Monday, 29 December 2008

Down With America

Those who live by the absurd will die by the absurd, to vary an old biblical adage, and as the U.S., burdened with eight years of collosal absurdity, starts its downward trajectory into chaos, impoverishment and impotence, it's going to drag a lot of fellow travelers down with it. First among these will be Israel.
After listening to the pope's Christmas Day exhortation for Mid-East peace, the Jews sent off a Boxing Day package to Gaza that about summed up their historic regard for the Prince of Peace. Bush, whose "favourite philosopher" is that same Prince, had nothing much beyond "doctrine as usual" to bring to the latest debacle. All eyes then turned toward the Prince himself to see if any miraculous intervention was imminent. But no, Obama, declined to walk on water, or quicksand, meekly deferring to the president's wonted wisdom, and presumably conserving his thaumaturgic powers for the upcoming task of raising the dead. Economy, that is.
The Jews have no fear of the ever cautious Obama, of course, since he was long since vetted by the long arm of the Lobby prior to election, and found to be cautiouser than ever, or just plain kosher. As was the "ballsy" Palin, who went into a hotel room full of Zionists a pit bull and came out an hour later a compliant poodle. She, too, had been vetted or, rather, neutered, on the big question: not, war or peace?... not, capital or welfare?... but... Israel or America? Talk about the tail wagging the attack dog!
The big dog's star, however, is on the wane and those who have hitched their wagons to it must expect to wane with it. That's the law in the political cosmos, and Israel, who did everything it could to promote the policies of Bush is now about to experience the consequences of those disastrous policies. Special relationships cut both ways. Ask any leech: what do you do when the host's blood runs out? You find a new host or you dry up and die.
Doubtless the Israelis have anticipated just this eventuality and hence their last minute onslaught against the Gazans. Spend it while you can, Olmert, because the 3 billion dollar spigot is about to get a twist leftward. But the Gazans' defiance, too, must be seen in this light. Realizing that the Americans are finally running out of money and blood, they are telling their enemies with every rocket, Suck on this, Zion!
Just about everything undertaken by Bush and his gang of "neocons" (euphemism for Zionists) has backfired into its opposite. Pushing democracy uber alles in Palestine produced Hamas, a thorn in the thigh of Israel and Bush. War in Iraq sucked Al qaida into the region and strengthened Iran's sway over shiite factions far more hostile to the Jewish power than Saddam ever was. Afghanistan ushered in yet another quagmire. And on the home front the power of the Zionists has also encountered an unexpected, but in retrospect inevitable, reversal: Bush's mandate began with the collapse of the World Trade Center and ended with the collapse of the world economy. The Lobby's power to buy off the U.S. Congress and Congress's own power to buy off the world is going to suffer as a result. Here perhaps is the real if unforeseen victory of Bin Laden. Unforseen, I say, because no one, not even Al Qaida, could have anticipated the stupidity of the American response to 9-11.
Bush, hope of the Jew, bane of the oppressed, boasts absurdly that Jesus is his favorite philosopher. Yet it has not been the Gospel's eschatology but rather Hegel's theory of thesis and antithesis that found confirmation with every act of his contradictory rule.
Now for the synthesis.

Sunday, 14 December 2008

These Shoes were Made for Whacking

It was one small shoe of indignity,
And a giant boot to iniquity;
Born of a patriot's zeal,
From under the Hegemon's heel.

Their hearts and minds,
Were the Warrior's stated goals;
But at the last, Bush surpassed,
He won their very soles!

Not since David threw the stone
That left Goliath prone,
Have we witnessed such defiance;
But though the bullies duck
The missiles that we huck,
History will walk all over such shaky giants!

Of Open Verdicts and Closed Minds: Clueless in London-AND Vancouver

The verdict is in for the murder of Jean Charles de Menezes, the young and innocent victim of  2005's insane manhunt by British policemen. And the verdict is... Open. An open verdict in the circumstances means that you can spin it both ways. But insofar as the jury had been essentially ordered by the judge not to return an unlawful killing verdict (which most of the press coverage is suppressing), they had only two options: exoneration or open.  Attendant details of the proceedings leave no doubt that the jury considered the police action completely reprehensible. Reviewing the ghastly sequence of incompetence and laziness by the police makes a sensible mind spin with consternation at the recent words of Ian Blair. Said Sir Ian:  "I deeply regret Jean Charles's death. But I am also deeply proud of the officers who ran that day towards what they believed was mortal danger." Now the running is in the other direction, away from the facts of the incident and the dangerous truth about the subsequent cover-up by Sir Deeply himself. Also in on the deep sixing is "Red Ken" Livinstone, mayor of London at the time, who opines, "For the witnesses who were there, most probably lost in their thoughts, suddenly there are men rushing in and shooting. It is almost impossible, three years on, to be 100% certain about what happened...I tend to believe the police account of this because this is what they're trained to do." 
Trained to do? They're also evidently well trained in the partial arts, having the ability to lie in the face of overwhelming evidence if it means preserving their professional reputation. Redhanded Ken is more like it! Seventeen lost-in-their-thoughts eyewitnesses contradicted official testimony about the killing, but what good are witnesses when the the veracity of their reports has been precluded by the lost-in-their-plots authorities?
       In all the Western democracies, including Canada, the post-911 conduct of domestic police officers has witnessed a drastic shortfall in competence and accountability. What a vile coincidence that the British whitewash is being wrung out in perfect unison with Vancouver's own official piss in the wind regarding the four thugs in serge whose notorious surge at the airport last year resulted in another young immigrant's death! The fates of Robert Dziekanski and the poor Brazillian shot dead in London without a clue as to the reason why have become worldwide tokens of the underlying madness in modern state police methods.  Underskill and overkill just about sums it up, with Mr. Inbetween always ready for duty when it's time for someone to accept responsibilty.    

Monday, 24 November 2008

Bad Moon Arising for the CHRC

The much hated CHRC, whose frump brigade continues to harass and coerce the political conscience of Canadians, just got a kick in their rumps- self-inflicted to boot. The commissioner hired by themselves to deliver what they expected would be some smooth-over affirmation of their notorious and self-serving mandate to police the internet, instead recommended that the notorious Section 13 be repealed. Richard Moon did them in with what they must be privately calling a betrayal. Their little do-gooder politically correct law professor appointee pissed in their boudoir and the prim ladies are schocked. Shocked! Their PR is already trying to distance themselves from him. But the betrayer of our betrayer is our loyalist. Moon's surprise about-face from postures he had previously advocated may have been political or conscientious but it is definitely welcome to all freedom loving people. They represent the tiniest and most persecuted minority in the country and are overdue for some relief from all the "hate." Moon's report is a ray of hope in the twilight of the strong and free.  

Sunday, 19 October 2008

Paradoxical Palin: Feminism's Frankenstein

Sarah Palin is a feminist's worst nightmare come to life, but the irony is that feminism gave her life. This walking contradiction has more cracks in her image than the glass ceiling she purports to be breaking through (18 million at last count) but knows how to hide them behind lipstick and gun powder. Feminists have twisted themselves into knots trying to expose the cracks but only end up by exposing their own hypocrisies regarding strong women. Palin is a congeries of mutually exclusive attitudes but it doesn't matter to her fans because she's got "attitude," something her "sisters" have always hailed in other women but that they now sneer at as vulgar. Like Frankenstein's monster, she appears to be a bizarre composite of other bodies, bodies of thought which are mostly, alas, either dead or moribund. Her torso is a pin-up's, her heart is a Mom's, her head is a born-again Christian's, her eyes are a conspirator's, and her neck is 100 percent Red. But her liberated legs, which once carried her to victory on the basketball court thanks to anti-discrimination laws, are stolen from the political corpse of Hillary Clinton. They're the legs of unbridled, selfish ambition, and they don't care who they trample over, even if that means stomping on the very feminists whose early struggles helped open the doorway to the power she now wields, and which she hopes will march her through the biggest door of them all. And all that her feminist fabricators can do, like Mary Shelley's fateful New Prometheus, is to shout in disgust and disbelief, Get back! Get back!

Saturday, 27 September 2008

Scary Sarah

There once was a pretty pit bull,  
Whose makeover was a bit dull:
On her leash she couldn't breathe,
And when they pulled out all her teeth,
She looked downright pitiful.


The Year of Oh! Oh!: When America was Recessed.

The death of an empire may not be pretty to watch, but it sure is entertaining. Remember those USA Today weather maps that showed the continental states towering above Mexico and Canada? That's how too many Yanks unconsciously view their ever-ascendant heaven-ordained city on a hill of hype. Now it seems the map should be inverted. Sitting on the border in placid but predictable Canada we have to peer downward to watch the land of the greedy sinking daily lower and lower into the home of the depraved. Truly a political enactment of the grand canyon itself. The grand ditch of George W Bush. Awesome are the landmarks of history! And the wonder of it all is that they still don't get it. America as we have known it is gone. Forever. All that's left are the bluster and armament and of course the gospel. Not the Gospel in the Bible, but the one called Manifest Destiny and Monroe Doctrine and life, liberty and the pursuit of Capital gains, all summed up in the esoteric creed called Bushism or neoliberalism. Neo-liberalism spawned Paleo-America -(remember Rumsfeld's "Old Europe?")-  which now lies broken backed and crippled after the crash of 08 and the catastrophe of 06 and the debacle of 03 and the smackdown of 01. All traced inexorably back to the fatal election of 00. 

Saturday, 20 September 2008

Flash: Newsweek Fathers a Tarbaby!

Newsweek mag's just had a long and tedious try at rationalizing the National Enquirer and its dubious fit for mainstream media. Like Brer Rabbit berating the insolent tar baby, the more our genteel journalists try to distance themselves from the tong-held tabloids, the more stuck they get. They still can't get over how they had their noses rubbed in the Edwards' scoop. Or shall we say, even after having their refined spectacles wiped in the competition's spit, they still can't distinguish the bogus cloud of "civic duty," as their hack calls it, from the fog of their own hypocrisy. The entire piece recalls  the old distinction between porn and erotica: each just a low class/ high class version of the other. It also recalls Freud's discussion of the primary process or id, "Wo Es war, soll Ich werden."  That is to say, Where the tabloid was, the mainstream will be. Now what could be more primary or core-concsciousness than the National Enquirer?
        Newsweek and its exalted peers were caught in flagrante on this one and now they're trying to justify their laggardness and bias as true professionalism. But the writing's on the wall for Newsweek and all the other inbred establishment journals out there. And that writing says one thing to the old media: no more walls
      These decorous lords of the fourth estate balk at exposing a lousy little ass like Edwards, "Father of the Year"(I kid you not!) and fraud of the century, but absolutely revel in attacking any conservative politician who stumbles into public scrutiny. In today's internet world, however, any attempt to "mediate" the news or throw up an arbitrary wall of insulation around the "indiscreet" story will be undercut by players who are ready to go where the story goes without a lot of fake qualms over "responsibility" and "respectability," code for looking out for one's own. 
      Truth is a gem in a pile of horse shit and our lordships don't want to sully their discreetly gloved fingers trying to pick it out. Much better to add to the pile with some of their own - until they get caught with their pants down!

Saturday, 6 September 2008

Getting a Line on #159

159. Arsoev Sadul Severyanovich, was born in 1950 He was killed in the bombardment of the city. Place of burial unknown. This is one of the hundreds of names compiled by Osettian authorities, victims of the Georgian aggression of the previous week. This one in particular caught my eye only because he was born the same year as me. Is that so terribly significant, you may ask?  Well, in a way it is. The guy was just as old as me, living as quiet and unobtrusive life as I, no doubt, thinking of his health, his income and family and friends when one morning out of the blue a shell bursts in upon him and he dies, probably not even understanding what has happened. And all because a mad little man named Saakashvili decided to act on a sinister impulse to exert control over people who have no desire to be controlled by him. Could I imagine such a brutal end to my own life? Given the way the USA is acting today, like a vast, monstrous exaggeration of its puppet state of Georgia, the prospect of Canadians one day awaking to a bombshell breakfast from the south is becoming less and less a fantasy and more and more a fore-ordained nightmare. We're all Osettians now.

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

A Walk Before Bedtime

Out walking, as is my custom, in front of my apartment block tonight around 11:30 pm. My back was killing me after trying some heavy lifting last thursday and I realized I needed to walk if it was going to heal up. I was half way through my second circuit when a white unmarked car with a rack of white lights at the back rolled up beside me. The driver was silently giving me the once over - not to say the twice and thrice over. I made a hands out gesture of "well?" and he motored away to the cull de sac, turned around and sat there in the street. Still eyeing me as I came nearer, the shadowy driver said nothing. So I said: "Well, can I help you? What's the problem? I walk hear all the time." He rolled his window down and asked me what was wrong. "You're obviously looking me over for some reason, " I said. "I'm walking out here. I come out here all the time." He explained that he was investigating a crime that had been committed in the vicinity. He sounded a little offended that I wasn't happy to be a possible suspect, so I simply said, "OK, I'm sorry," and walked on. I'm apologizing to him! Far be it from me to impede an RCMP investigation. I walked around his vehicle keeping to the looping sidewalk and continued back down the street going toward my apartment. He drove off going east at the T that connects my street to the main drag. I walked to the south loop and turned back northward, now on the original side of my street, starting loop number three. (Each loop, as I had discovered by pacing it out one night, equalled one half kilometre.)  Before I had reached the intersection of that T again, white car was back, turning north once again and driving all the way into the far apartment parking area before coming out to resume his former position in the middle of the road. Once again I was under observation. This time the driver exits the car, reiterates the story about a break-in somewhere on the other side of the park area to the immediate west and asks me to identify myself.  I am not carrying any documentation, just my keys and a flashlight, the latter article being my only defense against the bears that roam the area at night. My name, address and date of birth I freely give him. He asks me If I had ever had any "contact with the police." I wasn't quite sure what he meant by this and so I tell him "not that I can remember." I did once call the police in 1995, about some vandals in my apartment in North Vancouver, but I don't think that's what he had in mind. Once again I start walking away. I make the loop again and am coming back toward the car when he confronts me yet again. He advises me that a police dog will soon be in the area trying to hunt down the felon and if I'm out here walking around my scent might... He doesn't finish telling me exactly what "my scent" will do to his investigation. He suddenly asks  if I drive, have a license. Yes, I tell him. He's waiting for the woman at the base to verify I am who I say I am but somehow she's not able to do it. He asks me three times for my name and address. Another car, this one black, rolls up. The driver also gets out and approaches us. My back is really starting to pain me now, standing there in the night air. How many times do I have to tell them my address? I ask. The first policeman begins to admonish me, telling me that I wasn't really being very cooperative when he first approached me. I could hardly refrain from laughing at this. I could have asked the guy to distinguish, if he could, between cooperation and submission or between investigation and intimidation. Somehow these people are programmed to go over the line. Somehow we're wired to oppose them. What is it? My face or my fate that predisposes me to mistrust them?
        Finally the woman's voice is heard verifying my address match with DL records. Seems she misspelled my name. Oh well, that's all right then. Ha, ha, well well... Then Black Car informs me that their suspect was wearing a hoodie just like mine, so you see..." Certainly, I see that wearing one of the most common articles of attire entails an extended impostion on my time and patience. Quite honestly, had I in fact been their "man," would I have been out casually walking about the area after my crime? And suppose I, thief and liar, and had indeed put up a feigned casualness at the first contact with White Car, why would I still have been there, still walking, when he returned some five minutes later? Give me a break!
       White Car then advised me to get inside in case the search dog bit me or his handler arrested me.(!) "Hope your back is OK." Away I go at last, no longer under the cloud of doubt and suspicion... my back starting to feel better... but as I enter my apartment block, Black Car comes racing past, its driver staring up at me, still observing, still distrusting, still hunting. The investigation continues... 

Saturday, 23 August 2008

Medals To Die For

  Olympic Committee chief Jacques Rogge takes Usain Bolt to task over his apparent lack of respect for the losers in his record breaking competitions. Someone's  living in the past - and that someone is Usain himself, whose exuberant vainglory takes us right back to the ancient Greeks,  champion originators of these great games and of the incredible hubris that goes with them. Live on, Lightning! (Until the gods send their own bolt against you, alas,  as they always will.) 

     China, too, has come into its share of slagging for taking these games too much to heart. The chest beating may not be as  obstreperous  as the Jamaican Jet's, but it clearly has thrown the american media off its stride, and rightly so. China. it seems, has found more productive venues for its growing wealth that sluicing it into the deserts of distant realms trying to convert the world to its way of life. And if push comes to shove, what youngster wouldn't rather sacrifice his or her youth in athletic training with a hope of winning national glory on the field of sport than dying for some stupid "war against terror" with nothing but a Purple Heart and a row of plastic lilies  to show for it at the end of the day? And if sports are really just sublimated war, as we're told, the American placing (literally) in the gold medal count, could not have come at a more propitious time as during the nose-bloodying it received at the hands of its erstwhile rival Russia over the Georgia debacle. The American puppet Saakashvili thought the games a perfect cover, doubtless, for his little adventure, but ironically they proved to be the best foil against which to set the ebbing power of his masters. Bear-baiting is not a sport for poodles!   

       Meanwhile, Canada with its "haul," as some of the papers are calling it, of three gold medals,  knows all about the importance of deferring to the losers. That puts her at number 19, thirteen behind her one time rival Australia, and trailing the  entire "G8" club of nations with whom she used to share so many podiums. Funny how this plethora of bronze has accompanied our race into diversity. And that's not to overlook our quondam golden boy Ben Johnson, whose performances turned out to be much more diverse than we bargained for. Ah such, such were the days, eh Canada?       

Saturday, 19 July 2008

Putting Lids On Kids Puts Us All On the Skids

The Americans it seems are fighting the worldwide tide into extinction, albeit that effort is coming mainly from south of the Rio Grande. Last year saw more newborns than even in the crest years of the baby boom. Other nations, too, seem to be getting the message, with the Russians, for instance, offering generous incentives to families with a second child and stipends for stay-at-home mothers. Meanwhile in Canada it's business as usual with our saline saint Morgentaller always in the black while he undertakes the "courageous" task of cleaning up the nation's gene pool one child at a time, dutifully destroying, as he says, all the "criminals" that might otherwise have been given a chance at life. Thanks to undertaker Henry, oblivion has never looked so safe!
Bottom line: in the USA, a Spanish sunburst is staving off the "demographic winter" which is darkening the horizon of most other developed- and not a few undeveloped- countries. ¡Viva!

Saturday, 12 July 2008

Raising Hell in Cyberspace

On Youtube today and what a laugh! It's worth remarking that the typical Youtuber, whether in forum or in video probably couldn't think their way past a smiley face. Here's one of my (updated) replies to someone grousing about the British destroying his Gaelic paradise way back when and who thus deserve to be overrun by Muslims threatening to subjugate the entire isle, the "green and emerald isle" of Shakespeare: Said "seriusrex:"
You english invaded my country,forced your laws, language and religion and foreign customs on my country. we fought you so we could continue to live as a proud independent celtic nation.Our language Gaelic is wiped out by the english,As a people we were almost wiped out by english armies.and now you say you are for white power?.I can't understand you english,you say one thing but you do another.Britain colonised the world and now the world is colonising Britain.Poetic justice if you ask me.
0 Poor comment Good comment
"Gaelic? How about a Scottish reel! As in get real! Whatever the English did to your ancestors, MacPeevish, pales in comparison to what the Muzzle'ems are (threatening) to do to you and the lassies. This guy better learn who his friends are! Even the IRA put away their guns, if not their grievances, after 9-11."
 That was enough for   seriusrex, who came back at me sputtering abuse and profanity but missing entirely my point. 
      The real point being, of course, that YouTube is hardly a fit venue for serious discussion. Rants and counter-rants are the order of the day and at the end of the day it's all good for a laugh and not much else. And on that note let me leave off with another of my replies, this to someone suggesting things are going to turn really bad in the future after Turkey has joined the EEC and fifty million of its migrants start charging into dear old blighty. Wrote I :
 "Who's waiting for Turkey when the Great Chicken has already cooked its own goose?" 

Wednesday, 9 July 2008

New Whine in Old Bottles

A church minister in England disguised as a tramp, "settled on a pew in the church surrounded by syringes and began drinking from a can of beer." Then, doffing his costume, he proceeds to upbraid his parishioners because "none of the worshippers at the Trinity Methodist Church in Prestatyn, North Wales, spoke to him or offered him any help." Now the entire congregation is stricken with guilt over their shabby treatment of the shabby priest. Ah yes, the true meaning of Christian conversion: turning a house of worship into a shoot-up site and tavern. Nice try, reverend. Here in Vancouver we know all about such conversions, as when not long ago a tramp - the real thing- knocked down a parishioner at Holy Rosary because he had only given him five dollars. Last we heard the tramp had seen the light and was actually working for the diocese. His victim's fate has been lost from view but presumably he, too, is happy at the reclamation of yet another lost sheep. Nevertheless, the cathedral discourages its congregants from giving handouts to the derelicts that commonly confront them on their way in to mass. Generosity only encourages the vagrants, making the church into an ever expanding bum magnet. The entire syndrome illustrates the strange irony that as Christianity dies, only its charitable precepts are allowed any sway while its politically incorrect moral strictures wither on the vine.
     The churches of olde England, like those of Canada, are steadily emptying, but the pubs are brimming with increased custom. Binge-drinking is the national religion now and a blade offers the same sense of security to the young that a cross did their elders. This is the great conversion of Britain: from a civilized nation into one on the brink of dissolution. So next time you see someone boozing in a church, do not let prejudice or fear stay your intercession. By all means, join him! He could be the next Messiah.

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

Congratulations! It's an Abortion!

The award to Morgentaller was predictable if nothing else. Just as predictably the media wades in with the customary paeans to perversity: cf the Globe and Mail, "A courageous honour for courage." The only thing left to round out the national pantheon is a tribute to the homosexual activist Svend Robinson, manning as he does the other great portal to our rush into extinction. But why get upset about it? Conservative outrage is a necessary tonic for liberal self-gratification. It's the sixties in a bottle and guaranteed to get them high every time. What surprise to learn that the United Church of Canada, aka Sod Central, was the instigator of the award?
      Ours is a dying nation [nation: from the latin natio: I am born] and Morgentaller and Robinson have played satanic midwives to our self-destruction almost from the start. On its national holiday a country that can't even reproduce itself honors someone who destroys the new generation in the womb. Happy "birthday," Canada! 

Monday, 30 June 2008

Yesterday's Hike

Click to enlarge

 Somebody died yesterday in Lynn Headwaters where I was hiking.  As seen in this photo the waters are fast and furious, unusually so for this late in the year. I was hottern a dog and looking forward to a dive into the falls just up from this bend in the creek, but had to give it up owing to the current. Maybe next week.


Saturday, 28 June 2008

Binnie the Boob

"We live in a free country, where people have as much right to express outrageous and ridiculous opinions as moderate ones," High Court Judge Binnie said. Tell it to the HRC, Binnie.tbc

Saturday, 21 June 2008

The Wages of Spin: Fairy Tales in Lambeth

"The boat is in rocky, choppy waters; don't jump out of the boat and swim to the right," he said. "Stick with it. We're going towards Lambeth." Thus the Bishop of Durham to the growing number of schismatics threatening to cut ties with the Temple of Sodom, aka the Anglican/Episcopal Church. In fact, Reverend, the boat has a hole in it bigger than a fisted fanny. This attempt to talk away matters of fundamental division in their ranks has been signature stuff to the Anglicans from the choppy beginning of their rocky "communion." Ever since the king of all choppers, Henry Vlll declared that he wasn't really married to his faithful wife of twenty years, Catherine of Aragon, and betook himself and his country off the rock of St. Peter and onto the ever-changing tide of protestantism, Anglicanism, that "cold superstition," as a Frenchman once described it, has relied more on linguistic conformity than unity of conscience to maintain itself. In the end, however, reality overrules rhetoric. There's obvious irony in the fact that a church originating out of a king's illicit lust should eventually find its destruction in the libido of its own priests.
     Of course, Henry could and did enforce his fictions with all the coercive engines of the state. But the poor relic of the church he founded has today only one engine of suasion at its service, the human conscience. This, alas, is proving more intractable than any sixteenth century pope.tbc.

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

Same Words, Different Tune

This just in from Alberta (where Ezra Levant was originally “prosecuted” by the HRC), re mooted change of license plate motto: “The statement of Strong and Free just does not sit with our way of life in Alberta. We are great people and not aggressive like the saying would infer,” Margaret Maki, an Edmonton receptionist, said as soon as she heard the slogan she called “definitely American.”… “It’s more American in my view. I can’t relate to Strong and Free,” Liberal transportation critic Darshan Kang said.” Maki apparently is unaware that the contentious words are from Canada's national anthem. Also, note Maki’s faulty usage: what’s the real “inference:” Statist=Stupid?

Tuesday, 17 June 2008

Would You Buy a Used Car from this Judge?

"Truly reprehensible" was the quoted headline on the Svekla sentencing. Seventeen years must pass before the monster will be eligible for parole after murdering a young woman and "offering an indignity to human remains." Sterling Sanderman, who sentenced Svekla, appeared to have some difficulty conveying the enormity of the crime, or perhaps, like a lot of Canadian judges, he doesn't consider murder to be all that of an enormity. "In another era, maybe another century, Mr. Svekla would be known as a cad, he'd be known as a louse, he'd be known as a lowlife," Sanderman said, running through the kind of evil lexicon that we routinely hear applied to former lovers and used car salesmen. And then to top off this devastating critique, Sanderman actually did compare the murderer -unfavourably- to a used car salesman! 
      Wrong, Mr. Sanderman. In another age, an age that still had some moral force behind its laws and some meaning behind its words, Svekla would have been known for exactly what he is, a brutal, cold blooded and despicable murderer. And his life sentence would have been exactly that, life. The criminal only drew what has now become a remarkable amount of time behind bars because of his callous treatment of the body after the killing. Indeed, Sanderman appeared to dwell on the murderer's cruelty to a corpse and "unbelievable insensitivity" after the killing than on the unbelievable "insensitivity" of the killing itself. 
      Otherwise, it seems, Sanderman would have been inclined to let Thomas Svekla back out on the streets after the typical amount of canadian durance, probably a decade or so, with even that reduced for good behaviour. People are serving longer sentences for looking at kiddie porn or defrauding grandma in this country than they are for committing what used to be known as the capital offense. Like the man said, truly reprehensible!

Saturday, 14 June 2008

Slamming the Islamophobes

 "From Dante's Inferno to the Danish Cartoons, there have always been people who demean Islam." What this writer, really means is there have always been people who criticize Islam or its nefarious founder, a man with blood on his hands and enmity in his heart, as even a cursory reading of the founding texts corroborates. But by definition, to "devout Muslims," which Raheel Raza proclaims himself to be, to criticize is to demean.  tbc.

Big Cold Wind: Pat Boone's Latest Hit on Free Speech

"The cessation [of America the good] is under way; the greatness is fading. Do we have the will – the goodness – to defend and reclaim it?" So queries Pat Boone [ Sexually abusing the 1st Amendment ] in his weekly WND column. Although to many people Mr. Boone is little more than a faintly remembered fifties pop star, an innocuous "cover" for black music in white bucks, an Elvis sans pelvis, his is in fact one of the more impressive voices to be heard amid the din of today's culture wars. He is also one of America's most insistent, articulate, and, be it said, contradictory advocates of censorship. tbc. 

Friday, 13 June 2008

Didactic Prophylactic

New Canadian Rawi Hage has just won the Big One of literary prizes, the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, bringing the quondam cabbie a paltry C$160,000. Nothing to sneeze at, perhaps, but nothing to swoon over either. Literature, thy name is parsimony. 
      As usual the award for DeNiro's Game comes with a pile of verbiage about the novel's meaning, i.e., its uplift and politically correct message, in this case the provocative insight that war is bad. According to the author now turned oracle, borders are also bad. He claims to be someone "evolving into 'a creature who loathed borders.'" What a prize fiction we have here! When he fled faith-riven Lebanon way back when, I dare say he was nothing loth to cross that border into the U.S.A. and all it stood for: life, liberty and the separation of church and state. Get real, Mr. Hage!
       None of the literary awards pay much attention to the area of style, that is to say, art. Art, which by definition transcends politics, has always been suspect in the eyes of "progressives." Hage invoked Joyce at his acceptance, with a nod to the award's locale. On another level the reference seems a bit incongruous, given that Joyce was the consummate artist whose works were routinely attacked for being "about nothing." (Needless to say, Joyce remains scandalously undertaught in today's universities. I think it was Vidal (or was it his formalist alter ego Nabakov?) who liked to remind us that literature is the only art taught in university. In my four-plus-some years at SFU not a single instructor offered so much as a classroom aside -let alone a credited course- on Ulysses. You know, Ulysses, once extolled as the "richest example of fiction in history." But not extolled, not even read at SFU where making a virtue of one's ignorance was and likely still is the only art on offer, and where I can bet DeNiro's Game is already making its way onto some earnest boob's politically correct syllabus.) As in the Nobel prize, what you are saying trumps how you say it every time. "Sometimes beautifully written" is as far as the award went in praising the man's style. The question arises, what about the other times? Given that English is his third language we may infer that the man is hardly another Joyce, or another Conrad for that matter. which our staid and stalwart dons doubtlessly find most reassuring.
      No, politically correct, "civilizationally exhausted" (Steyn) Europe doesn't have much regard for style and form these days. Increasingly they look to immigrants to tell their story for them and to them, a story that is simple and reassuringly inoffensive. In Europe, as increasingly in Canada, "moral" equals "safe." War is bad, borders are bad and what does it matter if the writing is bad, too? Long before it stopped producing children Europe stopped producing works of art. Great art always implies a great tradition in which to root itself. That is why almost without exception all the first tier artists, the ones signalized in Leavis's "Great Tradition" have been conservative in temperament and tenor. When we lost those roots, we lost the capacity to flourish, to flower. The immigrant can sire our citizens for us, but when it comes to fathering works of the imagination he, too, prefers the safe.

Tuesday, 10 June 2008

France: Sewing Up the Open Society- One Maidenhead at a Time

"In my culture, not to be a virgin is to be dirt," said the student, perched on a hospital bed as she awaited surgery Thursday. "Right now, virginity is more important to me than life."  tbc.
The words can't help recalling those of another young woman in distress,"I would rather lose my life than my honesty." These from Ann Boleyn pleading against the advances of the King. Those quoted above from a young Parisian Muslim on route to getting her hymen stitched in order to placate Islamic prejudice against unvirginal brides. One can't help noting the disparity in mores at work here. Islam appears to be about five centuries out of sync with the West on this as with most issues. Also worth noting is the shift in english itself, from the once synonymous words of honesty with chastity to the present state of things where almost any woman over seventeen who claims to be a virgin is probably being very dishonest indeed.
We may surmise that the honesty-virginity connotation never existed in arabic, since the entire undertaking of reflowering young westernized Muslims smacks of the grossest deceit toward their prospective husbands and families. It's not the operation's dishonesty that has liberal France in a tizzy, however, but the affront it implies to the liberal society itself. Once again we see Europe colliding into the inevitable contradictions of multiculturalism. But the open society is by definition an exposed society, and one in which no amount of legalistic suturing can mend into the seamless fraternite of revolutionary lore. France has played the whore with its own traditions and now she'll have to play nurse to the bastard culture which she officially condemns.

Fallen Heroes, Fallen Idols

Fallen Heroes, Fallen Idols

"PPCLI commanding officer Lt.-Col. David Anderson called Snyder a "soldier's soldier who always led from the front.""Given the opportunity, he would always lead his soldiers into harm's way."

So comes the eulogy for yet another of Canada's "fallen heroes" in the Afghan war. Anderson's comment  sounds incredibly stupid. To "lead someone into harm's way" is a common expression signifying an irresponsible and reprehensible action.  The C.O.  implies by it that Snyder was leading his men into unnecessary danger. Given that the poor fellow died after falling down a well during a night patrol, the connotations of the above comment are especially unfortunate. If his men had followed him into the well... well, let's not go there. 

     Let's not go there. That's what we should have said in the first place when an antiquated Nato treaty took the country into the dark abyss of this war many years ago. That was when we were all led into harm's way- by our "leaders." How many of these "fallen heroes" have we seen since then? The press keeps up the old hero routine for these young men but for the most part their deaths are anything but noble. Most seem to be the result of roadside bombs, land mines or even "friendly fire." In a war where ambush and sneak attacks are the order of the day, there's little opportunity for the old "above and beyond" type of valor. Still the press has to do its duty by the families if not by the nation by eulogizing one and all up on the same dubious pedestal. It's only when a son dies under some distressingly awkward circumstances such as those of Snyder that the families begin to mutter any reservations about the overall operation of the war itself. To perish in the heat of battle burns away any tarnish on the motives behind the battle. Even criminals get a grudging kind of adulation from us if they go down fighting. But to be laid low by way of some banal accident or freak of nature ten thousand miles from home really does bring home the stupendous pointlessness of it all.


Saturday, 7 June 2008

Ballad of Liberty Canuck

On a cold day in June they found the cadaver,
(They almost didn't in all the palaver)
The corpse was riddled with a zillion holes
Sucked dry past the point of lawful controls,
Down in the hollow under the Heather,
The odor kept back thanks to the weather;
The post mortem it seems was done on the fly,
The evidence, too, came up dry:
(Strict rules of which, alas, didn't apply)
The death put down to natural cause:
The little suckers had broken no laws;
When the name was told many said, Our good luck!
And good riddance at last to Liberty Canuck.
But some were there had to scratch their heads
And whispered (out of earshot of the Feds)
That all them bites spoke of something more sinister,
Something maybe they should write the Prime Minister,
And raise the alarm to drain the morass
Before the little suckers attacked en masse; 
Then again, what's the point? the motion was killed,
The atmosphere had noticeably chilled,
Recalling that Harper never really liked the deceased,
Why, he was even rumored to have joined the feast-
For he'd not be the first to want no truck
With the stubborn old fool Liberty Canuck!
The Mounties, too, were arguably complicit;
(After the first bites they told her to kiss it!)
Egad! who perhaps wasn't in on it?
And of course the Press put their usual spin on it-
Both sides had to be heard from because
They didn't want to create the wrong kind of buzz,
Yeah, every pol and hack could only duck
When asked to shed a tear for old Liberty Canuck!
So all had to accept that she got her due,
Bit off more than she could fairly eschew;
Drop by drop and bite by bite,
Parasite by protected parasite;
But so that her demise be not all in vain,
Nor her memory alike her blood to drain,
Heed, Canada, the lesson of one Liberty Canuck:
Them damn mosquitos really suck!

Magna Farta

"We have a heritage of free speech that we inherited from Great Britain that goes back to the year 1215 and the Magna Carta." Ezra Levant before the Alberta Human Rights Commission.

      Mark Steyn calls the Human Rights Commissioners "pretend judges." And so they are, but the shocking pretense of justice they represent goes well beyond them and their absurd "strict rules of evidence do not apply" procedures. Indeed, the stain on our Canadian polity spreading out from Heather McNoughton's pseudo-judicial body like a sanies from an untreated wound defiles the entire garment of national legality, right up to the venerable white robes of the Supreme Court itself. The so-called Charter of Rights and Freedoms has been shown to be so much bureaucratic wind and none too aromatic at that. And they say the hearing was confined to a basement devoid of windows! Now that must have been cruel and unusual: 
Gasping they asked, Did somebody die? 
         Why, only old Liberty Canuck, came the reply.