That Virgoan & Irksome, Oh-So-Wookean, Superior Insight
by Bodwyn Wook
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Dr Davis to-day poses this question, as a thought experiment:
As this is, indeed, an excellent opportunity for an instance & virtuoso exposition of The Teaching, gently I tell you the following, and artlessly enough I hope do I put it, that the answer of course to the question as mooted is:
It is because as a convert to Islam & Student of Sufism, I note that among many others ‘ibn Khaldun (pbuh) many centuries ago pointed out what is in essence an historical principle:
‘Allah’ (the future, in other words), objectively (NB) always (NB) is on the side of the legions of present-day Have-Nots & Once-Did-Somethings.
Therefore, I should only say to the bomb-throwers, and speaking of course as the more developed muslim man it is all our destiny to become:
‘Chirrup, you lads, every dog has its day….’
‘Patience Will Stump Stupid Plotting & ‘Intelligence’ Everytime…every time.
(We present load of Once-Did-Somethings here in the Old Atlantic West of course ‘can’ snap out of it, and so ‘inshAllah we may…after all, there is the possibility always that the horse one day [an it be availed just enough of these!]…WILL sing)
PS: John B, IF it enhances their ‘careers’, well…you bet! We are all as safe as houses between real estate slumps, THEN anyway….
Moving right along, The Englishman points out the curious pattern by which The Managers universally impose employment cuts in (all!) healthcare “systems:”
THIS is our enormous Libertarian problem here in America too, how to abate the pretensions of The Non-productive Gatekeeper Personalities! Their natural realm, or Petri dish, seems to be the large-order human aggregation, be it Big Government or Big Corporations. No one is a greater fan of property rights than I am, but in defense of the constitutional and judicial individual, we probably need a top limit on how large a capital entity is. It is all well and good to own stuff, I’m all for it. But all alike must be returned to the equal possibility in law of maybe being sued for their back teeth!
THAT would give plenty of possibility for some thought and calm down the organized raids from every direction on ordinary people’s incomes nicely!
Dr Davis & Dr Gabb are scintillant in a darkly historical and realistic (sic) way, about the Second World War:
I find that the problem of decline or, perhaps more appropriately in the longer term, the ebb and flow of a country’s fortunes is intriguing. Corelli Barnett points out that intelligent Englishman had already in the 1890s tried to see ahead beyond the Empire, and to perceive what the future might bring. An it were to be decline, how the country should cope. Meanwhile, internally, England’s industrial basis was an older plant than that of the rising Germany or even a rebuilt post-1871 France. This shows up in the comparatively more sulphurous and hence brittle steel used in RMS Titanic. And, it will show up later at Jutland.
But I find the nuanced remarks, here, on the difference in the English and American post-Great War condition intriguing. And certainly at the time of the 1930s global downturn, outside of places such as Jarrow I mean, England perhaps did not suffer as much per capita as did America. I am not sure about this, it is a function of how secure one’s title was; if the farm was paid for you could manage to hang on, certainly here in the Upper Middle-west: this was my maternal family’s experience. In any case — and, please, note this well for it is all of a piece, certainly in this American story — an absence of personal bad habits, volatility, undue alcohol consumption and cigarettes, a sly peasantish staying away from the cinema: all these all were traits that helped my Suedo-Suiza American relations withstand the tumult of material cravings that could threaten a steady slow recovery of a family’s income.
By the same token, if these folk stayed away from town more often than not, they were also isolationists in the World and Lindbergh was their great speaker of common sense. In short order, though, the pent wanderlust and wanting by the younger generation, of new and more things and experiences, would move my rather adventurous mother to move eventually to the Twin Cities (by way of the New York 1939 World’s Fair and an ensuing stint as a teletype operator for Reuters, in a reinforced West End cellar during the Battle of Britain and the bombings).
Hers in microcosm is the history of national decline, only in this case mirrored in families, for she met in London in 1940, lost track of and then, wretchedly, came upon my by-now-EX-Air Force father again, in St Paul in 1946. They were wed in a North Atlantic kind of a coma and both thought their entire relationship was indeed ‘special’. My father was that minority post-war oddity here, an English war-groom, and my mother’s WW II artillery-veteran cousin L on meeting him, in rural Eagle Lake, MN, said “Limey sonofabitch” and “Goddam WARM beer” and “dirty bastards,” and threatened to punch my dad-to-be “on the snout!”
My parents’ marriage most especially was by definition doomed to fail. Paternal intermittent morphinism only exacerbated the impossible host of life-differences and attitudes, and of course his, too, was a family on the way downhill along with ‘Britain’ also, from post-industrial wealth and Kensington respectability. The 1880s, and not the ones a century on, were this particular Smith family’s Great Time, on this Earth at any rate. As for my Swedish-American Grampa, he thought “1927 wasn’t TOO bad, you know.”
In short, the great tragedy for America was to embark upon and then ‘win’ the Second World War, with absdolutely no end in view other than a rehash of the League. And, now, we are up to our ears in the piss in Afghanistan….
(My maternal second cousin ran away to join the National Guard in 1940 because he didn’t want to work at home on the farm any more. He was among the first American soldiers mobilized into the Regular Army in early 1941. He spent the first part of his War on Kodiak Island with the US Army in the Coastal Artillery, and riot-fighting with the US Marines there. L had made Sergeant by now and was busted for this. Then he was sent to Belfast and then Hampshire, for the Invasion. It was now a matter of going AWOL “ALL the God-damn time” and losing his stripes again, “for chasing pussy!” L’s outfit didn’t go across to France until September and “fucked around” until the Ardennes offencive. They were on their way there but it all “crapped out” before he could get in the fight. Later, in the Spring, on the way into Germany they “blew the Hell” out of a church steeple full of German observers. A German woman came out of a cellar flapping her skirts excitedly and crying out in broken English, “Did you see DAT?” and pointing at the burning church. As she had on no knickers, L’s “asshole buddy” Art Haefner snorted sarcastically and said” “Yeah, lady…back home on a COW!” L mainly came to like cigarettes and whiskey in the Army and in the early months after the surrender lost his stripes a third time, this time for stolen chocolate, rations and USO records of Glenn miller and Benny Goodman, and more going AWOL on “bitch hunts!”
(‘Your mother’s family ARE a sturdy people,” my dad used to say to me….
(In the 1950s as our father put paid to the morphinism for good and his prospects as a CPA improved, we travelled back to the old land on several occasions, but by adolescence this no longer entirely was fun for me as I became aware that I was somehow a kind of an object lesson, in some family-quarters at least, of the divers undesirable results of a wrong sort of propinquity. My parents by now were divorced and our mother firmly nixed the idea of my being sent across by our dad “to one of those schools.” She had read Evelyn Waugh in the Blitz and so I never did become, alas, a full-blown Englishman.)
Friday, 4 September
Anna Raccoon points out that in the “UK” schizophrenics are treated with kidskin gloves by Postcontemporary Professional State Liberallists & The Media, whereas everyone else should be locked up IMMEDIATELY “for their own good:”
(In England [the “UK” –ed] being thrown into the booby hatch is called ‘sectioning’, a fancy term for being locked up in a nut ward — ed)
Mr Bodwyn Wook right away got on the stick:
‘A trenchant and informative post, but then you wrote:
‘”…[T]o turn the question round to a Libertarian viewpoint, why don’t we let the elderly demented wander the streets and then demonise them when their dementia leads them to do unusual and criminal acts?”
‘I am only afraid that the casual blow-in on reading this will then surf off, muttering ‘I HEAR these libertines ARE like that!’
‘I of course can do deep irony and so can we all, but ‘we’ aren’t enough to win any elections and do so have to try to persuade a few of The Literalists anyway. This is a serious problem and I am not saying that we should ever write from time-to-time any differently than we are moved to do. But, alas, They Will Take Things Out Of Context, be it with malice or merely stupidly.’
(and, later, after Ms Raccoon had rejoined kindly Mr Wook:)
I’ve a couple of schizophrenic friends, and you are only too right about the peculiar and nasty side-effects of lots of these pills. The doctors’ solution? ‘Side-effects’ pills. When you get done with that lot, you are f-cked and far from home…and CAN’T sh-t either.
‘Doctors, you got to love them, eh?
‘About medicine, I must admit the lads (and, now, some lasses) are good at setting many of the more common fractures and stitching up some pretty dicey lacerations, and they have even managed to get somewhere with severe burns. Like the Catholics and Mohametans with their invisible entities, the resurrection gang also know something about infinitesimals, The Wee Buggies & antibiotics (although not enough to refrain from throwing these around promiscuously in too many cases). They can also, usually, sedate one rather well…if they want to.
‘However, beyond this level of objective progress, most of it laid down by 1950, it is to-day loads of pretension, too many ‘managers’ and the agonising & stupid, prolonged, idiocies of chemotherapy, and CAT-scanning 80-years’ old ladies in order to come up with a diagnosis of…arthritis in their necks.
‘The product in other words is good, however not science fictionally so, and I say that doctors should be mandated in law, if anything, to do business with patients one-by-one, negotiating fees per ability to pay. In their own interests (above all to preclude a resurrection of Buro-Liberallist Socialism!), and to pay off their memorisation-training, they should each be encouraged to serve so many indigents….
‘And this’s about all I’ve got to-day, about THAT….’
Also today, THE Englishman & Last Anglo-Saxon puts up this delightful bit about heart attack prediction and BIG leg-tops, on men AND WOMEN [drool — ERS]:
Back in the Year 0 & When We All Read The Same News Over Here and had (for what that WAS worth!) a “national” discourse [as opposed to the Cyberspace Solipsistics of to-day — Bodwyn Wook], some clever idler in the Reuters or UPI wireservices offices put out a teletype bit that said a “study” had shown that females in miniskirts in the Winters, especially in the interior in places like Chicago where it does get colder than Hell, developed fat legs at the busstops as a protection against the cold. This was believed. As I like big-legged women, therefore I was on the job for a season, trying to give these garments (and monthly Minneapolis bus passes) to some girlfriend or the other. So much was it all believed that I was immediately reproved, not for a pretty unkinky sort of eroticism by today’s “standards” anyway, and which would have been fair enough — but: “For trying to make me get FAT!”
As I am, well, bird-legged at best, alas, forthwith I must abstain from copulation, because plainly it is going to fetch me one of these times!
Meantime, Dr David Davis, of Libertarian Alliance, wonders if The Other (Mr) David Davis (of the sometime-Tory party) in anywise is going to ‘fess up to a sercet yen & longing for libertarian belief & chiliastics:
There is going on just now loads of speculation about the ‘true’ scoundrelliness of Winston Churchill, and in some quarters he has been returned to his position of Public Cad-dom of the mid- to late-1930s.
Now stipulated I am a ‘churchillian’ as an emotional matter, this all does seem to be old (!) business.
Of course History, or rather history-making, hath its fazes & crazes, and I am accordingly a great fan of Baldwin these days, if not so much Neville….
But, a few posts back in Libertarian Alliance, someone wrote (albeit rather apotropaically, in the manner of all ‘down-to-Earth’ unimaginative folk) that it is a matter of ‘taking Life as one finds it’. I expect surely that applies to the various interpretive crazes as much as to the veritable History, itself.
It is true, Churchill did have a big yen to get into the books, which was late-modern man’s solace for no longer having a believable religion — AND we should never have heard of him, of course, if it weren’t for “Hadolph ‘Itler!’
As the fellow said in Hyde Park corner at the August bank holiday, in 1986….
Here is a very canny & no-end helpful review, by somebody or the other, of a book on the topic of the historical fallacies:
(in the evening, Wook’s Farm in the Hammerheard Road, Harebrain Town, Squawbunion County, MN)
For good long time I have pointing out the statistical danger inherent in all “Big Government,” that sooner or later the statistical sociopaths a la Dick “Stoker” Cheney WILL surge to the highest positions of power. Now, Anna Raccoon has uncovered grim confirmation. The English (“British”) Prime Minister Gordon Brown evidently is as addicted to psychiatric medication as a majority of the Minnesota public school teachers!
They are even making him out to be that pariah thing, a so-called “OCD.” And that one really set off Old Bodwyn Wook tonight:
‘Now see here, Broun is not an OCD. I am an OCD and, therefore, a Libertarian. (These two superior conditions indeed so often occur in tandem as to be inseparable.) So really, now, don’t you think you load of ITBT’s (Inability To Be Tidy’s) should just pipe down and seek sectioning along with your pathological analogues, the ITBIAH’s. Inability To Be In A House, the more deteriorated form of ITBT, in fact is plainly what afflicts Broun, who seemingly can indeed do nothing with the House to-day (except, as the above article would imply) to throw empty crisp packets onto the floor.
‘Too much of the jargon of psychiatric diagnosis in this case is conditioned by the fact a majority of psychiatrists, along with everyone else, are simply slobs who in seventeen per cent of cases, surveys show, don’t even use loo paper. (This last, in fact, is why Broun — a man who lives on surveys! — looks crabbed & squinty, and not some fanciful psychiatrical drivel, he has merely a rashy vent & perineum.)
‘Remember, you read it here first: “Us OCD’s” have had enough, and some of us have guns AND all of the empty beer bottles necessary with which to hit you over the head, the ones you have been so obligingly leaving in the front garden now for years!
Friday, 11 September 2009
Dr Davis to-day commemorates the murderous bomb-outrages in in New York, on 11 September, eight years since:
Sometimes, though, I for one find the distinctly longing tone about a Fascist Caliphate On The (Ta-DA!) March a bit too nostalgic, as though we 1946-64s do feel generationally bereft of any real purpose in History, and totally lost now at the fraudulant end of the Baby “Boom,” on the edge of Death & Hell, without even our parents’ oldtime Cold War to fob off on our grandchildren as a legacy — in place of a living Constitution and a lively Economy, I mean:
‘The West [writes one English commentor] is facing being either turned into an Islamic caliphate with all the totalitarian controls that would entail, or being over run by the totalitarian technology required to defeat that.’
That is, pray forgive me for noticing, to overstate the case, well, just a tad.
On the technology side one simply cannot surveil effectively ALL of The Sonsofbitches, not all at once. Of course that is Hell enough, certainly for those randomly caught in the stupidly randomly circulating dragnets
On the other hand, I became muslim in Morocco for cause, and I know my fellow-religionists. On the immature rage-side, affect always trumps “clever” “plotting” (just as among neo-[not!]conservatives), and so, happily for us, the devils can NOT so much as plan a frog-fight without falling out of their trees.
However — and, this might just be the price we shall have to pay in the West for some real guardians of the Eastern Marches against the Han — if it was The Toorks you said you are in a stew about (and not my ratbag Arabo-Berber buddies), I should then have to grant you your case:
“Our” wimmen WILL indeed have to put their duds back on and stuff themselves into their clothes…then!
In the really longterm, though, the real advantage is that once again we will be able to do the struggle for Liberty all over again — and, just maybe, next time around to actually keep it.
Battle of Britain Day, 15 September 1940 – 2009
The following, in Longrider gave me opportunity to throw out this nice bit, in reply to another commentor:
I don’t entirely go that, ChrisM, it’s all very well and good from the viewpoint of our better-developed thinking function, of course, but when the affects kick in and name-calling starts, then you see the common emotional ground on which these desperate “true believers” in every inadequate reality-description stand (and slip on their asses in the spilled blood!) It’s a good show, of course, but I certainly don’t care for these types treating me to any of their basically bullying two-valued so-called “reasoning”:
“If you ain’t part of the solution, you’re part of the problem!”
Balls to that, how’s about “WE’RE the tertium non datur and you two-sided enthusiasts ARE a binful of old panty liners”?
(People absolutely willfully refuse to fully comprehend Aristotle, he was not claiming his model of “reason” to be the be- and the end-all; rather, like, Machiavelli, he was saying, implicitly: Here is the “law” of the excluded middle at work, the miserable intellectual actual condition of Average Man, all loaded down with his unending power-need to get over on “His” Wife by all means, in all of the wretched endless argumentation & bitching.)
Saturday, 18 September 2009
At the start of the month, Aunty wondered rather at the seemingly naive words of the C of E Archbishop of York, who in order to dodge the problems of christian (sic) evangelical skullduggery and, frankly, bullying, backed into something indeed quite like heresy:
There ensued a leisurely discussion, so leisurely, of an ecclesiastic all at sea, that I for one do, do hope that someone remembered to throw out a life-ring! The trouble with trying to defend the defencible in all human phenomena, including conventional religion, is that there is so much that is indefencible, nasty, sneering and downright murderous in the end. We love to leap on one another’s nonsense, oh, we do!
To be truthful, though, I personally find ‘irrational’ is to-day become one of these shibboleths; however unintentionally it is taken, now, not only to imply, but positively to denote, ‘inferiority’.
It would be helpful, please allow me to suggest, that we consent to use non-rational when we mean modes of perception that necessarily stand outside of the linear rehearsals that are a necessity of any communication between physically separate organisms. Of course these all are mis-used by the wicked, or the lazy anyway. We are as it is forced to use signs to try to refer to this circumstance, too, as well as any other aspect of reality. I mean the whole problem of words or speech. There is no need to make of this dreadful hamstringing some sort of a compensatory phantasy of our own, namely of a factitious superiority, for what is really a grievious state of virtually universal moral isolation between physically separate persons.
It is to overcome this molecular crude condition, I think, that is the motive if not the goal itself of all our strivings, in all of the religious efforts of men, not least the new sciences of these past four cartesian centuries now at an end. The great tragedy is how many in every one of the arduous fields of human striving throw up their hands — perhaps it is all just laziness! — and fall back into solipsism, content with a professional or hierarchical credential, content in despair, content to make do with the manipulation of others, all through the lazy abuse of the natural phenomena of symbols. And if ‘they’ be no more than figments, these miserable objects of cozening and beguilement and propaganda, then why ever not?
The Sufi reply would be approximately that these figmentary others silhouetted on the inside of our skulls, and who get on our nerves everyday so badly, nonetheless are also ours to love and care for. Again, the blessed solipsism, ‘they’ are indeed part of us. Not to protect and dandle politically, I mean, nor even particularly publicly, but rather, and first and foremost, in our thoughts and imagination — this the indispensable magical stuff of all wizardry of course — in which we see (NB) them all home safe to speak. Not in some heaven to be either, but rather right here and ‘now’.
22 September 2009
So, does anyone suppose affairs are much better sometimes with our own ACLU?
Friday, 25 September 2009
Aunty notices that A Press Fool in England says the young are delinquent ‘because’ they are illiterate and, seemingly, have inferiority-complexes…therefore? Or, something…:
I am just now reading the memoir of W O Bentley, the racing-car boffin, b 1888.* He went from school at sixteen, not having completed the third form, and left his middleclass London home (except at the week-ends) for a premium apprenticeship in the railway shops in Doncaster, alongside working-class young men whose starting rate was 5 S pw. He went at it for five years before deciding that the top wage prospects on the railway of 250 (quids) pa were not quite the thing. Then, in that very middleclass way, his name was put forward by a friend, the Autocar editor, E M P Boileau, and so Bentley got into, well…Bentleys!
But the important point here is how he, himself, describes a whole education that was conducted by mentors, adult men who mostly loved their craft and were proud to teach their skills. The demands for respect, punctuality and responsibilty were such that this was an education for a completely adult life. Not least, the young men were helping to build real and needed products, the children of their hands. By the time Bentley, now twenty-two, left the railway he could do virtually any job associated with either erecting or operating a steam locomotive as he’d had plenty of time to learn it all, both in the shops and on the foot-plate.
The present system of ‘schooling’ both in England and the States now herds the young in hermetically isolated age-gangs, treats them as social-work clients as much as pupils, and insists on their living for years in a semi-permanent fiction of ‘adolescence’, in which already at all hours out of the class-room they are having their personalities bathed, by a mainly rotten and lunatic ‘pop’ culture. They are kept, in other words, as cash-cows for the elaborate gangs and subsidised relays of ‘helping professionals’ and other thieves who now ooze everywhere in the garden of a formerly-tolerable public life. In short, for many, the ‘semi-permanent fiction of adolescence’ becomes absolute, and they are condemned to whole lives as the drooling moronic stooges of an essentially sociopathic mass-media.
Our dads after WW II are lots to blame, too, as the high rates commanded by unions in those days (I am speaking of the US) meant there was no strong pressure for decent apprentice and journeyman conditions as such, because of the intense upward wage-pressure by senior members. Rather, they insisted on a too-high entry-level ‘dumb labor’ hourly rate for all. Accordingly, this drove the corporate move to more and more automation, and to-day off-shore production. It is a complete and objective pisshouse, and I for one do not know what is to be done.
Presumably when The Chinamen get here, they will at least want some myriads of the less-doughey young blonde females (those not already picked over by upstart young Paki bravos from Bradford, I mean) for their mobs of sex-starved young men, at least those who’ve not resorted to other courses — but, these North Atlantic males in all cases are a drug on the ‘global market’ indeed, and what my Yanks call “a shitaree of jack-off artists!”
The award-winning retired NYC high-school teacher, John Gatto, has written lengthily about the disaster of American schooling, but of course he’s “not liberal!” Or something.
* — Bentley, W O, My Life and My Cars, 1969 (New York)
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30 September 2009]