage and a band member handed him an electric guitar. We watched in awe as he and the band’s rhythm guitarist dueled-out a fifteen-minute freestyle version of that song’s outro.

Eric Clapton. It is also this blog’s position that the Baby Boomer sense of identity not be stroked with approving references to the icons of their youth. But the fact is that until we topped them in 1991, their musical achievements were unsurpassed and “Layla” stood among their best. There is a downshift around the 3:00 point, sepia colors of summer nostalgia, seagulls, sand, water and sky.

The Eagles. Don Henley liked to call out the American hubris, most pointedly in the epic ballad “The Last Resort.” And there was a time for that — but that time has passed. We purged the cuckservatives, our last necessary act of inward-aimed aggression. From here on, it’s as star commenter Greg Eliot puts it:

In short, time to close ranks and get on board… the days of “loyal opposition” are gone, and ANY opposition in the quest for a future for White children is not to be cavalierly or treasonously rationalized as independent thought.

There is no more new frontier, we have got to make it here. The steady rhythm of the song’s outro paints broad streaks of orange, the hazy sun sinking in the sea. We know what to do.

 

Father-Son Songs

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There is no stronger — and more complicated — human bond than between a father and his son. Happy Father’s Day to those of you who brought your indubitably dashing likeness into the world at this exciting time. Here are some popular songs for the occasion:

Roger Waters (Pink Floyd), “When the Tigers Broke Free — Waters wrote that autobiographical song as homage to his father, Eric Fletcher Waters (1913 – 1944), who died in the battle of Anzio. The song was ultimately left off The Wall album, the bandmates’ consensus being that it was too intense:

It was dark all around
There was frost in the ground
When the Tigers broke free
And no one survived from the Royal Fusiliers Company C
They were all left behind
Most of them dead
The rest of them dying
And that’s how the high command
Took my daddy from me

Harry Chapin, “Cats and the Cradle — There is also a decent hard rock cover by early 1990s band Ugly Kid Joe.

“When you coming home, dad?” “I don’t know when
But we’ll get together then
You know we’ll have a good time then”

Cat Stevens, “Father and Son — Stevens wrote it as a father-son conversation, with the higher-note verses being the boy’s lines:

It’s not time to make a change,
Just sit down, take it slowly.
You’re still young, that’s your fault,
There’s so much you have to go through.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy.

Mike and the Mechanics, “The Living Years — I am not of the school of thought that talking solves things. Some things speak for themselves, you reap what you sow. Where we don’t see eye to eye, latter-life insight (I think) helps. Mike Rutherford disagrees:

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye

Marie Laforet, “Viens, Viens — A splash of estrogen in French, sang from the point of view of a young girl abandoned by her womanizing father. She mentions her younger brother (the linked video is subtitled):

Do you know that Jean is back to school
He already knows the alphabet, it is funny
When he pretends to smoke
He looks just like you

Dan Fogelberg, “Leader of the Band — The song reminds me of Dennis Leary once doing a comic monologue about people suing Heavy Metal bands in the ’80s over their allegedly suicide-promoting lyrics. Leary’s punchline was that he should sue Fogelberg for his wimpy songs, listening to which turned him into a pussy. But I don’t think he had this song in mind.

He earned his love through discipline, a thund’ring, velvet hand.
His gentle means of sculpting souls took me years to understand.

Johnny Cash, “A Boy Named Sue — One deadbeat dad did his job:

And he said, “Son, this world is rough
And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ya along
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you’d have to get tough or die
And it’s the name that helped to make you strong”

Faster Pussycat, “House of Pain” — The life a boy whose father disappeared in a divorce:

Image credit (top of post): unknown

Five Men

The video for Alanis Morissette’s minor hit “Unsent” has good material for this weekend’s look at life’s themes. It shows a young woman in five vignettes with the men from her past, each a character-study. Sex girds every scene and each man delivers a different balance of attraction and comfort. The beat gets heavy with her recollections of Jonathan and Marcus, the two for whom her flame burned hottest.

The men, in order of appearance:

Matthew lives by his code. A woman who wants to keep him must first submit herself to his ways, even if they make no sense to her. He trusts his vision even as he does not entirely understand it. His lean frame and gentle manner are the outward representation of his ascetic temperament and his readiness to sacrifice all in the name of his faith.

Jonathan comes from a line of men who live and die by the pride in their hearts and the fire in their guts. Quick to throw a punch, quicker to help a friend. His deepest desire is to serve and be needed and to see the fruits of his works. Men like him require a purpose and when they sense futility, they destroy themselves.

Terrance is a builder. Like his father and grandfathers before, he saw a vast nothing and turned it into something. His house is warm during the long winter nights. After the flood, his sons will have made it to the other side and they will found a new nation.

Marcus knows when to pull and when to push so when he’s with you, all kinds of doors open. More than that, he brings magic to the commonplace. Deft of touch, the silver-tongued whisperer makes you live the moment in the here-and-now. In a way, what else is real?

Lou is a blank slate, the least developed character of the five. Seen in a distance through glass, face like a child’s without contours, he represents the unknown depth in you. Some unrevealed experience binds him and the girl, maybe forever and against their wills. An abortion? A miscarriage? The things we do tie our lives to the people who walk with us.

***

In every scene, sadness drops a shadow on the memory, as though each of the men is pushing her away. Why is that?

 

Songs About Neoliberalism

Thirty years ago you told them that they are a fungible commodity. You dumped monkeys, rats and snakes into their beds. You drugged them with corn, sold them brittle plastic trinkets, blew off their legs overseas and liberated their women’s gutter impulses.

Neoliberals like Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher shouldered the burden of delivering their respective nations from the devil as they understood him and the fruits of the work that they began are all around us.

The songs below show the impact points of tradition colliding with neoliberal progress. In one of the posted videos, a Welsh mining community protests Thatcher’s closing of coal mines with slogans “Coal, Not Dole.” Think about how those three words metonymize the proper function of a national government. In another song’s intro, young Indiana farmers explain to John Mellenkamp’s video crew that another loan is just another bill to pay and that there has to be another solution:

I think the politicians are playing games with us. It doesn’t cost them anything to change the rule, you know, embargo another country.

In these songs, we see what neoliberalism looked like at the beginning of its ascent three decades ago, its arc a rainbow with someone’s pot of gold at the end of it.

These songs or their videos render the disorientation of people who don’t know what is happening to them. They aren’t privy to the things that we in the current year know. But they also remind us of things that we had forgotten over the past thirty years so rather than playing them for nostalgia, let’s listen or watch for what to reclaim as the system exhausts itself and lets go.

Here are the songs:

Industry. Bruce Springsteen “My Hometown” — Bookended by the speaker’s own arc of life from childhood to fatherhood, the song is a witness to an American town’s ruin caused by racial integration and loss of manufacturing jobs. There was nothing you could do. Except pack a U-Haul. Before they emigrate, he tells his son “This is your hometown.”

Mining. Manic Street Preachers “An Anthem for a Lost Cause” — The video is a personal story amidst the Welsh “Coal, Not Dole” protests. Music itself begins at 1:50.  I am giving the video’s feminist subplot a pass because it is not essential to the story. Also, the song and the video are beautifully made.

Farming. John Mellencamp “Rain on the Scarecrow” — Was there another way? The world changes, new generations want new things, but people still need to eat and there will always be folks who want to work their own land. Yet thirty years ago it was decided that small farmers are to be phased out.

Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did, my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand

And son I’m just sorry there’s no legacy for you now.

Government. Ministry “N.W.O.” — The lyrics… they kick in near the end and deliver the payload. What I get from that song, other than an appreciation for its dulcimer whimsy, is a natural harmonic of its riffs with the silent pulse that’s awakening in us now in the terminal days of this neoliberal rainbow of mud.