It’s been a busy week, what with A Pink’s continued triumphs with “Five”, visitations from the Muse, tears over the ending of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, a helpful reminder to Vox Day not to trust “SteelPalm”, and who can remember what all besides (oh, that 4,000 word essay on “One of These Nights”, roughhewn as it is, for one).
But now has come the day I must leave for the woods, and as my rusticating duties may not see me back in civilization till Sunday next (?), there are chores I leave undone, business that will remain unattended, but also the hope of new projects and pleasures during my sabbatical.
Chief among these, at the moment, is the experiment of “translating” heartiste’s 16 Commandments of Poon into verse. Ne! having reread Pope’s “On the Characters of Women” after my latest experiment in verse, it occurred to me to attempt a sort of half-Essay on Man, half-Rape of the Lock appropriation of CH’s canons into heroic couplets. This may of course prove a giant misfire; or even if “successful”, it may be of little more than academic interest to those who have the original. Still, I would like to see what can be done with it, and perhaps after all it is a more manageable project than the Rod Dreher travesty. But we shall see.
The experiment in verse alluded to is the untitled piece (and thank God I left it untitled: I had thought to give it some banal appellation like “The Clubhopper’s Lament”!) generously reposted at PA’s by its opening line for title:
PA’s own subsequent post in part inspired my next effort, the Kim Carnes lyrical remix “Anders Breivik Eyes”, which may yet find its way to your vinyl LP aisle at Barnes & Noble. In it he mentions (though not, I think, for the first time) something our KultMarx travelers like to sneeringly refer to as “the male gaze”:
[A friend of PA’s] later nods in the direction of a man walking by. “There is a woke White man.” About our age, bald-shaven head, in but not of that environment. I said, “Definitely a shitlord. Head and eyes level like a soldier scanning the terrain. How’d you pick up on it?” He replies, “It’s the look of utter disgust in his eyes.”
–That made me think of Breivik’s claim to have spared one of the male campers because he recognized in him a (I paraphrase) “conservative look”. I believe heartiste even dedicated a post once to this very claim of Breivik’s, but I haven’t looked it up.
Now, the world today being what it is, I wouldn’t go swear on a Bible that Anders Breivik is even real. But if he’s some sort of crisis actor, for once, the casting was impeccable. And that very coldness of gaze somehow clicked in my mind’s ear with the 80s megahit “Bette Davis Eyes” and, just playing off that famous refrain in my head while pacing the kitchen, I was eager to see what could be done with it.
When I got around to consulting the actual lyrics, I found they were much more extensive (and surprisingly well-crafted) than my mind’s ear could’ve remembered. For once, I put myself to composing something that would hew pretty tightly to the meter, the rhyme, at times even the thought, of the real lyrics.
“Anders Breivik Eyes” is of course having a lot of frosty fun just with the very idea of saying such a thing– a sort of first salvo in getting Anders all those commemorative statues Vox Day’s been promising him– but there’s also an (ahem) deadly serious message to the lyrics. Which goes something like this: if the state cannot be relied upon to use its monopoly on violence to forestall irreparable harm to the body politic, then the body politic can and must and shall bust that trust and use that force for itself.
It is altogether past time for saying muddled things like “England is finished” or “Germany will not recover.” England and Germany will recover. The question now is only by how much applied violence, and applied by which parties and in what sequence. That violence may be surprisingly light– it could well be only a pittance of the violence used in the late Wars in the Middle East– a lot of it might not even need be “gun violence”. And one way or another, it will be, swiftly enough if not instantly, “legal” action.
But the borders will be closed, the “migrants” and “refugees” and 3rd generation “guest workers” and Paki hipsters and (((all))) will be bundled up and shipped out. Whether by Qatar Air or the diplomatic bag or a billowing smokestack remains contingent.
Their leaving does not. Europe belongs to us. “All the goys dropped their disguise, we’ve got Anders Breivik eyes.”
–And that, in turn, reminds me of the criminally neglected business here of Pres. Trump’s Polish Address. Well, much is left undone, but perhaps after all the determination that it is never too late to get around to it will get me around to it when I return.
–And I’ll just be dashed if A Pink doesn’t take No. 1 on the soompi charts! Pity I won’t be around to savor it– but in spirit, in spirit! 와요 와요 와요 와 . . . .