Last year I would feel stupid posting this here. In fact in 2008, I felt so stupid that I hid it and occluded it, when I tried to give warning.
But 2020 has stripped us of so many protections and so many protections in our constitution — I keep imagining Heinlein’s reaction if I went back in time and told him in 2020 almost all churches in America would be closed and the faithful threatened with fines and jail for worshiping — that I keep thinking of F. Paul Wilson’s phrase in Repairman Jack “The Spear has no branches.” In his books it meant that the hero was being stripped of all meaningful attachments so he’d be the perfect weapon.
2020 feels like all of us are being dropped head first down a howling wind tunnel that is abrading essential parts of us and our society away…. probably with the intent of making us into serfs.
So — this is the part I’d feel stupid posting — I was sitting here, discussing what comes next with friends, what next great gambit the left will try and someone said that if Trump wins there will be immediate violence.
I’ll be honest. There will be immediate violence anyway.
I expected it when Obama won, which is why I posted the excerpt below. But when Obama first won, in 2008 they were still serenely confident he was a “sort of god” and we’d all fall in line “naturally”. (Thanks perhaps to the man’s own astounding hubris.) if you remember the early flutter of reports and news, they fully expected he’d be so great we’d be happy to have him, as some twits kept insisting “as your king.”
…. But that was then. Now they’ve been balked of their “natural” victory four years ago, and d*mn it, the peasants have refused to fall into line. And they’ve been practicing by throwing fits and burning stuff. (And btw, most of the rioters are pasty white, straight up communist operatives.)
And if they manage to cheat their way in they’re going to view it as a hard-won victory, and think they need to punish and destroy us.
The beatings won’t stop. Worse, because nothing will turn out the way they expect, the longer it goes on, the more they’ll get violent.
Take for instance de Blasio’s bizarre assumption that New York will be repopulated with waves of immigrants once they throw the borders open.
These people are straight up doing hits of the good stuff. Boggarting the somma.
They don’t get action and consequence and live in world of symbols that remain constant, no matter what actually happens in the world.
Look, even now — right now — Latin illegals have left Colorado in droves. I don’t know if it’s the same everywhere, but Colorado, or at least the parts I go into, has gotten MARKEDLY whiter. Makes perfect sense. First, because our press did such a good job of portraying the virus as being worse HERE (it wasn’t but never mind.) Second because… well… Most Latins consider themselves white. (Yes, they also consider themselves Latin, but it’s a culture, not a race. The idiot news anchor talking about how much she loved not seeing white people and talking about her melinated heart (what the hell is that, really?) read completely white to me.) When they see people on the streets, abusing white people, and talkigna bout how white people need to die, they’re not going to side with AOC’s idiotic declaration that Latins are black (for one the culture of at least the new immigrants is far more racist than white culture in the US has been for 50 years.) They’re going to interpret it as their getting caught in the middle, or being in danger, and they’re going to scarper.
Let’s be serious, okay: Why do you think that Colorado is giving free tuition for training in construction trades? And I will be honest, I haven’t heard Spanish in a store in weeks.
Maybe that’s just coincidence.
However, something I CAN guarantee to Mr. De Blasio: Venezuela was once a destination point for Portuguese immigrants, many of them illegal. Somehow I don’t think this is happening anymore.
In the future these reckless morons aim to build, NO ONE will want to come to NYC for the same reason no one swims from the US TO Cuba.
But the morons, of course, refuse to understand that and that their policies will create only poverty and death. I mean, one would assume they KNOW they want to be lordlings over peasants, but somehow, they really think they’ll create paradise on Earth. (Remember Occasional Cortex wants to get “native Americans” to come out and teach us the arcane arts of caring for the Earth. … Like running casinos? I mean SERIOUSLY these fools see everything as an idiot cliche/symbol with no real world referent. And the cliches never change. Call it a 4 year old comic-book-reader understanding of the world.)
So, if they fraud their way to victory, the beatings will never stop. The more the world refuses to follow their script, the more it will be your fault. Yes, yours, you hoarder and wrecker.
But make no mistake, it will start the day of their “victory” in a massive spasm of combined celebration and trying to get rid of anyone they consider “dangerous.” Which will include a lot of people here, including yours truly.
Be aware of it. Be prepared. And do not go quietly into that good night.
If you can find the short story, read it. It’s a good story, but it will also perhaps give you a little feeling for what I fear.
Below is the excerpt of the beginning:
Years ago on this blog I talked about Technique of The Coup D’Etat by Giovanni Guareschi and I typed the beginning in here. I shall copy that. (Assume typos are mine.)
At ten o’clock on Tuesday evening, the village square was swept with wind and rain, but a crowd had been gathered there for three or four hours to listen to the election news coming out of a radio loudspeaker. Suddenly the lights went out and everything was plunged into darkness. Someone went to the control box but came back saying there was nothing to be done. The trouble must be up the line or at the power plant, miles away. People hung around for half an hour or so, and then, as the rain began to come down even harder than before, they scattered to their homes, leaving the village silent and deserted. Peppone shut himself up in the People’s Palace, along with Lungo, Brusco, Straziami, and Gigio, the same leader of the “Red Wing” squad from Molinetto. They sat around uneasily by the light of a candle stump and cursed the power and light monopoly as an enemy of the people, until Smilzo burst in. He had gone to Rocca Verde on his motorcycle to see if anyone had news and now his eyes were popping out of his head and he was waving a sheet of paper.
“The Front has won!” he panted. “Fifty-two seats out of a hundred in the senate and fifty-one in the chamber. The other side is done for. We must get hold of our people and have a celebration. If there’s no light, we can set fire to a couple of haystacks nearby.
“Hurrah!” shouted Peppone. But Gigio grabbed hold of Smilzo’s jacket.
“Keep quiet and stay where you are!” he said grimly. It’s too early for anyone to be told. Let’s take care of our little list.”
“List? What list?” asked Peppone in astonishment.
“The list of reactionaries who are to be executed first thing. Let’s see now…”
Peppone stammered that he had made no such list, but the other only laughed.
“That doesn’t matter. I’ve a very complete one here all ready. Let’s look at it together, and once we’ve decided we can get to work.”
Gigio pulled a sheet of paper with some twenty names on it out of his pocket and laid it on the table.
“Looks to me as if al the reactionary pigs were here,” he said. “I put down the worst of them, and we can attend to the rest later.”
Peppone scanned the names and scratched his head.
“Well, what do you say?” Gigio asked him.
“Generally speaking, we agree,” said Peppone. “But what’s the hurry? We have plenty of time to do things in the proper style.”
Gigio brought his fist down on the table.
“We haven’t a minute to lose, that’s what I say,” he shouted harshly. “This is the time to put our hands on them, before they suspect us. If we wait until tomorrow, they may get wind of something and disappear.”
At this point Brusco came into the discussion.
“You must be crazy,” he said. “You can’t start out to kill people before you think it over.”
“I’m not crazy and you’re a very poor Communist, that’s what you are! These are all reactionary pigs; no one can dispute that, and if you don’t take advantage of this golden opportunity then you’re a traitor to the party!”
Brusco shook his head.
“Don’t you believe it! It’s jackasses that are traitors to the Party! And you’ll be a jackass if you make mistakes and slaughter innocent people.”
Gigio raised a threatening finger.
“It’s better to eliminate ten innocents than to spare one individual who may be dangerous to the cause. Dead men can do the party no harm. You’re a very poor Communist, as I’ve said before. In fact, you never were a good one. You’re as weak as a snowball in hell, I say. You’re just a bourgeois in disguise!”
Brusco grew pale, and Peppone intervened.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Comrade Gigio has the right idea and nobody can deny it. It’s part of the groundwork of Communist philosophy. Communism gives us the goal at which to aim and democratic discussion must be confined to the quickest and surest ways to attain it.”
Giggio nodded his head in satisfaction, while Peppone continued: “Once it’s been decided that these people are or may be dangerous to the cause and therefore we must eliminate them, the next thing is to work out the best method of elimination. Because if by our carelessness, we were to allow a a single reactionary to escape, then we should indeed be traitors to the Party. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely,” the others said in chorus. “You’re dead right.”
“There are six of us,” Peppone went on, “And twenty names on that list, among them the Filotti, who has a whole regiment in his house and a cache of arms in the cellar. If we were to attack these people one by one, at the first shot the rest would run away. We must call our forces together and divide them up into twenty squads, each one equipped to deal with a particular objective.”
“Very good,” said Gigio.
“Good, my foot!” shouted Peppone. “That’s not the half of it! We need a twenty first squad, equipped even better than the rest to hold off the police. And mobile squads to cover the roads and the river. If a fellow rushes into action in the way you proposed, without proper precautions, running the risk of botching it completely, then he’s not a good communist, he’s just a damn fool.”
It was Gigio’s turn to pale now, and he bit his lip in anger, while Peppone proceeded to give orders. Smilzo was to transmit word to the cell leaders in the outlying settlements and these were to call their men together. A green rocket would give the signal to meet in appointed places, where Falchetto, Brusco and Straziami would form the squads and assign the targets. A red rocket would bid them go into action. Smilzo went off on his motorcycle while Lungo, Brusco, Straziami and Gigio discussed the composition of the squads.
“You must do a faultless job,” Peppone told them. “I shall hold you personally responsible for its success. Meanwhile, I’ll see if the police are suspicious and find some way to put them off.
Don Camillo, later waiting in vain for the lights to go on and the radio to resume its mumble, decided to get ready for bed. Suddenly he heard a knock at the door and when he drew it open cautiously, he found Peppone before him.
“Get out of here in a hurry!” Peppone panted. “Pack a bag and go! Put on an ordinary suit of clothes, take your boat and row down the river.”
Don Camillo stared at him with curiosity.
“Comrade Mayor, have you been drinking?”
“Hurry,” said Peppone. “The people’s Front has won and the squads are getting ready. There’s a list of people to be executed and your name is the first one!”