Did anyone see any threat from Russia to reduce the supply of oil, gas, and other resources to the West for the kind of price that kept Europe wealthy for decades? I don’t think so. Does Russia look like it’s running out of energy to supply to India, China?
I’ll guess again.
The western world is ruled by a very peculiar set of individuals who hold a very deranged set of ideas and obsessions.
1\ they’re obsessed with their bizarre fantasy to break and own Russia (they’re failure to do this but that they had it in their grasp in the 90s disfigures them like Gollum, and now they’re falling into the volcano atop Doomsday Mountain)
2\ they HATE us. All of us. Not only they want us all dead, they want us to suffer along the way. Mainly they despise everything they were forced to compromise on in the 20th century. They hate the 20th century. They hate everything people who work for a living gained. They hate elections, parliamentary democracy, even in its hollowed out corrupted facade form. They hate classes of working people collecting salary enough to avoid early death from dire poverty. They want their aristocracy in total authority and everyone else in ruin, desperation, and dead. And not so many of us. They want, to be the whirlwind that wipes us all out, erases the 20th century, restores unbridled aristocratic dominance.
By the way, it’s a “Texas-sized economy” only according to financialized dollar-based valuations. More reality based valuations show a different picture.
And why the hundred billion? a\ they thought their “plan” would work. b\ whether it works or not (it doesn’t) hundreds of billions of theft, make it trillions, is all good. It ruins us, enriches them. Hell, they interpret the 4 horsemen in precisely this way
It’s hate.
https://www.zerohedge.com/geopolitical/escobar-all-quiet-panic-western-front
https://www.globalresearch.ca/wef-who-they-running-death-cult/5804177
They HATE the 20th century. You wanted healthcare made public? They turn healthcare into an instrument of rape, torture, murder, and force it on you. Oh and boundless grift.
That’s what you get! https://kunstler.com/clusterfuck-nation/against-the-tide/
“A friend who is a photographer and who for many years lived in Paris told me that her French friends preferred not to end up next to Swedes at the dinner table. There was nothing to talk to them about. Golf, weather and other banalities, then nothing. No esprit, no education, no imagination. A few years later, my friend asked if I thought she should move home to Sweden, as she wanted her children to learn Swedish as well. I advised against it, and a few years later we sat over a coffee in Vasastan and she suddenly sighed deeply. “You know what,” she said, “in France, people get excited when they meet something skilled, beautiful, and high-ranking, and they do everything to highlight it. In Sweden, yes, here they keep it quiet, as if they couldn't stand anything that went out of the ordinary."
This is why it feels like living on the moon here in Sweden. No oxygen, the atmosphere stripped away.
This is literally because Sweden allowed itself to be raped and murdered by the Anglo imperialist. Sweden the walking corpse.
“Boken fanns inte i egen rätt mer. Kulturen ett tomt ord. Och människan?”
The book no longer existed in its own right. Culture an empty word. And man?
You can be sure your assailant has prepared the annihilation of the bodily remains. The stage is well set.
https://www.epochtimes.se/-Ledare-Kultur-till-utforsaljning
When I stepped into the local library some time ago, I was greeted by a mountain of stacked books scattered across the floor.
A sign encouraged visitors to "build a book tower". Kafka and Goethe, Camilla Läckberg and Alex Schulman, here were all sorts of titles, treated equally like corpses after a natural disaster. Things to play with, building blocks to stack up. I stopped before I could get to addressing the librarian. "You don't have any bookshelves?" did I ask. "You could have a fireplace and let people burn books, just think of the heat that would be generated in these grim times?"
The librarian smiled anxiously.
At the other end of the room, which was as spacious as it was empty of people, they had collected books that they more literally wanted to get rid of. Thin books for five kroner each. Shelves after shelves. Old fine things, mixed with newly published ones that the Swedish Cultural Council has judged to be quality literature and which libraries can send to themselves free of charge. "If you fill a paper bag, you get everything for fifty kroner," said the librarian.
I asked to speak to the librarian.
"What kind of criteria do you actually have when you select books?" I ask.
"If they haven't been loaned out for two years, they're out of business," he replies.
"But there are classics here, Nietzsche, Shakespeare, Jack London? And Ekelund, Tranströmer, Kyrklund? And some of the best of our own time?”
The librarian smiled crookedly, as if I had lost myself.
"And who is to decide what is good and bad literature?" he says.
Asked to start writing in this newspaper's culture section, I hesitated at first. In the early 90s, I wrote literary criticism in Bonnier's Litterära Magasin. It was closed down a few years later, after having existed since 1932. If you flip through any issue of the magazine, you are struck by the richness, the knowledge and, not least, the responsiveness; a world meets one that no longer exists. If you look at the cultural pages of today, none of this remains. DN, SvD, Expressen, Aftonbladet. Politicization, positioning, self-centeredness. The book as such has almost disappeared, the author's self is the main thing and the cultural writer's need to assert himself in turn erases everything that has to do with the literary and artistic. The intrinsic value of the book is as if blown away, the work non-existent; just as gossip takes on a life of its own, today's "Cultural Sweden" continues as if nothing but its own self-absorption touches it.
Is there any point in trying to connect with our rich heritage?
When does a culture actually cease to exist? What are its prerequisites?
The language – Swedish as a mother tongue – is both the foundation and manifestation of culture. Beyond the Swedish language, there is no Swedish culture. And beyond a Swedish culture there is no Swedish community. After decades, yes centuries, of ideologies that either did not understand the value of the common culture or it traded meaning for the survival of the common, it is not surprising that even its last bastion has fallen. "We will not contribute to a Swedish cultural canon," declared the Swedish Academy's permanent secretary recently. As if we didn't have a cannon, whether the Swedish Academy contributed to pointing it out or not. At the universities, English is the language of the day - as if the Swedish most students and teachers know could help them think a unique, beautiful or profound thought at all - let alone formulate it.
A friend who is a photographer and who for many years lived in Paris told me that her French friends preferred not to end up next to Swedes at the dinner table. There was nothing to talk to them about. Golf, weather and other banalities, then nothing. No esprit, no education, no imagination. A few years later, my friend asked if I thought she should move home to Sweden, as she wanted her children to learn Swedish as well. I advised against it, and a few years later we sat over a coffee in Vasastan and she suddenly sighed deeply. “You know what,” she said, “in France, people get excited when they meet something skilled, beautiful, and high-ranking, and they do everything to highlight it. In Sweden, yes, here they keep it quiet, as if they couldn't stand anything that went out of the ordinary."
We laughed, but then sat in silence.
Without respect, everything weighs just as easily. Yes, it weighs nothing, and can be treated accordingly.
The condition for all care is respect. Without respect, everything weighs just as easily. Yes, it weighs nothing, and can be treated accordingly. A presenter for the literary program on SVT was a guest on another entertainment program and shockingly told that she had never read Selma Lagerlöf, and not even Dostoevsky. On behalf of the government and the Swedish people, a prime minister gave the crown princess a plaque on her thirtieth birthday. The condition for all care is respect. Things, indeed everything real, are constituted by their limits. Without them, they cease. And the limit is not a limitation, but the very prerequisite for its survival, growth and completion. Call this the sacred. Call it culture, reverence, humility and truth.
Yes, who decides what is good or bad literature? I stepped out of the library with heavy steps. For the library director, all literature was equally valuable. Or rather, its only value was the statistics of how often or infrequently it was lent.
The book no longer existed in its own right. Culture an empty word. And man?
It can only end one way.
So I sharpen the pen, take to battle.
==================
När jag för en tid sedan steg in i ortens bibliotek möttes jag av ett berg av staplade böcker utspridda över golvet.
En skylt uppmuntrade besökarna att ”bygga ett boktorn”. Kafka och Goethe, Camilla Läckberg och Alex Schulman, här fanns alla möjliga titlar, jämbördigt behandlade som liken efter en naturkatastrof. Ting att leka med, byggstenar att stapla på höjden med. Jag blev stående innan jag kom mig för att tilltala bibliotekarien. ”Ni har inga bokbål?” frågade jag. ”Ni skulle kunna ha en öppen spis och låta folk bränna böcker, tänk bara på värmen som skulle alstras i dessa bistra tider?”
Bibliotekarien log ängsligt.
I andra änden av den lika spatiösa som folktomma lokalen hade man samlat böcker som man mer bokstavligen ville bli av med. Bortgallrade böcker för fem kronor styck. Hyllor efter hyllor. Gamla fina saker, blandat med nyutgivet som kulturrådet bedömt som kvalitetslitteratur och som biblioteken får sig gratis tillsända. ”Fyller du en papperskasse får du alltihop för femtio kronor”, sade bibliotekarien.
Jag bad om att få tala med bibliotekschefen.
”Vad har ni egentligen för kriterier när ni gallrar ut böcker?” frågar jag.
”Har de inte blivit utlånade på två år ryker de”, svarar han.
”Men här finns ju klassiker, Nietzsche, Shakespeare, Jack London? Och Ekelund, Tranströmer, Kyrklund? Och en del av det bästa från vår egen samtid?”
Bibliotekschefen log snett, liksom jag hade gjort bort mig.
”Och vem skall avgöra vad som är bra och dålig litteratur?” säger han.
Tillfrågad om att börja skriva i denna tidnings kulturdel tvekade jag först. I början av 90-talet skrev jag litteraturkritik i Bonniers Litterära Magasin. Den lades ned några år senare, efter att ha funnits sedan 1932. Bläddrar man i valfritt nummer av magasinet slås man av rikedomen, kunnigheten och inte minst lyhördheten; en värld möter en som inte finns mer. Ser man på kultursidorna av i dag finns ingenting av detta kvar. DN, SvD, Expressen, Aftonbladet. Politisering, positionering, självcentrering. Boken som sådan är närapå försvunnen, författarens jag utgör huvudsaken och kulturskribentens behov av att i sin tur hävda sig raderar ut allt som har med det litterära och konstnärliga att göra. Bokens egenvärde är som bortblåst, verket obefintligt; liksom skvaller lever sitt eget liv fortgår dagens ”Kultursverige” som om ingenting annat än dess egen självupptagenhet berörde det.
Tjänar det något till att försöka knyta an till vårt rika arv?
När slutar egentligen en kultur att existera? Vilka är dess förutsättningar?
Språket – svenskan som modersmål – är såväl kulturens fundament som manifestation. Bortom det svenska språket finns ingen svensk kultur. Och bortom en svensk kultur finns ingen svensk gemenskap. Efter årtionden, ja århundranden, av ideologier som antingen inte förstod den gemensamma kulturens värde eller det traderades mening för det gemensammas fortlevnad, är det inte förvånande att även dess sista bastion fallit. ”Vi kommer inte att medverka till en svensk kulturkanon”, förklarade Svenska Akademiens ständige sekreterare nyligen. Som om vi inte hade en kanon vare sig Svenska Akademien bidrog till att peka ut den eller inte. På universiteten är engelskan språket för dagen – som om den svengelska de flesta studenter och lärare förmår kunde hjälpa dem att tänka en unik, skön eller djupgående tanke över huvudtaget – än mindre att formulera den.
En vän som är fotograf och som under många år bodde i Paris berättade för mig att hennes franska vänner helst inte ville hamna bredvid svenskar vid middagsbordet. Det fanns ju ingenting att tala med dem om. Golf, väder och andra banaliteter, sedan ingenting. Ingen esprit, ingen bildning, ingen fantasi. Några år senare frågade min vän om jag tyckte att hon skulle flytta hem till Sverige, då hon ville att hennes barn även fick med sig det svenska. Jag avrådde, och något år senare satt vi över en kaffe i Vasastan och hon suckade plötsligt djupt. ”Vet du vad”, sade hon, ”i Frankrike blir folk glada om de möter något skickligt, vackert och högtstående, och man gör allt för att lyfta fram det. I Sverige, ja, här tystar man ner det, liksom stod man inte ut med det som gick utöver det vanliga.”
Vi skrattade, men satt sedan tysta.
Utan respekt väger allt lika lätt. Ja, det väger ingenting, och kan behandlas därefter.
Villkoret för all omsorg är respekt. Utan respekt väger allt lika lätt. Ja, det väger ingenting, och kan behandlas därefter. En programledare för det litterära programmet i SVT gästade ett annat underhållningsprogram och berättade skrockande att hon aldrig läst Selma Lagerlöf, ja inte heller Dostojevskij. En statsminister gav på regeringens och svenska folkets vägnar en platteve till kronprinsessan på hennes trettioårsdag. Villkoret för all omsorg är respekt. Tingen, ja allt verkligt, utgörs av sina gränser. Utan dem upphör de. Och gränsen är ingen begränsning, utan själva förutsättningen för dess fortlevnad, tillväxt och fullbordande. Kalla detta det heliga. Kalla det kultur, vördnad, ödmjukhet och sanning.
Ja, vem avgör vad som är bra eller dålig litteratur? Jag steg ut från biblioteket med tunga steg. För bibliotekschefen var all litteratur lika mycket värd. Eller snarare, dess enda värde utgjordes av statistiken över hur ofta eller sällan den blev utlånad.
Boken fanns inte i egen rätt mer. Kulturen ett tomt ord. Och människan?
Det kan bara sluta på ett sätt.
Så jag vässar pennan, tar till strid.
I'm a librarian in rural America. My sense is that it's my job to prepare for, and push back against, exactly the kind of culture death that's described here.