Monday, 21 August 2017


We shall not cease from exploration,

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

T S Eliot, Little Gidding

As every pet owner knows all too well, there comes a time when the poor animal needs to be put to sleep. So it is with weblogs. I estimate that Postcards from Traumaville is around four years old. And it is starting to hobble, its eyes clouding with filmy, milky white cataracts. Time, perhaps, for the final injection and sentimental burial in the back yard…

I began the weblog for a number of reasons. I needed to know what I believe, politically, and to be able to go back and see the evolution, if any, of those beliefs.

I needed to release anger, a requirement which has got me into a great deal of trouble over the years on various social media platforms or, in my case, anti-social media platforms.

Most of all, I needed to hone my writing style. Writing is very important to me, as is reading. I hope that there will be a book in Traumaville, once the fat is stripped from the bone – I have getting on for a quarter of a million words – and that that book would have something valuable to say.

On a practical level, I devote as much time as I can to playing music, as that is more or less my only possible source of income. Blogging, of course, earns you nothing except a few readers and the possible if unwelcome attention of the authorities.

Time for the good burghers of Traumaville to retire, then.

And yet, and yet…

I have always maintained that a weblog is a more democratic tool than a vote. What use is a vote if the candidates are Tweedledum and Tweedledee? Any genuine and radical party representing a push against the status quo is neutered by the gaming of the electoral systems of Europe by the progressive, globalist parties. See Geert Wilders, Germany’s AfD and the Sweden Democrats as examples. The only electoral surprise – and a serious glitch in the matrix set in place by the elites – was Donald Trump’s victory in north America.

Dissent is important for self-respect and, with a weblog, even if you are speaking to a few tens of readers, you are registering your dissent. Prosecutions for hate speech, once a rarity, are becoming commonplace across Europe. My own Twitter account has been suspended for weeks, and I can’t delete it. I have often gone way beyond what is acceptable to the lickspittle British police, and have Tweeted them directly many times, goading and jeering and criticizing. It may be that they are planning their revenge. I am not attempting to sound self-important, but I may be looking at jail time if I return to the UK. I hope so. There is a clause in Costa Rica’s constitution which allows someone to claim political asylum if they face persecution in their home countries for their political beliefs. We shall see.

In the meantime, it is not possible to stop thinking about what Guillaume Faye termed the ‘convergence of catastrophes’, the doom that is coming to Europe at the very least, and therefore it is not possible to stop writing about it. As I warned years ago, the elites are coming for the internet, so one may as well use it while one can, like having a quick last game of snooker on the Titanic.

When I say that the elites are coming for the internet, I mean, of course, certain sections of it. The Left finally got what they wanted at Charlottesville, and since then several dissident and Alt. Right websites have either disappeared or had their platforms removed. The so-called ‘tech giants’ are marionettes of the rulers, and dance to their drum and fife. Alternative Right; Gone. Counter Currents; Threatened with deletion. The Daily Stormer; Denied service. Stuff Black People Don’t Like; Inaccessible. All in the last week. Facebook pulls sites of which it disapproves, and the vast majority of them are Right-wing, as it is now defined. Twitter does the same.

And how is ‘Right-wing’ now defined? I am far from being the only person to have noted repeatedly that the old, Parisian terms ‘Left’ and ‘Right’ are now wholly inadequate to describe the political divisions which have come into sharp focus since Brexit and Trump. These divisions have never been so clear. Prior to the last momentous year, it was possible to have a certain admixture of elements from Left and Right and maintain both within a single belief system, in the same way Plato reminds us that good and evil can exist within the same person. I myself would describe myself as Right wing, a political conservative. It didn’t stop me feeling sick at my last job, watching residents from the block I managed walking from their million-pound apartments across the road to sit in the doctor’s office, next to the poor people of south-east London, and expect to use the same free NHS services. Those people should, in my view, be forced to take out health insurance via upwards means testing. They could then drive to a private doctor in their expensive cars. So even I have a vestigial Leftist organ, like an appendix or coccyx. Now, it is either/or. At least, it is for the Progressive.

Well, this post has been a ramble but, in the end, I think Traumaville is still open for tourism, which is more than you can say for Europe. A world is being constructed by a disgraceful set of people and, if you fail to write about this when you can, you become one of them. Traumaville redux.                                                                            

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