Thinking out loud about the Coof

I remember saying when this whole coronavirus thing kicked off that the outcome of coronavirus will be more devastating than the actual virus itself. I was thinking through the next steps when I believed the immediate general danger from CV-19 was greater than it appears to be now.

If everyone who caught it were dropping like flies, that means the world’s economy would come to an end and a great reset would have to happen.

I think we are seeing that reset now, as a result of the reaction to coronavirus, and not from the disease itself. It appears Peter Hitchens is in agreement with me. But I don’t think my own personal musings are particularly original.

One of my constant mantras for the past few years has been that the mainstream media is set up to either get you to be afraid of something or to buy something. Thus one should always ask when reading an article or watching the news: ‘What are they trying to get me to be afraid of? What are they trying to get me to buy?’

And the tinfoil hat in me is always on the lookout for how the Narrative is being shaped.

I have gone through so many permutations of thinking on this:

  1. Is all I’m seeing for real? If so, what does it mean?
  2. Are the symptoms of CV-19 a mass reaction to the crap cycling through the air – pollution, EMR, geo-engineering etc.
  3. If this is not for real, what does that mean?
  4. Is it all a psy op to bring about the technocratic New World Order of totalitarian mind control?
  5. Etc.

I think the one thing one shouldn’t be is afraid. Sceptical, though, always be sceptical. Not afraid. If it is option 4 above, then just accept the fact that I will end up in whatever gulag is currently being set up. My autistic tendencies keep me from falling for mass hallucinations long enough to be assimilated into shared reality, so when the trucks come around to collect the dissidents, I have no doubt they will be knocking on my door.

I am, however, gradually coming to the conclusion that although there is a massive wealth transfer taking place, and that many unsavoury players are trying to implement their own agendas, whatever is happening isn’t coordinated, or, if it is coordinated, it is being coordinated poorly.

Yes, there are mind games being played by the media, the politicians, and their Globalist puppet masters. But I don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing.

Globalists and their minions are really good at promoting messages and getting people full of fear to demand that something, anything must be done to deal with whatever it is that we are to become fearful of.

Where they fall down, however, is that the minions they choose to implement their plans are also drinking the Kool-Aid. With very few exceptions, they suffer from the hubris of always thinking they are right and/or effective. The Globalists have been so effective at messaging, we now have a public sector and media stuffed with university-educated people who have learned what to think, not how to think. Add this to the constant quest for diversity, and we have a recipe for ineptitude on a scale previously unimaginable.

They can maintain their illusion of control when everything is ‘normal’, when people are going about their day-to-day lives being cogs in a relatively well-oiled machine, doing the keep-busy activities we call work. But when a crisis becomes real, their solutions are the same ones they would apply in normal times.

I originally thought that the various reactions to CV-19 were country-by-country A/B tests to see how effectively people could be made to fear and get in line. If that was the case, I now believe that they underestimated the human factor. Their biggest weakness is their inability to perceive the rest of us as anything but automata that only require the ‘proper’ programming.

Oh, don’t get me wrong: there is a whole lot of fuckery going on during this current crisis, and no doubt more freedoms (and wealth) will be taken away. But in the midst of all this fuckery, more people will become aware of just how much they’re being fucked with.

Where do I stand on the virus itself? I’m making Pascal’s Wager on this one. I take precautions – I wear a mask when I’m at the supermarket, I wash my hands, I keep social distancing, etc. We have someone in the household who could be vulnerable to it, and I don’t want them to catch this shit because I chose to disregard warnings no matter how overblown.

But other than going less to the supermarket and missing my fortnightly-ish trips to the pub with my wife, I haven’t had to adjust too much. Social distancing and self-isolation are my default settings anyway. And I prefer working from home to going into an office. I love being around my family more. And I have never been under the illusion that most of the things we call work are actually truly productive or have any intrinsic meaning.

And this is where I think the whole thing backfires for those who would control us. Many other people may be coming to the realisation that the way we work and the way we treat our children and families as a result of the way we work is dehumanising. And that maybe keeping up with the Joneses wasn’t ever all it was cut out to be.

I should hope this leads to a true Apocalypse (an unveiling, in the Greek sense of the word) for many when we are on the other side of this.

A man can dream, can’t he?

Posted in Globalism | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Resisting the System

I often read things that get me thinking about my own life and how it has panned out.

A little over a month ago, Dr. Bruce Charlton wrote on The benefits of creeping totalitarianism (in My life). I found much of his thoughts mirroring my own. Except he is so much better at expressing these things than I am.

What really stuck out to me was this bit:

What I will do here is simply to explain ways in which the creeping totalitarianism of the modern West has had a positive and educational role in my own life. This can be summarised briefly: the fact that totalitarianism has been increasing throughout my life has prevented me from living-out a worldly life; has prevented me from living a life dedicated to mortal life.

In different words; the ratchet of totalitarianism disrupted every accommodation and adjustment I made with The World, continually preventing me ‘settling’ into contentment; and thereby it pointed me in the direction of realising that my life was ultimately not ‘about’ my happiness in this world.

My consciousness goes through stages of awakening. This is usually due to incidents or changing circumstances. Often I have thought the solutions to these problems could be solved by political means. Now I am sure there are no political solutions. And no, I don’t think there are revolutionary solutions either.

Oh, how I wish this were not the case.

In my own external circumstances (not including my immediate family), things just appear to be getting shittier. And this shittiness seems to be emanating from the System. The anarchist bit of me would think, hey, let’s just eliminate the System or reduce the System to something more manageable.

I’ve come to the conclusion that this is not going to happen. And the shittiness is built into it, designed by its architects and perpetuated by its civil servants with love for the shittiness.

I’ve been reading Dr. Charlton’s blog for about a year or so now, and he has contributed to the intellectual framework from which I am now beginning to perceive the world. The ideas of Ahrimanic and Luciferic evil (as borrowed from Rudolf Steiner) are good ways of viewing the shittiness perpetuated by the system and by individuals.

My current conclusions are the following:

  1. This System is not going to last forever…It will collapse through its own materialistic self-contradictions and lack of spirituality.
  2. Most problems within the System appear to be political but they are really spiritual: The System wants my (and your) willing participation. It wants our minds as willing believers. It wants us to say that 2+2=5.
  3. Successful resistance lies in not letting it take my (and your) mind. We can never vanquish it in direct political or martial confrontation, although when the time comes, we may be called upon to stand up to tell the system that 2+2=4.

Am I recommending withdrawing from the world? No. That would be nice, but the System always finds a way to insinuate itself with its ‘creeping totalitarianism’. I’ve felt that ratcheting in my own material working world.

I have tried on many different ideologies and belief systems. I keep coming back to Christianity, as it is the only one that seems to have an explanation for what is going on. And by the way the System attacks Christianity but subsidises other religions such as Islam and Judaism, I’m pretty sure that’s where proper resistance to the System resides.

In the meantime, though, what does one do about that ratcheting of ‘creeping totalitarianism’?

For now, I just accept that it is happening and keep my spirit from growing despondent or becoming to inured to material comforts.

And I shall not be afraid to state that 2+2=4 whenever I can.

Posted in Christianity, Police State, Politics, Religion | Leave a comment

A Return to Basics

I have just finished reading Lord of the Rings to my youngest daughter. We began with The Hobbit sometime early last year and worked our way through the subsequent books. I had not read them myself since I was a teen.

I am amazed at what a gap of three and a half decades can do to one’s perception of a book.

I barely remembered a lot of the detail, save the bits that were in Peter Jackson’s films. But one gets something out of the book that the films can’t quite seem to capture – which is true for almost all film adaptations of great literature.

For instance, I can’t really recollect the films conveying the very obvious Christian allegory of the book. But maybe that is because I am a different person now than the one who saw Peter Jackson’s films.

Knowing now, as well, that the Shire and the Hobbits are meant to represent England and the English, I come to a new appreciation of just how much Tolkien felt for his country and his fellow countrymen. And just how well he captured the countryside.

I did not grow up in England. I moved here in my late-20s. Thanks to a friend who introduced me to the pleasure of walking in the South Downs in my mid-30s, I fell in love with the English countryside. Quite often I would find the sights I would see bring me back to my teenage impressions of Tolkien’s landscapes. The English landscape sculpted and cared for, as it has been, by humans for over five millennia.

I can think of no other place that has such a variety of landscapes and beauty in such a small space as one finds in England. Tolkien managed to work quite a bit of it into the geography of Middle Earth.

Tolkien challenges us, as well, to look to the past, to the glories of a time when honour and duty were more than just words. With Strider/Aragorn as the returning king and the bravery of the Dunedain, the Men of Gondor, and the Riders of Rohan evoking a yearning for that time when there were great warriors astride the world.

Alas, we can’t all be great warriors by trade. And in the four Hobbit friends, he shows us that we don’t have to be in order to be noble. Just stand up and be counted when called upon. I seem to recall reading somewhere that the Hobbits were meant to represent the men he went off to serve with in the trenches of the First World War. Grounded, not given to pretension, practical, English.

I didn’t catch it before, but in The Scouring of the Shire one also sees Tolkien’s disdain for modernism, managerialism, and socialism. A world made completely of rules and fear of the powers that be, and no time for life. I believe Tolkien would have liked to have the Tommies returning from the Great War (and the next one) to have done to the managerial class what the four returning travellers did to ‘Sharkey’s’ men who were running the Shire when they returned.

Unfortunately for us, that never happened. And Sauron’s minions seem bent on leading us closer and closer to Mordor.

And one final thing: I found myself bawling when I read out loud the scene where Sam twigs that Frodo is going away to the Havens:

‘Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too. for years and years, after all you have done.’

‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them. But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I leave to you. And also you have Rose, and Elanor; and Frodo-lad will come, and Rosie-lass, and Merry, and Goldilocks, and Pippin; and perhaps more that I cannot see. Your hands and your wits will be needed everywhere. You will be the Mayor, of course, as long as you want to be, and the most famous gardener in history; and you will read things out of the Red Book, and keep alive the memory of the age that is gone. so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more. And that will keep you as busy and as happy as anyone can be, as long as your part of the Story goes on.

‘Come now, ride with me!’

[Emphasis mine]

Now…I am forlorn: I have engaged again in midlife something I never fully appreciated as a child. This particular literary journey is over.

Posted in Patriotism, Police State, Politics, Religion | Tagged | 3 Comments


Read no further if you are uninterested in the internal ramblings of a middle-aged man…

I am in a pre-birthday semi-navel gazing space. I hit 50 in three weeks. I don’t even want to review the things I said I’d do this year. Situation’s in flux over the past year.

It was a good year, though. I am beginning to feel a lot more comfortable in this skin. My current circumstances, materially, have changed since last year. I now have a salaried job closer to home. I am earning a lot less but spending more time with family and developing nascent friendships in real life.

My body is not as bone-tired on the weekends as it was a mere month and a half ago. My family tells me I am nowhere near as grumpy as I used to be, that my sense of humour is returning.

I was prompted to write this because I knew I had to write something: I had found myself just about to go onto Amazon and rearrange my wish lists in an effort to avoid writing.

Anyone who knows me knows I have a lot to say about almost anything. And there is certainly a bit of pride in having the nuanced minority opinion on many things. But I am shamed from reading the diverse sources from which I have been deriving my opinions lately.

My life has seemed relatively superficial over the last 10 years. It has been a focus on pursuing material comfort (i.e., paying the bills alongside spending on a few, spartan luxuries) and trying to be there for my family. I haven’t done much else, especially in the intellectual sphere, besides reading and listening to podcasts.

Most of the fare I have been imbibing has nevertheless been a bit more intellectual than I let on, I suppose. But I haven’t done anything with it, really.

My teachers are steeped a lot more in philosophy and the intellectual tradition than I have ever been, and in some respects I feel a bit of shame. I have been given the capacity to understand and synthesise ideas and facts from diverse sources and come to my own (perhaps unoriginal) conclusions.

But I have been remiss up until recently in my intellectual pursuits. Rather than going to the sources of our Western Canon, I have taken second-hand accounts and have remained a dilletante in the world of ideas.

For instance, I read Karl Popper’s The Open Society and Its Enemies about 12 years ago when I was in the midst of my conservative libertarian delusion. As a result of that, I felt I could easily dismiss both Plato and Hegel because they were the root of all that is wrong in the world.

Leaving aside the fact that George Soros purports to be a disciple of Popper (Ye shall know them by their fruits), I am coming to learn that there may be something in Plato or Hegel. They may not be right, but they have something to say.

It’s also easy, as well, to dismiss the Post-Modernists as they seem to be a reflection of, if not a contributor to, all that seems to be wrong in our modern world. But were it not for their entreaties to question and challenge everything, I would not be finding myself returning to more based minority ways of thinking about the world.

The recent Brexit debacle has found me returning to anarchist (and nationalist) ways of thinking about government. But not in the free-for-all, anything goes free market anarchism of Rothbard et al, nor the destroy all hierarchies atheistic anarchism of Proudhon and his inheritors. Just that there are other ways to govern and that they have been successful until infiltration by external forces.

I have slowly been returning to Christianity after a brief hiatus. I have been learning a lot about Orthodox Christianity, its history, and its practitioners over the past couple of years and am coming to a few conclusions about faith, philosophy, politics, family life, and other things.

I have learned, for instance, that many Protestant world views and Protestant critiques of Roman Catholicism already existed in the Orthodox world before the 1054 schism, either as dogma or as heresy. But because of the schism in the West and the encroachments of Islam, these ideas had to emerge in somewhat of a vacuum during the Reformation. And the subsequent degeneration of all the main denominations of Protestantism comes as the result of being a heresy to a heresy.

All that being said, I am still a dilettante in the world of ideas. I have probably read more than most, both in quantity and breadth of ideas. But I still just skim the surface.

I am also becoming a bit of a nationalist. And a lot of my reading of contemporary nationalist thinkers is showing me just how shallow my intellectual pursuits have been. Most of my knowledge of the Western Canon is second- or third-hand. That needs to stop being the case.

Somehow, too, writing is all tied up in this. I know I need to write something, but I am reminded of my ignorance daily, and am ashamed of it in light of many of the blogs and essays I have been reading lately.

I have something to say, and I know others have probably said it better because they have that grounding that I don’t have. But I will try to overcome that by engaging with the Canon.

Enough navel-gazing for now, as my reverie has been broken by the appearance of a six-year-old redhead in my office. Time to go be a daddy.

Posted in Christianity, Navel-gazing, Religion | Leave a comment

Solsbury Hill and Synchronicity

Whenever I approach an apparent transition in my life, ‘Solsbury Hill’ by Peter Gabriel becomes an earworm that is impossible to remove.

On my very last day in the US Navy, on US Naval Station Norfolk, after the personnel guy said ‘Have a good life’, I put my Walkman headphones on and pressed play. ‘Solsbury Hill’ happened to make it onto my cassette tape. With my seabag on my back I made my way out of the Personnel building…

My uncle, who was stationed at Norfolk at the same time I was, picked me up near the front gate.

I did not believe the information
I just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
“Son,” he said, “Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home.”

My uncle was taking me to the airport to take me to the next stage in my life, in London, to be with a girl I had met at a previous duty station.

On our way, he decided to treat me to one last piece of Americana: Hooters.

Proudly, he told the Hooters Girl who was assigned to our table that I was going to live in London. Rather than being impressed, she asked ‘Why would anyone want to live there?’

Being 21 years older now, I can appreciate the sentiment. She was a somewhere and I was an anywhere, at the time. I had no roots.

My uncle and I gave each other a knowing look and decided to drop the subject.

But that was a pivotal day. And I think I have come home. It didn’t work out with the girl I wanted to be with, but I eventually met my wife. ‘Solsbury Hill’ played a prominent role in that day.

Today was my last day as a contractor. I’ve been a contractor for 13 years. It has had its ups and downs. I once went 7 months without work. Next week I begin life again as a company man. I will have half the takehome pay, but I will have shaved about two hours off of my daily commute. Which means more time for the things that really count: My family.

‘Solsbury Hill’ has been playing over and over in my mind today. Another transition. Funny that it happens in Autumn.

Now, to the synchronicity part. There is a bloke I occasionally encounter on the train on the way home. I ran into him today. He usually has some interesting audio kit and we usually chat about it. Tonight he had a pair of eyeglasses with speakers installed in them. He showed them off by offering them to me to check them out. And who should be playing on his eyeglasses cum earphones?

Peter Gabriel.

And apparently Gabriel wrote ‘Solsbury Hill’ about his decision to leave Genesis. A major turning point in his life. I had no idea up until my train friend told me about it.

So tonight, I make a toast to Mr. Gabriel. His song is very much a part of the soundtrack of my life, and I hope the promise it holds now is as profitable as the promise it held then.

Today I don’t need a replacement
I’ll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom boom boom
“Hey,” I said, “You can keep my things, they’ve come to take me home.”


Posted in Music, Soundtrack of My Life | Leave a comment

On the edge of my seat…

This parliamentary stuff is intense. I have been on the edge of my seat all day and am currently nursing a whisky or two.

On the one hand, I think Boris is playing with fire. But on the other hand…

I don’t think he and Dominic Cummings would have displayed this brinksmanship unless they knew the polling numbers were behind them. I mean the real data points, not the crap that the media uses to shape public opinion, but real polling which gauges public opinion.

I chatted with a black cab driver today. He tells me almost everyone he has spoken to today wants Brexit to be over and done with, including him. He also said he voted Lib Dem at the last election, but if Boris pulls this off, he is voting Tory.

I have many good reasons for not voting Tory ever again, but if Johnson can purge the parliamentary party of the wets, and get us out of the EU without a deal on 31 October, I could be tempted to come out for my local MP, who is in a safe-ish seat which is slightly threatened by London and Brightonion incomers voting Labour.

[Why is it they all want to move to where we are because of ‘the quality of the schools’ and then want to make their new homes just like the shitholes they abandoned?]

I have no real insight into the current situation other than that it is good to see a PM displaying leadership, finally, instead of being a caretaker for the Decline. The next few days will be interesting.

One thing is for sure: British politics will never be the same again.

Posted in Brexit | Tagged , | Leave a comment

On Prorogation

I have viewed Boris Johnson’s premiership with a healthy dose of scepticism. On the one hand, he was originally a Remainer, but on the other hand, he is always out for himself.

I have often said he is one of the most dangerous politicians in Britain. Mainly because he disarms people with his buffoonish demeanour whilst being very effective at achieving results. Case in point: the cycle lanes and the ‘Boris Bikes’ have forever changed the landscape of London for better or worse.

He is also the only Tory to (or who will ever) get re-elected as Mayor of London.

Boris has always struck me as someone who has sought greatness for himself. He emulates Churchill as a personal hero. And I believe he has seen the shifting political landscape and hitched himself, somewhat, to the Brexit bandwagon.

Today’s proroguing of Parliament has made me less ambivalent about him.  But I am still cautious. This is a great step forward on the Brexit question, and this definitely signals to the EU that No Deal is still very much on the table.

Up until this moment, the EU thought it was all bluff.

Now, for my misgivings…

He said, in so many words, that he would accept May’s [or Merkel’s – check out the German syntax of the wording] Withrawal Agreement if the EU removes the Irish backstop. That is the poison pill – the Withdrawal Agreement is vassalage to the EU rather than independence.

I am really hoping he doesn’t hang his pursuit of greatness on this awful mediocrity of an agreement.

So, I am cautiously optimistic.

Judging from the saltiness of the Remainer tears that are flavouring my G&T, he is doing something right.


God save the Queen.


PS: I haven’t been this positive about leaving the EU since the day after the Referendum.

Posted in Brexit | Leave a comment

On Autistic Teenage Girls

I have been watching the whole Greta Thunberg / Climate Change thing with mild horror.

The Globalists have found in her an apparently unassailable spokesman for their agenda. Like a prophet in the wilderness, she spouts to the world all of the Globalists’ fear-mongering anti-facts designed to put us further under their thumbs. And the glory of it is, that by her being autistic, anyone who disagrees with what she has to say can be painted as someone who picks on ‘disabled’ people.

My oldest daughter has recently been diagnosed with what used to be called Asperger’s*. She is extremely intelligent as well. Over the course of the last two or three years we have come to learn a lot about how this condition manifests itself in teenage girls.

Due to the social pressures girls have, many are able to hide their ‘symptoms’ pretty well up until their hormones kick in. Then it is like all hell breaking loose in their lives. Sometimes it manifests as anorexia, sometimes it leads to their declaring they are trans and wanting to become boys. We didn’t have anything like that happen, but what did manifest caused a traumatic couple of years for our family.

If they are diagnosed early, as I suppose Greta Thunberg was, their parents are spared the feeling of hopelessness and powerlessness when the symptoms do manifest.

Whilst researching Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) as a possible source of my daughter’s behaviour, I encountered the interesting and informative Asperger’s Test Site. I took the test myself, and scored well within the range of being on the autistic spectrum.

My potentially having Asperger’s goes a long way to explain many key episodes in my life. When I looked up ways of coping with it, though, I had discovered I’d already learned quite a few of the recommended coping mechanisms the hard way. I now often joke, for instance, that US Navy boot camp beat the ‘sperg out of me (which isn’t 100% true, as I still suffer from spergishness, I just learn to recognise it and try not to act on it).

I’m not bothered to get a formal diagnosis; I deal with it and I have learned to cope with how the symptoms of Asperger’s manifest in my life (mostly).

Whenever my daughter demonstrated what would be telltale symptoms throughout her childhood my wife would point it out as abnormal. I would then assuage my wife’s anxiety by saying my daughter was just like me and she would eventually grow out of it. See, I’m doing all right, aren’t I?

Ha! A lot of good that did.

It has only been recently that I realised that my high IQ contributed well to offsetting my symptoms and giving me the relative success that I have had to date. As well, being a man, my ‘sperg-like symptoms are more often tolerated by others. I am also convinced, like Ice Cube’s character in Three Kings, that I am surrounded by a ring of Jesus fire that has protected me throughout my life from the more severe potentialities of my character.

It has certainly been a blessed and charmed life for me so far, though not without its setbacks.

And my daughter, thanks to the obsessive traits of this condition combined with her innate intelligence and creativity, is managing to find some success very early in her current chosen career.

I mentioned at the top my mild horror at the Greta Thunberg situation. I’m also angry about it and some of the subsequent debates that have arisen.

I have learned from my own life and my daughter’s that people with ASD can be easily exploited by unscrupulous people. We tend to engage with the rest of the world with a presupposition that everyone else is behaving with as much good faith as we do. We tend to think the best of most people, and can fall victim to wolves, especially those in sheep’s clothing.**

Greta Thunberg is being exploited by some of the meanest nastiest people sitting at the top of the world’s hierarchy. They didn’t get where they are by holding hands and singing Kumbaya. Our so-called leaders are psychopaths who would sooner eat you than look at you.

And in St. Greta, they have found an appropriate shield for their nefarious aims. ‘Who would dare criticise a retarded kid, eh?’

The various responses to critiques of Greta have borne this out:

The subsequent responses in this tweet really prove my point. There is so much white knighting going on with people trying to ‘protect’ Greta from anyone who dares sees anything untoward in this situation.

There tends to be two camps for this white knighting.

The first camp are the virtue signallers who show their solidarity with ‘disabled’ people with their ‘How dare you’ attitude. These are the people who, like sheep, will go along with the crowd on anything until the shepherd points them in another – perhaps even opposite –  direction. And this is exactly what Greta’s exploiters had in mind by anointing her spokesman.

I suspect, by their sheep-like behaviour, these white knights participate in the everyday bullying of people with Asperger’s in the workplace or in school, either as active participants or as silent bystanders. It may sound cynical of me, but that is just what most people do; they keep their head down when real injustice takes place. And Aspies make good targets for bullies. But give an Aspie a megaphone and a cause that the sheep have been programmed to embrace, they’re all for neurodiversity and come straight to the rescue.

Nothing winds me up like the inherent hypocrisy these people display.

The second camp of white knights is a bit more sympathetic, but nonetheless wrong. These are the parents of children with ASD.

I imagine they see the relative success of Greta as being reflective of what their own children may be able to achieve. And they see any critique of the situation as criticising their own children, or perhaps even their parenting skills.

They declare Asperger’s a superpower. If it is a superpower, it is closer to Deadpool than it is to Superman. What I or my daughter wouldn’t give to have a level of social nous that most normie people take for granted, to be able to mix in well with the general population without having to practice at it.

Most normal people are aware of their own awkwardness and have their own insecurities, but I don’t think they can fathom the level of self-training and constant self-awareness one has to have to become even moderately sociable for people with both Asperger’s and high IQs.

Had I not demonstrated symptoms of Asperger’s throughout my life, I have no doubt that I would have been much more successful on all fronts than I am now. (I’m not complaining, just stating a fact to which I am reconciled.)

Hell, in some of my darker moments I would have been happy to shave 30 points off of my IQ just to be able to fit in better.***

But we are given what we are given, and as I have said before, I am relatively blessed. And God never gives us more than we can handle although sometimes it can be overwhelming.


But back to Greta…

Like many people ‘on the spectrum’, she has become obsessed with something and thinks she knows everything about it. And now she has been elevated to make that obsession key to her personality. I imagine she has been exposed to only one aspect of the issue at hand and believes what many ‘experts’ say she should believe about it.

This obsession has fuelled her fears and her anxiety, and is contributing to related fears and anxiety in others.

One thing that high-functioning autists can’t handle well is inconsistency and lying. Everything needs to make sense and they have a child-like adherence to the truth. If she ever gets a whiff of the fact that she is being exploited, and that maybe those things she asserts with such certainty may not be 100% accurate, like, say, the world doesn’t end in 12 years, she is going to face a crisis.

She is either going to have to completely repudiate her very public persona or she’s going to have to tamp that down and let it eat at her.

I think this whole situation is probably going to end very badly for her – even ‘normal’ children don’t handle fame too well. And because people are holding her up as this saint in the Climate Change movement, the impact on her life may be more than simply getting arrested for doing coke and driving 110 mph in a residential area.

UPDATED (30 Aug 19): Now that Greta has arrived in the US, have a look at her reactions here. This is not going to end well. A pox on the manipulators’ house.



*They’ve recently stopped calling it Asperger’s Syndrome because Herr Doktor Asperger did most of his key work under Mean Mr. Moustache’s eugenics programme.

**My reaction as an adult is to try to be as much as a sheep dog as I can, but I fall incredibly short of the ideal.

***No longer the case. I found this book helpful on that front. I now just appreciate the difference and accept that in some ways there aren’t going to be many people I relate to or who relate to me.

Posted in Navel-gazing | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Power of Prayer

This post by Vox Day, and the subsequent comment thread, reminded me of an incident from my deep dark past.

When I was 17 I had jaw surgery to fix a massive overbite. It was the cumulative outcome of about 8 years of orthodontics and would be the thing that would finally fix my teeth and fix me (so I thought – but that’s another story).

During the surgery, something happened, so that when I woke up, with my jaws wired shut, I was unable to make a sound. The doctors thought I was messing about, but I literally could not make a sound from my throat.

After a nasal probe that had been helped along by a couple of shots of pharmaceutical grade cocaine (and damn, it was good!), the doctors were able to determine that one of my vocal cords had been dislocated, probably from some sort of tubes being pulled out.

The only solution to my problem was to wait until my jaws were unwired – in at least 8 weeks – and for the surgeons to go in and do another job to fix it. Apparently, even then, they weren’t sure it would get fixed. I could possibly be without my voice for the rest of my life.

I had to walk around with a pen and pad to communicate with other people. Although it did make for some comic moments, I was miserable throughout. I ended up keeping to myself more often than not because the energy of trying to communicate through constant writing was harrowing.

I did develop a penchant for writing bad self-indulgent poetry inspired by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, but there wasn’t much more I could’ve taken away from the experience, other than the process of going through it.

I was depressed…Almost wrist-slittingly depressed. My friends did rally around me and tried to cheer me up, but it was no use, until one fateful Sunday evening about 5 or 6 weeks into the ordeal.

A friend of mine, K., rang my house and told my parents that he wanted me to come over to his house to keep me company and cheer me up. I reluctantly agreed – by this point I had pretty much declared myself a shut-in.

It turns out K. had been meditating on my not being able to drink alcohol (I could only use a straw, which would lead to rapid intoxication and some concomitant expectorations which wouldn’t be prudent with jaws wired shut) or to properly form my lips around a joint or a bong to ingest the demon weed. He declared that he had found a solution to my problem of not being able to get inebriated to take the edge off of my current predicament.

He had a solution: He had converted a little French’s mustard bottle into a contraption which would take the smoke from a joint and blow it straight into my mouth by squeezing it. This, in turn got me incredibly high. And K. and I sat there in my silence and listened to music stoned. I had achieved escape.

I ended up making my way back home later that night and went to bed. I was woken up by my mother, who was about to have a go at me for coming home so late; she asked me how I was feeling, and I was able to make a sound. I was able to speak with jaws wired shut, just as it should have been from the beginning. Instead of laying into me, she was amazed and overjoyed that the gift of speech had been restored.

It was an amazing feeling. It appears that cannabis did the trick for bringing my voice back.

But I’m not writing this post about cannabis…It is about prayer.


Y’see, I had another friend, R.

I had a massive crush on her, but I had been friendzoned and still hung out with her regardless. Her parents, divorced, but living in the same apartment complex as each other, both liked me, and I would frequently run into them and chat with them whilst I was out and about.

They were poor and they were a bit on the redneck side: R.’s father and brother wore trucker caps without a hint of hipster irony about them. And they attended the sorts of churches people here in Blighty only ever see on something like Louis Theroux or Borat. Not my cup of tea for worship services, either.

I called R. to tell her my good fortune at having my voice back. R. was taken massively aback. She told me, unironically and with genuine surprise, that it was a miracle from God. She was clearly blown away for some reason.

It turns out that both her parents attended two different churches each and had decided to work together to get the congregations at all four churches to pray for the return of my voice on that Sunday.

It may have been the cannabis that loosened up that vocal cord. But I think the prayer might have had a lot more to do with it: the Lord moves in mysterious ways and chooses very strange vessels to do His will*.


*K. is currently doing time for burglary. I learned this from another old friend who just got out of prison for bank robbery. R.’s older brother OD’d on heroin a while back, too. I am truly blessed with the way my life has turned out, given the company I kept.


Posted in Religion | Leave a comment

I hope I am wrong…

But I get the feeling some event is going to be manufactured either today or in the next week or so to make it look as if a Brexit supporter or Brexit supporters are violent, perhaps murderous, and the Narrative will say it is because of the ‘divisiveness’ of their beliefs.

And I imagine we will see a lot of pre-written news stories, perhaps hundreds of thousands of words which could not have possibly been written in the space between the event and the publishing time.

I hope I’m wrong. But I wouldn’t put it past TPTB to manufacture it.


Posted in Brexit | Leave a comment