This is GQ's New Masculinity issue. You've probably seen it and scratched your head wondering how some simperer dressed up in a sleeping bag dress counts as masculine. Good question.
Here at the Compound we think what used to be called Western Civilization's getting close to peak degeneracy, and reached out to readers to see if they agreed. Here's a sample.
"It's horrid. Ridiculous. And obscene. #SATAN running amok." Strong words from MW, who's a stylist in Dallas. GBW, writing from Georgia had this to say, "So hot and beautiful and awesome. Kill it with fire."
GQ stands for "Gentlemen's Quarterly." Some kind of joke? Feel free to disagree.
Here at the Compound we'd like to wish everyone a happy Columbus day as we celebrate the discovery of America by the great explorer and navigator.
Of course the Left's outraged by the heroic Captain and want to turn Columbus Day into the catchy, let's party, Indigenous Peoples Day. Who knows, maybe they'll get their way and we'll all be dancing beneath the jolly old Skull Wall this time next year.
Speaking of which, the Conquistadors certainly had their faults but human sacrifice and cannibalism weren't amongst them.
It may sound like science fiction but UFO seekers are flocking to a hill in northwest Thailand in the hope of spotting the venerable if illusive Church of England. They say it's the same old rock and a journey.
"We use a crocodile-infested lake as a portal from their planets, " said one user, "Pluto and Loku. And while it may sound like science fiction, messages from aliens arriving in spaceships include plenty of off-beat if culturally normative religious teachings too -- yes, I believe they are actually from the Church of England."
"It's all happening three hours by road or rail north from Bangkok in Nakhon Sawan, there it is, the Church of England," opined another church-watcher, "which translates to 'Not The City of Heaven.'" Others aren't too sure.
"Without all the UFO hype, it's just a laid-back small town, risible joke," said a local expert, "But followers believe that if you meditate on Khao Kala hill, outside of Nakhon Sawan, you'll hear the talkative silver bishops as voices in your head, speaking whatever language your thoughts usually chatter. Ignore them."
Such was America in 1962, via Borepatch. Ha, ha, but pretty much innocent and edifying with it. You can imagine the Bolshevik revolutionaries at Columbia U snarling at the bourgeois excrescence of it all, and their seething hatred of mainstream America, an America which stood between them and a Marxist Utopia.
Flash forward to today.
Haven't we devolved. And look how the radical Left has shifted their gaze from the working class, which they've sold out to China and to, yes, trannies.
Here at the Compound we argue that if you can't see through this BS you're seriously blind.
The ongoing War Against the Weather (WAW) took a sudden and savage twist last night. Yes, we'd been lulled into a false sense of security by warm sunny skies, and no rain, what was that, skywater? It was like being in California but without the weird gun laws, the needles, the freaks and the mosques, an Indian Summer we thought would never end. Then Boom.
Around 19:00 a fierce, chill wind kicked in from the east, thunder began to rumble and the first drops of rain fell on the Compound. The opening salvo, a foretaste of things to come, and followed all too soon by barrage after barrage of increasingly elemental fury 'til the house shook with the roar of it.
Blue Eschaton took it all in stride and laid down on a Moslem rug in the living room while I watched the celestial fireworks through the glass of the front door, listening to rain lash against the wooden walls of the house.
It was like being in Aberystwyth, except this is Texas and accordingly larger, wilder, more ominous. Will the Compound survive, I wondered, idly gazing at a handy shotgun propped up next to a couple of obviously useful fishing rods.
Good question, so I went out on the front porch and stood there, resolute, Ahab against the storm. "Thank God I'm armed," I muttered grimly while lightning arced across the sky and flags whipped in the wind.
This continued well into morning, while our Old Enemy the Weather launched assault after assault on the freedom loving people of North Central Texas. Were we defeated? No, we were not, the Compound stands to fight again another day.
And this message is for you, Irish Bob, Beto O'Rourke. You will never be President and you and your millionaire socialist friends will not succeed in taking our guns and erasing our faith. Freedom to bear arms and freedom of religion is written into the DNA of this country, not least Texas. Mess with that and take your choice.
Everyone knows that President Trump went to Minnesota today for an epic America First rally, 20,000 people inside the stadium and even more outside. But it wasn't a one way street, protesters turned up too. The Compound's Minneapolis Bureau Chief, Dr. Swankenstein, was there to report.
Overhearing the "resistance" conversation is hilarious. Totally predictable, institutional Leftspeak, "Systemic systems of institutional patriarchy marginalizing oppressed LGBTQ indigenous persons of color. Love not hate!" Orange Man Bad, Orange Man Bad, blah, blah, blah, it's all commie buzzwords.
You (LSP) have been right all along, this IS a battle of good v. evil. These people are deranged. Minneapolis is a blue town, but get outside the city and it's red from corner to corner.
I think I'll move to Duluth, it's big enough to have all the amenities of a city, but it's rural enough to be a conservative town. And the outdoor life there is outstanding.
These people are truly in a cult. It's pouring rain right now so I'm leaving for the nearest bar. There are thousands of these freaks on the streets, and so much hate.
How do they have zero self-awareness, no sense of irony? Check out the Amazing Polly on how the Left is a cult, it's outstanding.
Thank you Dr. Swankenstein, keep the news flowing. We predict 45 will flip Minnesota red because, you know, the people of the state are sick of being sold out to China by a gang of Millionaire Socialist, asset-stripping oligarchs. To say nothing of the gender fluid washing out of Little Somalia, sorry, Minneapolis.
Do you detect a note of hatred and rage in the Left, a constant, hysterical, shrieking chorus of outrage and anger? And at the same time a corresponding and sometimes frustrating lack of aggression in their opponents? Roger Scruton sums up the ethos:
“I think that, in the end, there is something that unites all conservatives, which is that they are pursuing something they love. My view is that the Left is united by hatred, but we are united by love: love of our country, love of institutions, love of the law, love of family, and so on. And what makes us conservatives is the desire to protect those things, and we’re up against people who want to destroy them, and it’s very simple.”
If you're unconvinced, listen to Georg Lukacs, a founder of the Frankfurt School and some would say Western Marxism:
“I saw the revolutionary destruction of society as the one and only solution. A worldwide overturning of values cannot take place without the annihilation of the old values and the creation of new ones by the revolutionaries.”
Quite. Charles Williams, the remarkable hermeticist turned Anglo-Catholic, puts it neatly in his novel War in Heaven, as the Satanist Manasseh states, "They build and we destroy."
Keen-eyed observers of the political scene will have noticed that a Leftist Congress has done nothing to build up our country and has, instead, worked its damndest to overthrow a President who was elected on a promise to make America great, to rebuild the nation.
Texans rejoiced today. Why? Because clouds rolled in from the West and brought a cold front. Yes, you heard that right, a cold front, it even rained a bit. So? You ask from shivering Calgary or rain-soaked Aberystwyth. So a lot, my friends, a break from unrelenting 100* weather.
That probably sounds nice to you if you're in, say, Nottingham and looking at the repellent Anna Soubry as rain falls upon her traitorous visage. But no, it's not nice, it's like living in an oven, a kind of purgatory. That in mind, our Old Enemy the Weather broke last night, and in blew cool air. Like HVAC but free and better.
I set up on Ma LSP's back deck in Dallas, in the beautiful cool of an Edenlike morning, and finished an overdue "Leader." It's easier to type when your opposition, the Climate, isn't trying to kill you. Unlike an Attack Squirrel who ferociously challenged me from the Pecans.
And there you have it, Texans rejoice as the heat dies down. In other news, Operation Boomerang's in full swing inside the Beltway and pundits are betting on a Hillary v. Michelle 2020 Primary Face-Off. Terrifying prospect.
Wake up, feed the dog, boil the kettle, say Morning Prayer. Shower, go to the Pick 'n Steal and get coffee, check the news. Note how Operation Boomerang is progressing nicely for Joe "Don't Call Me Quid Pro Quo" Biden. Play Groove is in the Heart by Deelite.
Then drive to Waxahachie. Yes readers, all seven of you, Waxahachie. Why? Because you've been invited to the Global Orthodox Anglican Church's clericus. And there you are , at this little Texas Gothic church in the midst of a pretty neat town. Note, Waxahachie's been gentrified, thank God.
I heard a talk from the OAC's Primus about the Eucharist. Simple stuff but alright with it. Then I lurked off to the church hall and talked horses with a ranching woman who was making pulled pork, even though it was Friday.
She was down to earth and used to cowboy because her Father didn't have any sons to look after the cattle. Respect. We talked Arabians and "hitting the ground like a sack of wet charcoal." Then it was time for Mid-Day Prayer.
The impressively bearded Primate of the OAC performed a quick change parade and walked over to the church in Rochet, Chimere and all the rest. I called out, "Bishop, you're looking terrifyingly Choir Dress," he chuckled at that, which I liked.
As we were entering the small but winsome church I told him, boldly, "Years ago I went to the King's School Canterbury and we used to have Summer assemblies in the Quire of the Cathedral. It was Sung Mattins, and after the first one I wrote home, "Dear Mother, I think I've been to a non-communicating Solemn High Mass. I was twelve at the time."
His Eminent Grace thought that "very good" and I replied "very ridiculous" and off we went to the Office. All well and good. And it was. So good to be with loyal, catholic Anglicans, people who actually believe in the Creed they stand up and proclaim Sunday by Sunday.
