(FB 1545227927 Timestamp) —-“Curt are you a fan of Spengler? As far as I’ve read him and his followers (Yockey, Toynbee, Blaga, etc.), his philosophy seems rather opposed to yours in many ways. I’m rather surprised that I haven’t seen you dismiss his work as “critique”.”—Connor Creegan Um. Yes he failed as many have failed, to produce a solution. The germans COULD NOT produce a solution. It is the origin of their defect. Yes he writes in annoying german sentimental, phenomenalistic prose, that misses its catholic ancestors. Whether we call it ‘critique’ or ‘criticism’ is something that I would have to re-read him to judge. That said, just as reading Hegel is a pain in the ass, reading Spengler is a pain in the ass. But that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t take the insights of hegel and spencer and turn them into insights.
Category: Civilization, History, and Anthropology
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545266743 Timestamp) —“Western civilization is Greek philosophy, Roman law and statecraft, British science,and German engineering”—AH edited a bit… lol
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545313703 Timestamp) Germans were not scary until trained by romans to fight in formation. Vikings were scary because they had fast ships, horses, a range of weapons, and fought in formation – the perfection of light infantry, cavalry, and sail. Europeans were scary because they made amazing, fast ships, loaded them with guns, horses, and men with guns. Germans were amazing because they used armor as if it was light cavalry. americans are currently amazing, because they use air force as cavalry.
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545266743 Timestamp) —“Western civilization is Greek philosophy, Roman law and statecraft, British science,and German engineering”—AH edited a bit… lol
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545313703 Timestamp) Germans were not scary until trained by romans to fight in formation. Vikings were scary because they had fast ships, horses, a range of weapons, and fought in formation – the perfection of light infantry, cavalry, and sail. Europeans were scary because they made amazing, fast ships, loaded them with guns, horses, and men with guns. Germans were amazing because they used armor as if it was light cavalry. americans are currently amazing, because they use air force as cavalry.
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545754612 Timestamp) A VIKING CHRISTMAS STORY (edited) Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the village The men sharpened knives and the boys dreamt of pillage. The skulls were all hung by the chimney with care In hopes on the morrow, more would be there. The girls were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of jewelry, danced in their heads. And mamma in her gown, and I in my shirt, Had just caught our breath from a quick winterâs flirt. When out on the river there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed, to see what was the matter. Away to the Hall, I flew in a rush, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a longboat with shields, and great men with their gear. With a bearded old man, lively and wisened, I knew in a moment it must be Lord Odin. More rapid than eagles his warriors they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With bags full of booty, and Lord Odin too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard at the door The laughter of brethren hardened by war. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Lord Odin, through the portal, came with a bound. He was dressed all in grey, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all fouled with snow and with soot. A bundle of booty he had flung on his back, And he looked like a merchant, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his laughter how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! The beard of his chin was as white as the snow, And his purses, hung neatly, from his belt, in a row. The stump of a pipe, he held tight, in his teeth, And the smoke it, encircled his head, like a wreath. He had a long face, pointed hat, and grey cloak, That shook when he laughed, like the bough of an oak. He was tall and thin, but a jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! But a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger, aside of his cheek, And giving a nod, tossed my share to my feet. He sprang to his boots, and to men gave a whistle, And away we all flew like the down of a thistle. And I heard him exclaim, âere we ran into the night, “Happy Viking to all, and to all a good-fight!” -Curt Doolittle (With Apologies to Dickens)
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545667526 Timestamp) A VIKING STORY Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the village The men sharpened knives and the boys dreamt of pillage. The skulls were all hung by the chimney with care In hopes on the morrow, more would be there. The girls were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of gold danced in their heads. And mamma in her gown, and I in my shirt, Had just caught our breath from a quick winterâs flirt. When out on the river there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed, to see what was the matter. Away to the Hall, I flew in a rush, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a longboat with shields, and great men with their gear. With a bearded old wise man, lively and boldened, I knew in a moment it must be Lord Odin. More rapid than eagles his warriors they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With bags full of booty, and Lord Odin too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard at the door The laughter of brethren hardened by war. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Lord Odin, through the portal, came with a bound. He was dressed all in grey, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all fouled with snow and with soot. A bundle of booty he had flung on his back, And he looked like a merchant, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his laughter how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! The beard of his chin was as white as the snow, And his purses, hung neatly, from his belt, in a row. The stump of a pipe, he held tight, in his teeth, And the smoke it, encircled his head, like a wreath. He had a long face, pointed hat, and grey cloak, That shook when he laughed, like the bough of an oak. He was tall and thin, but a jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! But a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger, aside of his cheek, And giving a nod, tossed my share to my feet. He sprang to his boots, and to men gave a whistle, And away we all flew like the down of a thistle. And I heard him exclaim, âere we ran into the night, “Happy Viking to all, and to all a good-fight!” -Curt Doolittle (With Apologies to Dickens)
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545754612 Timestamp) A VIKING CHRISTMAS STORY (edited) Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the village The men sharpened knives and the boys dreamt of pillage. The skulls were all hung by the chimney with care In hopes on the morrow, more would be there. The girls were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of jewelry, danced in their heads. And mamma in her gown, and I in my shirt, Had just caught our breath from a quick winterâs flirt. When out on the river there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed, to see what was the matter. Away to the Hall, I flew in a rush, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a longboat with shields, and great men with their gear. With a bearded old man, lively and wisened, I knew in a moment it must be Lord Odin. More rapid than eagles his warriors they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With bags full of booty, and Lord Odin too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard at the door The laughter of brethren hardened by war. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Lord Odin, through the portal, came with a bound. He was dressed all in grey, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all fouled with snow and with soot. A bundle of booty he had flung on his back, And he looked like a merchant, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his laughter how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! The beard of his chin was as white as the snow, And his purses, hung neatly, from his belt, in a row. The stump of a pipe, he held tight, in his teeth, And the smoke it, encircled his head, like a wreath. He had a long face, pointed hat, and grey cloak, That shook when he laughed, like the bough of an oak. He was tall and thin, but a jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! But a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger, aside of his cheek, And giving a nod, tossed my share to my feet. He sprang to his boots, and to men gave a whistle, And away we all flew like the down of a thistle. And I heard him exclaim, âere we ran into the night, “Happy Viking to all, and to all a good-fight!” -Curt Doolittle (With Apologies to Dickens)
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545660911 Timestamp) CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS War and pillaging are the most profitable entrepreneurial undertakings that a group of men can undertake. Not only because one brings home the dividends, but because one can take territory, reduce competitors, and create dependents who may be taxed by your family, tribe, clan, and nation. Policing is expensive but pillaging is wonderful. Look at the Prussians, Napoleon the British, and Caesar….. So this year, hang an ornament on the tree, burn a yule log, share a family feast, and sharpen your weapons. Because war and pillaging make christmas possible every day of the year!
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Curt Doolittle updated his status.
(FB 1545667526 Timestamp) A VIKING STORY Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the village The men sharpened knives and the boys dreamt of pillage. The skulls were all hung by the chimney with care In hopes on the morrow, more would be there. The girls were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of gold danced in their heads. And mamma in her gown, and I in my shirt, Had just caught our breath from a quick winterâs flirt. When out on the river there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed, to see what was the matter. Away to the Hall, I flew in a rush, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a longboat with shields, and great men with their gear. With a bearded old wise man, lively and boldened, I knew in a moment it must be Lord Odin. More rapid than eagles his warriors they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With bags full of booty, and Lord Odin too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard at the door The laughter of brethren hardened by war. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Lord Odin, through the portal, came with a bound. He was dressed all in grey, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all fouled with snow and with soot. A bundle of booty he had flung on his back, And he looked like a merchant, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his laughter how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! The beard of his chin was as white as the snow, And his purses, hung neatly, from his belt, in a row. The stump of a pipe, he held tight, in his teeth, And the smoke it, encircled his head, like a wreath. He had a long face, pointed hat, and grey cloak, That shook when he laughed, like the bough of an oak. He was tall and thin, but a jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! But a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger, aside of his cheek, And giving a nod, tossed my share to my feet. He sprang to his boots, and to men gave a whistle, And away we all flew like the down of a thistle. And I heard him exclaim, âere we ran into the night, “Happy Viking to all, and to all a good-fight!” -Curt Doolittle (With Apologies to Dickens)