Invisible Empire Watch

Neocomrade(ss) 'Gettysburg' from Grant’s Ol’ Party believes in teachin’ by demonstration: it/she/he has certainly derailed this train of thought -- the gang has somehow wound up discussing, in effect, whether General McClellan (obit ann. relig. 1303/1885/5656) is qualified to conduct the War on Global Tourism (Pat. Pend.), which Little Brother and the Party of Big Management did not even get around to declarin’ until Y. R. 1422/2001/5762.

Possibly "pretty much the dumbest thing I've ever heard" is a little too harsh, criticismwise. On the other hand, possibly it fits exactly?

The Party neocomrade(ss) somehow did the derailment trick without even puttin’ a visible Lincoln penny on the tracks -- nobody but its/her/himself said a word about who is to take the blame for Fedguv mismanagement of 1861-1865 military operations. Or Rebguv mismanagement either, admittedly: nothin’ if not balanced ’n’ fair is Neocomrade ‘Gettysburg’.

How did it/she/he pull this act of rhetorical tourorrism off without even a penny? As far as I can see, it/he/she just blithely assumed out of nowhere that Dr. Gitlin had taken it on himself to expel Senator Davis and Colonel Lee (et hoc genus omne nefandum) from the American Democracy.[1] Social scientisers don’t have much use for pedantic historical accuracy, of course, but I doubt that sound maxim applies all the way down at the third-grade level where the neocomrade(ss) pretends to detect it. Why, I betcha T. G. knows what colour ocean was sailed by the 1492 Person of the Year! [2]

Unsurprisingly, what we have here is the rhetorical technique of Murdochville, just make up whatever you'd like your antagonist to have said, whatever makes her look silliest or most ignorant or ickiest, and then carry on as if it had actually been said. As to the former Real World, well, always bear in mind the gold platinum words of Neocomrade Viceroy R. B. Cheney:

''That is not the way the world really works anymore. WE are an Empire now, and when WE act, WE create OUR OWN reality. And while you're studying that reality -- judiciously, as you will -- WE will act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. WE are history's actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what WE do.'' [3]

So here am I, studying here and now exactly how Neocomrade‘Gettysburg’ has created a microcosm or nanocosm of G.O.P. Brand ®eality in which all cultivated despisers believe, or pretend, that Abraham XVI was somethin’ other than a Black ®epublican.

Either there is not a whole lot to study or I am missing a whole lot. There doesn't *seem* to be any more to this neocomradely rhetorical hocus-pocus than "Me sayin’ it makes it be so."

But I may be congenitally unfit to judge, for I fear that Neocomrade Cheney’s version has always left me dissatisfied in much the same way. Oilslick Dick does, it is true, paraphrase a little differently: "EMPIRE sayin’ it makes it be so." [4]

There is a lot of fodder here for moralists, both traditional and neoselfservative, so I shall leave it to them at this point, confining myself to a purely literary observation: Neocomrade ‘Gettysburg’ has concocted a sort of inside-out or per contra reflection of "The Emperor's New Clothes," managin’ to derail a real-world train of thought with a penny fetched straight from Foxcuckooland. [5]


Healthy days.

___
[1] Perhaps we donkeys ought to hold a general membership meeting or postcard referendumb about doing just that? "Better late than never"! Now that Dixieland has finally been succesfully neoconstructed--seven score plus five years after the neocomrade's eponym!--with the Party of Goldwater ’n’ Atwater more firmly in the saddle down there than anywhere else nearer to civilisation than Wasilla, what have good guys got to lose? Shout it loud and shout it proud, "Treason must be made infamous, and traitors must be impoverished!" (No question what party that guy adhered to, comrades: Impoverishment R US!)

An objector might object that although we can excommunicate ratfink militarist Lees and bigoted slaveholdin’ Davises from our own ranks, we cannot actually kick them into the Harrison-Grant-Hoover-Atwater sham log cabin retroactively. Beyond a certain point of loserdom in practice, not even conservatives want you on their team any more, apart from maybe the weepy-creepy Little Friends of Eddie Burke™ brand of ‘conservative’ ‘intellectual’, as for example chez_ http://tinyurl.com/3m2r64.

A replier might reply that the Lees and Davises, when they actually had a 'nation' of their own to misgovern for a few brief shinin' moments, vociferated that they had no use at all for parties and partisanship, that these were only yet another of the icky Northern corruptions and perversions that they had decided to purify their garments of. Taking the Dixieland gentry at their word, we could infer (as neutral intellectual historians) that adherence to the Rebguv tacitly involved resignation from the Democratic Party of Yankeedom. Members of the latter might optionally go on to conclude that it would be gratuitous for us to disown Slaveocracy and Treason at this point in time.


[2] Speaking of pedantry, the year of religionism in question was 897/1492/5253.


[3] http://tinyurl.com/533kj


[4] While we are collecting specimens of this species, notice what might be called the Murdoch Variation of the Cheney Gambit, "REPETITION sayin’ it makes it be so." Though that shtyk did have rather a long history even before fallin’ into the hands of weekly standardisers and Wall Street jingos.


[5] I can't resist just a tiny bit of palaeomoralizing: "What does it say about us, jennies and jacks, if we are the kind of donkey whose thought trains can be derailed by pennies visible only to the impure of heart?"

BR>

Towards a Unified Theory of Political Fiendishness

A Unified Theory of Political Fiendishness from the keyboard of Neocomrade Rear-Colonel V. D. Hanson-Blimp might have been a work of modest valuable, had it been prepared and issued several years ago, but, alas!, the moment for that has passed. Private and public misfortunes have come to pass that rule out what once was not impossible. "Tripeness is all."

On the private- or secret-sector side, L'Enterprise ideologique américaine (English acronym: AEI) has now irretrievably rotted poor Blimp's brain, which used to be quite different from the correspondin’ organs of the first two hundred names in the Wingnut City telephone book.

Out in the Naked Public Square (Pat. Pend.) , AEI and AEI’s Blimp were seriously taken by surprise, it looks like, by the P.F.’s [1] scrambling back into power. Most neoässuredly, THAT was not supposed to happen! Why on G-re’s green earth should the Daughters of Virtue and Sons of Wisdom LLC (English acronym: GOP) ever lose an election? Come to think of it, did not Neocomrade Freiherr K. C. von Rove prophesy that would not? The DV&SW were, one remembers thinking oneself to have been told neoäuthoritatively, not just "in like Flynn" with George XLIII; they were in like Palaeocomrade Major W. McKinley, Jr., was in after that Bryan fiendishness and foolishness was put down. [2]

So much from outside the Monkey House. But if I had the personal misfortune to be a wingnuttete or wingnut or wombscholar or dittomind, I think I'd be a bit displeased with the good colonel from a strict Party-’n’-Ideology angle. Surely the time to raise the alarm about "Where Did These Guys Come From?" was before the jackasses broke into the stable?

On the other hand, perhaps he did? Since his regrettable self-decerebration, Blimp’s pieces have been, from any great political distance, as indistinguishable from one another as they are from what any idiot niece or nephew of a DV&SW biggie might scribble durin’ her internship at AEI as a sort of graduation present before havin’ to face the real world, meetin’ payrolls and runnin’ railroads and possibly makin’ the occasional campaign contribution . . . . [3]

Certainly quite a number of the sweet puppies of Endarkenment, even, must have been aware well before Black Tuesday, 5 Dhú l-Qa‘da 1429 [4], that the particular Black Lagoon from which the Obaminable Creature set out slouching towards Beltlehem City DC was Cook County in the great and sovereign State of Illinois. [5]

I begin with the strictly geographical part of today’s performance, which is much the soundest based leg of the Blimpian tripod. Only secundum quid, though, only "gradin’ on the curve," because Cook County, considered simpliciter, is one of a kind -- the last refugium of classical machine politics. For the brave new Sororland of Virtue and Fraterland of Wisdom (Pat. Pend.) [6] to be overrun from THERE is almost as if the sweet puppies were to be conquered and annexed by the year of religionism 1896 come again. Or make that, more specifically and just for fun, "invasionised and occupied by the day 30 Ramadán [7] in the year of neoreligionism 1314/1897/5657." I.e., that ‘day of woe and woeful day’ [8] when William Jennings Bryan took the helm as POTUS over in Parallel Universe 54110-KX-37(b). Bill XXV promptly ran the holy Homeland™ on the rocks, of course. (I could tell you all a pretty story about it, but the e-margin is too narrow to contain it.)

Rear-Col. Blimp views his Chicagoland from a high altitude and through factious haze, however. "government channels stimuli to blue-states, key Congresspeople are bought off with tens of millions of government largess, every campaign promise is simply cynical fluff that no sane person would take seriously" -- that could be pretty well anywhere, nowadays. Like, exempli gratiâ and just to begin with some particular toponyms, take Kennebunkport ME and Crawford TX. [9]

Pitchforkin’ through the dungheap backwards, I see that Blimp summarizes his Point II as "the postmodern belief that race/class/gender oppressions require government affirmative reactions (which also abroad explains why we reach out to enemies and shun allies)."

Is that AEI-ogenic decerebration, I wonder, or is it just KSM Brand (®) agitprop as usual? [10] Neocomrade V. D. Hanson-Blimp’s tertiary-educationalist credentials are such that he ought to have some idea what an actual practitioner of Postwhateverism understands the term "postmodern" to involve. Run-of-the mill Party base ’n’ vile haven't a glimmer and are likely to swallow any malicious nonsense that a Blimp chooses to cropdust ’em with from on high.

I guess in this context most of the sweet puppies will understand their obese aëronautical guru to be revealin’ that PoMo begat Affirmative Action -- and young Affy they DO know lots and lots about. They may not know his daddy's name for sure (insert stale joke here), but they do know that Master Affy is the [expletive] [substantive] that keeps snatchin’ away all those luscious plums that ought to be their own. That, once upon a time, and not so long ago, WERE their own. That WILL BE their own again as soon as "accident, fate, bad luck, bad decisions, poor judgment, illegality, drug use, and simple tragedy" are once again properly diagnosed (and then left untreated.) [11]

That last footnote was already tottering on the brink of The Utterly Unmentionable, so let's skate on real fast to Blimp's Point I, which is so old it is positivly neo-: "Who dunnit, you ask? Why, M. Jean-Jacques Rousseau donnit! Next question."

Q. Qu’est-ce que l’ étatisme? A. L’étatisme, c’est LE VOL!

Well! One may guess that the neocomrade rear-colonel (volant himself, as it happens, though of course only in a benign way) began with that golden oldie precisely aureâ ex vetustate. His neochoir is bound to know the words to that hymn, or at any rate the first couple of stanzas. It's not as if Wombschool Normal University sets no graduation requirements at all! A passin’ grade in Chicagonomics 666 is absolutely mandatory: NO EXCEPTIONS ADMITTED EVER. Period. Full stop.

Well, ’tis a waste of energy to argue with the neochoir about the economically Wicked State, so I shall not. Instead, allow me to point out very peripherally that Blimp adores Chicagonomics but can't stand Cook County. Presumably that establishes where the neoäction is located at, if nothin' else.

Historically, to be sure, Chicagonomic neoselfservatism was almost entirely imported from Old Vienna, as Comrade Judt argues in a somewhat tonier e-forum than this present. [12] Oh, well. It does not actually matter much. Even before AEI wreaked its drain bamage on him, Neocomrade Rear-Col. V. D. Blimp-Hanson treated all history since about Procopius on the demons Justinianus and Theodora [13] as perfect bunk. Their Ford must surely be beamin’ His high approval up at VDB-H from down below where the weather is always a little too warm for comfort.

Healthy days.



___
[1] "Political fiends," Messrs. les ennemis de la Républicainique. Foreign agitators. The Muses and Dr. Bones and yours truly.


[2] Major Bill was of the non-rear variety, as it happens, although it’s a little unfair to poke at poor Blimp on that account, him bein’ really more comparable to Parteiobersturmfeldwebel Markus Alphonsius von Hanna. Who -- sure ’nuff! -- got himself a student deferment or somethin’ close: "served as a quartermaster in the United States Army during the Civil War and was always close to veterans’ organizations. (It is not true that he was awarded the Medal of Honor -- that was an unrelated Marcus Hanna.)" [http://tinyurl.com/yg3c7y2]


[3] The serious student of neocomradology is not to declare the Real World of AEI idiot nepotism ‘unreal’ simply because they instantly slam the boardroom door shut in her own silly face -- if, indeed, they ever left it open for her to peep in a little to begin with. Comrade F. S. Fitzgerald's remarks on that score are admirable, even though he never made them. [http://tinyurl.com/yjlhz3r]


[4] Bein’ the former "4 November 2008."


[5] http://tinyurl.com/yjtzjmo (for the B. L. Creature: Massa Yeats must take care of himself)


[6] English acronym: USA


[7] 30.IX.1314 will have been the former "March Forth, 1897!" Unless they use a different paracalendar, that is, naturally.


[8] http://tinyurl.com/yfff2m4


[9] Presumably Blimp doesn't really require any hard data points about Cook County beyond the notorious one that the Virtutis filiae filiique Sapientiae win municipal elections very rarely indeed. Oh, that all the world were Scarsdale and Shaker Heights and Lake Forest and Loudon County VA!

No, sorry, I beg your pardon, it should run the other way ’round: "Oh, that S. (&c.) were all the world!" The neocomrades are never goin’ta be altogether safe, after all, until the neowilderness outside their gated communities is not just a solitudo devastata, loosely speakin’, but literally uninhabited. Extra Mammonopolem nulla salus.


[10] "Kiddie Selfservative Movement" es Marca ®egistrada de la Nuevocompañería Estadounidense y de Israël.


[11] The student should bear in mind, however, that, inside the monkey house, Exhortation Therapy is almost always classified as ‘treatment’. Neocomrades who do not agree that preachin’ at the Bad Poor they ought to shape up and be Good Poor instead is a wonderdrug in itself are rare, but not quite impossible to find. Neocomrades Profs. Drs. R. Herrnstein and Ch. Murray, discoverers or inventors of the ever-immortal Herrnstein-Murray Cu®ve [dingaling, heads up!, http://tinyurl.com/zexdn], come to mind at once.

There exists, though, in my view, a certain ‘protocynicism’, so to christen it, on the matter amongst the Big Management Party’s base ’n’ vile, quite apart from what their factional betters may be up to. The sweet puppies are not bright enough to be cynics -- the theorem follows à fortiori from the fact that even card-carryin’ G.O.P. geniuses are too dumb to keep what they think and how they bark ’n’ bellow in completely different wateretight compartments. At the puppy, or protocynical level, what it comes to is that Exhortation Therapy oughtabe a Wundermedikant for the Bad Poor, but most wingnutettes and wingnuts don’t seriously expect that it actually will be.

At this point the Hegelian student of Neocomradology will notice one of her Master's most famous products at work, the so-called "cunning of reason." Or cunnin’ of selfservatism: where would the sweet puppies find themselves, after all, if Exhortation Therapy did work wonders? All the Bad Poor would become Good Poor, and then any given sweet puppy would be at least as likely to miss its plums due to the sheer number of qualified candidates, without evil Affy putting even the slightest pressure of a [expletive] Statist thumb on the scale. Randy Redneck and Cindy from Wasilla cannot possibly have worked that calculation out consciously, but they might as well have.

(( I suppose it is possible that the neokiddies still retain some last savin’ (or damnin’) remnant of the former specifically Christian Christojudaean dogma of peccatum originale, which did, more or less, amount to preaching at unregenerate folks being somehow a good thing even though true repentance and amendment of life, amongst the Bad Poor and even to some extent elsewhere as well, were never easy to spot. To believe that the Randies and Cindies of any age ever really grokked Original Sin is more than I can manage, but there can be no doubt that the 1431/2009/5770 Prod models and their predecessors, since at least YNR 1040/1630/5390 heard about it endlessly at Sabbath School. To hypothesize a boiled-down and garbled version of lofty mythological speculations that the puppy classes did not ever actually grasp at any point in their degeneration would save the appearances without any need to page Dr. Hegel. But Father Zeus knows best. ))


[12] http://www.nybooks.com/articles/23519, "Volume 56, Number 20 · December 17, 2009
What Is Living and What Is Dead in Social Democracy?"

"Tony Judt directs the Remarque Institute at NYU and is the author of Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945. His latest book, Reappraisals: Reflections on the Forgotten Twentieth Century, was recently reissued in paperback.? (January 2010)"


[13] http://tinyurl.com/ylrry5o

Th. and J. would bill nicely in melodrama as moustache-twirling, stimulusmongering Wicked Statists, would they not? A pity so little is known about Byzantinomics.

Blimp was a coach in extinct languages before he was a geistlicher Militärist, before the AEIdeologues shorted most of his his circuits for him, and it still shows: he appears to know all sorts of things about "the agenda of the classical ... Roman turba." He ought to write it up for the delectation of the Muses and me (and maybe even the neokiddies as well). Assuming, that is, that he means somethin' at least a little more recherché than Mr. Madison in Federalist X, "any other improper or wicked project" &c. &c.

Doin’ the Cheney-Thing

R. B. Cheney and T. L. Friedman are undeniably two peas in the same onepercenterly pod, both located at the rich-out-of-sight end of the income and wealth distribution. Some speak of "the Herrnstein-Murray Curve," although they may be asking for litigation about patents and trademarks and the like when they do.

However the T. L. Friedman specimen, for purposes of this morning's fifteen-minute ideological zig--or, as the case may be, sentimental zag--sets up to be a traitor to its curve, as it were, a stance which is as curious as it is unimportant. By tomorrow morning, it (the TLF specimen) may be safely back inside Wingnut City with all that gated communitys many community gates securely bolted behind it. [1]

Anyhow, today it has chosen to stumble leftwards a little, possibly annoying Neocomrade Viceroy R. B. Cheney, though more probably not. His Omniexecutivity is far from bein’ Mr. Nice Guy, but he is also no dummy and has probably long since written the TLF thingee off as beneath adult attention. Or perhaps decided that it "knows in its heart", à la B. Goldwater, that neoreaction must necessarily be THE wave of the future.

In order to (even pretend to) be bratty, it has to work up some minimal sort of RBC/TLF compare-and-contrast exercise, some superficial distinction of icin’s externally laid onto the same basic cake-mix product. The specimen welcomes its opportunity, it seems to me, for it could well be sniggerin’ to itself about how elegantly its latest fifteen-minuteman shtyk about foreign and native-management policy fits into the rhetorical ploy du jour: the specimen quite agrees with Lord Undisclosure that relyin’ on one-percent probabilities can, on special occasions and under certain specific circumstances, be an admirable guide to speculation at the Grand Casino of Human Events.

It then goes on to rib His Omniexecutivity for not noticin’ that AGW, anthropogenic global warmin’, affords one of these occasions. It does not expressly mention that (for about the last thirteen-and-a-half minutes straight) it has considered that Viceroy Cheney and his Boy and his Dynasty and his Party and his AEIdeology were, after all, quite right to agress their way into the Brave New Afghanistan and the future former al-‘Iráq on the basis of onepercenterly speculations. [2] "Better safe than sorry," don't you see?

Herr Prof. Dr. C. von Sunstein--who, incidentally, looks very like a recent TLF lunchmate and plunderee--tarts that preowned old saw and trite apophthegm up as (ta-DAH!) a "Precautionary Principle." The grown-up reasons to have reservations about that up-tartin’ could probably be discussed with Prof. Sunnstein, who may not even endorse the Afghan and Iraqi neo-aggressions. Almost certainly, the distinguished shyster and tertiary educationaliser will be a serious environmentalist, and therefore not really on either the TLF or the RBC wavelength. TLF is utterly unserioius, and RBC utterly ungreen. Antigreen, even, is Lord Undisclosure.

Our Warholian jackdaw picks up the professor's gaudy bead and then . . . well, why be surprised that what happens then is far more jackadawsical than perfesserly? The TLF specimen is not actually gamblin’ about global temperatures and climatic disasters here. Close examination will reveal that it is chiefly bettin’ that maybe those overzealous subordinates at East Anglia U. were guilty much as Foxcuckooland and Rio Limbaugh charge: Master Friedman’s effective 99 percent probability is not that AGW will produce consequences not altogether intolerable, which must be what C. Sunnstein originally meant, but rather that AGW ain’t happenin’ at all -- just like Citizen Rush says!

And just like Neocomrade Viceroy R. B. Cheney can be very easily conjectured to agree!!

So the jackdaw is a sort of unexpected twofer or daily double for Lord Undisclosure: not only does the silly NYTC bird tacitly agree with Cheney (and with Cheney's Boy / Dynasty / Party / Ideology) about the good guys aggressin’, it tacitly agrees about the bad guys hoaxin’ as well!!!

Compared with these substantive Wonders of Wingnuttism, it must seem very small potatoes to Lord Undisclosure that little Tommy Wobble, and for that matter, Prof. Dr. Sunstein, agree with his lordship (and with B-D-P-I) about the soundness of selected one-precenterly speculations in lotteries and at casinos.

Croaks the jackdaw, on the formal side[3]:

When I see a problem that has even a 1 percent probability of occurring and is “irreversible” and potentially “catastrophic,” I buy insurance. That is what taking climate change seriously is all about.

It might be fun to look at Master Tommy Wobble’s real-life insurance portfolio: it has such an inflat such an exalted notion of its own self-wunnerfulness that it probably ought to have taken out several billion dollars of term life insurance with its Uncle Sam the beneficiary, "in case somethin’ happens." But I betcha it hasn't actually.

Healthy days.

___
[1] The nifty Friedmanite wobbles and ficklenesses seem to depend on exactly whom it ate lunch with most recently, although perhaps its dinner companions matter sometimes as well.


[2] Did the specimen perhaps even call up His Omniexecutivity to assure him that it is all in fun, really, so don't get made and cancel that next lunch appointment? Father Zeus knows best!


[3] Big Management Party Neocomrade R. B. Cheney and jackdaw Th. L. Friedman are, of course, mistaken to superordinate Matter over Form, in this case or in any other. Not bein’ bright enough to be sound Aristotelians, naturally ‘formal’ and ‘formalism’ are perjoratives for them, as for all holy-Homelanders™ beneath a rather high plateau of semi-demi-education. And Father Zeus knows best.

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.

"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.

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 . . . .

"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?