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PERRIN LOVETT

~ Deo Vindice

PERRIN LOVETT

Category Archives: Other Columns

Columns concerning any and everything. Enjoy!

CHRISTMAS FICTION 2023: The Inn Occupied, The Manger Reduced To Rubble, But A Fire Nonetheless Lit

23 Saturday Dec 2023

Posted by perrinlovett in fiction, Other Columns

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Christmas, fiction, Ironsides

The Inn Occupied, The Manger Reduced To Rubble, But A Fire Nonetheless Lit

~A Tom Ironsides tale by Perrin Lovett~

~~Christmas 2023~~

 

Vrubel Hall, the Hotel Metropol, Moscow, a late afternoon in December…

Tom glanced around the wide room for a moment as he thought. ‘It is,’ be began again, ‘in a sad and ironic way, an inverted or worsened retelling of part of the original Christmas Story. We have some similar players and oddly reminiscent circumstances. My evil, dying US empire stands in for Rome. He, damn him, the worst leader in their malicious history, is doing a fine job portraying Herod. But instead of just killing the baby boys, he’s murdering all the children. And everybody else. Two thousand years ago, Augustus was rumored to have said, Melior est porcus quam princeps. That is, kind of, it is safer to be a Herodian pig than a son of the tyrant. Of course, our stand-in emperor is a pathetic, half-dead moron who can’t even walk and lick ice cream at the same time. But maybe this explains why the new client king’s own worthless son is hiding out in Miami. Who knows? At the risk of causing an international row, I will say that I would simply love to hack the despot’s head off with a dull axe.’

The gathered fans of multipolarity had quickly grown accustomed to Tom’s blunt and seemingly angered speech that night, punctuated with odd side discussions with and to himself. Most of them chuckled heartily at the notion of bitted justice even as they considered the painful truth behind the historical comparison.

Tom continued: ‘So that is that. And thank you, Pericles, for asking. Now, before I forget, I was told to tell you, sir, on orders of Dr. LeFleur, who declined to make this trip in person, there is virtually no will to act or interest in your plan or plans. He said, and I almost agree with him if not entirely, that the cause is not dead, but the spirit is, with the people soon to follow, and that you should simply proceed independently here. I take it that the last part would be the concurring advice of the beautiful woman, surely your Aspasia, next to you.’ He tipped an imaginary hat and continued wrapping up his comments.

‘See,’ Pericles said quietly to Julia. ‘You’re my Aspasia. Any man with a classical background can see it.’

‘And this classical man,’ she noted, ‘he has, his good looks and obvious wit aside, murder in those cold steel eyes.’

‘To quickly readdress your inquiry, young lady, from, is it Moscow Twenty-Four? While the US is still dangerous as any large mortally-wounded predator can be, its days of genuinely asserting its will to dominate the planet are thankfully coming to an end. Even in my time, there was nothing in the way of coherent operational planning and strategy. Just a never-ending series of ill-defined tactical actions, none of which ever accomplished anything lasting. I’m sure you report daily or weekly their deteriorating stupidity. All they have are jaded word spells long devoid of any power. Forget a strong national military foe. They can’t even, directly or by proxy, compete with Hamas, the Houthis, or Los Zetas. The only people still in fear of the American monster are the gelded, bedrugged, illiterate American people themselves. And so it goes.’

Tom waved politely to the reporter and a few other people, and then the homicidal vision suddenly took over as he locked eyes with a man standing by the doors at the back of the hall. The man was older, gruff-looking, and wearing a cashmere overcoat atop a brown suit. The two men stared at each other for what began to feel like an eternity. As the crowd alternately observed them and a rumor of disquiet started to sweep the room, Tom raised an outstretched finger toward his opponent. ‘Is the music still good?’ he asked unflinchingly.

‘We are all good people,’ the man replied in husky Russian-accented English.

An open-mouthed smile of sheer joy took Tom. ‘Give me one second,’ he said in a cross between a shout and a whisper. Then he directed his final words to the audience. ‘That concludes my bumbling presentation, my friends. Now, as Michael Hudson was unavailable, it is my honor to turn the podium over to my friend, Dr. Todd Vispoli, who will speak of matters monetary and economic. To all, I extend my warmest thanks for the invitation and the most gracious reception imaginable in this most marvelous city. Thank you, Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year, one and all!’

After shaking Todd’s hand and patting his back, Tom merrily hopped off the short platform and veritably bounded towards the man by the door, ignoring a smattering of outstretched hands and well wishes en route. The men looked at each other intently for a moment, then, foregoing a handshake, embraced about the shoulders. There followed a hushed private conversation. The other man, likely twenty years Tom’s senior, a kind of healthy, vibrant elderly to look at, was stocky and a little short in comparison to Tom’s looming presence. Still, as Tom kept his head lowered, the two continued speaking eye-to-eye. Soon, Tom led his apparent friend back to the table, where Larry had just pulled up an extra chair.

‘More wine, please, spasibo,’ Tom said to an attentive waiter as he and the man took their seats. He then pointed around the table, making hasty introductions. ‘This is my Carmyn. And my baby brother, Larry, and his much better-looking better half, Darla.’ As a light chorus of “hellos” and “privets” echoed about, Tom said to the man, ‘and you. I have never known your name!’

‘Leonid Zhirinovsky,’ the man said with a smile. ‘Forever to my family, Papa or Uncle El-Zee. To my friends, Leo.’

‘Leo!’ Tom exclaimed. ‘So many years later, now I know.’

The table looked on expectantly and Tom renewed the introduction. ‘Leo, here, was part of my KGB escort on my very first visit to Moscow so many years ago. When was it? Eighty-eight?’

‘I think Eighty-seven, perhaps,’ Leo said.

‘Eighty-seven, then.’

‘Way back then,’ Leo explained, ‘we knew a contingent from the US State Department had come to the American embassy with a following of military officers. We were unexpectedly tipped off, that fateful afternoon, that one young Marine officer was about to be dispatched on foot into the city. We did not know his purposes or much else about him. Tall and young was about all they told us.’

‘It was the end of the first do-nothing day,’ Tom added. ‘And they just told me to go out on the town and enjoy myself. So, never having been here and wanting to see all I could, I did.’

‘He wore his uniform right out the door, out the gate, and onto our streets!’

‘I didn’t want to waste a second changing, so I just hit the pavement in my service greens!’

‘He cut quite the impressionable swath that way. And made our identification so much easier. Some of our girls and women were intrigued. A few men were dismissive. Most bystanders didn’t know what to think of him, roaming about and looking into every shop and cafe with all that silly, cheerful American banter.’ The two roared with laughter at the memory.

‘I had gone a few blocks when, I think the car—that older black car—kind of alerted me. Like, oh, boy, they’re on you! You and your partner were walking, following me on the other side of the street. And you both hung in there as if to subtly announce that was what you were doing—following with a purpose.’

‘He waved to us and jibbered in happy English.’

‘All I could think of,’ Tom said. ‘I do recall you merely nodded in acknowledgement. Your friend never did or said anything.’

‘He was a partner, not a friend.’

‘Oh.’

‘He died during the dark Nineties.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Stone cold, you guys,’ Tom said with a cough. ‘At least my night didn’t end up like the Mama Anarchy lyrics treatment!’

‘So, you did investigate the songs?!’ Leo asked with a hint of surprise.

‘Of course,’ Tom said. ‘How could I not?’

Leo, his face softened considerably, looked around at the perplexed faces. He sipped cabernet and then said, ‘so your husband and brother, here, he kept snooping for some time. Kept us walking. Roundabout, he lurked into one of our monitored back alley rock clubs. It’s not terribly far from where we sit. A food order delivery service company now, I think. Anyway, we all had the pleasure of seeing the end of a KINO concert thanks to our intrepid Jarhead.’

‘The music did lure me in,’ Tom said. ‘Sounded really good even as I couldn’t understand a word. The doorman sized me up and just waved me into the club. I think you two might have scared him.’

‘Is that when you met Viktor Tsoi?’ Larry asked. 

‘It was,’ Tom said. ‘One of the best endings of a concert I ever heard. He must have seen the uniform and was curious. We exchanged pleasantries. Nice guy. All of them appeared nice. Such a loss a few years later.’

‘At the end, we moved outside and waited,’ Leo said. ‘Young Lieutenant Ironsides came out and I asked him, is the music good?’

‘And for whatever reason, I just nodded and said, and we’re all good people,’ Tom added.

‘So that explains the tense words,’ Carmyn interjected.

‘Yes, lovely Misses Larke-Ironsides,’ Leo said. ‘And I have been meaning to ask you. Around the turn of the century, an American television show about ancient Greek gods and goddesses became popular in Russia. I remember this one lovely goddess, a vicious warrioress, who entered battle with a startling ululating cry…’

Todd was just making his way to the table when Adrestia’s war call shook the room. As more than a few people panicked, he staggered up to find Tom’s gaggle in stitches. Leo was pounding the table. ‘Nice, Carmyn,’ Todd said. ‘We’re all awake now. And thank you, Dr. Tom, for paying such close attention.’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, so I used you and this morning’s bank exchange trip as an example. Five times I called out for your opinion, but all I got was some murmurs about a uniform and a band or something. I was like, hell with him, but it does still work thanks to the BOR. I then briefly discussed Anton Siluanov’s recent mission in Beijing and what it might portend for any real Americans who want to survive and thrive and so forth. I tried to think of your father-in-law’s full name but couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t get your attention. Think he’d be interested?’

‘Don’t know. Stanley’s a little pessimistic these days, uncharacteristically so,’ Tom said. ‘To think, for once I’m the pro-Southern nationalist firebrand of the two of us. I’m sure the situation will reverse again. I’m a Cottonmouth! But, now, meet my old pal, Leo!’

‘I think they say, Diamondback,’ Todd said.

‘They say, Copperhead,’ Leo corrected.

Todd was brought up to speed on Tom’s prior semi-licite wanderings about Moscow. Then, as the conference ended, the small group made their exit from the hall. Todd issued a vague promise about dinner and headed for his room while already dialing his family back in Ohio. Carmyn and Darla were intent on shopping and winter wonderlanding, and departed for a quick powdering of noses, grabbing of coats, and assorted girl talk. Larry joined the two cold warriors for a happy parting drink at the Chaliapin bar. Thirty minutes or so later, as he joined the women, receiving his and Tom’s overcoats, he didn’t hear the old friends’ final quiet words.

‘It was sheer luck I remembered your name,’ Leo said. ‘And that I heard it concerning your talk today. I listened, happily, mostly from just outside the door. With all the talk—and I see the matters weigh heavy upon you, old man—I wonder. In fact, I have a hypothesis. Do you plan to use your unique skills in the great battle for the soul of the failing West? Beyond noble classical education, of course, I say. Do you mean to perhaps violently start righting some of the wrongs?’

‘Start?’ Tom asked. ‘No. I mean to continue.’

With a knowing look, a boisterous laugh, and a firm handshake, they parted ways. Tom joined his family in the lobby by the doors adjacent to the snow-covered Fontan Vitali.

‘You have that Tom’s-up-to-something look,’ Darla said. 

‘I’m up to spending quality time with loved ones in Red Square!’ he answered in a voice merrier than it had sounded in a day or three. ‘Anybody up for GUM, the market, and maybe some skating? Maybe some dandy iPhone Christmas tunes?’

As they made their way outside, Larry said,’ I’m ready for it all. Including a preview of this effigy-burning tradition. Is it the good doctor again this year?’

‘Him and a female friend!’ Carmyn said. ‘Tom made a second doll like a witch wearing a South Carolina flag.’

‘The political trash!’ Darla said. ‘Everyone hates that wicked neocon Jezebel.’

‘Howya gonna do it this year, babe?’ Carmyn asked. ‘The fireplace again?’

‘Oh, no,’ Tom said. ‘Too pedestrian. And let’s cross the street now. No, this year, I have a new toy for the job.’

‘What kind of toy?’ Larry asked as they skipped along the snowy street.

‘My ninety-two dollar homemade cardboard kamikaze drone!’ Tom said with more than a little pride. ‘Down at the shooting lane, Mehr-Bear will love flying it into those two straw wretches!’

‘Less than a hundred bucks, Bubba? And you made it?’ Larr asked.

‘Yep. Old boxes. Tape. Little motor and some throwaway phone parts. A delta-wing pusher. That’s the inert price, of course. We’ll be using as a warhead a little bottle of poor man’s napalm for the ceremony this time. Otherwise, for roughly twice the price—no need to pay ten thousand dollars to some two-bit Aussies—they’ll be armed with, say, TAT—’

‘Tom, Tom, Tom,’ Carmyn said with a laugh. ‘Only you. And, we noticed it went from it to they. How many have you built?’

‘No enough,’ Tom said. ‘But enough of that. Let’s walk and shop and maybe throw snowballs at each other. Enjoy the good mood. I’ve never seen anyone do decorations like the Ruskies here.’

‘It is lovely,’ Darla said. ‘A shame the whole world can’t look and live like this. I’m fixating on your Christmas Story analogy. Sad.’

‘It is,’ Tom admitted. ‘But there’s always hope. The original version kicked off with a good news message from the Archangel Gabriel. Maybe soon we’ll get a martial follow-up word from Saint Michael.’ He paused a minute while they walked, evidently trying to remember something. ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed. ‘That thought and something Leo said reminded me of the missing Republican Senator.’

‘He certainly puts the sin in Senator, that homo,’ Larry said. ‘No one misses him, I’ll warrant.’

‘Why did you remember him?’ Carmyn asked cautiously, almost perceptively.

‘The liars at FOX and News Max haven’t told the tards,’ Tom said, ‘but just before he disappeared, the Russians issued an arrest warrant for him for war crimes related to the SMO.’

‘Aaaand—’ Carmyn dared.

‘And I have to turn him over to the GRU or the FSB or someone,’ he answered.

‘You know where he is?!’ Darla asked.

‘Yeah. He’s in the cargo hold. With us the whole trip,’ Tom said. ‘Forgot all about him when we met with customs yesterday. Hope he’s comfortable. No Boy’s Life magazines like he’s used to, uh, reading, but I did leave him an electric blanket and some water. Hope there was enough air in there for the trip at altitude…’ Three voices oscillated between gasps and chuckles, and Tom added, ‘and, if anyone asks, he was in his present condition when I grabb—when I found him. Right? Better yet, we’ll just say nothing and let them sort it all out. Now, for some fun!’

And as the wider world turned in its usual turbulent fashion, the happy foursome ventured to GUM, Red Square, and other central points. A decent amount of snow fell. Night settled. Relatively nearby, an unnoticed lispy voice moaned from within a handsome trijet hangared by the general aviation tarmac. Further away, children and grandchildren prepared for a reception, a ceremonial flying bonfire, and other Ironsides-esque festivities. And with Christ’s Mass, New Year’s, and the Feast of the Nativity approaching, some semblance of peace took to some of the smaller corners of the world. 

 

THE END

 

Postscript: This story wasn’t the most Christmasy I could have thought of, perhaps, but it was the best I could do. Or, it was what I did—and certainly worth the reader’s good money. We came perilously close to a cancellation, things being what they are. But that wouldn’t have been right. A sigh of relief, eh? As always,

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

счастливого Рождества! С Новым Годом!

UPDATE: Also running at Reckonin‘.

COLUMN(?): The Time I Met Santa Claus

13 Wednesday Dec 2023

Posted by perrinlovett in Other Columns

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Christmas

The Time I Met Santa Claus

 

Christmas is coming. Therefore I thought of telling a few true tales from Christmases past. This is instead of another report on the usual that I just couldn’t do or a short story that ran the risk of a kind of contamination. This may end up being another excuse for a column, but it should be a good one.

If I remember correctly—and it was almost fifty years ago, so the memory is a bit fuzzy—it was Christmas Eve the week or so before the house almost burned down. Nineteen Seventy-Something. Family had come to visit and it was a warm and swell time while it lasted. Very small me was informed, as children sometimes are, that if I went to bed and slept soundly, Santa Claus would visit and leave presents! (Maybe you’ve heard something similar?) I promptly went to bed and dozed off thinking about the old poem and hooves beating on the roof and a loud, jolly, “Ho, ho, ho!” 

Deep in the dark hours, perhaps after Midnight, I awoke because I heard what to my young ears sounded like hooves pounding away on something nearby. And while it might not have been “Ho, ho, ho,” loud words were being spoken. ALL excited, I hopped out of bed and peeped out the door. In the hall, all the lights were on. And all the adults were gathered around the door to the guest bedroom which was adjacent to mine. There was a general excitement about something though I can’t say it was the jolly kind. At that moment I didn’t know that someone (no names, no one reading will know and most who do know are dead!) decided it would be fun to take someone else hostage with a knife! Lost in my happy innocence, as I watched my dad and uncle break down the door, I gleefully asked, “Is Santa here?!” 

The adults paid me no attention. On my own, maybe when the men carried someone (love ya!) out kicking and screaming, I decided it was a false Santa alarm. About that time, Dr. Wilson rolled up in Mrs. Betty’s sedan, the men placed someone in the back and sat on her, and off they all went to the hospital for some Yuletide sedation. I must have gone back to bed. In the morning, while I can’t remember any presents from Santa, I’m sure there were some. Later, the family departed early. And a few days later, unless it was the next year(?) (or the preceding year??? One of them…), the house did catch on fire. 

No, for somewhat obvious reasons, I didn’t really meet Saint Nick. But after all these years, I still find the episode hilarious. And it’s more kind and friendly than the Christmas most children in Gaza can probably expect this year. 

There were going to be a few more, but I’m suddenly worn out. I will point out that in Christian Russia, Ded Moroz or Dedushka Moroz (“Дедушка Мороз” ~ Grandfather Frost) comes to bring all the good Russian children presents. By the way, I’m informed that all the children in Russia, like all of them everywhere, are good. While some or many may observe Christ’s birth on December 25th, the Orthodox emphasis is on the Commemorative Feast on January 7th. I’m told Ded Moroz comes around, in between, on New Year’s Eve. I’m not sure if that is to separate the Sacred from the secular, but I kind of like the whole scheme and plan to investigate. How would a Western Christian transplanted to a place like Moscow react to and treat the calendar differences? Well, if it was me, I plan to celebrate both dates and every day between them! 

Here’s an astounding walk-around look, from last year, of how they celebrate the Christmas Season, Red Square style:

Here’s a preview of the surrounding streets this year:

Now, we’ll close with a little Christmas music minute!

 

 

Next week there may or may not be some Christmas fiction. Stay tuned. 

Бог – наш защитник.

COLUMN: Time To (JB) Bury The Enlightenment Experiment

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

Posted by perrinlovett in Other Columns

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America, JB Bury, OCOC, politics

Time To (JB) Bury The Enlightenment Experiment

 

Hello, all. Looking back at things I wrote four, ten, or nearly twenty-two years ago, I have mixed feelings. I’ll for now keep those to myself, but with perhaps infrequent exceptions, I will cease writing about practical American political affairs. It’s like being a veterinarian that specializes in dinosaurs—sounds cool and all, but…

Over four years ago, I wrote an article called “Only A Dictator Can Save America.” My (admittedly dangerous) suggestion was highly implausible in the summer of 2019. In the final month of 2023, it’s too late, out of time, and gone with the wind. Back then, I wrote: “the United States Empire … nears its predictable end; it currently collapses at free-fall speed. Even now, wicked useless elites scramble to suck out what value remains while their scavenger hordes descend upon the rotting shell.” That was fifteen years after Vox Day correctly called America an unfixable corpse. And it was before Big Floyd’s summer of love, the COVID hoax, the stolen election and coup, NATO’s suicidal losing war against Russia, Judeo-”Christian” support for genocide for Greater Israel, and all the other signals and signs the United States is well and truly over. And it is. And it should be. American women are now encouraged to practice literal satanism to murder their children—and you know many are doing so. The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah 2.0 approaches, though one hopes there are still a lot of Lots around. 

Maybe it’s in that valiant spirit that even now it appears some good people want to try something—anything—to hold the old line. Today I had planned to discuss a new non-political (political) movement in the U.S. I mentally waffled all over the place deciding whether to do it for three reasons. First, I greatly admire this movement’s leader, a truly good man, and my review skews a little realistic. Second, while some of their policy statements are just wrong and others are slightly misguided or misdirected, others are great and I think the group means very well. Third, as futile as I perceive the attempt is, if it gives good people just a little hope, then there is more than a little merit in it. I decided to plow ahead regardless, mindful there are no legal or political solutions to America’s many and generally self-inflicted problems. Here follows a review and macro-assessment, not a condemnation.

OCOC is the acronym for the new semi-political cultural movement Our Country Our Choice. I learned of OCOC the other day via a link from Lew Rockwell or Ron Unz. It is my opinion that while very well-intentioned this movement is potentially destined to go the way of the Tea Party, MAGA, “Q”, and the 1607 Project. The decent-sounding ideas put forward by OCOC and its honest, heroic leader, Col. Douglas MacGregor, would have better served the Peak America of 1965 or earlier. They would have still had some chance of success twenty years later, though by then, the US was in dire need of pull-out-all-the-stops emergency domestic military action. Those of you who were around then know we didn’t get it. And we won’t.

OCOC presents a solution for a society that no longer exists. And it fundamentally misses the very categorization of that society. The key to understanding why is found in OCOC’s founding Statement: “OCOC believes that the three pillars of civilization are equal justice under the law, cheap energy, and freedom of speech.” While not as bad as it could be, that belief is wrong.

The US is no longer observably American or Christian. It was not founded as a Christian country. Rather, it was constructed as an Enlightenment ideological experiment by predominantly pseudo-Christians, neo-pagans, and Freemasons. But it was, upon a time, part of Western Civilization, the heir of the (even back then) failing British tradition. The three pillars of Western Civilization are Christianity, the Greco-Roman legacy, and the heritage(s) of the European nations. Take away one element and the civilization ceases to be Western. Take them all away, as is the case with the postmodern US, and the subject civilization itself fails. 

The US no longer has any semblance of law and order. As such, notions about fairness under what passes for the law are misplaced. Cheap energy is vitally important for any advanced society, but it is not a critical component of the existence of that society. Free speech is an Enlightenment lie and trap designed almost exclusively to weaken and destroy Christian law and culture. To see this explicitly stated by a leading proponent of Enlightenment evil, read A History of Freedom of Thought by J.B. Bury (Cambridge, USA: Henry Holt, 1913) (yes, that J.B. Bury). 

Bury writes: “[F]reedom of thought, in any valuable sense, includes freedom of speech.” He then praises the paganism of ancient Greece as an example of and for the postmodern, anti-Christian future: 

We must remember that the Homeric poems were never supposed to be the word of God. It has been said that Homer was the Bible of the Greeks. The remark exactly misses the truth. The Greeks fortunately had no Bible, and this fact was both an expression and an important condition of their freedom.

That was, of course, during the Fifth Century BC, which Bury calls the “age of Illumination.” He extolls the luciferian concept of the “supremacy of the individual conscience, as we should say, over human law.” He goes on to slander the Christian Church as well as the “reforms” inflicted by Luthor and Calvin, going so far as to lie and blaspheme:

The truth is that Sacred Books are an obstacle to moral and intellectual progress, because they consecrate the ideas of a given epoch, and its customs, as divinely appointed. Christianity, by adopting books of a long past age, placed in the path of human development a particularly nasty stumbling-block.

In discussing the Christianization of Imperial Rome, he stupidly asserts: “in a State where Christians had the power there would be no tolerance…” And he wraps up with a few moaning examples of how, even as the devil’s progress progresses in the early 20th Century, vestiges of Christian culture still linger in Europe. One such bemoaning: “The recent rather alarming inflictions of penalties for blasphemy in England illustrate this point. It was commonly supposed that the Blasphemy laws, though unrepealed, were a dead letter. But since December 1911, half a dozen persons have been imprisoned for this offence.”

Over 100 years later, the empirical truth is plain to see. Freed of their oppressive blasphemy laws and Christianity in general, how well do England, Germany, France, and the United States fare? The truth is that in the absence of Christian control, there is no tolerance. 

I didn’t mean for this to turn into a mini-review of Bury, but doing so illustrates the point of the danger of “free speech” and of making the same a pillar of any civilization. And I do not think Macgregor and his fellows are Freemasons, Enlightenment-mongers, or in any way evil. In fact, elsewhere in OCOC’s various statements and propositions, there is hard evidence to the contrary. For example, in decrying the persecution of Christians today, OCOC amazingly condemns the IDF for murdering Christians in Occupied Palestine. And under their “Defend Our Children” section they dare state a great if terrible truth: “Be aware that pedophilia is being normalized and inducted into the [SIC?] Stand your ground! (When a gay chorus sings “we are coming for your kids,” we should believe them. Some law makers are even trying to make pedophilia legal.)” Either of those honest statements is enough to make the ADL scream, “Anti-satanic!” That’s good.

With other matters, the views, beliefs, and approaches are a little muddled. For instance, OCOC is 100% correct that the Federal Reserve should be abolished. It will be, and hopefully soon, by monetary gravity and nature. But whether legally or naturally destroyed, its elimination erases, mitigates, or changes some of OCOC’s other stated goals concerning things like debt levels, federal spending, and taxation. All of these issues are moot points at this extremely late hour.

It’s good and very well that MacGregor says OCOC is not overtly political and does not support or try to curry favor with any Democrats or Republicans. No side of the Uniparty would have anything to do with the movement other than to try to subvert it or maybe have it prosecuted for hate crimes. Really, everyone knows that. It’s because the entirety of the American political structure is dead. And that is because the entirety of American and Western-American culture is dead, a product of the death of the prevailing Western identity of Americans. As such, there is no reason to try to influence the dead politics of a dead country.

What OCOC should instead foster—and I think they have a good chance to do so—is the redevelopment of the concepts of God, family, and Christian community that MacGregor champions. Christian men and women should deeply consider how America fell and who led the demise. The answer to all related questions, whether concerning debt, pedophilia, or open borders, is the same. At a certain time and place a notion of vengeance inserts itself.

OCOC should also accept that as America is no longer American, Western, or Christian, the otherwise valid solutions they suggest will not be accepted by all US residents or occupants nor will they work universally. Whether or not anyone understands or likes that the US is done and is breaking apart is immaterial. It is, it should, and no human endeavor can stop the process. Everyone’s ultimate focus should be on rebuilding something new and better in the rump states that will form over the next decade-plus. There’s great potential beyond the great upheavals and I suspect all good people will want to participate in the grand developments. 

On a personal note, I am happy to reveal I have completed my Thorongil Testing of the American people. I have the results and will, by my actions over the next year or so, make them and my related decisions public. Great news! Going forward, marching steadily toward 2024, we’ll have some more excellent fiction in this space. That will—or should—include another Tom Ironsides Christmas special. Don’t miss it.

Deo vindice.

Bad Government, Good Review

03 Sunday Dec 2023

Posted by perrinlovett in Other Columns

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book review, Fadi Lama, Vox Day

Many thanks to Vox Day, the Dread Ilk, the VFM, the SGers, and the rest for attention to my little review of Dr. Lama’s excellent book.

I’m not certain that democracy is definitely the worst form of government. Certainly, representative democracy is making a powerful claim to the title, and it’s true that the more the franchise expands, the worse the elected governments get. But it is certainly a lot easier to understand why the American Founding Fathers were so skeptical of the concept and determined to limit it.

This review of Dr. Fadi Lama’s book, WHY THE WEST CAN’T WIN, certainly makes it look worth reading: [Review]

There followed a healthy discussion at SG. Again, here’s hoping this is the one book that manages to wake up the still slumbering masses. My take on the GAE’s base government was that it had degenerated into a tedious balance of oligarchy and ochlocracy. But then, it’s really not a government at all anymore, merely being a satanic cult masquerading as a terrorist organization. Either way, its bad, real bad, or the worst. And thankfully, hopefully on its way out.

FICTION FOR COLUMN: Thankful Lee On Lake Teletskoye

30 Thursday Nov 2023

Posted by perrinlovett in fiction, Other Columns

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fiction, Pericles In Exile, Russia, Thanksgiving

Thankful Lee On Lake Teletskoye

 

Above, the etiolated late-November sun peeped out between large fast-moving gray clouds with their cold bodies sunk well below the peaks of the surrounding mountains. Below, arm in arm, they inched down the serene lakeshore amidst repeated joyful wind-borne blasts of snow. With a snicker, and after blowing several icy flakes from her phone screen, she read aloud the hastily devised story:

RELEE sci-fi

…

Atlanta, Occupied Confederate States of Amerika and-or Wakanda, New Africa – [DEcide Later] – present day??,

The general rubbed his wide reddened eyes, a look of pure shock etched upon his bearded face. Loud voices called out again and again, meaningless words lost in a cacophony of chaotic thumping bass notes and gunshots. ‘Dear Lord!’ he cried. ‘It’s the apocalypse!’

‘No, no, muh man,’ a glassy-eyed character said casually. ‘Dude! It’s Freaknik. Party time! Party like it’s 1607. Maaan, you want a drag?’ He offered Lee a lit joint. 

‘What is? No! No, I do not. Remove that putrid odor from my presence. What on earth have you done or allowed to happen to the Africans?!’ the general asked in horror. ‘I know these good people. Or I did. They never act like th— And why are all the Whites running around like this?!’

‘General,’ a smartly dressed if solemn man said, ‘It’s a pleasure, of course, General Lee. But you must know that we don’t ever say or think anything that might in any way be construed as defensive of worn, unenlightened European heritage. As you well know, African-Americans and Judeo-Americans played the greatest role in building the Old South. We stand for history, not reality. Multiculturalism is anything but apocalyptic. So kindly watch your words, sir. We fear being called bad names. Besides, I remind one and all that Big Brandon may be listening.’

‘Who the hell are you?!’

‘Zion McMasters of the Shabbyville Foundation,’ the man said, his hand extended.

Lee slapped the hand away and stood up indignantly. ‘You mean you have all of these, what are they? These AR Fifteens in your possession and all of the heavy military equipment just sitting around unguarded, and you tolerate all of this?! Heavens, you’re participating! Mr. Williams! I implore you! Please use your science machine and return me to my own civilized time. To the grave. Anywhere and anytime but this nightmare!’

…

‘Okay,’ she said, turning the phone off and returning it to her coat pocket. ‘That was kind of funny. But also rather sad. Is that the best you can do?’

‘It’s just a sketch,’ he said. ‘And that is probably all I can do, period.’

‘Between this and pablum, I’d pick pablum,’ she said. ‘Let this little idea sit in the hopper until the final moving along comes. Oh! And Perry, speaking of that, did you hear Perrin Lovett retired from writing about American education?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Perry said. ‘But it’s not surprising. One can only do so much before reassessing the field. The people one tries to help the most, particularly those disinterested or despiteful, either ignore one entirely or stab one in the back the hardest. I know all about that.’

‘That’s what he did, about the reassessment. Or so I think I read somewhere,’ Julia said. ‘After a book, some book chapters, podcasts, radio show appearances, and what I think turned out to be 452 articles, he declared a form of victory, perhaps pyrrhic, and moved on. He was planning to make an announcement in what would have been number 453 but instead, he turned it into some kind of polemical fiction. I suppose he is tired of what President Putin just called a quote-unquote degraded system.’

‘What was 453 supposed to be about?’

‘I think it was his commentary on a New York Times editorial admission that the fake pandemic finally revealed the total demise of Amerikan systemic education. He was also going to briefly get into the ever-so-slightly more intelligent and educated, into the multicultural sexual crime crisis at French universities. Being Perrin Lovett, he had planned to mention a stunning woman he knows who was educated at the University of Nantes—I assume he would have called her his ravissante déesse. 

‘And he was going to conclude with a segue to our most educated and intelligent way of dealing with the issue of migrant children not knowing Russian when they enter our schools. He knows about the coming general immigration overhaul, the deep-sixing of the last faux Western vestiges, and he thinks well of the practice of requiring base language skills before school entrance.’

‘He should consider moving here,’ Perry said as they slowed to a halt. ‘He seems to have somewhat of a Russian heart.’

‘I know. Kind of like my Pericles. And we do need a few more rebellious Catholic Anglo-Norman Aristotelians in our midst. But now, where are we going?’

‘Back, I suppose,’ Perry said, blinking in the snow.

They turned about where the landing and a playground gave way to a little marina. On that day and under those conditions, against all odds a small lone boat was setting sail into the deeper waters even as ice began to visibly form in places on the surface. Perhaps just a little faster than before, they moved back towards the resort. As they strolled, Perry changed the subject.

‘History and economics are no longer taught in Amerikan schools. In fact, really, nothing is taught anymore. The economies of the United States and France have been destroyed by usurious financialization. Few people understand the fact because most people are stupid and because all modern and postmodern schools of economics are about as useful as a COVID so-called vaccine. As such, it is remarkable that the world’s two greatest real economists came together again to explain exactly what happened, what’s coming, and what can be done to remediate the future. Somewhere, should anyone care to partake, there’s a transcript and a video of the discussion. I wish I could link it to the good people somehow as it’s well worth the reading, watching, or listening.’

‘Is that Michael Hudson and Steve Keen talking for three hours about capitalism and multipolarity with Michael DeLay and Anastasia Bendebury?’ Julia asked. ‘I read half of it and listened to the rest.’

‘That’s it,’ Perry said thoughtfully. ‘Though I think Mr. Lovett would preface with the very attractive Anastasia Bendebury.’

‘He would, certainly,’ Julia said. ‘And not without merit. But, speaking of merit, about one-third of the way through, there was an exchange I found fascinating, hilarious, and a little alarming. Bendebury asked Keen something like, So when you say that capitalism collapses, what do you see near feudalism or you see something totally different? And he answered, Mad Max.

That would have been a total hoot coming from anyone but Steve Keen. So Anastasia sought to clarify by saying, I mean, that’s very romantic. But… And Keen cut in and said, Now it’s not romantic. But I’m looking forward to dying before it happens. 

It would almost be romantic, for the average Westerner, except for the learned source. The man was, as usual, very serious.’

‘And as usual, he’ll be very ignored by most Westerners,’ Perry said. He noticed some children having a snowball fight along the treeline between two sets of cabins and smiled. ‘At least some generations will still get A Christmas Story instead of Mad Max. Those kids over there probably don’t know about any of it, not that they’ll ever need to. Safe in their greater sovereignty.’

‘I do wish those two would have left off the infrequent mention of the climate change specter,’ Julia said. ‘Of course, no one is perfect. A small matter. Then again, if the seas do rise, a lot of places full of a lot of wicked people will be swamped. London, New York, DC. That would be just fine.’

‘Hear, hear!’

‘And, hearing,’ she said; ‘Do you think your time-traveling friends will appreciate the economics lesson? What year are they in again?’

‘Yes, and no. 1607 now, I think,’ he answered. ‘The ones closer to the present will understand. And those forever mired in a bygone dream will think or say they get it too. That 1607 business could serve several purposes, more than a few contexts.’

‘1607 as a reaction—always a reaction—to the communist’s 1619 program nonsense?’

‘Of course. Economically, 1607 doesn’t line up the way they think or imagine or fantasize it does. The London Company, within and without Virginia, a forerunner of today’s hedge funds and private central-commercial banking axes of evil, was developed to loot North America while ethnically cleansing the native populations. It simultaneously impoverished the ordinary people of London and England, even going as far and so low as barring the English from growing their own tobacco. It would soon after 1607 replace destitute Londoners down the employment rungs to even the indentured level with a host of what would be euphemistically called in the future teens, gentle giants, joggers, and bird watchers. 

‘It was about what one would have expected from a fake corporate person chartered by a Bible-butchering heretic, Judeo-satanic Lodge loafer, and flaming sodomite. So if one of their crazed purposes is an attempt to blackwash and Talmudize Dixie, they might also consider going all the way and proudly proclaim it was essentially founded by an lgbtP activist—because it kind of was! Strange, but 400 years later, not much has changed on the English throne. Nor in Virginia, really.’

‘The Judaic foray?’ she asked; ‘From the outside to, as usual, converge and control all facets of the culture. Is that really happening? A minor lateral not-so-great leap of desperation?’

‘I conclude it is happening, though there is no warning them about it,’ Perry said with a sigh. ‘They simply won’t hear that. Or think about it, most of them. That’s another potential storm they’ll have to weather in time.’

‘I think your decision is coming along,’ she said. ‘Time to move on, leaving Lee where he belongs, so to speak?’

‘We’ll see—and, probably, yes. Sooner or later. It’s sad. All of America could have gone another way, emulating the functioning multi-nationalism here, fostered by faith, strength, and mutual respect, instead of abiding terminal multiculturalism barely held together by violence and treachery. The fate of the good natives in this small land compared to those of the Powhatan and the Catawba. The fate of the larger people. But, eh— The rest of the world is happily passing Dixie, America, France, and the rest of the Golden Billion by. Here’s me hoping a free and legitimate Western Remnant joins us, especially an updated and free Southern contingent. If not, they’d better watch out for the Nightrider.’

‘The what-rider?’

‘You never watched Mad Max?’

‘Not fully. Just like I’ve never experienced the full turkey treatment of an American Thanksgiving. Is it time, do you think?’

They stood before the main lodge office and the little path and stairs leading to the suites on the upper levels. A gust of wind dispatched a healthy quantity of snow from the evergreens all around them, though they both noticed the flakes directly from the clouds had at least momentarily abated. Unlooked for, the sun peered fully down upon the camp, adding a glow that suggested, if barely, warmth. Perry looked at his watch and said, ‘Eight kilos, four o’clock… It just might be time to start setting all the trimmings up and out.’

‘Once you give the word,’ she added, ‘Mother and I will take over. She wants to carve, just like you demonstrated with the ham. While singing about Alice in the restaurant. Small things. And that should give you and Father a little time to sip, maybe smoke, and discuss whatever men discuss when the snow slows a bit.’

‘Fantastic!’ he said. ‘We’ll probably talk about new and genuinely exciting news. About the coming tribunals and a little justice! That’s how the Department and the Center will probably close this year and open next. May some of it visit the heads of a few Amerikan neoliberals! But for our evening festivities, ahead of a long double Christmas and New Year’s, here’s to a new holiday tradition!’

‘Which didn’t start as most Amerikans tell it?’

‘No, the Massachusetts Yankee tradition, while romantic and maybe partly accurate, isn’t the whole story. Neither is the 1607ers’ 1619 reactionary reinvention. The first Thanksgiving in what is now the dying GAE homeland started in September of 1565 in Florida. Our protesting Puritan and Calvinist friends overlook the hard fact that the first Thanksgiving commenced with a real Christian Mass—in Latin too. In honor of real tradition, after your dad says an Orthodox Blessing, I may add a short Latin quip!’

‘Deo vindice!’ she said.

‘True, but I’ll probably just go with something simple and fitting like, Benedicite cibos bonos et amicos meliores.’

‘Perfectus!’ she said. ‘Ну и хорошо! And now, let’s get to it!’

With that, and a short canoodle, and the now ubiquitous kissing of noses, they made their way down the path towards the waiting feast. The wind hummed, almost singing, new snow began to fall, the sun was again veiled, and a peaceful, thankful calm held the whole of the Altai. 

THANKSGIVING COLUMN: It’s The Big Turkey, Cooter Brown!

23 Thursday Nov 2023

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Argentina, Broadly Speaking, economics, Rosalynn Carter, Thanksgiving, Ukraine

It’s The Big Turkey, Cooter Brown!

 

Happy Thanksgiving Day and/or Week, Americans and others outside the South! Oftentimes, we have so much that gladly calls out for our thanks. I’m thankful for all of you, beloved readers, and much more. Sometimes it may not look like it, but we have other things to be thankful for—things that don’t call as loudly or as gladly. Yet we are well-advised to be thankful for whatever comes our way: “Always rejoice. Pray without ceasing. In all things give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you all. Extinguish not the Spirit. Despise not prophecies.” 1 Thessalonians: 16-20. The events of the past four or so years have clarified the division between the Good, the True, and the Beautiful and the Wicked, the False, and the Ugly in stark terms and high definition. And the delineation continues. As hard as it is to believe, all of this is beneficial. I will therefore frame today’s discussion of events in grateful terms.

A Worthy Life and An Honorable Memory

Rosalynn Carter died the other day at the age of 96. She, with her husband and independently, had a full and meaningful life. She was the only American First Lady I ever met, and her husband the only Chief Executive. In the late winter or early spring of 2003, President Carter delivered a speech to the hive of incompetence known as the Georgia General Assembly. I watched and listened from the balcony. While I found them interesting at the time, I simply cannot recall what his remarks involved. But by then, I had begun to change my opinion of Carter, discarding the stock GOP lies about his amateurish incapabilities. In my view, he was perhaps the last of the genuine American Presidents who loved America, a man thrust into a nearly impossible situation. He did the best he could in politics and life. Mrs. Rosalynn was an integral part of his many trials, tribulations, and successes. 

Just before the speech ended, I determined that if it was possible, then I wanted to meet Carter. I calculated that he entered and would exit the Gold Dome via the Governor’s secure entrance, a door which by various friendships I was acquainted with. I immediately made my way down, outside, and to that door. Soon thereafter, Jimmah and Rosalynn emerged with but a small escort of state troopers and secret service agents. With me being the only other person present, we three instantly gravitated together. It was like meeting a third set of grandparents. Perhaps due to the passage of time rather than genetics, the Carters were smaller people. Short in stature, but enormous in Christian, human warmth and generosity. Unlike most others of the political class I have had the misfortune of meeting, they simply exuded a good and decent aura. In purely Southern terms, they were just “sweet” people. Also, like a couple of walking, talking teddy bears, they were adorable. When our brief, happy exchange ended, I, delighted, was somewhat tempted to pick them both up and squeeze them. There was the matter of decorum and the presence of armed guards, so I let the notion die in conception. Now, one of my teddy bear friends is gone with it and I suspect—as is too often the case with 77-year(!) marriages—the other will too soon pass. It was, if I can correctly remember, a day gray but pleasant; I will forever be thankful for it. 

Bifurcated Economics

Please take the time to watch or listen to the following interview discussion between Michael Hudson, Alexander Mercouris, and Glenn Diesen:

Hudson does most of the talking, in a way giving an abbreviated dissertation on many of his written works. While I am no fan of the age of post-literacy, I am thankful there are alternative means for reaching the postliterate should they dare to partake. This is one of them. Pay attention to how the divided world emerged, the financialized ruin of the West, the now obvious lies we’ve all been taught, China and Russia’s similar but still different approaches to handling the separation, and how any American Remnant might embrace a new practice comparable to the Sino-Russian model(s). For those trapped in the fog of the economic past, ever concerned about phantom chaos (as the real thing reigns around them) and the necessity of “legality,” pay extra attention to Xi’s dilemma concerning the banks and real estate and his likely simple solution. Breaking up and out is difficult, but not nearly as difficult or as damaging as staying down and in.

A New Argentine Chapter

About a year before I met the Carters, in one of my first published columns I pondered the monetary and economic turmoil in Argentina. That was the heyday of my conservative libertarianism, and, boy, did it show. While I got the gist of the currency and inflation issues right, I had to throw in a hearty exhortation of capitalism and freedom, and I even included a ubiquitous Adam Smith quote. In my defense, even as I had just experienced a wake-up call about the wickedness controlling America, I had yet to fully accept the differences between real capitalism and financialized fakery. My Smith quote was off because I (and he) had perhaps not fully comprehended what happens when public and private prodigality and misconduct meld together. I had also not accepted the extreme damage already done to America, which at the time, I thought was still salvageable. (I was young and idealistic!) But I did manage to correctly access large parts of the Argentine problem:

The government must back out of industries where it has no business and concentrate on those few issues truly central to government. … [banal talk about money supplies, history, and the gold standard] … What Duhalde needs to do is put the breaks on spending and turn off the printing press.

-Lovett, Perrin, “Cry For Argentina,” Broadly Speaking, Volume 7, Issue 2, January 2002.

My title was a take on Julie Covington’s song “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” as re-popularized by Madonna Ciccone in 1996. I’m thankful I still have the ability to remember past tripe I’ve cobbled and that some of it still makes a modicum of sense! At the time, I had a vague idea of the changes needed to salvage the economy in Buenos Aires. Today, I think I have a better understanding. It’s difficult to apply the breaks and turn off anything when the situation is largely in nefarious international hands. Over two decades later, the South American nation is still in much the same shape it was in back then. It still has the burden of illicit debts. It still has yet to control its monetary base. It is still mired in postmodern neoliberal necromancy. The great question for 2024 and beyond is whether Javier Milei is the long-awaited answer. He, a talking mop head, is known to his supporters as “the Crazy.” So crazy he just might work? Time will tell. Many of his position statements sound interesting and good. Others sound mildly alarming. But statements are mere rhetoric and there is little evidence at this time to dialectically support any of them. He has also won praise from many of the wrong people. He is a self-styled libertarian and I’m not sure of any regional specifications for that label. In general, libertarianism is just smiley-faced globalism by and for stoners. I have grave doubts and would caution anyone about getting too excited. Still, we will keep alive the Spirit.

The Hardest Call

As predicted by me some time ago, videos of dead and mutilated Ukrainian female soldiers are now available for viewing. I will not link to any and I do not advise seeking them out. But they exist. As we account for the probable one million-plus Ukrainian KIAs, we must now annotate in terms of men and women. Who knows what the total casualty count is and what it will be by the time Russia accepts Kiev’s unconditional surrender? What it all amounts to is a huge war crime, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. Via their usual machinations, the usual suspects have managed to depopulate Ukraine by over 50% since February of 2022, and 60% since the dissolution of the Soviet Union. The living demons in Brussels, London, and Washington will answer for their evil, on earth or beyond. For that, I am thankful.

Of course, they’re not finished yet. They won’t be until Moscow declares victory and installs a new government in the Clown’s failed Banderaite experiment. The new rumor is that Zelensky, the ultra-nationalist military junta around him, and the NATO Nazis behind him are now beginning to conscript boys as young as fourteen. This is very likely the truth, as the official narrative, told in a manner of preemptive and deflective cover, brags about forcible enlistment of eighteen-year-old boys. As Kiev’s stated figures are always off by a considerable margin, it stands to reason that minors will soon join their elders dead in the fields and trenches. It is elementary but it bears repeating: if all of the children and the young generations capable of having children are killed, then the subject population will go extinct. This may very well have been the plan for Ukraine all along, and a model for the greater annihilation the Clowns would have visited upon Russia. These prospects make the blood boil. Still, we may be thankful for another exposition of the depths of depravity the wicked will quickly delve into. We should also be grateful for the positive example of stalwart Russian awareness, will to resist, and manful ability to fight and defeat evil. 

It’s an odd assortment of stories and sentiments. But we should be thankful for all of them. Please enjoy Thanksgiving Day, the weekend of shopping, recovery, and football, and the coming Christmas Season. 

Deo vindice!

(Maybe Not The Best) COLUMN: A Possible Multi-State Solution And Random Observations

15 Wednesday Nov 2023

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Etc., excuses

A Possible Multi-State Solution And Random Observations

 

Hello, it’s another excuse for a coherent column! I was loosely planning another installment in the tale of Pericles and Julia, neither of whom has a last name at this early point, but my loose plans stalled. I’ve been a little busy and last weekend I had a case of the sniffles.

I can only assume it was COVID as I know of the existence of no other respiratory illnesses. And it was COVID bad. As a stupid unvaccinated man, relying on antiquated notions about an “immune” system, and doomed to dark winters of despair, I died three times in as many days from the dread bat-borne bug. It is still from the bat, right? They haven’t uncovered any plans or recipes, have they? Raw bat salad at the Long John Silvers in the Wuhan Mall food court, if I remember correctly. Anyway, the good news is that every time one dies from C19, one gets a nifty “Thank You!” email informing one of one’s votes. Each time I died, I voted six times, in multiple jurisdictions, for [Deep State Sham Candidate “X” and/or Proxy, 2024]! As an American, I am not good with maths. But let’s see: died five times, multiplied by seven fake votes… I like to think I have done my part for climate change! (Almost four years of these lame jokes, I know.)

I thought of reintroducing a column I wrote for the Piedmont Chronicles over four years ago. It’s as relevant now as it was then, more so, in fact. But it can wait, perhaps for a grand update.

Look for a major development in Ukraine by or about the end of this year. Major development. There potentially looms another stellar defeat for the exceptional GAE.

The numbers in Occupied Palestine keep changing. Following the green flag events of October 7th, we were told some 1,400 Israelis were killed. It was soon lowered to 1,200. Last I checked, it was down again to about 1,000, the majority being combatants. The 40 decapitated babies story was, of course, just propaganda. There was, it appears, one infant fatality—a tragedy—though it is not clear whether that one baby was killed by Hamas. It seems the IDF was a little more active that fateful day than originally reported and that their actions, directly against the people they’re allegedly supposed to defend, tilted a little towards the false side of the flag. The number of dead Palestinian men, women, and children continues to soar without end. 

Perhaps you’ve heard talk from time to time about a “two-state” solution for Occupied Palestine. Talk is about as far as the concept ever gets. In truth, the GAE-led axis of evil might be pursuing a one-state solution. That state is tentatively known as “Greater Israel,” a cobbling land grab that would stretch from Egypt to Iran. That plan is in the process of failing—another brewing GAE defeat. But people still talk about the double-nation concept. And that gave me an idea.

The current, dying US is going to dissolve itself, probably sooner than later, along lines that are less than clear. The only prediction that makes sense is that California and large parts of the Southwest are either going back to Mexico or into a new state(s) aligned with Mexico. That leaves a lot of real estate and many millions of people in the lurch. Whether it’s 5, 10, 50, or 500 new rump states, I foresee a multi-state solution. The good news is that, again, there is a lot of land, pre-existing geographic subdivisions, more than enough resources, and space for all the various peoples and/or combinations of peoples in the former US. The bad news is that these are not the smartest people and they tend to like doing things the hard way. 

At times, I’ve given thought to trying to roughly work out a plan for how things might go, along a few different lines, for people, say, in the South. This is highly speculative. And it involves things like maps, demographics, math, and a hard look at reality. Sensing most people are not quite ready for all that, I keep putting it off while entertaining other endeavors. We still have some time and things aren’t so bleak yet. And there’s really no need today as I have lately learned that our time-traveling friends have departed 1859(!) … for 1607. Instead of saying that’s 252 years the wrong way, I’ll just work with it. 

1585 is as fine a year as any. A lost colony for a— Right! 1607 it is. Things were really much the same then as they are now. Spanish bankruptcy heralded the future total bankruptcy of the West. Groups are forever fighting over Aleppo. If you don’t build a defensive fort, angry savages will come to kill your children—though today they sport rainbows instead of feathers. We’ll soon witness the meeting and then the blissful wedding of Amonute Pocahontas and John Rolfe. Who doesn’t love a love story? Even if it ends in a fit of Smallpox on the Thames? Ah. 1607 was also the year the pinnace Virginia was built and launched. Of course, despite her name, she was the industrializing work of the proto-yankees, so maybe it’s a chapter best forgotten. It is said that around 1607, or maybe 1608, an old woman in northern India looked out at a sunset and dreamily said, “I hope someday a bunch of fools called Republicans help my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter, a known pagan witch, become their leader and genocide half the world.”

Back in this century, I hear the known pagan witch wants to put me, you, and everyone else on her special list for “national security” and so forth. (Whatever, Lowcountry Jezebel.) Is it just me, or do you picture that demon thing from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom when you hear her name? Okay! We’re also anxiously awaiting a literary development of some worth. It’s my stealthy return to semi-academic writing and it will answer a burning question posed among the international intelligentsia. My answer is in professional editorial hands at the moment, though I am assured it’s only a matter of time. Вы прочтете это, когда оно будет готово. That, more Ponchiks, maybe some Christmas fiction, and more will get us closer to the new year. Quality will improve tomorrow.

Deo vindice. 

COLUMN: Reviews of ORDO PLURIVERSALIS by Leonid Savin and LOOKING FOR MR. JEFFERSON by Dr. Clyde N. Wilson

08 Wednesday Nov 2023

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book review, Looking For Mr. Jefferson, Ordo Pluriversalis

Reviews of ORDO PLURIVERSALIS by Leonid Savin and 

LOOKING FOR MR. JEFFERSON by Dr. Clyde N. Wilson

 

Today, I have the rare honor of presenting two excellent books in one review! They are Leonid Savin’s Ordo Pluriversalis and Clyde Wilson’s Looking For Mr. Jefferson. As a review preview, “Ordo Pluriversalis” is, of course, Latin for “versatile order” or the “order of many”, a natural name for a tome about the multipolarity of the Sovereign Nations; and, look no further, we have found Jefferson, in a way rescuing him from almost two centuries of confuscation. In my mind’s eye, these works are somewhat interrelated though their subject matters are separated both by oceans and the considerable passage of time. They both also came to my attention and into my possession within a matter of short days. Therefore, in an effort certain to please all, I hereafter discuss them consecutively and with some small degree of overlap. I recommend both with the greatest enthusiasm and sincerity.

Savin, Leonid, Ordo Pluriversalis: The End of Pax Americana and the Rise of Multipolarity, London: Black House, 2020.

Regardless of latitude, longitude, and speed of rotation, the world is a small place. We, those of us in, though not of the world, occasionally experience issues of timing which delight mysteriously—almost as if we are under Someone’s grand plan for us and our fellows. Only a few weeks before writing this review, I had added Ordo Pluriversalis to my “books to buy” list. Perhaps divinely inspired, or else by telepathy, the magnanimous author sent me a copy, for which I am most grateful. 

For those unaware, perhaps in my Southern audience, Mr. Savin is an expert on geopolitical, military, and terrorism-related matters. He is a member of the Military Scientific Society of the Russian Ministry of Defense and a steering committee member for the Islamabad International Counter-Terrorism Forum. He is the founder and chief editor of Geopolitika. In 2022, he also received the high honor of being singled out by name by the U.S. Department of State and its lapdog Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe for his ongoing contributions to the Russian-led Multipolar “far-right information ecosystem.” Recalling that the hatred and scorn of the wicked is proof positive of noble virtue, I, for one, thank fake Secretary Blinken, Ambassador Carpenter, and the rest of America’s false government of occupation for their endorsement of my friend. I would be remiss if I did not also praise the superb translation skills of Mr. Jafe Arnold who skillfully converted the book into English.

My America has truly morphed into the Global American Empire (“GAE”), a thing which, thankfully, appears to be entering its final days of international troublemaking. However, it is worth remembering or learning that the GAE was originally born as a multipolar association of free and sovereign states. With a tip of my hat to the international community, my review is primarily intended for Western readers, those in America, generally, and my South, particularly. For a comprehensive and exhaustive critique, I heartily endorse Dr. Kerry Bolton’s 2021 survey. I also hereby appropriate Dr. Bolton’s opening remarks:

This book is significant not only because of its detailed examination of globalisation, unipolarity, multipolarity, and associated themes such as foreign policies, superpower rivalries, geopolitics and diverse branches such as the meaning of nationalism, and ethnos, but because it provides an insight into an important school of thought in Russia and further afield.

It is an utterly fascinating exposition of political thought, philosophy, practice, and history, crystal in clarity and expansive in scope and notation. It is also seemingly prophetic. At nearly 500 pages, one supposes that Savin labored for more than a year or three in researching and assembling the book. Knowing the writing process, I suspect a draft was finished no later than 2019 for publication in 2020. And by 2019, massive, tectonic changes were already happening in the world of international relations. But it was the events of 2022 (through today) that have literally brought Savin’s assertions and theories to life. Ordo Pluriversalis reads like a script well-written in advance and well-enacted by the players of the global stage. This is amazing, confounding even, for the Western reader—even one thinking himself abreast of various developments. As such, as this work has empirically proven its validity, it should command a premium value for those who undertake reading it in any year. 

The book is dedicated to the 100th anniversary of another book, Europe and Mankind, by a (or the) father of Eurasianism, at least of the Russian variety, Nikolai Trubetzkoy. Because of its great size, high population, and immense resources, the Eurasian supercontinent has ever been of great strategic importance. It was not meant to be ruled, dominated, conquered, or sidelined by a peculiar power on a small island in the North Sea or its larger descendant on a vast island of sorts, separated from Eurasia by ample lengths of oceans. It can’t be. Ordo Pluriversalis is the story of the new beginning for the Old World, as largely led by Russia and China. Again, it is an almost predictive model of current events, ostensibly riding the leading edge of an unstoppable wave. However, just as it cannot be ruled from without, Eurasia has little interest in ruling from within. As approximated in the book and as witnessed in real-time, the concept of multipolarity is just that—the idea of many countries and peoples standing sovereign and separate while interacting fairly with each other when they meet. For those of the “golden billion” of the West, should they sort out their own internal affairs, the prospects of joining the larger civilized world are great and potentially rewarding. It is my hope that some in America, England, France, Germany, etc. are able to replicate some of the ideas Savin discusses so well.

History did not end, as were told it would or had. However, the age of Western global dominance is over. The Enlightenment was a resounding failure. As Jacques Barzun’s masterpiece title told us, the thing has run From Dawn To Decadence. The moment of Western-led unipolarity was just that—a moment not an era, as Savin notes several times (pages 7, 11, 13,  etc.). Much of the extreme chaos and violence in the world today, from Ukraine to Palestine, is the (hopefully) final frantic efforts of the rulers of the West to maintain and impose their “rules-based” international order. As President Vladimir Putin recently noted or scoffed at Valdai, no one was consulted about the formulation of these rules and no one even knows what they are. It is good and right that they now fade into history, taking their masters and proponents with them.

As others have surmised, long ago and along its way the West was essentially hijacked. While the process was assisted by many internal accomplices, it was pushed and is now (mis)ruled by a loose cabal of cosmopolitan outsiders best described as satanists. For they are and ever have been against God, against Christianity, and against any and all free peoples of goodwill. Until The End, they cannot be wholly defeated, though it is good to see them recede. Real Westerners should rejoice as the great unfolding heralds their rare chance to reclaim their true identities and societies. In addition to expertly explaining various alternatives to the rot of the hijacked fake West, Savin does an excellent job of deconstructing what the West was and is and how it came to be what it is.

Part of the deconstruction may be grating for the Western reader, though it is a shaving worthy of consideration. Also, as the book admits, many words and concepts have different meanings depending on where they are used and by whom. I encourage the intrepid reader to play along with such terms as “racism”, “nation”, “nationalism”, and more. Getting right to a perhaps uncomfortable truth, on page 152:

Independently of political ideologies and academic schools of thought, one can approximately conclude that the very idea of the West has three key characteristics. The West is a particular understanding of society, time, and space which led to (1) the emergence of racism in various forms, (2) ideas of linear time separated from space, as well as (3) the exaggeration of Europe’s position (and later the US’) as a special place in which a special community had formed that claimed global governance and assigned labels to other peoples. It is only natural that other versions of society, time, and space were thereby marginalized and relegated to the periphery of the ‘civilized world.’

The world is now witnessing a de-marginalization from the periphery. Joseph Borrell’s “jungle” is growing back, like Kudzu on steroids. And it turns out that most of it is its own kind of beautiful garden, if not the limited, curated type Borrell prefers. Much of Chapter Five, “Deconstructing the West,” is eye-opening and may foster new thoughts or ways of thinking in the reader’s head. This process is a good thing for the heritage Westerner because, as others have shown clearly, he has been in many ways, similar and dissimilar, oppressed by the faux rulers of the West just like the marginalized people of the colonized or relegated outside world. In honest Borrell-speak, while much destruction and herbicidal spraying went on in the outside jungle, inside the garden there was excessive native pruning. The time has come to end all of the damage.

The unipolar gardeners are in every sense attempting to rebuild and control the Tower of Babel. As such was intentionally destroyed by God the Father, who saw fit to fully separate the peoples of the earth (Genesis 11:9), the attempt to reassemble the host in defiance of God is purely luciferian. What is supposed, post-Genesis, to extend to all nations, is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Mark 13:10. The gardeners must fail eternally—a refreshing thought—as we are assured the nations will endure even in Heaven. Revelations 7:9. Their transient temporal failure is already happening, and while it may be accompanied by upheaval and discord, we should welcome it.

A large portion of the book is dedicated to showcasing the differences across cultures and time regarding things like law, sovereignty, borders, economic structures, and even the very natures of different peoples. It is, in fact, good that there are these many differences. I have something extra to add from Savin’s Eighth Chapter, “Economics and Religion”. But as this is a dual review and I have an idea to combine bits, I’m going to risk mixing it in with Dr. Wilson’s fine book and related commentary! Savin’s final chapters deal with the new alternative of multipolarity. As I noted, above, in the context of America’s thirteen original “pole” states, the alternative is really just a reversion to the historical norm. A one-world order is unnatural. As Savin notes, on page 401: “With regards to homogeneity, the Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben suggested that the notion of a uniform world for all living beings is an illusion.” 

Chapter Twelve is a walk-through of various theories for implementing, or, rather, re-implementing a pluralistic world order. The author remains optimistic, as do I, that the new sovereign order will represent a more perfect and harmonious substitute for what we have suffered since the end of World War Two, and especially since the end of the Cold War. That the alternative is not operated by overt devil-worshipers speaks well of its potential. Most ideologies and “isms” being dead letters, new philosophies and theories are needed. Savin discusses some of them. There is also a need for new institutions to facilitate orderly interaction between peoples and countries (or a revamping of existing institutions). Savin delves into these around page 432, with “Parallel Structures”, those designed to supplant or surpass the existing compromised forums. BRICS, for instance, has already grown mightily since Savin’s book was published, with the BRICS economies surpassing those of the G7 last year and the copious expansion of BRICS(+) this year. We eagerly await the Kazan meeting next year and the formal unveiling of that which will replace SWIFT and, potentially, the Petrodollar (already a thing in decline and retreat).

Some space is devoted to the future of “European Autonomy”, page 436—, and the coming potential liberation of European countries, both from their own devices and from Washingtonian control. It is not so difficult to envision a tandem liberation of the American States. 

As Savin explains in his Afterword, page 463, “The theory of multipolarity has developed shoulder to shoulder with critiques of the hegemony of the United States of America. Even outside of this context as well, many authors have been wary of the US’ efforts to preserve its leadership.” The theory is becoming fact and practice before our eyes. And as the events of the past several years have shown, many are correct to be wary as the rulers of the dying GAE fiercely try to maintain some semblance of control over the world they are losing. May that they falter and collapse as their loss is mankind’s gain. Savin ends with the impact of the (then) current effects of the US’s evil bioweapons program, COVID, on the US itself. Today, his mention of “This sickness”, pages 466-467, may as well be a metaphor for the overdue death throes of the US Empire. The survival of the US (in some form(s)) and the greater West is at stake. We in the West and of its heritage must take this issue seriously if we are to emerge and rebuild. In this regard, Leonid Savin gives us either a grand map, a strong cornerstone, or both. I am pleased to suggest his sublime scholarship as expressed within Ordo Pluriversalis. 

Wilson, Clyde N., Looking For Mr. Jefferson, Columbia, SC: Shotwell, 2023 (EPUB edition*).

Dr. Wilson, like his subject, Thomas Jefferson, requires no introduction in Southern circles. This review, however, might, for those in the wider world. Dr. Wilson is a professor emeritus at the University of South Carolina, the “dean” of Southern history. That the politically correct administration at USC refuses to include him, their most famed living professor, on the department’s retired faculty website, speaks volumes about their shallowness and cements Dr. Wilson’s academic prowess and value. He is a co-founder of Shotwell Publishing, the South’s premier showplace of historical, intellectual, and fictional thought, and he has made a career of documenting the importance of many Southern leaders, including the immortal John C. Calhoun, Thomas Jefferson, and more. Like Savin, Wilson also possesses a keen sense of timing, the temporal grace of the Almighty, or both. In response to my previous review of Why The West Can’t Win by Dr. Fadi Lama, Dr. Wilson (to me, “Clyde”, my cigar and rebel-rousing buddy) left this comment at Reckonin’:

Perrin, the book is all you say. Of course, the author doesn’t know this but in revealing the Evil Money Power is merely restating what our Southern forebears knew—Jefferson, John Taylor, Calhoun, Davis, the Populists, the Agrarians.

I like how he also reveals how the sainted Reagan was a tool of the Money Power, although he probably did not realise it. My new book on Jefferson takes up this very issue. CW

With Clyde, the certainty of a new book is guaranteed, though the timing can be a mystery. I launched a quick inquiry and wound up with my e-copy before I even got the usual launch notification email from Shotwell. As promised, the book does a fine job recounting Jefferson’s valiant struggle against debt, usury, and more. It is a compilation of some fifty years of written commentary and lecture material about America’s third federated republican President under the Constitution of 1787 (effective 1789). I remind some and inform others that America had, in fact, fourteen “Continental” Presidents before George Washington, with Peyton Randolph and John Hancock each serving two separate terms. 

But of the fifty-nine men who have served as America’s chief executive—sixty, if one foolishly includes the installed rather than elected Brandon the AI—few stand out as Jefferson did in his time and as he continues to as an exemplary historical marker. Dr. Wilson well captures the mind and spirit of the great statesman, no small feat for a shorter book!

Mentioned and alluded to here and there, Dr. Wilson devotes Chapter 19 to “A Jeffersonian Political Economy”. Here is as fine a place as any for me to point out that the early federated American Republic, as interpreted by the “Federalists,” was a theoretical and political progenitor of the GAE, which really launched toward its global trajectory during and after Abraham Lincoln’s war of 1861-85. Why? As Dr. Wilson observes, in Chapter 19, “Southerners saw the [new 1787] Constitution as the people’s control over government power. Northerners saw it as an instrument to be manipulated to their advantage.” Later on, especially after 1865, the Northern view guided the nexus of political and economic dominance towards empire, within and without the several American States.** 

The world was issued a dire warning about the future growth of Lincoln’s empire, even without Lincoln, via words Dr. Wilson included in a list of quotes in Chapter 20, “Jeffersonian Wisdom”: “The consolidation of the States into one vast empire, sure to be aggressive abroad and despotic at home, will be the certain precursor of ruin which has overwhelmed all that preceded it.” So said General Robert E. Lee in 1866. The GAE grew to be all Lee feared and foresaw. The twin driving factors behind this malignancy were military power, real or conjectured, and financial/monetary prominence. Jefferson would have detested both.

Back in Chapter 19, correctly writes Wilson:

The Jeffersonian position on the role of the federal government in the economy was succinctly stated by a newspaper in 1843: FREE TRADE, NO DEBT, SEPARATION OF GOVERNMENT AND BANKS. It was taken for granted that this included modest government spending, restricted to the clearly stated Constitutional powers and duties of Congress as spelled out in Article I, section 8.

Jeffersonianism has remained a real and long-lasting tradition of thought. It underlays the formation of American colonial society. There was a reason that an English poet referred to Virginia as “the earthly paradise.” Because those who had no hope of independent status at home could there attain it there. This describes the spirit that underlays the American War of Independence and Jeffersonian opposition to Hamiltonianism.

Since 1861 the Jeffersonian political economy has been a very weak force. Every principle that its spokesmen advocated has been crushed and everything they warned against has become only too true.

Was and is this position perfect? Of course, not. But it belied a noble worldview and spirit. Jefferson’s newspaper call for “free trade” was asserted the year before David Ricardo’s fanatical obsession with corn uber alles was redesigned to foster nebulous “comparative advantage”, notions since abolished by nearly two centuries of practical experience. As Wilson notes elsewhere, Jeffersonian free trade really meant “fair” trade, the opposite of what globalizing free traders have foisted on the world. Jefferson’s aversion to debt stands as valid now as it did then. That the Washington Post recently cautioned against meddling with the precious Federal Reserve system and its alleged good deeds, speaks to the horrible power the thing has accumulated via its abetting Washington’s madness and its shareholder commercial banks will to absorb all value from the entire economy with digital nothingness. What is practiced today, a wicked inversion of reality, is not the separation Jefferson envisioned. Rather, it is a false face for the collusion of the Money Powers to dominate all with usury compounded upon usury and based on nothing more than hoaxes and threats. Jefferson, were he alive today, would assuredly stand against satanic faux Western monetary and economic policies; I suspect he would also keenly understand the sovereign desire to move beyond unipolar control of the world by liars, thieves, and murderers. While I cannot say he might be a proponent of them, Jefferson would certainly understand the Sino-Russian concepts of “whole process” “democracy” and economic policy.

Wilson covers well the idea of “Jeffersonian Democracy” in Chapter 7. “Thomas Jefferson remains the best American symbol for democracy—that is, decision-making by majority rule of the body of citizens. He really believed in the rule of the people. In the short run they might go astray, but the people—with their judgment, honesty, and patriotism—were the best reliance for a good commonwealth.” Jefferson was a true philosopher and a somewhat libertarian idealist. Wilson adds a proper cautionary note which is in keeping with Jefferson’s own expressed views of democracy:

Two qualifying points here are necessary for 21st century readers. First, in Jefferson’s ideal most of life and society was outside the jurisdiction of government of any kind. The majority ruled in a very limited sphere. They were not entitled to do anything they wanted. They could not make coercive transfers of wealth or force changes in society to suit some plan of supposed improvement.

Second, Jefferson always has in mind a known commonwealth like Virginia. His majority consists of citizens who have a stake in the commonwealth for themselves and their posterity—men who head families, pay taxes, and serve in the militia.

In the context of Jefferson’s late Eighteenth and early Nineteenth Centuries, the lapse towards a chaotic form of government, classically-speaking in line with tyranny and oligarchy—into which American democracy evolved—is somewhat forgivable. All of America’s founding—her leaders, the Constitution, and the very composition of the population—were a mixed bag. For a time, reality allowed for Jefferson’s high optimism. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and we may see that some of Jefferson’s rhetoric, truly based on the best intentions, especially as compared to that of Alexander Hamilton and other lesser Americans, in ways contributed to some of the developments Jefferson feared. Rhetoric, while pointing towards a truth, may not exactly be the truth. For instance, Jefferson’s insistence in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal”, while lauded by many in various political camps, is, in fact, false. No men are created equal, not even identical twins. Jefferson’s qualification, “they are endowed by their Creator…”, serves as a proper if understated and oft-ignored admission that the only kind of total human equality is limited to the eyes of God. Wilson, at intervals, discusses Jefferson’s religious beliefs and practices and how they were perceived by his temporal peers. The whole underpinning of Jeffersonian democracy, which was at odds with competing Yankee or Freemasonic visions of American governance and way of life, was that the people remain faithful and uncorrupted. Even in his time, this may have amounted to very well-intended but still wishful thinking. 

However, after Jefferson, and after Lincoln, things progressed or devolved as they did. Many changes rapidly swept the land, its people, their ideas of government, and how they perceived money and economics. America’s money today is essentially non-existent, which allows the Money Powers virtually unfettered discretion in how best (or worst) to rob and maim the world. How all this was allowed to happen over the long years is a slight mystery, perhaps best explained by a gentle gullibility on the part of so many Americans. As Wilson notes, many in the South, then and now, have a less than clear understanding of what economics is and how it works. This mental fogginess is shared by most mainstream economists, as noted by Dr. Lama, Michael Hudson, and others. 

Some of the lingering American misunderstandings may, as some suggest, stem from a contest of Protestantism(s): of (Southern) Calvinism versus (Northern)(English) Puritanism. Understood or not, this is part of the genesis of “liberal capitalism,” aka, financial or globalist capitalism. Here, the reintroduction of Savin’s observations: Ordo Pluriversalis, supra, page 255: “It should be noted that among the creationist religions, it is Judaism and Protestantism that became a kind of set of wings for the plane of liberal capitalism, which has extended its influence on a global scale.” It is most interesting to note that the US was founded and built largely by Protestants and that sometime in the mid-late 20th Century, it came to be controlled, de jure and/or de facto, by Judaics.*** This may be the natural path of a course plotted in Germany 500 years ago, which, in America, reached a feverd pitch in the 20th Century. It may explain the American obsession with “sacred” contracts and debts, tolerance of usury and fake money, and essentially a prohibition against debt cancellations and socioeconomic realignment – among many other unusual things.

Savin goes on, page 263, to plainly set the “spiritual roots” in the tandem ground of Judaism and Protestantism. Understanding the nature of those roots, which at earliest begin with the suggestion for and support of the Reformation, goes a long way in explaining the post-Bretton Woods monetary and economic world and, really, the captured Western world in general. Savin, for his part, then discusses the differing—from the status quo of postmodernity and from each other—positions of Orthodox and Latin Catholic doctrines. It would be wise for Westerners to also consider these matters if we are to ever change course, financially and otherwise.

Wilson goes on, Looking…, supra, painting an excellent portrait of Jefferson, with his own commentary, reviews of works by others about the President, expositions of the lives of other Jeffersonian-minded Americans, and an explicit examination of why postmodern thinkers (and general Hamiltonian-Lincolntonite theorists of all ages) hate Jefferson. On that last note, Chapter 16 is titled, “Why They Hate Jefferson,” being a review of The Long Affair: Thomas Jefferson, and The French Revolution by Connor Cruise O’Brien. In short summation, Wilson writes: “The Establishment is frightened by the rumblings they hear from the Great Beast (that is, we the American people).” Jefferson was the foremost of our genuine intellectual benefactors. We do, even at this late hour, run the risk of “watering the tree” as he once suggested. That is why “they” hate him (and us).

On the matter of intellectualization, and, thus, education, I end with a brief look at Jefferson’s accomplishments as detailed in Chapter 8, “Thomas Jefferson: New World Philosopher”. Jefferson, the founder of the University of Virginia, also set about building a curriculum for the then essentially non-existent Virginia (lower) public schools. Wilson makes patently clear and obvious that what Jefferson wanted was the polar opposite of the state-mandated evil of Northerners like Horace Mann and his system of schools as docile slave training factories. Jefferson wanted young students to learn—a concept completely outside the current American mainstream. 

Wilson gives a bare hint of the curriculum:

There follows a long list of reading requirements—a catalog of 24 Greek and Roman authors of philosophy, history, and literature. These were to be read in the original, not in translation, which seems to tell us Peter, at age 15, was already capable of the classical languages. The list of authors would be daunting to any of today’s professors of classics.

This was to be followed by selected modern history, Milton, Shakespeare, Swift, and Pope, the latter two for absorbing good style. More ancient classics, and then natural science. Interestingly, Jefferson remarks:

You are now, I expect, learning French. You must push this; because the books that will be put into your hands when you advance into Mathematics, Natural philosophy, Natural history, etc., will mostly be French, these sciences being better treated by the French than the English writers.

Jefferson also considered daily physical exercise critical for the development of a young mind. To this end, he advocated daily constitutional walks—with a firearm. This is a far cry from the non-standards of neo-Prussian, feminized, homosexualized American education today, a system of total innumeracy, lack of any scientific acumen, and illiteracy regardless of language. Jefferson’s was a better system, designed by a better man. Those who have experienced his works and wisdom are better for having done so. In keeping with that legacy, I suggest all will benefit from joining Dr. Wilson in Looking For Mr. Jefferson.

*My EPUB (browser) reader displays well but leaves a little to be desired in the way of pagination. Therefore, I referenced as well as I could.

**As a related aside, I would like to someday explore the actions of a certain Tsar, understandable if counter-fortuitous, and how they might have assisted the nascent American imperial development which would soon become the plague and peril of the world. This exploration promises to be fun, or so I imagine. In time.

***I sure hope I don’t end up on the witch Nimarata’s little list…

UPDATE: Also at Geopolitika.

COLUMN: A Bookstore Under Fire (Again)

01 Wednesday Nov 2023

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books, Gaza, War

A Bookstore Under Fire (Again)

 

I don’t know much about Telegram, but, evidently, a lot of people use it. Some misuse the social service. The other day, a known disinformation channel targeting the Muslim-majority Dagestan Republic of the Russian Federation, ran a warning that a planeload of Jewish refugees were inbound from Occupied Palestine. The channel is operated out of Kiev and is a project of the SBU-CIA terror network. It has since been blocked and Russian authorities have taken remedial measures regarding the mostly peaceful protest that erupted at the local airport based on the psyops refugee tip. While they were likely led by NATO Nazi-backed insurgents, some Islamic Dagestanis fell for the ruse. They protested at the airport in an attempt to safeguard their Republic from invasion. It was a hoax, but in their defense, at least they were proactive. These people are intelligent and they remember various episodes from their history and the history of other nations. Beginning at the end of the nineteenth century, Palestinians were confronted with successive waves of Jewish refugees and now find themselves facing extermination.

So it is that, begrudgingly, Americans may be forgiven for falling for similar disinformation campaigns. After all, if intelligent Muslims who take their faith seriously can be duped, then dull-witted neo-pagans must be expected to fall for whatever lies they are told, no matter how ridiculous. It’s almost like Americans live to fall for hoaxes, and they’ve been treated to another big one for the past few weeks. Being mildly wicked, extremely gullible, and rather stupid, maybe they just can’t help it. Their disinformation propaganda channels have names like “BBC,” “CNN,” “FOXNews,” and “NewsMax.” 

Immediately after the US-Israeli green flag operation out of Gaza on October 7, lurid tabloid headlines like this appeared:

“40 Babies Murdered By Hamas” – Metro (UK)

“Horror At ‘Pure Evil Beheading Of Babies’” – Daily Express (UK)

“Hamas ‘cut the throats of babies’ in massacre” – The Times (UK)

It appears to be the Hasbera job of UK “news” outlets to first trumpet these ridiculous lies, perhaps as an SIS-CIA vetting process. Next, they are presented in bold and red at places like the Sludge Report. Thereafter, the mantra is repeated perpetually, broken only by regular cries of, “Antisemitic!”, at outlets like FOX“News” and “News”Max. One frequently hears this nonsense from empty babbling heads like Ben “No, I Personally Won’t Fight” Shapiro and putrid politicians like the bloodthirsty warmongering lunatic, Satan’s Senator, Lindsey “Level the Place” Graham. There’s just one small problem with this particular narrative—as there usually is. It didn’t happen.

Americans, who probably still can’t find Israel on a map or understand that postmodern political Israel is in no way even geographically contiguous with Biblical Israel, have never heard of, won’t read, or can’t read Haaretz, Israel’s paper of record and a far better news outlet than most Western imitations. Haaretz published a list of Israeli casualty victims from October 7. It included names and photographs. The majority were combatants—soldiers or police officers. Of the civilian minority, one suspects many were armed (illegal) settlers and, thus, quasi-combatants. Hamas, not necessarily the nicest people, but still constrained by the laws of Islamic warfare, only killed sixteen Israelis under the age of eighteen. Haaretz also included casualty ages. None of them were younger than four. There is no evidence any were beheaded. In other words, like 9-11 (Operation Northwoods), the Gulf of Tonkin, COVID, Judeo-”Christianity,” and Putin dying 75 times while his army retreated in chaos from victorious Ukraine, the 40 beheaded babies line was just another lie.

Again, being given to support evil, and being extremely stupid (which is their best defense against charges of overt wickedness), many Americans do not know, cannot learn, and will never try to come up to speed on reality. If these idiots wanted to see the real impact of warfare on children, hundreds murdered per day and pushing a cumulative 4,000 at the time of my drafting, they could simply look at Al Jazeera’s 24/7 coverage (*disturbing*). They won’t. And they won’t bother to learn, largely because they can’t. Learning requires reading, and most Americans are fully or functionally illiterate. 

Not so in Palestine! During all the late unpleasantness, I was reminded of a happier chapter from just last year. On the Prepper Post News episode of March 1, 2022, I was privileged to discuss the rebuilding of Gaza’s largest bookstore. The PPN is, sadly, no more, but via the miracle of the digital interwebs, you can listen right here. 

My report was based on something I read, a heartwarming tale of good people seeking out good books. For FOX”News” watchers, “books” are assembled sets of paper with words written in them. The words convey ideas. Ideas are neuron-transmitted sensory…never mind. Unlike so many coffee and toy stores in ‘Murica that still call themselves bookstores, Gaza’s shop carries books. A lot of them:

(Photo: Al Jazeera.)

If you’re a TeeVee-watching, literacy-challenged ‘Murican, then these are real Palestinians. Notice they are happy people who are browsing books (yes, one might be hoax masking, but I’m sure she probably had a valid reason):

(Al Jazeera.)

Here’s a picture (and I didn’t mean to loot so many, AJ, but they’re excellent!) of some women and a little girl looking at charming children’s books. These are the people the filthy witch Nimarata Haley, braindead Brandon, and vampiric war criminal Benny Net-a-Yahoo want to genocide:

(Al Jazeera.)

The bookstore was founded around 2000 by Samir Mansour. It served as an information center and cultural gathering place. In May of 2021, the store and its roughly 100,000 books were destroyed by an IDF bombing raid—like so many houses, shops, hospitals, Mosques, Churches (yes, Normiecon, many Palestinians are Christians), schools, and refugee camps. 

By the time I found out about the store, it had been rebuilt bigger and better than ever. In 2022 it reopened in a new and very nice three-story facility packed with over 300,000 books. Again, Mansour’s is the largest bookstore in Gaza; it is the largest compared to the others—because there are others. By way of comparison, the rapidly decaying little Southern suburban town where I exist (for a little while longer) does not have any bookstores. There are a scant few in the area, none of which approach the bibliophilist’s delight in Gaza. That recalls to my mind some bookstores I knew in the bygone era of immediately post-peak America as well as a select few shops still operating in the lingering geographic vestiges of our collapsing national intelligentsia.

Now one has to wonder if the grand reconstruction and improvement effort was in vain. Thanks to Anglo-Zionist supremacy, hatred, and satanic inclination, Mansour’s store has been bombed again.

Samir Mansour, 59, found the three-story bookstore he rebuilt last year severely damaged in Israel’s heavy airstrikes on Gaza.

A video posted on the bookshop’s official Instagram account showed the Palestinian owner, a Gaza citizen, walking over the shattered ruins of his lifetime project. The father of six only hoped he could protect his family.

Speaking exclusively to Arab News by WhatsApp from Gaza, the Palestinian publisher said buildings can be rebuilt and money can be returned, but “we just hope we make it out alive.”

He added: “The situation here is dangerous and it keeps getting worse. We hope to remain safe until these difficult days pass. Keep us in your prayers.”

If you are a Christian, a Muslim, or another honest person of faith, please pray for these helpless people. Books and bookstores can be replaced as many times as needed. People, however, are irreplaceable. The women and the girl in that picture have been affected by the war, and there is a statistical possibility one or more of them, the girl especially, has been killed or wounded. The GAE-Israeli axis of evil has targeted the Palestinian people for forced expulsion or outright eradication. If all their bodies and minds are killed, there will be no need for printed words. If you are a retarded heathen who somehow drifted into this article, then understand, if it’s possible, that this is real news about what is really happening to real people in the real world. While you might not be slurring “Paveway!” on any of this ongoing terrorism, your tolerance and tacit support of evildoers at least indirectly implicates you in the disaster. Pray to fix that as well.

Remember to oppose unjustified violence whenever possible, stand by decent people, and read. Books really do have a healing quality.

Deo vindice. Librum lege!

FICTION FOR COLUMN: Pericles in Exile

27 Friday Oct 2023

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Pericles in Exile

 

Somewhere high above in the cold, dreary sky, an airliner rumbled along, either leaving or making for Pushkin. By the revving of the engines, as he perceived the sound, he assumed it was departing. But he didn’t check, instead keeping his focus on the green steel tube on the sidewalk, readied on its bi-pod next to a display of furry, ear-covering women’s hats.  She was handling one of them, a rich, dark brown one when he broached his concern.

‘Do you think I can buy this? Is this even legal? I get the feeling a newcomer like me should probably inquire of the FSB before getting such a weapon. I’m not even eligible for a smoothbore at this point, and I don’t want to get deported or anything.’

‘Heaven forfend,’ she said, still feeling the soft ear flaps. ‘We can’t have that. And, while I can’t be certain—who can—I assume anything they sell here is legal. Of course, I would not, being you or me, dare ask the FSB about that stupid thing. And you’re not getting it. How, one wonders, would they react when you carried it into the Metro?’

‘I hadn’t thought about the logistics, no,’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s just so cool. And cheap for— I assume this is cheap for a, what is this? I think it’s a— Hang on, serial’s still on it. It’s an RM-38!’

‘And you’re not getting the stupid MR-whatever.’

‘Not on the train obviously. But who doesn’t want a fifty-millimeter Soviet infantry mortar?!’ He was standing there admiring the thing while wearing an excited boyish smile. He looked most optimistic.

‘I do not,’ she answered. “Why is it even here? Of all the things you could have found at Levash…’

‘I’ll see if the man will hold it. When I buy the Niva, I’ll come pick it up!’

‘Your business, renegade. Father would join your mad endearment for the sad little pipe. And are you still considering the uncomfortable, tiny mud plow?’

‘It’s your car,’ he defended. ‘And it’s classic. Even in the name.’

‘LADA sells much nicer, more comfortable, and more practical cars, my dear. And some of them are four-by-four, like all rednecks love.’

‘Hey! I’m okay with it. Just don’t talk about my people like that.’

‘Not just yours,’ she said. ‘Every culture has them. Our boys in the Urals, some not too far from here too even have y’aaaall’s saying: Эй, вы все! Смотрите на это! You know, Hey, y’all! Watch this! Usually accompanied by alcohol and firearms. Just before some localized calamity.’

‘Good to know I have the approval of the Ural boys. Think how nice this mortar would look in the back of a shiny new mud plow four-by-four. Or maybe resting out the passenger window!’

‘I think you may have had too much to drink at lunch. But—thinking— You should really think about using your full first name,’ she said with a bright, energetic smile.

‘Really? I don’t want to sound pretentious.’

‘No, it’s anything but that. It, especially to us, and given what you do and want to do, it sounds so authoritative. Regal, almost. Put that on a treatise or novel and it will command attention. Especially if you added a little Corinthian helmet icon or something. I love the short name, but we’re talking about grandeur now. My sweet Perry, Перри with the и. Spell it out with your “y” and people might think you’re a cider made from pears.’

‘Can’t have that,’ Perry said with a grin.

‘Buy me this hat,’ she said sweetly but instructively.

‘That’s a dead animal, you know?’

‘I know. Probably a mink. I like it and I want it, so you buy it. We have no crazy, blue-haired eco-nut girls here. I’m at the top of the hat chain.’

‘Poor, unwanted, little mink.’

‘I just said I want him. And, you know I hunt. Kill it, clean it, eat it. Now, wear it.’

‘I’m starting to think I want to marry you,’ Perry said.

‘Well, good boy! Also, think about using your real name,’ she said. ‘And how did your parents come up with it?’

He quickly paid the old babushka seated next to the mortar and assorted arms man. A quick inquiry was launched about holding the cannon, though it was cut short by her huffs and tugs on his arm. As they started to walk towards the exit and perhaps something to snack on for the short ride back to the city center, he explained:

‘At Dad’s old school, the archeology department had a little museum. Next to a mock-up of an Egyptian sarcophagus—I can still see the place—they had a replica bust of the general, helmet and all. The story goes that Mom and Dad were loitering around a few months before I made my first appearance. They talked about him, and me, and decided if he’s a boy. And so forth.’

‘That’s so nifty,’ she said. ‘And original. And again, it makes you sound like someone important, which of course, you are. Promise you’ll think it over.’

‘I will,’ he said. ‘Now, Julia, if I do, will you be my Aspasia?’

‘No promises, specifically on the nickname,’ Julia said. ‘A name of the muddy waters maybe. And I don’t mean the jazz man.’

‘Blues.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Julia,’ he said again, slowly wrapping his arms around her. ‘I just asked you if you’d be my Aspasia. You just said you love your Perry. He’s kind of got a thing for you too. Be my girl?’

In a fair turnabout, she kissed his nose. ‘He mentioned something about getting married too. Of course! I’ll be your beloved Aspasia — just don’t sully my reputation around like so many poets and philosophers.’

‘That I can avoid,’ he whispered into her ear.

‘Ironic, no?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘She was a metic. Here and, for now, that’s you!’

‘I know, right?’ he said as they resumed their slow stroll. ‘And that means I must be careful with acquiring heavy weapons.’

‘I’m sure it’s a replica,’ she said. ‘Or properly deactivated.’

‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said; ‘this is Russia and all.’

‘Countries!’ she said, concurrently putting a little skip in her step. ‘Tell me about that strange idea that you’ve been whispering about on the friends and family flipper.’

‘You don’t want to rehash empire-approved IDF airstrikes on hospitals, churches, mosques, and refugees? Or the vicious demands of lunatic neoliberals named Haley and Graham?’ he asked, thinking for a split-second about the rank degeneracy of the dead country he’d left, finding a hollow embarrassment in his own words.

‘No. You and the others covered that in too great a detail the other day. No homos and harpies now.’ She slipped on her hat and tugged the flaps down tight over her ears. ‘Tell me, tell the poor mink about this rebel plan of yours.’

‘Very well, my sultry Aspasia,’ he said. At that, she rolled her eyes and lightly elbowed his ribs. But he continued: ‘It kind of started with that joint discussion the departments had about de Gaulle and his Free French government. Privately, we Americans kept up the talk and it sort of morphed into a crazy idea.’

‘Then it’s American,’ she added.

He gently returned the rib knock, followed by a mussing disarrangement of the departed mink, and kept going: ‘So, despite all that I have going on here, and despite all the problems back home, the barest suggestion was made. A vague, uncertain, and probably most untenable idea. Given that my people are utterly without representation in the GAE, and given that they’re oppressed, hated, and essentially leaderless internal exiles, and given that I’m here— Mention was made of a Confederate States government in exile. The accursed Yankees have never really abated their hostilities towards us, and we have no way of opposing them—at present—from the occupied heart of their evil empire of lies. It makes a degree of sense.’

‘And only a degree,’ she said. ‘Maybe a fraction of one degree. How, exactly, would that work?’

‘I have exactly no idea,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I suppose I’d have to go through Foreign Affairs. I’m sure they would scoff at the idea with all the other headaches everywhere. Maybe once your father, the professor, and a few others with direct friendship allow me to become acquainted with the President, maybe then I’d have some sort of long-odds shot.’

‘I’m sure he would scoff at the idea too,’ Julia said.

‘I’m scoffing at the whole thing now,’ he rejoined with another chuckle. ‘The last thing I want to do is come across as needy or burdensome. Or insane. It’s really the furthest thing from what I’m here for and what I’m planning. Not sure how any of it would work, even if everyone granted us permission with open arms and hearts. The old true believers, the ones who still mentally live before 1860, would probably want to pick up precisely where our forefathers left off. That wouldn’t work. I’ve previously mentioned setting up a shadow government of sorts. Disbelief or disinterest might be the best description of the reaction to that. They suspect, probably correctly, that what the Nation of Islam is allowed to do, we would not find so easy. That brand of reluctance makes sense. Heck, they’re imprisoning our people for lighting torches at night and making memes on Twit-bird. So many issues. Too many for now. We have no means to renew hostilities on our part despite their never-ending attacks on us. And the old Constitution would need, in my mind’s eye, a major overhaul. A total purging of any and all Enlightenment baggage. Then, there are the vital issues of economics, territory, and the radically changed demographics of the old CSA. No one, myself included, has really thought through those. If we’ve even thought of them at all. If any of it ever happened, it might be safer to start from the serenity of the outside. But, again, I scoff. For now.’

‘Purge the fire out of the Enlightenment, the father of postmodern, so-called rules-based, Anglo-Zionist globalism,’ she said knowingly. ‘What are you thinking? About that overhaul? A Christian aristocratic monarchy?’

‘Do the tiny degree I am thinking, yes,’ he said. He then saw something just ahead and to the side of the walkway and gestured towards it. ‘Snack pancakes from a robot vending machine! I’ve been wanting to try those. Perfect for the ride home?’

She happily agreed, and they dialed up pancakes, which would end up being more like rolled crepes, filled with a sugary concoction of fruit and cream cheese. While they watched through a window as a buzzing tube coated and recoated batter on a heated tray, she thought of a pertinent question.

‘Will you, my Perry, be the first reigning monarch?’

‘Good grief! I had not thought about that! Not really my cup of tea.’

‘But you are here, the representative among the free,’ she said. ‘General de Gaulle was the leader of his resistance in just such circumstances. Your namesake too, kind of, in a different sort of way. And as you’ve noted, and I’ve independently observed, there is no true leadership far away and no real way for it to arise or take office or effect.’ She was wearing, if only for a moment, her very serious academic face, which delighted him even as the suggestion made him ponder their shared sanity.

‘Let’s just put this one to rest, for now,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Besides, I want to hear more about the special project revisiting the meaning of The Brothers Karamazov. That or plan out a space in the flat for my mortar!’

‘All of that,’ she said as she scooped two paper-rolled pastries from a little door. ‘Or the hilarity of KINO’s Мама анархия. Or better yet, how this flea market compares those in Dixie. Or best of all, the right wine for post-pancake revelry.’

With visions of renewed nations safely out of their minds, nibbling sweets while speaking to saccharify, soft and low, they made their way to the train station. A hallmark of their afternoon adventures, the fall sun began to set, settling them into a chilly evening. Inside a carriage, as it rolled south, having finished her pancake, she cuddled against him. Raising her face to his, and arching her eyebrows in revelation, she said, ‘You certainly have the name for your hypothetical station: Pericles in exile.’

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Perrin Lovett

From Green Altar Books, an imprint of Shotwell Publishing

From Green Altar Books, an imprint of Shotwell Publishing

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