Showing posts with label American Beauty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American Beauty. Show all posts

Sunday, December 7, 2025

Axe

Already the axe is laid to the root of the trees


How long, friends, do you think societies whose economies are based on infinite debt, whose mothers kill their babies in the womb, which shriek for war while transing and feminizing their militaries, whose media is nothing more than agitprop globohomo corporatist propaganda, whose elections are rigged and borders opened to third world savages, how long can such a society exist?


What an evil old womyn

Well that was a long sentence, let's cut it down for clarity. How long can a people who openly defy and reject God, reality Himself, be expected to continue and flourish?  Not for long. Go against that which is, truth, and see how you make out. But of course this means nothing to an Enemy which seeks to destroy, and that only.


Santiago de Matamoros

Nihilists, you see, and they've been given a massive backhanded slap here in the US. Result. Europe and the UK? Hugely behind the times, but just you wait and see, EuroHomos. When the cash runs out of your solar wind farms so too does welfare for your precious imported vote Moslems. Then let the games begin.

The axe, dear punters, is laid to the root of the trees, which side of the blade are you on?

Vade Retro,

LSP

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Tom Wolfe, Literary Genius or Southern Fop?


I like reading Tom Wolfe's books, and what's not to like? He can write with a laser-like accuracy that's as enjoyable as it's at times disturbing, which leads some to rate him as a latter-day American Dickens or Dostoyevsky.



I'm sure Wolfe would modestly dispute such claims and with that in mind, I once asked a woman of the South if she liked the famous author.

"Mr. Wolfe," she exclaimed, "is a Southern Fop."



She may well have had a point. Here's Tom Wolfe on Hunter Thompson, who he thinks may have been the "great comic writer of the 20th century."

From Bauhaus to Our House,

LSP