Thorina and other financial disasters

No one should be surprised that Marvel are planning to cast a diminutive, dark-haired, dark-eyed, Jewish, Israeli citizen as the new Thor. Oh, and she’s a she.

I’ve been increasingly puzzled by Styxhexenhammer’s assertion that the only reason companies do such stupid things is for money; in his view, everything comes down to money, not ideology. He, for example, asserts that the mainstream media attack Youtubers because they see them as competition.

There probably is a financial component, but in that case the predominantly left-wing media would also, presumably, attack left-wing Youtubers – after all, how many people would go from watching CNN and reading the New York Times to watching an ancap like Stefan Molyneux or an ethnotribalist like Varg Vikernes? Is No White Guilt really competition for the Huffington Post? And why would Disney poz their heroes when it’s clear no one (except SJWs) likes it? Where is the financial sense in casting a small 38-year-old Jewish woman as Thor?

Vox Day is, I think, correct that all of this is part of a concerted, (at least) decades-long attack on Western values of Christianity and masculinity. The enemy wish to humiliate the occupied peoples, much as the Russians forced e.g. the Poles and Hungarians to learn Russian. Every conquering power denigrates the heroes and mythologies of the conquered; the goal is to break the will of the slave class through constant humiliation, through constantly attacking their cultural identity and capacity for resistance. That is part of the Left’s terror & hatred of Trump – he is a partial avatar of everything they’ve been trying to destroy: an unabashed white, straight alpha male.

But regardless of the ideological intent, companies have to make some money; I was thus puzzled at the sheer awfulness of The Last Jedi. You can’t even call it subversive, it’s just badly made, so crassly progressive it wouldn’t subvert but rather repel; it most likely served to Red Pill a few cinema-goers. Did Disney really think there is a market for this? Putting aside that if you work at Disney & Hollywood you probably never meet any normal people, one would think a budget of 200-317 million dollars would have included a bit of initial market research, to determine how many people will pay to have progressive values rammed down their throats. It made money but there seems a delayed effect with such franchises: people go to see it, in spite of a few bad reviews, but then they decide to skip the next one.

When I consider the confidence with which Hollywood executives announce their plans to have e.g. 007 now be a black woman, I wonder if the world works very differently to how I imagined it. It has, at least, prompted some good memes:

I wonder if, in the past, a film could make money regardless of audience, regardless of how few tickets it sold. Anonymous Conservative has speculated, based on some mysterious tweets of James Comey’s (standing in a forest with a text “so many questions”) if Cabal usually communicated indirectly with its puppets; so instead of a centralized hierarchy with clear lines of communication & command, higher puppets like Comey would be told “here’s the deal, do what we want and you will prosper” and then his “instructions” would come in a very indirect, oblique form, not vulnerable to codebreaking but rather, e.g. the New York Times and Washington Post both run articles about how wonderful some new perversity is, and the puppet realises “Cabal want me to push this perversity”; the puppet does accordingly, and is rewarded.

If so, it would explain the school of fish nature of Cabal puppets; there is often some slight variance, swiftly corrected, e.g.  David Lynch said something half-nice about Trump and was immediately rebuked and bowed his head to the progressive agenda. The Cabal puppets don’t get information meetings and performance evaluations: they are mostly left to their own devices but with many information streams by which to judge the will of their masters, and if they deviate they end up on one of those “Why Hollywood won’t cast____again” lists.

When I consider the utter confidence with which the studios announce Thor will now be a small Jewish woman, 007 a negress, I wonder if they feel sure they will be rewarded, whether or not people buy any tickets. As with certain worthless books which become bestsellers, the authors millionaires, but you never meet anyone who’s actually read it, never read a normal, grassroots review on the internet, the reason some businesses thrive and others fail may have little to do with profit & loss. It will be interesting, as Q et al. seem to be systematically cutting the strings of Cabal finance, to see how black Bond and Jewish lady Thor fare in the box office; if the executives will be shocked to find that, for once, they followed their (apparent) instructions but did not prosper.

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book report: The World is Flat, Thomas Friedman

An enjoyable read, I think from 2005 or so. Friedman presents a fairly balanced picture of the globohomo; it is mostly about how wonderful it is that billionaires will make beaucoup dollar from outsourcing everything to India, but Friedman does acknowledge that a lot of goyim will end up losing their jobs and need to be retrained as IT specialists and Marketing managers if they want to live, conveniently ignoring the IQ bell curve and the societal consequences of breaking up communities and families.

Friedman travels the world, always seeming in accidental proximity to globohomo billionaires and CEOs. I have a different perspective, having spent the last decade talking to the people who have to deal with lying 3rd-World contractors, and to the quality control guys who wearily report a tenfold increase in problems since manufacturing was outsourced to even the 2nd, let alone the 3rd-World. I’ve met enough (hundreds) of these people to feel confident that the globohomo mostly only benefits the 0.01%, such as Friedman. Here’s a nice picture of Thomas Friedman, dancing in his 10,000 dollar suit before the Ark of globohomo as your town becomes Detroit:

Oh wait. Duh. I mean:

That’s a Rolex Datejust on his wrist, by the way: it costs as much as I make in a year, before tax. I’m presently reading John Saul Ralston’s The Collapse of Globalism, which so far seems a partial antithesis to Friedman’s entire corpus, though from more or less the same era. Such books, being typically from Cabal think tank/journalists, are usually propaganda with some interesting ideas here & there. Friedman writes well, he’s the kind of bluff farting uncle who sits his 7-year-old nephew down to tell him “son, when you’re a man you have to wear trousers with a belt. You know what a belt is, son? It’s what men wear. Heh heh heh. Hey, pass me some more of that bagel and lox, eh? Like I was saying to Saul Goldstein, that’s the CEO of Megacorp, just last Thursday, I was coming off a plane from Nairobi, great town, just like Vegas, gorgeous, they had gefilte like you wouldn’t believe, and the women, they got the best there, cheap too, that’s the great thing about globalism, son, you can get everything cheap. Blowjob, that’s like 20 cents, US cents. You know how much that costs in DC? No of course you don’t, you’re just a kid, but you and me gotta go out one day, when you’re 12 or 13, you get the Bar Mitzvah, we got out together, get us some of them nice shiksas, blonde eh?, heh heh heh, they won’t be around much longer let me tell you, me and my buddies are clearing all them Nazis out, soon it’ll just be us kiddo, us and a lot of the others, you know the diverses, the vibrants, they can be our slaves like the Talmud says, we get two thousand eight hundred each, pretty good eh? So this shiksa and her daughter, heh heh heh, I doodled them, son, good and proper, they had to leave their goy village, these Nazis eh? and I doodled them, ten cents each, that’s globalism son, never forget it, you know they killed your sister in Auschwitz, she was only a kiddo like you and they did it anyway, they got it coming and anyone says different is an anti-Semite, remember that, just call them an anti-Semite and they got to shut up” and so on, though obviously Friedman wouldn’t say anything like that. Look at this honest face.

All in all, it’s a good read. Friedman has quite a pleasing authorial persona, which means that even while I disagreed with virtually everything he wrote – mostly from a philosophical perspective though some of his glowing words would be refuted by anyone who has worked with Indian IT support – I nonetheless enjoyed my ordeal. It will be the last Friedman I pick up (I only read this, and the earlier The Lexus and the Olive Tree because I found them 2nd-hand), since there is only so much to be gained from the works of a Cabal puppet, but I would recommend the book for anyone studying globalism.

However, may the reader beware.

Globohomo got its eye on you, boy.

Italia

After a decade in Germany, I am forced to move to Italy. It is purely for financial reasons but being a positive-thinking-Quigg, I am mustering some reasons for optimism. One: I’m hoping to watch some historical football:

Actually that’s it for now. Watching this, I am strongly reminded of rugby. At my 500-year-old school we had massive rugger matches with 50+ players one each side, the Games teachers usually on the edges paying little attention, and so there was ample opportunity for brawling, settling of the usual school scores, maiming, mutilation, gang rape, japes and jollity etc.

I early on opted for “cross country running”, a grim but solitary sport through the red light districts and stews. It taught self-reliance and stoicism; but sometimes I wish I had stuck with rugger.

Döner and dog

Twenty years and more ago, a Pakistani schoolfriend told me he had stolen a bottle of Tipp-ex from a market stall (shoplifting was his family’s custom) and later, at his university library an unknown student turned to him and asked if he had any Tipp-ex. He lent his stolen goods like a true English gent.

Later, he ruminated gruefully: “Uh, and I thought, uh, like, uh, maybe that was, like, the only reason I was born, that like uh like this guy needed Tipp-ex. So like now like I’ve done what I was like born to do, and stuff and like something really bad will happen.”

I’ll be leaving my little Bavarian suburb this autumn. Last night I went to do my laundry in the building’s subterranean washroom and found a young German nervously talking to someone over the stair rail. As I came closer he said something that I couldn’t understand, then pointed down to a frisky black dog staring up at him from the stairs below. He said, in German, that he was scared of dogs and could I go with him because he couldn’t otherwise get out of the building. I accompanied him down and the dog ran happily about, the German scarpering as soon as he reached the ground floor. (As far as I could tell, the dog was just wandering about my apartment block on its own: I live in that kind of building).

And last year, in a rainstorm, I passed a drunk or crazy man on a bicycle outside a fastfood joint, he was simultaneously trying to light a cigarette (in the rain) and stuff an aluminium-foiled Döner into his jacket pocket, and get a foot into a pedal. He called to me, in barely-comprehensible Bavarian, asking me to help. I was unsure how, exactly, to help a man in such complexly awkward straits but walked bravely over, in the rain.

It turned out he could manage the cigarette and pedal on his own, but couldn’t jam the Döner into his jacket pocket, so I thrust it in and he grunted his thanks and rode waveringly off, into the night.

I have, I feel, accomplished that which I was born to do.

reading faces: Admiral Rogers and Michael Flynn

Quite a line up:

From left, FBI Director Robert Mueller, National Intelligence Director James Clapper; CIA Director John Brennan, and Department of Defense’s Defense Intelligence Agency Director Lt. Gen. Michael Flynn, testify on Capitol Hill in Washington, Thursday, April 11, 2013, before the House Intelligence Committee hearing on worldwide threats. (AP Photo/Manuel Balce Ceneta)

Brennan looks simply evil to me; there seems something evidently awry in his soul. Comey is a different fish altogether, despite his size (2.03 m) he strikes me as somewhat feminine and malleable, which makes me wonder if he was subject to a MK Ultra sexual assault in his youth. Clapper just looks like a typical high-level bureaucrat to me, a man accustomed to bullying and power, nothing special.

They present a stark contrast to Admiral Mike Rogers and General Michael Flynn. Something nagged at my mind every time I saw pictures of Rogers; then I realised – he is the stalwart no-nonsense uncle/father/teacher from every 80s film.

Rogers is the 80s dad whose precocious redhead 16-year-old daughter, Stacy, calls him after midnight from a gas station payphone, in tears after Chad tried to cop a feel in the Prom; 80s dad Rogers listens attentively then says “where are you? Stay there”, because he is after all not merely 80s dad Rogers but also NSA director; his wife Mabel screams “what is it? Tell me! Oh my God, Stacy!” and 80s dad Rogers says calmly: “Mabel, go to bed” then gets his handgun from the bedside table, and drives out to pick up the sobbing Stacy, offering not a single reproach (despite having warned her “be careful of Chad, Stacy, he’s up to no good” throughout the film) then he drops her off at home into the arms of his sobbing wife, says “Have some pancakes. I’ve got an errand to run before I turn in” and drives off to Chad’s house, Chad is boasting about how he took Stacy’s virginity by force when 80s dad Rogers calmly walks into the frathouse and pistolwhips Chad into a bloody mess and whispers: “You’re lucky you were lying about hurting my daughter, Chad. Because I got some brothers in Angola who owe me a favour.”

And now let us turn to General Michael Flynn.

He has a similar “feel” to Rogers though his nose is a fokcen hawkbeak, begad; like Rogers, there is something unshowy and based here. I don’t think Flynn would be a 80s dad but as with Rogers something tugged at my mind; then it came to me:

That’s right. General Flynn is Jim Caviezel.

 

He is the Man in the Suit.

My joy would only be complete if it turns out Flynn had a big-ass dog called Bear. At least now we know who can play Flynn when QAnon the Movie goes into production.

how modern society flatters

I was going through my Tumblr feed and found this:

It was exceptional only in its apparently masculine subject; I would say about 1% of my Tumblr feed comprises women posting things like: “I’m sassy and chaotic, if you want to date me you have to be able to lift 300 lbs, drink like a lumberjack, write poetry like Ted Hughes, and make a girl feel like a cherry blossom in The Last Samurai“. I normally just scroll past these with an irritated sigh but today I thought: what the fuck is wrong with these people? why do they post shit like this?

Then I remember Heartiste posting a similar Tinder profile, a man’s, which was something like: “Only interested in a 9/10 or higher, no body fat, under 25, must be charming and sociable”, and this average-looking chubby guy got hundreds of biotches swarming his ass.

At the time I just thought “women are weird”. But what if narcissists (women), who are constantly imagining how they are perceived by others, read this and think “I’m like that! I can be like that! I’m special!” – then, the more demanding the specifications, the more it flatters the object, since she begins to imagine herself as this special paradoxical unicorn, so rare, so perfect, so wonderful.

Not sure it would work with men. At least with me, I just think “Christ, how can I filter this garbage out of my Tumblr feed?” (I mostly subscribe to trad Tumblrs) and if a woman ever told me something like “to date me, a man has to -” I would most likely just walk away in distaste, since this enumerating tendency is part of the modern realm of quantity whereof Rene Guenon wrote.

It seems of a piece with our modern world, that most people wish to be flattered; it’s something I noted with mainstream coverage/attacks on Trump – it implicitly flatters the consumer, saying “look at this idiot! You are smart! You read the New York Times! You use big words!”

George Steiner cryptically remarked that pornography flatters the attention. I didn’t really understand it, and still don’t completely, but his comment played on my mind as I read the above “Captain”. You could say that most of modern society flatters, in one way or another, like a whore.

the mutant

Controlling for age, race, sex, education, family income, religion, current and past marital status and number of children, more intelligent people are more likely to prefer instrumental music than less-intelligent people. A 2019 Croatian study confirmed these findings, showing that people with lower intelligence preferred music with lyrics, rather than complex orchestrations. 467 teenagers performed a non-verbal intelligence test and were then asked to rank musical genres in order or preference. Those who recorded the highest IQ scores displayed a clear preference for instrumental music. On the other extreme, preference for rap music is significantly negatively correlated with intelligence.

Triggered by Bach

I had a teacher at school many years ago a slightly barmy but amusing and pleasant teacher to whose name we all attached the prefix SAS (there were persistent rumours of his military service and he once beat up and dragged two would-be robbers to the constabulary). In my class he casually remarked that blacks and whites produce different pheromones and exhibit different reactions thereto, so each group dislikes the other group’s aroma. Although, it would seem blacks are generally attracted to whites given the high incidence of black on white rape, and black outrage when whites move away from the ghetto.

In Warhammer 30k, there are planets of human beings who have developed substantial genetic mutations, some to the point of being deemed “mutants” and worthy of extermination. If humanity did indeed emerge from Africa, those who mutated white skin, light eyes & hair, intelligence, swimming, low time preference, higher IQ, whether through environmental pressures, divine action, or neanderthal admixture, are regarded as “mutants” from the gold standard of, well, this:

Diane Abbott, the Shadow Home Secretary.

At present, there is considerable pressure for the mutant to die out, and for humanity to return to its allegedly original form. It seems that the white mutant has a deleterious and dysgenic mutation, namely an almost total lack of in-group preference, and an intellectual sense of shame at having evolved beyond the ape; a sense of shame which has been amply exploited by race hustlers and of course a certain tribe who are genetically predisposed to schizophrenia and an instinctive hatred of the white mutant.

the demonic chain

It is often noted that homosexuals were typically abused as children. I dare say, if one examined a modern paedophile, for example this sterling individual,

they would have been abused as a child, and that abuser abused, in filial obligation for endless term, and so on back to demonic agency & inception.

Which brings me to this Brucey Bonus:

As I see matters, the problem is with the upper class elite ‘English’, ultimately those of Norman descent although constantly recruiting more widely. Since this group arrived in England, there has been a pattern of coercion, exploitation. Jumping a few steps; what I take from this that the British Establishment is (and has always been) strategically working-for ultimate evil. And that a key part of this corruption is either rooted in sex and/ or uses sex as the means of initiation and to enforce loyalty.

The personal consequences are perceptible. As a middle class non-elite person; it has always been evident to me that there is a shallowness/ hollowness/ unemotionality; a robotic, dead-eyed or snake eyed – quality in most of the upper class people I met. There is no depth, no reality, no soul

Of the three people whom I know to have attended a posh boarding school, one boasted of being forcibly sodomized by a 17-year-old (he apparently loved it, even though he was 9 at the time) and another was almost certainly raped. Given that much of the British elite attended these schools, I suspect they practice systematic rape and humiliation, as a form of in-group bonding and MK Ultra-style conditioning. It is not merely the Old Boys’ Network, it is the MK Ultra Network.

I think of Ranulph Fiennes writing that he would never send his children to Eton. I think of the peculiar dead-eyed stare of which Bruce Charlton writes; and I am glad I was spared such privilege. And these are the people who have ruled us for centuries.

 

reading a face: Trump in Houston

 

Donald Trump in a relief centre (Leftists would say “concentration camp”) following the Hurricane Harvey floods.

I’m currently reading Hamlet aloud with my girlfriend. Despite having read it at least a dozen times over the last two decades, the process of reading it aloud has sensitized me to the range of possibility in each character – I often have to think “should I read Claudius as slimy here? or genuinely caring?” We just read Hamlet’s first encounter with the Ghost; my feeling is that Hamlet has an innate mental instability (“some vicious mole of nature”) and the Ghost knocks him half over the edge; his later “But I’m MAD!!!” act is both a protective mask and an expression of his real & increasing instability – as is often the case with Shakespeare, the characters act some version of themselves, so Iago is genuinely concerned for Othello, at the same time as he wants to destroy him.

Trump is very Shakespearean, I feel; in that he learnt early on to hide his real self, to project an expedient persona. One need only compare his post-reality-tv appearances to this 1980 interview:

Many intelligent & perceptive people mistake his current, crafted persona for reality. They think of Trump as an 80-IQ buffoon who somehow ended up as a billionaire; and a billionaire not in a heavily aleatory field (Wall Street) but in a very down-to-earth and pragmatic matter: real estate development. But I think those who sneer at him as a “Clotus” (nice allusion from Patrick Kurp) are somewhat dazzled by their own intelligence & learning; for these fine folk, being obviously well-read and intellectual is a matter of societal caste; the Cloud People maintain what Michael Cassio calls “reputation” by sneering at anyone who hasn’t read Cynthia Ozick. In Kierkegaard’s terms, you could say they have become immured in the aesthetic domain, and so all their ethical verdicts are, ultimately, to do with aesthetics: “but he hasn’t even read Henry James!”

I’ve noticed that the genuine aristocracy and old money tend to be neutral on the Trump Question; it is the social climbers (e.g. those from Dirt People roots) who most vehemently despise Trump.

Our modern Gatsbies and Undine Spraggs loathe Trump because he early on decided it would be better to communicate with the 99% who hadn’t read Spinoza than those with soft hands and fine manners who make caste judgements based on grammar. That is, Trump decided to communicate with the horny-handed parents and grandparents of intellectuals who haven’t broken a fingernail in 40 years; and for this the Cloud People hate him.

These people despise Trump; they call him an oaf and a buffoon and every -ist, regardless of the facts; and yet this is a man who, on the admission of an illegal immigrant, in a MSM hit piece, demonstrates an unshowy, everyday kindness:

Ms. Morales said she will never forget the day Mr. Trump pulled up to the pro shop in his cart as she was washing its large, arched windows. Noticing that Ms. Morales, who is shy of five feet tall, could not reach the top, he said, “Excuse me,” grabbed her rag and wiped the upper portion of the glass.

The Cloud People despise Trump for being brash and loud, and in so doing demonstrate their inability to understand life as it is for those who don’t read Amos Oz and Spinoza. They cannot grasp a simple concept: Trump wears a mask; but then, it is not a mask designed to flatter the Cloud People (who desire, above all, to be praised).

As with all great performers, one must pay attention when the mask cracks. And so with the above photograph of Trump: what can one see here? He is old, he lacks the usual bravado & bullheaded confidence; he is content to sit half-obscured by childish clutter; he is content to be neglected, to be on the margins, to be a tolerated visitant. Note the baseball-capped woman reaching past him, the seated woman to his right talking to someone else, the negro child who probably doesn’t know or care who Trump is; and then note his smile: the smile of the God Emperor who is tired, old, and happy to have nothing important to do for a few hours, to just sit and let his photographers do their work, as he watches the relief workers and the homeless, his people whether they value him or not.

book report: Cloud Atlas

David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas: another of the books I’m reading so I can throw it away before I leave Germany. It was a gift from a friend and for a long time I thought, I will never read this undoubted shite, based mostly on the cover

I’ve had enough fokcen horrible experiences with “bestsellers” which turn out to be okay but forgettable (Netherland), supposedly hilarious but actually dull (Rancid Aluminium), tediously well-crafted & lifeless (The Little Friend), pretentious, unconvincing, and badly-researched (Tree of Smoke), “creative writing workshop exemplar” (Enduring Love), wearyingly insubstantial (Birdsong), quite fun but nothing more (Captain Corelli’s Mandolin), boring pastiche (The Unconsoled), depressingly pointless & joyless (2666), competent but somehow meagre (The Plot Against America), aggressively unpleasant (The Wasp Factory), disappointingly trivial (Possession).

So I was quite surprised by Cloud Atlas. It’s very good. Not sure I’d re-read it but then I mostly only re-read poetry, philosophy and beyond-very-good fiction. The structure is initially confusing: it begins with the journal of a lawyer at sea in the 1800s, cuts to the letters of a young musician in the 1920s, then a journalist in the 70s, an elderly publisher in the present, then some sci-fi future of Blade Runner-esque androids, then lastly a post-apocalyptic future of rape and cannibalism. There is a connection running throughout, so the musician finds the lawyer’s journals, the journalist meets the recipient of the musician’s letters, the publisher receives a novel by or based on the journalist’s tale, and so on. The connective ligaments are not so explicit as to render great satisfaction to the more obvious reader; indeed, I found myself wondering just what manner of underlying structure there was, beyond a birthmark common to each time-segment and the overlapping narrations, so something of each protagonist (journal, letters, novel, film, video) is encountered in the next sequence; but this is not, in itself, very satisfying.

I think that while the film trailer talks about love and redemption and what not, the real connective matter is connection itself – it’s not a story about love or heroism or anything of that sort; it says rather: “each life & time is connected to others, in some manner”.

Mitchell has a stammer and an autistic son, suggesting that connection, coherence, fluidity, does not come naturally in his world. Had he created a more coherent ligature, perhaps I would have thought it a great novel; as it is, it’s possible I would re-evaluate, were I to read it a second time, and I enjoyed the prose and situations so much I dare say I will read it again, in a few years. The ultimate test of a novel isn’t “does it have profound meaning” but rather “did you enjoy it”. Balls to profundity if it gives no pleasure.

My own sense of slight disappointment most likely comes from my own odd perspective; that is, I remember fragments of another (relatively recent) life and have been told of others. Mitchell seems to be hinting at reincarnation as the underlying structure; but I noted none of the similitudes & ironies of our many lives – the characters of Cloud Atlas seemed to bear no real kinship, beyond a certain outsider, often outcast role in society. The only novel I know which uses reincarnation as a plot device, and comes very close to the reality, is Katherine Kerr’s Deverry series, especially the first four books. But since Mitchell does no more than hint, I can hardly criticise him for something he probably didn’t intend.

And there is a passage – which I failed to mark – where one character says something like “I would like a map by which to guide myself here, a map of the ephemeral and vague, the constantly shifting forces of our destinies & purpose, an atlas of the clouds” (my wording, as I can’t find the original now). It’s very modern in the sense of pointlessness, of history as a mechanical process within which we are churned up & destroyed, from life to life. It is, in a sense, accurate: there seems (as far as I can judge) no linear progression to reincarnation, no divinely-ordained karma; but there is certainly more structure and purpose than one would think from this excellent and enjoyable novel.