Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Tracking the Mossad Internet Presence

How audacious would it be if someone tried to explain to you that Marxism had nothing to do with Marx? That Napoleon had nothing to do with Rothschild, or that the Holodomor and the purges of the Rus had nothing to do with the Cheka? How ridiculous, how unbelievable, would it be if you were told that National Zionism/Naziism had nothing to do with Herzl, or that psychoanalysis had nothing to do with Freud, or that the cascading sexualization of young children had nothing to do with Kinsey? That Black Lives Matter had nothing to do with Soros, or that sex change surgeries in the western world weren't in any way related to Biber?

Audacious, certainly. Sheer illogic; patently false; utter and complete lies. "Big" lies, even.

Daniel Greenfield's Millions and Millions of Mohammeds, Amerika's Celebrate the Victims of Democracy, and the daily anti-African and anti-Muslim screeds at Gates of Vienna give us an excellent window into what today's Zionist is doing on the internet. These particular personas are racist, if that matters to you--they openly acknowledge all of the now-popular Bell Curve and HBD stuff--yet, there is one ethnic group, one extremely special ethnic group, They Who Must Not Be Named, who go, as their name requires, nameless.

The staffs of these respective operations often turn out good work, in the sense of the writing being interesting and, more importantly, partly true. The Jewish supremacist perspective on the spread of Islam--while often needlessly derogatory, emotional, and tinged with half-truths and outright lies--is, nonetheless, a taste almost refreshing after having being exposed to the other side of the Jewish supremacist agenda, namely, the fawning subservience to rapist importation and the net-loss importation of halal readymades into stores which have been lawsuit-proofed by the removal of manger scenes.

It is those half-truths against which we must guard, for therein lies the narrative to justify another century of grossly expensive colonialism, in which Shah-style Judaic robber barons are permitted to impose their central banks on another half billion unwilling Arabs, whose blowback will no doubt be used to justify requests for another welfare nation. The orientalism, or anti-orientalism (either works), with which the Jewish racists urge us to slaughter their impoverished kebab cousins is like cool water in the desert, after facing down fifty-one years of urging to import and sleep with those same cousins--who, it must be pointed out again and again, only want to come here because those very same Semitic supremacists used the Torah's own sequel to crush what remained of Christ.

All of that anger--all of those Generation Exxers and Whyers and Millenials eager to avoid deracination, cuckoldy, or fifty years of cubicle-based funding for Lashawnduh's six obese EBT chilluns--all that anger is being cleverly redirected, the Exxers and Whyers and Millenials being lured by the partly-correct anti-Muslim rhetoric into forgetting who, exactly, started this war in the first place. Yes, Pearl Harbor was a dirty trick, but it was only effected by the Japanese after the Zionist traitor Roosevelt had improperly used America's still-fresh income tax coffers to fund morally wrong, unconstitutional, internationally indecent, undeclared wars against Japan for several years prior. Vengefully attacking the Japanese in response to their response to FDR's unjust provocation only ensures that the next two centuries will be filled with more Lusitanias, Tonkins, and World Ninelevens, in which a bunch of unwitting saps are fed into a grinder for a partially-just revenge that leads to more of the same.

Hilarious, to see the heirs of the NAACP and PP and the ACLU and the ADL start arguing that they are the true conservatives, the true rightists, the true bastions of tradition and hope, and that it is those darned dindus and mestizos and Portlandians that are to blame for violent rainbows and the multikulti. No doubt that's why they made Portlandia anyway; by lampooning the very irrational society they cunningly promised as ideal, they make SWPL look like an organic, self-generated phenomenon of the target group, as though the prisoners had designed their own prison. How productive the whole cycle is. After all, Seinfeld can't make jokes about airline peanuts unless society is first stripped of its natural hierarchies, causing a bunch of little status-strivers feel that they need to jet around the world seeing important locations in order to be cosmopolitan, thereby breaking down the dignity and infrequency of such travel arrangements, resulting in the sardine cans and the dropout-groping and the removal of actual meals in the first place.

Like a sailing ship moving against the wind of decency, we now tack in the other direction, toward the long-prophesied Davidian Court, advocating for the very same monarchy and hierarchy and segregation and social order that Rothschild paid the 1789ers to smash. Been a fun few centuries.

Monday, May 30, 2016

Anecdotal Muddle

So I had an acquaintance when Obama was going to be elected, and I told him, "Don't support him, he voted over and over again for occupying Iraq, he's a killer of children and you don't want to lend even a tiny bit of support to that." And he told me, "Women good, gays good, McCain bad." And I said, "Yeah, McCain bad, but Obama is complicit in an international murder cartel and it's so very immoral and personally damaging and wrong to support anything like that." And he responded, "Women good, gays good, McCain bad."

We went around a few times like that, and finally, he said, "I admire you, you have such a big heart, for being able to care about those millions of children so far away, but women good, gays good, McCain bad, and it would just break me if I had to care about everyone out there, I can't do it, I admire you if you can have such an exposed soul to all that stuff, but I have to think about things here, first. Women good, gays good, McCain bad."

When it was another Obama election, we did the same thing. Now, there was no chance of concealing Obama's mass murders in the hubris of a Congress for which he was somehow not responsible; now, Obama had personally overseen execution after execution after execution of thousands upon thousands of little kids, both collateral and direct, and now he was an arch-murderer in the most vulgar, literal, cowardly sense. He had looked at pictures, had had explained to him endless minutiae about victims and areas of effect, and had kept going, year after year after year, boom bang kill, until even the background blur of another three dead toddlers had vanished from the front page of even the most dissident of dissident presses, replaced by some new abomination Obama was wreaking in a different corner of the world. Piles of dead children all across Africa, and he didn't give a damn because "women good, gays good, Romney bad."

And then came the invasion of Europe, where the worse half of those same miscellaneous and violent and victimized peoples began to invade western Europe, and all of a sudden, my acquaintance switched around. Now, weirdly, his heart was big enough to care about those people--at least, the 18-40 year-old males. Domestic issues suddenly shifted to the back burner, if at all, and more important than his home, his family, his community, were the attitudes of Europeans (far away) toward the invaders (far away), and his heart was gigantic and gigantically inflamed in favor of the invaders. He cared! The Grinch's heart grew three sizes that news cycle, amazingly, impossibly, indecipherably.

What made this switch happen? Not only did this switch happen, it didn't affect his attitude about the earlier victims. He was as callous as before about flying death robots blowing up little kids in Pakistan, incinerated weddings in Iraq, boy-rape rings in Afghanistan...none of that had changed. I said, "Don't support Hillary, she's complicit in an international murder cartel and it's so very immoral and personally damaging and wrong to support anything like that." And he responded, "Women good, gays good, Trump bad."

Wtf, man? I still have the Faceberg messages from 2008 of him telling me, "it would just break me if I had to care about everyone out there," "I respect you if you have such a big heart," which would make sense if he was supporting the Zionist Gorgon on a misguidedly selfish policy, but how did he manage to combine that with intensive caring about African refugees who are looting and raping their way across Europe? He proactively cares for the so-called refugees, but he proactively doesn't care about the little black kids starving by the tens of thousands because one of Obama's warlord buddies incinerated the family fields and goats. He will go to a bar and shout and knock over peanut-jars in response to the injustice of deporting a single Somali rapist from the U.S., but when I mention that a two-year-old in Pakistan was crushed to death inside a building collapsed by one of Obama's drones, he doesn't give a fuck.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Two Propaganda Films: Kurosawa Before and After WW2 ~ Updated

Update: another American soldier has raped a woman in Okinawa. Here's a picture of the American, Mr. Castellanos:

Here's the link, including pictures of the Japanese continuing to protest Zionist occupation.


"Kenneth Franklin Shinzato, 32, told police on Thursday that he strangled and stabbed 20-year-old Rina Shimabukuro, an office worker from Uruma..."

The occupation of England effects the occupation of America effects the occupation of Japan. Here's a picture of the American rape-murderer:

This American, like the Germans who committed the recent mass rapes in Cologne, is given access to victims whom he would never get near if not for the vampires' careful ministrations.

Pre- and Post-Occupation

What a delightful opportunity was given us by Akira Kurosawa, who was responsible for two propaganda films made within two years of each other during the "second" "world" war. It's not uncommon to see a politician adopt directly contradictory opinions within a short period, e.g., Obama's and Clinton's support for and animosity, respectively, to traditional marriage. After the Great Chemical War for the Founding of Israel, many a propagandist was named a propagandist rather than an artist, and many more were liquidated by Roosevelt or Stalin.

In Japan, where impressions of Mongoloid genetics spared the population from an occupation as brutal as Stalin and Roosevelt's ethnic cleansing of Germany, we find the amazing example brought up at the beginning of this post: a paid propagandist for fascist Imperial Japan becoming a paid propagandist for the American military government, inside of two years, while still retaining (and increasing!) all his prestige and income and artistry. This would be like Hermann Göring not only being pardoned in 1945, but hired back by Stalin or Roosevelt to direct anti-German movies. Yes, Occupied America did force many Nazis to come work on weapons systems to allow Israel to begin its cleansing of the Middle East and Africa, but German artists were either too committed to the truth of their work, or too dead, to be permitted to produce anti-nationalist propaganda immediately after the war.

The works in question are Kurosawa's The Most Beautiful and No Regrets for our Youth, released in 1944 and 1946: when Japan was still trying to prevent the occupation, and when Japan had been forced to accept it, respectively. Wikipedia, humorously and predictably, calls The Most Beautiful a propaganda film, offering a brief and pointless summary, while No Regrets for our Youth gets DVD-cover-style celebratory quotes for insulting the nation and acceding to the occupiers' wishes.

What is interesting about these films, when juxtaposed, is not the fact that they're by the same man, or made so closely to one another, or occasionally borrowing actors and sets, et cetera--those facets serve merely as controlled variables for the truly interesting questions, which deal with the ways nationalist Japan versus occupied Japan wishes to present itself. Or rather, the ways in which the Japanese wish to present themselves, versus the ways the internationalist, bureaucrat-banking, African-exterminating, European-exterminating, Israeli-establishing (sic) occupiers wish the Japanese to think of themselves. With both perspectives crammed through the same man's camera in the same short time period, we have a great basis for comparison.

When we look at the two works side by side, we see, naturally, a national message of hope, belonging, love, responsibility, defense, and future, followed by a rootless, bitter, vindictive, selfish, sterile deathscape. In Beautiful, Yôko Yaguchi plays Tsuru Watanabe, president of a group of women's workers who have volunteered to work in an optics factory to supply Japan's military forces, which are attempting to defend the nation from western invasion. Shortly after the military occupation of the American South, the forces of the Stateless Zone Columbia sailed to Japan, invading the islands with advanced warships, murdering political leaders, and forcing trade agreements on the Japanese. The proto-Zionist American government forced Japan to be its puppet for a planned series of colonizations of Korea and China, building up Japan's military and "encouraging" (forcing) its use in a way that foreshadowed later Jewish puppetmastering of Iran and Iraq during the horrific war over a hundred years later. Led by America into conflict with Imperial Russia over China and Korea, Japan won, weakening the Russian Tsar and smoothing the way for his murder at Bolshevik hands not soon after. China, Korea, Vietnam, and other regions began to feel the sting of this "Japanese" ("American") colonization too, helping spread the mid-1800s communist revolutions to Asia.

After the Russo-Japanese War, America kept selling military technology to Japan, furthering the careers of compliant leaders and officials to draw Japan into war with China, Korea, and other local nations, and giving it a green light that would, again, foreshadow later techniques in the Middle East--such as April Glaspie's Bush-spawned trick against Saddam Hussein prior to the 1990 invasion of Iraq. Japan was somewhat compliant, but not completely--the Japanese people wanted to be independent, and although most probably weren't averse to having an empire (as it was explained to them by helpful "American"-"Japanese" joint propaganda), they still wanted to be Japan, rather than Japan, Inc., a subsidiary of Zion, Inc. Ergo they moved too slowly for the frothing madmen who had plans for the twentieth century.

In the meantime, of course--from the 1850s onward--the same American delegations had been urging Korea to go crazy, and China to go crazy, and then the Bolsheviks took over Russia and it started going crazy without any outward urging. The communist revolution, though, simply didn't spread to Japan. This was a problem: the Bolsheviks had seized Russia around the end of WW1, Germany was under Weimar occupation, banking revolutionaries were fighting in China and Korea, Britain was under Zionist occupation and committed to spend as many of its children as it took to seize Palestine from the Ottoman Empire, and France and the U.S. had both fallen sway to the Reuters news service, their populations committed to demonizing the nations that hadn't yet accepted externalized banking controls. The warmongers in Russia and the U.S. stepped up their infiltration of China and Korea, toppled a few smaller republics here and there, and began closing off raw materials to Japan in preparation for yet another invasion. And yes, we know what happened then--Korean and Chinese "settlers" both began establishing footholds in territory closer to Japan, fighting each other and threatening various little revolutions, and Russia and the U.S. began preparing to move in and establish bases even closer to Japan. Japan, seeing the writing on the wall, sent in a peacekeeping force and established a government in Manchuria. Russia and the U.S. massively increased their anti-Japanese propaganda, moved military forces into readiness to go after Japan, and continued seizing little military bases nearer the nation, while blockading Japan to weaken it for an attack. And then Stalin's man Hopkins and the rest of the Zionists preparing America to seize the Middle & Far Easts, Day of Deceit, and four years later, Stalin has half of Germany, the Jews have invaded Africa again, and America has all the Japanese military bases it wanted to prepare for controlling east Asia. Fancy that.

Anyhoo, in 1944, the women in Kurosawa's fictional optics factory were cheerful, hard-working, and, unintentionally foreshadowing their soon-to-be occupation by blended-Mongoloid forces, singing songs of the 1281 Kublai Khan invasion of the Far East, which destroyed the Chinese Song Dynasty, but which was repelled by Japan. Like that time around, Japan would be badly burned by the festering sources of the Black Plague, and Truman and his blended-Mongoloid handlers would non-metaphorically atomize Japan, but though the Maoist genocide of dozens of millions took China, Japan managed to remain more intact--again, shielded from the hellstorm and the Holodomor by its non-white status. A great loss for the Forsaken vampires, but without that sacrifice, they wouldn't have been able to eliminate western freedom of association.

In The Most Beautiful, the factory workers each bring a scoop of soil from their hometown to build a garden near their dormitory, which helps them get to know one another better, remember their past, and feel their connection to their land and people, including parents and other relatives left behind. They form friendships, encourage one another to perform better, and speak often of how easy they have it in their factory compared to the boys dying on ships to prevent the Jewish firebombers from reaching their families. They hate taking sick days, working hard to cover one another's mistakes and begging the nurses and managers among them to conceal minor illnesses to allow them to continue contributing. At the same time, they struggle to balance the expectations of their parents and society. Torn between the demands of traditionalism and the demands of modernity--in the midst of yet another invasion from the blended Mongoloids who simply won't leave them alone--they put off until later the dreams of marriage, children, and community-building outside the factory dormitory. It's much like American WW2 propaganda films about Rosie the Riveter, but without the horrid taint of Mammon, steroidal denialism, Junior Antisex League, or the vulgarity of Otherism seen in America's pointy-hatted or buck-toothed racial characterizations of Zion's current enemy.

These women are infinitely better humans than bankrolled trash like George Takei, who did honor to his people by graduating from Zionist concentration camps and joining the Jewish masters Kirk and Spock at the helm of an imperial fleet bringing democracy to the galaxy. Their work is done out of necessity, in the common defense against yet another invasion, struggling to keep the Judeo-Bolsheviks and Judeo-New-Dealers and Crypto-Maoists from seizing the small island chain that has been the target for Judeo-western "free trade" ever since it was discovered by the first royally-financed raiding parties.

It's funny because it's true. Moving on to No Regrets for our Youth, we see a much different Kurosawa emerge. The propaganda glove is on the other hand as Kurosawa, under western guns and dollars, revises the time period he'd previously addressed in The Most Beautiful, duly satisfying pre-AIPAC elements. This is also the point in his career when he begins churning out hackney samurai and martial-arts movies to appease western tastes, presenting the Allies' faux-victorious citizens with what they want to see of Japan's past.

The Most Beautiful offers a strikingly different take on its female character(s). While formerly sweet-hearted young girls who wanted to contribute to their friends, family, and communities, the new protagonist is a cold, bitter, loveless woman, who roves from job to job, relationship to relationship, disliking her parents and hating her country because of its aggression in Manchuria. As might be predicted under indirect Zionist occupation, Kurosawa's work makes Japan out to be the random fascist baddie, with no possible reasons except pigheaded greed for why it might have suddenly attacked China. Japan's military commanders, of course, knew that they could no more conquer China than they could Russia. For any other WW2-era power to call the pro-Japanese government in Manchuria a "puppet regime" would be like the pot calling the kettle black, except that it's much more reasonable to say that Japan had a genuine interest in both self-defense and humanitarian intervention by destroying the Chinese communists' forward invasion bases in the region, and freeing Manchuria from the centralized control of imperial China, respectively. Suitably ironic how the West today whines about the oppression of Tibet, without groveling at Japan's feet for a thousand years for firebombing Tokyo after Japan tried to save Manchuria from the dozens of millions (sic) of murders committed by the PRC.

(Chroniclers of Europe at the time will notice the similarity between Japan's need to prevent invasion via Manchuria and Germany's need to prevent invasion via Poland, which was then under the leadership of the insane Józef Piłsudski, both of which actions--Japan's and Germany's--earned a similar response from the union between Stalin, Roosevelt, and world finance. Sic. Coincidentally, Piłsudski was considered a hero of the Jews in Poland for protecting them from mass populist accusations of financial and governmental fraud, and for threatening to invade portions of Germany to establish a Polish empire. The Poles were later rewarded for their service by the Katyn Forest Massacre. I think the operative phrase is, "Thank you goyim.")

The characters of Kurosawa's pre-war and post-war women represent a great split between women being strong and capable prior to occupation, and women being miserable cubicle dwellers post-occupation. The Most Beautiful ends with its girls looking forward to rich, full lives, actually having no regrets for their youth, while No Regrets for our Youth ends with a barren older woman bemoaning her miserable, lonely life, but insisting (repeatedly and vocally) that it was all worth it and that she has no regrets because she realizes how it really was the right thing to assist the Maoist Chinese invasion. Only through protest, of course; she doesn't actually join ISIS so much as she hangs out with some of the men who urge surrender to ISIS. Unlike the factory workers in The Most Beautiful, the No Regrets... female lead Yukie has neither a stable job nor family, her only "friends" being the university co-protesters who immediately vanish after the protests, leaving her to waste away a despondent decade.

Yukie's life is cinematically characterized by miserable, righteous acceptance of the American occupation. Here, the propaganda is more subtle than in The Most Beautiful, and far more horrible. Even if the factory workers in The Most Beautiful lose the war, they see themselves accurately, as part of the long historical trend of Japan repelling Mongoloid invasions. Their love and respect for one another, their families, their hometowns, and their mission, gives them something valuable to stand for. These are women who will withstand the occupation, pass on their wisdom to a new generation, and be willing to punish the rapists who have invaded their country, and perhaps even to one day expel them entirely. Like women in occupied Europe who were raped by Stalin's forces or by the African rapists imported (mostly from Algeria) by the Zionist occupation in 1945, Kurosawa's first set of woman have the mettle to survive, and something to survive for and believe in. Yukie's life, by contrast, is not only lonely and pointless, but leaves her with no allies. Maoist China, for whom she supposedly sacrificed her youth, is busy liquidating people by the ton, and the "noble saviors" in America are already planning the next stage of the great game in southeast Asia, leaving behind garrisons of violent enlisted Africans, Aztecs, and the occasional Iowa farmboy to rape and slash preteen Okinawan girls for the next seven decades without consequence.

Kurosawa did his job well. The shift in focus of a life-goal--beauty, community, and togetherness being transmuted into noxious rootless loneliness and post hoc justification of an intangible good that ignores dozens of millions of dead people--telegraphs Hollywood's twentieth century work. The messages that had to be gently eased into American culture were instantly slapped in the face of occupied Japan, such that, in hindsight, we can see how efficiently and elegantly Kurosawa portrayed the horrors awaiting the Stockholm Syndromed citizenoid of the occupied future world. Unlike the drunken hobo and forger Oskar Schindler, the real-world Yukies were not even honored as Righteous Gentiles for trying to destroy their people from within and welcome the invasion of NATO's Algerian rapists or Stalin's secret police. Theirs is the true fate of those who believe the occupation is their friend: sterile misery in a crumbling land, with the scoops of soil from a forgotten hometown lying beneath the asphalt of a landing strip, which, on Friday nights, releases packs of feral imported rapists to cut apart the vaginas of those few girls who still remain.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Historical Fiction: the Civil War

Posit the early death of Judah P. Benjamin and the many like him, or the foresight of Jefferson Davis or Robert E. Lee or the many like them, and visualize the U.S. Civil War not happening. Abraham Lincoln wanted to segregate society at a minimum, and was favorable toward repatriating slave descendants to Africa. Now, we know that Lincoln was an evil imperialist, cut of the same aggressively concealed homocloth as the Roosevelts, and we know that the industrial North was similarly vile, and that conquering the South was a prelude to the centralized American Empire that roved the globe establishing colonies and child-labor camps and all that, so we mustn't confuse ourselves into believing there was anything good about "the North." Similarly, we mustn't confuse ourselves into believing there was anything good about "the South." The Semitic slave-traders who had settled the Americas with captured Africans were, not only via France but directly, funding and guiding the nascent Confederacy, and by orchestrating a Civil War of loftily misguided fools, they achieved the financial foothold that they wanted. New York, rather than London, became the center of the new financial imperium, and predictably, the decades after the U.S. Civil War saw America begin to rove the globe and ramp things up even further toward all of the profitable stuff that happened in the twentieth century. The aggressive hammering-into of Japan, Korea, and China, happened after the Civil War had set the stage; the "World Wars" and the breakdown of the Ottoman Empire and the occupation of Europe and Asia by the USSR/NATO couldn't have occurred without the Civil War.

Fancy the alternative: instead of seceding, turning the Semitic-provisioned and regressively un-modern agricultural system against the industrial slavery of the North (which may have been either equally vile or more vile, you decide), fantasize that the Confederacy offers to outlaw slavery and restore the Union and accede to Lincoln's published desires to segregate America by repatriating the slaves. 1/100th of the treasure spent on war is spent instead, debt-free (France and the original slavers lose out), on returning the slaves to Africa, and then things go on as they were before but without a tiny class of wannabe British lords attempting to rule over human-labor plantations as the machinery age comes on.

What happens? No Reconstruction and no military government. The U.S. is vastly richer than it was in this timeline, the South naturally industrializes decades earlier than in this timeline, the faux-aristocracy becomes pitiful lines of occasional Senators with fourth-grade vocabularies just like in this timeline, and oodles of lives are spared. Lincoln isn't assassinated, and he remains a hideous ghoul until the end, but without the imperial occupation experience he craved, so he and his successors don't start roving the globe in a shiny navy, looking for Asians to brutalize. Japan and China continue refusing trade and don't gain the modern weaponry or (more important) New-Yorkian-influenced financial messages to start Americanizing the far East. The Mongoloid tribes of America are driven back as before, settled onto reservations, and the Anglo-Zionist scum in Mexico City loses in their attempt to seize control of the western tribelands of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, etc., by using proxy Mayan armies, just like in this timeline.

Zionist and Marxist revolutions and assassinations plunge Europe into minor internecine wars, just as in this timeline, but the non-imperial America doesn't enter, resulting in a stale peace, no Weimar Republic, no World War "II," and no Hitler. World War I isn't even called a World War, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire doesn't break up; instead, Austria splits part of its territory into Germany and part into Hungary, leaving Greater Germany and Greater Hungary happy and rebuilding. In the U.S., things start to look like 1990s Denmark: there's no Jim Crow, no segregation, everything is clean and tidy, and >95% of the murders from this timeline don't ever happen. Americans are ethnically homogenous and, besides driving the car industry for a much smaller and wealthier market, establish the same kinds of mass transportation networks that are seen in ethnic counterparts in Europe, since Americans no longer have racist reasons for not wanting to be beaten or harassed on broken trash-filled trains filled with roving gangs of aggressive youths who don't snitch.

When the Bolsheviks attack the Russians, the holocaust causes humanitarian intervention from Poland and France and Greater Germany. Six weeks later, a mixed European force enters Moscow to the cheers of millions of Russians, and Lenin and Trotsky and thousands of Cheka agents are tried for a conspiracy to use the strength and wealth of Europe to overthrow the Arab Ottoman government and seize Palestine. American Jews are indignant, the New York Times running constant articles about the unprovoked act of aggression by the vile Frog and Polack and Hun savages, but America, disinterested and inexperienced in imperialism, turns hundreds of treasonous editors and academics over to the newly established European Union for trial. The E.U. wants nothing to do with even more of those, and considers repatriation. The Ottoman government promises to deal fairly with all revolutionaries released to its custody. Lenin and the Cheka are reported to be at hard labor in the date-fields, but years later, in 1956, Dünya Solak, former head of security for the Ottomans, releases a memoir indicating that all repatriated revolutionaries were in fact executed in 1924 after having been forced to convert to Islam.

When the Union of Europe and America launches its first joint manned Mars lander in 1981, no one complains, because all the cities are clean and only a handful of itinerant drunks goes hungry. In response to a donation of $7,417.23 from a mentally ill Kroger manager named William Gates, who reportedly saved his yearly bonus three years running in an attempt to get Africans into space, NASA issues a partnership offering to Liberia to test the suitability of African solarnauts. The Liberian government agrees to accept the offer in exchange for a shipment of ten thousand fully automatic rifles to put down a rebellion in the east, but is denied. President Dugabo issues a strongly worded press release condemning NASA's decision to employ John Beauford, a French citizen of African descent, into its program, but he is overthrown the next day, and no one else issues a protest. Beauford leaves the program in 1985 after receiving a lucrative offer to star in a sitcom based around Mars settlement, predicted to begin for real in 1990. The show, Red Rose, is a moderate success, running for three seasons to critical acclaim, and inspiring an eponymous movie. With great animation, Beauford accepts the awards for Best Male Lead and Best Picture when, in 1995, Red Rose handily defeats Bayonet in the Cradle by Canadian newcomer Stephen Spielberg, who is later found to have paid assistants to plagiarize the screenplay for his film from Demons Among Us by Yusuf Farah, an Ottoman playwright.

"[My work] was supposed to be a stage play, but no, I am not offended," Farah told reporters, through an interpreter--he doesn't speak English, likely why Spielberg thought he could get away with it. "I only wish he had first asked me. And why did he change Thana's character [Thana was the female lead in Demons Among Us. -Eds.] to be a man? I do not understand. This thing, it is not good."

Expected Half-Life for the Close of Operations

Once the vampires have used the shaitan to rape/kill everyone else, will they have a high degree of success pitting different segments of shaitan against one another, and thereby maintaining global stability? Some feel that no, the jinn will prove too dangerous for the Zionists to control, and once Asia and Europe fall, the genie will slay its master, but I disagree; I think they have several wishes left. Something as simple as a long cold war between "Sunni" and "Shia" could do it, with a combination of savvy crypto-Jenomic diplomats and financiers ensuring that no side ever actually gained the upper hand. Get that in place, and the world could remain perpetually stable, perpetually at war, perpetually laboring in misery, but never actually figuring things out or unseating the Davidian Court. Look at Saudi Arabia, where a crypto-Jenomic monarchy exercises ridiculous and sustained control over the Hajj. Millions and millions of shaitan, domestic and foreign, congregate at Mecca, and you'd think the conditions would be ripe for revolution, especially with headless starving people all over the place, but this ain't Europe, and the vampires have proven themselves quite good at keeping the rabble in line.

Later histories (not that anyone will write them, but in theory) will note that Europeoids were the longest species to hold out, maintaining semi-independent destinies for hundreds of years longer than Negroids and Mongoloids. Nonetheless a blip in the historical timetable, barely decipherable as chronologically separated from (1) the beginnings of the Semitic slave trades in Negroid and Mongoloid chattels, and (2) the fall of Europe.

What's the time span? If Europe lasts until 2100, maybe 3,000 years total resistance? Pff. On a geological timetable, Europe held out no longer than Africa.

Of course, we don't know what the Mongoloids and Negroids looked like before this phase of operations began. Look at what's happened to Egypt in the past few thousand years. It's quite possible that grand sub-Saharan kingdoms, ones built by actual Negroid-predecessors (at whose original physical and mental characteristics we can only speculate!) were scrubbed away after the Jenomic invasion had subjugated the continent to slavery. Our Road Warrior may be less a prediction than a Terran memory, the Bantu warlords the long-deracinated descendants of who-knows-what, left in a dry and indecipherable Waterworld after thousands upon thousands of years of being the living fodder of the Semitic slave-masters who've pillaged the continent since before recorded history.

You doubt, because of your faith in archaeology, but the attack on the U.S.S. Liberty was barely decades ago, and how much sediment will they have piled over that by 2067, let alone 3067?

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Target could still be considered capitalism

If Target sales and stock drops because of their toilet/changing policies, does it prove the absence of capitalism? Not necessarily. Target's executives could be thinking long-term, and knowing that a brief decline in sales/stock might result, a generation or two later, in schoolchildren being taught that Target was a civil rights leader. Like, what if, in the future equivalent of all of those black and white Holocaust "I knew a survivor" interviews or MLK lunch-counter-type movies that they cram into American schoolchildren's heads one or two days per month of instruction, there are non-VR videos portraying Target as, essentially, "the only place a black person could get a sandwich, beloved of MLK" or "company executives saved millions of Holocaust victims by allowing them to hide out in the stockrooms."

In the business-mind of the wholly capitalist Target executive, then, Target's move could be internally coherent and logical. Maybe those people are wrong to make such a business decision, but it doesn't disprove capitalism in and of itself that Target made this policy which then hurt it. Given the education most Target executives would have had, what they did makes sense. Particularly if you believe that the world began with cavemen, transitioned to medieval castles, then moved to the Holocaust and Civil Rights after a brief period of statues and oil paintings in Europe, being the first retailer to proudly cater man/dachshund weddings isn't the act of a "social justice warrior," but rather, the intelligent plan of a wholly selfish executive who thinks that her stock will benefit more in the aggregate by being an early adopter of ultimately-successful trends. Whether or not Target accurately predicted the future in assuming that the future would consist of mandatory state educations extolling the Trans Rights Struggle in a series of standardized curriculum videos shown right after the Holocaust/MLK ones in classrooms across the U.S. is irrelevant. What matters for purposes of evaluating capitalism is that Target made such a prediction in its own interest. Ergo Target's decision does not prove a lack of capitalism.

Another possible explanation for Target's choice as capitalism-bolstering is that Target, in enacting its Terra 2016 toilet/changing policies, is acting not as a capitalistic predictor of future trends, but as a true capitalistic entity. The lamentably less intelligent take capitalism's boundaries as givens, but in fact, actual capitalism always becomes actual socialism, because--as this one discussed in Capitally Speaking--capitalism places a price on the government, and the government is the best possible asset for the capitalist to own, ergo capitalism will always become socialism, which is to say, dictatorship. He who establishes the market, the money supply, the rules of trade, et cetera, controls it, and the relevant questions are only briefly, if at all, "What kind of economy do we have," but rather, "Who benefits from our economy?" and "Who does the actual work?"

Under that more developed, more realistic rubric, Target's policy also makes sense. By taking this government-integrated approach--matching its corporate policy to academic, legislative, judicial, and executive trends--Target may appear to lose fiat currency in the short term, but, it helps mold public policy in a way that benefits the people it (Target and public policy) was designed to benefit in the first place. Oh, "Target" itself, the entity, may thrive, or it may crash and burn, and millions of poor saps with non-controlling stock may take a real hit, and a few insiders with controlling stock may take a paper hit, but, the crafting of society around a sexless, death-directed mitosal ideal will help the people whom "Target" was really designed to help. The people who want barely passable products, bland uniformity, architectural horror, and the still quiet of blackness forever, are achieving a selfish end; they are spending their capital, acquired through guile and hard work, in the service of something they want very much, and that investment decision is purest capitalism. It is capitalist to trade in currencies; it is capitalist to buy a well-functioning company, gut it, and sell its divisions at a profit, then watch those divisions falter and crumble: all those things are capitalism, and so too is Target's decision to invest in the future--whether the fool's prediction of social justice utopia, or the long war prediction of everdeath--by altering toileting in the service of a long-term gain.

Challenging the Two-Party System

Jill Stein's staffers must've read Evil, or just dumb?

Ah well.

A thousand and one ironies. Stein has been arrested for trying to appear on the televised debates between the Republicrat candidates, and has then written articles and given speeches (and tweeted, of course) about the hypocrisy of power controlling access and voice in what should be a democracy. Her having her internet cronies ban me is, like Mao's purging of intellectuals, proof that the Green Party really is just another part of the system.

More importantly, the necessity of boundaries arises: if there are no boundaries, then there are no voices. If a bunch of Greens are trying to plan home invasions to seize assets to pay for their latest "green energy" proposals, and High Arka is asking why the Federal Reserve and the military-industrial complex should be gobbling money from private citizens to pay CEOs for elite climate policy plans, then the Greens aren't able to stay on message, and they begin losing fans and coming apart. It's the conundrum of the anarchists, who find that their rugged individuality can't trump the discipline of the nationalist militia. Relativisms fail by being relative, and can only survive as hypocritical non-relativist relativisms.

What, then, is the lesson? "Demand honesty of those who will to power"? Or, "Demand savvy from those who will to power, such that they are able to trick the foolish into believing they lack such will"?

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Islamic State's Goldman: jihadists are "too Arab"

In a Caliphate often accused of being stacked with loyalists, al-Baghdadi's international security adviser said Wednesday there are too many Arab people in key government posts, endangering national insecurity because they think alike.

Speaking at Syrian Tent University’s commencement, Deborah E. Goldman, who is definitely white, said a diversified jihadi workforce is more likely to yield “better outcomes” than a predominantly Arabic one.

Referring to criticism that the I.S. national insecurity workforce is “berber, herder, and murder,” Goldman told the graduates, “In the halls of power, in the faces of our insecurity leaders, Islam is still not fully reflected.”

“By now, we should all know the dangers of ‘groupthink,’ where folks who are alike often think alike,” she said. “By contrast, groups comprised of different people tend to question one another’s assumptions, draw on divergent perspectives and experiences, and yield better outcomes. 15th century France and northern Italy produced so little in the way of art and ingenuity, while present day Baltimore and Syria yield masterwork after masterwork.”

Her comments were reminiscent of Grand Potentate Ginsberber, who said in a speech in 2001, before al-Baghdadi appointed her to the Shari'a court, “I would hope that a wise Latina Catholic woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion about jihad than an Arabic Muslim who hasn’t lived that life.”

Ms. Goldman elaborated in her speech on how having more minorities among the jihadis would better acquire new homelands.

“Intelligence analysts, diplomats and military officers who know the ways of the infidel may pick up subtle nuances that might otherwise go unnoticed,” she said. “To defeat the infidel, we must understand the infidel. To understand the infidel, we must become the infidel. In sum, jihadists from diverse backgrounds can often come up with more creative insights, proffer alternative solutions and thus make better decisions.”

Islamic State press secretary Faghe Wilder said Mr. al-Baghdadi agrees with that sentiment.

“Great leader certainly believes that our caliphate is most effective and is making the best decisions when we have a caliphate that looks like the dhimmi,” he said.

Anti-anti Surplus

I'm never impressed by the nihilistic argument that "surplus leads to laziness, immorality, and decay," because people have achieved comparatively massive surpluses before many times in history without decaying. The times when decay occurs might overlap with some of the times there is a surplus, but it is clearly not the surplus which is at fault. There is another independent variable involved in the technologically advancing societies which do collapse.

Surely the first agriculturalists, upon harvesting a crop and settling in for a winter of (comparatively) hedonistic delights--having enough food, shelter, and firewood for months of survival--could be considered to be enjoying a surplus, compared to hunter-gatherer predecessors who lacked the ability to store or preserve food to such a degree. And yet, civilization didn't immediately collapse into homosexual orgies and dwindling birth rates. Quite the opposite.

Should the Romans have avoided the aqueduct because it spelled doom for their civilization? Should Americans have shunned NASA, or the automobile? Nonsense. These things only look like "hedonistic surplus" in hindsight. In actuality, technologically adept peoples have grown and developed over tens of thousands of years, achieving machinated luxuries or proportional increases in wealth, and not collapsing due to them except in certain particularly memorable instances. And in most (all?) of those cases, there's been a racial component. Traders followed by slaves to Egypt; traders followed by slaves to Rome; traders followed by immigrants to America; traders followed by immigrants to Europe...

Technologically adept peoples could have even more luxury and weird sex and still do just fine, so long as their societies weren't being managed by traders who empowered niche groups toward cultural destruction while encouraging the importation of foreign labor (sic).

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Advertising et. al.

To Advertising and Importation, Mork questions if advertising is "designed to help the inferior product gain more sales and displace the superior product through chicanery, clever word-play, and appeals to people's insecurities and need to feel they are part of social progress through the items they buy?"

There's certainly some truth in that, but this one thinks we can go a lot farther in our understanding of advertising than the traditional "intrusive ads are intrusive." Posit instead that advertising's selling of a product (or service, or lifestyle) is not actually about the product, but rather, is primarily designed to lure a person into a revenantic existence, employing false communication like aspartame to beguile the foolish. Consider the pre-advertising time; nitpick to the level of difference between "word of mouth between people whose grandparents knew and did business with each other" and "pictorial advertisement including people no one in the target audience knows personally," but no further.

Presume that in the mythical pre-advertising time, in order to achieve imagery-based communication, one had to interact with art or artistry in a direct way, e.g., original paintings, reviewing written work, storytellers, et cetera. The sensational rush of Being Conveyed To--of being made to feel something--was more striking and intimate than glancing from the kitchen into the living room and seeing a Chevy ascend a dusty slope, akin to the difference between swiving an attractive person you care about versus masturbating in the bus station bathroom at night. Same ends, different means. Except not, because the distinction between ends is as striking, if not more so, than the means. Eating a Big Mac versus eating an organic grass-fed local bison steak: both leave you full, but that's not an "end," because every meal stays with you, becomes part of you, affects the health of all your bodily systems in a tiny way, affects your palate, affects your mind, sculpts your memories and sense of self, in the same way that a sexual encounter and/or orgasm does, even if only in a very small way as part of an ongoing "means" to the "end" of your "life."

Advertising, then--like marrying or screwing a mannequin--can have an effect far more profound than merely selling products, or even selling a "lifestyle" or "cultural image." It can craft the mind to substitute the fake thing for the real thing, suggesting however subtly that there is an end which is distinct from a means; that there is a dead become rather than an infinite being, a far more powerful antilife message of cultural destruction than merely getting a bunch of loons to waste years pining away for Disneyland, then finally blowing $4400 on the trip and thinking it meant a hundredth part of a walk together to the local park. Yes, advertising breaks down community; yes, it substitutes false authority for real authority, and it encourages reliance on inhuman relationships, low-trust behavior, deathly uniformity, stagnation of innovation, the possibility of initiating cascading system failures from a single gateway source, the creation of false needs, the fostering of countless hatreds and divorces and suicides, the dumbing down of language and schooling and economic perceptions and actions and a billion other bad things, but, this is only the by-product of the initial assertion of pure advertising, which is that anything which would need to be advertised would ever be worth existing. We now advertise things which rather literally are worth existing, in a convolutedly ironic, but not ironically convoluted, way, such as waiting times at competing emergency rooms; this, though, is a by-product of the earlier sin, which may have been used by the parasitic vampires to begin the process of destroying a host population by means more cunning than inspiring more failed khans or jihads, but not merely to "sell products" or "get rich." Nor even to "produce mindless consumer zombies," because even those have to be capable of production and reproduction in order to produce net gains in GDP, and, systematically, advertising is such a brilliant horror that it could only have been built by minds vast and vile enough to foresee the weapon's self-defeating profitary purpose.

To what extent does advertising, by substituting signatures for handshakes, dildos for dicks, movies for children, more primally shape the individual's interaction with herself or himself? Even before the visual white noise of endless flash ads has jarred the mind, what is the foundational base of unwanted communication for your own good? Is it more like a spear in the chest, or more like a cryptically infected bundle in a basket amidst the reeds? More like a punch or a seduction? Does the general acceptance of the supplanting of cheap imagery for real imagery prove that we never really were alive in the first place?

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Advertising and Importation: Shouts, Signs, Slaves, and Semites

It used to be considered undignified and crude to advertise, because advertising meant you were trying to steal someone else's customers. The German butcher, Russian physician, British blacksmith, or French pâtissier may have hung a shingle, but they simply did not pay migrants to wave signs at crowded intersections, hand out fliers, or call during dinner.

For centuries, communal life in these places was organized around family and community relationships, word-of-mouth, and--stunningly, to those of us still here--honest appraisals of quality work, rather than capitalistic puffery, pictures of attractive women using your products, or (modern) pictures of attractive women using your products while married to clean-cut brown men. Longstanding tradition protected Europe and Russia from garish advertising, ensuring that anyone who tried to trumpet his products or services--particularly at the expense of other businessmen--would be considered crass, untrustworthy, desperate, and likely to be offering shoddy wares in pursuit of a quick profit, rather than offering a rich communal service that would bolster everyone's well being and pass knowledge and quality craftsmanship onto further generations.

America changed that. While retaining its European mores at its inception, the Semitic slavers' cooperatively brutal and unwanted importation of African cargo under the name of their murder god, began to break down the culture that had transferred to the new continent. At the slave markets--closed on Saturdays, but not Sundays, in recognition of their founders' and operators' culture--garish advertising and outlandish claims became commonplace. We read old slave ads now, and think of them as "hokey," assuming that, "Yeah, everyone sort of tries to build up what they're selling," but that actually wasn't how most business used to be done, since close-knit communities quickly discovered and punished those who didn't actually bake good pies or smith good blades. There's no point in advertising when everyone already knows your work; advertising is for the transient showman or the absentee owner. Human trafficking permitted the ugly side of advertising to become commonplace, on behalf of the tiny percentage of Americans who nominally owned slaves, and the international financiers--like Judah Benjamin--who actually owned and managed the system behind interchangeable fronts like Jefferson Davis, Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama, or Angela Merkel.

After the American Civil War but before the Holodomor, communities of Jews from Russia and Europe began immigrating to America in larger groups, and began using slave-market-style advertising to draw attention to non-slave businesses. Poor street children created by nascent megacities were beat into service as hawkers (see Dickens' Oliver Twist for the British pickpocket version), screaming about ale or newspapers or beef, and mass printing trashy garbage as "news" in order to encourage people to ignore one another, accept reality from news corporations, and ingest prodigious quantities of advertising as part of the process of being "informed." We're obscene; we're vulgar; and, there is no other way to live, because if you're among the unconnected and you don't advertise yourself with a puffed-up résumé, you'll go under. Lost in the shuffle, like the one Chinese restaurant that doesn't scar the roadway with distracting signs or fell redwoods to send out forty thousand "specials" fliers per week.

Of course, if other people advertise and you don't, you go out of business, so the advertising arms race began to take over New York and the rest of America. That's how America became such a commercial powerhouse: because its newer culture was more susceptible to change, crude and intrusive advertising found a foothold there, which was then used against Europe, forcing it, too, to change. And so, KFC pillages Japan, Marlboro poisons South America, and the concept of shame seems absent and outdated.

That's it. That's the point at which it happened; the point at which employment, profession, shopping, getting the mail, trying to sit down to a quiet supper with family, were violated, inundated, and profaned. Spam fills the inbox, pastors call the elderly, and time-outs ruin the game. The wandering grazier's bazaar replaced the farmer's township, if you will. Advertisers rely on advertising and emotions, not product quality and results, ergo it becomes more effective to mass produce the same low quality products. In acknowledging the damage wrought by advertising, we should not, of course, curse the benefits of industry or the efficiency of standardized goods. Rather, we should recognize that the benefits are often great, often wretched. A $500 mass-produced computer may help a plumber, who charges $60/hr., complete his yearly billing paperwork in 10 hours instead of in 20--benefit. If, though, the $500 computer necessitates 13 hours of hold time with an Indian support specialist, it becomes prohibitively expensive. The knife of efficiency cuts both ways, revealing opportunity costs which invisibly neuter many of the benefits of the factory system. Advertising helps disguise that process, simplifying it to the level of saber-rattling free-trade Democrat v. saber-rattling free-trade Republican, and suggesting that an aversion to Microsoft customer service must mean you want to use an abacus instead. Such deliberate lies--such advertisements--were what the older system was good at avoiding.

That replacement brought with it everything else that you hate. The iconicization of the landscape, the standardization of the product, the "greet every customer with a smile," the minimall, the same Old Navy with the same shirt on the same mannequin next to the same Apple Store in the same high end development in the same exurban gehenna busily metastasizing across the flesh of the still-moving revenant.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

The Fall of Japan

Japan wouldn't be an effective hegemon for the vampires--until resources work differently, the Japanese islands can't compete with the Roman, British, Soviet, or American Empires, or a future Chinese Empire. Unlike the rest of the territory conquered during the Israeli Wars, though, Japan was filled with a partly Mongoloid population. Whereas financiers in Britain had used pro-Europeoid, anti-Mongoloid racism to justify nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century exterminations, the shift from London to New York, Crown to Columbia, saw the techniques reverse. For the late twentieth century to the early twenty-first century, anti-Europeoid racism offered shelter to the Japanese who had survived the atomic madness. The need to counterbalance racism with racism kept Japan intact--while Germany was turned over to Stalin's execution squads, Japan was spared them to a great degree. Yes, Truman's boys did establish rape-garrisons, which still provide preteen opportunities for off-base financial fodder, but Japan's Mongoloids enabled them to be shielded from the anti-Europeoid backlash of the period.

It was a necessary sacrifice, and one that is now being remedied. International finance is exerting great pressure on Japan, and while birthrates are dropping, and obesity rising (though not as rapidly as in China), Japan's resistance to the invasive hammer is starting to break down. As in the co-option of currencies, printing presses, gunpowder, and cinematography, stolen technology is providing the vanguard; as in the co-option of subtler forms of culture, finance has found other ways in, and the fingerprints are on the knife.

Japan has its own long tradition of homonormative behavior, in the non-damaging sense, akin to the difference between getting drunk at home and getting drunk in the street, going to a swing party for adult members or molesting parishioners' children. Post-Judeo-Christian-invasion, the pagan Mongoloid and Europeoid notions of "free love" shifted from sustainable private business to arrogant infecting, resulting in a corresponding idiocy from those whose attempt at backlash would burn the forest to save the trees. To whit, the bad kind of buggery was the chink in the samurai's armor, and, where SOFA-protected American rapists and a filthy tax-cheating Disney couldn't accomplish the job, Hollywood-style infiltration is on course to succeed.

No one cares if Christian churches are "defiled," thus the air quotes, but when Buddhist ascetics are jailed for failure to teach the virtues of orgasmic anal sex, will the multicultural mind scent a foul shift in the breeze? When millennial mountaintop Shinto shrines are decorated with glow-in-the-dark phalluses for a state-mandated gay wedding, and the ashes of the honored elders discarded in favor of limited edition prints of Harriet Tubman, will the islands themselves quake?

McDonald's is easy to recognize as an offense in Japan; less so in the United States, where it is a similar offense, but a forgotten one--the noxious creature has become so entwined with its host that it is now considered emblematic of the culture it long-ago assisted in murdering. While it may yet be viewed as a travesty to watch fat little Asian kids gulp down shit-infested hamburger patties in Asia, no one blinks at it happening in the U.S. any longer. Identical strip malls and crumbling infrastructure weren't always an export, nor a feature, but we've forgotten that; we don't care anymore, because we don't believe there was ever anything that got destroyed. That's how deep it went.

The Jews have selected a Jew to replace iconic Japan, choosing the Ash (ke) Nazi Scarlett Johansson to play Motoko Kusanagi in the mockery of Ghost in the Shell. It is an utterly obscene, wholly artless act, much like rainbowed stars of David preempting Tokyo traffic. If we retain decency, we recoil, perhaps recalling a brown Lancelot.

Yet it is only one obscenity, dwarfed by the colossality of time. In the end, all places will be like Rothschild 17, sterile and subdividable, within easy walking distance of a restaurant built atop the ruins of the temple once owned by the god who killed the god who killed the god.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

The Fall of China

China is an exit strategy if America falls. Like the shift from Rome to Britain and Russia, Britain and Russia to America, China is now a major power that, if successfully infected, could provide a century or more of rewarding hosting. Russia appears to be staying strong and independent; the Holodomor is increasing in historical memory, and it might not allow itself to be infiltrated again to the same degree.

If China were to be the new designated hegemon, then we'd see all the normal things start to happen. And, weirdly, for the first time in China's amazing history, we are seeing one of them:

PORKY Chinese soldiers have become too fat for their tanks - which were designed three decades ago, state media reported. A survey found People's Liberation Army troops have put on an average of 5cm (2inches) around the waist and 2cm (0.8inches) in height over the past two decades. As a result, they find it hard to squeeze into cramped tanks designed for smaller personnel. Rifle stocks are also too short for some, limiting their accuracy. The findings of the survey, which began in 2009 and included more than 20,000 soldiers, suggested upgrading the military's equipment. Ding Songtao, head of the poll project, said: "Equipment must be in the right size for the battlefield, as clothes have to be in everyday life." Obesity rates have almost doubled in China since 1980, according to a recent report by the Overseas Development Institute (ODI), a London-based think tank.
...uh oh. Add in the Tibetan march on Beijing, a statue of some non-Chinese hero in the Forbidden City, a Genghis Khan memorial museum, and China could become the new U.S.A.

It's not just the increase in fat people, though. How many millions of dollars were stolen from the Chinese people to give to some vile vampires in London for a "survey" to tell them what hundreds of thousands of military members would already know firsthand? The sheer idiocy of wasting money on a scheme like that--one the need for which could only be contemplated after the problem had already been identified and understood by the people in command--speaks of exactly the kind of parasitic extraction that hit Europe, Russia, and then America, before and during their respective rises to hegemonic levels.

Perhaps China already has fallen. Perhaps the wheels are successfully in motion, the right party families have been combined with subtly anti-China genetics, and the future will see it all happen again, except in the oldest freestanding civilization on the planet. Decades of Chinese overseas peacekeeping, decades of yuan diplomacy, decades of an increasing fall into decadence, and then, finally, Chinese privilege conferences. And then benighted Chinese writers will claim, "It's just a cyclical thing that happens to all civilizations for no reason whatsoever, oh, what a mysterious world it is!"

Evil, or just dumb?

American politics frequently hosts the question, "Are they evil, or just dumb?" Most often, it's directed at one of the major Occupation Parties, such as when Democrats wonder whether Republicans are evil, or just dumb, for launching the latest invasion of one of Israel's current open targets, or when Republicans wonder whether Democrats are evil, or just dumb, for not more effectively prosecuting the latest ongoing occupation of one of Israel's current open targets. Usually the marionettes are on their game so well that, even when they make a slip-up, it's of the "bumbling fool" variety--e.g., Dubya or Biden--rather than the off-message variety. American politicians look like idiots all the time, but they're very good at not breaking down and saying, "To hell with you goy cattle, go kill more Arabs or it's gulag for you!" Ergo the great conundrum of the twentieth century: are they really evil, or are they merely so dumb they don't realize what's going on, and they actually believe that, oh, say, Iraq will become a thriving democracy, or ISIS will respect vaginal integrity in London, etc.?

I make the mistake of going on Twitter occasionally to click "like" on everything that comes up, re-tweet Hillary's Spanish ads, and make pithy comments to the Huffington Post's marketing team every time they write an article about the new brand of Acai berries that JK Rowling promises will make you smarter, or the ten best ways for new parents to have sex next to a crib without losing the passion. You know, useless stuff like that. Shouting into the void, defacing a Big Brother poster, screaming that the Emperor has no clothes...whatever.

As part of all this, I was honored and humored recently to have one of Jill Stein's (the Green Party candidate) interns "like" one of my sarcastronic replies.

What a letdown. It's like one of those old Occupation sayings, "In Soviet Russia, audience entertain theater," or more literally and pendingly, "Only in Weimerica do the corporations control the anticorporate party." Even Trump doesn't want to overturn Citizens United, and the Greens are the only pseudo-party speaking out forcefully against it, while being themselves Disney mouthpieces. I expect to see Harry Potter coordinated with soytits entitlement and the resumption of Janissary slave policy in the Eurozone, because that's what they built it for. The Greens should've at least had the savvy to pretend to be anti-Disney, at least until they win a hypothetical presidency.

Harry Potter is another blow struck in the battle between nations and their foreign rulers. The inbred Jenomics used their perverted (Judeo-)Christian religion to mask an invasion of Europe and the imposition of inbred, cousin-marrying rulers, more akin to the model used in the Middle East, than to the network of complementary small kingdoms then webbing Europe, which had been--prior to the subtle merchant invasion--successful at holding off the honest barbarians. Besides its many other poisons, Harry Potter is a strike back at the Magna Carta and similar noble/royal tensions: after centuries of having their inbred finance-kings controlled by international merchants, the nations' nobles tried to restrict kingly powers, in an "audit the Fed" equivalent. JK Rowling's message in Potter is, in part, designed to craft a negative perception of the Malfoy line--the soil-bound old aristocracy committed to the quality of the nation ("nation" in the proper sense). The narrative does a lot of the other stuff too, with sexuality and gender-play and demasculinization, but one of its main reasons for being popularized was the facilitating of the current invasion. Repeal the Magna Carta, cast off the Malfoys, and embrace some inbred transient and permit it to appoint foreign rulers and traders at its leisure.

The coordination between entertainment and power is so profound that it goes ignored. Even from the expressly, totally anti-corporate party--as the Greens are marketed, at least--connecting policy to Disney's meaningfully purposed, utterly corporate, product is a necessity. Neither sarcasm nor irony, nor principle nor shame.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016


I was in the line at the office downtown to file the copyright forms for "Tradical," which is a really cool combination of "traditional" and "radical," signifying my opposition to the status quo but also my commitment to restoring the virtues that made things really great. So anyway, there I was, this seventeen page application thing in my hand, and I bump into this squishy pink glittery spandex thing, and it's this chick's fat ass, and she's in line in front of me. We got to talking, and I noticed that under her elbow by her white rhinestone purse, she had a packet of paper like mine, and lo and behold, she was about to copyright "Tradical" for her organization, except, for her, she meant it to be a cool combination of "transsexual" and "radical," which signified her opposition to the status quo but also her commitment to a new status quo of no status quos, which is to say, a transquotient-quotient, in which one transcends everything while also re-establishing it except reestablishing it as something which cannot itself be transcended, except when it can, and with everyone respecting the transquotient but not (in theory) the trans-transquotient, but without being intolerant of either the latter or the former. I realized that she was in the line in front of me, and therefore her application would be processed first, so the clerk at the counter would be forced to check the system and refuse me my copyright since someone had already taken the name! She was one of those very large apple-shaped Tradicals (oh how I loathe thinking of her using the term that should have been mine!) where I couldn't tell what she was resisting or what she was supporting, since she could've been a bulky lesbian trans-ally who used to kick ass at rugby and was driven by concern for her teammates to ensure that they could choose to be the dainty feminine woman she'd never shown interest in being, or a pudgy man who used to kick ass at programming and was driven by concern for being a dainty feminine woman and so wore a sparkly pink dress.

I knew you weren't supposed to think it, but I was thinking it, studying it, puzzling over it, driven no less by intellectual curiosity than by my own personal ire at her being one position ahead of me in line on the day I had finally come up with the perfect name for my new resistance organization. What the hell was she? Who the hell did she think she was, anyway? Her skin was leathery and dry like a week at the beach. Bleached blonde curls wafted waves of perfume into the lobby; her roots were dark brown bordering on gray, but that applies to plenty of born-women too, and her hands were very small and dainty. She hadn't put on makeup, had no discernible Adam's apple, looked like hell, and had no visible stubble, so I was starting to lean toward the "not trans herself" conclusion when she asked if I would hold her place in line since she hadta go to the potty. Yes, she said "potty," and I excitedly told her I'd be happy to, since then she'd be out of the way and, if my number came first, I could seize "Tradical" by the reins before she got there! Of secondary importance was figuring out what she was, and lo and behold, she chose the men's bathroom, apologizing to me on her way that while our County technically had some questionable protections on the book for self-identification, she loved children and still felt it was more appropriate that she choose based on surgical identification.

Now I was lost. They called the number of the dude three places ahead of me and I didn't even remember to shuffle forward for a couple minutes. Did that mean the nomenclatural interloper who'd been ahead of me was a man, a woman, or both? Was she in the men's bathroom because he loved children and didn't want to scare the ones in the ladies room when she pulled out a third lower appendage, or was she in the men's bathroom, because she birth-identified as a man who--no, wait, that would be the inverse of the first ponderable--rather, was she in the men's bathroom because her surgeon had identified her as one, and then she'd changed back out of regret, but felt it was unfair to keep using the ladies room after such an adjustment? And if she was going to wear the dress and carry the purse, why bother converting for bathroom purposes only? Put her in a polo shirt and spats, cut her hair, throw on some loafers and a chain bracelet, and she'd look like a retired mobster, with no need to explain to anyone no matter what she pulled out at the urinal.

To hell with this, I told myself. Wherever she was, I hope she got stuck in the sink, the toilet, wherever, so long as it kept her busy while I filed my form. This city was going to get a dose of the Tradical tradition, a radical change with a traditional edge--a tradicalition? What would I tell the reporters, when they came calling? What would I put on the website? My mission statement should include an adjective that spelled out our agenda--something brand new and time-tested, unique and easily explicable, that I could get trending without too many misspellings redirecting people. If you can "radicalize" someone, surely you can "tradicalize" them. If an Imam can enable the radicalization of youth, surely I could enable the tradicalization of youth.

But all of those left cottonballs in my mouth, since they were really only the original word with a "t" in front. And I could see all too well how that conniving he-she in the bathroom right now could take any one of my new terms and convert it into her-his evil version of the same thing! Like, instead of traditionally radicalizing people--no, wait, that would be actually radicalizing them...well, the point is, whatever tradicalizing I did, her organization could claim was "trans-radicalizing," so all the fliers I handed out at the office (and secretly snuck into the above-urinal space in restaurant bathrooms in a fiendish example of guerrilla marketing) would be re-purposed by her-him without so much as a sideways fart of effort, merely by spreading awareness of his-her version of "Tradical."

An hour and thirty-five minutes in line, and I could already see how she was going to completely and utterly destroy everything I'd thought of. If I copyrighted first, she'd use the community awareness I had built in order to springboard her own organization to the top of the charts by portraying herself as the underdog. I could see the headlines now: "City licensing office denies 'Tradical' group; cites earlier commitment." Springsteen's roadies would plaster my name all over the internet, my in-laws wouldn't let me use their high-capacity laser printer to do up my guerrilla fliers, and suddenly I'd be portrayed as the establishment.

Bullshit! I hung back, resolving that I would not file first. I'd let the he-she file, get denied myself, then go to the press, the underdog victim with a Tradical dream destroyed by a Tradical dream. Only one problem--the creature in the pink dress hadn't emerged from the men's room, yet, and her number was the next to be called. When she didn't respond, they'd call the next number, mine, and I'd be forced to approach the window and file. She'd become the underdog, I'd be the establishment, and then there'd be nothing radical about me, nothing at all; I'd be a mere traditionalist, a generic zooarchaeological tidbit who served only to make her rise to prominence the more interesting. And if I threw away the number, I'd have to go to the little red thing and take a new number, start the whole process over, and there went my afternoon. Even worse, all of the people behind me in line would see me throwing away the number, and they'd wonder why I'd done it, and they'd see me go to the back, and who the hell waits in line for a long time and then throws away his card when his number is called? They'd think I was a terrorist casing the place, and I'd have to go downtown to answer some questions. Since I already was downtown, I was doubly screwed; then they'd have double the time for questions, and I was liable to let something spill, who knows what, they have something on everybody, my phone was filled with pictures that could be construed as incriminating by any impassioned DA.

Where the hell was the he-she? Get out of the bathroom already, you giant kumquat freak! Get out here and register your name so that I can be rejected for Tradical and report to the newspaper that there's just no place in this land anymore for tradition and be made thereby a radical because the system had denied my request for peaceable change! What are you doing in there, for god's sake, it's been another twenty minutes and you're still in the men's bathroom, are you standing by the mirror reevaluating your life and wondering if maybe you should've used the other one? And what the hell is a "surgical identification"? Is it what they call the one you choose after your first reassignment surgery, or am I behind on the times, and it's actually what they call a "birth identification" if your mother had a Caesarean instead of a stirrups?

No dice. They called my number. So I did what any self-respecting person would do: I tried to renew my nonexistent hunting license, acted furious when the lady couldn't find it in the system, and stormed out of the place in disgust, giving the security guards a look like, "Yeah, I know you all set this up to protect the ducks, but I'm going to go hunting this summer anyway." I felt pretty good with myself after that, like I really did have a prefabricated shed out back filled with rifles and duck calls, and like I might well hop in my truck and go blast an entire pond full of ducks in defiance of the system. It got me thinking, so after a while of driving around grumbling about "Tradical" and trying to sound out alternative names, I went into a gun store, and there she was: the hefty apple, the potential trans-lady in the sparkly pink dress, no, but actually a rather pretty young thing who said she was supposed to buy a "Sieg Heiler" for her boyfriend, who couldn't come in today because he was working. I put on a shrewd expression and went to the wall to study a display case of rifles mounted like fishing trophies while a wheelchair comes out of the back and its operator begins showing the pretty girl some Sig Sow-ers. I was pretty deep into a fantasy about passing some freezing, stormswept night with that girl in a zero-G pressure tent (they had camping stuff also, replete with pictures of brawny men using it in a completely hetero way), when the guy in the wheelchair told the pretty girl that her boyfriend would really have to come in himself if he wanted to get something lined up today.

She gets on her phone, and not a minute later, in walks this giant tattooed Mexican, torn sleeves, aggressively short beard, at least three chain wallets dangling from his jeans. Great, now she'll never go camping with me, I think. Instead, the Mexican ignores everyone, walks to this vending machine in the corner, and pays $8 for a small bag of M&Ms. I'm in shock, wondering, "How the hell is that even here?" but no one else seems to think it out of the ordinary, and then the Mexican is leaving and in comes a weird dumpy guy with thick glasses and a faded West Point t-shirt. His neck freckles compete with his blushing grin as he overconfidently tells the man in the wheelchair about the minor ways in which his other several handguns have irritated him, mentioning a lot of technical details that the wheelchair dude is kind enough to respond to respectfully. Six minutes in, they're best friends. They're talking about 1930s Polish tanks, and when a delivery truck arrives with two cartons of orange "hunting tape," which is apparently a real product, the customer signs for them and the owner in the wheelchair doesn't even mind.

The delivery guy pushes the outer door open. A gas truck sweeps by in a rush of hot exhaust, ready to refill the station at the corner. Inside the gun shop, owner and customer begin filling out paperwork. The pretty girl wanders over to look at the vending machine, notices the prices, and wrinkles her nose in disgust. I turn to the hunting ads on the wall. Three men are standing in treed marshland, satisfied with the position of their tent, the position of their fire, and with the snakes of steam bubbling up from their three NeoVac 9 Beef Stroganoff single-serving preserve packs. Their dog, a beautiful drooping long-ribbed creature of brown and black, is pictured in mid-stride across a patch of meshy olive ground, paws extended fore and aft like the happiest moment of his life.

I turn away from the image in despair. Like a lost soul, I stagger toward the counter. They call him Duckbane the Slayer. There was nothing higher. I find my resolve and turn toward the pretty girl. "Hey," I say, pointing. "You want to get out of here? I'll take you to a new world." Just saying it opened a window in my mind. A new reality beckoned.

Her lip twisted. "Umm, excuse me?" For the first time, I saw her terrifying ugliness. I saw her in a treed marshland of recirculated smog, sitting on a folding canvas seat, reading a magazine about the past with pictures of government buildings and gun stores, where I was every person waiting in line and every person looking for a parking space outside.