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Saturday, January 22, 2022


at Del Bigtree's Highwire:

"Doctor Fauci, Give Us Vaccines" by Zachary Mogavero:

"Gesundheitspass" ["Health Pass"] by Lange Janus:

Giuseppe Povia singing "Liberi di Scegliere" ["Free to Choose"] on Italian television

Though the Italian mainstream has been mocking Povia relentlessly, he's still allowed on Italian television. When Povia tested positive for Covid a month ago, they really ganged up on him, but consider how many false positives there have been, it means nothing. Even if it was a genuine positive, it still means nothing. To be against Covid "vaccines," especially the Pfizer "remember the Holocaust" genocidal jab, doesn't make one a "Covid denier."

Mica come oggi
Che passano le leggi
Contro la ragione, contro la mente, contro la gente
Mica come oggi

E questa dea Unione Europea che ci vincola
Poi si divincola
E ai politici li svincola e a noi ci pungola
Ma si arriverà che prima o poi ogni razza si incazza
E diventeremo noi la vera reazione avversa

Liberi di scegliere
Liberi liberi
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi liberi
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi liberi

Mica come oggi
Che passano i trattati
Dai governi tecnici
Al pareggio del bilancio
Come una casa aperta a tutti senza regole
E questa dea Unione Europea che ci vincola
Poi si divincola
E ai politici li svincola e a noi ci pungola
Ma si arriverà che prima o poi ogni razza si incazza
E diventeremo noi la vera reazione avversa
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi liberi
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi liberi
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi (liberi)
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi di scegliere
Liberi di scegliere


"Sad Little Man" by Five Times August:

I just landed a huge contract to make commercials for Thai Choice Fish Sauce,

so below is the first one. Already playing on Vietnamese television, it's a viral hit:

I'm joking, of couse. It's just a little skit I did yesterday for Vietnamese friends in Vung Tau and Saigon. Introducing myself as the only Vietnamese temporarily living in Namibia, Africa, "because of the abnormal global situation," I say I sometimes sing to myself in Vietnamese, to alleviate my grief. Due to my "advanced age," however, I can no longer remember every line to every song, but it hardly matters. "It's comprehensible enough," I grin. To entertain "my friends today," I will sing a few lines "to cheer up the house, OK?" I then sing a song from 6o years ago, about mortal men leaving their celestial wives, but with "virus," "Covid," "lockdown," "vaccine" and "genocide" substituted into the lyrics.

From Saigon, my friend Giang responded, "I fell off my chair and banged my head on the floor. I laughed so hard you are fucken hilarious..."

Friday, January 21, 2022


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Thursday, January 20, 2022

Covid Feuilleton #12

As published at SubStack, 1/20/22:

[Tirana, 5/23/21]

Though we vain transients have been in this transit lounge for six million years, we only had access to its entirety for less than a century. Before air travel, so few could circle the earth, they were basically freaks. 

Of the 269 men who set out with Magellan on 9/20/1519, only 19 made it back to Spain on 9/6/1522, with Magellan killed halfway, for forcing Jesus onto some Pinoys. To this scowling ubermensch, we owe the name Pacific Ocean, yes, the one with countless tsunamis, typhoons and undersea volcanoes. One just burped loudly near Tonga.

Swarmed with YouTube travel vlogs from legions of dorks and ditzes, we forget how inaccessible and unknown the world was just yesterday. Isabella Bird Bishop, “In the winter of 1894, when I was about to sail for Korea (to which some people erroneously give the name of “The Korea”), many interested friends hazarded guesses at its position,—the Equator, the Mediterranean, and the Black Sea being among them, a hazy notion that it is in the Greek Archipelago cropping up frequently. It was curious that not one of these educated, and, in some cases, intelligent people came within 2,000 miles of its actual latitude and longitude.”

Think about that, just 128 years ago, even some very bright people thought Korea was a Greek island!

With Covid and the Great Reset already locking out much of the world, it’s entirely possible an infant will grow up believing the USA is a Chinese shithole. Masked, thus oxygen deprived, his IQ is already nosediving.

The first passenger flight on a fixed wing aircraft went just 23 miles, five feet above water, from St. Petersburg to Tampa on 1/1/1914. For this, its lone passenger paid $400, or $10,500 in today’s dollars! If the Great Reset has its way, air travel will be limited to only the fattest cats.

With net zero carbon emissions by 2050 as their goal, global elites are quite open about what they want from us. In 2019, Imperial College London, Oxford and other top UK universities released Absolute Zero, which maps our future. We must cut out red meat, and stop flying, so no more airlines by 2050, they tell us.

Still, we’re not quite grounded yet. With airbnb, booking.com, half a dozen cheap flight websites, Google Maps and universal Wi-Fi, traveling is still absurdly easy, despite stressful Covid restrictions, which can change so abruptly.

After landing in Tirana on 2/4/21, though, I just wanted to linger a while. Luckily, my pad on Mine Peza was close to pleasant cafes and good restaurants, though it took a while to sort them out, naturally. The sublime Detari Fish, with its attached market, I only discovered after five months. Sitting in its semi-basement dining room with a plate of freshly caught octopus and sardines in olive oil with lemon, or tagliatelle with huge shrimps, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was, or how stupid for not walking in much earlier. It had no menu, period, to advertise its low prices. There were times I thought they had miscalculated the bill.

[Tirana, 8/2/21]

One had to communicate in Albanian, Italian or English, with the last two possible only if certain workers were present. Of course, one could just point to a displayed fish and say “makarona” for pasta, or “oriz” for rice. Usually, a culture borrows foreign nouns to name alien objects, such as a computer or a phone. In Albania, however, I couldn’t help but notice that some of its most ordinary and, one would think, timeless words, such as peshku (fish), pulë (chicken), fasule (beans) or oriz (rice), also have foreign roots. One must conclude, then, that before Albanians encountered Romans, they had no idea what a fish or chicken was, or what beans or rice was before they had Greek girlfriends. Sure, they might have seen a chicken or fish now and then, but since they had no name for either, chickens and fish were interchangeable.

My most regular spot was Lami’s, just 25 yards from my building. I went there maybe a hundred times to get a macchiato or cappuccino, plus, often, a pretty good burek or lousy croissant. Like most outside France, it was just croissant-shaped, but what are you going to do? Arriving there usually just after it opened at 7AM, I often claimed a table facing its open door, so I could see all the lovely people walking by. Sometimes a very spunky yet ugly boy would walk in with his mom. His fierce expression was comic and impressive.

Two young women worked at Lami’s seven days a week, with a third showing up occasionally. Despite their low-waged jobs, they spoke English comfortably, sans accent, and this was a place away from tourists. During all my visits, I may have seen four other foreigners, with one a Chinese likely from the nearby Chinese Embassy. On Lami’s logo is an Italian sentence, “Il pane è una cosa viva.” Bread is a live thing. Inside its bathroom is a sign in English, “I hope everything came out OK.” I suspect scatological humor is common in Albania, for the menu at Spaghetti Western also includes “sweet-fart beans.”

Just six weeks into my Tirana sojourn, something went wrong, and though subtle at first, it was unmistakable. Having never exercised regularly, and with a fondness for a few beers, you know, every so often, I wasn’t exactly Adonis, but with my constant walking, I was in reasonably good shape, with no history of any sustained illness, not bad for someone 57-years-old.

When I write and read too much, my eyes ache, but half a day’s rest always fixes the problem. This time, though, I had a headache that, though not yet severe, intensified even after rest and better eating. Thinking I just needed some fresh greens, I went out and got a Greek salad, but even that didn’t go down right.

Right at this time, I happened to meet an American street musician, singing in Turkish outside what’s left of Tirana Castle. Despite my groggy state, I wanted to hear this man’s story, so invited him out for a couple of beers, which we had in a pool hall just off Skanderbeg Square.

A native of Kansas, he had lived overseas for 5 ½ years. Traveling as cheaply as possible, and sometimes sleeping outside, he’d been to Portugal, Spain, France, Ireland, Bulgaria, Turkey (four times), Greece, North Macedonia, Croatia, Serbia, Kosovo and Albania (three times). Incredibly, we had a mutual Tirana acquaintance, Julit, the travel vlogger and TV dating show star. As we drifted into politics, he told me about his experience teaching at a yeshiva, where he learnt from his students some hideous Jewish beliefs about goyim. Though I wanted to hear much more, I never met this vagabond again, for I would be shut down for a month, starting that night.

Bedbound for ten days, totally exhausted yet unable to sleep, so no rest, with my mind muddled and often hallucinating, I could hardly tell day from night. Not that it mattered. I just wanted my misery to end. At least I didn’t consider jumping out my 8th floor window. A trip to the bathroom, just three steps from my bed, could only occur after hours of stalling and self persuasion. The only ready-to-eat food I had was half a bag of potato chips and some chocolate, but, again, it took too much effort to reach them, so I ate almost nothing for ten days, not that I had any appetite. There were some juices in the fridge, which I did manage to drink, after tremendous effort. Everything was too out of reach, too difficult or too risky, including just shifting in bed, for it might amplify my discomfort, which was no longer confined to my head, but entire body. Everything ached.

Soon after the worst was over, I wrote, “My mouth was constantly bitter. I was just gross. My mucus, dandruff, earwax and even smegma proliferated.” Just to sit in Lami’s again had become my only goal in this life or any other, but it was out of the question. Grimly, though, I did manage to inch my way to a neighborhood market to get cheeses, yogurts, pistachios, potato chips, for its saltiness, I suppose, and several bottles of mixed juices. Juices and sunlight, I craved above everything else.

Sixteen days into my illness, I walked like an octogenarian into Lami’s. Since a bad illness is a debasement and rude reminder of your ultimate worthlessness, it’s not unnatural to be embarrassed, so I felt super exposed just standing in front of the glass case. Plus, I had to learn how to behave naturally again, though with all of my faculties, mental and physical, still shaky. My sudden desire to order a cherry cheesecake at 7 in the morning only increased my self-consciousness. With a most unnatural chuckle that was more like a blood and phlegm choked gurgle, I even said, “It’s not exactly breakfast food, ha ha!” Jesus, man, maybe I should have jumped out that 8th floor window.

Looking back, I’m glad I was never hospitalized, because if I did have Covid, a ventilator and/or remdesivir would have too likely killed me, as they have millions worldwide. Too poor to afford health insurance my entire adult life, I had seen a doctor or dentist just a handful of times in four decades, so I was not inclined to seek professional medical help anyway, no matter where I was.

With their maltreatment of Covid patients and/or injection of toxic jabs into the healthy, millions of doctors and nurses worldwide have become angels of death. Two years into this carnage, none can plead ignorance of what they’re doing. Of course, all those who mask, dissemble or facilitate this horror in any way, to the least degree, are also guilty.

[to be continued, of course and unfortunately]

[Tirana, 3/25/21]

Wednesday, January 19, 2022

As expected, they're backing off a bit. Perhaps the pushback has gotten too intense, and they've murdered enough people for now.

It's likely they're just giving us a breather before their next nasty surprise. We still have to wait and see if other nations will quickly follow suit. This backpedaling, in the midst of the Omicron brouhaha, is also an admission we've been conned all along. If no masks, social distancing or lockdowns are needed now, they never were.

Planet Lockdown interview of Catherine Austin Fitts, a must see:

Planet Lockdown: A Documentary

I've been urging a German friend to get the hell out of there, before they close the borders,

but he's been hesitating. It's understandable, since he has a great job, and leaving one's country is usually not an easy decision. Suggesting he comes down this way, I've been giving him tips about Cape Town and Windhoek. Neither would be a shock since he's visited Kenya. There are even Germans in Windhoek and Cape Town. Just now, he sent me an update:

Here it gets ever crazier. A company had offered me a position as Head of HR. After I signed the contract, the CEO invited me to a restaurant, but I had to tell him: Restaurant? Sorry, that will not work (unvaxxed are banned from entering restaurants in Germany).

He was literally astonished. He had thought that I--like every well-meaning German--had already taken the jab. He advised that I should really consider doing this--which I politely refused. So ended my position as Head of HR before it had even started.... :-) Funny, but also sad in a way, because the rift is now so deep here, between the believers and the un-believers....



Tuesday, January 18, 2022

Max Igan's "It's Time to Reclaim Our World":

Covid Feuilleton #11

As published at SubStack, 1/18/22:

[Klos, 6/6/21]

Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men!
The cross descends, thy minarets arise,
And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen,
--from Lord Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”

In May of 2021, I received an email from an American who said he wanted to go to a Tirana bar I had mentioned in an article. On a shelf, there were five wine bottles with labels showing a portrait of Mussolini, JFK, Lenin, Hitler or Stalin. After I had given him the address, I thought, What if he’ll go there to raise a big stink?

In 1987, the Gestapo Bar in Seoul had to change its name after an uproar, and in 2000, the same fate met another Seoul bar, Third Reich. Although Nazi glamor is certainly not kosher, Communist chic is ultra cool. In Manhattan, for example, there’s the KGB Bar in the Bowery, right on the edge of the Ukrainian Village. Who cares if more Ukrainians were murdered by Communists than Jews by Nazis? There is only one Holocaust.

During the 2016 Democratic Convention in Philadelphia, dozens of tattooed white hipsters paraded down Broad Street, with many waving red flags, some with a hammer and sickle even. Who cares if Little Cambodia was just seven blocks away? Only one Holocaust matters.

In 2006, Gavin Newsom appointed Jack Hirschman as Poet Laureate of San Francisco. A Stalinist freak, Hirschman could only talk about Stalin or himself when I met him at Caffe Trieste in 2008. Among Hirschman’s books is Joey: The Poems of Joseph Stalin.

Entering Tirana’s Bunk’art, a museum of Communist crimes, you’re immediately greeted by a Primo Levi quotation, “ALL THOSE THAT FORGET THEIR PAST ARE CONDEMNED TO RELIVE IT.” Again, the Holocaust, in a memorial to victims of Jewish thinking! In a country where no Jews died during World War II, there’s a Holocaust Memorial. Even post-Communist Albania, then, has been jewjacked. Soros and his son have been busy there.

The American, let’s call him Jonathan, turned out to be very well-traveled, erudite and politically astute. I met him and his wife several times, and not just in Tirana, but Gjirokaster, that stone city like some prehistoric creature clawing its way up a mountainside, to paraphrase Kadare. Before Jonathan left Albania, we talked about how fine a country it was, with the sweetest people, so a great refuge from all the Covid madness roiling nearly everywhere else. We agreed, though, that Albania would not be near the top of any list of European countries to visit, but this has long been the verdict. Even before it was sealed for 45 years by Communists, almost no one went there.

Smack in the center of Europe, Albania was remote. In 1788, Gibbon wrote, “A country in sight of Italy is less known than the wilds of America.” Exploring it in 1809, 21-year-old Lord Byron congratulated himself for being just the second Englishman to advance “beyond the capital into the interior.”

So enamored with the Land of Eagles, Byron cosplayed as an Albanian warrior in his most famous oil portrait, though with a soft, white hand showing. Writing to his mum, Byron admitted that Ali Pasha, “The Lion of Yannina,” clearly saw him as an overcivilized and pampered pup, “He said he was certain I was a man of birth, because I had small ears, curling hair, and little white hands… He told me to consider him as a father whilst I was in Turkey, and said he looked on me as his son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me almonds and sugared sherbet, fruit and sweetmeats, twenty times a day.”

[Tirana, 4/25/21]

In the 21st century, Albania is very much on the mass tourist itinerary, though most visitors favor its beaches, naturally, over its austere mountains. In Kukes, for example, I got startled second looks from adults even, while several kids couldn’t hide their glee at encountering such an alien.

To be higher is to be more inaccessible, thus safer. In Italy, you have all these hill towns that are walled, with their fields outside, so at night or during an attack, you’re safely walled in, up the hill. Though the term “running for the hills” is attributed to the Johnstown Flood of 1889, it makes sense literally, in countless cases. In 1995, I heard a man in Sapa, Vietnam describe his survival of the Chinese attack in 1979 as, “We just ran into the mountains.”

Many folks have been up high for centuries. Unlike us effeminate or beer bellied lowland wimps, mountain men are seen as more savage and tougher. They’re better warriors, too, as testified by the legendary martial prowess of the Gurkhas, Highland Scots, Rifians, Swiss and Hmongs, etc.

Here’s Norman Lewis on the Hmongs, whom he encountered in Laos in 1950, “It was a long, slow climb up to the village, although the [Hmongs], as they skipped along by our side, seemed in no way to notice the slope, nor their huge burdens.” Though small, they’re strong, with incredible stamina, like other mountain men.

Like them, Hmongs also had a revulsion against alien rules, that bureaucratic jungle us more civilized tolerate in exchange for comforts and goods. Lewis, “They are utterly independent and quite fearless. Their passion for freedom compels them to live in the smallest of villages and, apart from such rare events as the invasion of 1860, they will not tolerate chiefs or leaders […] They are normally pacific, but if compelled to fight are apt to eat the livers of slain enemies.”

There’s a paradox here, of course. If these elevated wildmen were so powerful, they wouldn’t have been chased up dem hills in the first place, where everything is so difficult, from agriculture to just stumbling home (uphill) after a bout of drinking. Plus, there are only so many chicks available in your steeply inclined village, not that the lowland incels are getting any.

Mountain men have generally been historical losers, but history isn’t over. Only pompous goofballs can even think it has an end. There have been many paradigm shifts in six million years.

In any case, mountain men have been the least contaminated by any dominant culture throughout history. Byron, “No nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as the Albanese; the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimes neither.” Unlike others who had been better converted or assimilated, Albanians retained more of their stubborn native selves, and this core integrity would show up again, in their emergence from the harshest Communism.

[Gjirokaster, 5/25/21]

In six months in Albania, I barely heard prayer calls, and most times, only indistinctly, from a distance. Almost no women covered their hair, and most men drank, with cheap rakia a favorite, even in the morning. Albania’s Orthodox Archbishop is a Greek.

As for Covid rules, they mostly ignored them. Unmasked, I traveled on packed vans all over the country. In crowded restaurants, I ate grilled meat and drank beer while looking at all the beautiful people walking by.

Fringe populations, then, are less susceptible to prevailing strains, so if the entire world goes mad, like right now, they’re not as hypnotized into looniness. Consider Covid “vaccination.” The most jabbed countries are generally ones with the most byzantine rules, strictly enforced, thus the most civilized, loosely speaking.

As of 1/17/22, the 20 most jabbed nations include, as expected, higher-income, well-organized countries like Singapore, South Korea, Canada, Denmark, Australia, Qatar, United Arab Emirates, Iceland, Malta, Spain and Italy, but also totalitarian Cuba and China, though they’re only using homegrown jabs. Aberrations, thin-walleted Cambodia and Ecuador are also included.

In Germany, I would see a man standing alone at an intersection at 3AM, with no traffic in any direction, waiting for the light to turn green, so he could cross. Most likely, he’s jabbed and boostered. Germany’s Covid “vaccination” rate is 73%, compared to just 37% for Albania, one of the lowest in Europe.

Though the Covid scamdemic is a global assault, it has not hit all populations equally. Primarily a psychological operation, it terrifies the long domesticated, easily cowed or simply foolish into not just wrecking their own lives, but even killing themselves.

As the self-congratulating “civilized” do themselves in, the less correct survive by doing nothing.

[to be continued, of course and unfortunately]

[Klos, 6/8/21]