book report, Calm Before The Storm (Dave Hayes/Praying Medic)

Well, I came across Praying Medic aka Dave Hayes through my own Q researches, and decided to buy his first Q Chronicles book when I needed to add costs to get free Amazon postage on some booze. It’s a good read, self-published but very well-edited: I am normally irritated by typos and bad grammar in new, mainstream-published books, so Hayes’ book is testament to how much one can achieve with one or two pair of eyes, sans an expensive media machine.

Hayes writes much as he speaks, in a clear, intelligent, approachable style. The book is divided into chapters, e.g. “Admiral Rogers and No Such Agency”, “Huma and HUMA”, “The Clinton Foundation.” He’s clearly done his research, even as he carefully simplifies it into manageable chunks. It’s hard to isolate anything especially quotable, as it’s all much of a muchness, that is, lucid & no more complicated than it needs to be. 

I would definitely recommend it for anyone new or reasonably new to Q. Even I, who have followed Q since early 2018, found new things to contemplate, so I dare say anyone save an utter Q-savant would benefit from the book. Hayes avoids anything too nutty (even if it is true) so it would also make a good gift for normies who are beginning to ask questions but don’t want the full Lizard People experience.

film report: Tenet

Christopher Nolan is one of the few living directors whose films I will try to see at the cinema, much as I hate: a) spending money on anything, and b) leaving my cell. In Covidemia I no longer need to go anywhere, since everything is now illegal, and so I streamed it, which is of course not illegal at all. Watching Tenet on my laptop was very different to a typical cinema outing: I ended up watching it staggered over three evenings as my energy is greatly depleted by my pointless, dispiriting, badly-paid labour, leaving me little concentration for films or books; however, I was able to find a version with subtitles for the first 2 evenings, which proved invaluable – for the last session I was doomed to watch it without subs and frequently understood nothing, not even what language they were speaking. 

The unclear audio irritates, in moderation; by the third evening I’d given up on understanding or really liking the film and was watching out of pure bloodymindedness; I didn’t care how it ended, presuming that it would make no sense anyway. The film’s entire premise is “nothing will make sense, don’t even try to get it” and the almost inaudible dialogue is presumably part of that; either that, or Nolan is pushing for foreign language films by getting audiences used to subtitles. 

A shame, as the dialogue I understood via subtitles was often good, e.g. the unnamed protagonist holding a gun to an Indian arms dealer’s head, inquiring about a type of ammunition:

Arms dealer: Why should I know who supplied it?

Protagonist: The combination of metals is unique to India, If it’s from India it’s from you.

Arms dealer: Fine assumption.

Protagonist: Deduction.

Arms dealer: Deduction then. Look, my friend. Guns are never conducive to a productive negotiation.

Protagonist: I’m not the man they send in to negotiate. Or the man they send to make deals. But I am the man people talk to.

The protagonist, played by John David Washington, is a black guy working I think for the CIA but unlike the real CIA he doesn’t assassinate conservative thinkers and overthrow democratically-elected governments during the day and kick back at night with child porn and cocaine; he seems to be some manner of CIA paramilitary who ends up investigating ammunition that is “inverted”, travelling backwards in time, and this opens a whole can of worms about time travel and the future reaching back into the past. After that it gets complicated.

In a sense it’s a temporal version of Inception’s complication, and I was happily resigned to not understanding everything. However, where Inception’s human element is comprehensible & interesting, I couldn’t fully engage with Tenet’s characters & motivation. 

The casting is one problem. It’s mostly good but just a little bit off. I thought Washington was a good actor and casting a negro in an otherwise white film works well – he stands out, like a black king on a board of white pieces. He has some great moments, e.g. when some Russian bodyguards are going to take him to a restaurant kitchen for a beatdown, Washington radiates contained rage and the desire to inflict violence; and when he glares, it’s not some hood thug’s belligerence, it’s rather the controlled intensity of the professional. He’s a likeable and fine actor, the problem is when the film becomes, as it were philosophical, he just looks like a typical actor (i.e. not very intelligent) trying to look intelligent. There’s a particularly flat scene between Washington and an Indian woman called Priya, where she’s trying to explain the film’s temporal dynamics, and neither character seem to really inhabit the concepts; it really just feels like they’re repeating their lines and trying to emote. Of course it is difficult for an actor – most of whom are dumb – to simulate that moment of intellectual comprehension, when as it were a mental landscape opens up before one; Jeremy Brett could do it reliably well as Sherlock Holmes

and William Peterson manages it in the classic “you’ve seen these tapes” scene in Manhunter. 

I didn’t feel that frisson of intellectual discovery & comprehension in Tenet, and I think it’s because of the casting – none of the actors could simulate real intelligence.

Another problem, as regards the human element, is the, I suppose, “love interest”, played by Elizabeth Debicki: she has a repellent coldness and self-satisfaction to her, so whenever anyone turned their back to her, I expected her to whip out a stiletto and attack like a shrieking Italian. She just looks like a snake, and indeed her character acts like one throughout. I often find Nolan’s female leads unlikeable at best, repulsive at worst. Debicki evinces a clear facial bifurcation, that is, one side of her face is doing something very different to the other:

Serial killer stuff. I found her not merely unlikeable but repellent; every time her character appeared all of my Psycho Woman alarms went off, which is probably due to Debicki, not the character or direction, at least judging from a quick Google Image search of her in other roles & public appearances.

The rest of the cast is however very good, Kenneth Branagh is meaty & horrifying as a Russian villain, who as a Russian villain should know better than to trust any woman played by Elizabeth Debicki; and Robert Pattinson of Twilight fame is superb, nervy, seedy, knowing, inhabiting various roles in one character.

The soundtrack (by  Ludwig Göransson) is also fitting, a weird syncopated rush as if time is folded upon itself in micro-packets of sequenced alteration.

The visuals, as ever with Nolan, are great, fantastical, unreal; his London is the London of most Hollywood films: clean, white, Georgian (in reality the city looks more like Mogadishu today). It’s a film one can really enjoy, I think so long as one knows what to enjoy: if I watch it again I’ll try to ignore Elizabeth Debicki’s repulsive face, and definitely have subtitles, and let my mind roam free over the fields of time and impossibility. 

book report: War As I Knew It (General Patton)

A book published shortly after General Patton’s death, drawn from his war memoirs. It’s full of passages like this:

I decided to attack Casablanca this day with the 3d Division and one tank battalion. It took some nerve, as both Truscott and Harmon seemed in a bad way, but I felt we should maintain the initiative. Then Admiral Hall came ashore to arrange for naval gunfire and air support and brought fine news. Truscott has taken the airfield at Port Lyautey and there are forty-two P-40’s on it. 

That is, solid workmanlike prose and a matter-of-fact, cool approach. I dare say the book would mean more to a military historian, however it’s perfectly engaging for the layman. There are some amusing moments, e.g. in Sicily:

The Mayor of the town, who was by way of being an archeologist, took me to look at these temples. When we came to the temple of Hercules, which was the biggest but in the worst state of repair, I asked him had it been destroyed by an earthquake. He said, “No General, it was an unfortunate incident of the other way.” When I asked which was the other war, he said that this temple was destroyed in the Second Punic War.

These moments take on more significance in the light of Patton’s apparent past life memories:

For all his bluff, no-nonsense manner Patton saw things in historical depth:

Furthermore, he sanctioned my plan to cross the XX Corps at Melun and Fontainebleau and the XII Corps at Sens. It was evident that when these crossings were effected, the Seine and Yonne became useless to the Germans as military barriers. The Melun crossing is the same as that used by Labienus with his Tenth Legion about 55 B.C.

He has the war-eye for detail, an appreciation for sound tactics:

Just east of Le Mans was one of the best examples of armor and air co-operation I have ever seen. For about two miles the road was full of enemy motor transport and armor, many of which bore the unmistakable calling card of a P-47 fighter-bomber – namely, a group of fifty-caliber holes in the concrete. Whenever armor and air can work together in this way, the results are sure to be excellent. 

For all Patton’s deep theoretical and historical learning, he has a pragmatic closeness to things, a tactile simplicity: 

He also said, and this was more to the point, that the easiest way through the Siegfried Line was the Nancy Gap. I had come to this same conclusion from a study of the map, because, if you find a large number of big roads leading through a place, that is the place to go regardless of enemy resistance. It is useless to capture an easy place that you can’t move from. 

Not to mention a ruthless, clear-sighted approach:

On the sixteenth, Stiller, Codman, and I drove to Chartres, which had just been taken by Walker whom we met at the bridge, still under some fire. The bridge had been partly destroyed by a German hiding in a fox hole who pulled the detonator and blew the bridge, killing some Americans, after the leading elements had passed. He then put his hands up and surrendered. The Americans took him prisoner, which I considered the height of folly.

Only Patton could write something like this:

Christmas dawned clear and cold; lovely weather for killing Germans, although the thought seemed somewhat at variance with the spirit of the day.

One can see why some speculate that Patton reincarnated as Donald J. Trump. While the lives are in many respects very different – the New York businessman and the career soldier – a man like Patton most likely bore a multifacted, deep soul, which could just as easily manifest as a foul-mouthed, impolitic soldier, or a foul-mouthed, impolitic politician – both of genius, in their respective fields. And certainly, Patton’s ivory-handled revolvers are a very Trumpian touch.

when words should be taken out of circulation

Wittgenstein somewhere wrote that old words should be periodically taken out of circulation like debased coins. His aphorism came to mind as I watched this video by Thomas Wictor. It opens: “Breitbart goes full racist, Jew-hating white supremacist” and then shows Breitbart articles about Trump’s constant pandering to pretty much everyone except heterosexual white men. It’s apparently “full racist, Jew-hating white supremacist” to point out that Trump basically ignores the demographic that essentially was America (or a great part thereof) until very very recently.

I grow weary of words like racist, anti-Semitic, white supremacist. We should have a moratorium on such words for a generation or two. I would add “democracy” to the list, a word that has come to mean anything I like just as “fascism” now means anything I don’t like.

The rule should be, when connotation excessively outweighs denotation the word has become effectively useless. 

a late note on Jordan Peterson

It is often asserted that Jordan Peterson is a Cabal creation and targets young, messed-up white men who might end up Sieg Heiling were it not for Professor Peterson; in this reading, a young white man, let’s call him Dave, is assaulted by BLM for the third time this week, and turns angrily to the internet, but instead of finding The Daily Stormer he finds Jordan Peterson, the grey-haired, sombre, squeaky-voiced Canadian professor, earnestly telling him to clean his room and forget about his group (his nation, his race, his culture, his family) and focus only on himself and his own personal well-being. Dave is thus saved from the terrible Far Right, that is, he is saved from caring about the destruction of his own civilisation and race. Dave now smiles blandly as his local community burns to the ground, as mosques replace churches and libraries, and Sharia patrols take over the neighbourhood, stuffing Dave’s sisters into black sacks to be gangraped by Mohammed and Jamal; Dave is sanguine & unaffected, for his room is clean and he has his life in order as per Jordan Peterson’s prescription.

That’s the idea, anyway. However, while Peterson was clearly intended to serve as a gatekeeper I find his biggest fanbase isn’t confused white males but rather white females. I only know one male who is a Peterson fan, and even he commenced his recommendation by saying that his wife was amazed & gushing over Peterson’s Cathy Newman interview. I had by that point concluded that the whole thing was theatre, that this ghastly journalist creature agreed to make herself look retarded in order to make Peterson look reasonable and moderate. 

It worked well; I suspect it isn’t a wholly fraudulent interview, and that Newman was merely tutored to sound a bit more retarded & harpylike than usual. But as with Peterson’s initial public appearance:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OsWXBjY9W4

it all seems a little too perfect. Even before Vox Day got onto the Peterson Question, I’d concluded the professor was a Cabal creature; albeit not a wholly noxious or destructive one, for unlike Vox I think some of Peterson’s work is good (his pre-fame videos), but then the best weapons are an alloy of sorts.  

I lost interest after Peterson’s rise to fame and expensive tailoring. Partly, his sudden eminence just seemed too evidently manufactured; partly, I realised he doesn’t know much outside of Piaget, Jung, Dostoevsky, and Disney films: he mentioned Dante’s Divine Comedy but couldn’t remember the name of the protagonist (it’s Dante); he hadn’t read the Bible but nonetheless made a lecture series called “the Psychological Significance of the Biblical Stories”, and so on. Once he started opining on everything under the sun his ignorance came to the fore; while the 1-book-a-year midwits might find him impressive I felt he was glib and uninteresting. So I was surprised to find so many women have fallen under his squeaky spell.

I would be curious to know if Cabal intended Peterson to attract women, or if it is an unintended side effect. In Germany I had a middle-aged (white) female colleague who even wore a Peterson t-shirt at work and gushed over how handsome and amazing he was. I was a little surprised, as while I enjoyed his pre-2016 lectures, he doesn’t strike me as remarkably attractive, and his squeaky Kermit the Frog voice gets on my nerves. I think the combination of evident intelligence (even while he’s surprisingly ignorant, and seems to have read virtually nothing), high verbal fluency, and physical frailty attracts a certain type of woman. That in itself says a lot about female nature today – a revulsion from normal masculinity, an attraction to the verbally adroit and frankly mendacious & superficial. After all, it was Eve who Satan seduced to sin; then she, Adam.

book report, The Four Agreements by Miguel Ruiz

A book I’ve seen recommended on /x and various occult sites, it’s advertised as something of a Carlos Castaneda-esque work, and Ruiz makes ample use of Castaneda’s terminology (impeccable, warrior, hunter, dreaming, etc.) but alas I found it to be self-help pap, dishonest in its presentation and frankly tedious. 

There has long been debate over Castaneda’s authenticity. A quick run-down for normies: he claimed to have been mentored in magic by a Mexican shaman called Don Juan, producing a series of books from the 60s to the mid-1990s. I came across them (via William Burroughs) when I was 20, and found them mesmerising, even while I doubted they were describing events with much accuracy. 

Naturally, many have accused Castaneda of being a charlatan, pointing out factual discrepancies in his books, not to mention shady goings on (deaths of disciples etc.). I don’t really care whether Don Juan existed or not, or even if Castaneda was a fraud or a genuine magician; the books have a psychological truth to them, like Ursula le Guin’s wholly fictional Earthsea books (at least, the first three) or Tolkien’s legendarium.

My own supposition, now, is that Castaneda’s Don Juan is akin to Plato’s Socrates: a real person who was worked into a fiction for didactic purposes. I think that just as most of “Socrates'” philosophy is actually Plato’s, so with Castaneda – perhaps Don Juan was his own personal model, only loosely based on a real human being he met once or twice in his youth. I’m inclined to doubt the books describe a factual reality, because the narrator (Castaneda) retains his naive, flawed character from start (The Teachings of Don Juan, 1968) to end (mid-90s); he is the permanent ephebe to Don Juan’s wizened old mentor. 

The Castaneda books are weird, and often dark and pitiless. I’m surprised they are so popular in the New Age community, as they describe a universe of ruthless predation and power, a far cry from the fluffy unicorn playground of the average hippy. The only ameliorating, human quality is a kind of low-key affection between Castaneda and Don Juan, and a frequent and surprising humour.

Disappointingly, Miguel Ruiz’s book is just your run-of-the-mill self-help, with platitudes and truisms dressed up in Castaneda’s terminology. I found my mind often disconnecting from the text; as on a monotonous motorway drive, one sometimes loses all memory of the last few minutes (highway hypnosis), so here I succumbed to reading hypnosis, unable to focus on passages that were as memorable as a stretch of the M62 at night. The word “love” abounds, hypnotically, horribly; ironically, given one of the so-called four agreements is “to be impeccable with your word”, Ruiz’s words come across like over-boiled vegetables: they still bear a resemblance to some original form but taste of nothing, and fall apart under the slightest examination. For Castaneda, to be impeccable was an existential challenge & imperative. Ruiz debases the concept to the kind of thing you’d tell a small child when they lie about eating all the cookies:

Being impeccable with your word is not using the word against yourself. If I see you in the street and I call you stupid, it appears that I’m using the word against you. But really I’m using my word against myself, because you’re going to hate me for this, and your hating me is not good for me. 

The intended audience seems to be women, or rather women with the mental age of a small child:

Gossiping has become the main form of communication in human society. It has become the way we feel close to each other, because it makes us feel better to see someone else feel as badly as we do. There is an old expression that says, “Misery likes company,” and people who are suffering in hell don’t want to be all alone. Fear and suffering are an important part of the dream of the planet; they are how the dream of the planet keeps us down.

The dream of the planet, I thought, that sounds interesting, tell me more. But he doesn’t. 

Later, he describes right action:

A good example of this comes from the story about Forrest Gump. He didn’t have great ideas, but he took action. He was happy because he always did his best at whatever he did. 

It’s hard not to smile at the idea of a shaman in the lineage of Castaneda’s Don Juan, who watches a film like Forrest Gump with his mouth agape, awed by such wisdom. But then, Ruiz is the kind of shaman who appears on the Oprah Winfrey show.

So, overall a typical New Age self-help book, full of easy platitudes. I can’t see it doing any harm, but if you need a book to tell you such things you’re probably beyond help, let alone self-help.

on not outgrowing books

Patrick Kurp, as an aside:

As an adolescent, that’s how I first encountered Kafka and Dostoevsky, writers once important to me. The method isn’t foolproof. Sometimes we choose dull or stupid books, or books that aren’t right for us. Perhaps we are not the ideal reader. Kafka and Dostoevsky are no longer right for me but others prize them.

Kurp often mentions writers that he once liked but now despises, for example Hart Crane is now simply too wild to countenance. Kurp is now too sober and austere for such juvenile oupourings, I guess (ho ho ho). 

I thought back over my decades and realised I simply don’t outgrow things. I spent my entire teens reading Fantasy books and while I transitioned to Serious Literature when I was 20, I occasionally re-read e.g. Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman’s Dragonlance series, or David Eddings’ Belgariad, and just last year I re-read Douglas Hill’s Keill Randor books with great pleasure. I no longer seek out new Fantasy books, as every attempt (barring Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell) has ended badly, but every few years I like to revisit the pleasures of my youth. 

There are Serious Writers I fell out of love with, for example William Burroughs and Jack Kerouac but even here my literary judgement hasn’t changed that much; I esteemed Burroughs & Kerouac because, aged 20, they were two of the first non-Fantasy authors I encountered, and they seemed like a portal to adulthood.

I thought they were cool the way a 14-year-old thinks smoking makes him a man. My literary judgement, however, was more neutral. I found Naked Lunch and Queer amusing & comical, the rest of Burroughs’ books pretty much hit & miss, and Kerouac’s works enjoyable but slight. I thought that Allen Ginsberg was mostly shit, ‘Howl’ and one or two other poems being enjoyable rhetorical bombast at best, the rest of his work being utter dreck. Even as the whole Beat image – drugs, alcohol, criminality – has long since ceased to allure, I dare say my literary judgement wouldn’t have changed that much over the last 15+ years, that is, I would probably still enjoy some of Kerouac & Burroughs. 

I was wondering if there was something wrong with me, since Kurp seems to have outgrown and come to despise almost everything he’s ever read. Am I weird, for still liking T.S. Eliot and Nietzsche, Proust and Thomas Mann, after two decades?

My nature seems fairly constant in spite of much surface change: where I despise people I used to pal about with, it’s not that either of us have changed that much; it’s more that where I was once willing to tolerate a fair amount of bombast, finger-stabbing hectoring, sneers, cowardice, etc., because I thought well no one’s perfect, now I’m just too old and impatient to tolerate what Joe Biden would call malarkey

Twenty and more years ago, there were books I read because they seemed like the sort of things I should be reading, but if I didn’t like them I didn’t like them and that was that. I didn’t find Colin Wilson’s The Outsider all that interesting, or Sartre, even though I wanted to. By contrast, there were books which took me wholly & pleasantly by surprise: Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Blue Flower, Thomas Bernhard’s Holzfällen, Kafka’s Zuräu Aphorisms, Beckett’s Trilogy, Sir Philip Sidney’s Astrophel & Stella. I suppose reading habits are as various as people, which is one reason I rarely recommend books – apart, of course, from the fact that nobody reads books anymore.

being farmed

I’ve been listening to this May 2017 talk between Semiogogue and Michael Black:

In our masked times, three years on, it’s interesting to consider the image of the human herd, branded and counted; not to mention the video thumbnail – in case the channel gets Shoahed, it’s a woman wearing a BDSM mouthgag, mask-like. As with much of Semiogogue’s old content, it takes on a new resonance in the Year of the Mask.

Joe Biden has apparently promised to inflict another lockdown upon America, and even suggested forcing people to wear masks in their own homes, at all times. One can scoff, “well how could they enforce that?” – but that may be just the point, that once you have the regulation, the police can justify violating the Fourth Amendment and break into your house at any time to check you’re wearing your mask. Perhaps a Biden government would even require citizens to install a camera in every room, so a central surveillance operator can check for compliance. Children will be encouraged to inform on their parents, neighbour on neighbour.

As so often with our masters’ rulings, there seems a psy-op element. It is already clear that the mask does little or nothing to prevent contagion; and it is clear that Covid is now on a par with the flu, i.e. dangerous only to the elderly and enfeebled.

Just wearing the mask makes me feel isolated, alienated (in addition to the real physical discomfort), and I am not the most sociable of men. Peter Hitchens is right to call it “the muzzle”. For the elites – lovely types like Klaus and Hilde Schwab – we are nothing but animals; and they enjoy watching us muzzled like bad dogs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These ghastly people regard themselves as gods. For them, we are just beasts, cattle. They want us to be muzzled, to hide our faces before them, before each other, before even ourselves; they want us to shut our mouths, to speak only when spoken to and then only in agreement and submission. They want to take away our higher intellect, to reduce us to gene slurry. The mask is a symbol of their domination over us, like a BDSM mouthgag, like a collar. And just as every dog collar should have an identity tag, so we will be tagged with their vaccine, so they can keep track of us, lest we get ideas.

Perhaps it was inevitable that the rich & powerful would move from competing against each other to conspiring against the rest of humanity. After all, for most of human history the very rich (the aristocracy) were all related, some very closely.

The financial elites were and are likewise closely related. 

I was talking to someone from BMW once in Munich, and she admitted that the rivalry between BMW and Audi was largely fictitious, marketing for the plebs (think Blur vs Oasis), that the two great automakers even cooperated on projects; for example they went to a supplier together to discuss a new rear view mirror, which would be essentially the same in both Audi and BMW (they could thus save money through economies of scale). And yet there were others in BMW who thought Audi shite – intelligent people who nonetheless believed their own Marketing Department’s manufactured rivalry. 

Perhaps it is similar with politics and war; but it is of course hard to judge – a fairly senior political operator I knew in Germany, who had direct access to one of the highest in the land, was baffled by Merkel’s decision to indefinitely host the Third World, and said no one could understand it.

As best I can judge, the elites – or perhaps I should say, “Cabal”, as they don’t strike me as exceptionally intelligent or gifted, merely rich – want to destroy the white race, Christianity, Western civilisation, and create a subservient mixed race of manageably-low IQ chattels. An impressively grand ambition. For whatever reason, it seems to be time critical, judging from the unseemly haste with which Merkel beckoned the entire Third World into Europe.

Judging from Q’s reference to “The 16 year plan to destroy America”, I would wager that the millions of military-age Muslim males were part of a wider plan, and the election of Donald Trump postponed not merely America’s but also Europe’s destruction. Presuming the timing was not coincidental, I see these two events – the 2015 Migrant Crisis and the 2016 US election – as intertwined. I’m guessing Merkel’s plan was to use the Muslims to instigate massive, widespread violence, either to exterminate the white population or to create so much panic that the people would cry out for a totalitarian regime to take away their (few) liberties in return for security. I’m inclined to suppose the end goal was utter white genocide, given other indicators.

Perhaps the violence was scheduled to really kick off in late 2016/early 2017, and Hillary Clinton would have sent a “Peacekeeping Force” to round up the whites, separating the children for, uh, pizza parties, and most likely allowing the Muslim invaders to exterminate the gulaged Germans. I can imagine the New York Times and Guardian headlines now, after Muslims mysteriously equipped with the latest assault weapons, gun down hundreds of thousands of Germans in an American camp, while the (black) American guards take selfies: FAR RIGHT EXTREMISTS VIOLENTLY ATTACK INNOCENT MUSLIMS. With a photo of a German grimacing angrily, and another of a 5-year-old Muslim child looking sad, perhaps even crying and holding a teddy bear.

In which case, it’s ironic that almost every German I met had a visceral hatred of Donald Trump. His election threw a spanner in the works, a huge orange spanner, and now the Cabal are having to accelerate their program. Perhaps, if they had had another 20 years to slowly tip the demographic balance and weaken the people yet further, their final goal would be, in let’s say 2040, quite plausible. As it is, it’s too much, too soon, and I doubt it will go smoothly. I imagine good Germans in the Intelligence services have been reading Q since 2017, and coming to whatever dark conclusions stirred the Q group to act.

I wouldn’t even be surprised if the Kraut turn out to be one of the first to throw off the fallacious Covid lockdown; for all their bovine conformity, they have a werewolf-like tendency to go from being very nice and orderly and well-behaved to being, well, not; they have survived a great deal and always risen from the ashes of their own near-destruction. And once they decide that a regime is illegitimate, rather than just grumbling about dishonest politicians they have, historically, demonstrated a capacity for organised resistance & bravery; consider, for example, this man who performed an act of public defiance:

This anonymous hero, whose name we will most likely never know, should inspire modern Germans in their resistance to tyranny.