Why We Write
Years ago I read Spengler. For years I have seen his forecasts slowly unfold in New Zealand before my eyes, every time I read the newspaper or even walk the dog down the street and see smashed glass glittering over the pavements, testimony to the bastardous louts who run rampant without thought for anyone or anything besides their immediate self-gratification. (And what is one to make of those more respectable citizens who can’t even take the responsibility upon themselves to be bothered to clean up the shards over their own drive-ways and footpaths, presumably on the basis that it was not their doing?)
I recognise the myriad ways such as those mentioned which in aggregate are spelling out the words: social and cultural decay. Some of what I write of the above might seem trivial, or “belly-aching” as we might say in New Zealand, yet all in some manner reflect New Zealand as a microcosm of the Western Civilisation in its cyclic predicament as foretold by Spengler.
Yet, for all the pessimism, where there is will there is hope; where there is a spark there might one day be a cleansing fire. The very least we can do is to heed the counsel of Evola and “ride the tiger.”
I simply do not like what I see taking place, and am not inclined to stay silent. I don’t believe in backing down for any reason, nor do I believe that the bastards who are laying waste to our civilisation should be permitted to proceed without being called to account. Since I am not a great painter, musician, poet, organiser, or orator I can at least scribble my thoughts and try to put them “out there” for anyone who might care to read them, whether they are accepted or rejected, useful or useless. It is part of who I am, and always will be.