Hindsight is CoVid 2020

28 Days Later, 28 Weeks Later. Those were my cynical predictions for this insipid, uninspiring plague which has fallen upon our heads. Why? Because herd psychology is indelicate, unsubtle and embarrassingly predictable. Elsewhere I made the claim that herd psychology would be incapable of thinking past creature comforts and state sponsored materialism. I believe my cynicism has been vindicated in that arena. I made the argument that this flu is a symptom of a spiritual rot, and that by this proxy will have killed far fewer than globalism itself ever will. That is admittedly an unsubstiantible claim, but those in the know might deign to agree. But really, what good is speculation? I can sit here at my keyboard and toot my own horn. But really, I’d rather focus on what is.

I made New Year’s Resolutions this last year for the first time in a long while. I actually had a list of superficial items, but there was one real object of concern I wanted to deal with. Sure, I endeavoured to lose a few of the depression pounds I gained from when I had to sleep under a different room than my wife because she was held over at the NICU when my son was born. Sure, I made an absolutely failed resolution to get serious about my German and Danish lessons (the year’s not over, I guess.) But overall, I made a resolution to become upbeat, to be more lively and less abrasive, cynical and depressed.

The beginning of 2020 has not made this an easy task. Or has it? I believe my son had only been home for a month or so before the doomsday proclamations for CoVAIDS began. I did not take them seriously. After all, I’ve lived through at least a dozen weak and pitiful apocalypses in my 30-31 years of time in this brave Clown World.

So. Here is my reflection on the diseased year in brief so far. First off, being self-employed, it was an easy choice to abide by my State’s Stay-At-Home order. It was harrowing at first, feeling like I was under house arrest. However, a lot of good has come from the month and up I’ve spent at home.

I’ve had a lot of time for personal development. It has been a real test of my mettle in terms of Will To Power. The long hours with free time have made temptations to engage in bad habits very real. But by and large I have resisted. (Although the death toll for cans of Bang I’ve consumed is unsettlingly close to the six gorillion count.) The temptation to throw away my routines and regimens with the always false promise of ‘I’ll do it later,’ has not prevailed. I have kept my gym schedule, shed most of those pregnancy pounds. More than that, I have accomplished more landscaping and yard-work than I would normally achieve in ten weekends during the spring/summertime.

More than that, I get to see my Wife and Son, whenever I want, at any point in the day. Unless Seaxling is sleeping, in which case Seaxwife puts him away and tells me I have to be quiet. (I can appreciate that.) During this time I have held my Son, snuggled him. He laughs and giggles and burbles when he sees me. He lights up like a Yule Log when I read him Ovid’s Creation Stories. (If you too would like to light up like a Yule Log, go check out my extremely underrepresented Podcast called the Lorecast on Spreaker. Go on, do it, you’ll thank me later!) Sure, I read him some rinse and repeat children’s books like ‘Night, Night Farm,’ but Seaxling knows quality when he hears it. Nothing can replace Ovid.

More than this. I feel alive. Sure, I’m approaching the top of my hill, and I know someday I’ll be over the hill. But for now, without a gruelling commute and the knowledge that I only have three quality hours at home before sleep and wake and gym cycles has given me an ease of mind I wouldn’t have guessed. The quarantine has afforded me the privilege of living like the landed peasant I always knew I could be. My mind is easier, my heart is lighter. I’m always in walking distance, if not shouting distance, from my family. Hell, even the few jobs I’ve unofficially “worked” have been in eyeshot of my house. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to look up from the roof you’re laying down to see your own roof, which shields the head of Wife and Son.

For the first time I can imagine in my head the sign I normally scoff at whenever I return home from New Hampshire on Brotherhood business. “MAINE: The Way Life Should Be.” This is, for this chunk of time, how it should be. And that’s not nothing. The wife and I make occasional supply pilgrimages. Sure, it’s daunting to feel constrained by the ‘appropriate’ hygienic measures. And it is most certainly strange to pull up to Hannaford or Wal-Mart to be greeted by a picket. Nevertheless, that oddity is sandwiched between a drive which is significantly less stressful due to the reduction of implacable idiots clogging the roads like Michael Moore’s fatty liver and ailing heart.

The roads are often empty. Sure, the few people driving have the same self-absorbed, arrogant and entitled air about them… but we’re able to keep more than six car lengths of distance, and for those wastes of space that insist on driving like toddlers in bumper carts – there is plenty of room to pass.

The world is quieter. In public, people are friendlier. The isolation, at least for people following the rule of law, has made them humbler, friendlier. I have stricken up conversation with walkers on my road. Normally the story is different, they walk with their buttcheeks pinched, lemon-faces all a-scowl with their stupid dogs that make deposits on the edge of my field. I have helped neighbours with projects, and learned a lot about the people who share my air. My road feels like a community again, and it feels like it did when I was a boy when there were still block parties and roadside barbecues. You know, before 9/11 happened and the world locked itself away in her living room to watch TV and pretend the world hadn’t been replaced by Saudi Arabia.

Yes. The people I meet, despite the fear and tension, are more relaxed. In fact, it seems blaringly obvious now that, money concerns aside, people are far more at ease in the wake of this gay plague than they were on the far more slow moving terminal illness their daily grinds became. How ironic. Truth? I’ve heard some people, because the quarantine robbed them of their ability to eat out incessantly, have saved money. I know of one brother who used his Trump Bux to nullify credit card debt. That’s at least one Khazar milker that’s robbed of a teat to suck on.

I think for me, the very worst thing to come from this is the fact that with the stay-at-home order I am basically on house arrest. I have not been able to see any of my Brothers from the Männerbund in well over two months. However, the flip side of this is because of the nature of the economy, interstate travel is rarely feasible for me. I simply can’t afford to be an upwardly mobile dissident. Speaking of our Männerbund, I am pleased to report that while it took several weeks to sink in, maybe a month, after the panic posting of the more skittish men burnt itself out, the Männerbund rallied together to turn COVAIDS into a challenge. The men have stepped up their game in working on solving personality defects, improving fitness, increasing their spirituality. I have begun running a ‘continuing education’ programme of sorts for our resident Pagans. There is a book club running for those inclined toward literature.

A man can dream, but if I get any one wish from this, it would be that the world echo the sentiments I heard expressed on the Nordic Frontier Podcast. The hosts of the Nordic Frontier are possessed of the notion that many will not want to return to the way things were when this is over. This plague has exposed the tragic un-necessity of how we’re forced to live. The fact that on a dime a vast number of jobs magically became workable from home shows this. I have seen photographs and reports from metropolis tier cities, such as Los Angeles, that show a sky quite sensually devoid of toxic filth. My wife brought up an interesting point; she made the point that the environmentalist and global warming fanatics have been oddly about that.

It has really been a failure of imagination that has kept the unjust system we have alive for so long. For all the people that claimed they could never imagined another world, we have the beginnings of one. The majority of what we’re told is a lie; this bit of CoVAIDS should show that. We do not need a globalist economy. We can, in fact, operate locally. Immigration is not our defacto greatest ally. The economy is not more important than life. Cheap Chinese crap is not worth the price of viral admission. Product does not make you happy.

But. This too shall pass, though I confess, I am beginning to think something of value will have been lost when it does.

(A note on the cover image… I’ve lost track of time completely. So I’ve started assessing the quarantine length by the corresponding size of my pile of Bang cans. Also, to my shame, by Bang addiction has spread to Reign. This means if Mike Enoch and Sven Sonntag are correct and the measure of a Dissident’s edginess is his consumption of PRODUCT than old Saxo should have WAAAAAY more airtime.)