1. Millennial Woes started a series on the media response to each exploding/stabbing Mohammed, on the grounds that there isn’t much to say about the acts themselves (either recent immigrant or a homegrown Jihadi, usually a petty criminal “known to the police” – nothing remarkable in the West). i likewise find the Harvey Weinstein scandal uninteresting (powerful Hollywood American with German surname supports Hillary Clinton and also sexually abuses women!) but it’s interesting to consider what’s going on behind the scenes. As ever, the corporate media signals the favour or disfavour of the elites (just look at their brief u-turn on Trump when he ordered a strike against Syria).

2. Everyone knew about Weinstein. The stories were however repeatedly killed by the corporate media:

When Maddow asked why Farrow’s feature ended up at The New Yorker rather than at NBC, where he is employed as a correspondent, he replied, “You would have to ask NBC and NBC executives about the details. I’m not going to comment on any news organization’s story that they did or did not run.”

3. But now it’s open season on Weinstein. Why? It’s certainly not in the interests of the liberal elites to show their Democrat darlings up as squalid sexual operators. i presume that Weinstein pissed off the wrong people, people higher up than him. And now his life is more or less ruined and i would guess he knows quite a lot about not only his echelon, but his immediate superiors in the demonic hierarchy, and so – well, i wouldn’t be surprised if he accidentally drops a barbell on his own throat in the gym, or shoots himself twice in the back of the head, or a robber will shoot him in the back and then not take anything. The nature of these deaths themselves are interesting – i think deliberately clumsy, as it were sending a double signal: to the normies it’s just an accident, to those who might betray their demonic masters, a robbery where nothing is stolen is a warning – behave, you!

4. So now the whole of Hollywood is suddenly, on cue, appalled. And when instructed, they will all forget about it. Surreal, isn’t it? On an occult level, the intensely strange nature of Hollywood, of actors, attracts certain grotesque and malign elements. Collective atmosphere can open doors that shouldn’t be opened (or that should) and when i consider the self-righteous hypocrisy of men like Ben Affleck or George Clooney, the levels of commitment and imaginative focus needed to be a great or even a good actor, the little created world of a film, which can reach out and transform a significantly broader reality (the influence of Star Wars, for example), then i think one would see a strange turmoil of ritualistic energy about Hollywood. And that attracts certain forces and forms; indeed, it invites them:

1. i was in McLingua the other day, talking to a Mooing Cow: this is one of the standard types among English teachers: young, American, Left-wing, female, slightly pudgy, gormless expression, tends to walk around sighing, God, I’m so tired!, and i saw she had a new class at a company i’m also at once a week. i told her how to get there and because i can get there quite easily (bus then u-bahn then walking, so i can avoid the almost permanently dysfunctional s-bahns) i was on the verge of exhorting her to take the number blah blah blah bus from Elberryville to such-and-such a u-bahn station, then the U-blah to blah, then realised, Wait a minute she doesn’t live in Elberryville, at best the final u-bahn station is relevant to her.

Later i reflected that because i like the commute (it only takes an hour from door to door, and i like buses) i wanted to recommend it to her, and so ignored its almost total irrelevance for her needs. Directions are useless unless you share a starting point as well as a goal.

2. This is a general pattern of response for human beings. A few months ago i met a woman who used to work at McLingua (she’s now a HR boss somewhere). We were at the Weisses Bräuhaus on the Tal and she first summoned the typically surly Bavarian waitress and in her poncy German asked for vegetarian dishes, then when told there were none to be had asked what she could get without pork, meriting another surly look since virtually everything on the menu has the word Schwein in it.

i made the mistake of saying i wouldn’t eat because i only had 6 Euros in my bank (i should have told her i wasn’t hungry). She exploded, in her cosmopolitan luvvie accent, – Oh my God, that’s terrible! That’s really shocking! Really, you should sue McLingua! – and then insisted on buying soup for me.

i should have just said, Actually, your stupid poncy voice has put me off eating, but being Mr Tact i shrugged and let her buy me soup that i didn’t particularly want. She then spent the next hour haranguing me for my life choices, while i tried to eat my soup and felt miserable and trapped by the life choice of letting her order food for me.

3. She’s not a bad person but a typical progressive – she speaks in a passionate la-di-da plummy accent, full of shallow conviction on every subject under the sun, for example she told me Donald Trump is literally an idiot, the man is totally stupid. He’s really a Russian spy and then, when i exploded with laughter (bits of soup spraying over the table) she added authoritatively, – I’ve done a lot of research and he’s totally controlled by Putin.

She exhorted me to go for office jobs, for example as a translator. i told her my German is nowhere near good enough to translate and she said, – Don’t tell them that! You have to fake it a bit! – then, when she saw my look of disdain, – God, Elberry! You’ve got to learn to be strategic.

That’s apparently the new word for lying. i told her i did 20 office jobs in England and would rather live an uncertain life doing a job i half-like than a 9 to 5 in something i hate, something i’m bad at. She of course wasn’t having it and kept pointing to my poverty as a sign of my failure in life, and as is the way of such folk (always women) she took this as an invitation to harangue me to, as it were, follow her directions from her spiritual starting point (Progressive egotism) to her goal (worldly status).

What a stupid cow.

4. Over time my general map has become increasingly occult, so where 20 years ago it would have been fairly comprehensible to the normies, it is now more like a personal grimoire. i’ve found that certain acts please my hamingja, while others weaken it:  lying always leaves me beset by mishap & awkwardness, though very occasional theatricality & deception seems fine – the difference here seems that the latter is not for personal gain or ego but is more of a spiritual manoeuvre, and typically exercised for purposes of high mirth or to create a magical space, to as it were temporarily exit normality. When i contemplated Prog Power Woman, i felt keenly that she was spiritually astray, with a weakened, modern hamingja, at odds with her world because she is an atomized, cosmopolitan egotist who exercises dominance over others under the guise of benevolence.

i decided never to see her again, as i don’t see any way to communicate with people like this. It was, however, interesting that she instinctively recognised the magical power in buying food for someone, and used it to control my presence, so i couldn’t simply get up and go but had to calmly finish my soup and then tell her how grateful i was for her charity if not for the bullshit coming out of her stupid progressive cow mouth.

i don’t even like soup.

1. July 16, 1945.

2. “This, of course, was The Atom Bomb, the most dangerous and destructive energy ever manipulated by man on earth. Physically, it means our world can be reduced to radioactive ruins in minutes, its millions of inhabitants incinerated in the hottest hell mankind has ever made for himself. Mentally and spiritually, its mere existence has altered us and therefore our Tradition forever on this poor planet. There is another and even more deadly danger the Bomb brought with it which seems to be unrealized except among occult individuals.

“In some way not yet realized, all our radioactive explosions, experiments, and contrivances have made it possible for an altogether alien influence of what could be called “anti-life” to be drawn to us. This cannot be classed as “Evil” in any ordinary sense at all, and yet its long-term effects on us could prove fatal in the worst sense imaginable. It is inimical to our inner evolution purely out of necessity to itself rather than animosity to us, and indeed has no “feelings” of any kind whatever as we would recognize the word. What has happened is that our mishandling of fissionable elements opened up entirely unauthorized and automatic paths between our states of existence and what might be termed conditions of “contra-cosmos.” 

(William Gordon Gray, An Outlook on Our Inner Western Way)

3. i feel something did alter in the West after 1945, not merely on a sociological level, but metaphysically. As above, so below, as they say – i don’t necessarily think the atomic bomb caused this shift, or vice versa; but say rather they went together; and perhaps the bomb didn’t so much open a portal to malign entities, as close a chink in human consciousness.

The post-war period seems to me divisible into 1945-1989, and 1989 to the present; this second stage is nihilistic, bestial, technocratic. i note, idly, that Twin Peaks first aired in 1990, and given Lynch’s occult inclinations i wonder if there is another shift occurring now:

4. i was today strolling at twilight around the nearby lake and passed a couple using their smartphones as flashlights in the rain, and averted my eyes to preserve my night vision. i find it emblematic of the modern Germans, that they do not trust their eyesight, smell, and hearing, but instead use a very short-lived technology to light up a very small section of their path.

i was walking the same route a few days ago, at late twilight, and sensed, then saw what turned out to be a hedgehog in my path, and slowed to allow it to scuttle into the bushes; i have bad eyesight but have walked in woods at night without problems, as could anyone, or at least anyone not ruined by cities and technology. i would recommend twilight walking, in unlit areas, for anyone interested in the occult: the senses come to life, even eyesight operates at an unusual pitch, and one starts to perceive differently, more acutely, and one’s rhythm is accommodated to the environs (so, for example, i didn’t stop or swerve because that would have merely alarmed the already alarmed hedgehog).

5. At a certain crossroads i invoked Wotan and the rain shuddered about me; there were old forms following through the trees, conscious again.

If 1945 and the bomb signaled the unnatural closing of a portal, i trust that our times will see a kind of anti-atomic-bomb, an integration of that which has been torn asunder and scattered. That which was real and passed into dream may be again, since to be human is to dwell upon dream; Proto-Indo-European had the optative, and so may it be.

1. i’ve been doing a lot of writing recently, on computer; typos abound, sometimes letter substitutions, sometimes totally different words, e.g. “want” instead of “watch”.

This never happens with handwriting, nor so frequently when i write on one of my manual typewriters, perhaps because there is no delete key, perhaps because it feels (and is) more directly physical.

How differently we experience our own thought when we make so many errors, when error is so easily corrected.

2. People often suppose that we have the thought, fully-formed, and then express it with language. Instead, a kind of presence builds, vaguely, and we begin to speak or write; and the utterance creates the thought. It is not a matter of midwifing the thought, but rather of creating it with language.

3. i get most of my “news” from Youtube now: for a fuller sense of the person who creates the thought. i always found corporate media tedious – as with school, it felt wooden and mechanical. There was very little humanity to it – and by humanity i mean anything authentic (for good or ill). My father tried to force me to read the dreary Times every day and i leafed through it hoping for a good war or cannibal outbreak, but alas it was always tedious grey-haired London faggots writing about the junior undersecretary for trade’s latest tax incentive. Fuck that shit, thought i, i shall play Dune 2 and read David Gemmell.

The authentic will win out over time, which is one reason Social Justice Warriors try to co-opt and pervert non-ideological works such as Ghostbusters or Lord of the Flies or Thor or Star Trek/Wars: they want to destroy the original as much as possible, to put it in the “memory hole” and overwrite it with their Politically Correct Feminist, egalitarian Marxshit. It’s a sign of our degenerate times that Star Trek for example was always a progressive, globalist show – but by today’s standards it is appallingly misogynistic and Capitalist Imperialist and racist and sexist and homophobic and xenophobic and Islamophobic and Patriarchicacalifragilisticexpialidocioustistic and so must be overwritten.

The Left wish to consign the past to the memory hole because it’s easier to say “we never had real Communism” if people aren’t aware that every time it’s been attempted the results, for some odd reason, are always horrific; and because the original Star Trek (and TNG) while frequently silly & leftist, have a levity & nuance & zany weirdness

not to be found in today’s shrieking Left – and thus must be overwritten. Kirk would shit on these modern menstruals with his whacky antics and huge phallus, therefore he must be forgotten.

4. Youtube allows something like the spontaneity and authenticity of one-to-one conversation. If, for example, i read that blacks & whites don’t integrate in America, that may or may not be true; however, when Toddball told me he had black friends as a child in Chicago but as soon as they entered “middle school” (or something similarly American) his black friends automatically self-segregated and would only hang out with other negroes, i can judge this to be probably true – i have his facial expressions, his body language, his voice, and my knowledge of him and my read of his character.

5. Bryan Appleyard, if i recall correctly, wrote (in Understanding the Present) that the modern worldview is of the universe without a human viewer, a universe in which human beings are merely objects, data. The so-called scientific objectivity has leaked out into our wider culture, so newspapers have their house style and one of my more intelligent university tutors had a paper rejected as being “not academic style” – the aim is to remove the individual, the particular perspective, and attain a denatured objectivity.

i reach for as full a context as possible, to understand just who is speaking. When i discovered blogs, in 2005, i was stirred more by the authentic strange character of these strange people writing whatever nonsense or sense: Bryan Appleyard, KurpThe Grumpy Old Bookman, Ensio Kataja, Longsword, Brit, Richard MadeleySteven Moore, than by their particular content. Now most of the above have died of drink i find myself more interested in Youtube. Here is an old video by Millennial Woes who seems to me an evidently decent human being, and to have not mere facility with language, but a meditative, unscripted ease & fluency; and he values the individual and the group:

6. While language clearly can and is often used to deceive or for malign ends, the fuller the context the harder this is. The corporate media makes for a flat, ahistorical perspective; i would say, to use Nassim Taleb’s terms, one should have skin in the game, be involved and both perceive and present as full and unmitigated a context as possible.

1. i’ve often been criticised for thinking in terms of character and talking about people i know. And yet, i think one can project social and political forms from the individual. On one of his videos Jordan Peterson said, regarding the entry of women into politics (and the electorate), that for a woman a crying baby is always right; a woman doesn’t question if the baby is justified in its complaint; because it is crying it is right and special. And certainly, in the West, we live in a feminized society with feminized politics: impractical, cruel, daddy issues, fluffy, lovey-dovey, raves about evil rape then invites millions of rapists in to rape, merciless against dissent, irrational, savage, gormless.

For a woman, disagreement means hatred. For a woman, mockery is assault. For a woman, dissent is terrorism.

2. i was teaching a new group, and being of late melancholy and jaded with my existence, and hence lacking my usual colossal tact, i criticised politicians en masse. Even in Germany – as conforming Big State a nation as one could dread to inhabit – most of my students nodded agreement, and a juicy MILF said one of her children’s teachers – the worst teacher in the entire school, despised by his colleagues and reviled by the pupils – left education to become a politician and everyone was delighted to see him go.

3. A tendency to be observed today: weakness signaling: the weaker and more emotionally-distressed and unstable, the higher one’s status in the West. Hence, the weaklings will proclaim themselves triggered, offended, and cry and demonstrate their mental instability, as if that indicates ontological superiority. The last time one of my (female) colleagues accused me of hurtful utterances, i merely smiled evilly and she slunk away in shame, to hang herself in the McLingua toilet.

4. Another modern tendency: to manage potential conflict by being nice. i would say there are roughly three means of conflict management:

i) Kill all potential opposition.

ii) Intimidate all potential opposition.

iii) Make friends with all potential opposition.

Option 1 is what one would find among the sand peoples in their native habitat, where the latest warlord will usually be found half-eaten by crocodiles six months later. At the top of Option 2 there is prolific non-lethal violence such as one one would find in Sunderland; at the lower range it is more, as in the McLingua teacher room, a matter of carrying an Uzi and walking with a certain John Wayne swagger, and calling everyone “pal”.

Option 3 is basically that of Withnail & I where a psychotic poacher breaks into the cottage at night: “we’ll have to try and make friends with him!”

Our leaders wish to destroy European culture and the white race, however those who vote for the Centre and Left parties are largely adherents of Option 3: the pre-emptive cringe and apology before Third World Jihaddists, the hope that if we’re just nice enough to them, they will let us live in peace. Option 3 is the recourse of women, and women in a land of superabundant resources to boot; they don’t understand (because of their arrogance) that non-feminized men see niceness as weakness, and the sand peoples in general correctly see weakness, and exploit it.

5. Before the recent German elections my little village was full of party posters, and two FDP canvassers tried to stop me near the bus stop (i told them, smiling pleasantly “I’m not a German citizen” though in truth i wanted to say “you faggots need to wake up and smell the negro, Tyrone is in your house blacking your daughters and you’re babbling about politics. Now is not the time for politics. Now is the time for alcohol! Gentlemen! To the pub!”). Now that the election is over (with predictable results) these posters are left strewn about town, even on the little country lanes and i dare say if i penetrated into the wood i would find CSU and Die Linke posters littered about like haemophiliac squirrels. The posters are naturally becoming weather-torn and stained, and no one clears them away. The parties who promise to help the people leave their trash like a discarded condom full of jizz in your shoes, for you to unpleasantly discover to your great chagrin.

6. If you want an image for democracy there it is – a condom full of strange jizz.



1. The Golden One recently said, apropos a video of Varg’s about having muscles “when shit hits the fan” that we’ve been at war since 1945. It’s a little disingenuous as “shit hits the fan” means total anarchy, no public transport, no gym membership, no guaranteed access to nutrition (including protein). However, something certainly changed in our world in 1945.

2. Two quotations.

The news today about ‘Atomic bombs’ is so horrifying one is stunned. The utter folly of these lunatic physicists to consent to do such work for war-purposes: calmly plotting the destruction of the world! Such explosives in men’s hands, while their moral and intellectual status is declining, is about as useful as giving out firearms to all inmates of a gaol and then saying that you hope ‘this will ensure peace’. But one good thing may arise out of it, I suppose, if the write-ups are not overheated: Japan ought to cave in. Well we’re all in God’s hands. But He does not look kindly on Babel-builders. 

(J.R.R. Tolkien to Christopher Tolkien, 9 August 1945)


Die hysterische Angst, die die Öffentlichkeit jetzt vor der Atom-Bombe hat, oder doch ausdrückt, ist beinahe ein Zeichen, daß hier einmal wirklich eine heilsame Erfindung gemacht worden ist. Wenigstens macht die Furcht den Eindruch einer wirklich wirksamen bittern Medizin. […]  Denn alles, was ich meinen kann, ist doch nur, daß die Bombe das Ende, die Zerstörung, eines gräßlichen Übels, der ekelhaften, seifenwäßrigen Wissenschaft, in Aussicht stellt. Und das ist freilich kein unangenehmer Gedanke; aber wer sagt, was auf eine solche Zerstörung folgen würde?

The hysterical fear following the Atom Bomb, or rather, the expressed fear, almost suggests we have here a truly wholesome bitter medicine. […] Because my thought here is, the Bomb will bring to an end, utterly destroy, a loathsome evil: our modern Science. Not an unwelcome prospect by any means, and besides who can say what would be born from such destruction? 

(Wittgenstein, notebooks 1946, my translation)

3. i note that Spain is acting to Catalonia as the EU to Britain and every member state. Last year, apropros Brexit, a fat rabbit student and IT geek (they all seem enormously overweight) said if we take my independence logic to its conclusion, Bavaria would separate from Germany, Niederbayern from Oberbayern, etc. i suppose there is a natural coherence which can unify disparate peoples and places, but it is a delicate and uncertain thing. Since 1945 we’ve inhabited a world of power blocks, and the gradual destruction of individual cultural difference. The belly-patting Southron manager and fat rabbit type would scoff and say Britain loves to be in the EU but actually i think if the defining group is drawn too large the individual ceases to feel any affinity to his supposed category. Naturally, fat rabbits, Southrons and Volvo-drivers could not understand this: for them, the economy is all and the genetic base or culture is, at best, a minor talking point at a nice little dinner party.

Tolkien was right to describe our new overlords as Babel-builders. They are innately atheist, supposing human rationality can create total and lasting order, despite every attempt thereat having come to disaster in the past. One reason i’ve been so delighted by Taleb’s Antifragile: as far as i can tell, he shares my doubts about manmade order & certainty, and one typically has to go quite far back (e.g. to Tolkien or Wittgenstein or Chesterton) to find such an understanding – an understanding set against apparent understanding; it is, today, a spiritual perspective.

4. Much will have to be rebuilt, after the collapse – hopefully very differently, almost certainly so since those who believe the most in today’s late system are unlikely to survive.

1. i’ve been diligently working on my new volume of, well, stuff, and hope to self-publish it this year. It will consist of a play i wrote in 2013, my last 5 short stories, some racist remarks, some mediocre poems, and my temp memoir: at present it comes to about 70,000 words. Rather annoyingly, my monstrous Bildungsroman, The Better Maker, should also be ready soon. And then there will probably be another 20 years of nothing but blogging before various projects i’ve taken up, discarded, tinkered with, discarded, resumed, will suddenly coalesce into another two or three books all at the same time.

2. i’ve been long admonished for my bizarre ways and lack of focus, but have come to accept that the longer-term my plans, the less likely they are to be realised, and so i now live more or less from day to day like a vole burrowing about in your waistcoat closet. On the train down to Bratislava i started reading Nassim Taleb’s Antifragile, after long regarding him as a pompous blowhard based on headlines and his own occasional ex cathedra pronouncements on, e.g. ties. He is abrasive but as i read i rather warmed to this quality, and realised who he reminded me of – Varg Vikernes.

3. Both Varg and Taleb have to some degree disconnected from the world – Varg by living in the middle of rural France where he can play roleplaying games with his dozen blonde children and throw axes into trees, Taleb by being exceedingly rich and disdaining to act like a normal sensible human being. He describes his reading habits, for example he apparently read all of Zola’s books in one month, one a day. He says that he gets bored easily so immediately switches to another activity the moment he loses interest. He advocates unpredictable eating patterns. He drinks wine and eats steak and wears moccasins.

i share the distinction of getting easily bored, which is why i use a Kindle for my travels (i typically spend at least an hour on trains), so i can flick from e.g. Taleb to Thomas Bernhard to Chuck Palahniuk to Victor Davis Hanson to William Gordon Gray to Martin van Creveld. It takes me ages to finish a book but i’m never bored and because i only read what i want, i can read at maximum concentration.

Likewise with writing, i get bored and just switch off. i go through obsessive phases, for example i edited The Better Maker from beginning to end about five or six times earlier this year, then abruptly lost interest, feeling that i’d burnt out my capacity to perceive its particular landscape & defects, and only recently i’ve felt a renewed interest in finishing it off.

4. My character is, i think, essentially labile. Thus, school was a torment for me, as were office jobs, and i naturally gravitated to temping, and now as an English teacher i live in almost constant uncertainty, financial and otherwise. Taleb, when i Googled him, is subject to repeated criticism and abuse, but he’s a big boy and can take it. In part, his abrasive nature attracts criticism, but i think it’s also that he is highly dubious about Mankind’s ability to even comprehend reality as it is, let alone to make long-term plans and forecasts; and civilisation is driven in part by the need to comprehend a space within the city walls, to organise, order, and plan; and so he draws fire for his scepticism.

Our civilisation has been slowly crumbling for a while, and i think in the next few years it will come crashing violently down. Those who have profited from the current dysorder are unlikely to see it coming, because there is a natural human tendency to suppose that if one has a comfortable managerial position, with a Volvo, the world is as it should be and needs, at best, minor tinkering by a belly-patting Southron managerial class.

5. i’m hoping for a plague that wipes out about 90% of the human population, starting with those who have wronged me, then proceeding to anyone i dislike, those i don’t particularly like, people i like but who get on my nerves, friends, etc. Naturally i am unlikely to survive but it’s all good.

The shock will be extreme in highly conformist bureaucratic countries like Germany, Sweden.

My feeling is the collapse will come during the next 7 years, because Donald Trump will be in some way centrally involved in how things develop – whether (as the corporate media would insist) he will start randomly nuking the planet and aliens will come and destroy us because of his Twitter account, or whether his almost manically flexible mind will make the difference between utter destruction and some kind of survival. i feel it is the latter, and that he was in some sense chosen in advance, to be in place when the great collapse comes and behold men will stagger out of their burning cities, onto the ashen plain, weeping blood, they will rend their fine garments, cast their melting iphones to the ground, and say, We have sinned and brought damnation upon our heads. Who shall save us? Who can, in this darkest of all hours, preserve Mankind from total obliteration? Who?

Who indeed.

Having nothing to lose, i welcome the collapse and look eagerly forward to looting whisky and tobacco and fine waistcoats and either dying in battle or taking to the mountains to become a tyrant and religious figure, bestowing trinkets and crusts upon the faithful, sacrificing the unfit on an altar of marble high in the Alps or Pyrenees or whatever mountains are to hand, summoning demons, drinking blood for breakfast and generally having a good time.

And so i journeyed through fire and Islam to witness the Chemical Wedding of the Viking and his Intended in Bratislava. My notes:

1. Train to Vienna, then change for Bratislava. Urban decay as soon as the train is out of the Vienna central station, patches of grass overgrown or brown & strangely stunted, a sense of chaos and the haphazard. Intensifies in Bratislava. i carry my 20-year-old suitcase (sans wheels) from the station, down a main road: along which i note a strip of grass which for some reason strikes me as odd – in Germany it would serve some function, it would be a bicycle lane or accommodate bins or advertising, not be just, well, grass. And if it were grass, it would be manicured grass. There would be no leaves on the grass, because that is not orderly. That suggests sloppiness. Every blade of grass would be the same height and colour.

The pavement is bumpy, with occasional holes, sprouting grass, protruding tree roots, though i only see dog shit twice and few cigarettes.


The walls are crumbling and cracked. i pass an Allianz billboard and even here by a main road it is torn and flapping in the car wind. Graffiti everywhere. Most of the cars are low to midrange (Skodas, Peugeots, VWs).

The women all look ugly here, not merely thin but scrawny (they improve later). The first attractive woman i pass looks like a prostitute. The men all look ready to fight, inscrutable and slavic, often with shaved heads and cruel noses.

The people are mostly white, with a few presumed gypsies. The Slovaks don’t stare, unlike the Germans. Germans typically favour me with a dead hostile regard, though i think it is really just a dead stare – but it comes across as hostile, somehow both interested and devoid of any flicker of warmth or human commonality, as if they are calculating how much soap you would provide. Slovaks are either more polite than Germans, or less interested.

2. The buildings are almost all decrepit, crumbling, many with broken windows. Even in the old city there are only a few buildings which could pass muster in Germany or Austria.


(This is in the old city, there are several buildings like this on a cobbled road 2 mins from the tourist centre; show this to the Trumperator and he would develop this into a 5-star hotel faster than you can say pussy).

i get the feeling the Slovaks just don’t care, probably don’t even notice that a building is slowly disintegrating onto the street. Their cars are generally well-cleaned which suggests attention to the private sphere, none to the public. The Viking later remarks that the Slovaks don’t care if you’re eccentric here, whereas both the English and the Germans are conformist by nature; perhaps this freedom from opinion goes with a tolerance for shabby public spaces, a lack of interest in odd-looking people like me. When Germans stare at me, they stare as if to say “das ist nicht in Ordnung!!!” – the same stare they would direct at anything disorderly in the public sphere.

3. The EU flag is everywhere, like a conqueror’s stamp.


4. There are no beggars.

5. The pedestrian crossing lights seem largely non-functioning. There is the usual two-colour display but blank, with no mechanism by which to active it; and i wait for a couple of minutes by a busy road in vain, as Slovaks look left & right then cross, then i follow suit. i’m so accustomed to German roads, where it is illegal to cross against the lights but drivers would happily run jaywalkers over because the traffic lights said it was okay. i’m surprised that Slovak drivers stop at zebra crossings as i wait – in Germany they usually just drive straight through, as if the crossing is meaningless decor or a suggestion at best (and suggesting anything to Germans is usually a waste of time).

6. i meet the Viking and his family, and after a few drinks am spontaneously moved to gift him my Uzi pen. It was one of my most prized possessions and i never left my flat without my keys in my left pocket and my Uzi in my right. i liked to stroke it. It looked like this:


Without even touching the Uzi i could feel it against my thigh, hot and heavy, potent, full of ink, and then i would hear a voice telling me: Elberry old chap. See that fellow over there, the one in Adidas? Break his skull into little pieces. Then write with me.

It was my only friend in Munich. And then, carousing with the Viking i feel, tenderly, a need to impart this friendship to him. Pulling my only friend out of my trousers, i say, in a spiritual tone of voice, – Jonah, i want you to have this.

He shrugs carelessly and accepts it. Now he is the Bearer of the Uzi, the Man of Titanium.

6. i find my hotel, sleep, and then go to the Viking’s wedding. i am the “best man” so have to sit by his side lest any of his relatives-in-law try to strike him down with a switchblade, gypsy-style. It is a large, ornate Catholic church and i am aware of 80 or so people behind me as i watch the Viking and his Intended seated by the altar.

i am wearing a tie that i couldn’t tie properly because i am a retard. It is askew and i probably look drunk already. Also, i am wearing my Valknut under my shirt and keep muttering prayers to Odin and wishing i had my Uzi.

i met the Viking first nearly twenty years ago when he was clinically insane and wore bright primary colours and had a huge Christian beard and was a bit rapey. i was also insane. Somehow we have both survived to old age and i have become decrepit and wise and he has become a regular human being who can get married without a doctor to attend to his lithium dosage.

It is a beautiful event. Mostly in Slovak, so i understand nothing, and thank God there is no ghastly modern music or karaoke or negro dancing. As i stare at the Viking and his (surprisingly attractive and sane) Intended i think, Here ends twenty years of struggle and madness. Here ends a generation’s war. The days of our kind are numberèd. The one God comes to drive out the many gods. The spirits of wood and stream grow silent. 

i am required to hand over the Rings to the couple in full sight of eighty Catholics. i stand at the Viking’s side, the Rings in my hand, for only i am trusted to wield such power, and the priest douses the Rings and incidentally my hand with what i presume is Holy Water. My hand is now covered with what is basically God’s saliva. i want to fall to the floor shrieking, It burns us! It freezes! Nasty elveses! and then disappear in a cloud of sulphuric smoke and go to a pub and sell the Rings and get drunk, and then later email the Viking, We both knew it was not fated to be.

Instead i am Gandalf.

7. We go to a hall in the adjoining Franciscan monastery and someone steals the Laphroaig Quarter Cask i bought for the occasion. On the one hand it’s just money, on the other hand i feel vexed because it must be someone in the wedding party. i finger my pocket, where the Uzi used to be, and eye the Slovaks distrustfully. They are all thieving gippos. i get a bottle of apple schnapps and try to offer some to a nun. She smiles and shakes her head.

8. We go to the wake in a nearby restaurant. We get proper drunk but there are no fights – because i no longer have the Uzi. i keep stroking my pocket and feel naked and lost – without an Uzi, a man is not a man. Now the Viking is the man. i go over to congratulate him and want to hiss, Do you have the Uzi? but decide not to bring it up right now.

The Franciscans call his Bride and say they have the whisky. They apparently decided to clear the hall and made off with several trophies. Thieving Franciscans! i sputter, grasping at my empty right pocket, then suddenly decide i like the idea of a bunch of degenerate friars drinking stolen whisky and laughing coarsely.

During the wake the Bride’s hot youngest sister points at me and asks me to stand up. Drunkedly i leer at her and get to my feet, then sober up horribly, thinking they want me to give a speech. Having prepared nothing i rapidly improvise in my head and come up with this: “Gentlemen, I have only fourteen words to say. We are at a crossroads. On the Left, we will be outbred by r-type subspecies until we are a minority in our own homeland. On the Right, we will struggle over mountains of skulls, to Valhalla. Odin calls us. The ravens call to us, to war, gentlemen. One man will lead us. That man has an Uzi. That man is sitting here today.”

But actually i didn’t have to do anything so sat down again and ate dumplings and then some cake and stroked my gut in a contemplative fashion.

9. We get kicked out of the restaurant at midnight. Some young bucks try to get me to go drinking with them thus:

Young Buck: We have heard a lot of interesting stories about you. They say you are this crazy guy who hates people but likes to drink. You are the perfect guy to go and get totally drunk with now.

me: i’m too old for all that nonsense. i just want to go back to my hotel and have a nice cup of tea and sit there smiling and thinking, This is nice.

So i go back to my hotel, like Gandalf departing Middle Earth having achieved his Great Work.

10. The next day i walk around Bratislava in the heavy rain. i find alchemical statues:


and curious doors:


naturally besmirched with graffiti like everything else in Europe. i am drenched and start shivering despite my habitual hardiness – but then, i am now a man sans Uzi, no man at all. i am deterred by all the super-touristy “traditional Slovak” pubs in the tourist area, stare strangely at this


and head for the Urban House.

11. i am immediately given a glass of water and sympathetic look by a hot waitress, and order a gin tonic:


It is a good place for drinking, reading, and thinking – just enough background hum to induce a sense of being both with those about me, and apart and alone. They have amusing cocktails:



They also have good music and it would have been perfect had i been able to smoke but, alas, the modern world has taken away this simple pleasure.

The Viking unexpectedly appears with his Bride, we talk about the Uzi then they depart and i get a pizza (mushrooms and green stuff) and wine and read Nassim Taleb’s excellent Antifragile:


12. i wander about in the rain for a while, then end up in U Čerta, a dingy sinister place run by gypsies and the devil. i get a Laphroaig and contemplate my fate, as a man without an Uzi.


The Viking later miraculously appears, and a scientist colleague of his called Carl, a Brit who looks like a cross between these two gentlemen:





The Viking as is his wont disappears as mysteriously as he appeared, and i talk with Carl over booze. He is an amusing character who has a doctorate in some science or another but also did a Master’s in Philosophy and is almost an allegory of Iain McGilchrist’s emissary, a robot brain in a human body, a mumbler (until i later enrage him into clarity, i can only make out about 80% of what he is saying). Discussing the Muslim Question he says that he doesn’t care about it, because he’s always lived in white areas and never met any Muslims, then adds that he’s suspicious about newspaper reports of Muslims raping underage girls because in our culture paedophilia is the worst sin of all (actually, i think it is racism against anyone who happens to be Muslim) so if you wanted to persecute a poor minority you would accuse them of being paedos; i say, In that case you could go out and rape a child and no one would believe your victim because paedophilia is so sensationalised. He demurs and says yes probably the Muslims were raping girls but then he shrugs and laughs and says, – But I don’t care. These girls, uh, you’ve only got to, uh, see what kind of girls they were, I mean, uh, where they come from, their family situation and their life and background, and [laughs] I don’t care about girls like that.”

i’m at first shocked then laugh my own different laugh and say, smilingly horribly, – Yes, these girls were from broken families, from the estates, their parents didn’t care about them, if the Muslims didn’t rape them someone else would have, who cares about girls who get drunk and get in a car with strange men?

He seems aware that under my smile i’m not smiling and he explains eagerly, – I just don’t care about it. I don’t feel anything. I don’t care about human rights and I don’t believe in religion or morality or anything like that. I don’t care about these girls, I really don’t.

i admire his clarity. i say that actually many people don’t really care, they just feel they should. Having not met the girls who were raped, i suppose i project my own experiences of the sand peoples, and those of the chav girls i’ve known, and i care about that projection.

We get onto Brexit; it seems he’s a Bremainer – an advocate of the managerial technocrat state, where what Taleb would call fragilista experts “order” society according to their own plans. He becomes heated, and when i remark that many people think all those who voted for Brexit were shaven-headed hooligans he explodes, – They were! Have you seen the figures? There’s, like, like, a serious correlation between education and voting patterns! Like a near-total correlation!

– Well, universities are a den of Left-wing progressive ideology, i say vaguely, not really caring and wondering if having a university degree means anything today, given degree inflation.

At this point his mumble disappears and he becomes almost belligerent. – If some 18-year-old decides he’s not going to go to university because it’s so left-wing, if he thinks he knows enough to make that decision – and he fucking doesn’t, right? – then he’s a FUCKING IDIOT. These FUCKING IDIOTS are the people who voted for Brexit – fucking 18-year-olds who think they know enough about the world to say they’re too good to go to university, because it’s left-wing!

i find myself stroking my right pocket, where my Uzi would be. Uzi my Uzi, i pine for you, i can only hope that you now inhabit the Viking’s pocket and go with him in all his endeavours, guiding him as you once guided me. Uzi my Uzi, were you here now, i would take you out and drive the titanium tip of your glassbreaker into Carl’s face, repeatedly, calmly and even amiably because i like Carl, then i would order another Laphroaig and maybe even light my pipe and say to the gypsy barmaid, – Best dump that in the river. But the Viking now has my Uzi. He is probably stroking it even now, smiling and listening to the Uzi, as it whispers to him, as it imparts great secrets and lore. Could i kill Carl with one of the barstools? Probably, but it would be so much nicer with an Uzi. You buy an Uzi to write with but at the back of your mind you are always hoping to murder someone in a dingy bar in Eastern Europe and then tell the gypsy barmaid to roll the corpse into the nearest sewer where it belongs, so why use a barstool? Why buy an Uzi then use a barstool? Could you call the Viking and ask him to bring the Uzi? No, he might be romantically engaged, or just sitting in a dark room smiling and stroking the Uzi while his Bride knocks on the door and asks if everything is okay. It is his Uzi now, let it go, accept that the Uzi has found a new disciple.

Carl continues, – If you don’t like the system, you don’t drop out and moan about it and vote Brexit, you join the centre, which means you go to university, where all the intelligent people are, and you destroy the system from within! But these fucking idiots voted for Brexit because they think they can judge academia when they’re just 18-year-old idiots!

Bratislava seems to me the sort of place where you could beat someone to death and dump him under a bridge and then plausibly claim, – It was the gypsies.

i just pray that the Viking cherishes that Uzi.

13. Walking back to my hotel i reflected that Carl was a typical example of the technocrat class excoriated by Taleb and Iain McGilchrist. On his own admission he didn’t care about anyone, didn’t believe in any morality of any kind, and yet was passionately angry about Brexit – because, like many of his type, he saw it as a challenge to his own better wisdom, an affront. Tolkien was prescient: he saw this machine-mind character as the new elite and embodied it in Saruman:

“But we must have power, power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see.”

Saruman is contrasted with Gandalf as being a man overly reliant on machines and slaves, and manipulation. For Carl, education and degrees are status, power – hence his fury when i casually dismissed universities as dens of Leftism. For Carl, 12-year-old white girls from Rotherham are insignificant because they are from chav/working class families and don’t even have a Master’s, let alone a PhD.

Carl was incapable of seeing that people who don’t go to university don’t make a decision that it’s too Left-wing for them: they either come from a background where no one goes to university, or they’re dim, or intelligent but not academic, or just want to start working. He was so utterly enveloped by his academic bubble that this was beyond, or rather beneath, his colossal intellect. i found it amusing that he had studied Wittgenstein, though predictably for an “emissary” he seemed to focus mostly on the Tractatus (his knowledge of the lecture notes, journals, and Philosophical Investigations seemed weak); amusing because he was exactly the type Wittgenstein would have regarded with some coldness, the reason Wittgenstein exhorted his students to get a real job instead of living in academia from graduation to grave. Round about the time Wittgenstein was working as a lab assistant in Newcastle, and Paulus was preparing to surrender at Stalingrad, C.S. Lewis wrote, in The Abolition of Man:

We make men without chests and expect from them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst.

14. i return to Munich and find a new tactical pen, Chinese-made but seems sound so far, with a concealed blade in addition to the glassbreaker. Not an Uzi but then what is?

1. My hideous cohort (i realise cohort means something different but i don’t care) the Viking is to wed his Intended this weekend, in the City of Sin known as Bratislava. i have decided to appear and deliver a carefully-crafted speech:

2. Then i will seize the Muslims and force them to dance with me:

3. Then i will pull out an antique sword and kill the bride and her family:

4. It will be naturally a family event, with the Viking’s clan in awful bear-fur-and-skull-clad presence, smeared with Christian blood and leering, to make sure things go to plan, and the Intended’s vast gypsy clan likewise, lest anyone get cold feet:

5. i will bring some whisky and my Uzi pen and be prepared for all manner of jollities:

6. Then i will take the Viking aside and give him a motivational speech about his matrimonial duties:

7. Then we will all go to the Viking’s house and cook a huge banquet:

And then everyone will die.

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