The Watchers
To define- to discriminate- is to survive. The Complacency of Success- as in the Europeans- has led to cultural self-cannibalism. A mass insanity of hyper “Tolerance” on the path to extinction.
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The Watchers
What is Migration? Race? “White-ness” or “Blackness”. Religion?
Nationality is belief.
The confidence of Faith in your own identity. To dominate. Or be dominated. There is no in-between in all History.
In the collective safety of the few hundred acres round your family. Against the night. Fearing The Beast, hungrier, more desperate than you, in the snap of a twig underfoot.
The imagined, daylight nightmare made real.
Or the all too real, Invader in an inflatable…
All “Culture”, Politics, War is but one ape baring his teeth against another, across a “waterhole” on the Veldt. (Control of Resources. Space. Dominance).
Down the Millennia, less changes than stays the same.
The “stockade” fort of felled trees built round the windswept hilltop.
The Sentinels, watching the smoke rise on the horizon.
Enemy or Friend? Dancing in the long-hall or the dance of War.
Shall we meet death by morning?
Identity lies within the double-twisting helix of DNA.
To breed, to tame the forest. Or be enslaved, driven in chains down to the valley. Where another fire awaits.
All I know is, the catapult will replace the smartphone.
Is the stamina of “Nordic” or “Germanic” self-belief dying in the flames. Or so Reborn, in blood and in soil?
Arm wrestling arm, across a pub table. Insults or thumbs up, across the playground of our lives.
Today’s “Right” are the Sentinels. We warn. Our destiny, to be ignored with smiles.
The direct descendants of those same Watchers looking out from the hillfort, smothered now in sapling trees again. Those who stayed awake till the red glow of dawn rose in the last embers of the fire...
Homo Sapiens like, even enjoys- has to create “Otherness”.
The Nation State, the “border” is a Sixth sense- of Security. It is who we are, when all else and Gods fail, as fail they must.
Commanding those few acres around us. Is all we are.
Power, over other strangers, apes, confused as we are that the sun did not rise.
We turn to the pages of Holy Books to define. To Religion, to control our aching belly; demanding fresh meat, protein of the slaves brought down from the hill; black with soot and picked with fingers greasy from the charred bones.
To define- to discriminate- is to survive.
The Complacency of Success- as in the Europeans- has led to cultural self-cannibalism.
An insanity of hyper “Tolerance” on the path to extinction.
Take your turn as Slave under new Masters. Clearer-eyed in their image of themselves. Islamic Calibans, raging at their own reflection, hideous in the moonlit pool.
Mass Migration since 1947 has broken the myth of the British Isle. Dilution. Dilation of that once, child-like belief in Prospero, even as he breaks his staff in two.
You let the Strangers, from lands afar, dismantle the stockade. Tree by tree. Ditch by ditch. Until all you had was a grassy hill-top. The unimpeded view of those strangers coming closer, ever larger on the lost horizon.
Chanel is howling from the hillfort, warning that the fire is dying, the stockade is crumbling, and strangers are already at the ditch. He claims the “Right” are today’s Sentinels — ignored Watchers. Whether you see him as prophet or paranoiac depends on whether you believe the “parasite collapse” is driven by internal rot (self-cannibalism) or by the long arc of a deeper ontological war.