AGILITY: A CRUCIAL QUALITY

 

The Lovely Trivium of Childhood; Optimism, Grace, Agility.

I recently noticed a schoolboy of around ten years old attempting to climb over a fence of about five feet tall. What a palaver, he had no idea how to do it; finally, leaving defeated. I was tempted to demonstrate the jump, lean over and flip that would accomplish this, but desisted on realising that I would likely complete my explanation of the technique to the sheriff court. 

When I was this child’s age, such a fence would represent a delay of seconds to me and the small commandos that made up the schoolboy cohort then. And if I was this child’s teacher, Monday would be devoted to acquiring this essential skill, disingenuously disguised as studying angles or a transitioning workshop. 

This got me thinking about agility, and comparing the antique child’s environment which placed a premium on it, to the now – where it is near non-existent and anyway disapproved of.

Agility is a quality that if it is not acquired young, is not acquired. It should be a defining feature of being a child (see, graceful entry), but, except for those children who are specifically trained for it via an adult-led sport, has been replaced with digital dexterity. This is a poor swap. And one of great consequence, beyond being able to climb a fence to escape PC. Murdoch! For this loss feeds into lifestyle and health options, and particularly future ones. The wheezing stiffy at ten is being trapped into a life of wheezing stiffness.

The school solution is obvious – running in the corridor and leaping up and down stairs. Teachers could lead by example, perhaps chasing slow pupils along corridors, or tigging them at their desks to encourage a counter-tig around the classroom. The recalcitrant slow should be chastised as necessary: Ha, ha, cannae catch me!

And: Excuse me, you know the rules. No walking in the corridor. Now get going – quickly!

Imagine how cool it would be to have a headteacher that was agile, instead of one that (excuse me, while I select a diplomatic phrase) seemed like the personification of a icing bun.

Classes could sprint out of the classroom at the playtime and lunch bell (Last out is a silly sausage!), and skip or hop back afterwards. Barriers and water-courses could be introduced throughout the corridor. Swing bars could be fitted to corridor ceilings to encourage arboreal agility. A large water jump should be placed in front of the headteacher's office. CRT ‘wokeshops’ could be replaced with Race Theory workshops, where teachers learn how to lead by example with high hurdles and the steeplechase. Certain suitable sections of the school building could be converted to parkour standard with money recovered from the class laptop budget scam.

Weekly awards for top traceur in each class. Tig would be a subject studied, hopefully replacing IT lessons. Kids would love it. Younger female teachers would fit into hot pants again; and what sort of man would object to that!

What think ye?

PS. I've just had a flashback from years ago: Once, coming along the school corridor, I passed a wee P1 girl skipping. How wonderful is that? I think this illustrates that lovely trivium I referred to above. Despite being transported with delight at witnessing how a little sprite can make anywhere a forest glade in sunshine, I had the wherewithal to compliment her skipping. The HT in that school would have censured her. 

 

SCOTLAND'S SAINT

 

The Message

 

 Once forgetting who he worked for

Columba found out the hard way

not to cross his employer’s plans

for Scotland.

 

He found out too that

beautiful accommodates ruthless

the angel appearing not as

the expected cherub but

 

an SS Sturmscharführer with Iron Cross

and Gold Oak Leaves

an angelic enforcer who lashed

the miscreant saint for three solid days

 

the brothers could hear the whipping

and cries inside the saint’s hut but

daren’t interfere for fear that

the holy hit man might ask:

 

D’ye want tae try some as well, Son?

 

And find themselves going to vespers

with their face in a towel.

 

Columba bore these scars

for life and carried the

experience into his dealings

with recalcitrant Scottish kings

 

When asking, Don’t you think

that in all the lands of the world,

God couldn’t find another king

for your people?

 

It was hardly a question and

the kings, taking note of the holy man's

scarred back, knew this was a god 

with a message they could appreciate;

 

My way or the highway!

Perhaps, seeing in the mind’s eye,

the downstairs accommodation

and God’s war band waiting

beyond the palisade

with whips and heated tongs

they took the baptism

for Scotland’s sake.

Today, the 9th June, is the day of Columba's earthly death in 597 on Iona, after a long life of converting pagans, curing the sick, banishing demons and other still enjoyed benefits of his blessings. This little poem is written in gratitude for the protection our nation's saint has provided (as promised) to us. It seems to be working – after all, we're still here, while better appointed others have long took the road to oblivion. The poem is actually from a little book, Epiphany in Azure, which you can download free if you click on the Big Ride link.

HAPPY DEATHDAY, GYORGY

 

This week’s destroyer-general: Georg Lukacs¹ (1885-1971)

Consumed with hatred for Gentile society, this ugly imp and fraud philosopher used his birthright pilpul and tribal chutzpah to sell the cultural Marxist ideas that have led us to our on-going cultural destruction. His stated ambition was to kill the Western spirit, and for this reason his tribal cohorts ensured that he was always able to find an audience, sinecure and publisher. His operating principles are taken from the same Talmudic playbook that has led our art to embrace garbage (see Sept 2020 entry), our media to be immersed in racism and sex, and our politics to be about endless wars and intrigue on behalf of…?...O, yeah, democracy.

Of course, he was from a family of banking barons (literally), the ‘class enemies’ he wanted to destroy² were, in fact, people like you. The Soviet experiment, especially in the twenties and thirties, with a Jewish-Bolshevik elect crushing Mother Russia’s (and especially, Ukrania’s) Orthodox children like insects, gets near to his idea of Aliyah.

Typically, and you might have noticed this pattern elsewhere, he was rather too interested in radical sex education; correctly seeing this as a double lashing of pleasure – destroying the European ethnic family while (O,…wild guess!) indulging his obsessive dirty mind.

However, we must give credit where it is due, and he well deserves it as a major figure in promoting the academic and political culture that have led us to the abyss. This is why he headlines this series in a blog on Scottish education, even though he’s a Hungarian (actually, ‘Hungarian’). We are swirling round the lavvy pan because of tribal radicals like him casting a hex over us. And their power is very great in academia.

The word salad gobbledygook of his major works is just misdirection from his real role as a destroyer-general. His work is not really philosophic, but operative in intent³ – leading to the ‘cleansing of false consciousness’. Now that I know what this actually means and who it references, I feel so foolish getting taken in by it. O, to have the time returned that was wasted on trying to make sense of this Gollum.

Yet, you don’t even need to know him or his work, even by repute, for the miasma to spread its contagion, for his type are legion and the end result is always the same for us.

If only he was alive, he would love the way things are turning out. He wanted a culture of pessimism (for Western Christians) and a world abandoned by their God; let us hope that in the afterlife he is getting these wishes returned.

I recently came across his name again in connection to the fiftieth anniversary of his death. This got me thinking that the source of much of our woes can be traced to miserable sociopaths, like Lucaks, too clever for everybody’s good. It might seem a far stretch, on first meeting the idea, that such obvious dystopian fraudsters, writing nonsense that few even read, could have caused our current madness; but on further reflection, one sees that these intellectual Lucifers planted the poisoned seed in academia which, as we see, is the foundation crop for all the sickly ideas harvested in our schools.

1.     As per Phoenician O.P., this is not his real name.

2.     Destroy is not used euphemistically by him. And in case you were wondering: note too, that it was class enemies that were to be re-educated, mainly by bullets, so this does not count as a genocide; nor is worthy of memorials, endless movies or reparations.

3.     By this I mean that he was not primarily motivated by a spirit of philosophic enquiry, but that his work's true inspiration was to destroy the Christian West. This makes his work polemical and political, rather than scholarly. To be fair to him, he hardly hid this desire

NB. Three Os in this piece – I surpass myself for…O,…exclamatory excellence.