COLUMN: Get. Out. Of. The. Cities
An old legend tells that once upon a time in Philadelphia, an old woman asked Ben Franklin, “Bennie, how many little skeletons are buried under that London…” No, wait, she wouldn’t have known to ask back then in real-time. Uh…
She asked him what kind of government the frauds and usurpers at the “constitutional convention” had foisted on the free Englishmen of America. Bennie grunted, scratched the sleeping beaver on his head, and told the old woman, “a republic, madam, if you can keep it.”
Maybe the old woman, for her part, did. We certainly let the treacherous thing go. Well, the government is still there, more debased than ever, still lying, robbing, and killing. It is, after all, just a proposition, an idea. A bad idea. Bad ideas, like dark spirits, once abandoned and after a time, simply float away on the breeze. But the living nation the fake republic was designed to subvert is already vanquished. The very polity forged, poorly, by the joining of that doomed nation and the Curse of ‘87, has crumbled all around us. The lands themselves may soon slide beneath the seas.
Nowhere does this plain, terrible, and justly-deserved truth manifest itself more vibrantly than in the cities of the former United States.
Imagine that you allow yourself to live the life of a medieval peasant, minus the tranquility, security, and dignity and that you dwell in a cramped, smelly, vermin-infested tenement building in Brooklyn. Your neighbors, millions and millions and millions of them, are seventy-percent Not-americans. Not that they need to, but they sometimes let you know about the demographic shift. Every day, you board a dilapidated train to venture a few miles deeper into a loud, stinking concrete hell where you perform menial tasks for people who genuinely hate you and pay you a wage that would have been approximately justified and appropriate in 1890 Kansas. During these oppressive treks, you mentally review your growing debts and misery. Drugs are your only friend. Terrible thoughts occasionally enter your tired mind.
You stopped paying attention to your surroundings years ago. Today, you’re wearing a mask on the train because something on the telly once told you that it was better than breathing freely. Everyone is masked. Nobody is paying attention. None have noticed that one of the passengers sports a literal gas mask on his dark face. Few realize he’s tossed a smoke bomb until they begin to choke. You hear shots ring out. Suddenly, you and dozens of other thralls lie on the floor bleeding. The masked shooter lopes away unopposed. No security cameras work that day. Your usual numbness saves you from agony. Instead, crumpled there in a puddle of blood, you wonder if the boss will fire you for today’s absence. You recall you have no medical insurance. You’re living the new Amerikan dream, another day in the big city.
That just happened in New York. Putin, White supremacists, climate hoaxes, the seasonal flu, and fraudulent contracts had nothing to do with it. I used to write extensively about things like this. Now, what’s the point? The last I read, the valiant and overweight NYPD were searching for a “black male,” having identified an implausible-sounding 62-year-old. Was he a gang-banger? A terrorist? A crazy nut? A real prophet of doom? Could this have been yet another false flag? Staged production? At this late hour, who really cares?
It is what it is. Especially in places like New York. This is the new normal, and it will continue to get worse – much worse – rather than better. All things being equal, predators go where the prey is. Few attacks like this happen in small towns and rural areas because there are so few potential victims around. Pack a hundred inattentive, obese sadsacks in one subway car, and it’s a dream shooting gallery for criminals of any stripe.
We’re not fixing this, short of using nuclear weapons. There’s no voting our way to safety. There’s no suing. Nothing in your precious constitution will help. Self-defense in such circumstances is difficult and, these crazy days, de facto illegal. There’s only one way to survive a mass mayhem event: DON’T BE THERE.
I’ve been telling the preppers to pick the area in Ukraine that best resembles where they live. Why? Admit it or not, the US is already in a low-grade (un)civil war. When it heats up, it will burn. Events like the 36th Street Bloodbath will become routine, daily events. Worse things will happen. Above it all, sooner or later, heavy bombs and artillery may possibly start flying. Things have changed. It’s not 1982 anymore. Pax Americana has become Gehenna Ameri-cacas. Praesertim in urbe. The big metros are no longer fun zones and economic opportunity areas. They’re kill boxes. GET THE HELL OUT OF THEM!
Note: Originally, before the Rotten Apple diversity celebration, I was tinkering with several ideas for another Russia article. Phase two of the SMO is rolling or about to roll. I recently linked to another book nobody will read. And I had an epiphany of sorts about the valuation of the Russian economy. I’ve been a little suspicious of the claims about the “$1.5 trillion GDP” and the “$67 billion military budget.” It occurred to me that the comparative dollarized accounting is artificially low, or is a misplaced measure because of the relative lack of globalist financialization in Russia. During the 1990s, the vampiric descendants of Trotsky returned and attempted to finish the murder. They were stopped by a man named Vlad. History continues, etc. But the nation’s economy is still there, thriving, and still linked mostly to the nation itself. It’s also linked to actual value and not to slave payments of fake debts, unreal money that never existed.
This is just a little theory, based on my guesses and a quick look at wages and big-ticket prices. De-inflated down (or up…) to the properly corresponding period of US monetary and fiscal history, I figure the Ruble and the economy it drives are somewhere in the USian 1970s. The current average income is roughly equivalent to 6,500 2022 dollars; the average house sells for something like $21,000 (in 2022 USD). This looks like Ohio or Mississippi around 1970-75. It’s why despite having such a low-sounding muh GDP!!! the Russians still manage to afford homes, new cars, roads, first-rate weapons, rockets, entertainment, and more.
I can’t and won’t yet make the math fully comprehensible, but for now, the metric I’m going with is a multiplier of six. (Six, ironically, happens to be the answer to that older forensic question). So, again very roughly and imprecisely, $1.5 trillion becomes $9 trillion, and $67 billion approaches $400 billion. Given the relative size of the populations, those adjusted numbers are almost exactly in-line with what passes for econ stats in the present fading US. For reasons, I strongly suspect the Russian figures also beget more bang for the buck.
Also, for any Russian readers, there is no reason to avoid the fineries of Moscow, Saint Petersburg, or Yekaterinburg. Civil order has been destroyed in the US, not in your country. Keep it that way.