An Indefinite Sabbatical
Due to a sudden, astounding and most wonderful turn of events in my life, I will be withdrawing indefinitely from the blogosphere. I want to thank any and all who have been dropping by to read my wayward scribblings.
Thanks and Take Care. The Lord Jesus Christ bless and keep you all!
Ex Animo,
J. S. Kern
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
A Separation of Belief
An interesting debate is shaping up on the newly redesigned and much improved Politics Canada Forum between the editor and yours truly:
Secondly, to Rob:
KERN says – “uhm...if a politician is a "Satanist", I'd want to know about it.”
ROB says – “Indeed as others may want to know if a candidate is a Christian Scientist, an Islamic, a Jew, or a Catholic. Such knowledge while irrelevant to governing a nation is essential for discrimination.”
KERN – Are you equating Satanists with Jews and Catholics? How someone governs anything (himself, a household, a business, a country), whether ethically/morally or not, is directly related to his character. His character can be gauged by the belief system to which he subscribes. Such knowledge, because it is essential information about a candidate’s character, is highly relevant to, as you put it, “governing a nation”. Discrimination in favour of politicians of good character is a duty we owe our nation and fellow citizens.
KERN says – “As well, this secular humanist "Theophobia", so pervasive in those who object to Harper's religious identity, apparently render's a person blind to the differences, subtle and overt, between, say, an Islamofascist and a Presbyterian.”
ROB says – "Harper’s religious identity has nothing to do with politics. Objecting to revealing religious identity does not make one blind to risk of fascism for it preys upon the weak irrespective of denomination. Prejudice on the other hand, is forever busy and never blind."
KERN – See above. You have, once again, equated all people of faith regardless of doctrine (this time casting them as fascists) thus revealing your own “Theophobia” and confirming my point. Perhaps you didn’t realize that the most tyrannical, murderous regimes of the 20th Century (fascists) were constitutionally irreligious and practically anti-religious?
KERN says – “Historically, Canadian politicians, in order to promote harmony, avoided the sectarianism of the UK & Europe between the Roman Catholics and Protestants. They did not, however, avoid references to Jesus Christ as the incarnate God of both. This anti-Christian stance is a recent invention.”
ROB says - "The founding fathers desperately sought cooperation from a conquered French population. Parading religious differences was regarded as divisive then, as it remains today."
KERN – This is a tautology. You have simply restated my point as a rebuttal: Historically the differences were avoided, but the similarities (i.e., Jesus Christ as the incarnate God of both “founding nations”) were not. Today references to any religion are not seen as divisive between French Catholics and English Protestants, but are seen as an affront to the secularist sensibilities of the anti-religious establishment.
It is folly to accept and/or desire that the doctrine of separation of Church and State precludes people of faith from holding office. No one wants a Theocracy run by an established sect, but all the virtues civilized people hold dear, that are responsible for the highest degrees of national success, are Christian virtues. The undermining of this religious/philosophical basis of our own nation is a disasterous turn of events. As we have had demonstrated time and time again, a nation of increasing antipathy towards Christianity is a nation descending into a hellish chaos.
J.S. Kern
...so, go on and add your zero-point-zero-two of a dollar!
An interesting debate is shaping up on the newly redesigned and much improved Politics Canada Forum between the editor and yours truly:
Secondly, to Rob:
KERN says – “uhm...if a politician is a "Satanist", I'd want to know about it.”
ROB says – “Indeed as others may want to know if a candidate is a Christian Scientist, an Islamic, a Jew, or a Catholic. Such knowledge while irrelevant to governing a nation is essential for discrimination.”
KERN – Are you equating Satanists with Jews and Catholics? How someone governs anything (himself, a household, a business, a country), whether ethically/morally or not, is directly related to his character. His character can be gauged by the belief system to which he subscribes. Such knowledge, because it is essential information about a candidate’s character, is highly relevant to, as you put it, “governing a nation”. Discrimination in favour of politicians of good character is a duty we owe our nation and fellow citizens.
KERN says – “As well, this secular humanist "Theophobia", so pervasive in those who object to Harper's religious identity, apparently render's a person blind to the differences, subtle and overt, between, say, an Islamofascist and a Presbyterian.”
ROB says – "Harper’s religious identity has nothing to do with politics. Objecting to revealing religious identity does not make one blind to risk of fascism for it preys upon the weak irrespective of denomination. Prejudice on the other hand, is forever busy and never blind."
KERN – See above. You have, once again, equated all people of faith regardless of doctrine (this time casting them as fascists) thus revealing your own “Theophobia” and confirming my point. Perhaps you didn’t realize that the most tyrannical, murderous regimes of the 20th Century (fascists) were constitutionally irreligious and practically anti-religious?
KERN says – “Historically, Canadian politicians, in order to promote harmony, avoided the sectarianism of the UK & Europe between the Roman Catholics and Protestants. They did not, however, avoid references to Jesus Christ as the incarnate God of both. This anti-Christian stance is a recent invention.”
ROB says - "The founding fathers desperately sought cooperation from a conquered French population. Parading religious differences was regarded as divisive then, as it remains today."
KERN – This is a tautology. You have simply restated my point as a rebuttal: Historically the differences were avoided, but the similarities (i.e., Jesus Christ as the incarnate God of both “founding nations”) were not. Today references to any religion are not seen as divisive between French Catholics and English Protestants, but are seen as an affront to the secularist sensibilities of the anti-religious establishment.
It is folly to accept and/or desire that the doctrine of separation of Church and State precludes people of faith from holding office. No one wants a Theocracy run by an established sect, but all the virtues civilized people hold dear, that are responsible for the highest degrees of national success, are Christian virtues. The undermining of this religious/philosophical basis of our own nation is a disasterous turn of events. As we have had demonstrated time and time again, a nation of increasing antipathy towards Christianity is a nation descending into a hellish chaos.
J.S. Kern
...so, go on and add your zero-point-zero-two of a dollar!
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
The Better Alchemist Won
That Stephen Harper breezed casually to victory on the first ballot at the new Conservative Party of Canada’s Saturday leadership vote was neither unexpected, nor unwelcome. Of the three candidates, only Harper has the requisite experience and acumen to master the political alchemy of turning underdog lead into leadership gold. At this time, with the Liberal government floundering in the deep end of the hubris pool, the Tories need a seasoned man at the helm. As I noted in my last column:
"By next week, after dealing with the earnest but forsaken Tony Clement and the obscenely opportunistic Belinda Stronach, Stephen Harper will be the newly elected alpha male of the federal pack. With the right leader, a series of well-organized forays over the next few months could return them to the top of the political food chain. And they should all feed well this season. Their primary prey is scattered, ill and broken. There will be many necks exposed. My advice is to go for the jugular every time."
Even the fiscal Socialist Michael Coren thinks Harper is the right magician, at the right time, for not just the party, but the nation. And, as he wrote last week, even some far-left NDPers think so, too:
"I am writing this column before we know who will be the new leader of the Conservative Party of Canada. I can only hope, and believe, it will be Stephen Harper....
"But it is Harper who can seriously undermine the rancid Liberal machine and change the political future of this nation. Federal Liberalism stinks. Let me be specific and careful here. There are many fine men and women in the Liberal Party, who care very deeply for Canada. But the confidence of power has become an arrogant smugness, a malodorous assumption of victory.
"I've even heard some hardened New Democrats and labour leaders tell me they would rather have a Conservative government in power than more of the Liberal chokehold on the throat of this country. That, let me tell you, is quite something."
It is indeed, Michael. What’s next; editorialists at the Globe & Mail quietly whispering of a secret revulsion to buggery? CBC writers holding a Seder and selling Israel Bonds?
Right.
And Michael, his leftist friends, and I aren’t the only ones who see Harper as a viable candidate for Prime Minister. On Coren’s CFRB radio show last night, the Live Listener Poll asked the listeners whether or not they would vote for Stephen Harper. Well over 80% of a predominantly Ontario audience, one not noted for it’s Tory sympathies, said they would.
Looks like the chattering wizards of the punditry coven are wrong again: This ex-Alliance alchemist has got appeal east of the Manitoba border, after all.
Of course, this appeal will in no way stifle the invective of those in media who cannot stand the thought of anyone even liking a Conservative leader, never mind being willing to vote for one. The Warlocks of Wordiness will ceaselessly chant their tired incantations of "red-neck", "racist" and "misogynist Christian war-monger", hoping to cast a decent, sensible prince of a man into a warty toad. The uninformed Zombies of the Canadian electorate will soon be spoon-fed a witches brew of raw lies and bile in order to revivify them just long enough to vote Liberal.
But Stephen Harper is on to them. In his victory speech he nailed it:
"The tired, old, corrupt Liberal Party is, right now, cornered like an angry rat. They are going to attack us like we've never been attacked before.
"They will attempt to open old wounds. They will do this because this is the only way they can survive. We cannot allow this to happen. We must unite as a team."
It is a testament to the skill and dignity of the man that he stopped short of including the members of the mainstream Canadian media when he spoke of cornered rats, and the openers of old wounds. And, it is a measure of the wisdom and morality of the man when, to the certain disgust of those unnamed enemies he ended his speech with “God Bless Canada.”
All I can think to say now is, "Hurry up Stephen. Let’s get the lead out!"
That Stephen Harper breezed casually to victory on the first ballot at the new Conservative Party of Canada’s Saturday leadership vote was neither unexpected, nor unwelcome. Of the three candidates, only Harper has the requisite experience and acumen to master the political alchemy of turning underdog lead into leadership gold. At this time, with the Liberal government floundering in the deep end of the hubris pool, the Tories need a seasoned man at the helm. As I noted in my last column:
"By next week, after dealing with the earnest but forsaken Tony Clement and the obscenely opportunistic Belinda Stronach, Stephen Harper will be the newly elected alpha male of the federal pack. With the right leader, a series of well-organized forays over the next few months could return them to the top of the political food chain. And they should all feed well this season. Their primary prey is scattered, ill and broken. There will be many necks exposed. My advice is to go for the jugular every time."
Even the fiscal Socialist Michael Coren thinks Harper is the right magician, at the right time, for not just the party, but the nation. And, as he wrote last week, even some far-left NDPers think so, too:
"I am writing this column before we know who will be the new leader of the Conservative Party of Canada. I can only hope, and believe, it will be Stephen Harper....
"But it is Harper who can seriously undermine the rancid Liberal machine and change the political future of this nation. Federal Liberalism stinks. Let me be specific and careful here. There are many fine men and women in the Liberal Party, who care very deeply for Canada. But the confidence of power has become an arrogant smugness, a malodorous assumption of victory.
"I've even heard some hardened New Democrats and labour leaders tell me they would rather have a Conservative government in power than more of the Liberal chokehold on the throat of this country. That, let me tell you, is quite something."
It is indeed, Michael. What’s next; editorialists at the Globe & Mail quietly whispering of a secret revulsion to buggery? CBC writers holding a Seder and selling Israel Bonds?
Right.
And Michael, his leftist friends, and I aren’t the only ones who see Harper as a viable candidate for Prime Minister. On Coren’s CFRB radio show last night, the Live Listener Poll asked the listeners whether or not they would vote for Stephen Harper. Well over 80% of a predominantly Ontario audience, one not noted for it’s Tory sympathies, said they would.
Looks like the chattering wizards of the punditry coven are wrong again: This ex-Alliance alchemist has got appeal east of the Manitoba border, after all.
Of course, this appeal will in no way stifle the invective of those in media who cannot stand the thought of anyone even liking a Conservative leader, never mind being willing to vote for one. The Warlocks of Wordiness will ceaselessly chant their tired incantations of "red-neck", "racist" and "misogynist Christian war-monger", hoping to cast a decent, sensible prince of a man into a warty toad. The uninformed Zombies of the Canadian electorate will soon be spoon-fed a witches brew of raw lies and bile in order to revivify them just long enough to vote Liberal.
But Stephen Harper is on to them. In his victory speech he nailed it:
"The tired, old, corrupt Liberal Party is, right now, cornered like an angry rat. They are going to attack us like we've never been attacked before.
"They will attempt to open old wounds. They will do this because this is the only way they can survive. We cannot allow this to happen. We must unite as a team."
It is a testament to the skill and dignity of the man that he stopped short of including the members of the mainstream Canadian media when he spoke of cornered rats, and the openers of old wounds. And, it is a measure of the wisdom and morality of the man when, to the certain disgust of those unnamed enemies he ended his speech with “God Bless Canada.”
All I can think to say now is, "Hurry up Stephen. Let’s get the lead out!"
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Snow-Mexicans & the Scabs of Scandal
The new edition of The Right Page has been posted on Rob McGowan’s Politics Canada website:
In Ottawa the tumbrels are working over-time as St. Paul the Unknowing continues to feed the Ad-scam Apostles of that malignant Messiah, Mean Jean Chretien, to the cleansing teeth of the guillotine. The PM promised he would cure the sickness, and the cranial amputations of our corrupted crown corporations show he's written an effective prescription. One at a time these Liberal pustules are being found, exposed, and then lanced. A good beginning has begun.
Yet, I was not entirely convinced that the PM was going to maintain the course of treatment he'd plotted. For a moment there, in his first appearances in Parliament after his cross-country Mad Martin Tour, I thought we were about to be treated to the same old Liberal bedside spin. I detected a few feeble attempts at stifling criticism of those involved in the sponsorship scandal by playing the "race card". All the ministers and malefactors surrounding these misappropriations were citizens of the often distinctly uncivil Distinct Society®, and any mention of this glaring fact was being cited as evidence of anti-Quebec bigotry, rather than as a genuine call to examine how relevant this unanimous cultural character of the perpetrators might be. To Martin’s mind, I guess, as with Toronto Cops and Immigration Inspectors, racial profiling should be the third-rail of public policy.
So, once again, the embarrassing boil of Canadian politics, Quebec Separation, popped up overnight on the face of our nation’s newspapers. Any insulting attempts by the opposition to characterize this made-in-Quebec scandal as a made-in-Quebec scandal, we were warned, would be used by the Bloc as an excuse to re-animate the stinking corpse of succession. Ignoring the fact that they had already convinced the CBC and their six viewers that the almighty Chretien had cremated that particular stiff with a bolt of lightening from his right eye, Liberal propagandists cautioned that care was to be taken, lest the thin skin of the Sovereignists be pierced and they flee the federation in a huff. After those two ugly and humiliating episodes over plastic masks and rubber dogs, what the London Free Press would call “firestorms”, the humourless Province was in no mood to be further abused.
More...
The new edition of The Right Page has been posted on Rob McGowan’s Politics Canada website:
In Ottawa the tumbrels are working over-time as St. Paul the Unknowing continues to feed the Ad-scam Apostles of that malignant Messiah, Mean Jean Chretien, to the cleansing teeth of the guillotine. The PM promised he would cure the sickness, and the cranial amputations of our corrupted crown corporations show he's written an effective prescription. One at a time these Liberal pustules are being found, exposed, and then lanced. A good beginning has begun.
Yet, I was not entirely convinced that the PM was going to maintain the course of treatment he'd plotted. For a moment there, in his first appearances in Parliament after his cross-country Mad Martin Tour, I thought we were about to be treated to the same old Liberal bedside spin. I detected a few feeble attempts at stifling criticism of those involved in the sponsorship scandal by playing the "race card". All the ministers and malefactors surrounding these misappropriations were citizens of the often distinctly uncivil Distinct Society®, and any mention of this glaring fact was being cited as evidence of anti-Quebec bigotry, rather than as a genuine call to examine how relevant this unanimous cultural character of the perpetrators might be. To Martin’s mind, I guess, as with Toronto Cops and Immigration Inspectors, racial profiling should be the third-rail of public policy.
So, once again, the embarrassing boil of Canadian politics, Quebec Separation, popped up overnight on the face of our nation’s newspapers. Any insulting attempts by the opposition to characterize this made-in-Quebec scandal as a made-in-Quebec scandal, we were warned, would be used by the Bloc as an excuse to re-animate the stinking corpse of succession. Ignoring the fact that they had already convinced the CBC and their six viewers that the almighty Chretien had cremated that particular stiff with a bolt of lightening from his right eye, Liberal propagandists cautioned that care was to be taken, lest the thin skin of the Sovereignists be pierced and they flee the federation in a huff. After those two ugly and humiliating episodes over plastic masks and rubber dogs, what the London Free Press would call “firestorms”, the humourless Province was in no mood to be further abused.
More...
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Kneeling to Feed the Crocodile
Don't think there are no crocodiles because the water is calm.
—Malayan proverb
If the measure of any work of art is the degree to which it provokes us into facing something about ourselves, then how well it presents us with both the loftier and the baser extremes of our human nature can be used to determine whether it is a masterpiece or a mediocrity. Fewer events in recent history have given us wider latitude to exercise these extremes of our nature than the Holocaust; and fewer works of art have successfully confronted us with mankind’s extremes of conduct in this event than Steven Spielberg’s extraordinary film Schindler's List. Released last week for the first time on DVD, this poignant and compelling film satisfies every requirement, in every way, for it to be rightfully hailed as a modern cinematic masterpiece.
Now, while it is true that the ultimate message one takes from Schindler’s List is uplifting (that even an immoral reprobate can be stirred by conscience into thwarting evil), for me, given the geopolitical realities of the present day, there are other, less savory, messages in it that should be examined: One is the frighteningly thin divide between civility and barbarism. The other is humanity’s seemingly limitless capacity to rationalize our inhumanity with denial.
It is a curious fact of human psychology that people will appease those who seek to do them harm, in the vain hope that the abuser will somehow be mollified by surrender. We all do it at various times in our lives, with family, spouses, bosses, friends; and many never stop. Yet, while denial in dealing with those who love us is often a handicap of character, denial in dealing with those who hate us is often fatal. This is especially true in the case of nations. Winston Churchill, the classic anti-appeaser, said it best: "An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last."
In this regard, whenever my thoughts turn to the Holocaust, I am always struck by a troubling clash of two conflicting emotions: On the one hand, I find it impossible not to be staggered by pity for those who suffered under such sadistic, inhuman brutality. On the other, I am outraged at the contemptuous capitulation of those same people. With incredulity I watch both the Nazi’s cultured and bureaucratic sadism, and their victim's mad psychological scramble to deny this sadism; and their frantic attempts to maintain this state of denial.
And, curiously enough, along with this denial and supplication before the “strong”, there is always the fierce lashing out at, and traitorous condemnation of, those who would stand up to the abusers. Even after the confiscation of their houses and property, and their relocation to the Warsaw Ghetto, the fear of the Nazi’s caused all too many Jews to be angry with those who merely spoke of resistance...never mind their reaction to those bravest souls who actively resisted.
Now, please, this is not in any way a condemnation of Jews; in any population group you will find an easy 40% who would debase themselves from fear of a seemingly unbeatable foe, while turning on those of their own kind who would not. Witness the disgraceful prostrations of the Left during the recent election in Spain. The slogan was a classic example of appeasement: Vote the Party Who Will Not Upset Our Killers.
This wanton cowardice is echoed by the Left in the U.S., Britain, and, sorriest of all, on the bloody streets of Israel herself. After the Pogroms of the past, the horrors of the Holocaust, and the carnage of the continuing Intifada, how any Jew in Israel could imagine that, to their enemies, compromise will not be seen as capitulation, that kindness will not be viewed as weakness, near beggars belief. They are simply repeating the same mistake, living in the same state of denial, as those before them who went quietly from their homes, to the ghettoes, then to the ovens.
Unable to face the truth about themselves, many today who subscribe to and promote the tactics of appeasement will always rationalize and glorify their fear by calling it “pacifism”, “anti-war”, or, laughably, “civilized”. Many will cite the passive resistance of Mahatma Ghandi or Martin Luther King. But this is simply a misreading of the reason for the successes of their campaigns: the civilized nature of those being resisted. Christian, democratic Britain and America were populated and run by a far different type of people than were Nazi Germany and the Palestinian Authority. And neither government, for all their failings, had explicit designs of genocide.
Schindler’s List is a must see movie, a magnum opus. It is both a memorial and a monument. A constant reminder of the banal savagery that murdered 6 million innocents; and an eternal caution to the higher aspect of our humanity, that the lower aspect of this same humanity is always there, below the surface, slavering, hungry and using our fear against us, ever ready to ascend.
Nie Wieder.
Don't think there are no crocodiles because the water is calm.
—Malayan proverb
If the measure of any work of art is the degree to which it provokes us into facing something about ourselves, then how well it presents us with both the loftier and the baser extremes of our human nature can be used to determine whether it is a masterpiece or a mediocrity. Fewer events in recent history have given us wider latitude to exercise these extremes of our nature than the Holocaust; and fewer works of art have successfully confronted us with mankind’s extremes of conduct in this event than Steven Spielberg’s extraordinary film Schindler's List. Released last week for the first time on DVD, this poignant and compelling film satisfies every requirement, in every way, for it to be rightfully hailed as a modern cinematic masterpiece.
Now, while it is true that the ultimate message one takes from Schindler’s List is uplifting (that even an immoral reprobate can be stirred by conscience into thwarting evil), for me, given the geopolitical realities of the present day, there are other, less savory, messages in it that should be examined: One is the frighteningly thin divide between civility and barbarism. The other is humanity’s seemingly limitless capacity to rationalize our inhumanity with denial.
It is a curious fact of human psychology that people will appease those who seek to do them harm, in the vain hope that the abuser will somehow be mollified by surrender. We all do it at various times in our lives, with family, spouses, bosses, friends; and many never stop. Yet, while denial in dealing with those who love us is often a handicap of character, denial in dealing with those who hate us is often fatal. This is especially true in the case of nations. Winston Churchill, the classic anti-appeaser, said it best: "An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last."
In this regard, whenever my thoughts turn to the Holocaust, I am always struck by a troubling clash of two conflicting emotions: On the one hand, I find it impossible not to be staggered by pity for those who suffered under such sadistic, inhuman brutality. On the other, I am outraged at the contemptuous capitulation of those same people. With incredulity I watch both the Nazi’s cultured and bureaucratic sadism, and their victim's mad psychological scramble to deny this sadism; and their frantic attempts to maintain this state of denial.
And, curiously enough, along with this denial and supplication before the “strong”, there is always the fierce lashing out at, and traitorous condemnation of, those who would stand up to the abusers. Even after the confiscation of their houses and property, and their relocation to the Warsaw Ghetto, the fear of the Nazi’s caused all too many Jews to be angry with those who merely spoke of resistance...never mind their reaction to those bravest souls who actively resisted.
Now, please, this is not in any way a condemnation of Jews; in any population group you will find an easy 40% who would debase themselves from fear of a seemingly unbeatable foe, while turning on those of their own kind who would not. Witness the disgraceful prostrations of the Left during the recent election in Spain. The slogan was a classic example of appeasement: Vote the Party Who Will Not Upset Our Killers.
This wanton cowardice is echoed by the Left in the U.S., Britain, and, sorriest of all, on the bloody streets of Israel herself. After the Pogroms of the past, the horrors of the Holocaust, and the carnage of the continuing Intifada, how any Jew in Israel could imagine that, to their enemies, compromise will not be seen as capitulation, that kindness will not be viewed as weakness, near beggars belief. They are simply repeating the same mistake, living in the same state of denial, as those before them who went quietly from their homes, to the ghettoes, then to the ovens.
Unable to face the truth about themselves, many today who subscribe to and promote the tactics of appeasement will always rationalize and glorify their fear by calling it “pacifism”, “anti-war”, or, laughably, “civilized”. Many will cite the passive resistance of Mahatma Ghandi or Martin Luther King. But this is simply a misreading of the reason for the successes of their campaigns: the civilized nature of those being resisted. Christian, democratic Britain and America were populated and run by a far different type of people than were Nazi Germany and the Palestinian Authority. And neither government, for all their failings, had explicit designs of genocide.
Schindler’s List is a must see movie, a magnum opus. It is both a memorial and a monument. A constant reminder of the banal savagery that murdered 6 million innocents; and an eternal caution to the higher aspect of our humanity, that the lower aspect of this same humanity is always there, below the surface, slavering, hungry and using our fear against us, ever ready to ascend.
Nie Wieder.
Saturday, March 6, 2004
Calibrating a Western Standard
FYI: there's a new magazine starting up in Canada called Western Standard. As it’s being published by Ezra Levant, and being modeled on the recently defunct Alberta Report, it’s going to be the sole conservative, Christian, anti-abortion, pro-American magazine in the country. All the big right-wing Canuck loonies are going to be contributing articles, including my three fave's: Mark Steyn, David Warren and Michael Coren.
My subscription is already in the mail….
Helen Keller And The New Church
I was just reading the latest issue of ISI News (the newsletter of Information Swedenborg Inc.), and in it, there's a short review of Light In My Darkness, the revised edition of Helen Keller's book My Religion. The following paragraph from the conclusion of Chapter 11 (pg145) appears in the review:
"Were I but capable of interpreting to others one-half of the stimulation thoughts and noble sentiments that are buried in Swedenborg's writings, I should help them more than I am ever likely to in any other way. It would be such a joy to me if I might be the instrument of bringing Swedenborg to a world that is spiritually deaf and blind. His volumes are an inexhaustible wellspring of satisfaction to those who lead the life of the mind. If people would only begin to read Swedenborg's books with at first a little patience, they would soon be reading them for pure joy."
And Now For Fun...
What follows are excerpts from Windswept and Waylaid: Dispatches from the Edge of Sorrows, the latest memoirs of traveling duo J.S. Kern and Sandy Papillon, now available in paperback from Kia Ora Press:
Chapter II: Traitor's Talon and the Bandits of the Kahli Irkit
We left the relative sanity of Telawhopa in the gaudiest patchwork taxi this side of Islamabad. Part Mercedes, part Trabant, this vehicular mutt chugged along the twisting goat paths of the Kahli Irkit held together with swaths of orange cotton and a plastic brocade that appeared to be made from shaped sections of discarded Tupperware lids. But, ever grateful for small mercies, I appreciated the diesel fumes from the poorly maintained exhaust system wafting up through the torn Papier-mâché carpeting. The nausea and headache I was developing easily distracted me from the smell of goat spoor and offal emanating from the driver’s mouth, which, unfortunately, turned to spray us with entreaties and narration more often than it remained forward-facing to direct unrecognizable curses at the dust-powdered windshield.
As we bounded along the corrugated hard-pack at a pelvis-cracking pace, I looked over at Sandy to try and gauge her impression of the taxi trip’s “local colour”--as she likes to call anything unsafe, unsound or insane, so long as it has charming cultural antecedents. As usual, she just beamed that excited 12-year old girl smile of hers at me, and went back to holding on to one of the enormous silk tassels swinging wildly from the cabin ceiling. To look at her you’d think we were riding to Ascot in a 30 foot, calf's leather upholstered Roller as the honored guests of Lady Aspertame-in-Sprite and her charming paramour for the day, Tank. Instead we're swinging like khaki gibbons in an Afghani wardrobe being rolled down the jagged side of the Khyber Pass.
The Traitor's Talon is the 100m extension of a kilometer-long finger of rock pointing across the border of Pakistan into Afghanistan. When I first saw it I immediately thought of a petrified ICBM complete with a contrail frozen in stone….
Chapter V: Zeus on the Loose
Like the desk clerk in the Hotel Scoliosis, Athens in July is hot, dusty and old. Even the air in this city seems ancient as it idles familiarly around the historical landmarks of Western civilization. However, unlike the crone at the desk with the poor English and even poorer manners, Athens is noisy. Very noisy. From the minute we stepped out of the airplane the discordant cacophony of shouts, car horns and the bustling hum of humanity took our breath away like steam in a sauna. Only in the limo ride to the hotel was there any respite from the hammering thrum of this teeming, cross-sectioned beehive swirling beneath the blue Aegean sky.
Sandy's not a hotel person. To her, there is something subtly inhospitable in the bland uniformity and sterile fastidiousness inherent in rented rooms. She is particularly unimpressed when staying in any place where the windows don't open. Anything more than two days in the same hermetically sealed cardboard room and she's ready to run through the lobby naked waving a near-empty bottle of Chivas and screaming for oxygen. On those nights I usually find her sleeping at the nearest beach with some newfound friends and a gray, tattered Salvation Army blanket.
Okay, probably not. But I have to write things like that. You see, I usually do the first drafts of these memoirs then hand them to Sandy. Naturally, along with making factual amendments, she edits out everything that is too vulgar, too fanciful or legally actionable. It's a boring bloody job. So, prince amongst men that I am, I like to add the odd line of whimsy for her, just to keep her interest up. That way she'll gladly keep beavering away on the manuscript while I can enjoy the sleep of champions.
Of course, now she'll have to leave that bit about the bottle of Chivas in; or else that last paragraph won't make sense. Which, yes, was my plan all along.
As for the surly clerk and the Hotel Scoliosis, even Sandy just wanted to deal with the registration and get upstairs for a hot shower and at least 5 or 6 hours of straight, uninterrupted sleep. We were supposed to be in Malta by Thursday, which left just two days to experience enough of Greece to keep the publisher happy, so, after the trouble in Israel, we'd need all the rest we could get. But the tight-lipped grin on the unhelpful gnome in charge of the room keys told me that things were about to go terribly awry….
Chapter VIII: A Train of Bastard Children and the Curse of Quisling's Ghost
It's not that Oslo is uglier than Hamburg, or even that it's colder than January in Montreal, that makes it one of the worst cities in Scandinavia. It's things like the disgusting and outrageously over-priced beer; the lack of decent fast-food; or, the unending train of unwed mother's and their bastard children clogging the pavements outside the maddeningly hard to find Post Offices with ski-rigged baby-strollers enveloped in blue clouds of Marlboro smoke.
Everyone in Norway learns to ski from the moment they learn to put on shoes. They ski everywhere. As a Canadian, when I see deep snow outside the front door of a house, I instinctively look for a shovel. But here, the first reaction to the sight of fresh snow is to slap on a pair of skis and glide on over to the corner shop for a newspaper, or 300 grams of finely ground reindeer meat.
On the other hand, whenever Sandy, my intrepid Maori princess, sees snow, she instinctively clutches for a flight schedule and looks frantically for the next plane heading south….
Chapter XI: Constable Di Jones and the Poet of LLandwhaffglae
There is something unbelievably sad about the Welsh. Sure, they're happy enough singing their little hearts out while getting absolutely rat-arsed on strong ale at the local. And, true, they're damned glad to see the total numbers of those afflicted with Black Lung decline to statistical insignificance….
FYI: there's a new magazine starting up in Canada called Western Standard. As it’s being published by Ezra Levant, and being modeled on the recently defunct Alberta Report, it’s going to be the sole conservative, Christian, anti-abortion, pro-American magazine in the country. All the big right-wing Canuck loonies are going to be contributing articles, including my three fave's: Mark Steyn, David Warren and Michael Coren.
My subscription is already in the mail….
Helen Keller And The New Church
I was just reading the latest issue of ISI News (the newsletter of Information Swedenborg Inc.), and in it, there's a short review of Light In My Darkness, the revised edition of Helen Keller's book My Religion. The following paragraph from the conclusion of Chapter 11 (pg145) appears in the review:
"Were I but capable of interpreting to others one-half of the stimulation thoughts and noble sentiments that are buried in Swedenborg's writings, I should help them more than I am ever likely to in any other way. It would be such a joy to me if I might be the instrument of bringing Swedenborg to a world that is spiritually deaf and blind. His volumes are an inexhaustible wellspring of satisfaction to those who lead the life of the mind. If people would only begin to read Swedenborg's books with at first a little patience, they would soon be reading them for pure joy."
And Now For Fun...
What follows are excerpts from Windswept and Waylaid: Dispatches from the Edge of Sorrows, the latest memoirs of traveling duo J.S. Kern and Sandy Papillon, now available in paperback from Kia Ora Press:
Chapter II: Traitor's Talon and the Bandits of the Kahli Irkit
We left the relative sanity of Telawhopa in the gaudiest patchwork taxi this side of Islamabad. Part Mercedes, part Trabant, this vehicular mutt chugged along the twisting goat paths of the Kahli Irkit held together with swaths of orange cotton and a plastic brocade that appeared to be made from shaped sections of discarded Tupperware lids. But, ever grateful for small mercies, I appreciated the diesel fumes from the poorly maintained exhaust system wafting up through the torn Papier-mâché carpeting. The nausea and headache I was developing easily distracted me from the smell of goat spoor and offal emanating from the driver’s mouth, which, unfortunately, turned to spray us with entreaties and narration more often than it remained forward-facing to direct unrecognizable curses at the dust-powdered windshield.
As we bounded along the corrugated hard-pack at a pelvis-cracking pace, I looked over at Sandy to try and gauge her impression of the taxi trip’s “local colour”--as she likes to call anything unsafe, unsound or insane, so long as it has charming cultural antecedents. As usual, she just beamed that excited 12-year old girl smile of hers at me, and went back to holding on to one of the enormous silk tassels swinging wildly from the cabin ceiling. To look at her you’d think we were riding to Ascot in a 30 foot, calf's leather upholstered Roller as the honored guests of Lady Aspertame-in-Sprite and her charming paramour for the day, Tank. Instead we're swinging like khaki gibbons in an Afghani wardrobe being rolled down the jagged side of the Khyber Pass.
The Traitor's Talon is the 100m extension of a kilometer-long finger of rock pointing across the border of Pakistan into Afghanistan. When I first saw it I immediately thought of a petrified ICBM complete with a contrail frozen in stone….
Chapter V: Zeus on the Loose
Like the desk clerk in the Hotel Scoliosis, Athens in July is hot, dusty and old. Even the air in this city seems ancient as it idles familiarly around the historical landmarks of Western civilization. However, unlike the crone at the desk with the poor English and even poorer manners, Athens is noisy. Very noisy. From the minute we stepped out of the airplane the discordant cacophony of shouts, car horns and the bustling hum of humanity took our breath away like steam in a sauna. Only in the limo ride to the hotel was there any respite from the hammering thrum of this teeming, cross-sectioned beehive swirling beneath the blue Aegean sky.
Sandy's not a hotel person. To her, there is something subtly inhospitable in the bland uniformity and sterile fastidiousness inherent in rented rooms. She is particularly unimpressed when staying in any place where the windows don't open. Anything more than two days in the same hermetically sealed cardboard room and she's ready to run through the lobby naked waving a near-empty bottle of Chivas and screaming for oxygen. On those nights I usually find her sleeping at the nearest beach with some newfound friends and a gray, tattered Salvation Army blanket.
Okay, probably not. But I have to write things like that. You see, I usually do the first drafts of these memoirs then hand them to Sandy. Naturally, along with making factual amendments, she edits out everything that is too vulgar, too fanciful or legally actionable. It's a boring bloody job. So, prince amongst men that I am, I like to add the odd line of whimsy for her, just to keep her interest up. That way she'll gladly keep beavering away on the manuscript while I can enjoy the sleep of champions.
Of course, now she'll have to leave that bit about the bottle of Chivas in; or else that last paragraph won't make sense. Which, yes, was my plan all along.
As for the surly clerk and the Hotel Scoliosis, even Sandy just wanted to deal with the registration and get upstairs for a hot shower and at least 5 or 6 hours of straight, uninterrupted sleep. We were supposed to be in Malta by Thursday, which left just two days to experience enough of Greece to keep the publisher happy, so, after the trouble in Israel, we'd need all the rest we could get. But the tight-lipped grin on the unhelpful gnome in charge of the room keys told me that things were about to go terribly awry….
Chapter VIII: A Train of Bastard Children and the Curse of Quisling's Ghost
It's not that Oslo is uglier than Hamburg, or even that it's colder than January in Montreal, that makes it one of the worst cities in Scandinavia. It's things like the disgusting and outrageously over-priced beer; the lack of decent fast-food; or, the unending train of unwed mother's and their bastard children clogging the pavements outside the maddeningly hard to find Post Offices with ski-rigged baby-strollers enveloped in blue clouds of Marlboro smoke.
Everyone in Norway learns to ski from the moment they learn to put on shoes. They ski everywhere. As a Canadian, when I see deep snow outside the front door of a house, I instinctively look for a shovel. But here, the first reaction to the sight of fresh snow is to slap on a pair of skis and glide on over to the corner shop for a newspaper, or 300 grams of finely ground reindeer meat.
On the other hand, whenever Sandy, my intrepid Maori princess, sees snow, she instinctively clutches for a flight schedule and looks frantically for the next plane heading south….
Chapter XI: Constable Di Jones and the Poet of LLandwhaffglae
There is something unbelievably sad about the Welsh. Sure, they're happy enough singing their little hearts out while getting absolutely rat-arsed on strong ale at the local. And, true, they're damned glad to see the total numbers of those afflicted with Black Lung decline to statistical insignificance….
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Mea Gulpa and The Grim Gospel of St. Paul
No posts for nearly 20 days…irregular posting since the new year started…humiliating…the blogger bund will be repossessing my membership card if this keeps up…but, honest, I haven’t let all my responsibilities slide…(gulp)
I just sent in another article for The Right Page…on Politics Canada…called The Grim Gospel of St. Paul…uhm…I think it’s funny…oh, and I wrote a couple of poems…uhm…one of them is actually quite good…no, really
…and I got my car fixed…I did, honest…fuel-pressure valve was sticking…cost me over 200 bucks...I drive a Mazda…(gulp)…it’s red….
Right.
Okay, okay, okay, look, I’m sorry…mea culpa…several things have happened since January that have helped dampen the fire in my belly, and govern my once-driving sense of outrage. Naturally, this has affected my give-a-damn gland vis-à-vis daily posting. It’s not that I don’t care about current affairs anymore, it’s just that I don’t feel the same sense of urgency to point out all the lies, prevarications and inanities of the western Left. I don’t have to, really. These whistle-heads, wild with anti-Bush hysteria, have been blowing gaskets every day since the war in Iraq. And, by showering everyone with their shallow platitudes and hostile invective (Al Sharpton uses the phrase “Jewing down the numbers” and he’s STILL considered a viable candidate for the Democrats? C’mon!), they’ve been turning more people conservative in one day, than I could help to do in a month of regular posting. They are their own worst enemy.
Hee, hee….
Besides, there are plenty of excellent conservative websites, commentators and bloggers out there (all the ones listed on the right-side of this page and many, many more.) lending invaluable assistance to The Cause.
Anyway, the only point I’m trying to make is that I’m going to continue posting, but I’m going to change the manner and style of my posts. I’ll still be commenting, but, just as I have with my Right Page articles, I want to move away from the dull and dusty tone of the serious, academic pundit, and sidle more towards a more enjoyable (for me, at least), iconoclastic, Gonzo-style of writing.
The greatest change, however, will be in the focus of many of my future posts. I’ve never hid the fact that I am a Christian, but I have purposely been non-sectarian in my religious expression. When I began this blog, I was satisfied with this generic Christianity—after all, in most cases, doctrinal differences are insignificant in relation to the secular world so sorely in need of any form of Christianity; but, recently I’ve begun to feel less content about this; I now want to use my blog as a way to proclaim my belief in the Christology and doctrine of The New Church (Church of the New Jerusalem). Not in an overt evangelizing way, but certainly much more directly.
Anyway, this’ll all become more obvious as I post later. So, let’s leave it for now. Here’s an excerpt from The Grim Gospel of St. John:
Edged-weapons and the lust for blood are everywhere these days. Last weekend in Toronto an as yet unknown psychopath repeatedly stabbed travel agency owner Paulson Chellakudam and visiting St. Lucian student Suzette Augustin to death during what police describe as an “apparent robbery”. In Oshawa a fight between two men resulted in a 24-year-old’s death by multiple stab wounds. And, in theatres around the country, the tortured visions of Mel Gibson’s Mediaeval Christology are assaulting the senses of moviegoers in the brutal, blood-soaked celluloid form of The Passion of the Christ.
Currently, in Ottawa, there is yet another macabre spectacle of running blood and sorrow. It is an on-going, slow motion political passion play detailing the last, albeit lengthy, days of a man once hailed as the Messiah of the Liberal Party of Canada: Mean Jean Chretien. The humble little millionaire, the crooked life-long civil servant, is stumbling to the hard and dusty top of a high and dirty hill. He will be haughty and arrogant to the end: the disgraced master of a disgraceful mission in the throes of hubris and denial. He will not be missed; he will not be mourned. Tears are only shed for victims, and although they both have the same initials, in Chretien’s Passion, the main character isn’t sinless. As well, the only persecuted innocents in it are the ignorant rabble of taxpayers, and those too-few souls, like Francois Beaudoin, who refused to follow along with the corkscrew plans of the would-be Savior of Canada.
Prime Minister Paul Martin, in what seems to be a state of righteous indignation, has traveled the country assuring everyone of his willingness to root out the rot in Canadian politics, and offer up the wrongdoers in his own party for sacrifice—to toss the money-changer’s from what should have been his father’s House, as it were—all to appease the hellish anger of the electorate. In the Gospel of St. Mathew, John the Baptist talks of swinging an axe through the roots of the evil trees, but in the autobiographical Gospel of St. Paul the Unknowing, the writer himself is going to do all the chopping, with, I suspect, a relish rivaling that of even the most insane Pharisee, or bloodthirsty Roman, conjured up by the febrile imagination of Mad Mel, The Road to Galilee Warrior....
The Lord bless you all...!
No posts for nearly 20 days…irregular posting since the new year started…humiliating…the blogger bund will be repossessing my membership card if this keeps up…but, honest, I haven’t let all my responsibilities slide…(gulp)
I just sent in another article for The Right Page…on Politics Canada…called The Grim Gospel of St. Paul…uhm…I think it’s funny…oh, and I wrote a couple of poems…uhm…one of them is actually quite good…no, really
…and I got my car fixed…I did, honest…fuel-pressure valve was sticking…cost me over 200 bucks...I drive a Mazda…(gulp)…it’s red….
Right.
Okay, okay, okay, look, I’m sorry…mea culpa…several things have happened since January that have helped dampen the fire in my belly, and govern my once-driving sense of outrage. Naturally, this has affected my give-a-damn gland vis-à-vis daily posting. It’s not that I don’t care about current affairs anymore, it’s just that I don’t feel the same sense of urgency to point out all the lies, prevarications and inanities of the western Left. I don’t have to, really. These whistle-heads, wild with anti-Bush hysteria, have been blowing gaskets every day since the war in Iraq. And, by showering everyone with their shallow platitudes and hostile invective (Al Sharpton uses the phrase “Jewing down the numbers” and he’s STILL considered a viable candidate for the Democrats? C’mon!), they’ve been turning more people conservative in one day, than I could help to do in a month of regular posting. They are their own worst enemy.
Hee, hee….
Besides, there are plenty of excellent conservative websites, commentators and bloggers out there (all the ones listed on the right-side of this page and many, many more.) lending invaluable assistance to The Cause.
Anyway, the only point I’m trying to make is that I’m going to continue posting, but I’m going to change the manner and style of my posts. I’ll still be commenting, but, just as I have with my Right Page articles, I want to move away from the dull and dusty tone of the serious, academic pundit, and sidle more towards a more enjoyable (for me, at least), iconoclastic, Gonzo-style of writing.
The greatest change, however, will be in the focus of many of my future posts. I’ve never hid the fact that I am a Christian, but I have purposely been non-sectarian in my religious expression. When I began this blog, I was satisfied with this generic Christianity—after all, in most cases, doctrinal differences are insignificant in relation to the secular world so sorely in need of any form of Christianity; but, recently I’ve begun to feel less content about this; I now want to use my blog as a way to proclaim my belief in the Christology and doctrine of The New Church (Church of the New Jerusalem). Not in an overt evangelizing way, but certainly much more directly.
Anyway, this’ll all become more obvious as I post later. So, let’s leave it for now. Here’s an excerpt from The Grim Gospel of St. John:
Edged-weapons and the lust for blood are everywhere these days. Last weekend in Toronto an as yet unknown psychopath repeatedly stabbed travel agency owner Paulson Chellakudam and visiting St. Lucian student Suzette Augustin to death during what police describe as an “apparent robbery”. In Oshawa a fight between two men resulted in a 24-year-old’s death by multiple stab wounds. And, in theatres around the country, the tortured visions of Mel Gibson’s Mediaeval Christology are assaulting the senses of moviegoers in the brutal, blood-soaked celluloid form of The Passion of the Christ.
Currently, in Ottawa, there is yet another macabre spectacle of running blood and sorrow. It is an on-going, slow motion political passion play detailing the last, albeit lengthy, days of a man once hailed as the Messiah of the Liberal Party of Canada: Mean Jean Chretien. The humble little millionaire, the crooked life-long civil servant, is stumbling to the hard and dusty top of a high and dirty hill. He will be haughty and arrogant to the end: the disgraced master of a disgraceful mission in the throes of hubris and denial. He will not be missed; he will not be mourned. Tears are only shed for victims, and although they both have the same initials, in Chretien’s Passion, the main character isn’t sinless. As well, the only persecuted innocents in it are the ignorant rabble of taxpayers, and those too-few souls, like Francois Beaudoin, who refused to follow along with the corkscrew plans of the would-be Savior of Canada.
Prime Minister Paul Martin, in what seems to be a state of righteous indignation, has traveled the country assuring everyone of his willingness to root out the rot in Canadian politics, and offer up the wrongdoers in his own party for sacrifice—to toss the money-changer’s from what should have been his father’s House, as it were—all to appease the hellish anger of the electorate. In the Gospel of St. Mathew, John the Baptist talks of swinging an axe through the roots of the evil trees, but in the autobiographical Gospel of St. Paul the Unknowing, the writer himself is going to do all the chopping, with, I suspect, a relish rivaling that of even the most insane Pharisee, or bloodthirsty Roman, conjured up by the febrile imagination of Mad Mel, The Road to Galilee Warrior....
The Lord bless you all...!
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