August 16, 2007 - August 9, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Death of
No big deal. Even the tiny French
language has a word for it: Ennui
. I've been
tracking the Mayans and the Easter Islanders for close on 40 years now.
The theories about their downfalls change with each new fad in
sociology. The current wisdom has it that they perished because of
environmental catastrophe. The Mayans experienced too much climate
the Easter Islanders cut down too many trees. They could have been
saved, we suspect, if they'd had Al Gore and Hillary Clinton to make
their governments protect them with the right kinds of laws and
programs. Not to mention the fact that religion was always their worst
enemy, closely followed by foreign imperial powers bringing unfair
trade and disease in their wake.
The problem is, no civilization lasts for 500 or 1,000 years without
encountering crises aplenty. Long before they lost their trees, the
Easter Islanders suffered from the crippling diseases of inbreeding.
The Mayans battled the unforgiving jungles of Central America for over
a thousand years before they suddenly shut the whole enterprise down --
well before the evil Spaniards came. The first crushing defeat of Rome
occurred before 300 BC, but the Romans rallied to rule the known world
until the middle of the fifth century A.D. The Minoans of 2500 BC had
indoor plumbing, but we're asked to believe that a single volcanic
eruption ended their whole culture because there was no Red Cross to
descend on the disaster like FEMA and pull their irons from the fire.
But here's a contrary idea that's actually backed by science: Ontogeny
recapitulates philogeny. The experience of the one mirrors the
experience of the group. Civilizations are actually like individual
people. They age. When they're young, they're resilient. When they grow
old, they're not. The not very mysterious reason for the fall of
advanced civilizations is that they die of boredom, unbelief, and
a consequent loss of the survival instinct.
Europe has been dying to die for a century at least. Why? They're
exhausted. They've thought all their thoughts, written all their books,
painted all their pictures, sculpted all the fountains they ever
imagined, and fought every war they could invent a reason for. Now, all
they want is to sit in their air-conditioned room staring at a TV game
show and please don't bother them with bills or other obligations.
The United States of America was an extraordinary attempt to break out
of this pattern. The distinguishing idea was not democracy, which had
already been tried repeatedly, but eternal youth. This was a country
founded on the idea that people who were vital and resilient at heart
could leave the dying places and come to a perennially new world where
youthful ideals, energy, persistence, faith, desire, and dreams
could hold boredom at bay forever. Such people came from everywhere --
Europe, Asia, Africa -- and traded their grandparents' cynical
resignation for a new covenant with hope.
It worked for nearly 200 hundred years. Longer than most fountains of
youth, to be sure. But old age has a way of catching up to everyone.
Now the Baby Boomers are a perfect symbol of their nation, which
continues to think (and speak) of itself as young even though it's
actually the oldest old fart at the party. (Yes, technically, Britain
is older, meaning they've lasted longer without the facelift
represented by a brand new form of government, but Alzheimer's is a
cruel taskmaster and its absolutist amnesia is not rejuvenating.)
America is no longer young, though. Under the highlighted hair
transplants and inside the juvenile tracksuit tailored to show off
silicon breasts and lipo-ed hips, America has grown very very old.
I say this as one who has also grown old. Ontogeny recapitulates
philogeny. When I was young I never thought of blood. I was from New
Jersey. Now I play CDs of bagpipe music and imagine myself marching
with Bonnie Prince Charlie. As if I were more Scottish than American.
I've never been to Scotland... but I'm becoming what I used to jeer at
in all the old cosmopoilitan Jews I saw, who mysteriously acquired
Yiddish accents as they sank into dotage, kvetching about putzes where
they used to scorn presumptuous fools. But I'm not alone. This country
which was once about citizenship as a conceptual union among the
like-minded has become a nursing home common room filled with phony
nativists from all the nations their ancestors sacrificed everything to
What else do we old codgers think about in the nursing home? We want
our pills, dammit, and we don't much care who has to pay for them or
how long they'll be paying for them. We just know we've lived long
enough and worked hard enough that it's someone else's turn to take
care of us now. By the way, don't ever talk to us about making
sacrifices for the future. Our future is measured in sitcom units,
meaning 22 minutes plus commercials. And if the show isn't funny or
diverting or all wrapped up after the last laxative ad, we're not
interested. We may not be interested even then. Truth is, we're bored.
Did I mention that we're bored? I did? Well, it bears repeating. We're
b-o-o-o-o-o-r-ed. So b-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-r-ed. We've already done it all,
you see. All the eating and drinking and buying and working and fucking
and child-rearing and sacrificing and paying and paying and watching
and believing and getting the mail and getting fucked and getting
watched and getting told what to do and getting fucked again and
getting audited by our great democracy and getting screwed by
ungrateful children and getting lied to by everyone and getting fucked
again and again and again, so that all we want now is our chocolate
pudding and possession of the remote control. And some nice big checks
from the government.
Is God in the nursing home? No. We no longer care about the toughest
question youngsters ask of God -- Why do bad things happen to good
people? -- because we've lived long enough to realize that we are not
good people, and given what we
deserve, it would be better by far if He weren't there at all and life
just ended when it looks like it does, with a stopped heart and a
Do we love "the kids" as much as we say we do? No. We don't. There are
too many kids. When you're as old as we are they're all kids, and
they're all assholes.
The little ones make too much noise all the time, which is why we
endorse the idea of giving them sedatives for made-up disorders that
are really synonymous with being young. We also chuckle to ourselves at
the one great innovation of the last twenty years, binding them hand
and foot in car seats and prams, so they'll learn what it's like to be
us without all the intervening fun of invincible childhood.
The bigger ones are even worse. No one likes to be reminded that
they're way past sex. And sex is the only thing they remind us of. The
boys wear their pants below their cocks. The girls wear their skirts
above their twats and do everything a girl's limited imagination can
conceive of to flaunt their naked breasts. B-o-o-o-o-o-ring.
Europeans have stopped having children because they're bored by sex,
which is why they used to lispingly disapprove of Hollywood's naively
unsexual sex comedies. Now our teenage and twentyish kids have acquired
the vaunted European sophistication about sex, and we oldsters are even
more bored than they are because sex was only fun for us when it was
forbidden, dirty, unmentionable, and delicious. It's become the exact
opposite of all those things, which means that not only are we
incapable of it, we're also no longer interested in it. And as with so
many things, the kids are following our example without being aware of
There are other kids too. Much older kids. Just as idiotic. Kids who
are entering their fifth and sixth decades with lips still firmly
locked on the government nipple, unmindful of the enormous pleasures to
be had by running recklessly through life without asking for permission
or an allowance. Mexican kids who think it's better to be a juvenile
delinquent than a neophyte citizen. "Native American" kids who pretend
that their ancestors weren't murderous short-lived savages but PhDs
from the school of hard knocks who were true-green environmentalists
when they were still moving on to build a new town whenever the privies
got filled to overflowing. Black kids who still prefer the aliases and
thievery of their fugitive great-grandparents to the capitalist
responsibiliies and educational requirements that accompany life in the
wealthiest nation on earth. Female kids who think the unfairness of
life has to do with being female. Perverted kids who insist that
only tolerate their most disgusting sexual practices but admire them as
well and instruct all children in the praiseworthiness of the obsession
to fit a square peg into a square peg and a round hole into a round
hole. Atheist kids who annoy everyone with the proposition that the
belief system which invented morality can't hold a candle to the unbelief system which claims that it has a monopoly on morality. Kids
of every age who demand everything from their fellow man while
acknowledging no debt or allegiance to any nation, people, or way of
Nope. We don't much care about the kids. But like all old people
everywhere, throughout the history of human life on earth, we do enjoy
fretting about bullshit. We like to see the mighty humbled. We like to
rant and rave about possible future crises that will never affect us.
Did we mention that we like our TV? And the movies? Okay then. We like
disasters because they remind us that even people who aren't old can be
suddenly killed, and we like it better if there's someone to blame. We
like conspiracy theories because if there isn't a conspiracy, how did
our life wind up so empty and meaningless? We like to pretend that we
care about children, so keep the saccharine sob stories about abused,
missing, and murdered kids coming. We like sports, because what else is
there? And we like our pills. No, we love our pills. We want more
pills. MORE, MORE, MORE pills. For free. And we don't like wars unless
they're short, spectacular, and picturesque. Like a good war movie.
Anything else exhausts our attention span. Unless you're talking higher
taxes on all the people who are richer than we are. We can pay
attention to that. Did you forget about the more pills part?
There used to be a whole country dedicated to youth and its
potentialities. For the first and only time. It was called the United
States of America. The youth thing was mis-labelled 'American
Exceptionalism.' It was a place of unbounded hopes, new starts, second
chances, naive optimism, sacrifice, hard work, opportunity, approximate
equality, and belief in the purpose and meaning of life. But it's dead
now because the people who lived there got old and they stopped
believing in anything, and when that happened the sheer boredom of just
existing made them start yearning for death. Not just their own, but
everybody's. Because catastrophe is more exciting than a chair in the
waiting room. That's how Rome fell. Although some of the know-it-alls
here at the home are still blaming it all on the Little Ice Age. After
all, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.
There's a site called Ock's World which has enjoyed a vigorous discussion
of this post. Take a look if you care about the issues at stake. Below
the fold, I'm also putting my own single response to all the comments
there. Maybe it will clarify my thoughts further.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The Real Rove
Comte Saint-Germain. Look familiar?
BY THE NUMBERS
Fortunately, we've had a crack or two in the crust of reality
that's been concealing the Truth of Rove. Eric of Classical Values has
of Glenn Reynolds's role in the disinformation being
disseminated about Rove, and it's extremely sinister:
I want to examine as objectively as
possible what I consider to be some very suspicious behavior by Glenn
Reynolds. Despite the ominous timing of the Rove announcement, Glenn
went out of his way to avoid venturing an opinion about it yesterday...
As if this peculiar evasive behavior weren't suspicious enough, Glenn
has said absolutely nothing about... the demise of fearless leader Karl
Rove all day today.
Most damning of all, at exactly 9:33 p.m. tonight, he has a post about
knives! There were so many links I didn't want to count them. But I
forced myself -- only because of the serious nature of my suspicions.
13 KNIVES at 9 3 3, at NIGHT!
Of course, NINE upside down is SIX. And three plus three is also....
And on top of that, today -- the date that will mark Glenn's Night of
the Long Knives -- is August 14, 2007! A date which will live forever
as the SIXTH day after the SIXTH blogiversary of Instapundit...
So in answer to the question "Who is running the country now?" I don't
know, but it's all beginning to add up. In terms of numerological
omens, the situation looks very bad indeed.
Isn't it obvious what's really going on?
Actually, no. In this instance, Glenn Reynolds is a red herring. The
answer to Eric's question, as all liberals will know intuitively, is
that the country is still
being run by Karl Rove.
This is not the man's first disappearing act. He's made a career of it
-- in fact, many
it. Our research has uncovered the real identity of the dangerous
sorcerer who has struck fear into the Democrats for, lo, these many
years. He is the latest incarnation of the immortal alchemist Comte
, confidant of kings, master of the Masonic Conspiracy
and, according to some, the power behind the scenes in numerous affairs
of state on two continents, including the drafting of the U.S
How can we be sure? Eric's numerological approach is sound. (You can
brush up on the basics here
The proof is simple arithmetic, based on this table:
KARL C. ROVE = 2 + 1
+ 0 + 3 + 3 + 0 + 6 + 4 + 5 = 42 = 6
COMTE SAINT-GERMAIN = 3 + 6 + 4 +
2 + 5 +1 +1 + 9 + 5 + 2 + 7 + 5 + 9 + 4 + 1 + 8 + 5 = 78 = 15 =
Note, too, that all the letters of F-O-X are also represented by the
number 6. It doesn't matter how many 6's Eric needs to make
himself convinced of a numerological connection.We have more than
But why does it matter that Karl Rove is really Saint-Germain? Here's a
"A man who knows everything and who
never dies," said Voltaire of the Comte de Saint-Germain. He might have
added that he was a man whose origin was unknown and who disappeared
without leaving a trace. In vain his contemporaries tried to penetrate
the mystery, and in vain the chiefs of police and the ministers of the
various countries whose inhabitants he puzzled, flattered themselves
that they had solved the riddle of his birth.
Louis XV... extended to him a friendship that aroused the jealousy of
his court. He allotted him rooms in the Chateau of Chambord. He shut
himself up with Saint-Germain and Madam de Pompadour for whole
evenings; and the pleasure he derived from his conversation and the
admiration he no doubt felt for the range of his knowledge cannot
explain the consideration, almost the deference, he had for him....
[Saint-Germain] spoke with an entire lack of ceremony to the most
highly placed personages and was fully conscious of his superiority.
Said Gleichen of the first time he met Saint-Germain: "He threw down
his hat and sword, sat down in an armchair near the fire and
interrupted the conversation by saying to the man who was speaking:
'You do not know what you are saying! I am the only person who is
competent to speak on this subject, and I have exhausted it. It was the
same with music, which I gave up when I found I had no more to learn.'"
Indeed, many people who heard him play the violin said of him that he
equaled or even surpassed the greatest virtuosos of the period, and he
seems to have justified his remark that he had reached the extreme
limit possible in the art of music.
This tidbit is certainly indicative. Who can forget Rove the Master
More important is the evidence that he really is immortal:
Although, on the evidence of reliable
witnesses, he must have been at least a hundred years old in 1784, his
death in that year cannot have been genuine. The official documents of
Freemasonry say that in 1785 the French masons chose him as their
representative at the great convention that took place in that year,
with Mesmer, Saint-Martin, and Cagliostro present. In the following
year Saint-Germain was received by the Empress of Russia. Finally, the
Comtesse d'Adhemar reports at great length a conversation she had with
him in 1789 in the Church of the Recollets, after the taking of the
His face looked no older than it had looked thirty years earlier....
Mademoiselle de Genlis asserts that she met the Comte de Saint-Germain
in 1821 during the negotiations for the Treaty of Vienna; and the Comte
de Chalons, who was ambassador in Venice, said he spoke to him there
soon afterwards in the Piazza di San Marco. There is other evidence,
though less conclusive, of his survival. The Englishman Grosley said he
saw him in 1798 in a revolutionary prison; and someone else wrote that
he was one of the crowd surrounding the tribunal at which the Princess
de Lamballe appeared before her execution.
It seems quite certain that the Comte de Saint-Germain did not die at
the place and on the date that history has fixed. He continued an
unknown career, of whose end we are ignorant and whose duration seems
so long that one's imagination hesitates to admit it...
The Comte de Saint-Germain is always present with us. There will always
be, as there were in the eighteenth century, mysterious doctors,
enigmatic travelers, bringers of occult secrets, to perpetuate him.
Some will have bathed in the sources of the Ganges, and others will
show a talisman found in the pyramids. But they are not necessary. They
diminish the range of the mystery by giving it everyday, material form.
The Comte de Saint-Germain is immortal, as he always dreamed of being,
a roving seer who lights his
own way and sometimes ours. [emphasis added]
All in all, one must admit that the evidence is concerning. Very little
is known, even today, about the vast Masonic
to create a New
World Order based on odd sashes, symbols, and rituals. If that
still being managed by Saint-Germain, there's almost no hope for the
Democrats and other true patriots to defeat it. Their fear is obviously
justified, but it won't help them that a man who calls himself Rove
drops out of public life. He is bound to return, in yet another new
guise, to continue his supernatural influence on the affairs of men.
It is long past time, though, for accomplices like Glenn Reynolds
come clean about what they know and when they first knew it.
On the numerology front, Instapunk readers may remember this
amazing prediction of September 11, 2001, ten years before the fact in The
But it's likely they never noticed what undergirds the whole 9/11
Have a nice day.
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Worst Species
They're rarely in the news, but they are today
target deadly raccoons on US-Canadian border
Dozens of trappers have left their more lucrative prey of foxes and
mink to catch raccoons along the US Canadian border that have caused an
outbreak of rabies in eastern Canada....
After rabies first struck in May 2006, Quebec authorities launched a
huge campaign on the borders with the US states of Vermont and New York
to stem the outbreak of the viral disease that is fatal to humans if
The raccoon-stopping effort got a bigger boost still after Vermont
announced it had detected 50 cases of rabies in the first few months of
Since the start of the summer, the French-speaking Canadian province
has picked up around 40 rabid raccoons and 3,000 of the furry, striped
mammals have been euthanized as a precautionary measure.
The raccoon is a leading transmitter of rabies since it lives close to
human habitats often feeding on garbage in the city and on crops in the
countryside. The cat-size mammal with striped tail and black, mask-like
markings over its eyes also comes into contact with domestic animals,
who can unwittingly become a dangerous vehicle for the spread of the
disease to humans.
Rabies kills some 50,000 people each year around the world. In Canada,
the last death from rabies occurred in 2000.
The truth is, raccoons have absolutely no redeeming qualities. They're
all born gangsters. They're thieves, they're filthy, and they actually
enjoy spreading disease and death. If governments really cared about
people, they'd band together for once and exterminate every single one
of these disgusting creatures.
But that's not what happens, is it? We have hunting seasons for deer
and bear and pheasant, but is there a hunting season for this most
despicable of lifeforms? No. Every so often, the powers that be
remember what a curse they are and kill a few of them, but never enough
to make a real difference.
It's a scandal. Personally, I blame the Bush administration. Their
incompetence on the raccoon issue is outrageous. On the other hand,
what has the Democratic Congress done in the eight months they've been
in power? Nothing. While they've wasted months on futile hearings about
trivia, heavily armed gangs of raccoons are rampaging through cities,
towns, and fields virtually unopposed. What we need is a "War on
Raccoons" led by a Raccoon "Czar." What we'll probably get instead,
especially if Hillary is elected, is a Raccoon Rights movement, with
full constitutional protections for the very few who are captured in
the act of committing their multifarious crimes.
I'm not saying it's a conspiracy, but how would you explain it? Look at
them. People who say God doesn't make mistakes never met a raccoon.
It's time we quit dithering and solved this problem once and for all.
If you could send me $4.3 billion via PayPal, I promise to make some
real progress on turning back the raccoon threat. I'll even issue a
report. By December of 2010. Or thereabouts.