This essay by Sarah Hoyt says it all. Here's the payoff for me.
There is this Jorge Luis Borges story, where the old gods are returning to Earth, but upon their arrival, it is found that they have lost the ability to speak. Instead, when they open their mouths, they caw or roar, or make other bestial sounds. The populace, disgusted, turns away from them and refuses to worship them. I don’t remember precisely (it’s been years since I read them), but I think in the end the “gods” get utterly destroyed.In our case, the "old gods" are the media, the entertainment industry and the academy. Instead of bestial sounds, the only sounds they can produce are screams of "Racism!" Trump is becoming a great president because he's accelerating the process. His ability to troll them into screaming is exactly what we need right now to expel this from our culture.
Yesterday, a librarian made headlines by refusing a gift of Dr. Seuss books from Melania Trump because Dr. Seuss was racist.
So now, Dr. Seuss = "Racism!"
Twitter erupted with photos of Michelle and Barack Obama reading Dr. Seuss books to children as well as that same librarian dressed up as the cat from The Cat in the Hat. Since the progressives and the old gods have become a suicide cult, the obvious hypocrisy won't change their minds at all. They can't hear us any more than they can speak intelligibly.
Just this morning, the old gods screamed again as AOL ran with this headline. Twitter accuses Michelle Obama of pushing 'racist' literature onto children. The actual story was about a progressive screaming "Racism!" at Melania, but the old gods at AOL struggled to twist it into an attack on the Obamas, which, as we all know, is racist.
The longer this goes on, the more obvious it is that it's all just animal noises. The NFL kneeling stupidity dropped the mask, big time. Millionaire athletes are blasting their blue collar fans for racism and oppression. It's insanity. It's a suicide cult.
The old gods will finally be destroyed when their screams of "Racism!" are replied to with this.
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1 comment:
...the old gods don't, but the Gods of the Copybook Headings?
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poems_copybook.htm
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