Premiering In Theatres Everywhere…  

THE LAST ROLE

…31 October 2011

With Michael Jackson as…

VINCENT PRICE! 

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights revert to holders

[21 ramadan 1432]

by Old Uncle Crow

19 August 2011
 
[M]y man, as you already know, much data does not Wisdom make.  The answer?  MORE data, you absolutely HAVE to pass this “data mining” thingy bull shit be low…

 http://www.jmp.com/about/events/powerlunch/index.shtml?utm_source=25150_powerlunch&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=powerlunch

…on to the rummies over you in that Kuwait Monkey Ass Tree Hole, there.  YOU will probably get another Attendance Medal.  Or some thing.  Because doubtlessly this SAS scam IS the very last chance on Earth to fish back from The Cyber Edge the whole God-damn pixo-military byte-circus. 
 
I am just fascinated by the historical side of these Special Forces shenanigans, remote control model airplanes with bombs, the whole nine yards. 
 
Jesus Christ, for stuck in a slut, er…rut! 
 
I think I’ve already pointed out that these “hardened teams” are anachronistic and, therefore, just hopeless.  Oh, Hell, they’re no doubt funner than Hell for a certain kind of high energy nonmoral kid who escaped The Women and didn’t get soaked in Ritalin.  Do you think?  But any way these God-damn Special Forces are the last late-modern era strategy.  They’re at least forty years old as concept.  This theory was preceded by MAD and, before that, the Blitzkrieg.  That’s how bad it is.  When some thing (or opinion!) on the irreducibly and inescapably biological human scale of time is forty years old it is done for.  Sure as Hell, operations are MORE techy than ever…and (therefore?) no thing ever gets finished.  Oh, sure, a few of the more sheep greasy “sand niggers” or other Semites get nailed, and eventually all of the strung out personnel on steroids either suicide when the band quits playing.  Or else come back for cops, and fry nutters down town at three in the morning with Tasers, under the Old Mankato [in Minnesota, not Kansas; the site of a reputed historical curse after the 1862 Dakota Indian War -- ed] Hang Town Indian Hanging Buffalo.

This down fall of the American military — like the collapse of the American university in to a political zoo — is an other consequence of the dark curse of credential professionalism, since the Progressive Era of 1910 or so.
 
Old Uncle Crow Bird

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights reserved

[19 August 2011]

by Bodwyn Wook

More than twenty years after the pulling down of the wall in Berlin, and the end of both the Cold War and late modernity then, these today are the anachronistic, the petty and pampered, political faces of a done for American past that still haunts the World.  They are the old Roman blind masks of death and the after the fact crisis now on us, the final crisis, of the old American late modern order.  History like a snail in a garden as always leaves its traces.  Now, in the digital clatter of a load of mortgaged electronic junk out of Asia, the players writhe and gaze vacantly out their eye holes on the eve of yet an other “government shutdown”.  They can not and they will not compose their differences over the spending of “money” that in fact does not exist.  They are soaked and slimed in the infantile political hatreds of a childish and useless generation.  Now, like stylish and twittering, sub adult, factions in a bad expensive suburban highschool, they peer and squint in the night and fog of the public spot light, in side of the in sides of our Tee Vee sets, to vilify each other and each other’s criminal parties.  They do so with every impression of sincerity and give no sign what ever of knowing that the American game of “governance” does not matter any more.  None of this can matter any more.  For the players them selves in fact do not matter.  They are sightless dummies in a bankrupt department store window with out clothes — and so their ticks and megrims can not matter any more.  Not now.  And, from now for ward, never again.  But with no more real sense of the actual time in the World than a cracked and askew sundial leaning under a cloud, or a digital watch with an exhausted battery, they cling on none the less.  Their motives and vague purposes are painfully naked for all to see, and a shame to the whole battered and misused population.  They hang on for dear life to their old disputes long since discredited by the un deliberately misled and yet endlessly, tirelessly, and always stupidly, lied to (and yet still, as yet even so, still un dead!) “American people”.  The root of the stupid dishonesty in it all lies in the way that, and how that just to go on day by day in that manner of all men more or less alive with out any actual religion, they lie to them selves about their service and dedication.  This devout capacity for self deceit makes them deceitful, but they are there for fools (perhaps it is a kind of Sufi teaching plot?) and therefore not actual villains.  Only careerish half wits hot after prominence in order there by to know to them selves that they “really” live.  It is their results that are Evil, and this is no merit of theirs and, so, any thing at all satanic in it is not particularly to their credit.  Their political self service is all vanity, and it is no thing but stale haggling over the dismemberment of a corpse.  It has no thing on Earth any more what so ever to do with us.  For they rave and hiss like vampires in an old literature, drowning in the ocean and who grasp and feud at a waterlogged coffin stuffed with garlic.  They have no more purpose than to keep alive some how the old quarrel.  It is all they know.  For all they know of any way of life beyond their own, it is all there is.  That not stylish out dated party fight — we all can vaguely remember this part it, any way, since they all blindly, and only just to get elected, promised us all “free” money — was about which party would get to drink the public blood of an exhausted budget and gorge on a virtually meaningless “dollar”.  Like vampires in that old literature of a sleepless doomed careerism, and all the frenzied sleepless days and pointless stealthy nights invested and hence lost for ever in emptiness, these are the false faces twisted and tanned that show us yet again the traces of History’s (as well as of God’s) left behind ones.  It is a kind of ambulatory archaeology of un dead things that have the shapes and make the noises of men with warm blood.  It has about it all that semblance of “World” significance so dear globally to worldly none entity.  There is in it all an under current livid and rococco, of the paedophiliac viagresque and the grotesque.  They are political men with no dignity of self control, and with no other “power” at all in the Earth except in sulks and incooperation, and they are a bad dull sort of closing joke on the end of the constitutional age in History.  Mainly they over identify them selves with the passing moodinesses and other hypostases of their distinctly over active and not witting inner womanliness.  It is their profound ignorance of any thing what so ever about their own selves beyond what appears in the mirror and passing store windows through gritty limousine plate glass, and in side of the in sides of our Tee Vee sets, that makes them hysterical.  They are so many Jane Fondas and Ann Coulters in three piece suits with two pairs of pants.  More than any other single thing they are the sad indictment above all of whom ever were so luckless as to have been assigned by the Synarchs of the Institute to try to be their teachers.  They have been brought down, as always, by the convergence of foolish egotism and no knowledge what so ever at all of History. 

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights reserved

[10 April 2011]

[Mr Wook would wish, he says, to apologise in advance for certain discursive experiments, in the following; but, since all persons of perception agree that the worst sin of the "clear" and "direct" & "easily understood" writing in what passes for the English of to-day, together with its ever-reducing vocabulary, is to dump us all in the end in to iconic & abbreviated epithet, the gentleman is sure that no one concerned with the future prospects of all actual elites in the world will mind -- ed]

More than twenty years after the pulling down of the wall in Berlin, and the end of both the Cold War and late-modernity then, these today are the anachronistic, the petty and pampered, political faces of a done-for American past that still haunts the World.  They are the old Roman blind masks of death and the after-the-fact crisis now on us, the final crisis, of the old American late-modern order.  History like a snail in a garden as always leaves its traces.  Now, in the digital clatter of a load of mortgaged electronic junk out of Asia, the players writhe and gaze vacantly out their eye holes on the eve of yet an other “government shutdown”.  They can not and they will not compose their differences over the spending of “money” that in fact does not exist.  They are soaked and slimed in the infantile political hatreds of a childish and useless generation.  Now, like stylish and twittering, subadult, factions in a bad expensive suburban highschool, they peer and squint in the night and fog of the public spot light, in the in sides of our Tee Vee sets, to vilify each other and each other’s criminal parties.  They do so with every impression of sincerity and give no sign what ever of knowing that the American game of “governance” does not matter any more.  None of this can matter any more.  For the players them selves in fact do not matter.  They are sightless dummies in a bankrupt department store window with out clothes — and so their ticks and megrims can not matter any more.  Not now.  And, from now for ward, never again.  But with no more real sense of the actual time in the World than a cracked and askew sundial leaning under a cloud, or a digital watch with an exhausted battery, they cling on none the less.  Their motives and vague purposes are painfully naked for all to see, and a shame to the whole battered and misused population.  They hang on for dear life to their old disputes long since discredited by the un-deliberately misled and yet endlessly, tirelessly, and always stupidly, lied-to (and yet still, as yet even so, still-undead!) “American people”.  The root of the stupid dishonesty in it all lies in the way, and how just to go on day by day in that manner of all men more or less alive with out any actual religion, they lie to them selves about their service and dedication.  This devout capacity for self-deceit makes them deceitful, but they are there for fools (perhaps it is a kind of Sufi teaching plot?) and therefore them selves not actual villains.  Only careerish half wits hot after prominence in order there by to know to them selves that they “really” live.  It is their results that are Evil, and this is no merit of theirs and, so, any thing at all satanic in it is not particularly to their credit.  Their political self-service is all vanity, and is no thing but stale haggling over the dismemberment of a corpse.  It has no thing on Earth any more what so ever to do with us.  For they rave and hiss like vampires in an old literature, drowning in the ocean and who grasp and feud at a waterlogged coffin stuffed with garlic.  They have no more purpose than to keep alive some how the old quarrel.  It is all they know.  For all they know of any way of life beyond their own, it is all there is.  That not stylish out dated party fight — we all can vaguely remember this much about it, any way, since they all blindly, and only just to get elected, promised us all “free” money — was about which party would get to drink the public blood of an exhausted budget and gorge on a virtually meaningless “dollar”.  Like vampires in that old literature of a sleepless doomed careerism, and frenzied empty days and all the pointless stealthy nights invested in it, these are the false faces twisted and tanned that show us yet again the traces of History’s (as well as of God’s) left-behind ones.  It is a kind of ambulatory archaeology of un-dead things that have the shapes and make the noises of men with warm blood.  It has about it all that semblance of  “World” significance so dear globally to worldly none entity.  There is in it all an under current livid and rococco, of the paedophiliac viagresque and the grotesque.  They are political men with no dignity of self-control, and with no other “power” at all in the Earth except in sulks and incooperation, and they are a bad dull sort of closing joke on the end of the constitutional age in History.  Mainly they over-identify them selves with the passing moodinesses and other hypostases of their distinctly over active and not witting  inner womanliness.  It is their profound ignorance of any thing what so ever about their own selves beyond what appears in the mirror and passing store windows through gritty limousine plate glass, and in the in sides of our Tee Vee sets, that makes them hysterical.  They are so many Jane Fondas and Ann Coulters in suits.  More than any other thing they are the sad indictment above all of whom ever were so luckless as to have been assigned by the Institute to try to be their teachers.  They have been brought down, as always, by the convergence of foolish egotism and no knowledge of History. 

That is why (with the connivance of the Wise), by now, it is already a full generation since the American nation-state of 1865-1989 came to its end in the whole World as a central, an effective and, above all, a true historical force.

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights reserved

[8 April 2011]

Here are some pictures, mostly from my nonage in St Paul and Minneapolis.  I rode with our mother in both kinds of the “Kid Cann” streetcars shown, mostly downtown to see “Santy Claus,” at Dayton’s, Power’s, Scheuneman’s department stores.  The streetcars were all done for by 1954, and the press marks through the Winter snow of their steel wheels on to the steel rails beneath (the polished tops before their complete vanishment out of my World just even with the tar or red pavers) struck me at three and five as something extraordinarily mysterious.  It was a track, parallel ones actually in the snow, the spoor (!) of the streetcars, something primevally urban and whiteman-like, as opposed to a family friend’s cabin on Lake Minnetonka, with mosquitoes and bogus “Indian” pots from Sears on the deck and that I did not like.  No trains there!  As far as streetcars went in the city, though, I always hoped instead that a (steam!) locomotive would come dragoning along.  They could’ve, you know, I already knew that from my Pop…same gauge!

One time in the hot weather I was taken as a babe in arms in to the Stockholm Cafe on Washington Av, then on its steepening slide in to a skid row, by my parents who were having supper there with my mother’s cousin Mary Magly Chamberlin and her husband Wally.  Evidently my parents couldn’t get a babysitter.  I have always remembered the white saxophone soloist standing in blue clouds (cigarets and my Pop’s pipe!) among the mostly black jazz men at the far end of the dining room…and, then, I met Stan La Count again nearly twenty years later (forty years ago, now!) while working for the Augsburg College ex-offenders program.  He was just out of Stillwater after sitting a murder beef, so he must have gone in to the can just about around when I saw him first, maybe in 1953 or so; he soloed with the black blues players at the inmate “Sounds Incarcerated” concert at Augsburg in January, 1972, even before he was out on parole. 

His sentence was not something that I, a pampered, middle class collegiate civilian, could just haul off and ask fool questions about outright, of course, and for the rest of it he just plain didn’t remember anything about any little boys and their pretty moms (and, those moms’ inevitable and tiresome husbands) in the Stockholm Cafe…a dull sort of guy, when you get down to that!

The picture of the cafe is from 1956 and so is maybe from as much as four years after I caroused there and hobnobbed with the Northside Jewish mob, at three years old, twenty years before I would renew my vernal dog days acquaintance at twenty-three, with Stan LaCount; it was probably just before my sister Cris was born in August of 1952, or else I just plain don’t remember Mom and Pop having the baby along, too….

That’s about that for that.

*****

[The irreplaceable and wonderful images may be clicked on to enlarge, and they are from the p v glob and John McNab photostreams on flickr.com; they are real treasures and all rights, with my many thanks to say the least, belong to pv glob and John McNab -- ed]

*****

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights reserved

[14 March 2011]

     [There was an exchange of views among friends on-line, on the question of Michael Huckabee, hick GOP Presidential contender & scandal to the Party Mormons; it was a matter of analysing the fascination among many of the American emotional underclass, with the Old Testament, the Jews and Israel.  The most basic aspect was to try to answer the question of what are these folks like?  Following is the definitive analysis in all suscinctitude, by the amerophile E Raymond Farleigh-Smyth, Lord Jutland & Sevastapol -- ed]

*****

“They smoke right inside the CAT scan and MRI machine; the males get up at night to pee a dozen, if not fifteen, times.”

[Lord Jutland & Sevastopal]

*****

My dad went into Belsen in May, 1945, a week or ten days after the British Army got in on the ground.

By the time he visited, the prisoners had had a chance to clean up and were clothed in garments boiled clean in kettles, from the SS warehouses that the army bulldozed open, and a proper medically careful re-feeding was underway. 
     At first, the English soldiers took horror and gave the prisoners all the food they could shovel down; a lot were killed on the spot by this as they couldn’t even digest the sudden normal volume of food, let along the thick army rations. 
     Then, the Salvation Army (!) set up proper kitchens and started in with eggs, oat porridge and weak tea.  Many of the prisoners spoke English, quite unlike the RAF types who didn’t have as much as ten words of French between them.  My dad said that an old man, a Czech, dropped dead on the spot in a clean too-big boiled suit, whilst thanking the aircrew and erks.  The Jews and other prisoners had been put through it by the Hun and, in the end, the ‘solution’ was simply to let them starve behind the wire during the last two months of the war; I have read that even the SS commandant, Kramer, drove cursing around the Hannover countryside, trying to round up even rotten pototoes and swedes for the prisoners.  (This of course may have its origins in Kramer’s own stories, told to pad the record a bit on his own behalf.)
     At any rate, this sort of thing altogether makes entirely understandable the solid determination of Zionists to pull off the continued existence of the state of Israel; but, whether that iron resolve be right is intractably the other question.

The more usual historical ‘solution’ of course should have been to give Germany, and all of the Germans in it that weren’t already knocked in the head by the day-and-night bombing, to the survivors of the Nazis; and, loads of those potatoe-y women of theirs after the Russians were done with them.  If not a ‘final solution to the History problem’, that proceedings should have had at least the merit of being the more inapposite and, hence,  faithful to the General Pattern, however much an eternal dead-end.
     The great and growing human longing, of course, is for an end to the endless horror of our condition which is a physical, a biological and, as such, an insoluble question. 
     Religion in its deepest roots draws on this same longing and puts out its stories which, trumping the sheer deadliness of all ‘facts’, offer images of transcendence not otherwise available to the merely dreary and the drearily ‘realistic’.
     It is this same longing especially among all excluded psychological types all over the World that fuels so much of the revengeful fundamentalisms of religion; here, in the once-United States, in the case of the ‘trailercourt’ caravanserais and the country-western sometimes-foodstampers, this translates into (sometimes-frequently-repeated-to-get-it-just-right!) experiences of being ‘born again’.
     There is also, among the American Scotch-Irish types of all ethnic origins, no end of  ’Jew envy’ and the actually likable Huckabee takes part to the hilt in this.  In all sincerity, be it added; and, as well,  there can be no doubt that jaded GOP senior Mormons — themselves the devout scions of an authentically quack, homegrown, wholly  American and adventitious, ‘gospel of prosperity’ — find themselves looking down on this stuff.  The trick for them in immutable disdain will be to conceal their cool fiduciary scorn long enough to rope in the Subliterate Vote of 2012.

This Tea Party-prone element in the GOP bobbittean calculus of machiavellian horror and murder without end remains a real problem.

They are the jacks of the political pack.
     They are volatile, doused in ‘Lite’ ‘Beer’ and methamphetamine, they listen to an emotionalist music (sic), and drive and shop and, sometimes, bowl for mental relief; all the while plying and plugging themselves up with intellect-blocking hydrogenated oils and corn syrup.  They smoke right inside the CAT scan and MRI machine; the males get up at night to pee a dozen, if not fifteen, times.  Regardless of these grim hopeless facts, they in fact consider themselves to be still the healthy, the unblemished lambs, and above all Good & Moral Heartwood of America. 
     In their own self-image, they are the only ‘true’ Americans.
     But in fact, the dietary damage by corporate industrial foodstuffs to the mentality as well as body is largely irreversible, and it comes on top of a third generation now of irremediably bad ‘education’.
     It is this table of fatally factual  historical deficits that demonstrates why the Under Republicans (so many of them good former Democrats!) are so subject to fads and kicks, and fantasies of a ‘Second American Revolution’.

Theirs above all is the envy of the over-looked child of God, for His chosen offspring; for now they yearn not ‘only’ for ‘justice’ for Israel, but for themselves indeed to be ‘Jews’; this last denouement indeed would be, in this congested theogony certainly, the apotheosis of divine election.

But Israel, as such, presents a tragic historical gesture, and one that to me at least that does not seem much possible of success in the longterm. 
     Of course it could be so. 
     ‘It could’. That is the common faith of blinkered religionist and liberal social experimenter alike.  We could — kismet — somehow, somewhen, somewhere, become better than we are.
     It is the same goal for visionary religion and politcal party all alike, and everywhere.
     So that as well Islam could, just as well, recover its inward balance and calm as the House of Peace on Earth and, albeit belatedly, welcome homebound Israelis without fear anymore, of dark dhimmitude.  Of course it could. 
     ‘It could’.
     Just as could these re-modelled Latter Day Republican ‘conservatives’ become — it would the first time in the history of this  non-Goldwater and ratbag Dry Country GOP! — the actual protagonists of individual liberty and real, diffuse, homely and deeply rooted entrepreneurial democracy.
     ‘They could’.

*****

Mostly, though, the heartbreaking books of History say ‘they’ didn’t — and, in remembrance of my dad’s stories of how tea-time late-modern antisemitism swept the English middleclasses in the 1930s, politely spoken in cool Dorset gardens under August beech and plane trees after the cricket, I see, now, that the American moral and mental low classes of post-modernity, all in a heartbeat in hot caravanserais under the Texas dog days sun, could in rage and disappointment turn on Jews, throw down their Bibles and take to gassing the wandering Mexicans & any passing Helping Professionals. 
     All in a heartbeat.

Especially if, as usual, Armageddon still does not get here.

*****

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights revert to holders

[25 February 2011]

The other day I had occasion to note that “[l]ast year there was a proliferation of ‘Libertarian’ websites obviously pitched by guys in their forties with chronic boners for pierced-pussy, aimed at ‘young people,’ complete with stale 1990s slang, and lots of that fuzzy-feelly old shit about ‘Live & Let Live,’ and averring that society (as well as “nonexistent!”) in any way, shape or form is the enemy of The Teenagers of ALL ages.  There was a lot of that Ayn Rand neurotic refusal-of-life stuff, about the ‘artistic’ and misunderstood individual which, naturally, is completely false to the adult reality, above all, of /communal liberty/.  For good or ill, that is the point and purpose of ‘a well-ordered militia,’ so blinkered & ‘ignerant’ rustics CAN kick the bastards out when they come prying around, with their leaky pipelines and shopping mauls, and corporate ‘organic’ wind generators and ‘farmer-owned’ (like Hell!) ethanol plants.”

An admiring reader was kindly to write in:  “This is pure art!”  It was no-end gratifying, not least because the lonely vigil & work of re-establishing an appropriately convoluted & arcane English prosody is a solitary calling; and, not-infrequently one is assailed for it by halfwitted limpidists & the frankly jealous.

Envy wrote back, in vain to sneer:

Your prose is gratuitously over-creative, with more-than-questionable punctuation. Also, you misspelled oeuvre, beauteous, and sapphire.

Praise rejoined:

There are many parts and pieces The Wook has painted in written words that could be printed on a canvas that would show up any of the high priced art that sells in the gallaries found in NY, San Fran, and LA, to name just a few.

This is to me real art :

“This Tea Party-prone element in the GOP bobbittean calculus of machiavellian horror and murder without end remains a real problem.

“They are the jacks of the political pack.  They are volatile, doused in ‘Lite’ ‘Beer’ and methamphetamine, they listen to an emotionalist music, and drive and shop and, sometimes, bowl for mental relief; all the while plying and plugging themselves up with intellect-blocking hydrogenated oils and corn syrup. They smoke right inside the CAT scan and MRI machine; the males get up at night to pee a dozen, if not fifteen, times. Regardless of these grim hopeless facts, they in fact consider themselves to be still /the/ healthy, the /unblemished/, and above all Good & Moral Heartwood of America. In their own self-image, they are the /only/ ‘true’ Americans.  But in fact, the dietary damage by corporate industrial foodstuffs to the mentality as well as body is largely irreversible, and it comes on top of a third generation now of irremediably bad ‘education.’  It is this hideous table of fatally factual historical deficits that demonstrates why the Under Republicans (so many of them good former Democrats!) are so subject to fads and kicks, and fantasies of a ‘Second American Revolution.’”

And Modesty replied, with soft blushes; and, in honor of the very many kinds of written work now being done in many, many quarters, so often so very secret & concealed:

…[I]t is very, very kind of you to say so.

Mind you, though, I’ve a good friend of many years standing who has composed in the most stark, bare, naked language you can imagine a graphic and horrific picture of our actual situation of to-day.

This he has done most artfully in a series of hideous vignettes or, shall we say and leave it at that, recto-annular & strangulated stomatic medical parables.

It is a psycho-realism of the most harrowing sort, and it lays naked and bare and starkly to be viewed the Lie & Pretensions of Public Liberal “helping” professionalism and its filthy hidden league with The Coproation (NB).

If only I could persuade him to come forward under a suitable nom de guerre, then you should all have something to read!

My confections in spun sugar then would crumble in to little piles on the table of great expectations before the fury of his exposition; but, alas, he is shy and fears — rightly — an he were but known to them, why, The Doctors in a rage at the sheer unclothed exposure of their brutish methods of “helpful treatment” WOULD arrange an iatrogenic episode on his very next visit to them.

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights reserved

[26 February 2011]

An Illustrative Episode About Chronology & The Actual Human Situation
 
*****
 
“Ten years” seems to be short (although not enough to escape getting into a panic!); to a dog or cat, supposing they had, or needed adaptively, the capacity to be abstract about this, it would be “longer”.  [Naml Achmad MaHomat]
 
*****
 
The Sufi got in to trouble (“his ass in a sling’” ie) with The Sultan and was about to be decapitated and boiled in oil and drawn and quartered and, then, drowned in a burlap sack in the dye vats.  The Sultan was a man notably vain of his horsemanship and his stable.  He had a marvellous “high school” horse that also could do tricks, answer question with hoof taps and play up generally.
 
“Oh, King Of The Age!” cried The Sufi, throwing himself headlong in the dust on hearing his death sentence.  “Only give me the mercy of a year more of life, for if you do that, then, oh Master Of The Dawn & Despair Of The NeoCon Kaffirs, I will teach your noble steed to sing like an angel!”

“‘inshAllah!” blared The Sultan, “Only, by God, an a year go by with no accordions, I shall deal with you harshly indeed, on That Day!”
 
“By God!” declared The Sufi who then was popped into a dungeon and manacled to the wall halfway up to the ceiling.
 
“Fool!” cackled one of the former sultans, himself now similarly laid by the heels and constrained.  “You have only delayed the hour of your death and multiplied its pangs thereby a thousandfold!”
 
“Hsssht!” answered The Sufi, silencing his tormentor with The Voice Of Command.  “Here’s the plan…!”
 
“Fool!  Fool!” crowed the cachetic ex-sultan, “You have no plan!”
 
“Ah, yes,” answered The Sufi, “But this situation is just like the one with The Halfwit & Global Warming…a year IS a long time.  Quien sabe?  The horse MIGHT sing!  What is important is only this, namely that we NOW have time!”
 
Whereat in the course of the year, the “wicked” — or at least self-referential — sultan died of an apoplexy of  hasheesh and green pears in a rage at watching some Israelis by satellite in his plasma Tee Vee, there was an amnesty and The Sufi unassed that place, hit the grit & cut out for Iowa City!
 
*****
 
la Howla wa la quwatta illa bill’abru…as They say….

 
*****

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights revert to holders

[20 Rabi al-Awaal 1432 AH//23 February 2011]

*****

“They are not alone.

“They are only the latest in that infinite parade of would-be Big Men in the World who have been stepping along now for the thousands of years, men now mostly and utterly forgotten in spite of it all, their crimes of brief “success” all lost in the universal forgetting with them.

“And, so, as they step along lively and pink and fit as little pigs, or roll in their wheelchairs brandishing with curses at their ‘illegal’ lowpaid attendants their air bottles, as they pile over the brink and in to the Pit of Hell…one and all…they are NOT alone.”  (Bodwyn Wook)

*****

Libya shows it’s an objective judgement:  Dick Cheney & Karl “Binky” Rove are a pair of historical failures, not to mention a couple of particularly unattractive and sly, but bungling and impatient, “children of this world.” 

Why so?

Because in terms of their own “I’m A Real Historically Important Guy!” game they have failed — 101 per cent.

And, now — we must remember the matter above all of timing in all successful policy — in the matter of any American victorious beau geste at all in Libya, we are fresh out of gas, completely exhausted beforetime and – now that the Huntingtonion hour is — wholly not-ready to liberate a people who plainly have taken the first steps on their own behalf.  So much for the fantasy of  ”culture clash” as a basis for propagating anything in policy, except…some more of the horror of History. 

How so?

Well, let’s just forget about morality.  The morality of intervening in Libya even on behalf of the rebels, who in this case might actually be ready to welcome non-Mahometan forces, is just moot.  A libertarian principle of course is that if it’s wrong for an individual man or woman to do in the first place, then it’s wrong for a state — any state — to do in any place, or case; however, now that LPUSA has so obviously and painfully been bought by off the Grubby Old Party, that one is just plain not on.  And, as to any other excitingly adventurous and “real important” non-moral stab in to the night and fog of the Future, on the point of any decisive action at all in Libya we now are flat on our post-NeoCon ass.

So, what’s left?

Well, there is this NeoCon “Game of Machiavelli,” a game which arguably has its own morality, or rules anyway.  Both Cheney with his complex organ psychological inferiority, and “Binky,” who so wretchedly looks exactly like a Secret Catholic Priest type, rolled in the shit of career ambition in front of the Straussian piss altar to Machiavelli mis-studies all their lives long:

http://www.press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/T/bo5960662.html

And, now, their whole-souled and, above all immensely vain and stupid, devotion above all to the “Noble Lie” and historical derring-do has failed.  Machiavelli, of course, as a protagonist of political realism at heart teaches that Thou Shalt Not Fail.  Or, anyway, that is what Cheney and “Binky” and the NeoCons gypsters all got out it — and, any way, they as a class and claque are all now flat on their ass.  In their treehouse boys’ “Bad Club” venture in to the darkness they have furthermore dragged us with them.

Again, how so?

Well, the desperate hunger of the historical “I” and “me” to get in to the books at all costs drove the rushed & jumpy, nervous, drive to wade in to Iraq, in 2003.  The vain and above all stupid egotism of these schmucks and buccaneers of History drove them to every sort of lie.  “Binky” flamed Valerie Plame and burned her CIA kiester in the public papers and on Tee Vee, all to put over the “sexed up” dossier and fable of Saddam Hussein’s stash of WMDs.  [This is actually arguably a crime, arguably it is treasonous, and it remains one for which of course no one will be punished -- ed]

Meantime, the administration of the Republican party now in power, 2001-9, and in the cold hands of clammy fools, sent the Army haring off ahead of itself in the Fall of 2002, in to the Afghan lands where the Russian Army itself would fear to tread even now, today.  This is while, doubtlessly hidden in the same Harding closet so artlessly employed eight years before by la Clinton, Cheney now acting out manhood and self-importancy as Vice-President, with cowboy toes peeping beneath his suit pants, scribbled notes on these African “yellow cake” uranium fairytales. 

Also painfully obviously ridden hard in to a lather by his overactive Inner Woman, and so possessed by the same touchy shrew moodiness that led him to say “f-ck you!” to the Democrat Senate boss cocky once  * , Cheney also growled ominously about his shweeya S&M longing for the “dark side.”  He positively vowed then on Tee Vee to take us all there.  And then, right on schedule, the rest of the hightech IT-ridden Army of “volunteers” and littletown down-and-outers, and a fair number of “illegal” Mexicans fighting for the right to vote thrown in, went bounding off in to Iraq — to what would only be, is absolutely of course, and so forever only can be, an historical defeat.  This is the art & apotheosis of the “Noble Lie” of course gone highly and badly, wholly, amuck; it is an absolute load of renegade Dervish apprentices planting IUDs in the pavement while the Sufi Master looks on aghast.  I must suppose, myself, that afterward the Ship of State got ran smack dab aground by these same Dervishes, on to the Culture Clash Reefs…and, “God damn the IUDs, Mr Obama!” as General MacChrystal, another kid and himself a kind of botched Dervish Seeker, used to (!) say.

If you care to read Machiavelli for yourself, and you by all means should, then you will find many a caution in the pp of The Prince, above all against the disaster of self-deception; there are also important caveats about timeliness.

A close reading will reveal that timing is the heart of the matter in the employment, the deployment, of all policy.  This is because it is, often as not, a matter of biding action for years; and, so, a prince or magnate, or for that matter party hack, of any salience always will have an eye out for the opinion of heirs and assigns.  This is above all in the interest of the ruler, himself, who if at all mature [above all as a man of reading and reflection, NB -- ed] comes to realize that his immortality, its form, can come only from remembered events.

For quite apart from the matter of any God, immortality in the World is lodged in the remembrance of the ruler, in History.  Machiavelli, after all, was a man of the Renaisscence and he well knew the Greek dictum that a man is immortal as long as his name is remembered.  Unfortunately, the late-modern students, Leo Strauss himself, Richard Perle and all that ilk, these were men who were not at least as well-taught in Spengler as so badly in Machiavelli; and, still less in the matter of historical Time.  Not to mention the even thornier problem of timing.

This spottiness, uneven grasp and beady “vision,” all of it is, among many other things, a gloomy example of the low state of the late-modern western state-subsidized professorate — that is a theme ably rehearsed by the far better actually conservative historian-emeritus, John Lukacs, and only goes to show that not all historian-manques are “liberals.”

The greatest lie, of course, continues (NB) to be that other cultures do not also have futures.

In the name of this stuff — it was, on re-reading Huntington this winter, I now think mainly an oversight because of that whiggish “globalist” optimism  — the Republican party in power in the US in 2001-9 took on a thousand million Mohematens of hugely wide and varying perspectives, a whole civilization actually closer still in Time to its originating cultural impulse  ** .  They undertook this moreover in the name of a stylish new form of War, one “asymmetrical” as well as “islamofascistic,” and one halfbaked, still being adumbrated by the military and law scholar Philip Bobbitt as of 2008.  This gun was jumped, mainly, because of vanity over an historical theory, one ultimately about “stopping” History at the level of the Chinese-stocked Middle Western shopping maul.  There was also outraged professional resentment of the 2001 terrorists who had given the slip to at least fourteen careerist “intelligence” agencies and US Civil Service Baby Boom unearned-income havens; and, too, at least a little bit of the romance about Israel among American supporters of Zionism.  This altogether made a  fine froth.

Self-deception has also brought us to the point where — now that History finally has made a clear inkle in Libya to the non-Mahomaten western protogogues of “democracy” such as we see in Russia — we “now” have nothing to bring to the aid of the Libyan revolution.  This is odious.  It is, still worse, historical failure.  On the petty level of men — read Machiavelli — and the lasting baleful effect on events of deranged personality, Libya shows it’s an objective judgement:

For if Dick Cheney & Karl “Binky” Rove indeed are a pair Of God-damned failures, not to mention a couple of particularly unattractive, nasty and swinish, “children of this world,” then still worse, plainly, is the condition, and still lower their un-worth to the World, of those men who were their teachers.  It was this professorate after all who turned these dunces loose.  And still there is, even in all of this of course, that shred of comfort if not of hope which must be THE solace of the failed player:

They are not alone.

They are only the latest in that infinite parade of would-be Big Men in the World who have been stepping along brightly now for the thousands of years, men now mostly and utterly forgotten in spite of it all, their crimes of brief “success” all lost in the universal forgetting with them.

And, so, as they step along lively and pink and fit as little pigs, or roll in their wheelchairs brandishing with curses at their “illegal” lowpaid attendants their air bottles, as they pile over the brink and in to the Pit of Hell…one and all…they are NOT alone.

*****

* — The anima, or inner femininity and suffocated womanliness, of the studiedly grim and “realist” male then-Vice President Cheney is a female psychic figure that, of course, is at once completely unconscious to the subject and so, in this case, clearly appears in episodes of the “Calamity Jane”-type — Dr Wayness Clamm-Clattuc, Jungian Analyst

** — Readers of Spengler will understand the reference.

*****

[Bodwyn Wook

[all rights reserved

[9 March 2011]

*****

‘[1848] was the beginning of the end of High Modernity in the North Atlantic.  Even revolution every fifteen years could not provide social room and opportunity any longer for the swelling demographic of middleclass expectancies….’  (Bodwyn Wook)

*****

[Mr Wook composed this true gem of historical meditation this morning, and after receipt of the following note from an American colleague:

["I suppose you too have been ruminating about the 1848 Revolution.

["It began in Naples, nobody noticed...then in Switzerland with no (outside) reaction.  But in March 1848 it reopened in Paris.  An instant hit!  Everyone wanted to join in.  It got so widespread that the Bavarian Royal Mistress, Lola Montez had to flee to Sacramento.  Where will it strike next?   My ol' retired Foreign Service  buddy thinks only Arab places.  But I could imagine Belarus or Ukraine, Moldova , Wisconsin, or South America."

[Of course the close reader of the following will note that not much is made, by Professor Wook at least, of that man on horseback, Louis Napoleon -- after all, who ever could?  Emmett Smith -- ed ]

*****

Perhaps lots more relevant to our immediate past, of course, is that the Supermarine Spitfire protoype K 5054 was first flown yesterday, in 1936, and that Hitler sent The Wienerwursts & Gestapofied (Cute No Longer!) Wiener Dogs back into the Rhineland to-morrow, again in 1936; the aircraft would play its decided part in the German loss of The Last European War, 1939-41 (John Lukacs, qv) which arguably began with this first Nazi specifically military display, on the eve of the civil proxy-war in Spain.
 

However, since as both The Baron and, I think, the Mad Poet Navarth will concur, ‘…everything since Waterloo is current events’, let us peek in at 1848.

*****

The chief difference is that the protogogues then were labour in growing conflict with an ascendant middle class at the close of High Modernity.  They had two revolutions under their belts, both of which they had seen co-opted by the bourgeoisie to whom more and more also found admission, in 1789 and 1830; now, as in Wisconsin, it is very much an affair of the remaining copy- &  freeholders and entrepreneurial small business people all being shoved with the gangs & relays of public-employees, all down into wadded & stuffed amorphousness, in to the laundry bag of History.
 
The nominally ‘conservative’ political class for its own electoral purposes files an emotionalist appeal to Fear; it is falsely to a no-longer living distinction, as between ‘private sector’ business people & publicly-supported workers, and so there is a churned  amount of resentment by ‘the taxpayers’ fuelled further by the bad teaching of History in the public schools.
 
Here, on the downslope of Time, the American & Old Atlantic western mass in economic and political decline find themselves jammed in to that same down-going of the West with a failing ‘helping professional’ class, and their numerous clientles.  These last for good long time have been dealing not in wealth-creation, but rather in subsidized abstractions perhaps, by now, at a fourth or fifth remove from primary molecular, or physical, reality. 
 
In this respect, really, there is to-day no party-difference of merit as between these Public Liberals & Democrats, and the GOPs; this is simply because money itself is an affair of abstraction and no longer actual metal; it is pixels and who fires them off with the most credibility into the burgeoning electronic realms of fantasy !  Should the supply of these glittersome infinitesimals in any wise fail, why, then you shall find the Postmodern Executive, an ‘order’ no longer but (superficially) merely another clientle, infallibly filing for its bonus-subsidy.
 
For this is where we are to-day, well-beyond the end of the Late Modern, twenty-two years after the pulling down of the wall in Berlin; the real collison in the Earth now is not between two public forms, parliamentary and communist Democracy. 
 
It is rather between two mechanisms for wealth-creation, one public (‘government’) and the other non-territorial & abstractly incorporated.  The exact struggle is for who gets to click on the mouse.  The last time around, at the end of Rome, and without even a workable decimal system of accounting, the state seized the wealth of the gens, the people.  Now, this time, the only question is whether or not the private sector if it assimilates the state will — can it do, successfully? — do any better at the main task of men in History:
 
That work, I now see, is to craft those stable ages and eras and civilisations and aeons that, altogether, allow the consolidation and transmittal forward in Time the reports of the Past, about all of the experienced conditions of Existence.

*****

To revert to 1848;
 
It was the beginning of the end of High Modernity in the North Atlantic. 
 
Even revolution every fifteen years could not provide social room and opportunity any longer for the swelling demographic of middleclass expectancies; a direct consequence of the final defeat of the Men of 1848, in Berlin, was the final re-impositon of an aristocratic cap on parliamentary development in Europe.  A corollary is that military subsidy of industry by rival and quarrelsome aristocratic familes gave enormous wealth to a new but still sub-honorable class of Industrial Proprietor.  It was the sons of these men still-looked-down-on, and their sons in the General staff in particular, all wedded to landed Prussian von-daughters, who would tell the Kaiser to go to Hell & Holland.
 
There came as well, especially of all of the extra Germans, an immense flood out over the Earth of emigres from the German states & principalities; many would come here to fight & die in the 1861-5 American Civil War.  As a rule these Germans, ‘ours’, were great lovers of Liberty in the abstract and, hence, dead-against slavery; and, so, many paid a terribly hard price — in fact — in battle for the Union.  Together then with their stay-at-home cousins victorious in France in 1870-1, the Germans perhaps more than any other nationality in the Old Atlantic West would play the deciding part in the end of High Modernity — and, the establishment of the nation-state of the Late Modern that endured from 1865-71 until 1989. 

*****

(Here we find room for a deterministic speculation. 
 
(All History is contingent; but, the gritty substance of men’s grainy decisions, their particularity, seems to me at least, and on at least many levels, very much a meld of the given — and what is given.  I mean to say that surely it is fair to state that Nature conveys the gifts which men then, themselves swimming &  floundering & pissing in that selfsame Nature, like fish or stones or ‘illegal’ Mexicans, must ‘decide’.  There is about it all the inescapable air of an emerging possibility of some self-awareness in Nature, Itself.  But be that as it may, the problem of Nature ‘versus’ Nurture, Culture, Civilisation, is objectively fraught, this all can agree. 
 
(In any case, though, men must decide History with such awareness as they do happen to have; and, I frankly, objectively, perceive that so many Germans of the optimistic, confident and outgoing sort, so many of them intuitive in the most kindly & affectionate sense, so many of these and not the grandparents of the allegemine-SS left out of the states & principalities that it badly indeed could have affected the very genetic basis of the stay-at-home & yet-everywhere-invasive, tumorous and too-numerous 20th century German personality.  The problem is that, as yet, we simply do not know; it is a topic for now only accessible to that great small handful of the actual history-makers among Historians, the sublimely gifted intuitive workers in the field.  For surely it must be clear that the Nazis, for all of their inspired dionysian & demoniac, devilish & hellish, firey & antinomian, frenzies nonetheless had to rely on the prevailing abundant characteristics of an obedient, dull & stupid, beerish, torpor among their slug-like, shave-polled & chronically irritable, cabbage-troll underlings.
 
(It is only polite, of course it is, to note that in this I could be, perhaps, in error; or, at least, that I distinctly am not hewing to a currently-fashionable basis for interpretive deconstruction of late-modern Heinie motives & purposes.  There are naturally inhering, again distinct, advantages to scholarly independence & non-affiliation with political institutions.  Needless to say, I am the descendant myself on our mother’s side of a veritable load of these insightful ones of the Great Krautish Diaspora of one hundred-and-fifty years’ since!  But, the historical record suggests very strongly that in WW II, even more than in 1914-18, even  more german Germans in Germany than in 1914-18 were ‘Huns’.
 
(And, glad & droolishly proud of it!)

*****

[Bodwyn Wook
 
[all rights reserved
 
[6 March 2011]