Black Curtain Falling

[Yentafo Phua Ki in Bangkok, 11/24/22]

Seeing my photo of a woman in colorful pants in Poi Pet, the last Cambodian town before Thailand, WayWay comments:

If God ever lets me go to SE Asia I'm buying some colorful fabric and getting parachute pants like these women wear tailored.

One of the greatest disasters of modernity, in my opinion, is the homogenization of attire. Traveling and seeing t-shirts and jeans everywhere is one of the most depressing experiences.

My response:

It's interesting that in ultra-modern societies like Japan, South Korea and Germany, etc., black has become the predominant color, lending a funereal aspect to public spaces.

WayWay:

In a sense the entire modern world is a funeral. We're on the cusp of the new epoch, watching the previous one die.

Isn’t it obvious our masters are trying to destroy everything we hold dear? That’s progress or, more specifically, another example of Jewish thinking, which is a righteous rage to raze and annihilate. How many societies has this evil mindset perverted or pulverized?

I write to you from Bangkok. I’m on my second large bottle of Singha. At $2.23 per, I may never leave this table. In front of me is the Bang Lamphu Canal. Every so often, a fish jumps out of the water, probably to escape the stench and get some fresh air.

On a floating bundle of long bamboos, two water monitors sun themselves. One is the size of an immature alligator. I imagine a baby or two inside his bulging belly. Lizards got the memo. Depopulation is on the agenda. Showing off his old man’s neck, the smaller one lifts his heavy head. On a concrete wall behind them is American styled graffiti with its predictable “FUCK THE POLICE.”

Four feet from me is a montage showing 13 images of the late King Bhumibol, who is clearly adored here. Certain monks are also revered, and amulets, some gorgeously elaborate, guard most entrances. Since most Thais believe in their kings, Buddha and supernatural forces, they’re obviously not too progressive, are they? but for this reason, they will outlast you!

The solidity and endurance of Thai culture is amply displayed in its religious architecture. Unlike in the West, there are no temples here that look like sport arenas, mega pubs, roller skating rinks, porn theaters or dollar stores.

But faith is within, you say, and each man is already a temple. True enough, so in the enlightened West, you can stick a cross on any reststop toilet and call it a church, and it will be non-binary, of course, with a gender unicorn minister who can’t decide if ze is a principled incel, bitch in raging heat or horny backed toad.

Listen, mon, at Mam’s in Phra Nakhon, I’m paying just 550 bahts [$15.37] a night. My room smells like some drunk slathered in body oil is humping a passed-out whore who hasn’t washed in forever, and the water pressure is risible, but everything is A-OK. I have a private bathroom and even AC. When not in the room, I leave its louvered window open, so this loving couple is gone, though not entirely.

Speaking of smells, check out this passage from Sommerset Maugham’s The Razor Edge, “The Theatre Francais has a musty fug that is peculiar to it. It is impregnated with the body odour of those unnumbered generations of sourfaced, unwashed women called ouvreuses who show you to your seat and domineeringly await their tip.”

Suddenly, all these heretofore disdained ushers are immortalized because they stink! That’s how you know you’re still alive. Asia breathes and blossoms, with a plethora of heavenly fragrances among its funks and fugs. I smell my lacquered pork, green tea and incense. Only psychos outlaw ordinary breathing.

Singha is a fine beer, and so is Beer Lao, and Angkor in Cambodia is quaffable. Why is it that hut dwelling peasants in the Third World get buzzed with more class and dignity than your average Joe Sixpack, with his Miller and Bud?!

Bangkok is no Third World city, though. It combines the funkiness and vitality of a traditional society with all the amenities and comforts of any first-rate 21st century metropolis. To say it’s a merging of East and West is too facile, for not that long ago, all of Europe was just as alive. At this point, there’s only a handful of cities that manage to be comfortably First and Third World. Mexico City does, and Istanbul still qualifies, as would Beirut, if it hasn’t been destroyed by Jews and their abject American lackeys.

In a few days, I’ll be in Bangalore, where I’ll be feature on two panels, on the short story and taboos. Before I was canceled, yakking invitations were fairly frequent. I was the headliner in Brighton, shown on Icelandic TV and was treated with civility in Leipzig, Berlin, Paris, Singapore and London, etc. When you butt heads with Jewish thinking and Jewish power, however, you’ll be swarmed by hasbabra, drones and, yes, Angry White Pussies. Even as they’re being destroyed, they can’t help but conform to their farcical and impotent caricature.

“Lewis Jones” at UK-based TruthSeeker after one of my recent articles, “We should never have taught Orientals how to speak—they used to hoot and whistle till we found them.” Even as the world watches, these savages can’t control themselves, but the world has never existed for such narcissistic morons. This entire universe is reduced to the tip of their dick. It’s hard to believe. On 9/21/21, I wrote “Are Angry White Pussies Crypto Jews?”

Sinking into unctuous barbarity, the West destroys itself. Their hippest or creepiest, though, are still all over Bangkok. The young come to explore the East, the old mostly to fuck it. Tattooed and in shorts, many browse temples, before they quickly tire of it. A command to marvel can be stifling. Missing a “No Entry” sign, two leggy chicks enter a forbidden area, then knock it down on their way out. With so many gilded statues and murals all over, they’re too dazzled. At least they’re not stepping on prostrating worshippers.

In downtown Saigon, there’s a middle-aged white methhead who keeps desecrating Sri Dandayudhapani Temple. Built in the late 19th century, it boasts wonderful statues, a wooden chariot and portraits of Gandhi and Swami Vivekananda. Not too impressed, the methhead has placed a dildo on an altar, draped a male underwear on a statue and, with knife and hammer, even chased an attendant onto the street. When I visited Sri Dandayudhapani earlier this month, he had just broken a plastic chair and knocked over a case selling votive candles. At least in this case, Saigon cops are as useless as those in Philly and San Francisco, for they haven’t arrested this asshole.

Like much of the world, people here got a kick out of Germany getting its ass kicked by Japan the other day. Pregame, Germans covered their mouths to show Muslim Qatar and the rest of the world their support for LGBTQ and transgenderism. Postgame, some wiseass cracked, “Wok beat Woke.”

Watching the match in Rambuttri Alley, I sat near four Germans who, stunned, left the bar immediately afterwards. There, I talked to a Canadian on his first trip to Asia. In two weeks, he had visited five cities in Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand. He planned on seeing Peru next year. When I asked about Vancouver, his home, he said everything was fine, despite its spreading swarm of junkies, sprawled all over downtown. As for the Freedom Convoy, it was brief enough and mostly forgotten. Jabbed twice, this man felt fine, and his life was normal.

Across the alley, a heavy-lidded white woman with intricate tatts on her hands and arms struck a languid pose. Her boyfriend was also expensively inked.

In places without dramatic changes of seasons, it’s easier to believe in permanence, so there’s no new epoch, Great Reset or any impeding cataclysm. Most shop signs in Phra Nakhon are older than the hipsters, arrivistes or dark faced strugglers trudging beneath them. Much the same heat greets you each day. Though just arrived, I’ve already established a routine of heading to Hong Kong Noodle at dawn for my breakfast of rice or noodles with pork or duck. Afterwards, I have my 84-cent cup of cappuccino in a dark alley. Its pulpy orange juice is just 56 cents. Closing my eyes, I get settled.

Elsewhere, though, snow has arrived. With winter nearly a month away, today’s high in suffering Kiev is already 35 Fahrenheit. Despite the West’s insane insistence that Ukraine is winning its war against Russia, much of the country is now regularly deprived of energy.

With remarkable insolence, some Americans even insist it’s a “fake war” or “kabuki,” but they aren’t among the hundreds of thousands already dead or maimed, plus millions more displaced. Thanks to American and Jewish machination, yet another country is being wrecked, to the cheering, smugness or indifference of too many Americans, but what do you expect from a population that often finds the unspeakable suffering of others, suffering it has caused, hilarious?

Though there’s sadism in each man, no society has flaunted it to openly, but none has been so thoroughly groomed by a Satanic music industry and, of course, Hollywood. Eagerly anticipating yet more carnage overseas, Americans commonly speak of “taking out the popcorn.” If it’s not you being butchered, it’s a marvelous entertainment.

Beneath a mushroom cloud on a T-shirt, “Made in America, Tested in Japan.” “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” “Kill them all, let God sort them out.” “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, except a marine. A marine will definitely kill you.” “Kick ass then go home.” Watching Afghans fleeing in panic in 2021, Andrew Anglin gloated, “Look at them running! Run, faggots, run!” On and on, they laugh.

There’s at least one sane American, however, though born in Chile. As the Ukraine war broke out in February, I started to quote Gonzalo Lira. With clarity, knowledge and candidness, he’s become an indispensable commentator for millions of followers worldwide. He gave us all primers on Zelensky’s background, Russian tactics and the antics of Zelensky’s goons.

On 11/24/22, Lira reported from Kharkov that the lights had gone out for 22 hours, with the heat kaput for nearly as long:

Now, I'll tell you, it's incredibly dispiriting to be in a city without electricity […] No electricity means no heating, OK? You are constantly shocked by how much you need electricity […] All of a sudden, you realize that everything in your life depends on electricity, even getting to your own home. Because if you live in an apartment building as I do, where you need an elevator, okay? I mean, it’s not fun to be climbing, God knows, how many stairs, and carrying stuff or whatever, you know, it is a bit of a nightmare. It's despair. That's the only word I can think of, OK? You feel low.

With darkness descending around 4PM, Lira was in bed by six, since there was nothing to do:

I realized how much of my entertainment, how much of everything depends on electricity. I mean, I have a few books, but still, you know, and of course you have to read them with a flashlight, which I have. I have two, as a matter of fact, and lots of batteries, so I'm good on that end. It reminded me of when I was living in Chile in the very early 80’s, in 83 and 84.

With Communists sabotaging the electric supply, even many leftists cheered when Pinochet squashed these terrorists. When your rudimentary needs are not met, ideologies or ideals simply disappear for most people, naturally. In peace and comfort, you may wax about courage, honor, sacrifice or patriotism, etc., but when your belly or pain threshold is seriously threatened, you’ll step on your neighbor, best friend or even brother to survive.

At my blog a while back, some supercilious bird complained about Syrian refugees, escaping another Jewish/American war. The men should stay and fight, she said, and the women should be there to help them. Obviously, she had never heard anything louder than a Chinese firecracker, and she had never soiled her bootcut designer jeans, fleeing for her life. Like nearly all Westerners, she had also absolved herself of all responsibilities for causing this flood of refugees in the first place.

In Kharkov, Lira noticed some of his neighbors walking down staircases with packed boxes, for, understandably, they were terrified of enduring freezing months with erratic food supplies, if a stray missile or two doesn’t hit them, at least? Won’t you do the same to prevent your children, at least, from such abject misery? No man, I’m another Rambo! Kick ass then go home! An American Marine will always kill you!

There’s another American in Ukraine I’ve been keeping track of. When I interviewed Graham Siebert on 6/20/21, he painted a fairly detailed self-portrait.

Just 26 hours into this war, Siebert was convinced Russia had already won, “My opinion has been that Russia could conquer Ukraine easily. How easily, I was off by an order of magnitude. Judging from the quiet, it is all over after 24 hours.”

Just hours later, however, Siebert believed the Russians were “bogged down, way behind the timetable they had set for themselves.” Notice the “way behind,” just two days into this war!

By 2/27/22, or four days into this conflict, Siebert declared Putin was finished:

In my view Putin is a dead man walking. He cannot survive this. He must be forced from power, and is unlikely to enjoy a comfortable retirement. If that's his objective, he had better learn Chinese.

Siebert on 3/1/22:

The whole punditry of the United States, both left and right, has egg on its face. Nobody expected the Ukrainians to be so tough. Ukraine did it without NATO troops on the ground. Zelensky proved he does not need NATO at all. Why should he now encumber himself promising to defend others when NATO would not defend him? Why does he need the EU? Soldiers in dresses—whatever sex—would not have won him this war.

Siebert also repeated the tale about a Ukrainian grandma who destroyed a Russian drone with a jar of pickled tomatoes thrown from her balcony. He pointed out the “Ghost of Kyiv” had zapped 18 Russian planes, making him a “Triple Ace.” Like the New York Times and George W. Bush, Siebert also thought Zelensky was the new Churchill.

On 3/8/22, Siebert congratulated himself:

I'm feeling pretty prescient. I blogged at the very beginning of the war that the countryside would be too marshy for armor to operate, and the roads were inadequate. I recently gave credit to General Mud for stymieing the advance. That's probably as good of a single sentence analysis is you will get.

By contrast, Lira and others pointed out that Putin had massed troops around Kiev and Kharkov to tie down the Ukrainians, so they couldn’t join the fighting in Luhansk, Donetsk, Kherson and Zaporizhzhia. All those liberated regions have voted to join Russia, though people in Kherson have been evacuated, along with an orderly withdrawal of Russian troops. It’s a tactical move. Russia will take it, back and that’s no wild prediction.

Eight months into this war, does Siebert still believe Ukraine is winning?

On 11/19/22, Siebert reported:

Grandma and I heard a loud explosion about 4:00. Probably the Russians taking another shot at our infrastructure. I asked her to fill the bathtub when the power comes back on so we have water to wash with just in case it’s out for a long time. Maybe it will bring us luck. We had a full tub of water from March through June that we never needed.

That’s the news from Lake WeBeGone, where it feels rather like London during the blitz. Although it’s not an attractive proposition being targeted by Putin’s rockets, from a global perspective it is satisfying to see him waste a billion dollars worth of scarce ammunition for such marginal results targeting civilian objectives. We can stand the cold as our soldiers continue to push the SOBs back where they came from.

It’s hard to push when you must take 20 steps backward for each step forward, and when you must suffer enormous casualties against a much more numerous and powerful enemy. As I wrote on 3/9/22, this suits top Jews perfectly, however, for they want “As Many Dead Slavs as Possible.” Ukrainians above all are being sacrificed.

When Lira could take the train from Kiev to Kharkov one week into the war, I was surprised, and Kiev airport remained open for numerous American creeps to visit, including Pelosi, McConnel and Lindsey Graham. When Tom Cruise showed up, Zelensky blurted, “You’re good looking, like in a movie!” Cruise gave the penile pianist an Oscar. Actors sure know how to ham.

Siebert’s latest commentaries have been super brief. On 11/23/22, he wrote:

We are hearing a series of loud explosions, more than at any time since April/May. No idea what it is. Coming from north, east and west of us.

That’s it. Then on 11/25/22:

Short note to confirm we are still here. Internet and phones were out for two days, electric power 2 hours per day. Better now.

When Internet is out, cash is king. Poor folks living on credit / debit cards were in a world of hurt. Keep this in mind when it comes to Central Bank Digital Currencies, etc.

More later.

Though not yet threatened with starvation, freezing cold and/or missiles, there are people like Graham Siebert all over, and that’s why I’ve quoted him at length. You must know many.

This time tomorrow, I’ll be in Bangalore, India, so I’ll wrap this up. This afternoon, I had a crappy lunch at this very table, though a much better and cheaper place was just a three-minute walk away. I will make it up with a decent dinner.

Not quite dusk, it is cool and pleasant in Bangkok. Though I should be snoring by 2AM, a disappointing Argentina will face Mexico in a must-win. When you watch 22 men going all out for +90 minutes to make their nation proud, life still seems normal.

An Indian friend recommends Koshys, “a slightly run-down Bangalore institution, great for spotting old-school Bangaloreans. Definitely up your alley.”

There, too, I will encounter normalcy.

[Mongkhol Utog hanging out at the Adhere the 13th Blues Bar in Bangkok, 11/24/22]

[Bangkok, 11/23/22]

[Bangkok, 11/24/22]

[Bangkok, 11/24/22]