27 November 2009

Why Do THEY Hate ‘Us’? (Chapter MXCVI)


Major S. of the NSDP, Neusemitische D*nkpolizei, [1] naturally has occasion to concern himself with the Extreme West as well as with ultrasuezian [2] phaenomena. Not a whole lot of occasion, presumably, but nevertheless, once in a while. And what could be extreme-westerner than Paddy and me? I ask thee, Dr. Bones! Paddy and me and the fiend Alistair Crooke?

Alastair Crooke has always lived between worlds. He was born in Ireland, [3] and from age 12, his parents let him attend an experimental school in Switzerland run by an Englishman named John Collette. While he chose the school for its proximity to the ski slopes, he also picked up some of Collette's antipathy toward conventional Western thought. Crooke eschewed religious services, but "instead of being sort of sent off to watch television or something like that, they made you sit down with either an Imam or a Hindu scholar, or some visiting person, to challenge you," he recalls. Collette "was explicit in saying, 'Well, the effort is to break the hold of Western thinking on you.'"

Notice how the good Neocomrade Major begins by tacitly equatin’ "conventional Western thought" or "Western thinking" with "religious services." Having noticed, reflect that he is beginnin’ a Party-’n’-Ideology scribble that must come--ostensibly and backhandedly, at least--to the defence of M. Descartes. I shall subtract seven (7) points from the candidate’s score (on a scale of one thousand) for that minor-to-minimal boo-boo. How about thee?

Such a slip as that is no big deal in itself, obviously, yet it does misdirect the attention of actual dupes and potential marks the wrong way to make WS, Western Sieve™[alisation], out a matter of overt self-religionatin’. I speak of that particular class of dupes and marks that Neocomrade Major S. is takin’ aim at here, a comparatively advanced class whose entrance requirement, so to speak, must include havin’ some inklin’ who M. Descartes was and why most tertiary educationisers of the former Christojudæandom consider M. Descartes to have been quite important in the development of the Western Sieve™ product. [4]

With no-’count trailer-trash dupes ’n’ marks, that pretended affection for religionism does no harm, though it is so patently insincere in most cases that I wonder the top-drawer neocomrades up at Castle Podhóretz persist in it so stubbornly. If EmperorJohn and Princess Neoterica and the whole Neukaiserhof, even down the totem pole as far as Major S. here, do not understand that the neoservants are well aware that their neomasters consider religionism a matter best left to servants as far as actually practicin’ any of it -- well, maybe "top-drawer" isn’t as far from the mudsills as it used to be.

Still, to figure out what Massa really thinks about what Cuffee really thinks of Massa is not as easy as it looks. Allow me to recommend Mr. Freehling, sir, on this problem in its 1776-1861 Dixieland form if I have not done so already. Plus ça change . . . .

Healthy days!




[1] Thee may call it "Holy Hasbara" for short if thee please, Dr. Bones.

Spoofing the manner of the more narcisisistic breed of Hebrew-Christojudaean religionists is only a secondary function of the McAsterisk du jour. Much more important is that one definitely means Dankpolizei as well as Denkpolizei. Rather more so, in fact, for the whole purpose of this nifty and first-rate slice of agitprop is to reprehend Die Undankbarkeit des Westens: the sheer ingratitude of all those silly dhimmí muddleheads too blind to see, or too perverse to admit, that the cause of Jewish Statism is the cause of us all.

Nay, make that "The Cause of US ALL!" please, sir, if thee would!




[2] "Cissuezian" ("Cis-suezian"? "CisSuezian"? "cissuezite"?) in Telavîvestán, that would be, of course. Come to think of it, though, I betcha Major S. doesn't go near T.A. and P.A. himself personally, except conceivably for vacation purposes.

Meanwhile I really wish there were some standard Dead Latin form of Suez, remote enough to be toney and upmarket and fake-neoreactionary, yet not blankly unintelligible like "Complutensian" for "pertaining to Alcalá de Henares," which latter is the sort of monnicker that a knower would have to really know some serious knowledges about Old Europe to feel comfortable with.

Far more than a Major S. can ask of his dupes, or reasonably anticipate from his marks, would another "Complutensian" be! But Father Zeus knows best.


[3] A full stop right there replacing the rest of the paragraph would have a good deal to say for itself, I think. To be sure, it would have comparatively little to say about the fiend Crooke.


[4] More properly put, in "the intellectual history of Europe," for the language of congenital subalterns, lingua dhimmitudinis, lishôn haggoyîm, better befits fans of M. Descartes, than our neobetters’ peculiar Parteichinesisch. For us backward and miserable, Cartesianism was never "a product" in anything much like the the neogentry’s chicagonomische Weltanschauung. It was, though, and still remains, at least a visible object to us, unlike Western Sieve™.

The latter neopartisanism reminds me, Dr. Bones, of an occasion I have mentioned to thee before. The present keyboard was standing in front of Apley Court gazing up (perhaps) at the ever-memorable neo-architecture of Holyoke Saunter . . . and then some earnest tourist wanted to know, "Where’s H*rv*rd?"

Unfortunately I had not the presence of mind to reply as one of the alumnuses of the fiend Colette presumably would have, "H*rv*rd, sir, is a state of mind rather than anything crude and material. Why, H*rv*rd is all around you even as we speak!"

. . . Well, I do see thee's point, Bones. The really existin’ H*rv*rd undeniably bears a good deal of resemblance to a chicagonomical/Hyperzionistical ‘product’ -- lots and lots of Vice Presidents for Development, for example. And that relentless determination to monopolise the profits of one’s self-brandin’.

BFZKB.

23 November 2009

"Where dost thou run off to, O song?"


"I have a very bad feeling. I sense that if Barack Obama gets his way, backed by the most corrupt political party in living memory and reinforced by a seditious and cheerleading media, America will have been transformed beyond recognition as it limps into the sunset of its days."


(( Thee will not mind, I hope, Dr. Bones, if I park this vehicle here? In the abbreviated form I posted at the pajamatarians, it is scarcely intelligible. ))

Why on G-re’s green earth should a "Canadian poet and essayist" get misty-eyed if the Heimatland Gottes *does* have to sing a few verses of St. Rudyard’s "Recessional" for a change? That "Hope N. Glory" ditty of St. Edward the Less gets dreadfully tiresome when one must listen to it and nothin’ else almost every wakin’ minute of every day.[0]

Kennebunkport-Crawford’s extremity ought to be Hyperborea’s opportunity! [1] Exsurge, Ottawa!!

And, speakin’ of cheerleadin’, 

"Two, four, six, eight
Whom do we appreciate?
Solway!
SOLWAY!!
sol-WAAAAAAAAAAY!!!"

Flavour with "soulway" and "sole way" to taste -- and remember to shake well before slurpin’ it down!

Healthy days.

__
[0] One writes merrily, but nevertheless their endless wallowin’ in self-congratulation and self-exceptionalism and self-exceptionality and . . . really IS the worst single fault of wingnutettes and wingnuts and wombscholars and downdumbees. And even Kiddie Konservative ‘intellectual’ señoritos like this one


[1] ’Tis also a possible fresh start for Hyperzion, which we low-minded are bound to suspect is probably rather more to the point when far-fetched neocomrades like D. S. start hectorin’ New Yanks and Old Euros about "the West per se."

In any case, if the Neocomrade D. Solway product were really what it is labelled as, echt Qannádisch, ought it not be lamentin’ the Suicide of the South rather than keep harpin’ away at that previously owned lyre of Dr. Spengler? Ozzies’s OK, maybe, but alas! he can get quite as taedious as Lord Elgar.

A change of tune (or wind direction) might cheer us all up, and the DS product can almost certainly find itself a template to versify from somewhere in the Hispaniolated and countrereformed provinces of Italy in Century XI/XVII or XII/XVIII or XIII/XIX. "What life, what culture, now that Torquato Tasso is gone? Will the Muses ever return to Capua and Giudecca like the swallows to Capistrano CA and the buzzards to Hinckley OH?"

Indeed, why not spare Mr. McCloskey’s silly prosings and let’s smoke a little of the real thing? ’Tis a cinch to have the pet google go fetch such stichs nowadays:

    "O credenti in Christe,
Voi che d’Europa il fren tenete, aiuto,
Aiuto e pace a quelle sacre rive
Donde l’arte gentili il mondo ha tratte;
Non sien dagli empì [*] fatte
Vasta tomba d’eroi,
E più nobile in terra, e giusto e santo!

"Canzon, dove trascorri?
Ahi! da funesti errori
O da vani timori
Pietà prende consiglio, e indugia, e langue:
Intanto piove l’innocente sangue."

--Marchetti, G., URL cit., p. 17.


[*] I believe that one would be impii (with paenultimate stress) in slightly earlier Late Latin. But Father Zeus knows best.

Sounds kinda like just yesterday in the neo-Levant, nicht wahr?

Yet the titleswipe is dated [A.D.] 1857 (== 1273 == 5618) -- and why would anybody want to forge it?

Though the poor fellow’s rime lamentabili survive, just barely, yet my little Gugghi has trouble finding his natal or obituary date, which suggests that his coprovincials don’t find the Rime e Prose del Conte Giovanni Marchetti a serious threat to the ditto of D. Aligheri.

How sua excellenza compares to the D. Solway product, on the other hand, I suppose one could ascertain if one absolutely had to.

Should some pajamatarian suffer from a really trashy taste in Dhimmí Lit., she will probably enjoy how the googlecyclists render the above gemma preziosa di Parnasso into New High HolyHomelandic.

19 November 2009

La question de l’existence de la postérité


Let's have something pretentious, for a change, Dr. Bones, shall we?

Almost any passage in Senator Kerry's native lingo ought to do the trick, and this one happens to fit in with a couple of recent schoolboly scribbles in the holy Homeland's Fishwrap of Record :

À Diderot pour qui l’artiste est mû par l’amour de la postérité, s’oppose un Falconet pour qui la postérité n’existe pas. Et si l’on considère que la postérité d’une œuvre d’art commence avec sa réception, alors pour Diderot la création artistique est un acte d’amour pour le public des lecteurs spectateurs ou auditeurs, alors que pour Falconet l’artiste est seul et ne crée pour personne. En définitive, à travers la question de l’existence de la postérité c’est celle de la réception des œuvres qui est posée : pour Falconet l’œuvre d’art est sans réception.

Meanwhile, back at the NYTC, this morning's schoolboy, call him (Tweedle) ‘Dee’, is all agog to worm his way into Princess Posterity's good opinion. Master Dee's plan to that end goes like this

The Wrong Side of History

Critics storm that health care reform is “a cruel hoax and a delusion.” Ads in 100 newspapers thunder that reform would mean “the beginning of socialized medicine.” The Wall Street Journal’s editorial page predicts that the legislation will lead to “deteriorating service.” Business groups warn that Washington bureaucrats will invade “the privacy of the examination room,” that we are on the road to rationed care and that patients will lose the “freedom to choose their own doctor.” All dire — but . . . .

. . . John Taber, a Republican representative from New York, went further and said of Social Security: “Never in the history of the world has any measure been brought here so insidiously designed as to prevent business recovery, to enslave workers.” In hindsight, it seems a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it? ... Similar[ly], ferocious hyperbole was unleashed on the proposal for Medicare. President John Kennedy and later President Lyndon Johnson pushed for a government health program for the elderly, but conservatives bitterly denounced the proposal as socialism, as a plan for bureaucrats to make medical decisions, as a means to ration health care.


That's enough to indicate in which direction Master Dee’s crystal ball considers the Absolute, bless Its heart!, to be self-developing just at the moment. But we had better have the laddie's peroration, whwewrin it turns out that he does not insist that Princess Posterity admire ALL of us:

It’s now broadly apparent that those who opposed Social Security in 1935 and Medicare in 1965 were wrong in their fears and tried to obstruct a historical tide. This year, the fate of health care will come down to a handful of members of Congress, including Senators Joe Lieberman, Blanche Lincoln, Ben Nelson and Mary Landrieu. If they flinch and health reform fails, they’ll be letting down their country at a crucial juncture. They’ll be on the wrong side of history.

The Muses and thee and me must already be in like Flynn, then, for *we* are most assuredly neither blue dogs nor egomaniac Hyperzionisers! And it sure looks as if Master Dee abandons the red-state goats to Her Highness's displeasure not only tout court but also en masse. Why, there is not even the briefest ejaculation for the salvation of Neocomrade Senatrix O. Snow of ME!

It is unguessable exactly what scraps of Homelandic lore a jackdaw like Master Dee may have picked up, but pretty clearly "We’ll ALL [emph. add.] go to Glory when we go" is not likely to catch his roaming eye. Indeed, an absence (or severe shortage) of militant extremist Republican partisans could easily be part of Master Dee’s undisclosed criteria for ascertaining which side of History is to be labeled ‘right’.

Which leads to the greatest deficiency of the effusion at hand, which its not its uncharitableness, but its cocksureness about what Princess Posterity wants from us humble who are now active in the world. When it comes to knowing for sure what Her Highness wanted from ‘us’ fifty years ago, Master Dee has but to look in his heart and write. For of course Master Dee is somebody's posterity himself -- I trust the poor clueless critters honoured their Judex Venturus properly in advance! But when it comes to la postérité considered as what the bozos of Chicagonomics might call "a demand-side commodity," well, who knows? Why on Gores's green earth should anybody suppose that Master Dee knows?

I presume those in the reactionary community too near senility to have been properly wombschooled and neo-downdumbed and chicagoficated will point out with glee that the Lenin-Gorbachev Racket, R.I.P., was very fond of defending itself in Dee-like terms. To be sure, the Bolsheviki had inherited a vast epic of historiosophy to that effect on a silver platter, high-quality mitteleuropäische Romantik, good stuff that a crude and practical Slavic mob of workers and peasants would never in a dozen centuries have made up for themselves, but which they never could bring themselves to part with voluntarily. Palaeocomrade I. Suslov and Neocomrade F. Fukuyama need hardly be distinguished by those who consider it vain to anticipate Her Highness's privy judgments.

Which brings us to schoolboy number two, (Tweedle) Dumb. Master Dumb is, of all things, an avowed flat-earther! Also a shameless charlatan, as one glance at the facial hair establishes. But like his colleague kiddie, Master Dumb scribbles as if he has received a pre-publication copy of The Secret History of Times To Come. Especially fun is that the gruesome twosome do not often seem to be talking about the same book.[1]


Healthy days!

___
[1] It would offend against the very Zeitgeist of the NYTC parlour game if I were to pay more attention to yesterday's neomasterwork than today's. Nevertheless, it should be pointed out that none of Master Dumb's opinions are his own, they all come from somebody celebrated or self-celebritorious with whom Dumb had lunch a couple of days ago.

Master Dee is, I presume, a jackdaw by nature and by inadequate education: the poor lad just can't help himself. Master Dumb, though, jackdaws it on purpose. "With malice aforethought," even, he jackdaws it. (Yuck!)

But watch thee's step, Dr. Bones, hereabouts. Though yuckworthy, would it be at all amazing if the authentic Secret History of Times to Come turns out rather like an abandoned outhouse full of faded fishwrap cuttings from some long-forgotten "Thomas L. Friedman"? As St. Jack said somewhere, we would all wish Life to be tragic if it can't be what we really want.

Yet with ruthless disregard of what we want, Life the Unfair is perfectly capable of being an indecorous mess. Who knows, sir? By 2059, Princess Posterity may have been, as it were, altzheimerated into the spittin’ image of Little Tommy Wobble with the big moustache. Her Highness's Court annalists will, accordingly, keep comin’ up with ten new and completely contradictory secret histories of How We Got to Where We Are annually, not counting the bonus selections. My latest health insurance coverage will be good from 1430 to 1700 hours on alternate Thursdays. As long as there is nothing seriously wrong with me, naturally . . . .

09 November 2009

"but a child when he reflects" (Part XLII)


What all this [1] shows is that the G.O.P. has been taken over by the people it used to exploit.


That’s the latest Paul Krugman Byronism, Dr. Bones, and it strikes me as well below the usual standard of departmental infantility. If he were talking about economics, I betcha he could think of at least forty-seven intermediate stages between toney Von Kantor Herrenfolk exploitin’ wonbschooled plebeian Limbaughs in one direction and, looking the other way, the loony proles havin' "taken over" the Party of Grant and Hoover from their betters lock, stock ’n’ bazooka.

It seems plain enough that Freiherr von Kantor and the other officially billed Parteiführer present for Thursday's entertainment were only panderin’ to their internal proletariat. And the bigwigs were panderin' on a thoroughly voluntary basis: nobody from amongst the GOP base ’n’ vile was holdin’ a Kalashnikov to the heads of the country-club gentry -- or even threatenin’ ’em very plausibly with nonreëlection. All those apoplectic-lookin’ jowls in business suits could have spent the afternoon clippin’ coupons over at the Union League Club [2] and not be detectably the worse off for it back in their districts.

Assistance at such an event indicates an extreme deficiency of good taste, the sort of bad taste that one might expect of militant extremist Republicaniacs. But after all, these neo-aristos are militant extremist Republicaniacs. So that's all right.

Though it better fun to ridicule the jowl-challenged, it is rather Prof. Krugman that I want to discuss at the moment, Dr. Bones. How can he manage to be so totally a child about politics as to fancy that the comparatively respectable organised forces of TopPercenterdom (a.k.a. "Big Management") have just been defeated by their own Kiddie Konservative pond scum, when it would be far less peculiar to claim the contrary? The only scoundrel-party pol whom P.K. mentions politically is Neukamerad Herr Prof. Dr. Speaker N. Gingrich

At this point Newt Gingrich is what passes for a sober, reasonable elder statesman of the G.O.P. And he has no authority: Republican voters ignored his call to support a relatively moderate, electable candidate in New York’s special Congressional election.


Thee will be noticing, though, Dr. Bones, that the advice of N. Gingrich was good advice, not to mention that the victorious reactionaries in New Jersey and Virginia were not exactly representatives of the Weinstein-Savage wing of Kiddie Konservatism. I have no idea what Big Party Neocomrade N. Gingrich is thinkin’ at the moment, but it would not be a miracle if he thought he had done pretty well.

As I said, only the Newtster gets dragged into Dr. Krugman's potage du jour really politically. Neukamerad Freiherr E. von Kantor is mentioned, but only because of his implication in the Z-Street Demographic (Pat. Pend.), good folks amongst whom the LeoStraussian argumentum ad Hitlerum is, or at any rate ought to be, deployed with extreme prudence and careful targeting.

Of course a Hitler-Hyperzion nexus, whether sincerely imaginary or maliciously obtruded, is ‘political’ in a vague and general sense, but it is not grossparteipolitisch in the provinces of central North America, still less kleinparteipolitisch inside the ranks of Goldwaterites and Atwaterites and Gingrichoids and dittoloons.

At this point Prof. Krugman does, perhaps, come close to thinking politically a little, but alas! what he approximates to is the very bottom of the neocomradely barrel. He appears to be pretending in this piece that decerebrated Kiddie Konservatives "are all like that," i.e., all bigoted enemies of specifically Hebrew Christojudaeanity. Unlike the bejowled country-clubbers, that is, for they are surely (?) the Tel Avîv statelet's last and best (and whitest) hope.

Cuius contrarium est verum is the main trouble with that bologna. Big Management country-clubbers won't be caught dead usin’ the blessèd and mysterious word Shô’â in vain, but when it comes to ad rem, they are no more reliable, from a chauvinist Telavîvestání point view, than the Big Management Party base ’n’ vile are. The country-clubbers may even be less reliable, insofar as the dittoloons are most unlikely ever to have a chance to profit financially from sellin’ Jewish Statism down the river. Whereas . . . .

But I beg thee's pardon, Dr. Bones! I should not be going on at that level of neo-Levantine analysis because Prof. Krugman is nowhere near it. He just wants to have his Dachau (their Dachau?) to tar the dark pullulatin’ mass of wingnutettes and wingnuts with -- like 99.44% of the wombscholars and Niedergedümmte whom Krugman has in mind to besmirch, "anti-Semitism" is the worst (the least respectable) no-no that he can think of off-hand. (And if he thought for thirty minutes, maybe he still wouldn't find anything less toney or more obnoxious.)

"Anti-Semitism" is so convenient a stinkfruit to lob that few of the lobbers pay much attention to whether they are strictly speaking justified in deploying such sentimental-ideological weaponry. In the long run, this insouciance is bound to reduce the efficacy of this all but nuke-you-larry rhetorical weapon, but unfortunately the long run has not quite arrived yet.

Meanwhile, one can more or less say "Krugman is acting no better than militant extremist Republicaniacs act." I grant that Dachau abuse and bad Adolf analogies are entirely political in every sense here in our holy Homeland™ -- so thee sees, Dr. Bones, that the Sage of Mammon can do what everybody in these parts can only call ‘politics’.

Yet a grumbler may grumble, "How one wishes that Comrade Krugman were able to do good politics as well as bad! That he could do all politics well, even!"

It may be a silver lining to the cloud, or only an inadvertance, that our analyst overlooked the signbearer or signbearers at Freiherr von Kantor's Party's little human event who skipped the NSDAP and went straight for the economic jugular:

That was the main difference between the 9/12 protests and Thursday's rally. While congressional Republicans largely responded to the September event, they spearheaded this one. Boehner stood alongside Jon Voight as he called Obama a liar and propagandist. (There were no calls for a Joe Wilson-style apology.) Cantor stood there while protesters raised signs suggesting that Obama "takes his orders from the Rothschilds," the family that was once central to theories of Jewish world dominance.


While we are picking on our own good-guy analyst Krugman, Dr. Bones, we may spare a drop of vinegar or two for Mr. Christopher Beam at Slate, who evidently can't see the nose in front of his face. It sure sounds from what her writes himself as if the Rothschilds are as central as ever over in the Charles Marie Ferdinand Walsin Esterhazy Square district of Wingnut City. That old-fashioned quarter is losin’ population as a whole, no doubt, as young loons and neoloons of all ages move out to suburbs like Rio Limbaugh and Port St. Lucie, or maybe to beautiful downtown Hooverville. Yet as long as the district continues to be inhabited at all, that splendiferous equestrian statue of St. George slayin’ Baron James de R. must stand at its very saunter.

Anybody who scribbles for a living the way Mr. Beam presumably does ought to be able to appreciate that signwavers eccentrically affiliated to the Party of Wisdom and Virtue (LLC) can speak of "Rothschilds" figuratively or generically, without knowin' or carin' whether Meyer Amstel's DNA has gone extinct, or whether, if it survives, those afflicted by it still own anythin’ worth dhimmí wignutettes and wingnuts moanin’ about.

To be sure, the wombscholars in question would have done better, probably, to pick on M. de Soros or the like, some rootless cosmoplutocrat still alive and well and rakin’ in the shekels. But Father Zeus knows best about wombscholars.

Healthy days.


___
[1]
... a rally outside the U.S. Capitol to protest pending health care legislation ... large signs showing piles of bodies at Dachau with the caption “National Socialist Healthcare" ... grotesque ...ominous ... wasn’t a fringe event ... billed as a G.O.P. press conference .... [Partei-Neukamerad E. von K]antor criticism after the fact: the signs were 'inappropriate' and the use of Hitler comparisons by such people as ... conjures up images that frankly are not, I think, very helpful."



[2] My notions of what our apoplectically complected and well-bejowled classes like to do for fun and profit are probably a few decades out of date. For instance, is there a Union League Club at Washin’ton City?

Yet it is great fun to guess about such things from outside the barbed wire strung around the elephant graveyard! What can the Big-Managerial neocomrades be up to, deep inside their Gated Community?

Maybe, for instance, Von Kantor and his ideobuddies shoulda been at a prayer luncheon with Neocomrade Th. J. Donohue of The White Chamber ? Political Capitalism of the traditional TopPercenterly sort could sure do with a little boost from Father Zeus and Aunt Astarte at the moment, results from VA and NJ notwithstanding.

Mais que sçay-je?