Old World Muse

Legojam? No, this is the year of the travelogue:

https://monstersandmanuals.blogspot.com/2024/05/reflections-on-city.html

http://throneofsalt.blogspot.com/2024/06/a-week-in-ireland.html

In Valencia

Soft and slow, we are flowing back, like sand, like time, back to the beginning. I am the first, reborn of the red soil, my vision filled with the blue ghost of an ancient ocean. Come with us down into the red dust and rise again, transformed.

There are red cliffs here. We've got red cliffs in Ontario too - much better, much stronger red cliffs, because ours are red granite while the ones here are red soil.

 

Everything in Spain is sooo slow. They expended their civilizational energy centuries ago expelling the Umayyads. There are ruins everywhere you look. Substance, fading substance, solidified past. I have heard that Toronto has the most construction cranes in operation of any city in North America... a vapourous future. They are building shit, falling-apart shit, for stupid & meaningless dreams - fancies, unworthy of the title of dream.

Lots of plazas in Valencia, big walkable spaces, big public parks - zero crackheads, aggressive schizophrenics, etc. Spain's GDP is like a third of Canada's, and while GDP is fake, come on, there's literally no trade-off, one way is just plain superior. Although, I have heard that those types converge on Barcelona. They live in the hills, so I've heard. Dirty, dirty Barcelona. Full of dust, and thieves.

Looksmatch here is but a whisper from across the sea. I assumed this was a Slavic phenomenon. It is Mediterranean too. Perhaps related to low cost of living. Many more children here, young couples with children.

Seems it's the fashion now to include snail in Valencian paella, which traditionally has chicken and rabbit. The snail adds nothing, and in fact I received an unpleasant surprise biting into a shard of shell that had broken off into the rice. Who is this meant to appeal to? Is there a glut of tourism from fucking ground beetles?

 

The gay community seems to be thriving in Valencia. Saw little to no corporate pride stuff, and yet many posters for monster drag shows & suchlike... perhaps because the Valencian accent sounds gay... they lisp, you see, they pronounce their s's as th's. La raza cosmica pronounces and will pronounce s's properly...

Witnessed nuns like a flock of birds - magpies, or penguins - being shephered by a fat priest. He was Catholic, but even so a priest shouldn't be fat. Sets a bad example. Glad I didn't end up paying to go into some tourist-catering cathedral. Cathedrals are Disneyland. All your favourite Bible characters, big and gilded! Wowza! The outward ceremony is anti-Christ.

Anime is everywhere, on the train TV. It's in stores, on shirts, in graffiti - I witnessed two women with Sailor Moon hair. Japanese soft power.

Piña colada, pinya they say, nya like a Japanese cat. Miaw, in ancient Egypt. The Habiru, the Celts, Semitic outflow from Egypt... ancient people, ancient wisdom...

Terroir is not just for wine. There are energies in the air, the water, the earth, that shape and are shaped by the people who live there. Viktor Schauberger knew this. Ray Peat.

 

In Scotland

When an animal looks up at the night sky, what does it see? Thousands and thousands of tiny points. Then a man looks up at the same points and sees millions of stars; galaxies, within which are billions of planets. Do you want to know what I see? Were you there when I created the stars?

Landed in Manchester - scanner pods! Dehumanization, worse than the GERMANS. Airports are an excuse for the globalist deep state to treat citizens the way they wish they could treat us everywhere.

Outside the airport Manchester is nicer than I have heard. Nice suburbs, trees and bushes and bricks and old churches and old factories. The people sound like mealy-mouthed toddlers.

 

The UK has a gnarling energy, something is off, physically, aesthetically, about the people here. There is no summer. It is 17 degrees. Perhaps it is this. Everyone has it, the natives, the immigrants. The country is wrong. Perhaps it's the rebuilt Stonehenge. Stonehenge is fake. Halloween 3 is about this.

San Miguel is only 5% here, as opposed to 5.4% in Spain - probably tax-related - unforgivable. I much prefer trains to planes these days, yet at the same time people have become too jaded to planes - for hundreds of thousands of years it has been a human dream to fly - perhaps because of the humiliation ritual of airport security theater.

Walter Scott quotes in Edinburgh train station - very cynical man - if it were Canada it would be group of seven paintings... sick of the group of seven! Has there been no high art in Canada in a century?! There was a church that burned down a little while ago - a group of seven mural inside. That church was a martyr, a suicide incendiary taking the mediocre cruft of stuck culture down with it.

 

I have no nostalgia walking through the places I've been. The past is dead to me and I am dead to the present. It's a ghost-feeling.

Lots of rain. Much too big slugs and snails. To pay for a washroom? What is this, Nazi Germany? Warhammer could have only come out of the UK. Spain could never invent wargaming, because it is too nice, the people too healthy physically & mentally.

Big beer bottles - affordable & quality whisky... will I take back what I said about San Miguel here? Perhaps halfway. Exorbitant vice taxes are a WASP sickness inflicted on right-thinking and right-drinking people.

British cuisine is unfairly maligned - can't get good fish & chips outside the UK, and meat pies are lovely - british comedy isn't maligned enough.

The Tesco Spanish tortilla is very bad, one of the worst things I have eaten that wasn't rotten or moldering. People say about this and that: "it's like eating cardboard". I have heard this said about Domino's pizza. People who say this are wrong, except when I say it about the Tesco Spanish tortilla - it's also quite like eating styrofoam. The Lidl Spanish tortilla is okay, much better by comparison.

The Future..?

Nothing exists in the space between gears. A mind cannot outrace a machine. A mind cannot outrace a machine. Nothing exists in the space between gears.

Can dreams lie? Most definitely. Can cities lie? Not well, and not easily. But what of a city in a dream? Boston calls to me, like the waves of a risen tide. A poor memory works only backwards. I am in Boston, and its streets are swept with tephra. I am in Boston, and gorge rises in my throat as I stumble away from the sea. Tasmanian devils chase me through space and time. I am going to Boston and I am leaving Boston. The wakened Boston is a discarded chrysalis and a thousand diaphonous wasps have eaten its transmogrifying corpse and hatched into sleep. They are coming home.