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Following the Forest Passage

Following the Forest Passage

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Channel for the editor, writer, and occasional publisher John Morgan.

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Channel Posts
Repost from Julius Evola
A sequel: By the way, in this day of ours, you will only start living when you realise that, NOT everything is political. I know, I know that sense of importance and that feeling of worth you experience when you engage in politics all day long, when you have strong opinions regarding this and that issue or against this and that party or whatever—the delusion that you are doing something consequential. But ask yourself if this is actually the end you have to seek in this life and if it should be the stone upon which you establish your whole identity. Ere long, you will have to see how your soul is being eaten away, and how your insides are being impoverished.

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StanisƂaw Szukalski @eurasianvolk+3
StanisƂaw Szukalski @eurasianvolk
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👆Trying to tell them doesn't do much good, either.
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Personal: It is only rarely—if ever—will you see anyone of those loud speakers of remigration tell you anything about the economic and global system—alongside the internal degeneration of countries—that made immigration almost a necessity. I remain in disbelief as regards the total separation from reality from which most nationalistic and populist Rightists suffer. I mean do these people even know anything about how their countries are actually run? Do people even have eyes to see and read nowadays?
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Lost Highway is one of the highest peaks of David Lynch’s filmography, in terms of cinematography, atmosphere, and soundtrack
Lost Highway is one of the highest peaks of David Lynch’s filmography, in terms of cinematography, atmosphere, and soundtrack. The film’s conception of time—perhaps a Möbius strip—has something in common with Nietzsche’s cyclical time, Giorgio Locchi’s spherical time, or the Buddhist saáčƒsāra. But more than anything else, it seems like a psychological maelstrom in which every character has a double—even the detectives—as in a Jungian interpretation of dreams. The theme of the double and the DoppelgĂ€nger, also typical, for instance, of Borges’s fiction, finds here one of its highest forms of expression. And what about the Mystery Man, who never seems to blink? He could be a symbol of the male unconscious, which does not need to enter the house because it has always been part of it. This is why he is able to “film” what is hidden inside without having to physically “enter” it. In any case, the ending deserves applause: the end is also a new beginning.
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“Help, if it comes, frequently turns up from an unexpected quarter: from the weak. This happened to me when I met and married Teresa. My defeatism reached a climax: I went the whole distance, finally turning my back on the struggle for power. It all seemed meaningless and futile, a wasted effort, time lost. I wanted to wipe it from my memory. I came to recognize that one single human being, comprehended in his depth, who gives generously from the treasures of his heart, bestows on us more riches than Caesar or Alexander could ever conquer. Here is our kingdom, the best of monarchies, the best republic. Here is our garden, our happiness.” —Ernst JĂŒnger, The Glass Bees.
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Elisabeth Schwarzkopf sings "September" from Richard Strauss' Four Last Songs. The text was taken from a poem by Hermann Hesse. The garden mourns, the cool rain sinks into the flower, Summer shudders, quietly to its close. Leaf after golden leaf falls from the tall acacia. Summer smiles, astonished and drained, into the garden's dying dream. For a long time it lingers by the roses, yearning for rest. Slowly it closes its now wearied eyes. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FR63wkcS4QY
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This kind of ethics informs his economic thinking. It is the Manchester school all over again. It is exactly like the thinking of Cobden, who at the very same time was leading the Whig free-trade theory to victory. Marx opposed the form of capitalism that derived its justification from Bentham and Shaftesbury and was formulated by Adam Smith. But since he was a critic only, negative and uncreative, he took over his principles from the very thing he was fighting. Work was for him a commodity, not an obligation. That is the core of his political economics. His ethics were the ethics of big business. Not that business is unethical; but we can read between the lines his opinion that the laborer is a fool not to engage in it. And laborers have understood him. The battle for higher wages became a kind of investment speculation: the worker was now a merchant selling his product, work. The trick about Marx’s famous ‘‘surplus value’’ thesis is that it was considered as spoils to be carried off by the successful merchant from the opponent’s stores. It was not to be presented to him for nothing. Class egoism thus became a universal principle. The laborers not only wanted to do business, he wanted the corner the whole market. The true Marxist is hostile to the state, and for the very same reason as the Whig: it hinders him in the ruthless exercise of his private business interests. Marxism is the capitalism of the working class. Consider Darwin, who was just as important to Marx as Malthus and Cobden. Business is conceived of throughout as a struggle for existence. In industry the employer engages in commerce with the commodity ‘‘money,’’ while the worker does likewise with the commodity ‘‘work.’’ Marx wished to deprive capital of the right to private profit, but the only thing he could think of as a substitute was the worker’s right to private profit. That is unsocialistic, but it is typically English.»
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In the same vein, I quote Spengler (from his Preußentum und Sozialismus): «The same style is still apparent today in every English trade company and every American trust. Their aim is not to work steadily to raise the entire nation’s standard of living, it is rather to produce private fortunes by the use of private capital, to overcome private competition, and to exploit the public through the use of advertising, price wars, artificial stimulation of the consumer, and strict control of the ratio of supply and demand. When the Englishman speaks of national wealth he means the number of millionaires in the country. As Friedrich Engels wrote, ‘‘Nothing is more foreign to the English mentality than solidarity.’’ Even in sports and recreation the Englishman sees a test of personal, and especially physical, superiority. He engages in sports for the sake of national and world records; he enjoys prize-fighting, a sport that is closely related to his economic habits and is quite alien to the minds of gymnasts in Germany. All this proves that the economic existence of England is synonymous with business, i.e., a refined form of piracy. The English instinct regards all commodities as booty, items to be manipulated in order to get rich. The English machine industry was created in the interest of commerce and trade, its chief aim being the production of cheap goods. When English agriculture began to limit wage cuts by fixing its own prices, it was simply abandoned in the interest of commerce. The battles between capital and labor in English industry in 1850 were concerned with the commodity ‘‘labor’’—one side wanted to get it cheap, the other wanted a high price for it. Everything that Marx has to say with grudging admiration about ‘‘capitalistic society’’ refers principally to English, and not to a universal, economic instinct. The sublime term ‘‘free trade’’ is part and parcel of Viking economics. The Prussian, i.e., socialist term would be ‘‘state control of the exchange of goods.’’ This assigns to trade a subordinate rather than a dominant role within the complex of economic activity. We can understand why Adam Smith harbored a hatred of the state and the ‘‘cunning beasts called statesmen.’’ Indeed, government officials must have the same effect on tradesmen as policemen on burglars and naval cruisers on the crews of pirate ships. Likewise characteristic of the Englishman is his overestimation of the importance of capital sums for economic health. The materialist finds it impossible to understand that the English concept of capital is psychologically, and therefore practically (the practical life is, after all, an expression of psychic conditions) different from the French system of private means and the Prussian concept of administrative funds. The English have never been good at psychology. They have always considered their own ideas as logically binding on ‘‘mankind.’’ In fact, all of modern political economics rests on the basic error of equating economic life everywhere in the world with an exclusively English interest in business, and the error is committed even by those who reject the theories of the Manchester school. Marxism, in the very act of negating this theory, has adopted its patterns quite completely. This explains the grotesque fiasco of all predictions concerning the outbreak of the World War; it was said that the collapse of world economy would follow within a few months. . . . What the Englishman calls bliss—business success that saves physical work and makes one a gentleman—is good for all Englishmen. For us it is obscene. It smacks of mobs and snobs.
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Huizinga on the enslavement of the ideal of liberty to the economic aspect (alongside the previous political one), the system+2
Huizinga on the enslavement of the ideal of liberty to the economic aspect (alongside the previous political one), the system of thought of the Manchester school, and the big ‘‘If’’ upon which it was built: —Johan Huizinga, Patriotism and Nationalism in European History, 1940.
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"The spiritual decline of the Earth has progressed so far that peoples are in danger of losing their last spiritual strength;
"The spiritual decline of the Earth has progressed so far that peoples are in danger of losing their last spiritual strength; the strength that makes it possible even to see the decline and to appraise it as such." Martin Heidegger, Introduction to Metaphysics.
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I heard it's White Cat Appreciation Day, so here's Gaston from a few years ago.
I heard it's White Cat Appreciation Day, so here's Gaston from a few years ago.
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“People are strange: They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice.” - Charles Bukowski
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Tito Perdue's dystopian White Nationalist novel The Node is being released in a second, spiffed up edition. Pre-order for a s
Tito Perdue's dystopian White Nationalist novel The Node is being released in a second, spiffed up edition. Pre-order for a special discount. https://counter-currents.com/product/the-node-second-edition/
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In 2019 journalist, historian and author Tom O’Connor asked me to write a chapter for a book he was editing on the Tarrant killings: Our Darkest Day: The Terrorist Attack on Two Mosques, Christchurch, New Zealand, March 15, 2019, (Kirsten Wilson Publishing, 2021). ✍ Kerry Bolton 🗣 Tarrant Book: The Missing Chapter
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Pangur Bán (White Pangur) Translated by Seamus Heaney Pangur Bán and I at work, Adepts, equals, cat and clerk: His whole instinct is to hunt, Mine to free the meaning pent. More than loud acclaim, I love Books, silence, thought, my alcove. Happy for me, Pangur Bán Child-plays round some mouse’s den. Truth to tell, just being here, Housed alone, housed together, Adds up to its own reward: Concentration, stealthy art. Next thing an unwary mouse Bares his flank: Pangur pounces. Next thing lines that held and held Meaning back begin to yield. All the while, his round bright eye Fixes on the wall, while I Focus my less piercing gaze On the challenge of the page. With his unsheathed, perfect nails Pangur springs, exults and kills. When the longed-for, difficult Answers come, I too exult. So it goes. To each his own. No vying. No vexation. Taking pleasure, taking pains, Kindred spirits, veterans. Day and night, soft purr, soft pad, Pangur Bán has learned his trade. Day and night, my own hard work Solves the cruxes, makes a mark.
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Doodle in the margins of a ninth-century manuscript which was left by an anonymous Irish monk at Reichenau Abbey in Germany,
Doodle in the margins of a ninth-century manuscript which was left by an anonymous Irish monk at Reichenau Abbey in Germany, showing him with his cat. It accompanies the famous poem "Pangur Bån" that the same monk likewise left in the margins.
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