Because… Trump

Once in a while I wander over to writer John Scalzi’s blog because the man is my opposite. He is a total liberal. I am the opposite. I can guess what he is going to say on nearly any subject. I haven’t seen him comment on it but I bet he is all for the Berkley protests against free speech. He thinks it would be his speech that would prevail as any useful idiot likes to think until the fateful knock on the door.

I also visit his blog because I think the man a jack ass.

And he is so unapologetically ungracious, rude and vulgar, I like to be reminded of the true mind of the liberal from time to time.

But even though I won’t read him, pay him, on principle (and he is the only one to be granted this honor) I never suspected he was as much of a whiney cheeseball as the following post I found on his site proves he is.

And I am the undisputed master of writing procrastination and non-productivity this Earth has ever produced!

So in this piece he says it usually takes him two to four months to finish a novel, but his current one he started in January and still has not finished.

Not because he is always posting to his blog and answering comments and deleting any and all dissenters, which requires at least skimming the dissenters to discover they are dissenters, and thus reading his comments section. Not because he spends gobs of time on the world’s biggest waste of time, Twitter. One assumes, since he is a writer, that he spends some time reading something that is not his blog comments and Twitter feeds, i.e., fiction or even non-fiction books. And we can assume he wastes a lot of time watching Chris Matthews on MSNBC or getting his “accurate” news from the NY Times. Television? Meals? Family? Taking a nice, long shit?

These things add up. I know. As I said no one knows procrastination like I do!

No, Scalzi can’t get a book done this year because… Trump.

Get this:

I’m not trying to be mysterious about what it is about 2017 that is different. The answer is obvious: Trump is president,

Lame. But, totally keeping with the liberal view that Armageddon started on November 8th 2016. And why not blame someone other than yourself? Hillary Clinton has blamed almost everything and everyone but herself for losing to Donald Trump. I sort of understand that, how do you come to terms that you lost to someone orange? Being a liberal does not include the concept of self responsibility. It is always someone else’s fault.

As the master procrastinator I call foul, and bullshit. Man up, snowflake. I worked the entire Obama administration without missing a single minute of work. No calling in sick, nothing. I did my job all the while Obama is busy sewing dissension, letting North Korea arm (although he was merely doing what his predecessors were doing there) killing the American space program, making shitty deals with Iran, passing a health care bill that even Universal Health Coverage Matron Hillary Clinton admits isn’t designed to work, but to be a stepping stage to universal health coverage (which you achieve, btw, by wrecking the current system).

That, and a legion of other things that many, many Americans found to be THE WRONG DIRECTION. Of course, that is because I, and a great many Americans are, in the view of the true leftist, evil, deplorable, inbred, uneducated, plain stupid or a combination thereof. The only characteristic that remains whatever the combination is evil. Demonization of opposition is the key leftist tactic.

I worked the whole way through that. I’d have to fire this lout from his job as he called in yet again saying he couldn’t work because… Trump.

Pussy.

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The Muses

I was watching the Tom Petty Documentary on Netflix the last two nights (it was four hours long). First, it was really good. Second, I didn’t know the man was such a bad ass – when he wrote “I Won’t Back Down,” he knew of what he spoke!

At one point near the end he was reflecting on ideas and where they come from. Like most artists he was rather vague about that. He was explaining how he had the basic guitar part for a song down (I can’t think of the song right now) and he’s playing the part in the interview. And he says he just had that, only that for weeks. He knew it was good and so he just kept playing for weeks on end at night, so much so people were banging on their walls for him to please play something else!

Then weeks later something came to him and the rest just snowballed into place.

Now this is normal, I have heard that said by numerous people. But he also said he never wanted to examine that aspect – about what exactly happens – for fear of scaring it away. His point was that there is a mystery to it, and if you look into it, it will go away.

[Note: I think I may be combining many different interviews during the documentary into one, but they belong together even if he never said them together.]

I used to be of the exact opposite opinion. Back when I was an Objectivist there were these tapes that Ayn Rand had made in the 1950’s called the The Art of Fiction. This was basically an informal gathering of her acolytes as she pontificated on the artistic process. The tapes were made available for sale from the Ayn Rand bookstore and I purchased them. Her view was entirely the opposite of the “mystical” view or even the time-honored “Muses” view.

Her view was that you should know exactly where your inspiration comes from. That you purposefully and explicitly stuff your subconscious to get the results you want.

Rand was an avowed enemy of what we generally mean by inspiration which has at least some part spontaneity. And there was certainly no such thing as just sitting down and jamming something out. No, you had to have something first, you had to have a plan. She deliberately mocked some writer for saying she liked to take a group of characters and toss them in the air and see what they say and what they do.

I grant that such a writer would probably produce some loose, not very interesting stuff unless extremely talented. But there has to be a happy medium there somewhere.

It was the front end that was bad in her advice. You had to have a purpose, a theme, a plot. You had to have your miners cap on and your microscope piercing every single aspect of your project.

The problem with her advice was she made the pre-writing stages mechanical like preparing a dissertation. Art is not essay, although there may be an art to the essay. So mechanical that I rarely reached the stage where her advice was rather good – actually the only way you can actually execute writing itself.

The whole twelve hour course had this good piece of advice:

“To master the art of writing, you have to be conscious of why you are doing things — but do not edit yourself while writing. Just as you cannot change horses in the middle of a stream, so you cannot change premises in the middle of writing. When you write, you have to rely on your subconscious; you cannot doubt yourself and edit every sentence as it comes out. Write as it comes to you — then (next morning, preferably) turn editor and read over what you have written.”

Now this is entirely true. Whatever preparation you have or have not done, whatever research you have done or not done, how clear you are on what you are doing or how confused, when it comes time to clack that keyboard you have to go with what you have or you cannot write.

At some point the crowd and the band are waiting and you have to take the stage or fail the grade.

Knowing the difference between preparation and execution was the only good piece she offered in that. The rest served to stifle the mystery that is the spark itself.

It was not until years later that I noticed (and this was not until after I decided that I didn’t need a fucking pre-thought out theme and plot to start writing) that no one that packed that apartment of hers in the late 50’s ever achieved anything at all in the field of fiction writing. Not a single one. So-called Objectivists releasing fiction didn’t occur until the 80’s and they were too young to have attended those courses. And I read some of those books and they were AWFUL. They were as awful as the 598th hair band of the 80’s!

It was many years before I rejected her teaching on this subject. It was too self-focused. Too process focused. Not enough diving into the river and being driven by it. Too much self. Not enough giving over of self to that which drives. Which, at this point in time, I am happy to say is the Muses. Why not?

I know endless people that have the same approach in regards to others. I call them the eternally lonely. So possessed are they of their own proclivities and likes and dislikes they can never connect with another person. They cannot be taken. Others are always giant intrusions to the buffeted self, the important self.


Presentism: Lightening Brainstorm of Time Theories

[With quick break to look up script for Spaceballs!]

I was reading an interesting theological article about time and eternity. It starts with defining three theories or ontological views of time: Presentism where only the present is real, Growing-block where the past and present are real but the future is not, and Eternalism where the past, present and future are all real.

I have not studies this issue in depth although the seeming impossibility to a solution intrigues me.

I naturally lean towards the third, Eternalism, only because the first two are so overly problematic. However, looked at from a non-theological view, Eternalism seems an impossible concept. Is there any meaningful way to say the future is in any way real? What would that mean? I predict that upon further inquiry finding a meaningful way to say that would make Eternalism the winner of the three – if these three exhaust the possibilities. Note: I didn’t see offered a view that only the present and the future are real.

I have trouble imagining an argument where the past (with its memories, artifacts, etc) could be said not to be real but the future that has not occured yet would be.

So, the reason (on surface reflection) I would tend toward Eternalism is that the first two choices are really the same choice. And that is because of the deficiency of Presentism. It is comically represented (sort-of) in Mel Brooks’ 1987 Star Wars spoof Spaceballs (I love this scene!)

INT. SPACEBALL 1 – SPACE HELMET, SANDURZ, and CORPORAL are watching
the radar.

HELMET (mask down) Have you found them yet?

CORPORAL No, Lord Helmet. They’re still not on the scanners.

HELMET Well, keep looking for them. (drinks coffee through his mask)

SANDURZ Pardon me, sir. I have an idea. Corporal, get me the video
cassette of Spaceballs-the Movie.

CORPORAL Yes, sir.

CORPORAL walks to a wall labeled, “Mr. Rental.” The wall
opens. He looks through the selections.

HELMET Colonel Sandurz, may I speak with you, please?

SANDURZ Yes, sir.

HELMET (lifts up mask) How could there be a cassette of Spaceballs-
the Movie. We’re still in the middle of making it.

SANDURZ That’s true, sir, but there’s been a new breakthrough in
home-video marketing.

HELMET There has?

SANDURZ Yes. Instant cassettes. They’re out in stores before the
movie is finished.

HELMET Naaaaa.

CORPORAL Here it is, sir. Spaceballs.

SANDURZ Good work, Corporal. Punch it up.

CORPORAL starts the tape. It starts on the FBI Warning.

SANDURZ Started much too early. Prepare to fast-forward.

CORPORAL Preparing to fast-forward.

SANDURZ Fast-forward.

CORPORAL Fast-forwarding, sir.

Starts fast-forwarding through the ludicrous speed scene. Helmet is
thrown into the panel at a high-speed.

HELMET Nnnnno. Go past this, past this part. In fact, never play
this again.

SANDURZ Try here. Stop.

The movie stops at the exact same thing that is actually happening
now. HELMET looks at the camera, then he turns back to the monitor.
SANDURZ looks at the camera when HELMET looks back at the monitor,
then he looks back at the monitor. HELMET looks at the camera when
SANDURZ looks back at the monitor. When HELMET turns back, he waves
his hand. He turns back to the camera.

HELMET What the hell am I looking at? When does this happen in the
movie?

SANDURZ Now. You’re looking at now, sir. Everything that happens
now, is happening now.

HELMET What happened to then?

SANDURZ We passed then?

HELMET When?

SANDURZ Just now. We’re at now, now.

HELMET Go back to then.

SANDURZ When?

HELMET Now.

SANDURZ Now?

HELMET Now.

SANDURZ I can’t.

HELMET Why?

SANDURZ We missed it.

HELMET When?

SANDURZ Just now.

HELMET When will then be now?

Presentism is stuck in a paradox of Zeno trying to Continue reading


IT – Postscript

SPOILERS!

I finally finished IT by Stephen King tonight. Took almost a solid month. But at 1477 pages that is about four regular sized novels in a month so… not bad.

First the bad. I could have done without the chapter with the prepubescent gang bang. I think King must have put a giant rail up his nose that night. The kids lost in the underground sewers after thinking they have defeated IT but they have lost their “magic” upon defeating their foe and cannot find their way out of the maze of tunnels. So Beverly, eleven years old, suggests a different sort of magic. And coaxes her six male friends to take turns fucking her one by one. This serves as the reinvigorated magic that leads them out of the sewer system.

I am not joking. Oh sure, he makes it sound “nicer” than my brief description and uses the word ‘love’ and I suppose they all loved each other in their child-like ways.

But dude, these are eleven year-olds! Six boys taking a ride on single eleven year old girl. One of them is actually mature enough to achieve orgasm. And I had to read how sticky and sore Beverly’s thighs were.

That’s fucked up right there. I could have done without that.

The theme is both in the vein of C.S. Lewis and King’s familiar refrain of the importance of friendship and love (which would have stood perfectly fine without the kiddie orgy I talked about above). The Lewis vein is basically the kids defeated IT as children but did not destroy it. They defeated it as children open to magic. However, twenty-seven years later IT has healed or reawakened and by a promise they made they are sworn to come back to their small Maine town of Derry to try and destroy it once and for all. But now they are of middle-age. Can they destroy it now that their childhood magic has left them?

This plays out as best as one can do I suppose. What really worked for the book is the length, so you really got seeped into the town, the history of the town (all tied, in the crazy King way, with the clown Pennywise) and each of the characters. Also the multiple storylines that converged on the climax and the multiple storyline/time shifts so you were following two or three separate storylines paralleled decades apart. I read on Amazon reviewer complaints about this and that it was confusing and messed up the story. Stick to Green Eggs and Ham, kids. That was easy to follow and added tension.

I also liked the way he made the time shifts flow into one another. So, perhaps a chapter ended by one of the characters in 1958 calling, “Eddie!” and the next chapter, starting with Eddie turning around but in 1985. It was not time-travelling merely shuffling between two different points in time. I liked that.

Along with such books of his like Christine and The Tommyknockers King repeats his thematic accent on the importance of friendship and the pain of its loss. Here the touch was bitter sweet because (SPOILER!!) the loss was through amnesia after the defeat of IT. I also like how the amnesia was so woven through both timelines that when the final forgetting and the loss of the friendships started at the end it seems natural, inevitable, and, therefore, sad.

It was a good, long read. You have to be a reader of faith however because the journey is long. I have faith King would pay me off and he did. Even if he turned my stomach with the kid sex thing.


R.I.P. Tom Petty

I know, a little late (see post above).

I can say I was a fan of Tom Petty’s music. I cannot say I was an active fan… until now.

What do I mean when I say I wasn’t an active fan? Well, it didn’t strike me until after he died. I was talking about it with my wife and it occured to me that I had never even bought a Tom Petty album. The man never made a dime off me in record sales. Although he did indirectly throughout the years via radio and television (in the form of MTV in the 80’s).

And that is the point I make here. It never occured to me to buy a Tom Petty album. Tom Petty was everywhere. And, given my age, Tom Petty was always there – from the beginning. He was ubiquitous. When I was growing up, you didn’t go through an hour on your local rock station, and certainly never two, without a Tom Petty song. And this wasn’t a man with a hit album with a few songs we were stuck listening to over and over for decade after decade. This was a man (and the Heartbreakers, of course) that scored over and over and over. And in the 80’s he was on MTV in constant rotation.

His 1993 Greatest Hits album is not only 18 tracks long and contains all actual hits (most “greatest hits” albums are mostly filler) it doesn’t even contain all his hits. Missing is Jammin’ Me, Yer so Bad, Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around (with Stevie Nicks) A Woman in Love and several others.

I went back (because those stations don’t exist anymore even though I still hear some of his songs in the bar still…) and listened again to some of his early songs. I was struck by how good these songs are. A lot of them are about things that people actually care about like a man’s girl as in Here Comes My Girl. Man, if you don’t like that song, we haven’t music to discuss together. Breakdown is another good one. One of my favorites is the song that was an MTV staple You Got Lucky.

And his original band Mudcrutch was pretty good too! That is a name twenty years ahead of its time, sounds like it should have come out of Seattle in 1991.

Anyway, I felt bad about his passing. I feel as if I treated the man like a comfy couch I never really looked at but enjoyed. I’m actively listening now.

Rest in Peace and God bless.


Hugh Hefner

Hugh Hefner died the other day. Sorry to say I cannot “celebrate” the life of this man. Not to speak ill of the dead but his legacy is not one to cause me to celebrate. As a married man (for almost 25 years) dedicated to his wife, what he stood for was anathema. The so-called sexual revolution was a travesty, not a triumph.

On reading some of the commentary from the news I garnered two things. The worst time in history was the 1950’s. And women didn’t dress sexy before Hugh came along. Apparently there are two realities. The actual one and the narrative to keep people from seeing that we haven’t gone up, but have sunk low.

But two things stuck out for me in reading about him. He claimed at one time to have bedded over a thousand women (gross) and this quote:

I never really found my soulmate.

Those two claims tell a very sad story. I wonder if he ever related the two together. The first made the second an impossibility. How do you expect to find a soulmate when the depth of your relations is porking as many women as you could? How do you expect to find a soulmate when you view women as an object for the gratification of your lusts?

We see this sad scenario played out all around us if we look honestly.

Another piece was his decision a few years ago to stop showing nudes in his magazine (since reversed I read). his reasoning was since people now had access to every imaginable (and unimaginable) “sex” act at their fingertips now, showing nudes was simply passé’. Well, he started that ball rolling. The concept of Original Sin (and you do not have to be religious to believe in the basic truth of the concept) would have told you this was the end game which he helped bring about.

Read any testimonial from a former porn addict and they will tell you once you start down that road, unchecked, you will require more and more and harder and harder, the more outlandish. Start with nudes, then a spread beaver shot, then some R-rated simulation, the full, gynecological penetration, then some threesome material, then double penetration, triple, then you can’t get off as a lady is getting ravaged by a gang of twenty men in rape simulation.

Or as Randy said on South Park in their Grape of Wrath parody when the internet ran out and they had to go to California way:

Once you jack off to Japanese girls puking in each other’s mouths you can’t exactly go back to Playboy!


Because Your Colleges are Rotted Through, Brother

Spenser Rapone should not only be immediately kicked out of West Point and investigated, but should be barred from military service. I would also look into legal action.

You see, communism is NOT dead. It is alive and very, very well in our colleges and universities. Feminism, gender identity, micro-agression “theory” these are all forms of Marxism. And then you have the plain old Marxism itself which is coming out from under cover. You have the Marxist history book written Howard Zinn, that, I have read, is the history book in college.

The revolution never ended in the universities. This is where our sickness comes from.

This is where the journalists are trained that work night and day – not to provide you with facts so you can make informed decisions, but to warp whatever the actual news was to fit you into their ends. I took a journalism class once, they start in on this strategy on day one. They view themselves as instruments to shape minds for social agendas (they call it social justice – even poop is simply shit).

This is where whacked out man-hating beasts called radical feminists get their theories and teach their theories – feminists are merely Marxists with Men as the capitalists and women as the oppressed working poor. Just like anyone not white is oppressed by the white man, white man is the capitalist everyone else is the oppressed workers (except for Asians).

Even the mechanics, the multi-logics, theory is in place virtually unchanged from the standard Marxist line – which the repeated use of a single logical fallacy ad hominem. “Mansplaining” is a purely Marxist term. Micro-agreesion is a Marxist term. A straight white male contesting any of his supposed oppressions or aggressions is simply blinded by his innate cis-white male social structure. Simply by existing he commits aggression and oppression.

The only thing that is accepted is for the cis-white male to cut off his junk and grovel before all Marxist demands, kissing every single butthole that puckers before his face. If you need instruction on how to perform this action visit the blog of science fiction author John Scalzi. Although he went to college so he may simply be doing it from indoctrination.

On the question of multi-logics. If it is asked one person has to think and argue from his social structure and another theirs, what makes one of them right and the other wrong?

Dear Brother, you have to ask that question? When the so-called proletariate reach power there is only one answer and it is the same answer they gave when they started from day one. The fist, the bomb, the club, the firing squad, slave camps (eh hem, sorry “work” camps) gulags, starvation, torture.

When reason is shoved off the field altogether this is the only result. Communism’s essential epistemological principle IS the removal of reason from the public square – to be replaced by terror.

So when you see a West Point cadet show open support for communism, you should feel a blood-chilling horripilation go down your spine and over your skin.

Maybe it is an isolated incident. I would bet not, the evidence, looking across all that is going on right now, points to this possibly already being widespread if not systemic.

Your question, brother, should be.

WHAT IS WEST POINT TEACHING OUR CADETS?


The National Anthem

[As a skinny kid growing up who got pushed around by jocks, I am not 100% certain that my opinions below aren’t a little informed by those experiences. However, I am 100% certain my feelings are completely influenced by those experiences!]

First, let’s get the obvious out of the way. If some NFL (or some other sport) player wants to protest the national anthem because of “inequality” or whatever, he is perfectly free to do so. And, being a hired employee, his bosses are entirely free to not keep him in their employ. Just as my boss is free to not keep me in his employ if I continue to mouth off opinions I am not paid to mouth off on his dollar.

And I, or any other fan, am free to cheer on the disgruntled football player or to turn off the television and do something constructive for once.

That is the obvious. And, yes, it is obvious.

But let’s ask a different question.

Why is the national anthem played before sports games in the first place? They don’t play it before a movie. They don’t play it before a concert. They don’t play it before a play.

Think about it. These are a bunch of overgrown boys who are ridiculously, absurdly, overpaid chasing each other on the (artificial or natural) grass, forming a man-pile, slap each other on the ass, and act obnoxious.

Or baseball – spit, hit ball, spit, run in diamond shape, spit, slap asses, spit, drink, spit, abuse women.

Or hockey, crudely figure skate while trying to beat the snot out of each other.

Why was the national anthem ever played before such a ridiculous spectacle? It does not warrant the national anthem. It would make more sense to have the Atlanta Falcons play Georgia on My Mind when the Dallas Cowboys come to town, and Texas My Texas when the Falcons go there. Even then the spectacle doesn’t warrant it.

They are men in tights!

When did we start listening to a bunch of concussion victims some of whom read at the fifth grade level? It is like listening to an actor – in fact, it is the same thing.

“Yeah, you know me I played Sally the demented teenage sister on the show Girls without Tampons, and I want to talk to you about the issue of-”

“Shut up, act.”

“Hey, this is Fritz Hairyballs the really tight-end of San Fransisco Grinders and I have something to say about-”

“Shut up, chase the ball, tackle that other guy in tight pants.”

“Hey kids, it’s Eddie Nutter of Earl Cram and we are taking a political stand for the-”

“Just shut up.”

Not to say that one of these highly unqualified people can’t say a truth merely because of the line of work they are in – that would be a form of ad hominem for me to claim thusly. But they attain no special status merely because millions of people consume their products and we recognize who they are.

As for I. I thought they were insulting the national anthem playing it at sporting events anyway. Take it away from them. And fire them. Fuck ’em.

Then again, they aren’t losing a customer in me anyway.


I am not Alt-Right

I have to admit a lot of these terms have snuck up on me in the last year. Alt-Right is one of those terms. But, over the last couple of months I have been exposed to a number of alt-righters (I’m not capping the name, not worth my time) via discussions.

From what I have been exposed to I can safely say I am not alt-right. They claim an honesty about race relations, race consciousness, etc, etc, etc. Basically it is just a lot obfuscation for plain old racism.

One such lad kept bringing up SAT and IQ tests that show that blacks and hispanics score, on average, lower than whites (the fact that asians score higher than whites was a fact that I had to bring up and when I did I was accused of obfuscation myself – and that the differences were “small” – so what? you still ain’t on top, brother!).

Now these things are a matter of public record, and yes, the bare naked numbers are true.

But, they are merely data. What does the data mean? Now, It took me a lot of drilling to get anything out of anyone (I felt like Hank Reardon in Atlas Shrugged when he is being forced to sell at a complete loss and he keeps asking Dr. Ferris “what are you counting on?”). Now, the insistence on this raw data and repeated refusals to say what you mean by bringing them up in the first place tells me all I need to know.

You want the data to mean that there is a hierarchy of superiority when it comes to intelligence and the ability to perform scholastically. The hierarchy goes: asian, white, hispanic, black. I am sure the alt-righter would add that this merely applies to intelligence as it relates to problem-solving and scholastic achievement. And that the black is still better at basketball and eating lots of watermelon, while the Mexican is good at washing his car and making a lot of babies. No one cares about the asian, they are not making any noise, they are just studying in school.

When I mention the fact that there are many factors that can explain these differences (because I do not buy into the genetic inferiority of any race) I got a flood of accusations of offering Leftist style excuses – which I did not.

For instance. I do not think the tests are “culturally biased” that is a pant load. They are no more culturally biased than is 2 + 2 = 4. Although I have read university professors claim just that about math and reading. Just as the accusation that we live in a white supremacist structure is merely code for we live in a civilization where you are expected to show up to work, on time, and do your job. But even this I have heard denounced as inherently white supremacist structure.

But, if I say that there are many reasons for the differences in these tests, reasons that we can all see, I will get the hysterical “LEFTIST!” accusation. Nor am I saying “It is Whitey’s fault.” It is partly the Leftist Whitey’s fault to be sure, but there are cultural (within asian cultures themselves for instance) reasons as well why asians perform better than whites, just as there are cultural differences why whites perform better than blacks and hispanic – on average.

But the differences are not explained by genetics. But when your ONE ANSWER is race, this has to be your answer.

Another couldn’t keep antisemitic remarks under his belt. And this same person apparently thinks interracial marriages are degenerate (literally) and an abomination (just like homosex!) and a Leftist conspiracy to destroy the family. As usual this “abomination” is lumped in with some good contenders because the Left is not really a family friendly people. If someone wants to argue that contraception is injurious to the family structure, I’m all ears and I have heard the arguments and they are strong. But to say that interracial marriages are degenerate is to be a simple racist pig.

How about two people, a man, and a woman… fell in love? Wow, it is like I discovered the atom! Woo Hoo!

This same person went on to say that it was wisdom that kept the races from intermarrying before (I assume here he means black and white in America – I mean surely he wouldn’t object when American officers brought home Japanese wives, or Korean wives? Asians score higher than whites, so maybe it is an abomination for the asian woman to stoop to a monkey white man?). Sorry, no it wasn’t. Cultural differences? Sure. I bet it was quite hard – ON BOTH SIDES (see the blindness of the racist?) – for the bonding of different American sub-cultures. But hell, a beautiful farm girl in New York from Kansas would be in a foreign culture when she fell for Sonny Luciano from the Bronx.

But anything else is pure, naked racism. It is not a degeneration, nor an abomination, for a white man to fall for a black woman, for them to marry, for them to have sex, for them to bear children. Any more than it was for Gi Joe and Aiko from Tokyo.

For me to even be talking about this, as if it is 1947 or something is ridiculous. But there I am out there hearing this shit.

Granted, I think BLM is exactly the same as alt-right. Racist vs. Racist. Good luck people.

I am not Alt-Right. Nor will I be.

My positions are that that can be found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. In this instance paragraphs 1691 – 1960.

Finally, I find the topic of race to be boring, boring, boring. I don’t go around talking about shirt color differences, and for the same reason I do not go around talking about skin color differences. I don’t care!
But I had to mention it this once because I am conservative, I am a registered Republican, but I am not alt-right.

To finish, here is a very wise man on YouTube. I agree with his sentiments completely. I am sure someone will say that is only because and blah, blah, blah. Don’t care.


Addendum to Prior Post and more IT

Despite my prior post denigrating much of the 20th century literature, I must say that there is much that I did like. This didn’t really occur to me until further into the day after my doses of caffeine started to kick in. But most of what I did like was the second half of the twentieth century, the first half I still regard as pretty sad.

As a lifelong bibliophile who goes through books like Michael Moore goes through buckets of KFC, I simply forget a lot of what I have read. Because even more than the stories themselves, with exceptions, I enjoy reading as an activity.

I dislike intensely the icons of the early and mid twentieth century. Hemingway bores me to tears, as does Steinbeck and Lewis – Sinclair, not C.S. Even Ayn Rand (who I was an ardent fan of for years) is of this strict realism school. Her saving grace from the world of boredom was her attempt to produce the ideal man – indeed The Ideal.

So I did like Rand, and I still think that The Fountainhead was an excellently written book even if full of some heinous ideas (and some good ones). So there is her. And I like Flannery O’Connor. I remember liking Aldous Huxley’s After Many a Summer quite a lot. That book, however, was not full of your run o’ the mill characters, nor was the plot. There was some Australian author who I liked also from the mid 20th century whose name escapes me at the moment. I liked Margret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. I am sure there are others I am failing to drudge up.

But there was little that compared to 19th century literature. Much like painting and art in general, it just wasn’t as good. No one compared to Hugo and Dostoyevsky, nor Dickens or Austen. It is like van Gogh to Caravaggio – I mean, come on.

For the most part. But I am of the opinion that the twentieth century belonged to the genres. That is where the imagination, the speculation, went to live. And I got more reflection out of Frederik Pohl’s The World at the End of Time than in most anything else of the twentieth century literature I read.

That said.

I will sometimes scan reviews of books I am about to read or am in the middle of reading for curiosity at times. And I did that with Stephen King’s IT. Five star reviews I never read, what one loves another can hate. I always go for the one star reviews.

Among the complaints is that it is too long and that King goes into too much detail. It is a 1200 or so page book and at page 133, he is not yet done introducing the cast of characters. Not that there are an overwhelming number of them, nor is the character sketches entirely deep, but King likes to put a lot of concrete detail about one’s youth, family, childhood traumas, and what is in one’s medicine cabinet (not the most telling detail, but it can tell something, no?). It took about twenty pages to get done introducing one character only to have him slit his wrists in the tub upon receiving the phone call. Bye bye.

Now despite this it is Stephen King, people. He is my guilty pleasure read because I like horror and you can slam through one of his books (no matter the size) pretty quickly. After reading some esoteric chapter on ancient Jewish conceptions of the afterlife, or trying to figure out some Lafferty story I just read, King is a relaxation. And he has a way of connecting with a reader that almost never fails. They are usually through common human bonds that only a misanthrope would fail to register. I mean his book Christine (and for that matter, The Tommyknockers) is about friendship not really about some demonically possessed car.

But I cannot believe some people simper that the book is too long and King doesn’t “get to the point.” These kids (and I suppose they must be of the iPhone generation) would never be able to read, for instance, the unabridged Les Miserables. I think, if memory serves, there is even a thirty-some page description on glass manufacturing in it that has no bearing on the story itself. I think there were quite a few asides in there like that that I skipped over after awhile. Or the two and a half page paragraph, or seventeen pages of description (talking of books in general back then) with absolutely no dialogue.

They couldn’t do it. Could they keep reading long enough for Raskolnikov to commit his heinous crime? Or how about all that book that comes after? How boring! Oh shit, How about The Idiot? What the hell is that about when you are on page fifty? Anybody?

Tolstoy’s War and Peace? They would glaze over by page six, “Oh dear God! Will a Transformer please show up or something! I’m so bored right now!”

If Stephen King is too long and plodding for you, put down the book, go watch the movie. Leave the reading to the readers.