THE NEW ERA OF DELICATESSEN ISLAND
Review of Route 181 (2003)
Still from Route 181
Route 181, recorded in 2002 in Palestine, is an important documentary for anyone who wishes to understand the psychology of the perpetrators and victims of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Filmed by Michel Khleifi and Eyal Sivan, the premise of the documentary is to travel along the borders outlined in UN Resolution 181, attempting to locate the destroyed Arab villages marked on the map upon which the resolution was drawn. The documentary itself is structured as a series of interviews, interspersed with some scenes recorded on camcorder provided with no commentary. The documentary utilizes no archival footage and provides no narrative, allowing the watcher to simply perceive the scenes and dialogue for themselves, placing the emphasis on the lives of the people in the present and their memories of the past. In this, the film allows the perpetrators of these crimes to indict themselves in their own words.
Some Further Thoughts on the South Thailanders
Do you know just how many South Thailanders there are? Millions, tens of millions. Maybe even hundreds of millions.
Oh so many! Are they all unique, or do they repeat at some point?
Did God make each and every one with his hands, painting each mole and scar upon their person, forming each of their fingers with his fingers out of their clay, or did he phone a few in?
European Disneyland
The perception of Europe in the United States has, over the past few decades, shifted and evolved into some jarringly disfigured homunculus. This is, of course, in response to the question of a “white identity” within America, specifically in attempt to find (or invent) a cultural distinction between white Americans and their non-white cocitizens.
For the white identitarian in America, it is difficult to distinguish themselves culturally from non-white Americans. No white American can claim to be indigenous to the American continent, and if they do it’s through virtue of some non-white heritage. Culturally, a white American goes to the same schools as non-whites, eats the same foods at the same restaurants, lives under the same laws, speaks the same language, and even lives on the same street. There is nothing unique to them in America, and so the “white identity” within America becomes fundamentally meaningless, an empty clause, with meager social or cultural weight.
Twenty Thousand South Thailanders
Of the South Thailanders, there is the aforementioned cat breeder. When he is not engaged in his contemptuous commerce with the dog breeder, which, as previously explained, threatens to destroy the very boundary between the two species, he is engaged in a mad quest to selectively breed larger and larger domestic felines. To what end you may ask? Well, he wonders to himself, at every waking and unwaking moment,
“What if a cat were as big as a tiger?”
Marriage
Marriage is necessarily a stabilization and anchoring of the spirit. It is a calcification, a stiffening of the soul. In an honest marriage, man must necessarily kill some part of his dynamism, gently smothering that portion of himself that is still wild and unchained, holding the pillow to its face until it no longer thrashes and kicks its legs. You must become dependable, reliable, routine. You must become immobile earth, upon which a tree may grow. With every step towards marriage, and every step beyond, the entrenchment increases, and one becomes more and more lithic, as though caught in Medusa’s gaze. In effect, one may truly be caught in the gaze of a Gorgon. He is, at least, caught in the gaze of her.
Why are goods more expensive in wealthy nations than in developing nations?
When traveling overseas, I’m always amazed at just how much cheaper certain goods and services are compared to the States. In Jordan, I can get a taxi ride into town for a dinar and a half (approximately two American dollars), a haircut for two or three dinar (about three to four dollars), and a whole roast chicken, with a side of fries, pickles, garlic sauce, and a drink, delivered to my doorstep for only five dinar (around seven dollars). At my local barbershop, a plain haircut will set me back thirty dollars. I’ve tried cheaper barbers nearby, but have always been disappointed with the results. But at a measly two dinar, my barber in Jordan will not just cut my hair, but also give me a shave, a massage, style my hair, and offer a complimentary wax of the nose and forehead, which I always tend to turn down. The massive difference in price in no way can be explained by a difference in quality, as, especially in regards to food, the quality of service provided overseas is often better than in the States.
Hills of Ajlun
He stares blankly into the horizon, his gaze resting gently on the crests of the green hills. It is a lethargic gaze, which, without the hilltops to support it, would surely fall freely to the ground. In a similar manner, he was resting his chin on his hand, with his elbow propped against the hard wooden counter. Nearby was his fifth cup of tea today, it only being an hour or so past noon, with its fragrant, familiar steam wafting lazily above the rim of the glass. Despite his sloth, he will be sure to not let his tea get cold.
Violence
There are four major kinds of violence, ordered from most human to least, or in ascending inhumanity.
The first, and most understandable, violence is tragic violence. Tragic violence includes violence on accident, unintentional harm imposed unto others. Children hurting one another in play, a traffic collision, a work accident. It may also be deliberate, as with violence in self defense, or in the defense of others. There is also the violence of the stoic soldier or conscript. There is the dedicated soldier who fights because he truly believes in the ideals he fights for, inflicting restrained violence as a solemn necessity, and there is the conscript who is aware of the suffering imposed through war and detests it, yet has no choice but to participate against his will. In World War I, it was a common occurrence that soldiers, often conscripts, would intentionally miss when firing at their enemies, not willing to kill their fellow man. Tragic violence can be seen as violence performed with tears, or an expression of agony, it is violence which displeases both the perpetrator and the victim. Often, tragic violence is seen by society as outside the scope of criminality, or at least in the realm of criminal negligence rather than outright malice. Tragic violence is seen as benign, a natural cost of living life among others.
The Virtualization Singularity
In the virtual sphere, twitch streamers debate with academics, comedians converse with the president, adult film stars do stand up, every single sphere has converged into a single point. There are no longer the categories of comedy, political, advertisement, pornography, etc. Everything has collapsed into one point, a simultaneous and continuous consumption of the virtual. Effectively zero distance, it has all converged into your phone screen. All at the same time, GTA 5 gameplay, a Reddit text-to-speech video, a factory accident in China, a podcast clip, a Wendy’s commercial, a girl dancing in tight yoga pants, news about the election, a recipe for a triple wagyu smashburger. All these occur simultaneously in the same space.
Spotify Wrapped and the Social Panopticon
Today the Spotify Wrapped playlists have been rolled out on the app (as well as the analogous thing for Apple music I guess, if you use that). Of course, being the beacon of taste and sophistication that I am, mine is beyond reproach. I have listened to the exact calculated permutation of songs, at exactly the right minutes, such as to bring about the optimum, the ideal of musical consumption. Utility maximization, with the utility curve tangential along the market line of all auditory choice. Internal Lagrangian functions constantly calculating to determine what to listen to, and when, and in conjunction with other decisions of taste in a constant network which optimizes sophistication, culminating in a final playlist upon which all may look in admiration. Finely displayed in the medium of my Instagram story, peering through the protective glass of your phone screen, masterfully framed by your phone case, like an artwork on display. It even tells you the amount of minutes listened, the measure of time effort put into this final display, effort then collapsed into a singular .png image.
Stare
Her harsh, unrelenting stare pains me. Her eyes fixedly peer through my own, ignoring my dark irides, which, unheard, plead with her to have mercy. With cold determination, they delve past the milky whites and reach into my soul. Not with the reach of gentle hands, which caress with warmth and concern for what lies within, but with a frigid probing which coldly analyzes, uncaring, as a prison warden tears apart a prisoner’s cell. Her eyes are cold, the vast pools which once warmed my soul with their caring looks are now frozen over, desolate, hard, barren of any love or compassion. At one time I could lose myself in her loving gaze, bright ponds which pulsated slightly with a passionate sentiment of endearment. But now she stares at me blankly, unmoved.
Chorus
In this moment can be heard the lamentations of the orphaned. The incessant wailing of the meek, destitute widows who, against their will, demand pity in their cries. The final shrieks of the countless poor souls, taken up from this world in an infinite number of horrific catastrophes of misery, their calls echoed and multiplied, each one followed by a thousand others in their wake. The explosions, as large drums, form a rhythm of growing tempo, with each blast launching the plenary limbs of the unfortunate into the air, fountains of flesh rising from the densely packed ensemble. These sounds converge and form the growing symphony of suffering.
A Moment of Romance
The feminine to be desired and the masculine who desires.
Her effortless guile and grace, gathering the glances of those around her. She glides across the ground, her gown flowing with each gentle gust of wind. Her focus is unbothered. Her green eyes, large and bright like two fine emeralds, float across the horizon, taking in the beauty of the sky and clouds. Her beautiful face, with a refined, genteel countenance, softly turns atop her slender neck towards nothing in particular.
Evening
The sky in the evening hour as it turns the bright cyan shade of Uranus, quickly darkening into an oppressive Neptune. What can be said about it? The sky becomes thick with hue, no longer the transparent backdrop of earthly life but itself a gelatin throughout which all floats. An opaque broth which envelopes and warms. Wasting the evening on the balcony, watching the color shift. A short window, it passes in less than twenty minutes. Ignore the bitter cold, help oneself to multiple layers and a kettle of tea to quell any distraction. Above oneself is draped a thick cyan mist, intoxicating and alluring. An enchanting visage decorated with stones of topaz and turquoise, sporting a teasing smile. On display is the shyly androgynous beauty of the Uranus sky, with its youthful frolic and gaiety, as it playfully loosens the robes of its clouds. With undue haste it passes by its ardent admirers, and leaves them with the gravely oppressive Neptune, which, with its solemn darkening, lulls one into the realization that it is over, that the object of our admiration has moved on. The mystically enchanting irises which envelop the world, the earth itself the pupil of the beautiful eye, imperceptibly shifts from its innocently playful cyan and into a severe and somber navy, and blinks away into the oppressive darkness. The enchanting beauty which once inspired much longing gives way to a nauseatingly heavy ennui. The romance of what could have been gives way to what is. Focus to the sky. Focus to the shift. It can be felt. It’s dark now, and it’s time to head inside.
Ten Thousand South Thailanders
Consider ten thousand South Thailanders. One deals in dogs, another cats. Between the two exists the most horrific exchange, a constantly flowing market of horrific mongrels. The driving force of this exchange isn’t some seeking of profit, but solely the morbid curiosity to see what will come of the next generation to be bred. At what point do the cat and dog hybridize? The genus felis combines with the canis. What would it be called? What would it wish to be called?
Review of The Battle of Stalingrad (1949)
The Battle of Stalingrad portrays the Eastern Front of World War 2 in a charming operatic style, centering the drama of the battle upon the key personalities of Stalin, Chuikov, Hitler, and Paulus, along with an array of supporting characters. The main focus is, of course, put on Stalin, endearingly called Josef Vissarionovich by his officers throughout the film.
The pacing of the film is fantastic. I particularly enjoyed how they portrayed the outset of Operation Uranus, with fast cuts between intense artillery barrages, the valiantly advancing Soviet army, the shattered German and Romanian forces, and the tense scenes of the German and Russian headquarters. The German headquarters are frantic and the officers worried, while the Russian officers are cool headed, foreseeing the German response in advance. The Russian officers are shown to be quick thinking and cunning, working to make sure that the German troops meet their doom in Stalingrad, cutting off every attempt they make to withdraw.
Concept II
“He swung his legendary claymore, Grendethal, around his head, causing the swarm of orcs that had gathered around him to leap back. By now word of his heroic feats of strength and virtue had spread across the land, and the mythic power of the blade of Grendethal was known by all. With a powerful lunge, he swung his blade in a great sweeping motion and took the head of the orc captain, Urgthon, our hero’s powerful chest striating as he pulls the blade through his enemy’s thick green neck. The orcish army was shaken, fearing righteous retribution from the muscular, rugged hands of our hero, Huraclion.
Concept I
I circled the neighborhood several times as it neared evening, watching the bestial masses gathering onto the street, each endeavoring to find some way to find their nut. While deeply disgusted, I was nevertheless intrigued. I envied them. Nothing bothered them, nothing occupied their mind, nothing except their next meal, next sleep, and next fuck. No self consciousness, as that requires a level of self awareness not yet achieved by this crowd. Purely bestial, entirely unchained, entirely wild.
The Buddhas of Bamiyan
The destruction of the Buddhas of Bamiyan is often cited as a modern catastrophe, an unforgivable destruction of invaluable cultural heritage by machine gun toting Luddite savages. How could these psychopathic extremists destroy such a culturally significant site, one which was protected under international status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site? Could they not see that it had a special place in the heritage of the world as a whole? What horrid drivel, what feigned outrage.
Prayer of the Meek
“Oh Father who art in Heaven, our most gracious and wondrous Lord,
we beseech thee to undertake the destruction of our foes,
and may our foes find themselves worthy of thy wrath.
Smite them oh Lord, and may they by thy hands be smitten,
and may they, having been the subject of thy smiting, be reduced to ash.
And, oh Lord, we beseech thee, that accompanying thy smiting of our foes,
Lightning
Foreboding clouds gather above me
As I stand tall in youth and envious vanity
Coveting the power of God, spiteful of destiny, unbounded ability
Suddenly, struck down, smitten by divine fists on the shoulders
Blows of God’s wrath rain upon me, the scolding chastisement of Nemesis
Turned away from Faustian destiny
The truth revealed:
Lie, outstretched and prostrated to fate.
A Review of “Dog’s Day Out”
Dog’s Day Out is the latest literary masterpiece crafted and published by the enigmatic Deli Isle. In this wrenching romance, the eponymous dog sallies out to an establishment seeking to purchase various goods. Driven by his desires, the dog then peruses the aisles of this establishment, pondering the wide and varied selection of refreshments.
The dog first reaches for a bag of savory chips, seeking to fill his stomach with the salty sustenance. These chips, filling and nourishing him, cause him to then seek refreshment of a liquid variety due to the salinity of their seasoning. For this reason, he follows these chips with a can of soda, as well as some candy, perhaps bonbons or some variety of praline. To close out this adventure of nourishment, he then reaches for ice cream as a solace from the oppressive heat of the sun. Satiated, the dog then retires home.
Dog’s Day Out
One day, the dog went to the store.
He was hungry, so he had some chips. And he saw to it that they were good.
Then he was thirsty, so he had some soda. And he saw to it that it was good.
He craved something sweet, so he had some candy with his soda. And he saw to it that it was good.
It was a hot day, so he had ice cream as well. And he saw to it that it was good.
The French (Lack of) Republican Ideals
I wrote this in October of 2023 and left it unfinished. Due to the victory of the National Rally in the French European Parliament election, I will publish this in its unfinished state, as I feel that the current events make further analysis trite, it can be seen clearly in what has occurred.
I recently read Shlomo Sand’s The Invention of the Jewish People, which I greatly enjoyed, and was quite taken with his presentation of the genesis of nationalism. It is important to distinguish that this is not necessarily in the sense of ideological nationalism, but moreso in the fundamental issue of how to define one’s nation and the boundaries as such. Fundamentally, the question of nationalism in this sense is that of defining the in-group.
For the Grain Elevator
I think about your marvelous stature, your towering windows, how they overlook the southern railway station and the canning factory. How, from your heights, one can overlook the southern neighborhoods past the Yelshanka river.
And how from your windows, men crowd, intently watching the horizon. From your heights, the barrels of many machine guns simultaneously spew hot lead angrily across the steppe, as voices in a choir, their bullets scattering the many who ardently gaze in admiration, looking up in awe, death shining down as rays from the sun which fall from heaven between the crevices of the clouds. The men cower in the face of your divine posture, fearing the heavy blows which it rains from above.
For the Grain Elevator (Rewritten at the behest of Adam)
That shit crazy. It’s big and like weird and stuff. And people just be shooting each other. Wild.
Hope that helped Adam, and I wish you luck in learning Mandarin Chinese, though I would suggest finishing with English first.
Racialist Delusion
Racism fundamentally attracts the lowest dregs of human society, insecure and ineffectual rejects who find solace in their caustic views. Racism itself differs from other forms of discrimination, as the social concept of race is formulated such that it is believed to be individually unchangeable, a physical characteristic determined by genetics, deterministic and devoid of human agency. Ethnic discrimination as a whole, though still deeply rooted in insecurity and a fear of the other, is not necessarily tied to ones inherent physical characteristics, but focuses on the other’s cultural practices, such as their language or dress, which can be altered to some extent by individual action. One of an “inferior” culture could assimilate, adopt the practices and customs of the prevailing group, and potentially find some acceptance among bigots. Racism, on the other hand, is the further belief that one’s ethnicity, culture, and even individual behavior is inherently tied to unalterable physical characteristics, usually genetics, and that any attempt to change one’s behavior is futile. That, by virtue of belonging to some race, one must hold certain characteristics, inferior or superior to one another.
Pretension
To write is itself a gross declaration of a deep pretension. To write is to declare to all, “My thoughts are important! So important, that I must export them from my mind into the minds of others. My thoughts, my wondrous thoughts, are to good to simply be my thoughts. They must be everyone’s thoughts. The words in my mind must bounce around in the heads of others, their thoughts, annihilated, replaced with mine.” The vanity of mind, that the mere excrement of thought must be immortalized in word. And truly, thought is excrement. It’s done without intent, unconsciously throughout existence, it appears as does an urge, and the self-aggrandizing so called “author,” rather than discarding of this excrement as everyone else does, feels that he must smear it all across some parchment and shove it in the face of all around him. His glorious declaration, “I think! And this is what I’ve thought!” And without the slightest shame, akin to a toddler declaring that he is now potty trained. Maybe he should’ve been taught how to flush.
Visualization of Asymmetric Warfare
In attempting to visualize the state of warfare on the grand scale, we generally use maps, and thus symbolic markers along these maps, in signifying troop movements, front lines, etc. The symbols used in our visualizations have changed in accordance with the difference in grand strategies of the times. In wars prior to the conventional concept of front line warfare, which came to full fruition with the first World War, the military situation is best shown not with front line control, but with troop movement and fort control.