"Get out of our country"

"England belongs to the Muslims. Get out of our country."

The natives are restless. Some English are fed up with Islamic posturing in England. They seem to be sick and tired of Muslims running amok and rioting and killing and -- dare I point this out?-- poisoning the local food with shit. OK, I do dare: Here. The English might have some sense of humor, but there's nothing to laugh about when Muslims are on a rampage to kill civilians and destroy the nation in the hope of replacing the previous regime with Sharia. Some English are organizing to fight against it. One such is the blogger, Lionheart. Others include the English Defence League. Muslims, leftards, and Charles Johnson of Little Green Footballs don't like it. Of Lionheart, this is what one Muslim has to say:

You do realise we've been spreading your photo around. You do realise we know you live in Luton and used to have a shop in Dunstable, Bedfordshire. You do realise your days are literally numbered. You do realise this is not a threat, it's a promise. You do realise I now have your IP address logged. You do realise that whenever you've shown your dirty pig-skin faces to us, (be it Birmingham when Shaun became Muslim, Green street and now Birmingham again) you've been thrashed left, right and centre.

You made it clear on TalkSport that you want war with Islaam itself. In a country full of neo-"terrorists", you are the perfect target.

[…]

England belongs to the Muslims. Get out of our country.

http://www.brusselsjournal.com/node/4085

The note above, continued below, is regarding Paul Ray, a.k.a. Lionheart, the English blogger. Paul Ray likely has fewer years in the English school system than the articulate and literate jihadi threatening him, but Paul is a decent fellow. The jihadi exhorts his fellows to kill Paul Ray. The jihadi writer, a.k.a. Bilal, appears to be associated with the group of whom this featured fellow is part of:

This [i.e. Paul Ray] is who this ugly filthy piece of sub-vermin is. If you see him (most likely around Luton or Dunstable, Bedfordshire); you know what to do. As for the rest of the Muslims reading this; do as we're doing, and spread this photo around to militant Muslims in the UK as we are. Also, keep an eye on the news. Allaah knows, you might see a repeat of what happened to Theodoor van Gogh at the hands of our beloved brother Mohammed Bouyeri in Amsterdam on 2 November 2004.”

“This post has been edited by Bilal (Islam4UK.com) Aug 16 2009, 10:34 PM

http://www.brusselsjournal.com/node/4085

Lionheart is a decent sort. At least he doesn't threaten to murder anyone. It makes me wonder if there are many like him in Britain today. Decent folks, I mean. If so, then we'll see more of the like of the "English Defence League." Paul, by the way, has disaffiliated from that group.

Welcome to the English Defence League

Watch the video [EDL link.] below. Anjem Choudary [wikipedia bio.] and his sort are who we oppose. Not Muslims, Jews, any race or religion, just Islamic Extremists, and Sharia. ...

Who are the EDL, you ask? Well, according to the ever-psychotic Charles Johnson of Little Green Footballs, they're racists like that crypto-soccer fan, Robert Spencer of Jhadwatch.:

'English Defense League' Riot in Birmingham. Sep 6, 2009. Little Green Footballs.

Once again, an anti-Islam protest (marketed as “anti-Islamic extremism”) in Britain by the “English Defense League” (a gang of skinheads, racists, and soccer hooligans with connections to the BNP, although they’re now squabbling) has resulted in a riot in Birmingham....

And look who’s hanging out with the English Defense League now, on a tour of Britain with wacko fundamentalist nutbag Martin Mawyer and his “Christian Action Network” — none other than Robert Spencer of Jihad Watch....

There was a joke! back in the old days in journalism, "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story." It was funny. We laughed. Today I feel I must explain that the EDL did not 'cause a riot.'

" 'English Defense League' Riot in Birmingham."

Verbs, nouns; whatever. It seems to be all the same to Charles Johnson.

The Canadian journalist Pierre Berton is said to have claimed that the strongest urge a man has is not for food or sex but to rewrite another man's copy. Mea culpa. Here are three comments from the above B.J. post [I tinkered with the first] that I hope you'll find interesting:

Well, well

Submitted by Reconciler on Wed, 2009-09-09 11:21.

[I]f it isn't Islam rearing its ugly head again. The extremists grow bold now. They must have added 1 and 1 together and seen that it makes either 0 or 2.

First summand [i.e. an addition] of the left term being: Their growing numbers both in [M]uslim headcount and percentage of radicalised youth correspond nicely with an increasing fearfulness and attentiveness by the executive bodies towards Islam.

Second summand of the left term being: A [B]ritish reactio[n] to the growing insolence of [I]slamic assertiveness. The radicals know that there will be clashes. Tranquillized [B]ritish officials might not see any danger or secretly believe that the transition to the Umma Kingdhim [i.e. United Kingdom] will be a smooth one. But the [B]ritish common populace, having more to lose than to gain (or keep!), is free from cognitive dissonance. This is true insofar that [the] doublethink that they are subjected to in public[,] as well as [in their] working environment[,] does not [penetrate] ... their private sphere of pubs, parties, family reunions.

The EDL is one stepping stone towards autocht[h]onous [i.e. local or nativist] radicalization. The jihadis see it, know it. They embrace the coming fight because they are now at a stage where they think they might win. The opponent term [i.e. natives] might change from a summand into a subtrahend [i.e. the number subtracted], but Islam is playing to win now. Because they are greedy, they are also unrestrained. So the preachers give their go-ahead, for they draw confidence from centuries of success. Though it is a success story with intermittent setbacks (Tours et Poitiers, Granada, Vienna), they have every reason to believe that if conditions are already as favorable as now, then surely it must only be a matter of time until Europe makes its final stand [i.e. is defeated and becomes Islamic].

Second line of defense

Submitted by KO on Wed, 2009-09-09 15:47.

A nation's first line of defense is its military, controlled by its government. When the government betrays its trust and permits a foreign invasion, the nation is thrown back on its second line of defense, the unorganized, ill-armed citizenry. That is what we are seeing--an early stage of the English defense of the homeland, in defiance of their treacherous government. God willing, the English will arm and organize, city by city, town by town, and village by village. St. George!

The EDL and "autochtonous radicalization"

Submitted by Kapitein Andre on Thu, 2009-09-10 22:43.

The EDL is neither a precursor to English militancy en masse nor a vanguard of resistance to Islamification. The prevalence of both pluralism and apathy in English society make mass mobilization and organization unlikely, and the EDL's adherence to political correctness takes it far from "autocht[h]onous radicalization".

Resistance to Islamification will no doubt take the form of small militant groups that carry out low-level warfare with or without popular support, a situation reminiscent of the paramilitaries of Northern Ireland.

Dramatic escalation along Balkan lines must occur before British society considers Islamic violence and political activism anything more than criminality.

Link repeat: http://www.brusselsjournal.com/node/4085

The English government has turned on its natives, in this instance referring to the locals as Nazi Brownshirts:

The story is quite pretty till you come to the ugly facts: The EDL were seriously outnumbered by jihadis from a local mosque, and they took off, to be polite about it. The police were then faced with a thousand high-octane jihadis. You kind of miss that in the following story:

Paul Lewis, Matthew Taylor and Robert Booth, "Minister warns of 1930s-style fascists on Britain's streets; 'Parallels' between rightwing groups planning protests in Muslim neighbourhoods and Oswald Mosley's incendiary marches; Profile: the rightwing group stirring up fresh troubleguardian.co.uk, Friday 11 September 2009 19.22 BST

A cabinet minister last night raised the spectre of a return to 1930s fascism, warning of "parallels" bertween rightwing groups planning protests in Muslim neighbourhoods and Oswald Mosley's incendiary marches through Jewish areas of east London in the 1930s.

Announcing a government drive to address issues alienating white, working-class people at risk of being "exploited" by the far-right, John Denham, the secretary of state for communities and local government, singled out protests being organised by the English Defence League.

The group has organised a number of protests in recent months which have turned violent. It is to hold events in Manchester, Leeds, London and Bristol in the coming weeks. Yesterday small groups of EDL supporters gathered for a protest outside a mosque in Harrow, north-west London. They were confronted by at least 1,000 anti-fascist protesters. Police arrested 10 people after clashes, nine of them for allegedly possessing weapons. No injuries were reported.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2009/sep/11/minister-warns-facists-streets

We can always count on The Grauniad [worth a click on] to make typos, which I cleaned up here, and we can also count on them to be fucking idiots. We can count on Paul Ray to be a decent guy. We can count on Humanness to form groups of like-minded people who will push their boundaries as far as they can, until they are stopped and can push no further. So it is with Islam and Muslims. They will push as far as they can, all the way to Sharia across the world if we let them. We do, unfortunately. It's going to get a lot (more) people killed. I don't hate Muslims, so I often find myself thinking it's a good idea to set boundaries for them they cannot cross so they don't get themselves exterminated. Some folks don't think it through, and they might not care anyway, driven mad from hatred; so I put it this way: If we kill a billion Muslims, who will clean up the pestilential mess? Even if one were a total monster, how do we bury the dead fast enough to keep the rot from killing the entire population of the world? Better to set some boundaries. The locals will fight, and they should; and the political elites will call them Nazis and such, but who-- really?-- who gives a damn what the toffs say? Boundaries for Muslims before things get out of control and we, the non-Muslim autonchthonic, find we do have to exterminate a billion people just to have the freedom to be who we were already.Muslims have to learn to get along in the world or they have to get out. They'll have plenty of help if they can't figure it out on their own.

History is Mistory.

Charles had me laughing in stitches when he told me this story. He forgot to mention Kennedy, but before he's come that far I was howling. I'm sure you'll find this funny too. And the funny part is how many won't.

"May Obama follow in the steps of Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy!"

Warren Times Observer of Warren, Pennsylvania

The small town paper published an ad that read as follows: "May Obama follow in the steps of Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy!" Sadly, the paper's editors completely missed the salient fact....

Well, dear reader, you know of course what the joke is here. But for the full story, here's the link to Ad Busters.

Moon River

At night in the mountains the moon rises full and shines down into the valley where the river runs past the little village that twinkles houselights in the blackness. Way up on the roadside at the pass there's a wood-framed white clapboard church with a small gravel parking lot, the rest of the area being over taken by tall grass that sways in the wind, the grass blowing like a girl's soft, long blond hair. I sit there sometimes, (used to,) and I'd listen to the freight-train coming through the village, eight toots as it approached, the sound echoing up the valley and to the church and me. I stood there once, looking down a mile, and a giant rat ran between my legs, Colossus of Roads.

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style some day.

Me and my dad used to go trout fishing some evenings, giving it up only after the bats came out of abandoned mine shafts, bats slamming into our lines, fouling our fishing. I would have stayed if only to sit by the campfire, gazing at the dancing lights, sipping coffee, listening to the hoot owls.

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you're going I'm going your way.

There were giant pines in the forest, and birds, like the wood-pecker who laid her eggs in a hollow; and we watched for days the eggs till they hatched and little wood-peckers chirped for mother.

Two drifters off to see the world.
There's such a lot of world to see.

Caught our limit of cutthroat trout one evening, a whole school going crazy for our flies, us reeling them in one after another, the fish jumping straight out of the water, and crashing back in and diving for freedom.

We're after the same rainbow's end--
waiting 'round the bend,

Slowly wandered off and came to this point all this life-time later. Never coulda, never woulda guessed.

my huckleberry friend,

Moon river, and me....


And there was me on the river in Africa, floating down in the moon-light. Such a lot of world to see.

Andy Williams, "Moon River": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68Y2AmcfI6o

On writing A Genealogy of Left Dhimmi Fascism (2)

I've been writing A Genealogy of Left Dhimmi Fascism since mid-April this year, now being at page 98 of chapter four of a first draft. The previous chapters run at roughly 100 pages each. This, with a further 28 pages of notes on Ernest Gellner and Johan von Herder to include before I go back and wrap it up with inclusions on Th. Aquinas, "Just Price" and E.P. Thompson, "Moral Economy," means I have to finish that up and then split the rest of this chapter into another section, i.e. Chapter 5. I suspect the second half will run to another 100 or so pages, as will chapters 6 and 7 each. As well as the roughly 700 pages of text, I have numerous addenda to include, and then a conclusion and an introduction to write. It looks like I'll be at this for a while yet, and that means my blogging will continue to be light.

This is a first draft of a very long and detailed work. I'm finding out as I go what I don't know; and that requires that I learn and then write. It means I go slowly, picking my way along, consulting wherever I can the best authorities for my effort. Some of it comes haphazard, meaning there are marginal notes and errors in previous inclusions, not to mention simple terrible prose on my part. As well, it's all in long-hand, meaning, of course, that I have to type it when I finish the last chapter. At that point I will have a revised effort on my hands and on my mind. It won't be evident from the work on this blog, but I hope you'll see in time that I'm a careful and polished writer when it comes to substantial work. I have a lot of writing, reading, and, dare I say, thinking yet to do.

This effort would not have been possible without the help of my friend CGW, who has been exceptionally generous in providing me with material needed to make this come about to the extent it has and will. To my readers for their comments, good or no, I thank you for the time and consideration involved. I make every effort to credit those I can who provide input here. Some of you will think that's just right. The death threats I'll probably leave out. But thanks just the same.

Will up-date this as I have a few moments and need a break from Oikos: Part One: Poverty, Povertarianism, and Philobarbarism.

No, trust me, it's really interesting. Oikos: Parts Two an Three will be even better. And wait till we get to Gnosis. You're gonna love it.

Pretty girls, pretty boys, and men who arrive at night.

Neda Agha Soltan.

The May 2009 portrait ... by Caspian Makan, 37-year-old photojournalist in Tehran who identified himself as Neda Agha Soltan's boyfriend.

The Party line is that its America's fault for overthrowing Communist dictator in the 1950s.

http://news.yahoo.com/nphotos/slideshow/photo//090623/481/448c848ec60c40709990a9f4bceef599/

CBC puts it straight:

On Monday, the BBC gained a clearer picture of Neda from a man who claimed to be her fiancé: he said Neda Agha-Soltan was driving with her music teacher, but had exited the car during a traffic jam when she was allegedly shot by pro-government militia.

Selected comments from CBC readers:

firsthings wrote:Posted 2009/06/22 "If she wasn't a good looking young woman would this be a news item?"

carlbailey wrote: Posted 2009/06/22 "Straight to heaven."

really? i thought only christians got to go to heaven.
are you saying this muslim "martyr" gets to go too?
are you like, some kind of uncrowned, undeclared prophet, or saint?
you've got pull with the big, angry, bearded, invisible peeping tom in the sky, do you?

or did you just post without thinking about what you were going to say before you said it?

Ground Zero wrote: Posted 2009/06/22 "God Bless, straight to Heaven, blah, blah ..."

More religious drivel from the political right, eh.

http://www.cbc.ca/world/story/2009/06/22/f-neda-iran.html#socialcomments

Of the dozen comments at CBC, over half were in this vein.

It's not particularly funny to read comments by teenagers about Mossedec, overthrown when I was too young to know about it. I do know something about Iran in the 70s, though. None of it matters much. It's about a girl and a nation today. It's about an oligarchy of professional tyrants today in Iran. But here it's mostly about angry and self-important loser Canadian kids with nothing to say and no reason for living, mindless conformists with the Party line to make themselves feel that there's a reason after all. Empty and stupid conformists who live on sentimentality and phony moralism. They have little else to think about. They don't know anything real. They live phony lives. People are conformists by nature, and this generation of conformists think themselves daring and smart. These stupd little sissie are going to get the shit kicked out of them. And they'll like it. At last they will meet men who aren't cowardly and snivelling and grovelling. Men here, as well as women, are starved for maleness. When these creepy-crawly kids encounter real men, and when these kids get brutalized and bullied, then we'll see them cry like little girls and love the beatings. That's the way life is. People respond to power, and power is male.

Some idiot, no doubt a sociologist, wrote a report claiming that Moroccan males attack gay men in the Netherlands because Moroccans have to lash out against the next lowest group in the pecking order, and lash out because they are oppressed by the white heterosexual power structure. It takes a conformist fool to come to a bogus conclusion like that. We all know it's a stupid conclusion, but in this day and time it's the accepted version of why. It's a girl's way of dealing with things. Fine. Live in a land run by girls. Then, when foreign men come, there's a price to pay in blood and death. Neda paid it. Shot to death by an effeminate puke who hates women and likes licking boys instead.

Canada is filled with effeminate creeps. America elected one as president. Iran is filled with old men who screw boys. A dozen men could wipe out a whole nation of sissies in a month. Hurt a few of them and the rest will roll over and cry. Then they'll love the attention and beg to belong. Then hurt a few more and they'll think you're god.

Meanwhile, incompetent Iranian kids are dying. A handful of strong men could destroy the nation in a month. They're missing. But that won't always be the case. They'll come. Where they come from is the serious question.

Perhaps you know already of the White Feather campaign in Britain in WWI: as a sign accusing men of cowardice women would give un-uniformed men a white feather. It was a public shame campaign. It worked. Men joined the military to escape the feather. Most did. Not all.

Archibald Fenner Brockway, The Baron Brockway (1 November 1888–28 April 1988), was a British anti-war activist and politician. Received from outraged fellow citizens so many white feathers, (signs of cowardice,) during WWI that he became famous for his response: "I have so many feathers I could make a fan."

Today such men as Fenner Brockway are lauded as the greatest of guys. I'd have knocked him to the ground and then stomped his nuts to mush. That's the way it is. It doesn't change no matter how sensitive and sharing and caring men are supposed to be. Only the weakest minded don't get this. Those and those who win at this game by playing along, careerist men and women who will change in a flash into killers true and cold-blooded. It takes regime change, and then the conformists will all turn over and be whatever the new regime demands of them. It's nature, buddy. Don't fight that.

Real Life: Strangers in Fiction

There are some things in life so unlikely that one is apt not to believe them even when they turn out to be true. An example? I got a television. Actually, I got another one. The super at my place gave me one a few years ago. Or maybe it only feels like it's been in the doorway for years. I wanted to throw it out, but I didn't want the guy seeing it in the dumpster and thinking I'm ungrateful. Then I got a dvd player from a friend. My floor is sagging already with all the books in my place. What I need is more stuff? So, there I am complaining about more stuff and a friend drops in with a monster tv, saying he knew I had a new dvd player and he just happened to have bought a new tv that's even bigger than this sucker he's dropped off. Today a friend asked me if my new tv works. He asked how many channels I get. I told him I don't know, I've never tried it. Why would I watch tv? It never occurred to me to turn it on. Instead, I watched a Clint Eastwood movie on dvd. My neighbors all think I'm a psycho. Alright, they're certain now. Last evening I had earplugs in the tv sound slot so I wouldn't piss off everyone in the neighborhood. The neighbours heard me laughing in the dark for hours all by myself. You just can't win.

I watched The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. I think it's based on the Prisoners' Dilemma. I didn't think that the first time I saw it, when I was eight or ten-- or something. Back then I think I liked it because it's funny, same as I still think it's funny. I haven't seen a movie in 20 years. Maybe they're all funny. I think The Dirty Dozen is hilarious.

I read somewhere that humor is the plausible but unexpected. I've been around long enough now to know that much is plausible, and most of it is unexpected. Usually I laugh. The philosopher Rene Girard makes me laugh. So do jihadis, often.

I laugh while watching The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly because it's plausible, though things that happen are unlikely and yet happen anyway.

And then there's the wacky world of television, where plausible thing happen that are unexpected, and I don't find them funny at all. I read this on the Internet and now I know why I don't watch tv.

Andrew Klavan, "Shocked … Shocked!", Klavan on the Culture. June 9th, 2009

Boy oh boy, these last few days have been full of surprises, haven’t they? One shocking revelation tumbles out after another. Here’re just a few blind-siders coming in from way out of left field:

Adam Lambert is gay. I mean, hold the phone, Mabel, I never saw that coming! You’re telling me the guy who would surely have won American Idol this year if it were, in fact, a singing contest instead of an informal poll of which guy 13-year-old girls find cute but unthreatening is batting for the other team??? You know, now that I think about it, when we saw pictures of him wearing eyeliner, dressing in drag and kissing another guy, I sort of thought something might be going on. But not that! Never that!

http://pajamasmedia.com/andrewklavan/2009/06/09/shocked-shocked/

I had no idea of what I'm missing. I spend my free time reading. I never tire of it.

I never tire of the Prisoners' Dilemma. In the case of the movie The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, it's a Mexican Standoff. By the strangest of coincidences, as I type this, sure enough, on the radio is now playing Stealer's Wheel, "Stuck in the Middle with You." I saw the movie, Reservoir Dogs, years ago on television. It has a scene in which this tune plays. It ends with a Mexican Standoff. I laugh.

How do we make honest decisions and act in good faith? I accept that I will probably regret some actions later; but I know that if I don't act because I'm waiting for perfection, then all will be lost. That's not a bad thing, I guess, if I were watching television. But life is funny. There's watchers and then there's actors. Conservatives are watchers. Leftards, often, are actors. We know the result.

Watchers can only stop actors by acting. I think it's very funny. If I'd known when I was a kid how funny it would be, I would have pleaded sickness and never have gotten out of bed at all. It's good, it's bad, and it's ugly. Much of the time the dilemma's funny. You just can't win.

"The Story of a Soldier"
from the film The Good, The Bad and the Ugly
music by Ennio Morricone
lyrics by Tommy Connor

Bugles are calling
from prairie to shore,
"Sign up" and "Fall in"
and march off to war.
Drums beating loudly,
Hearts beating proudly
Match Blue and Grey
And smile as you say Goodbye.
Smoke hides the valleys
And fire paints the plains.
Loud roar the cannons
'Til ruin remains:
Blue grass and cotton
Burnt and forgotten
All hope seems gone
So soldier march on to die.
There in the distance
A flag I can see,
Scorched and in ribbons
But whose can it be;
How ends the story,
Whose is the glory,
Ask if we dare
Our comrades out there who sleep.

Lyrics to "The Story of A Soldier" as sung in the film

Bugles are calling from prairie to shore,
"Sign up" and "Fall In" and march off to war.
Blue grass and cotton, burnt and forgotten
All hope seems gone so soldier march on to die.
Bugles are calling from prairie to shore,
"Sign up" and "Fall In" and march off to war.
There in the distance a flag I can see,
Scorched and in ribbons but whose can it be,
How ends the story, whose is the glory
Ask if we dare, our comrades out there who sleep

(Thanks to Michael Caletka and Addie Smith)

http://sartana.homestead.com/story.html

Beginning Year Five at No Dhimmitude

It's been over four years now that I have written here, originally with the intention of compiling information for a book on the genealogy of Left Dhimmi Fascism. I've taken some time off to attempt it, haven't finished it or done it well at all, and come back for more. I've relied heavily on help from reader and friends, and now, happy to report, I have the third chapter of a proposed seven finished, roughly 300 pages of a first draft. It's taken me a couple of months to get this far. I will be a while longer yet till this part is done, and then there's rewriting. Meanwhile, here's something to keep you occupied. I think it's pretty excellent.

From Friedrich Engels, The Origins of the Family, Private Property, and the State. (1884) "Preface to the Fourth Edition." (1891)

[Johann J.] Bachofen finds the proofs of these assertions in innumerable passages of ancient classical literature, which he collected with immense industry. According to him, the development from "hetaerism" to monogamy and from mother-right to father-right is accomplished, particularly among the Greeks, as the consequence of an advance in religious conceptions, introducing into the old hierarchy of the gods, representative of the old outlook, new divinities, representative of the new outlook, who push the former more and more into the background. Thus, according to Bachofen, it is not the development of men’s actual conditions of life, but the religious reflection of these conditions inside their heads, which has brought about the historical changes in the social position of the sexes in relation to each other. In accordance with this view, Bachofen interprets the Oresteia of Aschylus as the dramatic representation of the conflict between declining mother-right and the new father-right that arose and triumphed in the heroic age. For the sake of her paramour, AEgisthus, Clytemnestra slays her husband, Agamemnon, on his return from the Trojan War; but Orestes, the son of Agamemnon and herself, avenges his father’s murder by slaying his mother. For this act he is pursued by the Furies, the demonic guardians of mother-right, according to which matricide is the gravest and most inexpiable crime. But Apollo, who by the voice of his oracle had summoned Orestes to this deed, and Athena, who is called upon to give judgment – the two deities who here represent the new patriarchal order – take Orestes under their protection; Athena hears both sides. The whole matter of the dispute is briefly summed up in the debate which now takes place between Orestes and the Furies. Orestes contends that Clytemnestra has committed a double crime; she has slain her husband and thus she has also slain his father. Why should the Furies pursue him, and not her, seeing that she is by far the more guilty? The answer is striking: "She was not kin by blood to the man she slew."

The murder of a man not related by blood, even if he be the husband of the murderess, is expiable and does not concern the Furies; their office is solely to punish murder between blood relations, and of such murders the most grave and the most inexpiable, according to mother-right, is matricide. Apollo now comes forward in Orestes’ defense; Athena calls upon the Areopagites – the Athenian jurors – to vote; the votes for Orestes’ condemnation and for his acquittal are equal; Athena, as president, gives her vote for Orestes and acquits him. Father-right has triumphed over mother-right, the "gods of young descent," as the Furies themselves call them, have triumphed over the Furies; the latter then finally allow themselves to be persuaded to take up a new office in the service of the new order. [B]achofen believes at least as much as AEschylus did in the Furies, Apollo, and Athena; for, at bottom, he believes that the overthrow of mother-right by father-right was a miracle wrought during the Greek heroic age by these divinities.

****

It's easy to dismiss Engels, but the man was not stupid. I turned to him first off here to find out what we miss in our Modernity that he could remind us of in our loss. He turned to AEschylus. How cool. I was going to go for Xenophon, Oeconomia. (It's silly.) I found this instead.

Margaret Schabas, "Nature does nothing in vain," Daedalus. 22 March 2008.

The oeconomy of nature treated God as the supreme director, planner, and provider of nature's larder. In his popular tract Oeconomia naturae (1749), Linnaeus attended to the proportions of predator to prey, taking into account rates of propagation, distribution, and longevity. God had established perfect ratios across the entire organic realm, thus ensuring the provision of food for each of his offspring. Supply met demand and the market cleared, so to speak. Nevertheless, a wide array of hazards, such as an earthquake or a particularly dry season, could disrupt the balance. Linnaeus thus formulated more elaborate mechanisms to restore equilibrium, appealing to insects to expand their numbers and swoop in, like police, to restore law and order.

Until Linnaeus, the term oeconomia was mostly employed in the Aristotelian sense of household management. Linnaeus was the first to offer a nascent concept of an economy, of multiple producers and consumers in a state of exchange such that ends and means were aligned. Linnaeus's oeconomy of nature included not only plants and animals (including humans), but also the earth's crust and atmosphere, since organisms decay and excrete vapors. His account devised an early version of the hydrological cycle. It had been a given since antiquity that matter (the four elements), while constantly in flux, was conserved within the sublunar region. Linnaeus brought additional order to this totality by embedding organisms in an intricate system of exchange and equilibrium: "We see Nature resemble a well-regulated state in which every individual has his proper employment and subsistence, and a proper gradation of offices and officers is appointed to correct and restrain every detrimental excess."

Although Linnaeus subscribed to the Biblical account of creation, he attempted to fill in more of the story whereby long ago the individual pairs of each species had multiplied, migrated, and distributed themselves around the globe. In his view, the oeconomy of nature was completely full of life, with no waste or void. Needless to say, God would not tolerate the extinction of any one of his creations, nor admit of novelty, since this would imply that the original plan was less than perfect. Goethe, while director of the Finanzverwaltung for Weimar in the 1770s, echoed such sentiments when he declared that "nature is the perfect oeconomy." She did not waste her currency nor act in vain.

In the 1750s Francois Quesnay wrote that:

only nature could produce wealth, via the gifts of rain, sunlight, and soil in the agrarian sector. For every seed planted in the spring we reap two in the fall. "We strictly owe the net product of the soil, to Providence, and to the beneficence of the Creator, to his rain that beats down and changes it to gold." Manufacturing, by contrast, was sterile. It merely transformed leather into shoes but produced no genuine wealth or net product.

Economics is so far from anything I know about that I'll have to learn from zero. That's OK. I have a good idea of what I want to know and to convey to my audience. I'll go from book to book and pick up hints of where to follow a I go. For now I started with Engels, and made a tentative move to look again at Richard Dawkins on family. My point is to combat Ruth Benedict and the cultural relativists, among other things; and primarily in the first section, to defeat Gandhi. Thus, I have to set down some argument that family is more successful if it's nuclear and non-incestuous and non-cannibalistic. Easy? Not so much. There are very compelling arguments from Benedict. She's not stupid either. I'll do what I can and make my best case against these people in the hope that others will think I have some better idea, one worth fighting for. So I begin this chapter with "Povertarianism." I'll go from the broadly general to the narrowly specific. Over and over till I finish this chapter.

Meanwhile, I still have little details to fill in on the other chapters, like Louis-Auguste Blanqui coining the phrase la révolution industrielle in 1837, and a terrificly good quotation from Arnold Toynbee in 1884. Little things make the difference.

If that doesn't do anything for you, a friend sent this to amuse us. Sort of.

Great News for these

financially challenged times!

I found a local prostitute

who charges by the inch.

Obviously, I can't afford her,

but I thought you might

enjoy a cheap night out.

On the Road Again

I assumed my friend would have stayed on-line by going to Internet cafes. That's how I stay in touch when I'm "on the road again."

I travel back in time by memory. Sometimes I travel via Sue Grafton novels. I think of music, like Fever Tree, as I revisit my life back then.

Which reminds me of Canned Heat. I recall that my friend is not deeply into music but you might like some 60's blues. The band Canned Heat, who performed at Woodstock, take the name from a blues song by a Mississippi Delta drunk, Tommy Johnson. I'll start with his bio. and then include the lyrics that the band took the title of for their group name, and I'll finish with some on Canned Heat themselves. Here's a bit of background noise:

Tommy Johnson (1896 – November 1, 1956) was an influential American delta blues musician who recorded in the late 1920s, known for his eerie falsetto voice and intricate guitar playing.

Johnson was born near Terry, Mississippi, and moved around 1910 to Crystal Springs where he lived for most of his life. He learned to play the guitar and, by 1914, was supplementing his income by playing at local parties with his brothers Mager and LeDell. In 1916 he married and moved to Webb Jennings' Plantation near Drew, Mississippi, close to the Dockery Plantation. There he met other musicians including Charlie Patton and Willie Brown[1].

By 1920 he had become an alcoholic and itinerant musician, based in Crystal Springs but travelling widely around the South, sometimes accompanied by Papa Charlie McCoy. In 1928 he made his first recordings with McCoy for Victor Records. The recordings included "Canned Heat Blues", in which he sang of drinking methanol from the cooking fuel Sterno. The song features the refrain "canned heat, mama, sure, Lord, killing me." The blues group Canned Heat took their name from this song. Johnson's "Big Road Blues" inspired Canned Heat's song, "On the Road Again". A significantly different version of the song appears as "Canned Heat" on the Big Road Blues album by K. C. Douglas.

He recorded two further sessions, in August 1928 and for Paramount Records in December 1929. He did not record again, mistakenly believing that he had signed away his right to record . This resulted on a legal settlement with The Mississippi Sheiks who had used Johnson's 'Big Road Blues' melody in their enormously successful "[Stop and Listen]". Johnson was party to the copyright settlement, but was too drunk at the time to understand what he had signed to.[2]

Johnson's recordings established him as the premier Delta blues vocalist of his day, with a powerful voice that could go from a growl to a falsetto. He was also an accomplished guitarist. His style influenced later blues singers such as Robert Nighthawk and Howlin' Wolf[1], whose song "I Asked for Water (She Brought Me Gasoline)" was based on Johnson's "Cool Water Blues". He was a talented composer, blending fragments of folk poetry and personalized lyrics into set guitar accompaniments to craft striking blues compositions such as "Maggie Campbell".[3]

To enhance his fame, Johnson cultivated a sinister persona. According to his brother LeDell, he claimed to have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his mastery of the guitar[1][4]. This story was later also associated with Robert Johnson, to whom he was unrelated. Tommy Johnson also played tricks with his guitar, playing it between his legs and behind his head, and throwing it in the air while playing[5].

Johnson remained a popular performer in the Jackson area through the 1930s and 1940s, sometimes performing with Ishman Bracey. He was highly influential on other performers, partly because he was willing to teach his style and his repertoire. Tommy Johnson's influence on local traditions is discussed by David Evans in 'Tommy Johnson' and 'Big Road Blues. [6]

He died of a heart attack after playing a party in 1956. He is buried in the Warm Springs Methodist Church Cemetery outside of Crystal Springs, Mississippi. In 2001 a headstone was commissioned through the Mt. Zion Memorial Fund, a Mississippi non-profit corporation, by the family of Tommy Johnson and paid for by musician Bonnie Raitt. The large, granite memorial engraved with Johnson's portrait has not been placed on Johnson's grave, however, due to a bitter, ongoing dispute between Tommy Johnson's family, led by his niece, Vera Johnson Collins, the owners of farm property encircling the cemetery, and the Copiah County Board of Supervisors. The headstone has remained on public display in the Crystal Springs, Mississippi Public Library since being unveiled on October 20, 2001. An annual Tommy Johnson Blues Festival is now held in Crystal Springs, Mississippi, on every third weekend in October.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canned_Heat_Blues

Here are the lyrics to Tommy Johnson, "Canned Heat Blues."

Cryin', canned, canned heat, mama
Cryin', Dear Lord, killin' me
Cryin', canned heat, mama
Sho', Lord, killin' me
Take alco-rub to
Take these canned heat blues

Cryin' mama, mama mama
Know canned heat killin' me
Cryin' mama, mama, mama
Cryin' canned heat is killin' me
Canned heat don't kill me
Cryin', babe I never would die

I woked up a-this mo'nin
With canned heat on my mind
Woke just this mo'nin'
Canned heat was on my mind
Woke up this mo'nin
With the canned heat, Lord
On my mind

Cried, Lord
Lord, I wonder
Canned heat, Lord, killing me
Think alco-rub is
Tearing apart my soul
Because brown-skin woman
Don't do the easy roll

I woke up, a-this mo'nin'
Cryin', canned heat 'round my bed
Run in here, somebody
Take these canned heat blues
Run here, somebody
An take these canned heat blue-ooos.

Cryin', mama, mama, mama
Cryin', canned heat killin' me
Plead to my soul, Lord
They gon' kill me dead. "

[Link has video here:]

http://tommyjohnson.skyrock.com/2447511929-Canned-Heat-Blues-1928-Memphis.html

Canned Heat did a number of albums when I was a kid, on of which had a double sided masterpiece of the time, "Refried Boogie, Parts 1 & 2." The blurb below has me pining for the days when music meant John Mayall's Blues Breakers, with 30 minute album sides of "Laurel Canyon Blues" on tenor and alto sax.

Living the Blues is a 1968 double album by Canned Heat. It was one of the first double albums to place well on album charts. It features Canned Heat's signature song, "Going Up the Country," which would later be used in the Woodstock film. John Mayall appears on piano on "Walking by Myself" and "Bear Wires." Dr. John appears on "Boogie Music". The 20-minute trippy suite "Parthenogenesis" is dwarfed by the album-length "Refried Boogie," recorded live.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canned_Heat

Canned Heat is a blues-rock/boogie band that formed in Los Angeles in 1965. The group has been noted for its own interpretations of blues material as well as for efforts to promote the interest in this type of music and its original artists. It was launched by two blues enthusiasts, Alan Wilson and Bob Hite, who took the name from Tommy Johnson's 1928 "Canned Heat Blues", a song about an alcoholic who had desperately turned to drinking Sterno, generically called "canned heat". After appearances at Monterey and Woodstock, at the end of the '60s the band acquired worldwide fame with a lineup consisting of Bob Hite, vocals, Alan Wilson guitar, harmonica and vocals, Henry Vestine (or Harvey Mandel) on lead guitar, Larry Taylor on bass, and Adolfo ('Fito') de la Parra on drums. The music and attitude of Canned Heat afforded them a large following and established the band as one of the popular acts of the hippie era. Canned Heat appeared at most major musical events at the end of the '60s and they were able to deliver on stage electrifying performances of blues standards and their own material and occasionally to indulge into lengthier 'psychedelic' solos. Two of their songs - "Going up the Country" and "On the Road Again" - became international hits; both were re-workings of obscure blues.

[....]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canned_Heat

I saw them in concert, and I went to John Mayall concerts too. Lots of good music those days.

I recall Hendrix and Joplin and the days they died. Alan Wilson too. Funny that. A friend stopped in to tell me the new. Soon after, news of the others.

Shortly after the original Hooker N' Heat sessions, the eccentric Alan "Blind Owl" Wilson, who had always suffered from depression, was said by some to have attempted suicide by driving his van off the road near Bob Hite's home in Topanga Canyon. Unlike other members of the band, Wilson did not have much success with women and was deeply upset and frustrated by this. His depression also worsened with his increasing environmental concern over the deteriorating health of the earth; all themes which were often reflected in his lyrics[16]. On September 3, 1970, just prior to leaving for a festival in Berlin, the band was shattered when they learned of Alan Wilson's death by barbiturate overdose; found on a hillside behind Bob Hite’s Topanga home. Believed by Fito de la Parra and other members of the band to have been a suicide, Wilson died at the age of 27, just weeks before the deaths of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix.[17]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canned_Heat

"On the Road Again" " a song by the blues group Canned Heat, was released as a single in August 1968. It reached the top ten on the Top 40 popular music charts and appeared on their 1968 album Boogie with Canned Heat as well as the 1969 compilation The Canned Heat Cookbook.

"On the Road Again" was adapted by Alan Wilson from a song of the same name recorded in 1953 by Floyd Jones (July 21, 1917 - December 19, 1989), a Chicago blues musician.[1] Jones' song was itself an adaptation of "Big Road Blues," recorded in 1928 by Delta blues musician Tommy Johnson.

With his knowledge of Eastern music, Wilson used a tambura drone to give the song a hypnotic effect and a psychedelic edge. The song features Wilson as the lead singer and harmonica player. The B-side of the single was entitled "World in a Jug."

The song also appears in the 1998 movie Hideous Kinky.

[....]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/On_the_Road_Again_(Canned_Heat_song)

This isn't the work of Shakespeare, but it goes just right with the music:

(Floyd Jones / Alan Wilson)

Well, I'm so tired of crying,
But I'm out on the road again
I'm on the road again.
Well, I'm so tired of crying,
But I'm out on the road again
I'm on the road again
I ain't got no woman
Just to call my special friend

You know the first time I traveled
Out in the rain and snow
In the rain and snow
You know the first time I traveled
Out in the rain and snow
In the rain and snow
I didn't have no payroll,
Not even no place to go

And my dear mother left me
When I was quite young
When I was quite young
And my dear mother left me
When I was quite young
When I was quite young
She said "Lord, have mercy
On my wicked son"

Take a hint from me, mama,
Please don't you cry no more
Don't you cry no more.
Take a hint from me, mama,
Please don't you cry no more
Don't you cry no more.
'Cause it's soon one morning
Down the road I'm going

But I aint going down
That long old lonesome road
All by myself
But I aint going down
That long old lonesome road
All by myself
I can't carry you, baby,
Gonna carry somebody else

I can't carry you, baby,
Gonna carry somebody else
I can't carry you, baby,
Gonna carry somebody else
On the road again

On the road again
On the road again....

http://www.lyricstime.com/status-quo-on-the-road-again-lyrics.html

When you're on the road again maybe this will perk you up

Death be not Proud

The dead are laying down in morgues, and in their graves forever. I see some too who walk and talk and put in waiting-time. I see the light of day and I breathe. Death be not proud, though some think it so. Not so. It's too banal. It's common, as one might say of shop-keepers and lorry drivers. The uncommon, the bred, take my mind to far away places. Stepping over, or in one case around, the dead these recent days, I step into realms beyond, and I live in a state of awe and amusement. Five down, face down. The living, should they so choose, gaze like God to the end of infinity: Hubble shows us All. Or we find the same gazing Sphinx looking no further than Hell, ourselves made. Not dead nor lifeless but Hell-living. And Eternity just around every corner.

Bio-mechanical medicine will save us all forever and we will never die again. No dead, no babies-- money, brain power, and fetal tissue keeping us alive for all of time.

Neil Postman quotes Freud's Civilization and its Discontents:

"And finally, what good to us is a long life if it is difficult and barren of joys, and if it is so full of misery that we can only welcome death as a deliverer?"

Quoted from Covenant Zone, " Past is Prologue." 18 May 2006.
http://covenantzone.blogspot.com/2006/05/past-is-prologue-1.html

Yes, Freud had cancer and had seen the Jews of Europe destroyed in their millions. Why would he want to carry on living? Forever.

John Donne (1572-1631) "Death Be Not Proud"

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

First we must live, and living isn't enough. I see the dead lie down, and I walk around them. I walk around. I see. I lie down. I sleep. I wake up each day. I see the dying walking in their sleep, driven to Hell by the sight of what they see. I sit by the fire in this cold place and listen to music sometimes. I think it's living.

Don't know if Savoy Brown will turn out well here.

Light Leaves Ground

Summer is upon us weather-wise, and the days draw me out to stand in the warm and the light and to be as content as I can be in this life. I can hope for better, like standing on the creekside with the elm and maybe some pine boughs above holding robins nesting with baby-blue specked eggs waiting to hatch, rainbow trout rising from deep eddies to snap at flies, a doe across the bank flitting silently through the brush with a bellyful of wild rose blooms, the leafy forest floor shadow-dappled from high morning sun. I can almost hear in the wild-flower scented breeze the soft music of long-lost times.

Softly, As I Leave You

Softly (Softly)
I will leave you softly (I will leave you softly)
For my heart would break (For my heart would break)
If you should wake (If you should wake)
And see me go (And see me go)
So I leave you (So I leave you)
Softly (Softly)
Long before you miss me (Long before you miss me)
Long before your arms (Long before your arms)
Can beg me stay (Can beg me stay)
For one more hour (For one more hour)
For one more day (For one more day)
After all the years (After all the years)
I can't bare the tears (I can't bare the tears)
To fall (To fall)
So softly, (So softly)
So softly (I will leave you there)

I will leave you there

Composed by Antonio De Vita (1932-1998), with original Italian lyrics by Giorgio Calabrese. It was originally an Italian success in 1960 by Mina, at the Sanremo Music Festival, entitled "Piano" ("Softly").

English songwriter Hal Shaper, noticed the song and in November 1961 wrote English lyrics to the melody, calling it "Softly, as I Leave You".
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Softly,_as_I_Leave_You_(song)

Maybe you can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQR5iDsuud8.

The pictures are of the Moyie River. My mom is buried down south of where these come from. That was long ago in the last century. Life keeps on going. I hope it goes on for us. I hope we can meet again next year too; but if not, then I'll wish you the best and leave you softly now.