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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 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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