We're All (Still) Living in Amerika!

[Vung Tau, 8/17/24]

Rammstein, “Musik kommt aus dem Weißen Haus, und vor Paris steht Micky Maus.” Music comes from the White House, and outside Paris stands Mickey Mouse.

America’s lovable rat is everywhere, really. Here in Vung Tau, I run into him at least half a dozen times each day. “This is not a love song. This is not a love song. I don’t sing my mother tongue.”

The English pandemic spreads. In blue collar Rocky Dock [Bến Đá], I ran into “CHỊ BÉO’S FOOD.” As Americans unlearn their possessive apostrophe, it leaps to Vietnam! Mê Ly’s on Ba Cu is nearly tits up, however. That should teach others not to use the foreign to browbeat.

Growing up in Saigon in the 70’s, I never heard “merci,” “désolé” or “au revoir,” etc. Old fashioned colonialism didn’t have TV or the internet to infect minds. Typing this at Cóc Cóc, I can hear a woman shout to her kid, “Stop!” or “No!” You can even hear the English “thank you,” “sorry,” “see you later” or “yes, sir” in the dumpiest eateries or cafes.

Acquiring any language is a continuous process requiring, at least, several lifetimes. Many die without learning their native’s basics. Their blurry grasp of reality is directly caused by their piss-poor syntax, grammar and vocabulary. Those who discount their first language can only acquire jokey patois. I’m not talking about book learning here but a basic respect for words and speech. Language’s worst perverters are often academics.

Not that long ago, even Oriental tourists in Vietnam were called “Westerners.” The West was vague enough to include Japan, South Korea and Taiwan. Even Overseas Vietnamese were often labeled “ông Tây.” Though many Viets can now visit Australia, Europe, Canada and the US, the vast majority will never reach this magical realm where rich whites luxuriate in quaint villas, futuristic condos and stately castles. Luckily for them, there’s Bà Nà Hills. At this vast amusement park near Danang, they can experience a compact or digested Europe without farmers’ protests, gay parades, racist rapes or knifings, or riots for or against illegal immigrants. Foregoing such excitement, they must settle for a jivey Medieval castle, church and half timbered house. The Morris Hotel boasts mansard roofs and balconets. There are Bordeaux and Marseille cable car stations. You can take photos at Le Jardin D’Amour. There are also Oriental attractions, but it’s the fake Europe that draws huge crowds.

Though I’ve never been anywhere near Bà Nà Hills, I saw it this morning at the café on General Uprising. As unrelated music played, it was shown nonstop on the television screen. Again, that thin, pale man who worships the West was sitting to my right, so I chuckled, “It’s all Europe!”

“Everybody wants to see the West, go to the West or live in the West.”

“As Westerners and Chinese flock to historical Hội An, Vietnamese go to Bà Nà Hills! Have you been there?”

“No.”

“Have you been to Cambodia or Laos?”

“No.”

“You should go to Cambodia. There are unmatched sights there. Westerners stream into Cambodia. Laos is fantastic, too.”

“Angkor Wat is inexplicable.”

“And so are the stone jars in Laos. There’s so much to see in Southeast Asia. One of the most beautiful cities in the world is Penang. Vietnamese never go there.”

“There’s nothing historical in Singapore.”

“It’s a new Chinese city with not much land.”

Though we didn’t argue today, it was still a stressful conversation. Speaking quietly in a monotone, Pale Man never laughs or even looks at you. It takes too much energy to show any emotion. I had to hunch forward and strain to catch anything. Barely audible, he’s a squinting ghost. Sitting nearby, Tank Top was raging, as usual, with frequent interjections of “crippled cunt!”

“When it comes to ancient splendor, the Chinese are unmatched. Chinese ink, Chinese script and Tang poetry.” It was odd to hear Pale Man praise Chinese ink. “No one can make ink like the Chinese.”

Since today is the 15th of the 7th lunar month, it’s the Hungry Ghost Festival, when Orientals are supposed to honor their ancestors and living parents. Many also abstain from meat. Despite their infatuation with the West, they’re still Orientals. Whites with Oriental spouses can amply confirm this.

A faint, ghostly voice barely reached me from the way beyond, “The Buddha says you shouldn’t kill anything, but what about ants and mosquitoes? Just walking around, you step on this and that creature. Closing the door, you might kill a gecko. Happens all the time.” Not caring if I heard anything, Pale Man went on. “To live is to kill, so you must kill ants, mosquitoes and Corona viruses.” On a roll, he then recounted that tale of the Buddha slicing off chunks of his own flesh to feed a falcon.

In Thailand, nearly every house has talismanic scripts posted above its entrance. A painted pair of mermaid and alligator is often seen. Rather creepy Kuman Thong dolls are also displayed or even carried around like real babies. Despite a century and a half of systemic Westernization, Thais remain Thais.

The yellows, browns and blacks’ aping of whites has remained, even now, superficial. Most paradoxically, they are less diluted, confused or corrupted than those pushing Satanic music, gender dysphoria, endless war for Jews and erasure of collective identity. It’s the West that needs to be saved. Most wretched are the so-called Americans. Who else are so relentlessly mocked by their own media?

[Vung Tau, 8/17/24]

[Vung Tau, 8/18/24

[Vung Tau, 8/17/24]

[In Vung Tau on 8/18/24, “To live is to kill, so you must kill ants, mosquitoes and Corona viruses.”]