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Satan Presiding at the Infernal Council, John Martin, circa 1823-1827

Just think of all the hell we’ve kicked up around the country with only four or five full-time organisers… I’d organise hell.

Saul Alinsky

As the world-historical moves into sudden overdrive, like the bit in Star Wars where Harrison Ford and the big bear thing are sitting at the controls of the space-ship and sort of step on the gas, as it were, and all the big fat stars they can see out of the window turn into straight lines because they start going so quickly (where is a small child to explain these plot twists when you need one?), so too we, flying along with the ship, need to move jolly fast as well. (Would you drop by the office on your way to the pub later this morning please? Thanks. Ed.).

Just as it began to seem feasible that the autopsy on the cooling corpse of Vinnie the Virus was hoving into view, another of what the late Guillaume Faye termed ‘converging catastrophes’ has taken over the helm of the, um, star-ship, and made it go at rather a lick.

How long does someone have to be dead before you stop calling them ‘the late’, by the way? Twinkly-eyed old agent provocateur and nouvelle droitiste Faye – featured next month in our Writing the Resistance series – died in March of last year, and so it seems okay to mention his lateness. But you don’t talk about ‘the late Elvis Presley’, do you, and ‘the late Franz Kafka’ or ‘the late Julius Caesar’ would just be silly. But where is the official cut-off point? And what do you become? Just ‘the dead’? Or do you just assume everyone knows? Perhaps, as the Bible says, it is one of the things that is hid from our view.

At any rate, things are hotting up. Black Lives Matter are in the box seat now and, boy, do we all know it.

Whatever else you might want to say about these race-baiting shock troops, they certainly know how to shop for a new pair of shit-kicking boots. In the 18 days since George Floyd went from being a gangling criminal drug addict to a new star in the firmament, BLM have transformed the world, or at any rate the bits that everyone pays attention to. Google ‘Central American BLM protests’, for example, and you are presented with a thin gruel of hits. Our man in CentroAmerica suggests that Nicaraguans, El Salvadoreans, Panamanians and what have you are probably slightly more concerned with putting food in front of their kids than joining the rich kids of Seattle and London and Brussels and Melbourne in tearing shit up and burning shit down.

What is most jaw-dropping about this whole fiasco is that the media see it not as illegal and dangerous to civilised society, but as some wonderful and overdue crusade. It is not. It is the aria to an opera called anarcho-tyranny. The UK has been following America, as always, like a kitten following a torch beam around the kitchen lino. So, just as there is now a section of said Seattle which the protestors have cordoned off, and which they have informed the acquiescent police is a no-go zone, so too we must assume that, I don’t know, Cleethorpes or Croydon will soon be, to use the language of real estate, changing ownership.

The police, of course, are at the centre of the maelstrom, one of them having apparently killed Floyd. But the usual tribal drum-beat of casual vilification of the police has become a frenzied tarantella. BLM don’t want to criticise or scream at the cops. They want to get rid of them, and the deep state is apparently only too happy to oblige. There has already been a hasty, internet-assembled discourse built around ‘de-funding the police’ and ‘transformative models of social justice’. And, with the usual suspects involved, a rag-bag of SJWs, rogue state governors, fudge-brained Democrat mayors and a slavering, rabble-rousing media, this seems about as sound a plan as giving an AK-47 to a Parkinson’s sufferer.

The Democrats, who are like the particularly nasty little shits in Golding’s Lord of the Flies, have already drafted a bill outlining the defunding and subsequent dismantling of America’s forces. How long does it generally take to draft a legislative bill fit for America’s bi-cameral governmental system? Barry Shand’s shopping lists take longer than this, and Barry, bless him, could never be accused of being a culinary bon vivant.

So, then, it seems that America, devoted as it appears to be to its own destruction (and Democrats desire nothing more), have decided to get a wriggle on and not to hang about. Indeed, they have taken Monsieur Faye at his word. From the book Archeofuturism;

‘[O]ver the past 50,000 years homo sapiens has changed very little, and archaic and pre-modern models of social organisation have proven valid. The fallacious idea of progress must be replaced with movement’.

Milton does not mention how long it took to build hell – pandemonium – in his epic poem, Paradise Lost, but Lucifer and the gang certainly seem to take possession and move in their stuff in infernal cardboards boxes pretty sharpish after the builders are done. And once there, cast out from heaven (or losing the 2016 presidential election, as you like it), the Democrats and their cohorts, like Satan and his devilish minions, do not tarry in giving the rest of us a hellish time;

‘[W]ith awful Ceremony

And Trumpets sound throughout the Host proclaim

A solemn Councel forthwith to be held

At PANDAEMONIUM, the high Capital

Of Satan and his Peers: thir summons call’d

From every and Band squared Regiment

By place or choice the worthiest; they anon

With hundreds and with thousands trooping came…’

See you in hell.

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