Sunday, 4 January 2009

The Death of England

It was murder, but it didn’t happen at a single moment; and yes it’s partly true to say that the ‘butler’ did it. Those whose privilege and responsibility it was to nurture and guide the state, the nation, the country and the people systematically and treasonously – and treacherously, betrayed their trust. They perverted and polluted what they should have preserved and promoted. It addition to knavery there was much folly.

So be it. The rotting corpse now cumbers the Land. What was ‘Ingland,’ decays into ‘Nigland’. Every form of filth and vermin breeds in it. That’s the function of disease, scavengers and bacteria – to break down the old order and recycle the raw material of a corpse. The boldest and sliest rogues profit most. The debased populace of mongrels, snarls and snores, scratches, pukes and yaps. Their open and secret lords plot and lie, profit, soothe and distract, shaping further coups – and preparing blows for any who dare to growl at them.

Grim smiles to hear the fools prate of ‘re-cycling’, for they have no notion of the cycles of time and spirit, and they shall not stand with the Valkyries’ Chosen.

It’s not new. All die. Beasts, Men, Gods. So too pass families, clans, races, nations, countries, empires, cultures, civilisations, religions and all the works and thoughts of Man. This is not to say that their presence and passage was without value, gain or loss.

Like sun and cloud passing over the landscape, tracing patterns real but impermanent, there have been many patterns of life and identity upon this land. Archaeologists scratch the shadows of the hut-posts of those who wandered and settled here after the ice fled, but otherwise nothing of them remains in our minds, although their bodily successors are still amongst us. The dreams of the builders of the mighty megaliths are recurring and cling to the edge of our awareness. The Age of Chronos sleeps, the warlord heroes all have perished, though their clamour may pulsate dim within our blood. These preceded England, and like them England is passing. Already it is but a name without a people, a dying people whose identity has been broken and their institutions turned against them.

What follows will be for, and of, another time.


  1. 76.
    Cattle die, kindred die,
    Every man is mortal:
    But the good name
    never dies
    Of one who has done well.

    Cattle die, kindred die,
    Every man is mortal:
    But I know one thing
    that never dies,
    The glory of the great dead.

    Better dead than red? absolutely! lol

  2. I too feel this despair and that in turn fuels a loathing for the guilty people instrumental in our grief and loss. All people have a share in the destruction but the last 11 years of a Socialist nightmare carries the most expeditious and mendacious acceleration we have ever experienced. There may yet evolve a great leader, I don't hold my breath but cling to the hope this era will be remembered for the survival, not the death of our civilisation.