Saturday, 21 July 2018


And this is a diagram of how racist white patriarchy works

(Going to university) just means you start life three years behind the other fellow.
Rex Mottram, from Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited

We have come for your children.
Title of the second album by New York punk rockers The Dead Boys.

I wonder if any of my regular readers have children who are thinking of going to university. If they are going to study STEM subjects, all well and good, although I believe we have too many scientists, but that is neither here nor there, like neutrinos. But if they are thinking of studying in the Humanities, may I have your ear.
If you have ever admired a single sentence I have written, if you have ever brooded over an idea I may have chanced across or even come up with, if you have ever thought for a moment that I may be mildly intelligent, then read these words and, I implore you, consider them deeply.
Try every means at your disposal to dissuade them from going.
There is a myth that employers will not consider an applicant without a degree. It is a myth, and a pernicious one started by the wily and wicked Blair government.
The free market has been severely criticised in recent years, and this is because the globalists don’t like it. Any freedom is anathema to the globalist, who wishes to retain complete control over all states of affairs at all times, like a sort of hyper-engineer walking some cosmic factory full of robot arms, levers, cogs, mechatronic wonders.
But the market, if allowed to exert its invisible hand – as Adam Smith famously referred to it – will soon right the wrongs the Progressives have deliberately introduced.
Any decent employer, that is, any employer who wants his business to succeed without leaning on the crippled dowager’s arm that is the state, will employ the best and the brightest. If you allow your child to go to a Western university and study any Humanities course, they will not be at the front of the queue.
Oh, the state will impose quotas, of course. More blacks. More Muslims. More women. More wimmin. More transgender, mentally ill folk, more people in wheelchairs to stack the top shelves in department stores using lifts that legislation will be introduced to force these stores to fit. They will make it as difficult as possible for employers to employ the best and the brightest but, if the market triumphs, their deliberate mismanagement will fail.
For that is what modern management is. I know this from personal experience. Managers will do anything to show their own paymasters that they are necessary, even if they are superfluous. And that includes hobbling intelligent and naturally gifted employees. If anyone from Vogan’s Mill is reading this, by the way, I hope you are still getting ripped off. It is nice to see Saffron on the board, as she is the only one who has a real job. Management consultancy is not a real job. It is a deliberate impediment to real jobs. Carey is, according to my sources, now going through what I went through in terms of meaningless paperwork. But I digress.
Home-schooling is always to be desired, but you may wish to see the countries in which it is not just discouraged but actually illegal. You can see them here 
Note that home-schooling is illegal in Germany and Sweden, the two most Islamised countries in Europe, with the possible exception of France, where it is legal with certain provisos. But imagine, in those countries, telling children they cannot go to mosque to be taught. Home-schooling, with added jihad. You can bet the farm that Muslims home-school. Incidentally, the rules for Romanian home-schooling almost made me cry.
In the UK, it is technically legal, but just you try it. Christian? UKIP supporter? Ever Tweeted anything in favour of Tommy Robinson? Good luck with your application.
Teach your child at home, whenever you can. At school, they will be indoctrinated into Leftist propaganda. Have them read the classics. Introduce them to art early, real art, not Leftist crap. Play music, and try to encourage them to play something. But, STEM aside, under no circumstances allow them near a university. They will become less intelligent, rack up unpayable debt, and waste their time and your money.
And, one day, they will hate you for it.

Friday, 20 July 2018


Officer, arrest that man

And where do we go from here?

Which is the way that’s clear?

David Essex, Rock on

We are entitled to ask ourselves what we are. I imagine it is even a human right, like emigrating to someone else’s country, or owning a plasma-screen TV, or free speech. Okay, I made the last one up. And so, politically speaking, what am I? Am I Alt. Right? Am I a classical Conservative? Am I a Libertarian? Am I a monarchist, a minarchist, an anarchist? (A moanarchist, some might say). What do I get Mum to sew on my pajamas?  It makes the head swirl. Am I a classical Liberal, which everyone seems to be since Jordan Peterson started describing himself as one. Peterson is like Sting’s character The Face in the film of The Who’s Quadrophenia, starting some new craze on the dance floor then watching as, five minutes later, everyone is copying it.

But I need my own tag, because I’m special.

Eventualism is a philosophy, part-Wikipedia fans, part L. Ron Hubbard, which seeks either to draw out an event or trend to its likely conclusion, or to show the absurdity of the attempt to do so.

This suggests two aspects of eventualism: one is trying to predict the future, the other trying to show the absurdity of such an attempt.

You might say that the guy who goes into a betting shop and places some money on a horse is an eventualist. You might also say that all the people who think gambling is a bad habit and don’t go in are eventualists too, because they know you can’t predict the future to a certainty. It is more complex that this, but it works as a simple and broad example. Let’s move to another, one from my own experience, which is not to say I haven’t been into a betting shop and put money on a horse because I have, although I have never walked away from a British racing course with less money in my pocket than when I entered.

I started my first weblog about twenty years ago. I was thrilled at the idea that you could process the world around you and communicate what you found to a number, albeit limited, of strangers. I quickly made politics my focus, and found blogging to be essential in the journey to discover what it is that one believes, what it is that one should question, and where that positions you on the political spectrum.

One of the first topics that held my attention was racism or, rather, ‘racism’. Now, to adapt a line from Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, racism in its current usage is tied to what is often called the ‘racism industry’. Dickens, then;

Doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for imaginary disorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly patients…

Well, quite. There is a great deal of money in racism, whether it exists or not. The mangling of the modern definition is an important tale of linguistic dysfunction and Orwellian appropriation of semantic meaning, but it is a tale for another day. My point is my attitude – two decades ago – to the reception of perceived racism in society, and particularly in the workplace.

I was a man poised between maturity and middle age, a point at which I have now arrived, and can even see old age in the middle distance, like squinting at a painting for detail. I was probably at peak intellectual arrogance, an opinionated cock-of-the-walk.

One of the notions at which I sneered was that of police forces, social workers, bosses, politicians and many other functionaries failing to implement practices of one kind or another, ‘for fear of being called racist’, sometimes rendered as ‘for fear of being branded racist’. Pathetic, thought I, full of piss and vinegar. What difference does it make to your life or your job if someone calls you a racist? Grow up. I thought I knew it all.

Fast-forward 20 years.

Anyone commenting in the wrong way, either in the workplace or particularly on social media, today puts their job at hazard. In the public sector, it also imperils their pension. It is not just racism, but that concept, or construct, leads the pack. They have added many, many other victim groups, like evil boys’ clubs opening up in a horrible town.

We now live in a world where an experienced and brilliant nurse can be dismissed for using the word ‘niggardly’. A world where an Oxford Don can be dismissed for failing to use correct gender pronouns. A world where any criticism of Islam can lead to instant dismissal. The reason? A man – at least, I assume he self-identifies as a man - called Richard Cocks puts it well in an essay posted on the website Gates of Vienna;

‘Many white people’s jobs and social standing are now dependent on social justice and identity politics, particularly in education, government and the media. Hatred thus becomes their bread and butter and the end of hatred would terminate their careers. Many politicians base their election prospects on scapegoating whites and depicting themselves as saviors, and are thus invested in reinforcing sacrificial attitudes.’

Social Justice: An Analysis, by Richard Cocks.

Eventualism. I am going to call myself a post-Eventualist, like a post-Modernist. A post-Eventualist looks back at what he thought years ago, and compares it with what has happened since, and uses that to educate himself.

Who saw this coming?

And what is next?

Perhaps, one day in the not-too-distant future, being branded a racist will mean just that. Down in the dungeon beneath the social worker’s office  cum police station – the two roles have more or less merged - the fire in the brazier burns orange-hot, the branding iron begins to assume a similar colour, the letters glow in the gloom… R.A.C... You know the rest, and it’s not the Royal Automobile Club of Great Britain. The shirt is ripped open, and the offender held over the stone block as the burly, hooded – and transgender – man approaches…

Thursday, 19 July 2018


A TDS sufferer, earlier today

I met someone recently, an Englishman, who told me that he judged everyone he met on their opinion concerning Donald Trump. I thought, but did not say, me too. Although probably not in the way he meant.

Trump’s personality and policies aside, his election has provided a service akin to the role played by the sunglasses in the schlock sci-fi movie They Live.

For those not familiar with the film, a drifter acquires a pair of glasses which, when worn, allow the wearer to see that many of what appear to be ordinary people are in fact skull-faced aliens. The specs also turn ordinary advertising hoardings into simple messages. Obey. Stay asleep. Consume. Do not question authority. It is rather a punk film, but the concept has been gaining traction with the dissident Right.

Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS) we are all familiar with. The symptoms include the following:

    A near-psychotic level of hatred directed at a democratically elected president.

    A lack of argument to back up the above.

    A tendency to refer to anyone who shows even a shadow of a doubt that Trump is Hitler reborn as a ‘Nazi’, ‘fascist’, ‘racist’, and various other terms from a well-worn lexicon.

    An unswerving belief in their own moral rectitude.

    If white, or Caucasian, a deep-seated hatred of their own kind.

    A love mass immigration as a result of the above.

    An inability to debate differing views, and a preference for simply closing down any form of debate which may lead to views which differ from their own.

    An unconscious – or even conscious - hatred of free speech.

    An implicit preference for Hillary Clinton to be president.

People suffering from TDS are, fortunately, offered help. This help comes from the media, the majority of the political class, Islam, academics, and SJWs in general. For them, TDS is not a ‘thing’, as the young people say, and is an entirely acceptable substitute for intelligent debate.

I have reached the stage where I would like to see Trump say, you know what? Fuck it. There would be great outpourings of joy, another election and, hopefully, Clinton would win it. Then, if the US thinks it is in trouble now, the fun would really begin.

As I have written many times, a world created by the Left will be a world described by Evelyn Waugh when he described the benefits of the work of P G Wodehouse to young people who will soon find themselves living in a world which becomes ‘increasingly onerous’. I think what affects me the most is how keen intelligent people are to drink from the greasy cup of the MSM. You do not have to go too far off-piste to undestand that this is malicious tinkering with the truth cobbled together by globalists and neo-Communists. Still, better to believe it and trumpet it from the rooftops than earn the disapprobation of you Facebook friends.

The main effect of TDS which is advantage to the Right is that is has shown without question who the Leftist psychotics really are. People you thought you knew become rabid animals, wild-eyed and gibbering. The media shows its true colours. The Socialist political class become rapidly polarized from the rest of the dissident class. Universities are shown up to be the pointless institutions they now are. Most of all, the causes of the decline of the West can be laid at the feet of the decadents responsible.

In short, Trump’s election and the resultant epidemic of a virulent strain of TDS effectively handed out the magic sunglasses to the rest of us. And now we know.

They live

Wednesday, 18 July 2018


Today's offering...


A ship in a bottle.

How is it done?

My father said most of the

Glass is blown first.

Then the ship

Slipped inside

By the glass-blower’s friend.

Cotton tied to the masts.

Then the bottle-neck blown.

Then the cotton is pulled

And the little masts rise.

A ship in a bottle.

The one on the trash pile

I wanted so much.

My girlfriend said no.

Just look at this place.

Now look at my face.

There is not enough trash

In this bear-pit for you?

I held it each day,

Left it just where it was.

The detail was fine,

All the rigging and line.

There was even the name

Of the boat, drawn in red.

The Tanager Schooner, it said.

Then one frosted morning

The old lady came.

Plastic-bag shoes,

Aluminium cane.

Took the bottle and all

Of the drink cans and all

Of her life with her

Down to the mall.

I watched her move on,

With her shuffling gait.

She’d joined life on deck

As the Tanager’s mate.

How many more sails

Will the Tanager raise

Without cotton, or thought,

Or glass-blower’s skill,

And nowhere to look

For a port?


This is what a journalist looks like

The press in the UK are a bunch of lickspittle courtiers to the new Versailles. Someone with whom I went to university, when I compared The Guardian to The Beano - unfair to The Beano - said that that failing newspaper was still the most objective read in the UK. I don't even want to talk with someone who believes that, as I get nothing from the transaction, and I am at the age where people are either useful or useless to me.
Fortunately, there is a dissident media, and Rebel Media is the only company in the world I yearn to work for. If you don't know Ezra Levant, above, he is one of the leading lights of the organization, and is currently in London following Tommy Robinson's appeal at The Royal Courts of Justice.
Like Mark Steyn, Levant has been in trouble in his native Canada for, you know, speaking truth to power, something the MSM stopped doing long ago when they took the candy bar. He is erudite and efficient. He is also the only journalist you can see outside Britain's most famous courtroom in this short video. 
What is so great about the video is the guy called James Godard, who Ezra interviews. Not only is Godard prepared to stand in front of a camera and give a succinct summation of everything that is wrong with modern Britain, he gives his name. There are so many cowards in the virtual world. Not James.
And not me. I don't wear a mask. I have been fired from more than one job for my online activities.
On a related subject, the prick who posts comments here as 'Unknown'. Do you have the cojones to put down your real name? Thought not.

Tuesday, 17 July 2018


Well, a lousy run of luck ran to one of my cats dying. Poor Sonny came out of the jungle sick and poisoned by something, and 36 hours later he was gone. He was, as Dr. Johnson described his cat Hodge, 'a very fine cat indeed'. I have roughed up a plaque saying as much, and my friend will paint and varnish it and put it on his grave.
Then I got back and realized I am not helping myself by constantly monitoring the idiocy that passes for the modern world, and it was beginning actually to depress me.
I have always dabbled in poetry and I am afraid you will be getting some of it coming your way in days to come, as I have been writing again recently. I need to change direction for a while. First one coming up.
Don't worry. It is not about the cat.


I found myself sniffing the dog’s scent
Which stayed on my palms
Like rust on a vent
Or heat rash
On a baby’s arms.

I found myself watching the toucan
Attack its reflection
Not knowing
It was attacking reflection
As though it were another bird.

I found myself sleeping
On a Brighton sea-groyne
And would have drowned.
But my soaking coat woke me
The cold spoke and I think
Saves many.

I found myself silent
And swaddled in silence
On the road to San Carlos
Where birds always whistle
And you imitate them
And still the birds whistle
On the road to San Carlos.

I found myself doing most all of these things
Once looked in a river
And found silver rings.
Once harked at a forest
Where the mot-mots would sing.

Yes, I found myself doing most all of these things
I found myself drinking
The dew morning brings
And the bitter bark water.
The fisherman’s daughter
Would tell me of princes and kings.

But through all of these days
And the sun’s tender rays
Through monsoon and blaze
And the Rancheras ways
Myself I never did find.
No, myself I never did find.

Thursday, 12 July 2018


Text and art by William Blake

So this is real life you're telling me
And everything is where it ought to be.

Howard Devoto, Definitive Gaze

    O Rose thou art sick. 

    The invisible worm, 

    That flies in the night 

    In the howling storm: 

     Has found out thy bed

    Of crimson joy:

   And his dark secret love

   Does thy life destroy.

William Blake, The Sick Rose

“Can you feel it?” said Quentin.

“Yes”, said Andy.

“It’s quite impossible to describe, isn’t it?”

Martin Amis, Dead Babies

Does it feel to you as though something is about to happen? Does it feel, perhaps, as though Guillaume Faye’s convergence of catastrophes is reaching its event horizon, after which there may be no turning back? Does it feel, not like end times, but as though times are about to go from uncomfortable to calamitous?

There are two types of catastrophe. One is instantaneous. 9/11. A huge train wreck. A riot. An assassination. There are events and they take place in a way that the media likes and is equipped for. The other might be called carcinogenic. It metastasizes slowly, forming the outline of its malevolent effects while the rest of life goes on around it. Immigration. National debt. Nuclear arms programmes. International negotiations such as Brexit. The media can avoid these drawn-out events because they look like something that everyone can have an opinion about, unlike a train-crash, culpability aside. And they unfold over time, not something the media enjoys.

Now, it has not gone unnoticed in the dissident media that much of the ‘news’ in the MSM is in fact carefully staged distraction. Whether it is a celebrity divorce, sport, a new film or TV series – newspapers are advertising hoardings now for new product designed to stultify – political non-stories in which the political class juggle platitudes, or bland op-ed, all of these exercises in vacuity mask the slow build-up of the convergence of catastrophes.

There is something wrong with the world, and part of the problem is that two opposing factions – in the West at least – believe that the party at fault is the one opposed to them. The important thing to remember is that neither side is right but one will win. To try to make a moral argument out of ideological difference is a category mistake, like a surgeon deciding that the best way to perform a complex operation will be by using the principles of classical aesthetics. Those who believe in their moral rectitude have caused more suffering in history than any other group. This is something Islam understands and the West fails to grasp. It is strength, not sanctity, which will decide the future of the world.

For the West, or rather for its liberal, neo-Communist elites, the problem is that the previously indigenous cultures are becoming too powerful, hated democracy is rearing its head, ordinary people are peeking behind the Wizard of Oz’s curtain like little Toto, and they are far too close to the sources of knowledge by virtue of the internet, the modern-day version of Gutenberg’s printing-press. The way to solve this is manifold, but involves the promotion and weaponisation of acute social and cultural dysfunction.

The importation of Islam, the destruction of the nuclear family, the confounding of the biological premises of gender, the promotion of homosexuality, the neglect of serious crime and the canonisation of ‘hate crime’, overly tiered management and its attendant unnecessary bureaucracy, the acceleration of an institutionalised and unquestionable brand of feminism, the downgrading of worthwhile academic study and its replacement with ideological nonsense requiring no thought, the denigration of men, the infantilisation of culture, the hyper-emphasis on identitarianism, the growth of authoritarianism disguised as liberalism. All of these things are similar to those spiked strips British police throw across roads to stop fleeing criminal drivers. They are intentionally put into place to stop any further successes the West might be allowed to achieve.

If the Left win – and they are winning – then my belief is that the world will become a hugely more unpleasant place in which to live, even for the people who are even now creating it. One of my personal maxims is that children of the Left, of those Leftists who have children, will despise their parents in years to come. When there are no more nice things, the children of the damned will look for the culprits of their plight.

Another of the Traumavillian mottoes is that the only thing that can save the type of world I would like to see, the type of world I believe would be least onerous for the most people, is complete economic collapse, a depression that would make the Great Depression look like a tea party in a leafy English hamlet.

As I have said many and oft, every phoenix needs its ashes from which to rise.