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1. i watched The Dark Knight again on Friday, i think my 4th or 5th viewing – i wrote of it 2 years ago. It shares the other Nolan Batman films’ disregard for realism, in that very little of the story makes sense if you stop and think about it. However, Nolan’s craft, skill, and fascistic vision win through (fascistic in the liberal definition, that is).

2. The opening is a homage to Michael Mann’s Heat even featuring similar music, a Mann-esque visual style, and William Fichtner (a kind of mob banker in Heat, as here). The Joker has hired several hoods in clown masks who perform their tasks and then, according to the plan, kill each other until only the Joker is left. The whole thing is ludicrously tightly-planned, to the point where the slightest error would have resulted in complete failure. The clowns discuss their master:

Clown 1: So why do they call him the Joker?
Clown 2: I heard he wears makeup.
Clown 1: Makeup?
Clown 2: Yeah, to scare people.

Reminiscent of the opening of The Dark Knight Rises, where some CIA goon interrogates three hooded prisoners on his plane, screaming at one: “Tell me about Bane! Why does he wear the mask?”

and Bane: “No one cared who I was, until I put on the mask.”

Donning the mask, an identity born in fact of mutilation and suffering, the villains, and Batman, become more than ordinarily human. Their power resides in their mystery; in being set apart from those they either protect or prey upon (any separation can become power).

As with The Dark Knight, none of the Bane aircraft scene makes any sense but then it’s more like a myth – you absorb the imagery and the moments and don’t expect anything like coherent motivation and narrative.

There is something special about Nolan’s trilogy; prescient and mythic. i see especially the last two films as meditations and foretellings of politics and culture in the West: anarchy, violence, crime, tyranny, subversion, order, brutality. Thus the phenomenon of Baneposting:

– which i believe originated on /pol and has, amusingly, taken over Tom Hardy to the point where a q & a about his excellent film Locke was mostly hijacked by baneposting questions.

There seem elements of Trump in the Joker and Bane (forces of anarchy) but also Batman and Harvey Dent (forces of order). Like the Joker his true intentions are a mystery; and i suspect Trump cultivates an air of if not mystery then at least unpredictability – something like Pacino’s Detective Hanna in Heat as he talks to his informant, or Hans Landa in Inglourious Basterds throughout – to keep everyone unsure of exactly what you mean and where you stand. This is obviously a noble and desirable trait in the President of the world’s greatest military power and will keep everyone on their toes for the next 7.5 years.

3. In all three films Gotham is corrupt and depraved, and yet at the same time most of the problems seem to originate in a small group of criminals – which is true of most of the First World, i would say. The Joker, Bane, Harvey Dent, and Batman represent different reactions to this corruption and crime. Bane wants to destroy Gotham; the Joker to show up the apparent order as a lie and a fragile one at that; Harvey Dent at first wants to impose law and order, and then – after he becomes Twoface – to roam around killing people who let him down, in however a random manner, tossing a coin to determine his actions; and Batman as a Trump-esque billionaire wants to preserve things and protect those he regards as, in some way, his subjects or at least wards.

All of these men have a power which, while not supernatural, is evident in their prowess and in a certain aura of near-indestructibility. They are marked out: Trump by his bat costume and gear and training; the Joker by his makeup, odd walk and look of deformed strength, his fine, soiled clothes; Bane by his mask and his pimp walk and by being Tom Hardy; Dent by his facial scarring.

i find the aura of power about these men more convincing, closer to real power than the supernatural gifts of e.g. the Avengers or the X-Men. There is a sense that Nolan’s characters were once men, and became demons. And, it seems, they recognise something of each other, for example at the beginning of The Dark Knight some gangsters are attacked by vigilantes dressed as Donald Trump. The Scarecrow (a minor villain) immediately recognises these aren’t the real thing, and then the Batmobile comes crashing over a wall and the Scarecrow cackles: “Now that’s more like it!” (some very odd editing in this next scene, by the way).

4. Nolan can make even the silliness of Trump’s red ties and boxy suits look appropriately grim:

There is a symmetry between Trumpman and the two main villains: he seems the opposite of the Joker, but more of a brother to Bane, in appearance and manner. Bane is, in a sense, the lesser threat: a merely physical adversary albeit a big guy; the Joker transforms others into his likeness, physically and spiritually. He is delighted when Trump pounds him in the interrogation room, and his greatest triumph would be for Trump to take a life – even his.

5. Bane, the Joker, Dent, and even Trumpman exist in an antagonistic relationship to Gotham. The established corruption – criminal gangs in the film, political/progressive elites in our world – will resist any redeeming force to the end. The Joker pre-echoes the Democrat/Antifa riots which i guess were meant to say “America will be ungovernable by anyone not sanctioned by the real (demonic) powers” when he gibbers: “You see this is how crazy Batman has made Gotham! Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Or people will die.” And indeed, after each Leftist riot the liberal journalists trot out “it’s all Batman’s fault, he must resign and let Hillary Clinton rule or we will destroy America and it will all be his fault!!!”

Not that the Joker for a moment sides with Gotham – anymore than Bane does; they merely claim to represent “the people” when it suits them, rather like Hillary rather amusingly claiming to be “the resistance”. The true Joker emerges when he tells Trumpman: “Those mob fools want you gone so they can get back to the way things were. But I know the truth – there’s no going back. You’ve changed things.”

The Joker’s men, later in the film, seem to be mostly schizophrenics, typical Antifa types. The self-proclaimed “agent of chaos” naturally recruits those who are unable to live good, useful lives within any conceivable society – for such people, nihilism (masquerading as modern “virtue”) is their natural bent and action.

6. And yet i note many similarities between Donald Trump and the Joker. While the Joker advertises himself as an agent of chaos, a man without a plan, the film is driven by his exactly-defined plans, by an organisational capacity impossible outside of fiction. His character seems, in fact, both chaotic and orderly – his means are highly orderly, and the result is chaos.

Batman wants, i think, to create order and stability in America – to build a wall to keep chaos and criminals out, and to rebuild American industry. But his character seems to me essentially chaotic – when i as it were close my eyes and look at him, i see a frenetic and unmappable buzzing of energy and thought. This is partly a strength – it makes him flexible and hard to predict, hard to really dismiss: i think the only accusation (sexist, racist, insane, stupid, etc.) which seems true is that he is really rather vulgar and crass. But then, he is American.

i continue to think that he is essentially a narcissist who wants to go down in history as one of the great American presidents; and i think he sees the whole of America (irrespective of race or wealth) as in some way extensions of his own self, which means his motives are in a sense quite pure – to make America great, because America is part of his own identity.

However, i think his actual effect will be more as an agent of chaos. i don’t think he is a good person as such, but he lacks the peculiar atmosphere of evil that hung especially about the Clintons and the Bushes (and to a lesser degree Obama), and will prove as indomitable and unpredictable as the Joker or Bane: he’s a big guy, for you.

1. Varg Vikernes has made several videos on the topic of reincarnation, for example this. In his understanding, children would go to their ancestral burial mound and identify their last life’s bones and items, in order to know who they were. Judging from myself and those i know, we can be reborn across a great distance, and seemingly into quite different genetic groups – for example, two of my last-life siblings (Ashkenazi Jews) are now Finnish, and i am Anglo-Indian. Both my Finnish once-were-siblings look extremely Finnish to me, and genetically the Finns seem to be quite distinct from e.g. Germans or Jews. Nonetheless, we all have “the look” of our last lives.

2. Plump bourgeois of the managerial class assume that the reality which has made them so comfortably well-off has always and will always obtain. But in fact humanity can change radically.

There could have been a time when reincarnation was mostly within the close genetic group, and also when it was easier to remember. Our metaphysical frame and potential changes over centuries. This is one reason modern men often assume e.g. Herodotus is total fiction: amid the presumably fantastical tales, there are probably a few which were true, because reality itself was different in those days.

3. Varg addresses the accusation of LARPing:

Today, conscious recall of a previous life – even fragmentary recall – is rare. For one thing, if your religion or irreligion tells you it is impossible the faint tuggings at awareness will be drowned out by your false imaginings.

Nonetheless, many people are influenced by a kind of unconscious memory. It manifests in preferences, aversions, skills. For example, most of my past lives were in some way scribal; and when i was 5 or 6 and we learnt how to handwrite (joined up, i think) by copying sentences from the blackboard; the other children would look up at the board after every single letter but i quickly found i could take in and remember two or three words in a glance and so i finished such exercises before the others – amusingly, my neighbour, a typically vicious female, hissed at me “you’re cheating!” – one of my first lessons in the tribal Social Justice Warrior nature of females, and the consequences of being in any way distinct from one’s fellows.

4. It’s unusual to remember past lives, because our memories are a chain of association and identity woven about the person we become aged about 5 or 6. Perhaps it is hard to remember infant memories for the same reason it’s hard to remember past lives – because our identity (about which memory coheres) dates from age 5 or so, and all before that is of a looser weave with our adult consciousness.

However, i note that when our present life mirrors a past (in clothing, residence, food, language) we seem more open to unconscious memory, as if the considerable gap between lives narrows when we follow the old ways. There then comes a power and a sense of being who one really is – which is what i felt in my four years at Durham; and this influence gave me the strength to break out of my misery and apathy in Manchester.

5. There would be clear advantages to recalling a past life: greater skill,  a broader perspective. Unconscious memory is however the norm in traditional societies: there is typically a fabric of rites and practices which join the present to the past, and so create an atmosphere of expanded temporality in which one could more easily draw upon what a millennial-old life has to offer: one does not actually remember anything, but one has a sense of familiarity, of ease and instinctual knowledge, and i would say a kind of happiness and feeling of being comprehended in a wider form of life and wider human experience. Today there are very few such rites.

The destruction of the old Catholic Mass took away one of the most widespread means of joining with one’s ancestors and European past lives. The Latin and the form would be the same over centuries, over different countries. Attending would create that charged field of awareness, in which one particular life is part of a greater continuum.

The globalists i guess thought of it as old-fashioned and stuffy and elitist; but their demonic masters knew the power of unchanging tradition: they knew that to destroy Europe and the white race, it would be necessary to break the weave of allegiance and observance stretching back centuries. Break that, and the people lose their unconscious memory, their fidelity and obligation to the past, their obligation to the future. And then they stop having children, and can be replaced by sand peoples – and they will even welcome their own destruction because for all their shiny trinkets and toys they are maddened by newfound isolation and vulnerability.

i’m not a huge fan of Christianity – as Varg and others have observed, it inculcates a sense that race is utterly unimportant, and it denies the possibility of reincarnation. That said, now the old Mass has been destroyed there is very little to preserve the weave of tradition necessary for a widespread, habitual fealty to one’s ancestry.

6. Some think the runes are themselves conscious; whether or not they are, fields of awareness and activity tend to persist a while, and will themselves into physical form. The next few years in Europe will most likely be years of great suffering and distress, and violence; and in such a time, the old forms will probably reassert themselves. When all of Western Europe resembles Mogadishu there may be enclaves of white Europeans holding up in the mountains, eating Schnitzel and drinking whisky, and Jacob Rees-Mogg will with his own hands build a stone chapel in which Benedict XVI will perform the old Mass while Varg and his twenty blond children run around slaughtering the invaders with neanderthal weaponry, and a good time will be had by all.

1. Following this epic Millennial Woes video, i decided to watch Children of the Stones, a 1977 ITV series (actually i’m now unsure if he mentions it in the video or if i read it in the comments). There is something special about 70s-80s TV British TV drama, with its low production values, decent actors, taut scripts, often rural locations featuring an old man’s pub full of red-faced farmers smoking pipes and cigarettes like Nigel Farage, and typically an all-white cast. It’s a world i never really knew, because i grew up in West Yorkshire and went to school in Bradistan, am half-Indian so would have been out of place in a white village (would in fact have ruined it by my very existence there, much as an American tourist in Hawaii beach shorts and McDonald’s burger & Pepsi would ruin a Buddhist temple, by his very presence).

It’s a great series with some curiously Varg Vikernes-like notes (about the great bear), a redhead MILF and a lot of tweed. i kept expecting to see Roger Scruton and Evelyn Waugh, eating pork pies and downing fine ales.

It’s set wholly in a small village subject to a sinister influence, under which reality itself is altered, and the people likewise.

2. A day or two ago i googled the Unterföhring shooter and was surprised to find it wasn’t a Muslim but apparently a genuine schizo though one with a German father (living in America) and a South African mother, hence what i would call a displaced person. It would be interesting to know if displaced persons are more subject to personality disorders and madness, i suspect so as many of the mixed parentage people i know, those living in a country not of their near ancestry, have some kind of mental problem. i’d include myself in this category, of course, though i’m unsure exactly what is my major malfunction: but certainly i excite immediate wariness and suspicion in people, wherever i go, and fail at everything i attempt, which suggests some inherent flaw.

3. When i heard of the Grenfell Tower fire, i automatically wondered if it was a Muslim, then thought it smacked more of incompetence, perhaps Somalians grilling a sheep in an open fire in the corridor. The photos of the protests etc. are instructive; they tell you a lot about what has happened to England in my lifetime:

This is modern England.

4. i think back to the Olympia Einkaufszentrum shooting last year – the perpetrator a half-Iranian half-German kid, like Salman Abedi the son of “refugees”. It seemed of a piece with the Muslim terrorism that occurred almost daily last summer in Europe; and yet apparently distinct and unrelated.

As a wise man once said, “when two events occur simultaneously pertaining to the same object of inquiry we must always pay strict attention.” i feel that every person and every society exists within a “field” which determines attitudes, fears, expectations, and events. In Children of the Stones a small village is subject to a rather Lovecraftian field of intent; Western Europe now is subject to a field of insanity, violence, and destruction. This is a metaphysical force. It is of course influenced by individuals and by our thoughts and actions, but has its roots where no political scientist or philosopher can see. Thus i shake my head at “cuckservatives” who think we can reform our legislation, turn the clock back to the late 90s and everything will be fine; likewise, the “paleoconservatives” who would i guess turn the clock back to the 1950s (though they tend to realise it is impossible, and so their writings have an elegiac air, as it were commemorating a culture that has already been totally destroyed); the Alt-Right are, in a practical sense, closest to the truth – but only within the visible.

Much as i dislike most of the things the Alt-Right dislike, i feel that even right-wing death squads wouldn’t suffice. The demographic problem is only a symptom; and while the Alt-Right would, i suppose, point at a certain group who have systematically inculcated the demographic problem (and all others), i feel even that is inexact, and superficial. The certain group too are but a symptom; nor would i see them as innately malign, merely innately disruptive – which can be good or bad, depending on the environment they disrupt and the degree of their action.

5. Within the “field” obtaining in the 1950s, even the radical and as it were cancerous elements in the West were merely a bit out there. Show a 1950s radical a 300-pound blue-haired trans feminist, or Carl the Cuck and AIDS Skrillex:

and i daresay your tweed-wearing radical would sputter into his pipe, call on his wife to bring him a triple whisky and his slippers, and be most dejected at the culmination of his plans for humanity.

In an earthly sense, one could talk of the Overton window. However, i think the West’s malaise goes beyond psychology and politics. The only Youtuber i know who comes close (i still read blogs but they are mostly rather tame and i prefer to read books) is Varg Vikernes, for whom our entire modern world is rotten:

Varg is unusual in that he (i think) remembers a past life, or is at least heavily influenced by one, to the point where it may as well be conscious memory. 2017 seems diseased to those old enough to remember the 50s or even 60s; to those who remember pagan Europe our age must seem, as i think Bruce Charlton wrote somewhere, the most spiritually degraded we have ever known.

6. My father called me last week and told me that a few years ago someone had a heartattack every 2 minutes in England; that is no more: now, someone is diagnosed with dementia every 3 minutes. Of course, diagnoses are malleable but all the same i feel there is a kind of insanity over England now. It is as if the gods have decided to destroy my homeland.

And now just my homeland – it is the whole of the capitalist bloc, Western Europe; only Eastern Europe and to some extent Finland seem shielded. The fire at Grenfell Towers, the shooting in Unterföhring, seem to me surface manifestations of a deeper field – a suicidal impulse that is, with increasing rapidity, consuming Europe.

Even the sand people invasion is but a part of this. i sometimes wonder at the timing of my birth, which in some ways echoes the timing of my last life. Upon reflection, i do not feel i was born to save this world; but to destroy it. Varg, i think, is right that it is futile to try to salvage some kind of liberal democracy and favela multiculturalism from the 21st Century. If we are to be saved most of us will have to die; Europe will be consumed by a great fire, and become a heap of ashes. But (perhaps) old gods will speak from the ashes.


1. i was originally scheduled to teach at a company in Unterföhring today, however they cancelled the last two weeks: like most of my company groups, at least half the students were at Lake Garda eating Schnitzel and drinking imported German beer and complaining about the Italians.

i awoke late, from sloth. i had left my balcony door open and so dreamt of the birdcall outside: two magpies have taken up residence in this area for the last couple of years, and over time i’ve grown accustomed and sensitized to the varieties of birdcall, so sometimes i read on my balcony (Richard Mabey’s colossal Flora Britannica, Gerald Durrell’s My Family & Other Animals, William Anderson’s The Face of Glory at present) and am distracted by an alteration in the birdsong, as something like consternation spreads through the trees. They are aware of me, and i think aware even of my awareness of them. In the last year or so, i’ve noted a blackbird and another (dark or black, with upright tail – don’t know what it is) which will let me get very close before they hop away, or very occasionally they more or less ignore my near passage.

2. i dragged myself from my ruined sofa-bed (after 6 years, it’s in bad shape), checked my emails and found several from Deutsche Bahn: the Unterföhring station closed because a “37-year-old German” had tried to push a policewoman in front of a train, then grabbed her gun and shot her in the head.

i had to teach later in another location and on the s-bahn the conductor warned us that Unterföhring was still closed “due to a police action”. A woman probably in her late 60s/early 70s made eye contact with me and said (in German): “Terrible, isn’t it?” (Wahnsinn, oder? is more like insane, isn’t it, expressing bemused disgust; i guess the nearest English would be “fucking mental, innit” but even educated non-sweary Germans say Wahnsinn oder all the time). i told her (in German) i’d had an appointment there but didn’t go, and we discussed the Situation. i told her i was half-Indian but she mishead it as half-Italian and said: “Italy has its own problems with this now”. We talked about England, the two latest Jihadcidents in Manchester and London and she said something like “England has so many foreigners now” and then said things are changing even in Munich (a paradise when i arrived in 2011), and it’s harder to feel trust for people; and i to her: “the greater the diversity the less the trust.”

3. It is hard to placidly continue daily life while your world is being deliberately destroyed, in my case by our political elites, by personages such as Angela Merkel, Jean-Claude Juncker, Macron, Theresa May, all puppets of the same globalist financial elite, who in turn are mere puppets of demonic forces. The only good thing about all this is that i’ve already outlived my expectations, i haven’t saved anything, and so if i die in the great Race War, it’s all good. Previous cultural traumas – for example the First World War – resulted only in economic devastation and the loss of a generation of young men; the Second World War resulted in both, and the additional destruction of a great deal of good old architecture; this latest assault on Europe will result in the destruction of the white race between Galway and Berlin – either that or they will have to turn their backs on 70 years of kumbaya diversity and weakness, and embrace their capacity for violence once more.

4. The demonic agenda is both extremely determined and tactically incoherent. The primal malevolence recognised that Western Europe had become a relatively safe, decent zone of human existence, and so naturally it bent its will against us. Years ago i thought it strange how deliberately our governments seemed to be destroying everything good about our culture; in the last couple of years it has become clear to me, that they hate everything noble in humanity and have been assaulting this nobility on a broad front for about a century now. The demonic force’s ultimate goal is total non-existence; the ultimate goal of the globalists is, i would guess that foretold by Orwell in 1984:

If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.

The Soviet Union came close to this ultimate utopia. i don’t think the globalist agenda will really be achievable because if it isn’t uniformly imposed the exceptions will flourish and the workers’ paradise will eventually collapse under its own determined nihilism, not to mention its economic insanity. And war is extremely expensive.

5. One can trace our current malaise back – as depicted in this Murdoch Murdoch video from about 8 minutes:

Most of the demonic agenda was a natural progression, step by step. But there were occasional blockages, points of resistance, where they had to use a bit more force to as it were topple a fort. Two notable cases: Vatican 2 in the early 60s, where the old Mass was destroyed in favour of banjo and kumbaya secularity; and the deposition of Pope Benedict XVI in favour of the usurper Jorge Mario Bergoglio.

As a “Germanic pagan”, i recognise the old Catholic Church’s sacred power. They assumed some of the old pagan ways and i would guess much of the original Catholic rite arose from Gnostic/pagan groups within early Christianity. Although monotheism is not my horn of mead, i can recognise that the old Catholic Church was in essence a Gnostic pagan religion, and so had its own merits. Protestantism is not so much a reformation of Christianity as a denial of Christianity; Protestantism is the direct negation of Christianity, because it keeps some of the trappings but utterly voids the real content. Protestants like Milton and Kierkegaard seem to me to exist in a state of constant and barely-coherent volatility, because they seek the old God without the means. Even my old cohort the Viking, as left-brain a Nordic autist as one could hope to meet, raised a brutal Calvinist to believe one should dress in grey-beige sackcloth and subsist on mashed potato, despising ornament, love, emotion, art, waistcoats as wiles of the Devil, one day sat down to mathematically prove the existence of Calvin and to his consternation fell into Gödel’s outhouse and was flushed out into the radiant glory of Henry Adams’ Mont-Saint-Michel and Chartres, and realising the error of his hideous Protestant vice, abjured pornography and degeneracy and married a sturdy Catholic girl and has now devoted the remainder of his days to penance and acts of salutary violence and Catholic hedonism – no longer content to gorge himself on stale mashed potato and peas like a Protestant, clad in grey and torn rags, he now dresses like Hannibal


and repasts gloriously on oyster, caviar (“north of the Caspian”), human brain, and grilled lobster macarelle, washed down with the finest of champagnes. He wears a cilice and has trained his local choir to sing Templar Chant. He no longer eats mashed potato.

6. Significantly, upon his conversion, God told him to relocate to Slovakia and he is now spreading hedonism and virtue in Eastern Europe, seeking out and destroying mashed potato and Protestantism in equal measure. i would say the globalists are tactically incoherent because they have stepped up the destruction of the West while Eastern Europe is still robustly white. They are now, it seems, realising the error of their ways and trying to sue the last bastions of Europe for not admitting six gorillion military-age Muslim migrants poor orphan children from Africa and the Middle East Syria. But after 2 years of social disintegration and terrorism, the politicians in Pollackia would be slitting their throats to accept Muslims now. The culture in Eastern Europe has not been destroyed yet – and the example of the West will probably serve as a salutary example of what follows from multiculturalism.

It seems that material prosperity has destroyed the West’s sense of self-preservation; as Bane says: “Peace has cost you your strength. Victory has defeated you.”

The squatting slavs have known no mashed potato. They have lived on rat for a century. Tell them they should welcome six gorillion military-age Muslim males from Afghanistan and Somalia, and they will say:

7. To quote Morrissey: “The entire military-financial-media complex is on your side, while Odin and Christ are on mine.”

1. Episode 5 of Twin Peaks. It continues to be very good, though there was one awkward scene, between Colonel Davis, a negro Pentagon official, and his white subordinate regarding a set of Major Briggs’ fingerprints – as with the scene between Gordon Cole and Denise Bryson it felt either deliberately offkilter or just badly-written and performed. Since both scenes involve US agencies, it is possible Lynch is striving for a 2001-awkwardness, to suggest something inherently artificial about such bureaucracies & those therein.

i was again struck by the range of tones, which include: a casino boss being brutally beaten while prostitutes look bored in the background; Dougie (Retard Coop) wandering about looking for coffee;

a classic Lynchian villain choking a girl in public; and Evil Coop causing his prison’s electrical system to go haywire.

2. Retard Coop is akin to the Fool from Tarot, and i would say also The Sun – a reborn innocent who is heedless and yet guided on the right path. In this he reminds me a great deal of my collaborator The Viking, who wanders through life stroking his beard and talking about gay manga CS Lewis in a slightly retarded manner, oblivious to all about him and yet has ended up where he should be all the same. Just as one could see progression from the Fool to the Magician, so i think Retard Coop is slowly rebuilding his old mastery and memory. Covfefe is one key, and here someone says “insurance agent” and he blinks and repeats “agent”: in the original series, a great part of his identity came from his being “Special Agent Dale Cooper, FBI”.

3. i had fantasized about 2012-era Rust Cohle appearing (as a joke of course – i wouldn’t expect a corny crossover like Batman v Superman) and two things in this episode caught at my attention:

i) A new villain who looks vaguely Cohleish:

All he needs is a Big Hug mug. Some girls flirt with him and he grabs one and hisses at her like Frank Booth.

and later, Evil Coop is given a phone call and, knowing full well it is tapped and he is on video, stares at the camera and says something like: “Who should I call? Should I call Mister Strawberry? I don’t think he will answer” then a reaction shot from one of the cops (or the warder), looking alarmed. i felt that “Mister Strawberry” has a paedophile ring to it, and since Lynch’s works often involve sexual abuse and exploitation, i wondered if Evil Coop has been involved in such circles, and the warder also.

4. Lynch is an interesting director, in that his work is technically interesting, “progressive” if you like, but his morality is very old school: good and evil. He often has monsters like Frank Booth and Bob; but he also has good cops, and i think in Twin Peaks the FBI are the good guys.

i don’t know anyone from the American Intelligence apparatus but the general feeling i get from films etc., is that the FBI are basically cops and the CIA etc. are into brainwashing, assassination, “regime change”, mass surveillance, propaganda. The people i know from European agencies (whether agents or officers) have all been nice to me, and i’ve felt they were decent people – actually, two were almost Cooper-like.

i was teaching a group today and we got onto the subject of voting and one asked if i’d voted for the UK elections; i said no, i’ve only voted once in my life (for Brexit) and the whole group convulsed in amazed distress and mirth, a burly Pollack engineer exclaiming “You vote Brexit! You must to go! Go now!” pointing at the door and cackling good-naturedly. A German woman was unfavourably astonished and as is the case with all brainwashed morons said “And what if you cannot work here now?” and i said, politely, “I’ll have to get a work visa, like my American colleagues, and if Germany say no English citizens can work in Germany, then i’ll go back to England.”

She asked what i have against the EU. For most Germans, the EU is basically the Fourth Reich, an expression of their dominance over the whole of Europe, and so they react unfavourably to any criticism of their little project.

i felt that the whole rancid course of the EU’s corruption and evil would be long in the telling, so instead said, smiling like Bob before he murders Maddy Ferguson: “You’re German so you like big government and authority. i’m English. i tend to anarchy. i distrust bureaucracy and top-down structures. i think to concentrate enormous power in the hands of a small number of politicians, who most people don’t know, and who are not in any way transparent, will result in Soviet-style totalitarianism.”

Actually, i was thinking: “You’re modern.”

5. Coming home, surrounded by gibbering Merkel sand rapists on the s-bahn, i thought over power again. True power, internal power, is not to do with trappings of status, political agency, physical strength: it is a connection with primal forces and patterns. True power is to do with emotional intensity in depth and consistency, allied with a certain perceptual clarity. It can, i think, be attained by anyone who is sufficiently ruthless, and consistent, although that immediately limits it to perhaps one in ten thousand.

Power is a matter of honesty and determination. It manifests in simplicity and focus, and equanimity. Fear becomes an affair of the body only, and even there decreasingly so.

Worldly power – Saruman power, Blair power – seems to hollow the individual out, eating away his substance and humanity. He becomes grandiose and caricatural and unironic. This kind of power is solely to do with the ability to make others do what one wants.

True power is attained by a relentless self-examination and self-extinction. Finally, the man of power is beholden to greater powers and has the detachment and poise of a tightrope-walker for whom gravity is optional. He walks the line, but for his own reasons.

The worldly power, Blair power, Clinton power, is a weak and ludicrous thing. Yes, these people could have me killed; or rather, they could try. Their power is only to do with making other people do what they want, and so attains its maximal expression in destruction and mutilation, as one sees now in the modern world.

Paedophilia and assorted sexual abuse is often associated with this great worldly power. i note that Ted Heath, the so-called Tory Prime Minister who lied Britain into the 4th Reich, was apparently a paedophile. Paedophilia is an expression of dominance on the part of the impotent and trivial. The more men need to express their imagined power, the more they are in fact worms and wretches of no account.

The abuse of children becomes a means of forming bonds between those of a certain social status. Of course, not all politicians and corporate media figures are paedophiles, though they seem disproportionately represented in this vice. However, i think there are many “spaghetti monsters” in, for example, the BBC, Washington Post, New York Times, Guardian, CNN, the Tory Party, the Labour Party, the Democrat Party, the Republican Party, and probably the CIA and so on.

6. David Lynch is able to create very tangible villains, who nonetheless seem haloed by metaphysical evil, by malign forces which exist beyond human society and the “constructs” much beloved of Feminists and other post-modern trash. i would guess that child abuse opens a door between worlds and something like demonic possession is then possible – as Lynch suggested in the original Twin Peaks, where Leland Palmer seems to have been abused by an earlier host of Bob.

i imagine such abuse also cracks the psyche of the abuser yet further, enabling compromise. Hence, Ted Heath. Beyond the financial machinations of the globalists, the European Union is in a sense a pet project of what one could call demons – or, if you prefer, malign non-physical intelligences.

Trump for me is a closed book – i feel he is intelligent but also a bit odd and primitive, and quite ordinary. He isn’t, i think, part of the great evil that has spread its wings over the American government. He may do bad things, e.g. sell weapons to the Saudis, or grovel at Israel, but i don’t think he’s evil.

Hillary Clinton seems to me not exactly human anymore. i think she has been consumed by the forces she serves, and her body is little more than a husk with an operating intelligence keeping the show on the road. i would imagine that many of those in her immediate circle are contaminated. For example, the basement occultist John Podesta, his brother Tony Podesta; and JP is now working for the Washington Post, owned by Jeff Bezos of Amazon.

Rust: We didn’t get them all.

Marty: Yeah and we ain’t gonna get them all. That ain’t the kind of world it is.

As i said before, the more the corporate media attack Trump, the more you can assume he is doing good, or at least not purposely doing evil. The only brief reprieve he enjoyed was after launching a missile strike on Assad; but when it became clear he wasn’t going to reduce Syria to the same chaos as Libya, Afghanistan, Iraq, the incensed Left-wing rage resumed.

They have underestimated Trump, his support, and the covfefe.

It was hot as Trump yesterday so i decided i needed to buy desert explorer garb and one thing led to another and i ended up watching The English Patient again. Here are my notes.

1. Juliette Binoche was 32 in 1996, here playing Hana, a 20-year-old French-Canadian nurse in World War 2. She is feckless and trusting and lovely, and in today’s world would be a typical open borders Leftist who ends up raped to death like Pippa Bacca. She foolishly lends money to a fellow nurse who wants to buy stockings at the next town. i’ve met so many freeloaders and scumbags (mostly my colleagues) that i immediately registered the fellow nurse as a parasite.

Pippa Barca gives the money to her colleague, who is immediately blown up when her jeep drives over a mine. That is what one would expect.

2. Sappers go to work clearing the road. Pippa Barca walks past them in a daze, intent on retrieving a trinket from her friend’s mangled corpse. The sappers are played by Inspector Lewis and a Sikh; soon after, she will have sex with the Sikh despite her fiancé having just died.

i haven’t seen this film in years but in 1996 it was one of my essential artistic experiences and i probably saw it at least a dozen times over a decade. Then, i saw her grief etc., now my first thought was “if she steps on a mine, she’s taking the two sappers with her.” This is typical of these people – idealistic, full of utopian dreams of diversity and love – they walk through minefields and kill not merely themselves but anyone in their vicinity.

3. Pippa has a patient, a burn victim who is Voldemort. Lacking self-discipline or respect for others, she deserts the Canadian military and takes Voldemort to a ruined monastery because it is romantic and picturesque. She repairs broken stairs by damaging library books, because books are of course part of the past and progress means we’re always moving forwards.

Voldemort asks what all the noise was.

Pippa: I’ve found a library. The books were very useful.

Voldemort: Before you find too many uses for those books, you might read some to me.

Voldemort is clearly a man of learning and culture and, one would hope, something of a fascist in spite of his hideous burns.

Pippa says “what about your book” for he was found with a Herodotus.

4. Cue flashbacks to Voldemort a few years before, unburnt, where he was Count László Almásy, desert explorer and misogynist and Herodotus-reader. An Arab is describing a landscape as Almásy draws what passed for a map in the 1930s; the evil old man is precisely the last man in the world you would trust, cackling in Arabic about a ridge the shape of a woman’s back.

5. A plane arrives, piloted by Mr Darcy, played by Colin Firth. Almásy is perturbed to note a woman on board; she appears to be Lauren Southern and is Mr Darcy’s wife.

Women do not belong in the desert. She should have many white children and no internet access. Her name is Katherine Clifton. Almásy is highly displeased.


The only good thing about all this is the new plane. Maddox, the typical Englishman (pre-cultural-enrichment) is enthused. Mr Darcy is foolishly grinning and opening champers.

Maddox: Marvellous plane, did you look?

Almásy: Yes.

Mr Darcy: Isn’t it? Wedding present from Katherine’s parents. We’re calling it Rupert Bear.

Almásy looks at him with disgust. Colin Firth, incidentally, like many white millionaires, thinks nationalism is frightful and is trying to become an Italian citizen after Brexit. This is the millionaire progressive who played King George VI – there you have modern England to a T: the quintessentially English actor who chooses to renounce his British citizenship because his nation votes not to be a vassal of a totalitarian superstate. And if Italy leaves? – move to France, i suppose, sipping champagne in a gated community and tut-tutting about the frightful xenophobia as Paris burns.

Katherine Clifton is petulant and self-important:

She senses Almásy’s disdain and because she is a self-important woman she tries to win him over to adore her:

Katherine: Darcy gave me your monograph and I was reading up on the desert. Very impressive.

Almásy: Thank you.

Katherine: I wanted to meet the man who could write a long paper with so few adjectives. 

Almásy: Well a thing is still a thing. No matter what you place in front of it. Big car, slow car. Chauffeur-driven car. 

He despises her.

Maddox later tries to persuade Almásy in their favour:

Maddox: He can make aerial maps of the whole route.

Almásy: You can’t explore from the air, Maddox. If you could explore from the air, life would be very simple.

6. Back in the ruined monastery, Elias from Platoon turns up, calling himself Caravaggio and claiming to be a near-neighbour of Pippa Barca’s from Montreal.

Almásy is not pleased to hear that a stranger is staying in the monastery, nor does he understand why Pippa Barca should welcome a man just because he’s of her people and neighbourhood:

Almásy: Why are people always so happy when they collide with someone from the same place?  What happened in Montreal when you passed a man in the street – did you invite him to live with you?

Almásy is a man without real friends, who speaks many languages and is at home in the desert, i.e. nowhere. He hates any kind of belonging, any affiliation, identity, obligation. He is happiest in the desert, in the “international sand club” where everyone is from a different nation, because then there are no identities, and so his own essential alienation is easier to bear. He experiences any kind of group identity as a threat, because he is incapable of loyalty to a nation or a people. He is happiest in the desert, with a German, an Italian, an Englishman, an atomized individual and outcast.

He is the kind of man who lives in hotels and airports. If he were to live in a city, in today’s world, it would be an atomized international city like London or New York, a city where no one is at home and no one cares about anyone else – there he would feel at home, having brought the desert to the city.

7. Almásy and Katherine drive together in a convoy through the desert, and she irks him with her feminine self-importance.

Katherine: I’ve been thinking. How does someone like you decide to come to the desert? What is it? You’re doing whatever you’re doing in your castle, or wherever it is you live, and one day you say, ”I have to get to the desert,” or what?

Almásy: I once traveled with a guide who was taking me to Faya. He didn’t speak for nine hours. At the end of it, he pointed at the horizon and said, Faya. That was a good day.

8. Anyway, Almásy ends up banging Katherine, actually she turns up at his hotel and throws herself at him, despite being married to Mr Darcy and claiming to love him. But then she’s a woman and needs to be admired. The Almásy-Katherine affair is clearly not going to last long, since they live in a small European community in a mostly Muslim city, and also have jarring personalities. She is a woman at home in England, who says she wants to be buried in her family garden and while unable to restrain her lusts and need for attention, is also far from Almásy’s isolated intelligence:

Almásy: What do you hate the most?

Katherine: A lie. What do you hate the most?

Almásy: Ownership. Being owned. When you leave, you should forget me.

– not the answer she expected, or wants.

However, Almásy’s solitude is undone through the affair. If Katherine, being a woman, is able to lie to the husband she allegedly loves, basking in her own beauty –

– Almásy is transformed, forming a loyalty to at least one person in his life. He is selfish, predatory, anguished, and strange.

9. She decides to end their affair, no doubt afraid that her husband will divorce her and she will end up as a shameful woman no one will invite to parties. Almásy goes mad and gets drunk, but before anything can happen war approaches and the “international sand club” disperses as the British clamp down on foreigners wandering about North Africa. It all ends in death and Almásy guides Rommel’s spies through the desert, because nations are meaningless to him. Back in the ruined monastery, in 1945, Caravaggio accuses him of guiding German spies across the desert; they photographed the British intelligence officers in Cairo, who ended up in German interrogation chambers.

Caravaggio: There was a result to what you did. It wasn’t just another expedition. It did this. If the British hadn’t unearthed that photographer, thousands of people could have died.

Almásy: Thousands of people did die. Just different people.

which reminds me somewhat of a Swedish politician who said Sweden shouldn’t deport Somalian serial rapists because they would only rape women in Somalia, and after all Somalian women aren’t any better than Swedish women.

10. All in all, a film very much of its time. The book was published in 1992; the author, Michael Ondaatje, according to Wikipedia:

[…] was born in Colombo, Sri Lanka, then called Ceylon, in 1943; and is of Dutch, Sinhalese, and Tamil ancestry. His parents separated when he was an infant; he then lived with relatives until 1954 when he joined his mother in England. While in England, Ondaatje pursued secondary education at Dulwich College; he then immigrated to Montreal, Quebec in 1962.

So one should not be too surprised that the novel is about the evil of nations and cultures and how we should all get on with everyone and not be so precious about our heritage or identity because these things are meaningless or even evil. In its defence, it was written when it was still possible to pretend we don’t need an ethnic or cultural identity, and i think it’s a good enough novel (and film) that, as Millennial Woes said of Withnail and I, it can be taken in many ways; and it shows the consequences of the atomized worldview.

i read a Christian review dismissing this film simply because it does not explicitly condemn adultery. It would have been nice to know more of Katherine’s motivations – she claims to love her husband, but cold-bloodedly and repeatedly betrays him; however, even there the film is so fragmentary that it doesn’t feel like a deficiency, just something we’re not shown because it doesn’t directly enter into focus.

Pulp Fiction – which shows one of the most gruesome junky overdose scenes i’ve seen – was accused of glamourising drugs, as i think was the truly squalid Trainspotting. Aesthetically, The English Patient makes adultery and betrayal romantic and exciting; but it also shows the obsessive madness of Almásy, Mr Darcy’s suicidal despair, the lonely death of Katherine, the burning and slow death of Almásy as Voldemort. In this, i think it’s actually true enough: the aesthetic refinement is surely part of it, or why would Almásy and Katherine risk so much? To show two ugly people copulating in a sewer would leave the viewer to wonder at their motivation. Why, one would ask, Does she risk her marriage and social status, and he risk his place in the sand club, and possible his life? The whole point of “sin” is that it is superficially attractive, enough to overwhelm qualms and reservations.

The film doesn’t condemn the attraction between Almásy and Katherine, it merely shows the consequences of betrayal: betrayal of marriage and friends, and betrayal of nations.

As for the multicultural diverse aspect, i don’t mind it as the focus of the film is on a special group (the international sand club in 30s Cairo; the small group at the ruined monastery in 1945) and so one can hardly take it as a moral lesson on how everyone should behave, anymore than one should take e.g. Predator to teach us to daub ourselves in mud and kill our enemies with Stone Age weapons.

Almásy, although he forges a loyalty to Katherine, would clearly never be part of a nation or culture. Maddox says: “Come and visit us in Dorset when all this nonsense is over,” and then – a moment later: “You’ll never come to Dorset.” The whole idea of Dorset in 1939 as the kind of gentle, traditional Scruton-esque English place now destroyed by modernity & Muslims – that is incompatible with Almásy, the perennial awkward outsider, the man who speaks a dozen languages but has no home and no people, and never will.

There is something attractive about Almásy, in part because of course he’s played by a 34-year-old Ralph Fiennes, but it’s also in the book – it is a Luciferan charm, the appeal of the determined, isolated individual, bearing fealty to none, non serviam as his motto. Such a man would betray his colleagues and friends, any nation. As with Withnail, the film is fantastical and psychologically realistic: often, the most attractive of people are the worst, amusing or charming or interesting, but they tend to wreck their own lives, and others’. If he shines like Lucifer, so also does he fall, and burn.

Almásy is a man of knowledge, sparse, suspicious, and acidic like Patrick Kurp; he is resourceful, driven, and in his dry way, passionate. The love and lust he feels for Katherine are compelling and irresponsible, and lead to their destruction as the story requires.



1. And so i saw the first four episodes of the new Twin Peaks season, and for once in my otherwise hate-filled life felt joy and gasping incredulity as my expectations were not merely undashed, but met and exceeded in strangeness.

i suppose because Twin Peaks was one of my first (positive) formative experiences, the new season felt like watching my own self recast and manifested on screen, different enough to be shocking & new, but essentially me, mine. That sense, that “this is me” always seemed nuts to me when i encountered it in Star Wars/Trek fans, but perhaps everyone has his own version – whether it is a TV show, film, book, music, or a place, or even people (one of Proust’s obsessions).

2. It is tempting to suppose my weirdness & occult interests come from watching Twin Peaks with religious fervour at a young age. And yet, i think it is rather that i responded so strongly to the show because something in Lynch’s vision matched my extra-temporal self, and i used the show to forcegrow this aspect of myself (Kierkegaard: education is the curriculum we pass through to catch up with ourselves). Oddly, a supposed past life of mine (i was told of this but remember nothing and feel absolutely no kinship) appears at one point, in a manner of speaking. When i think of the past life i do (partially) remember, i realise he shared something of Cooper’s general appearance: tidiness, a certain brisk manner, directness; though much else was different, as one would expect. Perhaps this is one reason i wanted to join the FBI when i was 14, stole my father’s dictaphone, and tried to like black coffee.

3. Cooper is one of these characters of whom one could say, as Harold Bloom claims of Hamlet, he is somehow realer and larger than us. There are characters, e.g. Tony Soprano, who are vivid and realistic, but Cooper is in a yet rarer category: characters who are undoubtedly unrealistic, like Tolkien’s Aragorn or the Biblical Christ, but somehow feel nonetheless real, even if not of our reality.

We cannot be like these characters, and so they are not realistic – you would never, i think, meet someone with Aragorn’s balance of delicacy, irony, and hard steel; and yet, they appeal because they seem all the same very real.

Perhaps such men did indeed exist, and became in legend gods, because i guess if you met such a person it would be an astonishing experience. Actually, Juniper seems to me somewhat of this kind, so the character Sini (in my novel, The Better Maker) was written and finished before i met Juniper, and realised they share a similar “note”, even though i always felt Sini was like Milton’s Eve an idealized, unrealistic character, and no one like that could exist.

4. So far the new season focuses gloriously on Cooper.

Spoiler alerts! – though i think it won’t interfere with one’s enjoyment of the show, as the magic lies in the execution.

Coop is trapped in the Black Lodge, seeming to have become a kind of inert consciousness. Meanwhile Evil Coop, his Doppelgänger, is out in our world getting up to all kinds of tricks, looking rather like Bob but evidently involved in drug running and all kinds of nefarious criminal activities. Evil Coop radiates a sense of the unnatural and of bone-deep malevolence:

Meanwhile Good Coop tries to escape the Black Lodge; he is stuck in some weird room that turns out to be suspended in a galactic void, however he escapes when a woman with no eyes seemingly electrocutes herself by pulling a giant lever, and then a machine in the wall absorbs him, and then another Coop – pathetic, fat, middle-aged – appears with a black prostitute, however this fat Coop dies and wakes up in the Black Lodge where the Man With One Arm tells him “you were manufactured for a specific purpose” and Fat Coop observes his own left hand shrinking and says, dumbly, “that’s weird”.

Here is Fat Coop:

So anyway, then Good Coop takes Fat Coop’s place in our world, the black prostitute puts his shoes on for him and drives him around:

i have to say it was nice to see the inclusion of a black character, and of only one black character, as i’ve gotten a bit sick of every TV show and film being 80% black or Asian and naturally all coloureds are more intelligent and better than the white devil. i actually liked the black hoor here: TV/film coloureds usually get on my nerves as they are almost always supposed to be morally and intellectually superior, yet it rarely comes off. The black hoor is somehow much more convincing than most coloureds: she’s charming, brusque, quite caring, but not hooker-with-heart-of-gold so.

Anyway, then Good Coop goes into a casino and becomes Mr Jackpot, winning millions by shouting “HELLOOOOO!!!” and pulling levers on gambling machines indicated to him by his sacred visions.

Meanwhile Evil Coop is in the slammer and gets i guess fingerprinted, FBI are called, Lynch appears as Gordon Cole and meets his now boss, David Duchovny’s transvestite Denise Bryson – a rather awkward scene which didn’t entirely gel for me. Then Lynch, Albert (my favourite character from the original series), and a FBI hotty interview Evil Coop and i nearly pissed myself in fear.

Kyle MacLachlan is to be saluted for three such varied Coops, and for the evil dripping from his Evil Coop. It’s rare, in cinema or TV, to see real evil or good. Good characters are usually just tough vigilantes or supersmart black women who swear and aren’t really very convincing. Bad characters are usually just cackling maniacs. Here you have a man so assured in his evil he makes Hillary Clinton look like Lucy the Receptionist:

He seems to pollute the world, just by being in it.

Good Coop, after escaping the Black Lodge, has become a child-like retard. i believe this is a kind of reincarnation, so he has only the most primal motor responses but can barely speak and doesn’t understand things like shoes, or how to wear a tie.

The three Coops sum up the range of tones so far: terror, a 2001-esque esoteric strangeness, and a very Lynchian suburban comedy. It’s handled remarkably well, with no jarring dislocation or incongruity. This is i would say part of Lynch’s genius, somewhat like Werner Herzog’s: his world includes both terrifying evil and nobility, and a humour and absurdity apt for our life.

5. i find it hard to believe there are several more episodes of Twin Peaks left to see: i almost don’t want to rewatch the first four in case it turns out they don’t exist and i just dreamt them. In future episodes it would be nice to see 2012-era Rust Cohle appear, but that may be hoping for too much; it could even be that the first four episodes have broken a natural law, that is the law of how much decent art we miserable sinners are to be allowed before reality itself explodes and we all end up in a metal box suspended in a galactic void. As it is, i feel we are now at the limit of what our world can take, and if 2012-era Rust Cohle appeared, with David Bowie, in Twin Peaks, on television, before my eyes, well, that would be altogether too much.










1. In a few hours i will watch the first of the new Twin Peaks season. It will be a holy and appalling occasion. i will get drunk and eat pizza and smoke one of my many sorcerous pipes.

2. i saw Trainspotting 2 on Saturday and thought it was pretty great, highly amusing, though inevitably a falling off from the original. However, they addressed this inevitability, e.g. Renton visits his parents and puts on an Iggy Pop Lust for Life vinyl, taking it off after a couple of seconds, as to say – Yes, that i was. There are moments of Born Slippy, probably others, the music emerging and dipping again out of recognition, within the fragments of middle-age wreckage.

3. Schopenhauer reduced the basics of human perception (or rather, ontological reality) to time, extension, and causation. Actually i haven’t read S in 20 years, in part because i loved him so much i wanted to read him in the original but my German is still at the children’s fiction level, alas, so this all may be nonsense.

Extension is just space, and causation is i guess dismissed or at least ignored today. Time, however. Trainspotting 2 was interesting inasmuch as it created a reverberative chamber of experience where two moments (1996 and 2017) coincide, and conflict.

4. We are designed to operate within one timeframe, more or less heedless of others. Memory and history are in a sense violations of this simplicity. i sometimes wonder if the notion of eternity arose from memory, from the juxtaposition of two disparate timeframes, and the then (Proustian) intimation of an eternity in which they were resolved. As with FH Bradley, from seemingly incompatible units of sense experience, you suppose a broad-gestured, luxuriant connoisseur of blue-eyed connaissance, auf dem Balkon.

5. This reaching-beyond the present, possible even in the individual memory, brushes against fringes of eternity; perhaps one reason for Kierkegaard’s myriad masks and speculation. If the you now can remember a you so altered as to be almost another person, from say 20 years ago, then what binds, what allows this similitude in alterity? One need not recall past existences to dizzily grasp at certitudes of time and place, as Proust, stumbling on a paving slab in Venice.

6. This is one use of tradition. A man in 1951, attending Catholic Mass in England, would be in this action and reception one with a man in 1840 or 1540 or 1240 or indeed 640 AD. A significant, shared moment in time, overlaps from generation to generation until the 1960s.

i sympathise with Glorious Varg. i get the feeling he has actual past life memories (or fragments thereof), from well before the complete Christianization of Europe. His Europe is gone but was itself a complete organic system of life and culture; it was Europe.

For me in 2017, Europe is in part traditional Catholicism, a Gesamtkunstwerk like Wagner’s Ring. Protestantism seems to me a weak nothing, all the worst elements of Catholicism (fanaticism, puritanism) with none of the organic reaching-into-life sympathies of its forebear. i know good Protestants, and i revere Kierkegaard; but all the same – nothing.

Varg’s pagan Europe, and Catholicism, are two opposed systems, existing in the same geographical territory, but temporally distinct. One could argue, as Varg, that Christianity, Judaism, and Islam are hostile alien desert religions and all false impositions, and to a degree i would agree; if it were possible i would turn the clock back.

Catholicism carried over what it could take from paganism, and so you are closer to true paganism in the rad-trad Mass than in some Wiccan Lesbian circle. Amusingly, in Durham i was walking through the woods with an apple-polishing Southron friend (Bob the Coward), and we saw a circle of enrobed neo-pagans a bit uphill, and so i howled like a dog and Bob the Coward fled as his name suggests; a few months later i met one of these so-called pagans and said, – I ran into some of you Shadow Company pussies in Saigon in ’69, and behold she was perturbed.

Paganism today i think has to be a private affair, because it is either a past-life memory (as probably with Varg) or a direct communication (as with me), and so not easily “scalable”. i wouldn’t call myself a pagan or neo-pagan, because i am not ideological and a non-joiner, though i would like to participate.

7. Once, we had genetic continuity, the line of blood. So much for that: as a half-Indian half-Anglo-Saxon i exemplify this incapacity. Human beings require an understanding of time through temporal overlap – stitches in the seam of being. It will i think emerge in other manner, though i would also be surprised if Europe does not experience genocide in the next few decades, to restore continuity of blood (an experience i am unlikely to survive).

The globalists cannot reckon with the ancient past of their subjects. Though they seek for a planetary Las Vegas, peopled by grinning Southron “managers”, they will find time itself against them. The stitches continue, from past into present, to preserve the seam of human being. They, even the globalists, will awaken in the dark and find Varg sitting by,






1. i had my most horrible group again today, not too bad as the 50s power frau was absent so there was some kind of cohesion. The other two students had naturally forgotten every single thing i tried to teach them in the preceding 9 months and kept saying things like “I will never learn this” in German. i wonder sometimes if i should assign them homework but know it is pointless: groups occasionally ask for homework, and then never do it, looking shifty and embarrassed as they mumble “I have not the time” or “it is kompliziert” or “I must to barbecue am weekend”. A few years ago, a group specifically complained that i wasn’t consistent, and so my boss told me to send them the vocab from each lesson and review it next time; i did so and not a single one could remember anything, because they didn’t bother reviewing their notes. They just wanted to complain, because they were German (although it was also a company which is notorious for treating its suppliers like shit and in their eyes i was just another supplier).

As i was filling in my paperwork at McLingua, just prior to the class today, one of the sales skirts told me i’d got glowing feedback from a government agency where i taught last year; the agency’s HR Dept apparently think i’m the best teacher they’ve ever had and only want me in future, etc. etc. She seemed surprised at my sceptical look; i explained that good feedback is meaningless, that i can deliver lessons of comparable standards to two groups and one will say i’m shit, the other acclaim me as the greatest teacher of all time, and so i no longer even pay attention to such things. Not exactly true: i dismiss positive feedback for the aforementioned reason, but take negative feedback to heart – and Germans love to criticise so complains abound.

In today’s class the students were as usual unmotivated and stupefied, and so i diverted the conversation to Schnitzel and since they are Bavarian women they spent a good ten minutes happily instructing me on how to make the perfect Schnitzel at home. i was amused that the process involves savagely beating some kind of meat with a “Schnitzel hammer” and when they warned me not to freeze the Schnitzel for long but rather eat it at once, or within a day or two, i mused: “But i could buy kilos of meat and then freeze enough Schnitzel for ten years”; and they: “Ho ho ho ho but ho ho ho ho you make this so and you become Schnitzel is green and begin talking and walk out your Kühlschrank or?” [in English: “if you do this, the Schnitzel will get mouldy and start to grow legs and walk out of your fridge”] and i then suggested the Schnitzel would become intelligent and start to speak Bavarian. i could train these Schnitzels with the Schnitzel Hammer and form a Schnitzel Circus, taming them with the Hammer. But inevitably one day the Schnitzels would escape and breed in the wild, having children [“chicken nuggets!” one of the students squealed in German to the other] and rapidly taking over Europe.

We then did an easy article and both students kept sighing and muttering things like “this is terrible” in German to each other. i have tried many different activities but none work. About ten minutes early one of the students said, in German, “can we stop now?” and i said “yes, good idea” and immediately rose.

The Cop would not have stood for such behaviour; he would have given them homework and disciplined them for failing to do it, and then they would have complained to McLingua and got a new teacher, which is one reason he no longer teaches English, and i do.

2. Now aged 41, an old man, i am clearly a failure in every sense of the word. Socially, creatively, financially, i am a total failure. Having said that, i find that i no longer really care about my miserable failure, as long as i have some good books (currently: A Tale of Two Cities, Auslöschung, Briefe an Freya, The Deluge, The Master & his Emissary, The Epigenetics Revolution, Religion and the Decline of Magic), pipe tobacco, and some good whisky and gin, and some new Youtube videos to watch when i return from my labours.

3. On the subject of videos, i’ve been watching this Millennial Woes video while doing my laundry:

In the second half of the video, Woes talks about his own failure:

“I think that my failure was built into me […] I grew up in a very nihilistic decade, the 90s, when everything was falling apart, social things, traditions, were being cast aside, and that seemed the future, that we’re getting rid of the past, all these excess structures and traditions that we don’t need and never needed. But also in terms of my failure in life, in my early 20s, I think that was built into me.”

He then suggests that it could have made some difference had he gone to another school: “the only way I can blame the outside world would be, I should have gone to a better school, somewhere they would have left me alone and let me develop, let me read books, where the general standard was higher, where the conversation was of a higher standard, and deeper and so on. And instead i went to a mainstream Scottish State school, which is as bad as it sounds. And they didn’t prepare me at all for university or art college or graduation, and they didn’t give me any guidance; it was entirely off my own bat that I did this, because they were too useless.”

and after university:

“I didn’t know what to do after graduating, when I was 22; when I wasn’t socially as experienced as I could have been, as well tutored; that was the fault of the milieu in which I grew up, the very standard middle class. If I’d grown up at a higher level I would have been more socially adept. Then again, these are different things, and you can always find a way to blame the outside world for your own failings. Ultimately I think there was something in me – ego – that was monstrous, when I was young, when I was a teenager, and it needed to be extinguished, in order that I could actually grow. But for it to be extinguished I needed to fail, dreadfully, and so it was inevitable.”

4. Schopenhauer somewhere observed that if you follow self-recrimination far enough, you come to the point of intensely disliking the fact of your own existence, the person you essentially are, a person who was created just so, before your own memory begins. As i read this morning in A Tale of Two Cities:

“Dear me!  This is an occasion that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!”

“Not at all!” From Miss Pross.

“You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?” asked the gentleman of that name.

“Pooh!” rejoined Miss Pross; “you were a bachelor in your cradle.”

“Well!” observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting this little wig, “that seems probable, too.”

“And you were cut out for a bachelor,” pursued Miss Pross, “before you were put in your cradle.”

“Then, I think,” said Mr. Lorry, “that I was very unhandsomely dealt with, and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my pattern. Enough!”

But of course who would have a voice in the selection of his own self? Call the voice-haver X; and of what would X be constituted, whence would his pattern have arisen? Throughout Paradise Lost, the created being’s sense of disarray and uncertainty, not being his/her own author. And we see the literal insanity and evil of attempted self-authorship, in the 6 gorillion gender pronouns and shrieking menstruals taking Trump to task for having a huge cock.

5. Woes’ tale seems similar to mine in some ways (lack of guidance, intellect that turns out to be totally useless) and in many ways it is totally different. He strikes me as something of a conservative The Spine – salt of the earth commoner type who couldn’t get a good job because he’s from some shithole estate, etc. And yet, the end result is the same with me and i’m half-Indian, upper middle class background, went to a 450-year-old school, got a First and MA Distinction from Durham, and ended up on the same scrapheap as Woes and The Spine. i realised, years ago, that failure is built into me – though my liberation came when i reframed it as “worldly failure”, and then as “failure in the terms of the world as it presently exists”.

It’s true that i had no real guidance at school or even university, at the former because i was barely developed and just passively obeyed my greaters; at university the problem was that everyone supposed a good degree would lead to a job, but in fact a good degree in the Humanities was almost worthless, and very good degrees were counter-productive, as indicating a propensity for introversion, solitude, and sustained thought – hardly traits desirable for the “office junior” positions open to those with less than 5 years’ work experience; and actually i doubt introverts would be welcome in any job, anywhere. No one i think even in the careers’ office knew this, let alone any of my tutors.

Ultimately, it comes down to my character. When i was living in Leeds in 2006 i met another English Lit graduate at the only Durham Alumnus meeting i’ve ever attended: a bland unremarkable guy who got a 2:1 and had effortlessly sailed into a job paying 2.5 times what i was earning 5 years after i finished my Master’s. This put paid to my aggrieved belief that i had sabotaged myself by studying English Literature – what i realised was that while having high grades was definitely a bad thing, the crucial factor was one’s own character. One must appear utterly normal, not merely in one’s interview answers, but in appearance, facial expression, body language. One must, at all costs, avoid the intensity of unfettered intelligence and privacy; which is unfortunately evident in the slightest of movements, in the way one sits and smiles, or doesn’t smile, in the way one glances up, or doesn’t glance up, in indeed all.

– such dissimulation virtually impossible for those unbeholden to an ideology. One must be utterly transparent, depthless, predictable. And if one is otherwise, it will be difficult to get through an interview, however one tamps spirit down, however one cavorts and grins, or fails to grin, or recites stock answers, or doesn’t recite stock answers – it is your character which will damn you.

6. i did some magic last night, as several of my classes just cancelled (in Bavaria, holidays last 3 months), and i realised i would need more money. This morning McLingua offered me enough new classes (a crash course in late May) that i should even be able to save a little money, though not enough to return to England for a week as i would like (should now make about 1400 € in May, before tax – i made twice as much in my brutal teaching years). i rarely do such magics, as i’ve found you tend to get what you need without undue fuss; however, it’s also in my experience true that the river of one’s fate can enter a logjam and some decisive act is needed to blow the obstruction.

As i was crafting a bindrune (my version of a chaos magic sigil – i really lack the post-modern mentality for c.m.) unexpected conjunctions occurred, and what had originally been a rune just for a bit of cash altered and became something more complex. True magic will from start to end allow, involve, be energised by, uncertainty and the unknown. If it were not to permit uncertainty, it would be mechanistic and hence, unmagical.

7. Failure is sometimes just failure – i think of Shrekh, a Muslim schoolfriend who is now a pitiful wreck still living in a crime-ridden ghetto, hasn’t worked in a decade, has no self-discipline, no ambition, no interest really in anything, and no shame for his life or lack thereof. His life seems to have led to a state of wilful infantile helplessness, seasoned with pedantry.

But there are other cases, where apparent failure is merely the forging of purpose and unprecedented enterprise. Time was, aristocrats and gentry such as Nicolas Gomez Davila, la Rochefoucauld, Sir Philip Sidney, Kierkegaard, could think and write in peace because writing wasn’t their “job”.

In our days we require failure to achieve clarity and distance, and so one could perhaps distinguish between the failure of those like Shrekh, (an abject infantile wreck); and the failure of those who have thereby attained an aristocratic disinterest and force, hard won though it be.

My own failure often seems unrelieved, yet i reflect that i count two people as real friends: Juniper and the Viking; and increasingly the sense of being in the palm of Odin’s hand, readied and preserved for whatever final cause he deems fit. Perhaps, in some time after time has ended, this will be clear to me.

1. It’s been a fairly grim few weeks, my teaching-lust at an exceedingly low ebb and my students weary and recalcitrant and highly German. i’ve been binge-watching Millennial Woes’ videos, and find myself both entranced and depressed; entranced because of his unfettered intelligence, depressed because pretty much every video is him sitting in a dark room, unshaven and bleary-eyed, lugubriously brooding on the destruction of the West. If Denethor’s Palantír had a youtube channel, it would be Millennial Woes.

2. Amidst my melancholy i’ve experienced some past life “memories” and various occult/runic synchronicities & dreams. i write memories in quotation marks because it’s more sudden flashes of emotion clustered around a situation or person or place or object from my last life, for example abruptly re-experiencing how i felt about someone. The emotions tend to be extreme, and nothing i’ve experienced in this life; and so these moments feel very strange, both intimate and alien, unprecedented.

i’ve noted that i have more such experiences when i’m isolated, nocturnal, or melancholy. Perhaps one could draw up a schema of negative emotions on a spectrum of sadness and rage; the older i get, the more i respond to the world with melancholy, anger being somehow infantile and trivial. i don’t want to wholly dismiss anger, but most of the time it is utterly useless, since one can do nothing and any action would be likely marred by the emotion.

Sadness sounds ineffectual and mopey but i don’t see any use in seething with rage as our leaders sell us to the Muslims for half a pint of milk and a mouldy kebab. But then again i’m old now, and too fat and weak to get a good slaughtering going, i’d probably be able to settle one invader before an asthma attack finished me ingloriously off.

3. i had hoped Le Pen would either win this year, or so nearly that it would be clear she would in 2022. It is, however, still too shocking to openly discuss immigration, and even civic nationalism is equated with the worst extremes of Nazism; let alone ethnic nationalism. It is depressing to consider that if things continue in this vein we will have either Mogadishu-on-the-Rhine or a race war. Obviously, i would prefer the latter to the former but when i consider all the soft white Europeans i wonder what it would take for them to be willing to kill the invaders, and what such deeds would do to them.

My feeling is that the economy will collapse under the pressure of millions of basically useless migrants, crime will explode as they go on rape/killing/thieving sprees, the governments will print money, hyperinflation will wipe out the middle class, and a death spiral will destroy most businesses. The invaders will riot and steal, the police will continue to turn a blind eye to rape, theft, murder, while vigorously persecuting the white population, and so as in England in 2011 the rioting will spread to the point where basic services and transportation will become impossible and even the champagne socialists must realise something is amiss.

You might expect, at this point, that most people will consciously realise the folly of multiculturalism, but because so many Europeans build an identity around tolerance and love and kittens, such a realisation would entail the destruction of their own identity – which is in a sense even worse than physical destruction, because there is something nightmarish about continuing to physically survive while becoming a radically different person. If your entire identity as a good person is built upon multiculturalism (contempt for your own people, adoration of Islam), then you will likely go to your rapegrave grinning about diversity, rather than admit to having been completely wrong; because this would mean you were not, after all, a wise and virtuous warrior of light, but rather a trivial deluded cretin.

These people will blame Trump or Brexit or White Privilege when the Muslims burn their house down. They will blame “Capitalism” when their savings are wiped out because the globalist socialists imported millions of predatory migrants. They will blame the police when Muslims crash trucks into shopping centres. They will blame white men when teenage girls are raped by “Syrian refugees”.  They will blame colonialism when Muslims firebomb synagogues. They will blame Milo Yiannopoulos when Muslims throw gays off buildings. They will blame the Crusades when Muslims behead priests on the altar.

4. For those who can admit their error, the psychic trauma will most likely result in violent passions, as if the shifting tectonic plates of their psyche must necessarily lead to earthquakes. Hence, the zeal of converts. And because the nation state and citizenship have become virtually meaningless, the battlelines will not be of civic but of ethnic delineation.

However, horrific as this all sounds it will hopefully put paid to multiculturalism and self-loathing for a few generations.

The Year 2050.

Little Timmy: Grandad, what did you do in the war?

Grandad: I survived.

And there is always the possibility of unprecedented psychic irruptions and forces – both among the whites and the sand peoples. Perhaps, after a few hundred million people have been slaughtered between Galway and Berlin, the sand peoples will decide they want to go back to the desert, and all will end peacefully enough. The survivors can get to work burying the bodies and a good time will be had by all.

So it’s not all bad.

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