Archives for category: Satire

I make little visual memes every now and then, in part to help me remember ideas. A visual aid, so to speak. You can find most of my “creations” under the IoaB/vMemes menu on this site.

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individualist

noun

1: the ultimate target of collectivists, thus a member of the one class of people that we know, a priori, to be victims.

2. a herd-minded poseur known to spread collectivism as an example of his or her daring resistance to some disvalued non-collectivist (or merely traditional) crowd, real or imaginary; a mob participant who wears a mask of eccentricity as a uniform, and thinks uniformly with others of a similar nature; an ideological changeling, a mass man tarted up as morally autonomous individual by recourse to a counter-cultural consumerism — opposite of definition 1.

The legit definition, courtesy Merriam-Webster:

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N.B. This post’s title is Finnish for “individual.”

 

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Jurgen by Cabell

Chapter 34, in which our hero learns
the true nature of torture in hell:

Now the tale tells how the devils of Hell were in one of their churches celebrating Christmas in such manner as the devils observe that day; and how Jurgen came through the trapdoor in the vestry-room; and how he saw and wondered over the creatures which inhabited this place. For to him after the Christmas services came all such devils as his fathers had foretold, and in not a hair or scale or talon did they differ from the worst that anybody had been able to imagine.

“Anatomy is hereabouts even more inconsequent than in Cocaigne,” was Jurgen’s first reflection. But the first thing the devils did was to search Jurgen very carefully, in order to make sure he was not bringing any water into Hell.

“Now, who may you be, that come to us alive, in a fine shirt of which we never saw the like before?” asked Dithican. He had the head of a tiger, but otherwise the appearance of a large bird, with shining feathers and four feet: his neck was yellow, his body green, and his feet black.

“It would not be treating honestly with you to deny that I am the Emperor of Noumaria,” said Jurgen, somewhat advancing his estate.

Now spoke Amaimon, in the form of a thick suet-colored worm going upright upon his tail, which shone like the tail of a glowworm. He had no feet, but under his chops were two short hands, and upon his back were bristles such as grow upon hedgehogs.

“But we are rather overrun with emperors,” said Amaimon, doubtfully, “and their crimes are a great trouble to us. Were you a very wicked ruler?”

“Never since I became an emperor,” replied Jurgen, “has any of my subjects uttered one word of complaint against me. So it stands to reason I have nothing very serious with which to reproach myself.”

“Your conscience, then, does not demand that you be punished?”

“My conscience, gentlemen, is too well-bred to insist on anything.”

“You do not even wish to be tortured?”

“Well, I admit I had expected something of the sort. But none the less, I will not make a point of it,” said Jurgen, handsomely. “No, I shall be quite satisfied even though you do not torture me at all.”

And then the mob of devils made a great to-do over Jurgen.

“For it is exceedingly good to have at least one unpretentious and undictatorial human being in Hell. Nobody as a rule drops in on us save inordinately proud and conscientious ghosts, whose self-conceit is intolerable, and whose demands are outrageous.”

“How can that be?”

“Why, we have to punish them. Of course they are not properly punished until they are convinced that what is happening to them is just and adequate. And you have no notion what elaborate tortures they insist their exceeding wickedness has merited, as though that which they did or left undone could possibly matter to anybody. And to contrive these torments quite tires us out.”

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The artwork featured here are details from that produced by Virgil Burnett for the Limited Editions Club edition of Jurgen, 1976. The female figure is of the vampire Florimel, who was created from the mind of Jurgen’s father, Coth, as fit punishment for his own sins. She is featured in the chapters on hell as one of Jurgen’s two romantic dalliances, the other being the wife of Grandfather Satan.

Chapter 39, in which our hero laments the
affection shown to him by his demon lover:

“It is my title she loves, not me,” reflected Jurgen, sadly, “and her affection is less for that which is really integral to me than for imperial orbs and sceptres and such-like external trappings.”

And Jurgen would come out of Florimel’s cleft considerably dejected, and would sit alone by the Sea of Blood, and would meditate how inequitable it was that the mere title of emperor should thus shut him off from sincerity and candor.

“We who are called kings and emperors are men like other men: we are as rightly entitled as other persons to the solace of true love and affection: instead, we live in a continuous isolation, and women offer us all things save their hearts, and we are a lonely folk. No, I cannot believe that Florimel loves me for myself alone: it is my title which dazzles her. And I would that I had never made myself the emperor of Noumaria: for this emperor goes about everywhere in a fabulous splendor, and is, very naturally, resistless in his semi-mythical magnificence. Ah, but these imperial gewgaws distract the thoughts of Florimel from the real Jurgen; so that the real Jurgen is a person whom she does not understand at all. And it is not fair.”

Then, too, he had a sort of prejudice against the way in which Florimel spent her time in seducing and murdering young men. It was not possible, of course, actually to blame the girl, since she was the victim of circumstances, and had no choice about becoming a vampire, once the cat had jumped over her coffin. . . .

Chapter 39, in which our hero continues his
search for justice (and his missing wife):

“It is a comfort, at any rate,” said Jurgen, “to discover who originated the theory of democratic government. I have long wondered who started the notion that the way to get a wise decision on any conceivable question was to submit it to a popular vote. Now I know. Well, and the devils may be right in their doctrines; certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same time—!”

For instance, this interminable effort to make the universe safe for democracy, this continual warring against Heaven because Heaven clung to a tyrannical form of autocratic government, sounded both logical and magnanimous, and was, of course, the only method of insuring any general triumph for democracy: yet it seemed rather futile to Jurgen, since, as he knew now, there was certainly something in the Celestial system which made for military efficiency, so that Heaven usually won. Moreover, Jurgen could not get over the fact that Hell was just a notion of his ancestors with which Koshchei had happened to fall in: for Jurgen had never much patience with antiquated ideas, particularly when anyone put them into practice, as Koshchei had done.

“Why, this place appears to me a glaring anachronism,” said Jurgen, brooding over the fires of Chorasma: “and its methods of tormenting conscientious people I cannot but consider very crude indeed. The devils are simple-minded and they mean well, as nobody would dream of denying, but that is just it: for hereabouts is needed some more pertinacious and efficiently disagreeable person—”
And that, of course, reminded him of Dame Lisa: and so it was the thoughts of Jurgen turned again to doing the manly thing. And he sighed, and went among the devils tentatively looking and inquiring for that intrepid fiend who in the form of a black gentleman had carried off Dame Lisa. But a queer happening befell, and it was that nowhere could Jurgen find the black gentleman, nor did any of the devils know anything about him.

“From what you tell us, Emperor Jurgen,” said they all, “your wife was an acidulous shrew, and the sort of woman who believes that whatever she does is right.”

“It was not a belief,“ says Jurgen: “it was a mania with the poor dear.”

“By that fact, then, she is forever debarred from entering Hell.”

“You tell me news,” says Jurgen, “which if generally known would lead many husbands into vicious living.”

“But it is notorious that people are saved by faith. And there is no faith stronger than that of a bad-tempered woman in her own infallibility. Plainly, this wife of yours is the sort of person who cannot be tolerated by anybody short of the angels. We deduce that your Empress must be in Heaven.”

“Well, that sounds reasonable. And so to Heaven I will go, and it may be that there I shall find justice.”

“We would have you know,” the fiends cried, bristling, “that in Hell we have all kinds of justice, since our government is an enlightened democracy.”

“Just so,” says Jurgen: “in an enlightened democracy one has all kinds of justice, and I would not dream of denying it. But you have not, you conceive, that lesser plague, my wife; and it is she whom I must continue to look for.”

“Oh, as you like,” said they, “so long as you do not criticize the exigencies of war-time. But certainly we are sorry to see you going into a country where the benighted people put up with an autocrat Who was not duly elected to His position. And why need you continue seeking your wife’s society when it is so much pleasanter living in Hell?”

And Jurgen shrugged. “One has to do the manly thing sometimes.”

from Jurgen: A Comedy of Justice, James Branch Cabell

Robinson Jeffers quote

I am an amateur at best in the visual realm, so my attempts to marry words and images into pithy graphic memes tend to be somewhat primitive. No wonder I outsource some of my ideas to others, for better treatment. Still, in case you missed the vMemes section of IoaB, above, here are a few — some of them recent, others not:

If you want to see want to catch the latest, click to receive email notifications of new posts on this blog, Discriminations.info — I’ll try to blog each new one, and link to its permanent location at memeVigilante.com.

The first on the list, above, is today’s most recent.

Rooster Advice #1

N.B. Sometimes I use Adobe products to cook these things up; often I just use Apple’s Pages and do a screenshot. The rooster meme, for instance (intended to be first in a series, but who knows?) is a very simple Pages effort, made (as most of these are made) on my iPad Pro. Also, my wirkmanv account on Instagram usually publishes these at release time, too.

Offensively sexist Wikipedia entry:

Roosters almost always start crowing before four months of age. Although it is possible for a hen to crow as well, crowing (together with hackles development) is one of the clearest signs of being a rooster.

It is only the Cockocracy that keeps hens from crowing.

IMG_3847If it weren’t for cockerel oppression, hens would have an equal station at the roost, protecting the brood, perhaps trading off. In a true chicken coöp coop, the cocks would share in nesting chores, allowing hens to patrol the grounds, too. And besides, keeping other cocks from entering the territory is just cock-of-the-walk privilege. The hens should be able to choose from a variety of cocks, and prevent any one cock from dominating the walk.

In the coopunistic future, where nobody has one exclusive sphere of activity but each can become accomplished in any branch she wishes, chickendom regulates the general production and thus makes it possible for chickens to do one thing today and another tomorrow — hens would be able to lay eggs and nest in the morning, peck in the afternoon, roost in the evening, criticize after dinner, just as I have in mind, without ever becoming nester, rooster, pecker or critic.

twv

These mock slogans from Bill Maher are hilarious, and yet . . . the Democratic Party just barely lost a presidential election and four iffy make-up elections in districts that had previously gone Republican. Not really Earth shattering.

The party is, remember, more unified than the GOP. It stands for a few very clear principles — no one is uncertain on what the party stands for: anti-racism, feminism, defense of almost any conceivable minority group (other than white heterosexual Christian men), and ever-increasing spending and the raising of tax rates.

If the Republicans prove their disunity by botching their stint at “unified government”* — and that is almost certainly what they will do — the Democrats will be back in power very soon.

Politics is such a weird game: reaction following reaction ad infinitum.

The post-election hysteria and/or offputting denial that losing partisans undergo after a loss is astounding in its breathtaking over-reaction.

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* Is “united government” under one disunited party truly “united government”?

I started with quotations, aphorisms, the main points of which I thought obviously egregious. But some of my friends liked them. So I continued. I next put up statements of my own that I found especially idiotic — common pieties of our age. Some liked them; others objected. I reminded the latter, only, what day it was.

So here, in no particular order, with the names of the initial “likers” greened out…. Statements none of which are true, each of which has something disturbingly wrong with them.

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“I saw a study once that proves my point. I shall never forget that study. Other studies that deprecate its implications, methods or very findings I shall not consult. Further studies that back up the original study I shall relentlessly reference. I shall call all other people who have read other studies ideologues. I shall boast of my scientific standing. I shall talk knowingly of other people’s confirmation biases, and never my own.

“My ideas and intentions are beyond reproach. Any others’ that contradict mine are disreputable. I shall forever and relentlessly use the word ‘discredited’ to designate ideas I do not agree with.

“I am a good person. I am the living embodiment of my ideals.

“Always insist that your agreement with me is the result of crystal-clear reasoning and not a herd instinct, an in-group/out-group prejudice, or some other bias that psychologists have been studying for years.

“We are the elite. All others are scum who, if risen to our level, are explained not by their acumen but by the chthonian undercurrents of bigotry and prejudice that raise them out of the dark, heathen depths. (But we mustn’t say that when around them. We are classy, too, like that.) We transcend the folly of our age.

“We are progressives. We read and even write for the major papers, never for the nasty promoters of ‘fake news.’

“Our funding comes from only reputable sources. Corporate funding is always suspect; funds extracted from taxpayers, or financed by government debt, are never suspect. We are not tainted; we are the untainted.

“We know things. Trust us.”

Today, on Facebook, I posted this:

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