Remember back in high school, the slow song came on and you’d take a girl to the dance floor. You hold her around her waist. She wraps her arms around your neck if she likes you. Then you sway with the ballad. What kind of a boy doesn’t pop wood and awkwardly keep it from touching her as his thighs rub against hers, crisp wool trousers against her silky dress.

Do teenagers still do this?

Tu, soltante tu is that kind of a song, the video being from 1982. The couple performing it is in their thirties. The body language isn’t Hallmark-perfect but these things can be complicated. They had a son and three daughters together, one of whom would later disappear under unsavory circumstances.

Here they are much older in 2016 and long-divorced. She’s in her mid-sixties, he’s 73. The old broad gets frisky starting at 1:40!

tu soltanto tu
con tutte le sorprese che mi fai
quel po di timidezza che tu hai
quel modo di vestire un po strano
con le mani sul piano

Then they do a little ad-lib after 3:00.

Everyone has his allotted life force and Albano Carrisi’s holding strong as a performing artist. But the age-cliff hits healthy men fast. In ten years he might be feeble, with a sunken face and vacant eyes. Life is a slow dance.

Open thread.

(The most recent post about the second-greatest pop act of all time is here, along with a rabbit hole of links.)

Translated from the article:

A journalist and lecturer at the University of Wroclaw, Przemysław Witkowski, spent the night in a hospital. He was beaten up yesterday because he loudly criticized [right wing] inscriptions on nearby walls while riding a bicycle with his girlfriend. He suffered a fractured nose, sinus, jaw, and cheekbone.

According to Witkowski, who posted the above photo on his Facebook page and described his experience as translated here:

That’s how thing end when you don’t like fascist slogans on the riverbank. I was beaten up because I made a comment about the homophobic inscriptions. Some guy asked me if I have any objections to those slogans. I told him that I do so I got punched. He threatened to kill me and that he’ll get us all.

His girlfriend, who was not assaulted, said that they saw lots of homophobic graffiti, Celtic crosses, and nationalist icons on walls along the Oder River bank as they rode their bicycles. She said that she hadn’t witnessed the attack because she rode ahead of Witkowski, who stopped because he had a mechanical problem with his bike. She added that the two of them were shocked the next morning when they saw the commentary on social media:

When we got back from the hospital to our apartment, I saw hundreds of comments on the internet in which people wrote that it’s a good thing that he had gotten beaten up, that he’s at fault, that this is all just some kind of a political provocation. I’m afraid that there will be more such attacks.

“Stop the LGBT pedophiles!”

That’s one of the slogans Witkowski reports seeing. Another one, written in English, was “Good night left side.”

Here is what everybody can do in everyday ways to help: add the “P” to the LGBT acronym. The end-game of homosexual liberation has always, from the beginning, been legalized sexual access to small children. In the larger picture, that appetite serves globalists’ ambition of a one-world government that can be viable only after all of humanity is ground down to its lowest aesthetic and moral denominator.

It’s a war between good and evil. There is no neutrality in this war. The Left says “Punch a Nazi,” with “Nazi” being you because you don’t like drag queens frolicking with little kids in a public library. It’s an irreconcilable opposition of two fundamental orientations: the Right is aligned with Truth, the Left with Power. Another way of saying this is that the right serves Christ and the left Satan. This is the irreducible ideological distinction.

That spiritual struggle spills out to public events, which you read about in the news. It also goes on all around you and even inside you. You can easily pick up on it if you’re attuned to these things. Your commonplace ways of submitting to sin such as when, say, you gossiped about a friend though you should have known better.

Absolutely related to the incident described at the top of this post: among the most important things for President Trump to do during his second term is the withdrawal of all US armed forces from Europe, particularly from Eastern Europe. In fact, his greatest accomplishment to date has been his success in styming the uniparty’s efforts at starting a war against Russia, Syria, and Iran. As things seen and unseen go, the President is winning the war against agents of Satan.

The defining event for Generation X was the 1986 amnesty. 1983 and 1989 were different worlds. 1983: “what are mestizos? Never heard of em. Oh, look, there’s that Zebra video Martha Quinn was talking about” 1989: “the HR department has informed us that if you want large items to be thrown out by the cleaning crew you must label them ‘basura,’ not ‘trash’” – Wharf Rat

It definitely was in its results. Did it feel impactful at the time? Not over here on the East Coast, where I’d not even seen a single Mexican until around 1991… and I worked in a restaurant kitchen! Much less a Guatemalan. Immigration was an abstract matter over here at the time.

Generation X didn’t really have those world-changing single-event defining moments in our formative years. The closest to those were:

– Reagan’s reelection victory
– Televangelist scandals
– Challenger explosion
– The O.J. Simpson verdict, but most of us were already well into our twenties then.

– Waco and Ruby Ridge were, for most of us in the United States, faraway events. Clinton’s election victory (again, many of us were young adults by then) was a weird experience regardless of one’s party affiliation. There was something unserious and thus disorienting about having a saxophone-playing, briefs/boxers-discussing U.S. President.

– The end of the Cold War, followed by reunification of Germany, independence of Ukraine and Baltic states, and war in Yugoslavia was the first time we saw lines on the map of the Western world change.

We are a skipped-over, transitional, forgotten generation. Even our teen anthem is titled Don’t You Forget About Me. We had Grunge as our one proprietary thing, plus the privilege of being teenagers in the ’80s.

Other than that, we “don’t exist.” See this great rant by Steph (kid youtuber, almost certainly has an adult collaborator). She goes off on Boomers, goes off on Millennials, no mention of us.

GenX is a messenger, ghost, witness, invisible helper generation. We created the AltRight and we are Generation Zyklon’s spiritual ally.

The video has the grey graphic look like it had been taken down, but it’s perfectly good and playable at the moment.

Related: the five best geopolitical events of my lifetime.

Vox Day quotes a Bloomberg News article this morning, which is to the effect of (White) Millennials’ seeking of less-diverse places to live and work. The article doesn’t word it that way but that’s the message. Vox sums it up:

Apparently “natural beauty and legal marijuana” are the new “good school district”. No matter how much equality they profess to believe, no matter how much diversity they claim to love, whites always prefer to live amongst those who look like them and live like them.

But the diversity never stops coming. And it never will, until it is prevented from doing so.

Educated striver Millennials. People in their late twenties through early forties. Career not yet at its plateau; married and with young children for the purposes of this analysis. (See the so-called “secular horoscope” and its explanatory use with generational cohorts.)

Many are most definitely not liberal. Many, however, are. Overtly Trump-haters from the beginning, the older ones having hated G.W. Bush from the left. They deified Obama while his tissue-thin charisma lasted, voted for Hillary but would have preferred Bernie two years ago.

And they’ll never say this but they organize their entire lives around avoiding Diversity. They’ll wear Diversity as an inoculation amulet where opportunity allows, such as when fawning over one of their friend’s African wife. But in a world in which local demographics make the difference between a nice life and hell, between financial stability or ruin over depreciating real estate… Diversity terrifies them like nothing else. This isn’t some hypothetical Millennial. It’s a description of people I know well.

Here is the thing: is there another historic period during which a mass of people professed to believe in one thing but was motivated by its exact opposite? And to such an extreme pitch of cognitive dissonance that demons flash in their eyes when they hear “Trump” or even more puzzlingly, when they hear “Keep mentally ill men out of girls’ bathrooms.”

Or when someone, not me, says: “You’re out of your mind! Ocasio-Cortez as President would spell disaster for your family!” Response: [Flash of demon in the eyes and writhing snakes push out through her lips. Metaphor]

This isn’t extremely new. Steve Sailer wrote a long time ago about striver-liberals’ coping with the dissonance, including how the Gay Thing is their flight from Negro Fatigue.

Millennials went through a mindfuck, as a generation, that’s difficult to appreciate by those of us who are older. Ecstasy, raves, Ouija boards in their teens. The removal of mudsharking taboos and in-your-face mixing as they hit puberty. Then Columbine. Then 9/11. Few were given a Christian upbringing by their materialistic parents. Then George W. Bush made every traditional virtue toxic by using traditionalist rhetoric toward evil ends. Barack Obama was then going to absolve them of the fake original sin of racism that their schools had filled their heads with, but that was a lie. Obama came not to redeem but to effect submission through terror.

A world of Crazy we can’t comprehend is the mental landscape in the heads of many of those liberal, status-conscious Millennials. Yet they still want to live and face the sun as the quoted article at the top suggests.

An African invader in Augsburg, Germany harasses local women at a cafe and is dealt with by local men. The short video is embedded in the linked article. Augsburg is a city in Bavaria, one of Germany’s oldest cities and one with gorgeous traditional architecture.

Rule of law throughout the modern West tends to discourage the use of fists in solving problems. In the schoolyard, there is some leeway as far as legal consequences go. Among adults, not so much. We hesitate and pull our punches as long as it’s possible.

With the use of physical violence, there are honor codes instinctive in European men. The big one being the use of proportional force. Ordinarily, you don’t have many men beating up a few; if it’s a fight to settle a score, we do it one-on-one. Multiple-on-one is done to subdue a troublemaker, not to hurt him. One also would deal with a fully developed young male aggressor differently than with, say, a handicapped, a very young or old, or a drunken one.

As adults, we’ve learned to be careful even in these “fair fight” scenarios. If you’ve ever been in a serious confrontation, you probably know that it’s prudent to let the other guy make a move or touch you first. Not the ideal arrangement, as it leaves the offender a lot of room to be a pest short of assaulting you first. In fact, it encourages effeminacy because you often end up with two men trash-talking to provoke the other to swing first. But as long as there is perceived fairness in the letter and enforcement of the law, along with the feeling that the justice system works for its rightful beneficiaries (ie the legitimate citizens of a given country, das Volk inside German borders), then you are satisfied that your government provides for public order and is therefore legitimate.

That’s not the case in many parts of the West, including Germany, where their people live under anarcho-tyranny. As such, those governments are illegitimate and people know it. We know the deal: afroasian migrants are pumped in to biologically replace the European nations and so there will be war. In the meantime, it’s salutary to see masculine behavior in Europe; there is a point past which the splashing-up of those cherry-picked images of eurocuck behavior becomes harmful.

See the video. Fundamental rules of proper conduct were violated by the alien, who is shown dragging a nicely dressed, attractive woman from the cafe so by natural law he has forfeit any claim on the protection of civilized restraint and hospitality toward guests (had he in fact been a guest such as a tourist and not an invader). A White man, unclear if he’s her companion, stands up and takes it outside with the African. Three other White men follow them outside, and then more. To the extent that you can see that fight, you can see that the migrant is in the so-called “chimpout mode.” Deescalation is ineffective against him at that point, only decisive force.

People whose governments grant them absolute dominion over their public space (otherwise known as liberty) are free to enforce rules of acceptable behavior in that space. A government that would in any manner and to any degree side with the dark-bodied foreigner in the above case is a government that’s ripe for overthrowing.

During the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s, Iraqi president Saddam Hussein held a meeting with his senior advisers to set the course of action during the stalemate of that protracted war. One of his advisers suggested that Hussein publicly step down as leader of Iraq, just as a ruse of course, with the desired result being Iran standing down their belligerence. Saddam Hussein heard his adviser out. Then he asked the rest of the men in the conference room: “Who else supports this idea?” Nobody raised his hand. Hussein gestured for the adviser to follow him out of the room and once outside, shot him in the head. Then he rejoined the meeting.

What does that have to do with a visit to the American countryside? You’ll see.

We recently went out into the countryside to visit a family farm in the rolling hills where we picked apples last fall. The place is run by robust country boys and beautiful healthy girls. But there was insanely loud, alien music booming from just behind the main store. It was Central American laborers having a party. Are the owners trying to keep the customers away?

We spent a short time on the farm doing what we came there for. But with how hot and humid it was, we wrapped it up quickly. By the time we walked back, the volume of the music had been turned way down.

Aside: there is a short history lesson here. It’s on importing third world agricultural labor: Haiti, antebellum South, French Algeria, Rhodesia, South Africa. The first generation of laborers is grateful to work. The second generation thinks that they should own the land.

That story about Saddam Hussein executing his advisor. Looking ahead to after the West is reconquered by European man, there will once again be hand-rubbing about bringing in cheap foreign labor. In every such instance our descendants will be wise to ask, “Who else supports this idea?” Then put a bullet in everyone who does.

We’re on course toward interesting times, when with the passing of the Baby Boomer generation which, for all of its failings, does provide a measure of competence in public service along with demographic ballast, the institutions of the United States will not be seen as legitimate by anyone. The nationalist American Right will see the US federal government as a hostile occupant. The brown Left will see it as an impediment to violence against Whites and to the confiscation of our property.

(End aside.)

So we drove all that distance just to head back home after fifteen minutes? No way. I said, “Let’s go to Amish country.” The beautiful day was ours and ours only. My idea was enthusiastically received. After a long drive, we were among the Amish.

A recent post about Eighties movies had a bit about the 1985 film Witness and some discussion in the comments about the Amish.

Just a few observation: young Amish men, teenage boys in particular, look like rock stars. Literally, that was my first and lasting impression. Lean, confident, and all had the same scissors-cut hairstyle where their locks of hair abruptly ended without tapering. The young women were slender plain-Janes. With female vanity being frowned upon in that culture, their natural beauty expresses itself in their bright eyes. And there were the occasional stunners. One I did a transaction with was a tall, gorgeous blue-eyed young woman in a white bonnet and modest traditional dress. White bonnets are worn by married women. Single women, which is practically none over the age of 20, wear black bonnets. Amish women don’t wear makeup or jewelry because that’s considered vain.

The glow of nordic human beings who had never gazed into a glowing screen.

A funny thing I noticed behind a business where the Amish park their horse-drawn buggies was a sign in their German-derived dialect: “Denkie fa da gaul sie scheisse uf picka!” I speak enough German to figure out what that means: “Thank you for picking up your horse shit!”

It was a fantastic day out in the country. Soul cleansing. It was time to head back and of the various anecdotes, I’ll end on this one:

Starting my drive home, I crested a hill and saw two young Amish girls on a roadside pulloff area selling home-baked pies. That’s what the sign said. I pulled over just as they came into my view over the hilltop. The older girl wore a black bonnet and she stood further back. The younger girl, still a child and so without head covering, approached my open passenger window with a smile.

“Hi ladies, what kinds of pies do you have?” I asked.

The little girl resolutely explained: “We had the large pies but they are sold out. But we still have the small pies.”

She spoke with an overenounciation of someone whose English is excellent but not her native language. Come to think of it, that’s how I talk. Anyway, I thought her reply adorably missed the meaning of my question.

“What kinds of fruits in the pies, I mean.”

Beaming with pride about her home baking and with a what other kind of pie could it possibly be, she cheerfully said: “We have shoofly pies.”

I had no idea what a shoofly pie is but I said: “I’ll take one.”

What a sunny way of ending our visit to the Amish. The world felt so good and so young. Weeks later, it still does.

We each had a bit of the shoofly pie as I drove home. My wife said, “I can tell the crust is made with fresh cow’s milk.” She was right. The pie crust, solid but powdery as all good pie crusts are, nevertheless had a creamy sort of taste. Yeah, that organic whole milk from the store is not exactly real milk. The modern world is fake and it will continue to get more and more fake until we take back what’s ours.

***

If you liked this travelogue, visit its older companion piece: my account of a daytrip to the big city.