Dying in an Insane Asylum

[first day of school inVung Tau on 9/5/24]

The big news in China isn’t impending invasion of Taiwan, disputes over islands in the East Sea (what Vietnamese call the South China Sea!), trade war with the US, Super Typhoon Yagi slamming into Hainan or recent successes at the Olympics, already so dimly remembered. The big news is China’s 7-0 loss to Japan in soccer! While not as bad as American Samoa losing to Australia 31-0 in 2001, China is a soccer mad global power. Chinese care deeply about their ass sucking Dragon Team.

With Shohei Ohtani lauded as perhaps the greatest baseball player ever and Naoya Inoue the pound-for-pound boxing king, Japan has never been more triumphant, sportwise, but as with China’s football humiliation, none of this really matters. What Japanese should think about is their nation’s need to import foreigners to fill essential jobs. Lagos based Nairametrics in April of 2024:

The Japanese government has announced plans to admit up to 820,000 foreigners in the transportation and logistics sectors under its skilled worker visa over the next five years which is more than double the previous estimation for the five years.

[…]

During a meeting ahead of the cabinet decision, Chief Cabinet Secretary Yoshimasa Hayashi requested relevant ministers to, “make preparations to accept (the foreign workers) without delay and to make efforts to realize an inclusive society.”

The US, UK, Canada, Australia, Spain, Portugal, France, Germany, Sweden and Italy, etc., are way ahead of Japan at being inclusive. China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and Thailand, too, must catch up, except they won’t. On 5/30/24, The Guardian (of Lagos) quoted a Thai diplomat, Kriwat Pharmorabuta:

I have good news because before now, there were around 800 prisoners from Nigeria in Thai prisons but right now, the number has decreased greatly, it is less than 200.

That means it’s very difficult now for drug traffickers to get out of Nigeria with drugs. So, I congratulate you and the Nigerian people. I feel pleased because I’m a diplomat in Nigeria and so I love not only my country, I love also Nigeria because Nigeria is my second home. So, when I receive good news like this, I feel very happy.

There are fewer Nigerians in Thai prisons because more are blocked from entering The Land of Smiles. I doubt there are even a dozen Siamese in Nigerian jails.

In Vietnam, the more attentive have read or heard much about Nigerian drug smugglers and scammers, with the most enterprising posing as black Americans. It is hilarious. Thinking they’re moving to mythical “Cali,” dumbshits are stripped of their savings.

The Nigerian Union in Vietnam has been awfully quiet lately. At its website, there’s this statement from its president, made in late 2010:

I receive a report from the Vietnamese immigration unit after my return from Thailand that some Nigerians deported out of Vietnam are back here with different identification (names and passport number) with the help of some of the Nigerian legal companies in Vietnam standing as their sponsor. The Union is totally against these set of people and are strongly in support of their prosecution in the hands of the Vietnamese authority when time comes.

Since wages in Vietnam are low even for citizens with no linguistic or cultural barrier, why would obvious aliens who can’t legally rent a room or get a job want to stay here? How would these illegals survive? By illegal means, of course. In Vietnam, we don’t call illegal immigrants “migrants” or “undocumented workers.” We aren’t that cowed or insane. Unlike much of the West, Southeast Asian nations know how to defend their borders. On Vietnamese ID cards, even those whose ancestors arrived centuries ago must list their ethnicity as, say, “Chinese,” so there’s no illusion a Nigerian, Thai or Japanese can suddenly become Vietnamese because his passport says so.

In the UK, Vietnamese are notorious for growing massive amount of pot with stolen electricity in flats they’ve wrecked. Even if all Viets are model immigrants, the English should have every right to stop the increase of such an alien culture.

Even those who’ve never been to Japan or Vietnam have likely eaten sushi and phở in restaurants. The tasteful decors of Japanese establishments are unmatched. Even their manhole covers belong in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Admiring one, I was frozen on a Tokyo sidewalk for at least a minute. In a Vietnamese restaurant, you’re liable to find photos, placemats or wallpapers depicting Paris, London, Dubai, Florence or wherever. My own father displayed an Arabic tray, bought at some flea market, at his Japanese restaurant in Santa Clara. It had its own glass covered niche. Though a cheap enough fan or maneki-neko from nearby Japantown could have replaced this absurdity, my father didn’t see a problem. Vietnamese, then, are radically different from Japanese. In Tokyo, I did meet a lady who was delighted by Southeast Asia’s hodgepodge or sloppiness. In that regard, Vietnam ranks near the top.

Why does Japan feel the need to import Vietnamese, Chinese, Filipinos, Sri Lankans and Nigerians? Overly civilized and regimented, millions have given up on sex, marriage or even living. Two percent of its working age, or 1.46 million people as of 2022, have become hikikomori. If 60% of these miserable recluses would rejoin society, Japan wouldn’t have to risk ruining its social cohesion.

My last article, “Deutschland, Stop Sucking!” was also about the need to protect national identity. Commenting about Germans’ submission to authorities, Swiss Reader brought up a mostly forgotten writer, Oskar Panizza. All of his work is out of print in English. Since nothing is more in vogue than blasphemy against the Christian God, you’d think it’s time for a Panizza revival. His 1894 play, Das Liebeskonzil [The Love Council], seems too perfect as a Netflix or Hollywood movie.

Peter D.G. Brown on Panizza’s God:

God is imprisoned in divine isolation. His earthly creatures despise or ridicule him, and the closest thing to love he can experience in Heaven is the tearful compassion of his favorite cherub, a “sexless angel” with a “very beautiful face reminiscent of Antinous.” The pain of eternal sexual frustration is evident when God “feverishly seizes the boy’s head with both hands, presses his wet and disheveled face against the cherub’s cheeks and passionately kisses the lad’s forehead, eyes, and hair, interrupted only by occasional sobs. The two are dissolved in tears and remain in a calm embrace after God’s passionate outburst subsides.” Panizza’s God experiences neither pleasure nor joy nor love. His physical desires, which are clearly manifest in the preceding quotation, remain eternally unfulfilled; like the dog in Aus dem Tagebucb eines Hundes [A Dog’s Diary, a novella], he is incapable of enjoying either a hetero- or homosexual relationship. In more than one sense, the Lord represents the apotheosis of Panizza’s dog motif. He is the dog to end all dogs.

Here’s Jesus:

Like the figure of God, Jesus Christ appears as pompous, sick, impotent, and dumb. He has “the character of deepest despondency and frailty,” his head is bent down in an expression of deep sorrow. The classic young masochist, he is “surrounded by predominantly older angels carrying the cross and torture instruments. . . He strides to his throne, watched by God with indifference and completely ignored by Mary, refusing in his own passivity to take notice of anyone.” His sorrowful countenance and his tall, youthful appearance make him something of a “sex idol” for females. His retinue includes Mary Magdalene and a large number of mourning women not unlike the necrophiles who tried raping the dead Savior in “Der Stationsberg.”

As translated by Brown, here’s how Panizza describes Mary:

She comes through the main door wearing a small crown and a blue, star-spangled dress, open at the front to expose a white silk petticoat underneath. She makes a curt, polite bow in front of God’s throne, the steps of which the cherub had previously vacated […] She is occupied exclusively with her make-up, playing with her little mirror, and sprinkling herself with perfumes.

In an 1893 short story, she’s even more offensive. Brown:

Mary is in her mid-thirties, but unlike her blond, blue-eyed son, has marked Semitic features which prompt the author to continually refer to her as “die Jüdin” or “die schlaue Jüdin” [“clever Jewess”]. Her black eyes and fleshy lips “decidedly reveal sensuality,” while her manner and attire are characterized as being slovenly in the extreme.

Though it’s uber kosher to turn Mary into a whore, she can’t be a Jewish one. Monica Lewinsky was just a naif held down with both hands under the Resolute desk by a sick goy from Flyover Country. Most unforgivable, though, is Panizza’s Der operirte Jud [The Operated Jew] of 1893. Again, I quote professor Brown of SUNY New Paltz:

Itzig is a truly miserable human specimen, ugly, malformed, clumsy, and generally offensive in everything from his gait to his speech. But he has an abundance of intelligence and money which enable him to do something about his problems. Thus he has an orthopedic surgeon fracture his bones and set them to grow back in a more esthetically pleasing form. He has his hair straightened and dyed blond. Professional actors teach him how to walk gracefully and to talk High German. A transfusion of Aryan blood and the conversion to Protestantism complete the metamorphosis of Itzig Faitel Stern to Siegfried Freudenstern.

Panizza’s message is a simplistic truism: once a Jew, always a Jew; people may superficially look or act transformed, but they are basically incapable of change. On the night of Itzig/Siegfried’s wedding to Othilia Schnack, the anti-hero gets drunk on champagne and experiences a disastrous wedding night in the tradition of Panizza’s early poetry. The true, miserable Itzig is revealed as he begins to talk and act like the lascivious Jew he has always been, “schnalzend und gurgelnd und sich hin- und herwiegend, und mit dem Gesäß ekelhaft lüsterne, thierisch-hündische Bewegungen machend, sprang er im Saal herum.” His bride and all the guests flee in horror, the groom regurgitates his meal and wallows on the floor in his own vomit […]

This grotesque portrait ensures Panizza will stay invisible to readers of English. We all know by now that any child can change sex with just a few dozen cuts. It’s perfectly natural and only slightly more irksome than getting a tattoo. As for changing your speech, gait, dress or habits, it’s entirely unnecessary. Anyone can become a German, Swede, Irish or Italian without making any concession to his racist new home or neighbors.

All these countries should follow California’s lead. It’s just been announced an illegal immigrant can receive $150,000 towards buying a home. He won’t have to pay it back if he doesn’t sell it. There’s nothing to prevent this unvetted “migrant” from renting it out while moving into another steeply discounted unit, as acquired by a relative, lover, buddy or fellow gang member. So many subsidized houses ensures rent will become even more unaffordable, thus forcing many more tax paying citizens to sleep and shit on sidewalks.

Hearing about this new law, most Vietnamese would think, “What a wonderful country! It’s so rich, it’s handing out villas!”

If I tell them that on any given night at least 650,000 Americans must sleep in tents, cars or crowded shelters, on pieces of cardboard or under a bridge, even inside a public bathroom or dumpster, they’ll tell me I’m just full of shit.

When I said so many Americans must live like beasts, Pale Face smirked, “America is very humane. It takes care of all these immigrants. Everyone wants to go there.”

Though Pale Face has never been outside Vietnam or even met a foreigner, he knows everything about the world. This is the only question he has ever asked me, “How many cups of coffee do you drink in a day?”

I know he’s from Long Sơn [Dragon Mountain] Island. His family home was near a temple, Nhà Lớn [Big House], built by an eccentric holy man. After being diagnosed with diabetes, he ingested Metformin and bitter melon for three years, so is now basically cured. He eats mostly boiled vegetables and raw herbs. His favorite singer is the tacky Hùng Cường. He’s grateful there’s the USA to counter evil China and Russia.

Today, Pale Face had a long conversation with a woman in her 50’s. Though I love to eavesdrop, I was busy with this article, so didn’t catch much.

Repeatedly, she said she was moving to the US in five years, “It’s so empty,” she asserted. “There are states with nobody there!”

With no transferable skill and over 60 by then, she better hope nearly free houses will still be available, and shoplifting under $950 is not punished. Already, feral kids are beating elderlies just for fun or relaxation. Should she be killed that way, at least she has made it to the Promised Land.

“I will never come back here!” she spat.

Envious, Pale Face must resign himself to going to the same friendly café before sunrise each day, in this tranquil city by the ocean. Too lazy to swim in it often, he can still do a hundred pushups, however. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t have more chances to drone on about the state of the world, in a voice barely audible. What’s the point, really? Everyone is just so stupid.

Das Liebeskonzil had its first performance 75 years after publication and 47 years after its author’s death at age 67. Panizza spent his last 17 years in an insane asylum. At his peak, he described with relish a mad world that, you must admit, already sounds familiar.

[Vung Tau, 9/5/24]

[Vung Tau, 9/5/24]

[Vung Tau, 9/5/24]

[Vung Tau, 9/5/24]