The Deconstruction of the West: A Warning

Turbulent times afoot! Is our fast-changing world changing for the better? Does your past suddenly embody 'the good old days' and you're starting to sound like your grandparents while your kids haven't even started high school yet?! You are not alone on this. It is getting increasingly clear that the deconstruction of our modern Western civilisation has been masterminded from way above, by the nameless, faceless upper echelons of the multi-layered cake that symbolises the intricate hierarchical global governance nerve centre whose scope of influence and decision-making via institutions, institutes and foundations criss-cross regions, nations, continents, faiths and cultures in ways unfathomable by us the commoners. Yet it appears that a warning of things to come had been intimated as far back as 1969.

Minotaur, gypsum sculpture by Emil Alzamora (2006) (pict source)

If you are in your forties like I, you will have enough scope to be able to draw up a rough comparative study between what you remember from your childhood years in terms of societal environment and the way society has turned out to be. Your elders will probably have brought enough food for thought to you through observations of their own. Compared to my early experience of it, I do not recognise the West - and this I say without exaggerating.

I had noticed a shift (although I couldn't formulate it at the time) as far as the early 1980s, when disindustrialisation became prominent, and the textile, steel and coal industries were blitzed out of existence from their production centres. I witnessed it first hand in my French northern textile hometown of Saint-Quentin. And it became increasingly apparent that political figures all the way up to the President had been complicit in the demise and let those production towns down like a bad memory: they saw them as an embarrassment. We were silenced, urged to get used to it sooner rather than later, there was no turning back. And when I say let down, I mean a total collapse of the local economy and high unemployment rates (20%+) as a direct consequence, that shot up almost overnight. The powers-that-be coined a word, a magic word, that would explain it all and reassure us, and most importantly which we could blame for all our misfortunes: 'recession', the new normal.

Model: Cloud, sculpture by Maggie Casey (2006)

Oh, the governmental bureaucrats, business analysts, poncey economists, know-it-all journalists - and even your own boss or auntie Céleste after hearing their lecturing speech on the telly - wouldn't leave it at that. They shifted the goalpost. They pointed the finger at the unemployed and the soon-to-bes. Those were the culprits! They were criticised for having been too greedy, for demanding less working hours, better working conditions and higher standards of living. Can you believe that it was ultimately their fault if the factory had to close down altogether or relocate its operations to the Far East?! They had to pay the price and fellow countrymen became divided over the hot topic. And the bureaucrats nailed their despise for the Labour Force further by accusing the French of shunning factory work like it was beneath them. That only foreign, emigrant workforce were willing to work on the assembly lines now. Another fallacy and a sure dividing point that would fracture further the nation. 

Rule of Thumb No.1: Divide and conquer.

if you seek to rule, create division and chaos.

During the 'recession', swathes of working- and middle-class took a hit and lost their jobs before they could even save for a rainy day. Those who yesterday (i.e. after WWII) had rebuilt the country up now found themselves in forced redundancy. They became redundant from work and from life. They were forced to exchange their usefulness, their skills, their craft, their trade, their experience, their diligence, their dedication, their pride, for a cheque from the government. Forced to leave their neat little semi-detached whose mortgage they could afford no more for the 'joys' of subsidised housing, stacked up like unwanted goods on shelves. They had become unwanted goods. Now they had to learn to become invisible.

Public-private partnership agencies mushroomed out of the woodwork. Those were supposed to come to the rescue of the unemployed. All they did was skewer the job statistics by shunting them from one category to another, through retraining schemes more akin to a brainwashing session to realign their psyches so they became acceptant of their fate, and live by on governmental aid and be thankful for it. The industrial West was becoming a thing of the past. The skilled guipure operative was urged to retrain as a supermarket shelf stacker. And her husband, formerly a steelworker, to do part-time pizza delivery. That's where the demand was at.

In my life journey, I have come across much wasted talent, countless wasted lives, lives that could have accomplished but whose talents were stunted out of existence or side-tracked. Graduates like I who didn't want to end up on the dole had to export themselves overseas for work and not be choosy. Is this the way for a nation to operate? Waste its homegrown talent away or force it out of its borders?

Encyclopédie de la Vitesse, Editions Hachette (1956)

In the Western society model, strong precepts had prevailed until the 1960s/ 1970s. In France we had a glorious moniker for it: les Trente Glorieuses, three decades of full employment and buoyant economic activity (approx. 1945-1975), boosted by the aftermath of WWII (reconstruction) and the move into the consumer-centric technology-savvy model, a boon!

This was held together by an unshakable moral, socio-economic code of conduct. Back then, our society structure would put strong emphasis upon the Nation State: civil rights and civil duties, undefected pride in one's nation. Patriotism was embraced unconditionally, not derided.

No knees were taken when the national anthem played: 
you stood up and honored the fallen and the living 
under one flag!

Respect for Law and Order was tantamount to a functioning society, where the State ensured the protection of its people and the people paid their respect through national identity and pride, and served their Nation when national security was threatened (war). Rights and obligations of the people towards their Nation and of the Nation towards its people, a strong economy and buoyant industry sector, with wares manufactured locally/ nationally. All of these concepts, still prevalent in the 1960s, incrementally deliquesced to the point that they have now been turned on their heads.

Family and religion were still strong in the 1960s/ 1970s but the communist, marxist, trotskyist, socialist, atheist, feminist and other activist movements did not help the cause; if anything, they fragilised it. In fact, neither do they unify nor pacify: they instead harbour division and disfunction. Bingo, all that the elites want!

As we are getting more enlightened to what really is happening to us and refute the mainstream media's fabricated truths, we come to the realisation that the economic decline of the West as we view it today had been orchestrated all along. And some of the evidence points out as far back as 1969 with Dr Richard L. Day's infamous speech. His 'predictions' turned out to be accurate.

Dressing the Part

Albert Einstein reportedly used to keep a panoply of identical suits in his wardrobe so that he didn't have to think about what to wear. The wardrobe dilemma was instantly solved. The ingenious hack is employed today - in reverse - by a host of entrepreneurs, CEOs and other influencers in the public eye, to various degrees. Mark Zuckerberg is a prime example - and exception to the rule at the same time. As the product of a generation where social codes, rules and etiquette have been questioned and shunned and 'anything goes', he might consider dressing down as a positive, which indeed hasn't been as detrimental to him as it could have. Yet for anyone else this ultimately is a disservice, especially if aiming high in the career stakes. The social code the hierarchy commands plays the safe card of tradition rather than sloppiness (or eccentricity!) in order to achieve and sustain respectability, credibility, trustworthiness and integrity, the very cogs in the wheels of professionalism. Personal brand image is thus everything: it defines you in a way that either enhances your career and persona or damages them.

Soundsuit #2 by Nick Cave, via ArtSpace

When you resemble a forever teenage dirt bag stuck in the middle of a video game, with a smile like the dork encountered a unicorn on his way to the donut stash, you cannot expect to be taken seriously. Call me old-fashioned and a conservative, but nothing will ever beat an attire that matches the occasion. And in doubt, dress up rather than down. You can always dress down if you are too dressed up: remove that tie, undo that collar, take off that jacket... How can you dress up when all you are wearing is jeans, tees and plimsols?

Jeans, tees and plims are Zuckerberg's trademark. He believes this is all he needs to wear, in a fluid environment that has blurred home, the workplace and the after-hours of socialising. He travels light yet don't be fooled! His bank account is heavy. Those who view Donald Trump as part of the elite (based on his fortune alone) should cast a long hard look at Zuckerberg, worth $76.7b. This rates him 4th on Forbes 400 and the world's 5th richest billionaire. Get the calculator out: he's 25 times wealthier than the US President (#248 on Forbes 400)!

Now I agree that basing an opinion upon looks alone is misleading: looks are superficial and deceptive, and clothing fashion fickle and skin-deep. What truly matters is what is under the hood, the engine (value system, ethics, beliefs, accomplishments, ambition). Though it remains that appearances are the first port of call when meeting somebody. Look at it as a book cover. Is it enticing enough for you to find out more... or do you just walk past in search of something more appealing, more interesting? Or worse, do you run in the opposite direction? Jeans and tees might define a certain segment of fashion but a suit will always defy the vagaries and fickleness of fashion always, and remain a staple that every wardrobe should have - mostly if you are a manager, director, CEO. This includes Zuckerberg.

Untitled (Soundsuits) by ibid, via LA Times

Multi-billionaire Zuckerberg is only fooling himself and his copycat teen lookalikes when pretending to be 'one of us' the populace, wearing slacks day in day out like he has no care in the world and only a few dollars tucked in his pocket. The only reason he has been able to get away with it is because he is putty in the hands of the governing elites. They saw potential in his Facebook creation and dictate to him how he should fine-tune his algorithms in order to skewer free speech into a tool of surveillance, propaganda and subversion - a topic for some other time.

Look at rapper Jay Z: he understood long ago that the three-piece suits, crisp white shirts and a bow-tie would take him places within the corporate music arena that the ghetto-fabulous diamond-encrusted sneakers and the massive gold chain dangling over a pair of low-cut baggy jeans would not...

In The Godfather series, the mafia bosses and their underdogs are all dressed up in suits when they conduct business. They understand that in order to gain credibility, no matter how dubious and downright criminal your motives - businessman or con artist - you must look the part. Indeed the dress-up code works at both ends of the respectability paradigm. In both cases they help you get things done.

Soundsuit #6 by ibid, via Artspace

Dressing up sharpens your attitude: it lends you poise, and gives you presence and clout. What applies to meanswear applies to womenswear. By dressing up, you will instantly behave in a more professional, more restrained, manner. It fine-tunes your mindset, tweaks your general frame of mind. It sharpens your thought and your word. Try this blind test: conduct one business phonecall (from home) wearing casualwear, and one dressed up. You will notice that when dressed up, your body holds a certain way, your voice projects more and you come across as more assertive and focused. Now translate that to a face-to-face situation. You are on to a winner.

You need to know when to push your affairs in terms of dress code. Classic, conservative attire will always be a winner. It will not let you down: it will serve you right.

Rush Hour

What does your rush hour look like? Mine looks like this:

The long and winding road...

At first glance, it tells you that I live in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, the maddening crowds, the urban pollution, the sprawling suburbs, and the stress of modern life. It implies a certain quality of life that I am able to enjoy around the rural environment: oodles of space, no crowds, little to no noise, panoramic views, closeness to nature - not to mention low crime figures.

But a rush hour like this comes at a cost.

It means either I live far from the town and city, and still endure long commutes to work - not an enviable option. Or my work is land-based: farming, agricultural - and what should be an a labour of love has turned out to be hardship because this is how the State rewards those who feed the nation: crazy legislation (especially under the EU), heavy taxation, red tape, long unforgiving hours, and low pay - because the food distribution channels have squeezed out your profit margins. That means added pressure on your land for it to yield more (using fertilisers and hybrid GMO-ready seeds) and for your livestock to yield more (demanding more milk from the dairy cows to make up for your losses, expanding your chattel, taking up loans and moving the farm under an industrial model, while pumping your animals full with antibiotics and growth hormones). On your side of the game, there is no winner: your land wears itself out, your livestock wears itself out and you eventually wear yourself out. You'll consider yourself lucky when the State finally catches up with you with a cash lump sum for your farm, rase it down and have a motorway built through it.

With a rush hour like mine, one might assume that I am a stay-at-home mum or I work from home, maybe as a freelancer? Would money be no object? Either because I am financially secure... or I parted ways with the rat race!

Tickle is up for it!

I parted ways with the rat race years ago. A rush hour like mine comes at a cost maybe more to you than it does to me. Firstly I gave up on the lure of the materialistic way of life I used to enjoy. A carefully thought-out and wise decision because those material mirages were taking me nowhere down the road to happiness and fulfillment. In many ways, I feel happier now: no longer a slave to the wage, to the mortgage, to the loans, to the designer apparel.

This doesn't mean I am now living the life of an ascete or I am destitute. It doesn't mean I do not treat myself or my husband, or buy things for the home. It just means I do not follow the whims and craves and fads and trends of the market that influence life all the way to the check-out. This is a lifestyle choice.

It means I do not keep up with the Joneses either. What Joneses? We are the only residents in the hamlet for virtually half the year. What Joneses anyways? We live on a flipping island!

How about feeling deprived? Because no matter how much I sugar-coat it, a rush hour like ours comes at a cost. We live in an old family house where comfort is rustic and certain modcons like gas central heating and a fitted kitchen are lacking. This is the price to pay when you come off the rat race: it depends upon what you can now afford and adjustments inevitably have to be made.

We are cut off from quality services and conveniences that we took for granted back in UK or USA or mainland France. We live in a system that is politicised. And living as virtual hermits is in no way healthy. Humans are naturally gregarious. Birdsong is divine, and silence is golden - but too much of it rusts your spirits away.

A rush hour like ours may be a blessing to stressed-out urbanites seeking refuge from their urban shortcomings but beyond the eye-pleasing scenery, the reclusive life we live sooner or later takes its toll. A change of scenery would be most welcome.

What does your rush hour look like?

Lisbon, Portugal

History of the Great War and the Stories Behind It

Yesterday was the 99th anniversary of the end of the Great War: Armistice Day, Remembrance Day, Poppy Day, Veterans Day. Whichever name and vernacular we apply to it, it remains that the ending of WWI summons questions around whether WWI should ever have been started in the first place. Does the official story not center around the assassination in Sarajevo of a mysterious Archduke nobody amongst the populace had ever heard of: Franz Ferdinand? Did we have to escalate this into a World War and sacrifice 41 million people in the process as some form of retaliation? Or was there actually more than meets the eye?

War journal of French soldier Louis Barthas (1879-1952)

Those four years stood as the biggest wipe-out humanity had ever experienced in its entire History. August, 22nd, 1914 was the bloodiest day in French History, with 27,000 French soldiers killed. WWI tolled the end of times and destroyed the courageous, patriotic, hard-working young able men and their families, neighbourhoods and countries at large. Those who survived would never be the same again.

WWI is no shrinking violet territory. It is utter brutality. The scope of its horrors defy the imagination of even the most seasoned amongst us.

Hell on earth in a way we, 3-4 generations later, find hard to fathom in our relatively cocooned existence. The Great War was a bloodshed beyond comprehension that the French poilus (WWI soldiers) described laconically as grande boucherie.

Journal of Jean Galpin (1892-1915), lieutenant at the 119e French Infantry Regiment

Holocaust on the battlefields, in the trenches, across the blitzed-out towns, out at sea and up in the skies. It was the first all-encompassing war: on land, off-shore, underwater and airborne. WWI catapulted the West into the XXth century and heralded the rise of the nefarious military industrial complex and the coming of age of ruthless dynasties which have been calling the shots in the shadows of world governments and banking institutions ever since: the Rothschilds and the Rockefellers.

One year short of the centenary, we can safely argue from the comfort of our homes whether we can find 99 reasons why there shouldn't have been a war. In no way though would this resurrect the dead and heal the injured. The best we can do is to keep on honouring the brave and hold a flower in our hearts for the fallen. Pledge not to forget them and draw lessons out of the meaninglessness of war and the abject cruelty it inflicts upon the innocent that the elites summoned to fight their game of chess out for real.

Illustrated science lesson on sea mines by school teacher Aimé Vincent (1867-1933)

It serves to have at least a rough understanding of the war, its battles and key dates, from a historical perspective. But what is of greater service, in my book, is the collective of individual, personal stories and snippets of insightful information gleaned out of those who lived and/ or survived the War, soldiers and civilians alike, and which they passed down. Our duty today is to ensure those accounts, anecdotes, letters and other memorabilia are preserved and shared amongst us, and especially to the younger generations. By doing so, we keep alive the memory of those ordinary folks with ordinary lives who extraordinarily got thrusted onto the geopolitical scene and put their lives on the line for all of us.
 

Their patriotism, nationalism, the pride they held in the Nation State, means we stand here today in pacified nations which we can still call our own.

Each one of my four great-grandads, Louis, Marcel, Antoine and Joseph, fought in the Great War. I do not hold a personal detailed account of their whereabouts during the Great War as such but I remember a number of anecdotes. Those stick in the mind. For instance, Antoine and his comrades being out of drinking water in the trenches at some point had no other option than resort to drinking their own wee... On the Chemin des Dames front, Louis and his comrades were forced to imbibe strong potato liquor as way of Dutch courage when they could no longer fight their way across trenches and minefields, a desolate landscape that resembled nothing more than the death planes of the afterlife.

Illustrated war account by Marius Astier, accomplished in 1927

To stop indulging in our self-importance is paramount. We owe our WWI elders the respect and remembrance they deserve. We owe it to them to have honoured and served our nation the way they did, with infallible pride and bravery. We must make it our mission to not allow for our history to be edited by the Ministry of Propaganda. Oppose the deriding of national pride and its bizarre amagalmation with fascism and white supremacy. Support those who seek the truth and fight corruption on our behalf, whether as private entities, public figures or members of the Alternative media.

Now caught as we are in our First World problems (sic), the European Union Ponzi Scheme and DC Deep State, Cultural Marxism and its institutions engineering the hostile take-over of our society through globalisation stealth of our once-sovereign, Christian, economically-solvent, industrial powerhouse Nation States — would we be able at this point to regain enough bravery and nobility of heart to stand up to a horde of flag-burning millennial brats, and serve our emperiled nations should a call to arms be deemed necessary tomorrow in order to save them? This is no chess game: the ball is in our court.


Further Reading: 

• Remember the Fallen
• Little People, Big Hearts
• La Der des Ders
• Lest We Forget

All Saints' Day Survivor

In the Christian calendar, November 1st is a celebration of the dead, All Saints' Day, a bank holiday in France. Traditionally families purchase chrysanthemums, heather or cyclamens (usually impressive potted displays) and take them down to cemeteries in order to fleurir les tombes, flower their (loved ones) graves. Needless to say, florists and garden centres make a tidy profit that gears them up into the festive season, by then less than 8 weeks away!

Mum's the word! (June 2017)

You guessed it, All Saints' Day has been co-opted into a consumerist feat, with a sea of floral displays that pours out of the flower shops onto the pavements and inflates in volume by the day, in the run-up to November 1st. Then plants migrate from flower shops to car boots and from car boots to the tombs, and before Christmas most will have migrated from the tombs to the cemetery bins - in heaps! Incredibly wasteful and downright ridiculous but this is the way it has been programmed into the French.

Because sadly family values in France are not as sacred as they once were and catholic religion has taken a nosedive, graves are rarely visited, although All Saints' Day remains the one and only yearly reminder still anchored in the collective psyche that encourages the modern busy Christian to pay graves a visit - and leave a proof of their visit behind, in the shape of a big fat chrysanthemum that battles it out for space with other relatives' mums! Don't you bother watering your offering because par une opération du Saint-Esprit, by the Holy Spirit intervention, pots will somewhat self-water or at least absorb little morning dew they can in order to survive the run-up to Winter if they don't get knocked off the tomb by the competition and the elements and roll down the alleyway like a poor cosplay version of Jackie Chan to end up wedged between the tool shed and a bench.

Chrysanthemum to the left, nasturtium to the right, under the watchful eye of Némo! (Sept. 2017)

Life as an All Saints' Day chrysanthemum is all about survival: it's mean out there. Tampered with genetically in order to yield all sorts of crazy colours and patterns, chemically fattened up in order to grow fat and fast like a Christmas turkey of the floral kind, produce blooms ten a zillion that will magically burst open in time for the Day of the Dead. Showtime in the graveyard but by November 2nd there is no-one left around to admire the flowers! Then the draughty unforgiving graveyards take a toll on their petals into a crumpled-up, dried-out worn-out affair. Lack of care its toll, and the trip to the bin is a short, disdainful and unceremonious whack and go.

Through this tale of doom and gloom interspersed by a brief showtime stint and casting couch moment on the florist's shelf, one of those mums I saved from the basket of deplorables. Now it takes pride of place on my south-facing terrace, pampered and watered and whispered to! I saved it from my village's overflowing cemetery bin last December as I was gingerly walking past with Tickle, casting a sideways glance in search of a discarded, unloved, unrequited empty flower pot container (or filled with a dead plant) which I could save from trash and call my own and take home to repurpose into a pot for my Winter seedlings.

Pride of place! (Nov. 2017)

The mum was totally dried out, a browned-out crispy sorry sight! I took it home, disposed of the dead twigs and stored the pot with the soil in it in the cellar for a good month, almost forgetting about it. Then one day I noticed a shoot on the surface of the soil and then another one! I took the pot out onto the terrace, took a long hard look at those incredible green shoots battling for survival. I watered them and witnessed the gradual resurrection of the mum! It has since rewarded me with several flowerings. It is currently a feast of multicoloured blooms of white, canary yellow, orange and magenta red, a rainbow of delight! Let me tell you: I am the proud mum of one proud mum!

The moral of the story: when everything looks dead and done, give it another go, it might surprise you!

Espadrilles with Attitude

My love of espadrilles knows no limit: I would be lost without them! They are my essential Corsican Summer footwear, inside and outside. I don't just wear them, I wear them out: a pair lasts me a season (sometimes less according to the quality/ finnish or the wear and tear I put them through). When I lived in colder climes I would wear espadrilles essentially at home during the Summer in lieu of slippers (much more pleasant) and out, weather permitting. My love story goes back a long way: I first started wearing them as an 8-year-old, if I remember right, and have been wearing them year upon year ever since.

My pair of Little Marcel espadrilles, which I have worn a few times...

Talk about versatility: espadrilles are available in every colour and pattern under the sun, from basic white to coastal blue, via chintzy Liberty fabrics, warm Catalogne/ Basque Region stripes, pastel shades and polka dots... Along the way, fashion designers have pimped up the pump with gusto: dressed up in leather, adorned with sequins, laced up, filigreed in gold, propped up with a wedge heel... Anything goes.

'Madcarina' Wedge by Christian Louboutin: espadrille-inspired braided rope and a chic turban twist toe detail

Espadrilles are a social leveller in my book. Everyone can afford them at their most basic. Their understated chic makes them preppy, while their vivid colours and bold patterns lend a boho vibe. Their restrained Summery look makes them resort. Their overall design makes them as comfy as a pair of no-frills sneakers. Depending upon their colour and the way you wear them, you could get away with wearing them at church, at a town hall meeting, at the doctor's surgery or a garden party without anyone blinking an eyelid. Just dress up your attire and lend a little sassiness and confidence to your step.

'Vogue 125' Sandals by Soludos

I doubt orthopedists would recommend the regular wear of espadrilles because in all honesty their canvas upper and basic jute sole combo does not support the feet adequately like a pair of good quality flats would. Though for pottering around the house and garden, running a few errands, driving, and walking down the beach and back, they cannot be faulted. Despite the fact that I do routinely walk miles in them (flattish urbanised terrain of roadside and pavement - and the occasional dirt track), I wouldn't expect anyone to trek rocky terrain in those: this is not what they are made for! Consider the espadrille a week-ender, a city slicker with a garden for countryside, not a country lass per se.

SoludosⓇ for J.Crew Espadrilles in Chambray

Despite their very basic no-frills construction (no Air Max technology, ergonomics or air-cushioned soles here folks!) and their identical right foot/ left foot, espadrilles are comfortable for what they are, then again strictly for dry Summertime (not weatherproof unless you upgrade to the Sea Star Beachwear Beachcomber Espadrille) and to be worn on flat terrain. Their canvas upper makes them tempered and breathable. So no nasty sweats like you would with plastic beach sandals or even with the not-so-innocent flip-flops.

'Elisa' Espadrille Wedges by Tory Burch

The sole is natural woven jute (which absorbs perspiration like a dream), usually with a thin rubber underside, and sometimes with the insole lined in canvas (which I recommend because it will make your walking experience more comfortable).

'Baja' Satin Espadrilles by J.Crew

Espadrilles, especially if worn daily over a whole Summer, will harden the soles of your feet, yet by the same token you will never get a blister wearing those little darlings: bonus for a carefree Summer and to keep those tootsies in tip-top condition!

'Joanne' Embroidered Espadrilles, by Polo Ralph Lauren

Espadrilles are affordable if you are looking for basic ones (less than €10.00/ $11.50/ £8.80). But how high can you go in price? I mean some of those featured here are pimped up, dressed up variants, still reasonable in price and they may last the distance by a few more miles than the standard espadrille.

Wearing my (now worse for wear) Mellow Yellow Liberty Espadrilles on the beach with Tickle!

Espadrilles are essentially still manufactured in their locale of origin, the Pyrenees, Catalogne and French and Spanish Basque region. China and Bangladesh now produce them too. Regardless of how you look after them, one downside is that overall quality can be flaky, and funnily enough I find that this is not dependent upon the country of origin. The weakest link is the stitch that frays and comes undone and/ or poor-quality fabric that gives way and/ or splits in the big toe area or the heel... 

The Chut Charlotte espadrille atelier in the French Pyrenees

Espadrilles are flats with attitude regardless: versatile, slip-on, unisex, easy-going and still able to pull a dressed-up look together. They are comfy but not sloppy, and no matter how much you put them through their paces, they shall never lose that vacational, continental, sun-kissed, sand-filled, sea-salt-stained mojo!

Living Up to Better Homes & Gardens

Roby and I had an interesting conversation recently about home expectations and the difference between men and women on the subject and how magazines and visual social media platforms like Instagram and Pinterest are geared towards the female market.

Lebanese fashion designer Elie Saab's Beirut home is a man-woman pacifier of style and comfort!

My husband laments that women drive their men to an early grave through the way they organise home life. Women, he argues, are heavily influenced by home and interiors magazines and home improvement programmes, and as a result seek to recreate the look in their own home - at their own peril.

It must be said though that in general terms, a woman's forte is a certain idea of style and aesthetics that defines her individually, elegance, an indeniable eye for detail and for the eye-pleasing (understand all the cute little things out there!). This unfortunately clashes with men's domesticity quest for efficiency, practicality, comfort, ease of use, durability: the no-thrills, no-BS, no superfluous, home! In other words, emotion vs. reason.

Interior designer Suzanne Kasler worked her magic on this Atlanta home!

Generally women are a soft touch: easily influenced, and thus a marketer's dream. PR guru Edward Bernays understood it almost a century ago.  In this day and age, the varied media platforms play their part in inspiring women as a priority because whatever the ladies fancy, it's quids in for the corporations!

Stenciled table project, via Better Homes & Gardens

A woman inspired has her appetite whet, i.e. her desire to purchase. The desire is influenced and reinforced further until they feel they have no other option than spend cash, seal the deal, make that purchase and with it that elusive slice of happiness!

Women have a propensity to spend cash on a whim, not only on fashion items but on homewares and home improvements that will come to pass with the next whim. New season paint scheme, furnishings upgrade, conservatory revamp, kitchen worktops replaced, when there is nothing wrong with what they have. They get bored quick and fancy a change and that house will never be quite enough. If they still feel unsatisfied, they will want to look for the next best place and sell this one off! Out with the (not so) old, in with the new...

A woman frets when her house is untidy (but is rather acceptant of her own untidiness). Their domesticity quest is form over function anytime! Clutter (trinkets, knick-knacks and other clutter contributors), poor sense of flow from one room area to the next... Objects are put away a certain way that only makes sense to her, everything in a place that is not about convenience but decorum. Yes I have been there too!

The Millhouse (Shaker) Kitchen by DeVOL Kitchens

If her home does not quite equate Better Homes & Gardens, a woman will be quick at blaming her man for not doing something about it (as in some DIY!) or getting a pay rise to afford the professionals in. A householder who strives for her house to look like BHG (and other lifestyle mags for that matter) might as well have a museum for a house. This is  therefore a no-go domestic area according to my husband. You must feel at home in your own home. Point taken.

The DeVOL is in the (kitchen handle) detail!

Further Resources on Style:

• Good Design according to Dieter Rams by Mirabelle
• Mirabelle's Interior Design Delight Pinterest board
  
• Stylessness is Lawlessness by LBM
• French Design Thrift in the Fabulous Fifties by ibid.
• Rétro-Géographie, a visual log of mid-century French architecture 
• Spacious Vulgarity: The Aesthetics and Morals of McMansions by Paul Mullins
• Architecture of Doom, a visual log of brutalist architecture that will fail to make you feel at home!

World Fatigue

I haven't posted an article for over three weeks, yet this blog has been on my mind. It's not that I have been suffering from writer's block because actually there are so many - too many - posts I want to write! It's more a case of having become world-weary. I think it's been progressive but it has crept up over the American presidential election, a fascinating case in point. And then the weariness exacerbated over the French presidential election which, still, I only followed from afar. The glaring reality has been staring at me in the face that the system is rigged on a worldwide scale and reality has been manufactured for us the populace for decades - maybe centuries.

Melania, more than a pretty face... (pict source)

As much as I come across as happy-go-lucky and I am an idealist, I could not allow myself to be sceptical anymore, deny facts that were pointing at a different truth, a truth that the media is portraying as fake, as conspiracist, as anti-constitutional. Pardon my French fries, but... what the duck! NGOs for the most part are a sham, as state missionaries pushing a political agenda. Socialism is NOT for the people. Climate change was brought to us as an evidence by a salesman (Gore) who jets around the world to tell us to be frugal with our car journeys. We are sold one consumed lie after another, that we buy because the media and the governing elites have us believe the thoughts they program into us.

Being a nationalist, a patriot, used to be valued. Today it is derided and mocked and associated with being a racist. Full employment used to be a nation's forte. Not anymore. They took our jobs away, shipped them over to China and replaced them with imported open-border migration. Wealth has been depleted and replaced with communitarianism no-speak lingo. Anything goes. Anything goes as a family these days, as long as it does not resemble a married man-woman couple with two kids. 

Chaos theory is Obama's Bible... (pict source)

What used to be truth is now considered wrong; what used to be wrong is now considered truth. History is being simplified. Once you have no past and can't see the future, and transience has blurred the lines between past, present and future, you find yourself in a permanent present state. You don't know your origins anymore, in fact if you are white and christian, chance is you're a white supremacist. In France, kids spend more time learning about the workings of the EU and the 'goodness' of Agenda 21 in their history classes than they do about Napoléon, Joan of Arc, Clovis or Vercingétorix. Meanwhile stateside, confederate monuments are dismantled to make way for a rewritten history under the political correctness paradigm, the biggest sham of all, that was created in order to silence free speech. If you don't know who you are and where you come from, you have no idea where you're going.

I am weary because I have been writing this blog for almost 8 years and have not even been able to build up a following. God, if I had been writing about push-up bras and the latest stilettoes and my favourite S'Mores, it would be a different story. I'd be monetising through social media and a YouTube channel: Hot or Not, Lancôme's latest highlighter. You bet: what the duck... Sometimes you should just be pretty and shut up.

God is in Your Corner

My last post of 2016 ties in with my customary yearly pep talk. We are slightly ahead of schedule here but it is a fitting moment as 2016 closes on yet another star shooting off the earth for the firmament of the afterlife: talented singer and songwriter Mr. George Michael.

George Michael, a star with human foibles. (Pict source)

The man who gave us a Christmas anthem that has been played on an endless loop (at least in Britain) in stores and pubs in the run-up to Christmas since its release over 30 years ago, died on Christmas day - alone. On the very day he had immortalised in a song that had office Christmas parties karaoke together, family members embrace one another and friends drunkenly hug in a festive embrace. The man whose song had brought people together, had faced the music of his own for many years now. The troubles in his personal life had made it clear that an unsatisfied yearning was burning him alive.

George died, alone. An ultimate and seemingly untimely irony played out in the seclusion of his postcard-perfect English cottage tucked away in rural Oxfordshire, a stone's throw away from the local church whose Christmas mass he religiously used to attend yearly - except for this year.

Home sweet home in Goring-On-Thames (Pict source)

Artists live out in the public eye - or within its periphery - the existential fears that keep some of us awake at night. Such fears exemplify why and how the quest for happiness shall not be found in fame and fortune for the latter exacerbate the loneliness that lies deep within us.

Artists and creators of George's calibre realise pretty early on in life that there is more to life than what is and that somehow we are living a lie, and artists cater for that lie. Artists burn because they put their heart and soul on the line, and this whether they ultimately become stars in their own right or not. Maybe there is no such thing as 'making it' when you are an artist, aside from achieving riches and fame, as you live head on with your innermost fears and unanswered questions. Maybe the key to contentment as an artist is about coming to terms with a blessing - or an illusion, depending how you look at it - realised for both the public and the artist.

The public, the fans, are there to witness the light live on or the sparkle fade because as much as we are fascinated with stars in the limelight, we are as fascinated - if not more so - when they face their human foibles (under all their guises and manifestations) head on in the limelight, and deal with them or fade away with them.

(Pict source)

Maybe the clue to George's personal demise may be found within the lyrics of his Christmas song because entertainment has ways to code in messages to those who care to hold God and highest wisdom in their hearts:

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special"

Above all, being a talented artist like George is to have been bestowed Godlike qualities. And when God is in your corner, you are not alone. You are on your way to the next level. Look up the sky: if you are attentive, you may see George on his next journey.
 

P.S: I borrowed this post title from rapper DMX's words of wisdom to troubled artist Kanye West four weeks ago:

"I want to give a special shout out to Kanye. Let him know that my prayers are with him. My family’s prayers are with him. Remind him that when God is for you, who can be against you? No one or nothing. Stand strong, brother. God is in your corner."

Frank Sinatra's open letter to 'the reluctant pop star'

I See You Reaping What You Sow

The time machine has whimsical ways to whizz you down tracks unchartered. How about take you down to rural Cambridgeshire, England, in the height of Summer 1938 just in time for the harvest? Put your straw hat on and follow me!

Farm Crops in Britain, illustrated by S.R. Badmin (1955)

In my personal quest for cultural heritage, national identity and the kinder ways to nature, I came across a short documentary (cf. end of post) currently listed on the homepage of Common Ground, a British charity established 33 years ago, and whose founders 'seek imaginative ways to engage people with their local environment.' An interesting mission statement which I am trying to apply here in my own modest way and out there, in the real world. Common Ground's England in Particular on-going campaign describes itself as 'a counterblast against loss and uniformity, and a celebration of just some of the distinctive details that cumulatively make England.' How charming, I'm in!

I was kindly referred to Common Ground by Philip Wilkinson, after I left a comment a couple of weeks ago on his award-winning architectural blog, English Buildings. In his informative blog, Mr. Wilkinson - an advocate of heritage preservation - partakes of anecdotes and photographic evidence of architectural gems from his locale that stand tall and proud as exquisite pieces of British quintessence.

ibid.

Buildings are inanimate objects, yet would it feel out of place to claim that they grace our lives with their presence? Their presence because they exude grace and charm and sobriety - or eccentricity - and other facets of interest that confer the weight, the presence, the personalisation that gets them noticed. They hold memories and figuratively have a soul. This presence you get from those older structures you simply won't get from the new. Such buildings are still part of our landscapes, whether thanks to a heritage preservation act, or the loving care of their owners, or out of sheer lucky fluke! Whatever the circumstance, they each challenge the uniformisation agenda that globalisation is promulgating under its worldwide takeover of our geographical, architectural and cultural landscapes.

The founders of Common Ground refer to national and local particularisms as local distinctiveness, which embraces both material/ physical heritage (architecture, design, infrastructures, materials) and intangible cultural heritage (processes, craftsmanship, techniques, way of life, celebrations, folklore, customs, oral traditions, dialects).

Here in Corsica, I witness first hand how the local distinctiveness in terms of architecture, crafts and design is fragile and endangered to the point of no return. Coveted, despised, uncared for or downright neglected, it falls foul of good intention. It ends up plundered, reinterpreted or altogether destroyed. 

For a ravishing recording of a way of life (on the wane), I invite you to view the English Harvest documentary (brought to us by BFI). It showcases a delightful visual treat of a portrayal of idyllic country life set in bucolic rural Cambridgeshire, and features harvesting and cultivation methods past. A bygone era that was laborious, ordained, organised, well-dressed and prim and proper. A time of rural thrift and hardship nonetheless, with WWII looming on the horizon to crash it all down. Yet this was a time when man and nature were still close, standing in communion and in unison.

Today our farmers have all the chemical warfare under the sun at their disposal, the machinery and the technology, not to mention the long stretches of uniform land for ease of manoeuvring. And yet their lives still teeter on the edge of poverty, crushed by the long working hours to scrap a living, the relentless bank loans that keep them artificially afloat in the moment and the burdensome bureaucracy of rules and regulations, notwithstanding from our non-elected EU Babel Tower over in Brussels.

ibid.

Add to this a malaise that is running deep, exacerbated by unrelenting mass consumerism that operates on low production cost demands and high corporate profits for the multinationals, and life as a farmer slides down an ever-shrinking - almost elusive - bottom line.

The modern farmer's life is short of servitude. The irony of it all is that his family land feeds the world while leaving him and his kids in the lurch, on the thrift side of a good hearty meal, and worked out to an early grave.  The farmer will be crying in his barn - out of sight out of mind - like his cattle taken to slaughter after they gave it all for no or little recognition.

The land still beats to the tune of his elders' heart, but the song is adrift with the mortal whiff of weedkiller and fertilisers, his mortal coil to be. Under this current relentless paradigm, the land is dying and is killing the farmer, when all he wanted was to live off the land he loves.

A Vote for Donald Trump WILL Save the West

There are no two ways about it, folks... Donald Trump as President will not only save America but the whole West from the web of corruption brought about to destroy us!

On the other hand, a vote for Hillary Clinton is a vote for the New World Order, global elites, NAFTA, TPP, TTIP, mass-immigration - and World War III. A vote for Crooked is a vote for a jobless, subservient, open-border, Agenda 21-compliant society; a vote for the loss of national sovereignty and for the finalised collapse of the West. American friends, think carefully before you cast your vote. This election is the most important of your entire life and the future of the West depends upon you.

(Pict source)

Transcript for “Donald Trump’s Argument for America”:

Donald J. Trump:

"Our movement is about replacing a failed and corrupt political establishment with a new government controlled by you, the American people.

The establishment has trillions of dollars at stake in this election.

For those who control the levers of power in Washington and for the global special interests, they partner with these people that don’t have your good in mind.

The political establishment that is trying to stop us is the same group responsible for our disastrous trade deals, massive illegal immigration and economic and foreign policies that have bled our country dry.

The political establishment has brought about the destruction of our factories and our jobs as they flee to Mexico, China and other countries all around the world.

It’s a global power structure that is responsible for the economic decisions that have robbed our working class, stripped our country of its wealth and put that money into the pockets of a handful of large corporations and political entities.

The only thing that can stop this corrupt machine is you. The only force strong enough to save our country is us.

The only people brave enough to vote out this corrupt establishment is you, the American people.

I’m doing this for the people and the movement and we will take back this country for you and we will make America great again. "

Pokémon Kids of Aleppo

I have non-PC questions for the mainstream media (MSM). Those people in the news being the people in the know, they should have all the answers. They've certainly had it clear cut to us for over 18 months now that Bashar al-Assad's regime must go.

Moustafa Jano Janographic

I am not disputing any of the atrocities going on - far from it. What's been unclear from the MSM though is how a one-time ally of the West, educated, learned, progressive, secular, westernised and praised by us, and seemingly on the same page as us, suddenly be pilloried... by us? Why must a country seemingly in working order, stable and prosperous to an extent, be pillaged, bombed and brought to its knees? How shall a leader whose wife, Asma al-Assad, once graced the pages of Vogue - the crème of the Establishment appreciation society, let us note - now be despised and ridiculed by said Establishment, and their country torn apart in some bizarre re-enactment of Bush's war on terror? Re-enactment as merely an extension of the on-going war on terror, fledged to any nation that is not compliant with a global agenda of some sort.

Since the MSM won't respond to me, I will have more chance of an answer from Pokémon as he quietly, compassionately sits by the side of those poor little kids caught in the frailty of life brought upon them by the globalists, shedding his digital tear to a reality that couldn't be more acutely real than the pain and suffering those little kids and babies are going through.

Moustafa Jano Janographic

By any twist of fate, is this misery being plagued upon Syria because Bashar is not singing from the same hymn sheet as those other Middle East nations that too were once prosperous, or at least on their way to modern civilisation, before being severely retrograded back to civil war chaos and theocratic regimes, like Iran, Irak, Libya, or Egypt, for the benefit of Big Oil and the global financial elite who would rather have ideologically-bankrupt rebels unleashed (ISIS)  and puppet tyrants run countries to the ground as a diversion, while crude oil carries on being pumped out and pipelined across lands and seas like poisoned blood running through diseased vessels, forwarded onwards to feed the goo to the consumerist paradigm, lining the pockets of the self-appointed rulers of this planet, namely a clique of control-crazed high-ranking financiers. Is that the reason?

Is this not a (faintly-veiled) religious war by the same token, the meticulous genocide of Christians and other minorities from ancient stock, an ethnic cleansing of sorts, that is raising no eyebrows from DC or the Vatican? Is this not part of a bigger picture, a wider roadmap, a blueprint for George Soros's open border societies, with hundreds of thousands of unvetted, undocumented, unrecorded refugees, mostly Islamist, pouring into the West, as a manufactured side effect of the war in Syria, killing two birds with one stone by redesigning both the Middle East and the Occident? History is being rewritten in real time before our very eyes, and the plot eludes us somehow because the rules have been changed. All I know is this is no Pokémon Go adventure!

Via The Daily Express

As if the web of deceit were not mucky enough for us to paddle through, things go bump on us, like the habitual James Bond villains that the financiers love to throw our way, engineering a second Cold War in the process. This time around, we are left wondering who the communists are - and it ain't Mother Russia.

In this day and age where freedom of speech is becoming a rare commodity, it is our duty to use it to bring ourselves to our senses and those around us. Use our freedom of choice to question and find out more, rather than lamely accept the MSM narrative.

World peace, the UN way, by Moustafa Jano Janographic

P.S: Should you be caught up - and stuck - in the illusion, be aware that Barack Obama is planning to surrender the U.S. control of Internet registration, privatising the DNS (Domain Name System) by handing it over to the ICANN (Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers), a California-based non-profit organisation, on 1st October 2016, putting our civil liberties under tighter global scrutiny in the longer term.

P.P.S (Update 01-October-2016): You will find more information about Syria - that the MSM won't tell you about - from 21st Century Wire. The tragic Syrian situation is to be blamed on 'a neoconservative agenda promoted by NATO-funded NGOs', according to 21st Century Wire reporter Vanessa Beeley. I have every reason to believe it.

"These NGOs paint the destruction of the historic city [of Aleppo] as being caused by the Syrian government under Bashar Assad, not the violent armed insurgents which receive arms, funding and training from Western governments and their allies." - Vanessa Beeley

Via Vanessa Beeley, 04-Sept-2016

Find out more about the Syrian crisis from 21st Century Wire, MintPress News, SANA and SyrianGirlpartisan.