I’m going to keep up a list of one liners here for morale. I should have started this list years ago. When facing transnational repression, you can never underestimate the need for a good reprimand.
If I were in the window repair business, I might feel a little ANTIFA myself.
You can always burn, I don’t know—books?—in the winter to stay warm.
How now, motherf*cker.
Always carry enough supplies on you to survive even if you don’t want to.
Cry me a river when the river runs dry.
The only kind of dumb I want to be is freedom.
It should be noted with interest that at what I must assume is the very top eschelons of power are people who are extremely cruel and sharp witted.
Many influencial people who occupy positions in the brutality industry are impish and drab. No amount of information or power can render them truly cunning. They are lofted for their dimness and prestige, and tend to be easily alienated from morals and thus easy to manipulate. They are not evil, however hard they try to emulate it.
“Windom Earle’s mind is like a diamond. It’s cold, and hard, and brilliant,” are words from Twin Peaks that stuck with me for years. You must never take the glints and facets of world events as much more than fleeting swords from the people with true, hardened, enduring influence. They see through generations like glass panes. They seem to actually revel in prudent violence, and can condense an entire short novel of cutting dialect into a single well timed word.
It’s impossible to tell where they come from. I am gifted at rough analysis of dialects and facial structures (I can pin a Navajo or Karuk or Lakota every time when few other people can—I can tell skin tones from sun belts and real accents from atempts to cover accents to hide where you’re from)—yet their features baffle me.
They’re learned and sheltered and fearless like they come from an ancient fortress carved into a cliffside somewhere in Jordan—no, closer to the Caucuses—no, perhaps even near the Gulf, or some forgotten spur towards India. It’s impossible to locate them to a place, like very dark irises can make it hard to focus on the pupil.
But they’re very clever. That’s what I mean to say.
Their favorite weapon is the game of sugar catching more flies than salt—and controlled demolition.
The Black Llama spends a lot of time away from home.
I never make memes, but as someone who takes offense to all aspects of this debate that are not Traditionalist Hopi or anthropologically acurate, including new age idealism, I have to say:
