The Last Boy Scout: On Taking a Positive Turn

In some sense, this is an update to my Addicted to Distraction post at The Mitrailleuse. Let me just note what worked: On a few individual days since, I’ve got up and read the local paper for local stories of interest like the weather and school sports, gone to work and completely ignored the swirling events of the “news” for an entire day, got a lot of work done, and felt very content and satisfied heading home in the evening.

Other days, I reverted to my old habits to an extent–spent breaks and lunch hours reading blogs and web pages and posting tweets. Listened to the “news” on the radio on the way to work. Read entire articles about the war, or whatever it is, in Yemen and the one in Syria and the one, apparently in Kenya. Am I the better for this?

No.

During those evenings there has been more anxiety, less energy, and, strangely, even more tweet reading and “reacting.” It’s not really that anything is so bad about what my friends are saying and posting; in fact, given the quality of the blogs and Twitter accounts I follow, the content is well written and on point about the problems of our age, and what ought to be done about them…yet I can feel a certain negativity, even despair, being driven right into my soul by all of this. There is such a thing as pessimism porn, and though I don’t see it as the main thrust of the Reactosphere or the Dark Enlightenment, he who hath eyes to see knows it’s there. Even someone as level and grounded as Malcolm Pollock indulges in it when discussing the presidential campaign of Hillary Clinton:

Mind you, I might be coming round to Hillary’s camp myself. As I mentioned in a comment last month, “there are times — and they are more frequent now — when I think that the only way to move beyond this tottering wreck, and begin to build whatever we can upon its rubble, is to help it fall, as quickly as possible.” If that’s the goal, then Hillary’s the gal.

Of course he’s not the first person to express similar sentiments about Mrs. Clinton. Over a year ago, Jack Donovan made the point that Hillary would at least wake up the remaining non-feminized men to the fact that:

President Hillary Clinton will reveal to American men that America is no longer a nation that elevates rugged cowboys and pioneers. That’s the bad, old America. The new America wants its men emasculated, weak, and completely controlled by a corporate-owned state that’s far more concerned with the wants of acquisitive career gals. Who better than Hillary Clinton to put the “nanny” in “nanny state?”

The Hillary Clinton Presidency will drive home the fact that America isn’t “our” country anymore.

We just live here.

Look, I like to do this as much as anybody. Sometimes I indulge in a bit of fantasy myself, imagining that Washington DC has been put to the torch. The cleansing fire will consume that foul nest of corruption and sodomy and finally, finally we can start over and build something clean and decent on the ashes.

But, no.

026

We may get Hillary for President, we may get more regulation of “greenhouse gases” and subsidies for bird-killing wind farms, more subsidies for sodomites in the schools, more “diversity” training and generally, more Prog bullshit thrown in our faces in the coming years, but I. WILL. NOT. DESPAIR. Nor will I “root” for massive destruction of the West in the interest of cleansing.

Beside this list, we may get cheap space travel, cheaper energy, quantum computing, genetically tailored treatments for illness. I have a 10-year-old son, who I’m training to be a Dangerous Child. I can’t change the world, really, I can only change myself, and I can prepare him for whatever may come in his life.

There are, no doubt, some great, horrible, terrible, wonderful things to come in the next years and decades. I choose to meet them with a song in my heart and on my lips. Certainly not “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” but one much older and deeper and substantial, something that will be with us as long as we’re human:

Freude, schöner Götterfunken

Tochter aus Elysium,

Wir betreten feuertrunken,

Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Deine Zauber binden wieder

Was die Mode streng geteilt;

Alle Menschen werden Brüder,

Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

And if that could be created by a Man, I think I can do things more joyfully even in our own Strange Days.

More Kipling NRx Wisdom (With Pictures!)

This year several reality-lovers, including Outside in, Free Northerner and me posted on Kipling’s “Gods of the Copybook Headings” (as far as I know, completely independently). Perhaps it was an example of occult NRx.

More Kipling for your consideration. Illustrated! (Many other zingers worth a look!)

A Whole New Land

Transamerica_building_san_francisco

“The Ministry of Truth–Minitrue, in Newspeak–was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up terrace after terrace 300 metres in the air.” George Orwell, 1984.

Through the good offices of E. Anthony Gray aka @RiverC we encountered The Nature of Order: An Essay on the Art of Building and the Nature of the Universe, Book 1 – The Phenomenon of Life

The reference to the image of the TransAmerica building is from a different work, A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction.

Via Land:

You really need to read Nature of Order, if you haven’t already. He outlines what underlies much of this somewhat unformed yearning of the romantic and otherwise sort. Fundamentally, he argues that on the Quantum level arrangement trumps causality; thus the ‘field of effect of arrangements’ is an empirical phenomenon of some degree.

What follows is the theory of centers, of wholes as a field of centers (and their fields) – providing a third theory which allows one to move between the empirical and metaphysical (empirical being continuous, metaphysical being discrete.)

The curious experiment at the heart of the mystery is the ‘two slit’ electron experiment. The books are rather expensive, but quite worth it (so far, anyway – we’ve not read the whole opus yet.)

I now am charged, indeed, glowing with the feeling, that never may I see the World the same.

Again.

Kipling, (Neo)reationary

Oft times we make the error of assuming that everyone knows the same things that we know (and the converse).

When Free Northerner posted Kipling’s “If” it reminded me of another poem, one that says so many things I believe, things I want you to know, says them better and much more succinctly than I could say them. At least a few of you may never have encountered it, so it’s certainly worth posting here.

There’s very little daylight between these lines and the general consensus of the the NRx:

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.” 

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

copybook

Tapping

“suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”

Deliver a tiny tap to a very large building

Propagate a wave

Now it returns to the source;

Tap again at that precise moment

The wave goes out again with more energy,

Again and again…

Now the building sways as if in an earthquake? And all from the most gentle of taps.