When I was a boy....

In these days when our government blithely spends billions unto trillions of dollars I look back to times when a dollar was worth a dollar. I also see a time when America was a great nation of great people. Now I see a president who hates us and our nation. I look to the future and see Sarah Palin. She reminds me of things I loved.

Jerusalem, maybe next year....

The old city of Jerusalem is still there underneath the layers of recent Modernity. It's oft-times hard to see for all the garbage and noise and trumped up hostility, but it's there. Here's a view of it in stills as it was fairly recently.

Here is a video of Jerusalem, 1932, more recently still.

Mexico City, 1942

Until I began my latest sojourn in Vancouver, Canada I had lived in Mexico City as long as any other city-- outside my original hometown. Looking at the following video of Mex. D.F. brings to mind any number of happy memories, of nights at the opera, of a drunken climb to the lap of Juarez, to having sex atop the heights of the Zocalo's Grand Hotel, and of the National Palace, which is reportedly built to designs meant for a penitentiary in Peru, the prison there looking like the Palace as it was supposed to be.

I have endless personal memories of Mexico City, many of them good. For those who have never been, the idea of showing this video is to allow one the idea of how different, and in many ways better, was Modernity over post-modernity. I'll leave it for now for the viewer to decide, if only on the face of a short travelogue, to decide if we have given up a major good in favor of an effete and self-indulgent destruction of Progress.

Mothers, let your babies to grow up to be cowboys

A cowboy appeared before St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.

'Have you ever done anything of particular merit?' St. Peter asked.

'Well, I can think of one thing,' the cowboy offered. 'On a trip to the Black Hills out in South Dakota , I came upon a gang of bikers, who were threatening a young woman. I directed them to leave her alone, but they wouldn't listen.

So, I approached the largest and most tattooed biker and smacked him in the face ... Kicked his bike over, ripped out his nose ring, and threw it on the ground. I yelled, 'Now, back off or I'll kick the s--- out of all of you!'

St. Peter was impressed, 'When did this happen?'

'Couple of minutes ago.'

What makes that joke so funny is it's probable. What makes so funny those who don't think it's funny is their probability.

The West is so effeminate I could puke. "That's so typical of 'cowboys.' The first thing they do is resort to violence. Look where that got him. And it didn't do the girl any good either. If the cowboy has called 911 he might have had the police come and save the girl. If he'd hidden, he could have tracked down the gang and dealt with them in court, and justice would have been served. And look at what cowboys did to the indigenous peoples of the Americas. Cowboys are all racists. Cowboys are stupid, like Sarah Palin...."

I'm taking a musical break here. Hope you'll join me.

Euro-video: Smart and Stylish

Here's a video I hope you'll like, from Die Realitaet.

Lots of good work coming from Europe, in spite of what we're led to believe by the MSM.

All Hail the MSM!

How Will The End Of Print Journalism Affect Old Loons Who Hoard Newspapers?

New Obama theme song hits the airwaves

Now that the British Conservative Party has found a new theme song for its up-coming election campaign, President Obama has informed his White House aides that he too must find a new campaign theme song; and this is it:



Go, Barry. We're behind you all the way. Hey, he's no Sarah Palin. It's a matter of trust.

British Conservative Party's New Campaign Theme Song

David Cameron, leader of Britain's Conservative Party, has officially announced the party's theme song for the up-coming campaign, this designed especially to appeal to our Muslim voters. Said Cameron, "Ours is no longer the party of dinosaurs and reactionary Englishmen; ours is a progressive party; and our new theme song is designed to show all British voters our new and vibrant approach to multi-culturalism and our sensitivity to all British peoples. Because each of us is, in his or her own way, special."

We are progressive Conservatives. Our goal is a fairer, safer, greener country where opportunity is more equal. It's because we are progressives that we will protect the NHS. We recognise its special place in our society so we will improve it for everyone.

More here.

I could make up this stuff, but why bother when reality is so cruel? Look for yourself:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1252145/David-Camerons-plan-impose-women-gays-ethnic-candidates.html

Primarily Yellow

I had my passage booked on a tramp freighter to Haiti to do business in Port Au Prince. I was down at the dockyard standing on a dirty street under the baking sun when I found myself suddenly enclosed in a full darkness with minute little stars flashing way into the universe, a whining ring echoing in the blackness; and next, I found myself collapsed in a puddle of my own blood in the dust. It was yellow.

I laid down helpless in the dust by the docks and bled. Something about me is scary. No one dared attack me. I was able to rise up and make my way to shelter. A few months later I had recovered enough to travel to Canada. I arrived with my backpack in the night at the Via Rail station.

I looked at my arrival point recently, and there I saw it is yellow.

I'd travelled far to arrive in Canada to spend some time with my friend, hoping there for recovery so I could in time re-enter those other worlds, worlds of pain and war and death that I so love to make my way in.

No one lives for long in this life, and it's so much shorter for fools like I who court craziness in the wilds of the less than Human. Lugging a pack from here to there and hoping for one more day before death, hoping for one more grand experience of the sublime in the matrix of the terror, knowing that one cannot go on forever but must leave everything behind, if not in a dumpster here or a dumpster there, then a heap or a lump somewhere sometime, I made my way to relative safety in Canada to rest. A dumpster looms....
Every man has his day, and then some terrible fate waits and springs on him and takes away his phlogiston, who knows where it goes, leaving a man as nothing more than, perhaps, a worker's coat sucked empty by electricity, man's relic laying alone on a floor dominated by mysterious transformers.

As one man goes, another man comes, and life shines wondrous, illuminating those who stay. I sometimes see clearly the beauty of man's achievments and the greatness of this built environment. That flash of light fades and I go on again in my own little darkness, the light lingering only in my memory.

Sometimes I try to explain the beauty of the Modern, the glory of yellow, the depths of such vivid colour made by man and given to the world as a blessing to us all. I say, "Look, friend, at this yellow!" I am happy. Some are even moreso.
I have seen birds with feathers so yellow their beauty makes me weep; and flowers and cats and butterflies yellow as Platonically yellow.

I know that at some point such things yellow will, in one way or another, eat me. Sometimes, till then, I eat some of them. Yellow. Such a glory.

Till I'm dumped and eaten, Life lives me. Hard as it is, I love it. I sometimes just sit and look at it, soaking it up and gazing in wonder at such a thing as yellow, knowing that if not for Man, yellow would be a rare thing in the world, and that because of man, yellow is common and lovely and available to a man like I am, a traveller who has no real place, who has his yellow experiences because of stable men who make yellow for the world. I sit and stare in awe. I am grateful.

In the morning I sit and have coffee and look out my window at the sunlight shining on the garden below, at yellow bees and yellow flowers and the occasional corpse of a dead drug addict. I have coffee and a fried egg, toast and butter.

Nature provides Man with very little in the way of yellow, and that only fleeting and uncontrollable. A man might find a feather and stick it in his hair, might by extreme efforts mine and refine a bit of copper or gold, or, in a fit of desperation, might piss on his raw ecru wool. Such is the life of man in nature. Only the most important man can make his world yellow in a natural place. But today, thanks to dye, man, important or not in world affairs, can shine like the sun.

George might be important. He sends letters to Obama and Sarah Palin threatening to kill them. He works for the FBI. He has implants in his eyes. He is especially smart and knows things about things. He likes to dress up like a girl as well. He looks pleasing in yellow. Even if he's not important in world affairs, he has what few men in history have had: a yellow vest.
Not everyone appreciates George, nor do they all appreciate yellow, preferring to stand aloof from the common man and his unfathomable colours. But they, like me, like George, like you and others and them, we all have, should we so choose, the option of this extraordinary and simple primary colour. Cut off or cut in, we all share the possibility of this colour.

I'll have to leave sometime and return to the world of darkness, that being my natural state and my need for my own reflection demanding satisfaction. That other world is one of yellow as import. There's no lack of yellow in the world today, but it is all thanks to Modernity, which I will leave behind. I'll maybe pack up my things and go to the train station and, all aboard, leave for wild lands and peoples who live in dullness and pain under the stark white light of the scorching sun. All of my lovely Modern things, some vividly yellow, will go in crates and perhaps me, somewhere, in a dumpster.
Till such time I'll slog through the gloomy grey days over rain-slick streets-- rapt by yellow.

Till the day my wandering begins again and I have to say fare thee well to my friend whom I love more than life itself, I have a shadowy thing no professionally homeless man can look at without wonder of the existence of God.

I have a set of keys.

One pic is worth a thousand emotions

The Star Trek Freak-Out Scale.

Designed by James Lileks.

Wow.

I mean, "We're not gonna make it!"

From:

http://lileks.com/bleats/archive/07/0407/040307.html