tisdag 10 oktober 2017

Mårtenssons science fiction

In Swedish, because this is about a Swedish author and books not translated into English.




Bertil Mårtensson (1945-) är en svensk författare. Jag har tidigare bloggat om hans fantasy samt hans insats som kritiker.

Här ska det handla om Mårtenssons science fiction. Det är ingen uttömmande studie.

Låt oss först titta på hans roman Detta är verkligheten (Stockholm: Bonniers, 1968; denna läsning efter Jönköping: Kindbergs, 1980, 232 s). Detta var Mårtenssons debutroman och den börjar som en fantasy i stor stil, med en målerisk prosa som inte var vanlig i Sverige 1968. Då gällde vardagsverklighet och samhällsengagemang från vänster. Tidstypiska författare var P. O. Enquist, Sjöwall-Wahlöö och Bo Baldersson.

Mårtensson målade med annan pensel än dessa. Så här låter det i början av Detta är verkligheten:
Skymningen föll snabbt i Kamwarlu. Solen var plötsligt försvunnen bortom bergen och luften blev iskall på bara en kort stund. Underligt nog blev dofterna starkare nu, nästan berusande aromatiska i kvällens stillhet, och nästan värmande, som vin. Carli stålsatte sig och spände musklerna, där han hukade inne bland Kamfi-träden, för att inte bli omtöcknad av blommornas förföriska dofter, som smeksamt lindade sig om hans halvnakna kropp, och mista sin vaksamhet. Hans hand krökte sig om fästet på den långa kniven, och ögonen spanade genom den tätnande natten. I fjärran skrek en fågel hest, fick svar från öster. En hund ylade. Snart skulle månen höja sig över de taggiga bergsmassiven och sprida sitt silvermatta ljus i natten.

[Mårtensson 1980 s 11]
Vad som händer i romanen: hjälten Carli räddar prinsessan Denée från ett slott och för henne hem. De blir förälskade. Sedan visar sig denna gammaldags värld vara en datorgenererad illusion. Hela romanupplägget vänds upp och ner; Carli visar sig vara en Carl Brandon i en ödelagd framtidsvärld där det han upplevt som Carli var ett hjärnspöke. Men med filosofiska resonemang räddas illusionen ändå på något sätt kvar. ”Allt finns.” [s 231] Medvetandet är allt. ”Idam sarvam, yad ayam âtmâ.”

Man kan säga att vi är de vi är, i de världar vi lever i, på grund av vår mentala disposition. Tillvaron är ett realiserande av intentionerna. Så Carl återvänder omsider till romaninledningens sagovärld och lever där i förundran i evighet med sin älskade Denée.

Vad romanen tycks förespråka är alltså holism, att se helheten. Att inte gå ner sig i detaljer, inte alltid ta sina fem sinnens vittnesbörd för givet, utan även acceptera realiteten av högre, intuitiva verklighetsnivåer.

Detta blir min slutsats av raden "allt finns", se ovan, som är en framskjuten del av romanens pay-off.


Detta är verkligheten har snits och charm. Mårtensson var den förste i sin generation av sf-författare att debutera i romanformatet. Dessutom på det då prestigefyllda förlaget Bonniers. Så det var en lovande debut. Mårtensson hade sedan en diversifierad författarkarriär med fler sf-romaner och kriminalromaner. Och storverket, Maktens vägar. Samt en diktsamling.

Vad gäller den sf han skrev så kunde han stundom briljera. Som i några av de noveller som trycktes i tidskriften Nova SF på 80-talet (Rock 'n roll och marsianer; Flygande katedraler). Hans romaner i genren gör mig kanske inte alltid lika euforisk. Det gyllene språnget och Jungfrulig planet (1987; 1977) må båda vara vällovlig kritik av rovdrift och imperialism. Men deras transartade dyrkan av ädla aliens, ställda mot den elaka människan, är inte mitt bord. Men döm själva; Det gyllene språnget är till exempel intrigmässigt klar, utan behov för läsaren att gissa gåtor under läsandet. Den är transparent: vad som sker, sker.

Men så är verkligen inte fallet i Skeppet i kambrium (Stockholm: Askild & Kärnekull, 1974. 206 s.). Detta var Mårtenssons andra roman och här spändes de konceptuella ambitionerna högt. Kanske för högt.

Konceptet är avancerat. Men språket är genomgående ledigt, tack och lov. Det är inget prosapoetiskt målande. Mårtensson kan förvisso den stilen också, som i citatet ur debutromanen ovan och i sin fantasy, men i denna roman (1974) är det överlag en enklare stil.

Men handlingen är vid min Gud inte enkel. Den är invecklad. Allt må förklaras på slutet men vägen dit är "a bumpy ride -- fasten your seatbelts".

Verklighetens natur ifrågasätts på varje sida, ibland i varje stycke. Och det kan bli för mycket.

Någon form av struktur finns. Det är inte uttrycklig surrealism.


En av aspekterna i den komplicerade handlingen är att ett spionkrig rasar med avlyssning av telefoner, ett systematiskt bruk av koder, infiltration. Detta ihop med fluktuerande verklighet kanske är tänkt att ge upphov till ett tillstånd av paranoia, ”vad är verkligt”. Anomalierna duggar tätt.

Härmed ett citat för att beskriva den fluktuerande verkligheten och stilen i stort:
John vaknade av att någonting ringde. I hans huvud? I den objektiva yttervärlden? Ville han erkänna existensen av den senare? Men det fortsatte ringa. Mödosamt öppnade han ögonen.

En bild som liknade en skärm upplyst av en filmprojektor tycktes sväva i rummet. Skärmen visade ett ansikte. Det var en till det yttre attraktiv kvinna, men hon betraktade honom kyligt och professionellt.

”God morgon, mr Fernström”, sa hon. ”Jag är den Galaktiska Federationens Presidents sekreterare.”

”Och jag är Homeros,” svarade han. ”En poet.” Han var mer irriterad än vaken. Drev någon med honom?

[Mårtensson 1974 s 131]
Så nog måste man erkänna att denna roman har sina stunder.

Det är en fjärran framtid och ett hologram av London som fungerar som fängelse, det är en intergalaktisk flotta som närmar sig, det är tidsagenter och mycket mer. Kanske är jag puckad som inte får rätsida på detta ur perspektivet "text som går att läsa för nöjes skull så som romaner är tänkta att göra".

Jag får ingen ingång till denna roman. Men kanske är du som läser detta ett geni som förstår romanen och som kan doktorera på den, i din avhandling "Vad är verkligt? -- fluktuerande verklighet i Mårtenssons Skeppet i kambrium".

Som antytt förklaras allt på slutet. Och klarhet nås, transcendensen ligger om hörnet: ”När du sett allt, kan du göra allt” säger gudarna, ”sett det tidlösa, det sköna, det nonsensartade, ändamålen och värdena”. [s 203]

Återigen ser vi här holismen: att greppa alltet. Transcendens, att gå bortom sig själv, att ta sig ur verklighetens fängelse och se idéerna oförmedlat. Transcendens, där som Alexei Pansin ansåg är ett markant drag i den seriösa sf:en. Som i Clarkes 2001.

Det kan möjligen vara så att Skeppet i kambrium har framtiden för sig. En fortsatt läsning och reception av nya generationer svenska holister kan kanske föra upp denna roman på dagordningen, göra den till obligatorisk sf-läsning. Dess intrikata struktur kanske blir vardagsmat för morgondagens läsare. Som Jünger sa (om sin dagbok): "Här finns rader som ännu inte är verkliga, men som med tiden byggs upp till verklighet."




Relaterat
Katedralbyggare och kritiker
Mårtensson som kritiker
Maktens vägar
Vakthundarna
Science Fiction Seen from the Right

söndag 8 oktober 2017

Soon There Will Be a Ten-Year Anniversary for This Blog; This Is a Summary of Its English Language Content


Later this autumn we're seeing a glorious non-event: the official ten-year anniversary of this blog. In a Swedish post I will then talk about this and that pertaining to the jubilee. Today, I have this entry in English deliberating on the English language aspect of the blog.




This blog started on November 22, 2007. And now it's October 8, 2017. Thus, we'll soon have a ten-year jubilee. Yahoo.

The blog is called "Svenssongalaxen" in Swedish. In English, that'll be "The Svensson Galaxy". The youngest galaxy in the universe, young and vibrant. And for a blog, rather mature.

- - -

As for entries in English on this blog, Svenssongalaxen, they only came about in the autumn of 2014.

By then, I had published "Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait" so it seemed fitting to blog in English about this. And post some other English language stuff for possible newcomers, for readers of this book wanting more of me.

Writing in English comes rather easy to me now. But I won't abandon the Swedish language just like that.

Since 2014, the blog is a mix of English and Swedish posts. You linguistic-thematic purists out there will have to live with that.

The blog is linguistically in a grey area. As such, it's adding to the general grey-area nature of the blog -- of this blog, the Svensson Galaxy.

- - -

So then; some links maybe, to get some impression of what the English side of this blog is about.

Here, we find the table of contents. English language posts on top.

Other than that, there are some interesting entries to be found. Like these:
. 2014: some notes about American author Clark Ashton Smith.
. 2014: notes written in December of that year, trying to describe the situation.
. 2015: a sample chaper from my Wagner bio.
. 2015: a short entry about the pictures that Julius Evola painted.
. 2016: a mainly pictorial post, showing some of my model soldiers.
. 2016: "Grey Area Gabble," literary and other musings by yours truly.
. 2017: an entry pushing my essay "Borderline," in the process quoting Eliot's "The Hollow Men".
. 2017: a post sketching a main difference among authors, that of being either "a painter" or "a draughtsman".

- - -

And that was that. Next month we'll see the big day. The actual ten-year anniversary. Marked by a post in Swedish.




Related
Table of Contents
Redeeming Lucifer
Science Fiction Seen from the Right
Pic: shunter at Mannaminne outdoor museum, Nordingrå, Ångermanland county.

torsdag 5 oktober 2017

Om "Jagets eld" och annat


This is a post in Swedish. It's about a Swedish author that has -- as far as I know -- never been translated into English. -- Jag har nyss läst Dénis Lindbohms första esoteriska bok, Jagets eld från 1971. Om detta och annat nedan.




Ernst Rune Dénis Lindbohm, död 2005. Född 11/7 1927 som son till Gunborg och Oscar Lindbohm. DL insåg 1928 att han var reinkarnationen av sin döda moster Esta Thynell, 1914-1918. Senare mindes Lindbohm ett liv som en svensk 1800-talsförfattare, samt ett liv på en värld i en fjärran stjärnhop, Kvatur-Glon, även känd som NGC 6205.

Som esoteriker behöver jag, LS, ingen förklaring till detta. I vid mening tror jag på Dénis' utsaga. Som företeelse är reinkarnation rimlig; det är den "livets skola" själen genomgår för att utvecklas. "We come here to learn." -- Min syn på reinkarnation ges i essän Borderline -- A Traditionalist Outlook for Modern Man (2015).

Lindbohm gjorde värnplikten på A6 i Jönköping 1948-49. Efter detta, bland annat med påverkan av läsning av science fiction-materialet i Jules Verne Magasinet, startade han en sf-förening. Detta var embryot till den svenska sf-rörelsen, den sk. sf-fandom.

Lindbohm publicerades senare i sf-magasinet Häpna. I bokform kom Lindbohm med en rad sf-titlar med Soldat från Jorden som första verk (Lindfors, Stockholm 1973).

- - -

En tidig fackbok / essä var Jagets eld (Stockholm: Sökarens förlag, 1971). Här behandlade Lindbohm för första gången sin reinkarnationshistoria systematiskt. Han hade offentliggjort den 1967 och utredde den tämligen grundligt i denna 116-sidiga bok. Minnet av att ha sett ett foto av den döda mostern, vilket triggade reinkarnationsminnet gås här igenom – samt minnen av ett liv på en annan planet, Kvatur-Glon. Detta bjuds oss i Jagets eld.

I denna bok finns även detta, om att skjutsa hem sin nyfödda dotter från BB:
Dotter min, Ann-Christin, jag bar Dig i min famn ut till min Messerschmitt år 1960. Min hustru skrattade åt detta att jag skulle köra hem i en så vinglig farkost. Jag lade det lilla knytet I hennes trygga armar, när hon satt sig I baksätet, och sen försökte jag dra igång Messerschmitten i tvåans växel för att inte bullra för mycket inom sjukhusområdet. Det gick slött. (s 43)
Som biografisk detalj är detta upplysande anser jag. En "telling detail" rent personligt, utan djupare mening i sig.

Boken är liksom Eldens barn (Psi-Cirkeln 1983, Malmö), en blandning av minnen, resonemang som försöker förklara det hela ur skolvetenskapens synpunkt och esoterica. Kanske är som bok betraktad Eko över bron (1982) mer stringent med koncentration på minnesincidenten med Esta samt en skiss över livet som barn med moderns vardagsslit som närvarande referens. Eko över bron har ju också dikter, som denna ”Eko av ljus”:
Det var allt vi drömde,
ett eko över bron –
ett fjärrhimlars återsken
varje vision
och drömmen oss lärde
att livet blott var
en väntan på värden
som evigt stå kvar.
Samt denna, ”Vandraren”:
Jag vandrade vida med ro och med kiv
långt ute i mörkret i Randen
och sökte med möda i liv efter liv,
men allting var tecknat i sanden.
Förgänglig och kort är all livstidens handling
och allt av funktion blir till stoft i förvandling.
Det eviga värdet är utan funktion
och hän mot bestående ljus spänner bron...
Här kan man ju undra hur det står till med metafysiken: i den första dikten talas om ”värden som evigt stå kvar” med i den andra sägs att ”det eviga värdet är utan funktion”. I ena andetaget omhuldas alltså platonsk idealism, i det andra, inte. Lindbohms idémässiga svaghet är att han inte har sin grund i spirit science utan i reduktionistisk vetenskap. Han berör förvisso esoterism i sitt opus och han utvecklar den väl också, men lika ofta reducerar han allt till materiell vetenskap.

Slutraderna i själva prosatexten till Eko över bron är dock stämningsfulla: ”Det har gått några år sedan mina sinnen var så känsliga att jag kunde höra ljudet av en fjärils vingslag. Men jag skall höra det igen.”

Mer om Lindbohm i detta inlägg.




Relaterat
Jag och sf-fandom
Dénis Lindbohm: allmänt
Homeros: Odysséen (700-talet f.Kr)
Leroux: Magersfontein, O Magersfontein (1974)
Matthews: Jesu liv (1948)
Nick Carter: Dödens diamanter (1985)

onsdag 4 oktober 2017

Preachment


I'm a teacher, a preacher and a poet.




And so I sing:
Burn, holy flame!
Rage, holy fire!

I am the flash in the firepan,
fire and movement preaching man.

- - -

I am superomismo
inititation, inspiration, inebriation –
initiation into the art of Action as Being.

I am battle as an inner experience –
death as an adviser –
the warrior way of truth.

- - -

I have gone beyond fate, beyond necessity.

I am faith.

I am astrality.

- - -

I am the holy flame,
burning all materialism
to ashes.
And so it goes. More fiery poetry in Chapter 39 of this book.




Related
Temple and Tree (poem)
Astral War
Evolian Art
Pic: Photo montage by LS.

söndag 1 oktober 2017

Lennart Svensson: Johnnie Holt -- First Man on Mars (short story)


This is a science fiction story by Lennart Svensson, author of Redeeming Lucifer and other books. The story plays on Mars in the year 2065, a time when the planet is terraformed and ready for colonisation. However, as the story begins, this transformation is still kept secret by the authorities.




Author's foreword: One of the supreme myths of science fiction is Mars, stories of the nearby red planet. All the greats of the genre have written about it, in some way or another. Among the eternal classics playing on Mars we have Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles and E. R. Burroughs' John Carter stories. Even today the genre touches on Mars, as in the films Total Recall, Mission to Mars and The Martian. Hereby my own humble attempt at presenting a Mars story.

- - -

He awoke and remembered a strange dream.

He had been on a ship, an old-school sailing ship. A man standing next to him on the deck had pointed to a constellation in the sky:

“The Pleiades,” he said, “that’s where we’re heading.”

Next, above the ship, a white swan flew, croaking "I am silver, I am gold, I am bold."

Then he awoke.

Strange, he thought. I’ve never been on a sailing ship. I’ve never seen one. Especially, there are no sailing ships here on Mars. Only arid desert.

He was an employee in a secret operation, a base on the planet Mars. It was the year 2065 and the base was still kept secret, still kept out of the eye of the public. The times might have been unfavorable for elite projects like this – a time of Earth liberating itself, of war scare and mass immigration being things of the past. Still, some strains of the self-righteous elite held on to power and kept running their weird projects, like having a base on Mars to flee to if world war broke out.

World war wouldn’t break out now. The Earth was more peaceful than ever. The peaceful, pro-white revolution had swept the Western world and brought everything else with it. Nonetheless, the secret Mars project kept going. It survived by its funding being hidden inside the intelligence service budget of the Empire ruling Earth. By tradition the intelligence community had many secret projects going, closed to the public eye.

- - -

Johnnie Holt, that was the guy’s name, the dreamer and the Mars base employee, a tall, slender figure with an aquiline nose and elongated facial features. And Holt of course knew of the development on Earth. He was born in Boston, USA, in 2023 and had seen both the anti-white society and the pro-white replacing it – both the rule of fear and the rule of trust coming after it. Still, he was employed by the government in a “black project,” a project funded by surreptitious machinations and covered up by lies.

But he wasn’t an evil, lying man. He was just a low-level bureaucrat, a clerk spending his day in an underground cubicle, filing and classifying routine matters in the running of the base, like keeping a check on stores and expenditure. He had been on Mars for ten years now. Communications to and from Earth, the shuttling of people, was done by a portal, allowing for instant translocation. Portal technology was another black project secret. For the hauling of larger objects there was a secret fleet of spaceships around.

The day of the strange dream of Johnnie Holt was otherwise an ordinary day on Burroughs Base. 142 people worked there, mostly engaged with terraforming the planet. The terraforming had gone on since the early 21st century. The base had been erected in 2014. Then, after the facilities were completed, the terraforming began – in secret, as with all the other things pertaining to the base project.

For the terraforming, firstly, the Martian polar ice caps were covered with dust, spread by crawler robots. That would melt them and water the seeds that other robots spread. Mars already had a thin atmosphere and, generally, it was in the bio-friendly zone because of its relative proximity to the sun. So, the plan to transform this desert world to a world of breathable atmosphere and waterways, maybe even seas, was deemed within the scope of possibility.

And when Earthy scientists, not initiated into the black project world, noted that the polar ice caps melted it was only interpreted as a natural process, as global warming of the Martian kind.

But, how long would they be able to keep the terraforming of Mars a secret?

How long, o Catiline? How long?

- - -

Johnnie Holt stood looking out over the Martian landscape through a scuttle, a circular, air-tight contraption of several plates of lucite. Stirring a cup of Lapsang souchong he absently said:

“The plains sure look green today.”

“Mm-hm,” said his controller colleague, Sam Spalje, sitting by a table in the coffee room for the junior section of the administrative corps of the base.

“So green that it’s almost, I don’t know, earthly. Liveable.”

“OK. Then step out!” Spalje said. “What’s stopping you.”

“Might as well do that.”

“No, seriously, you will die. Ain’t enough oxygen yet.”

“How do you know? You’re a scientist now?”

And then the conversation died out. Still, Holt persisted in looking out at the land – the flat, green from fungi – or sprouting grass?

And the sky. A touch of blue, hadn’t it...? Maybe even the hint of scudding clouds...?

He must have a look. He had to go outside.

Without a spacesuit.

It was madness but the dream last night, that of sailing to the Pleiades, had engendered a strange mood – a daring mood, an adventurous mood with dreamy undertones.

Long story short, after the end of the workday, Holt went to his 30-square meter living cubicle and had an energy drink. Then he sneaked away through a corridor and came to a hatch. He switched the two levers, opened the hatch and came out in a chamber. On the other side of it was another door.

He opened it – and stepped out in the open.

It was dark. The Martian night, in its roughly 24-hour cycle.

A thought flickered through his mind: I could survive even if the planet isn’t wholly terraformed yet. There is some atmosphere on Mars. Enough to sustain you for, I dunno --

But he had no feeling of asphyxiation. He could breathe. The terraforming was virtually complete. But in the prevailing mood of secrecy the authorities of course hadn’t made it public, not even to the base personnel.

Holt, standing on Martian soil, vaguely discerned the horizon in the east, black land under a pale brown sky.

He was dressed in pants and shirt and an overall, boots on the feet and a tight cap on his head, in his pockets a water bottle and a power bar. So, he could venture out and see the sights, take a little tour.

He wondered: I’m the first man venturing out freely on Mars. That is, I’m not the first man ever. There have been crews in this Burroughs Base project going out in spacesuits, controlling the terraforming robots and such.

Still, he thought, I’m the first man venturing out on Mars freely, without a spacesuit. I’m the first free man venturing out on Mars. I’m here because I want to be here – here, out in the open.

He wandered along and came to a hill. In it, he found a cave. All the time he breathed freely, not feeling tired or worn out. The terraforming had reached the viable level, a level of man being able to breathe the air created by seeding, watering and growing plants engendering a photosynthesis, creating an atmosphere with a healthy portion of oxygen.

He sat down in the cave and had some water. He wasn’t hungry but he thought that he could have some of the energy bar later, after some sleep.

- - -

That morning he dreamed of a long-haired, clean-shaved male figure in a tunic and a robe, standing in the plains and pointing to a seven-star constellation. Holt immediately knew that it was the Pleiades.

Again, the Pleiades...! First that ship-dream, now this.

And then, when he awoke, it got even more strange.

He had some water and a few bites on the power bar.

And when he again ventured out in the open, he saw the dream figure there.

A long-haired man in a tunic and a robe.

He approached him. The sky was bright, the air as fragrant – and breathable – as ever.

A fine Martian dawn, indeed...!

“A fine dawn, we have,” Holt began when he was close to the man.

The man, a mild, elevated type, nodded and said:

“Indeed. Welcome back.”

“Back?”

“You are back now. Man, white man, man of Pleiadean origin, is now back on Mars.”

Holt let that sink in.

The sun rose above the horizon, turning the landscape to a gold-tinged green.

“So I’m the first, then? First man to venture out on the Martian surface?”

“Well, there have been expeditions. But they all wore hermetically closed suits. You are the first to go out without a suit.”

Holt nodded. He was historic, he was legendary. OK. He didn’t care about that, really. He just wanted to go on doing what he had begun, explore the land, venture out. Climb the mountains of Mars. Go where no man had gone before. His ten-year stint on Mars, living inside Burroughs base, sure had given him time to dream.

Then he came to think of the other guy and who he really was – a man in an old-school garb, standing in the Martian plain. And having asked it, Holt got the answer:

“I’m Angelicus, the 17th century adept and subsequent ascended master.”

“What’s an ‘ascended master’?”

“It’s a human being having lived several lives, lives intent on spiritual evolution. With time, after many such lives, he or she becomes a constantly conscious, constantly blessed person, an astral being able to project his astral body into everyday reality and teach men.”

Holt didn’t at once understand what Angelicus meant. So, the latter explained further and said that he was a kind of demigod with a history as a human being, by cleansing his karma having reached a higher level.

“And I’m not really here,” Angelicus said. “It’s only my astral body. My ‘soul,’ my essence projected in relatable form.”

“OK,” Holt said, a bit uneasy at the prospect but calmed by the other’s tranquil countenance.

“I’m here to teach you. Inform you,” Angelicus said. “As intimated you are a representative of man, white man, having come back to a planet he once lived on.”

- - -

They took a stroll over the land, Angelicus meanwhile explaining that man originated in the Pleiades 6 million years ago. 2 million years ago a Pleiadean, human contingent settled on Mars and colonized it, cultivating the land, building cities and creating a buzzing civilization. Then 1 million years ago, an accident destroyed it.

“An accident?” Holt said. “Just like that?”

“Indeed,” Angelicus said. “Those Pleiadeans weren’t angels, like me. They were men, with all their faults and advantages. They experimented with nuclear power and accidently blew themselves up – the culture, the habitats, everything, killing off all life on the planet.”

“Aha,” Holt said, somewhat wiser, non the calmer. So, even in olden days, in a cosmic past, man could goof and falter. That was human, maybe.

“But a small contingent,” Angelicus continued, “built a merkaba, a layout of pyramids able to generate a dimensional passage. Such a passage was indeed created, enabling a Pleiadean, Aryan group to leave devastaded Mars and head for Earth, in 65,000 BC. Man lived on Atlantis then and this group settled there.”

“Wow,” Holt said.

“And you and all white men originate from them. Well, partly. There had been other Pleiadean sowings of Earth even before and after, like the seeding of Hyperborea in the last interglacial and the Caucasian outflow in what you call the Bronze Age. That was due to another portal passage.

“White man went on to dominate Earth. In post-Atlantean times there were other races of peoples around, created by other aliens seeding Earth, like the Annunaki. Now Aryan man ventured out and subdued these races, putting his stamp on the lands culturally and ethnically. Maybe some of his chauvinist strain seen on Mars was still around. But he, Aryan man, white man, also had a talent for responsible government, ordered religion and ordered society. That was his legacy, in the east and the west, the north and south, in Europe, the Middle East, India, China and the Americas. In Europe, his legacy remained most visible and pregnant, ethnically, politically, culturally and linguistically.

“OK,” Holt said, halting by a pool of water. “Interesting all. But did white man really go to China and the Americas? I mean, I’ve heard of old Europe’s founding white culture and Aryans in Persia and India, but the other?”

“Seek and you will find,” Angelicus said. “Seek in the records of secret history. For instance, there has been found red-haired mummies in America.”

Changing the subject, Angelicus looked down on the pool and said:

“Drink it, Martian! Drink the water.”

“But still-standing water isn’t healthy, I’ve heard.”

“It’s a well. The warmed climate, enabled by terraforming, has engendered this well. Frozen water in the rock, now trickling forth by capillarity.”

Holt nodded and went down on his knees, putting his mouth to the cool surface and
having himself a mouthful.

Standing up again, wiping his mouth, he said “ahh”. He enjoyed the taste of really fresh water. He had never even had that on Earth, even though it was still to be had in remote forest and mountain regions and such. He had lived his whole life in artificial surroundings, first on Earth, then on Mars.

- - -

The pale Martian sun had reached the apex of its course. They were in the Arabia Terra region. Thanks to terraforming the formerly red, arid plain now had grass, fern and moss growing on it.

“So, my dear earthly man,” Angelicus continued, “as I said – welcome back to Mars. Your kind has been here before. That Pleiadean colonizing I spoke of. So, this is merely a return to your place of origin, a chance of reconnecting with your roots – the Pleiades.”

Saying this, he pointed up in the sky. The sky was too bright to show stars but Holt knew that he pointed to the seven-star cluster that was the constellation in question, the Pleiades. Just as he had seen it in his dream.

“Aha,” he said. “But, can you show me some remains of that Pleiadean colonization here on Mars?”

“Of course. If you don’t mind some astral tripping.”

“What’s that?”

“The way I fly.”

With this, the spiritual master touched Holt’s forehead – and in the next moment, he was soaring above the plain. When he turned around the saw his body lying prostrate on the ground. At his side, Angelicus said:

“Don’t worry. Your body is safe and sound. And you’ll return to it later.”

“Must I?”

“No, actually not. You can remain in soul form, if you think you’re ready for that.”

“Gee.”

“But first, a tour of Mars – an astral tour. Your astral body having a survey of the hotspots!”

The pair soared over the green plain and then flew over a rather hilly region, a red, stony desert of the usual Martian kind.

Then more plains, more greenery – and then a larger mountain looming up ahead – and then they headed for the top and alighted upon it.

“Wow,” Holt said, seeing the surroundings of red desert, green plains and silvery surfaces indicating water.

“Some sight, eh,” Angelicus said. “We’re standing on the top of Mount Olympus. The highest mountain in the solar system. 27 kilometers high.”

“Thanks for taking me here,” Holt said. “But you talked about Pleiadean remains. And this is...?”

“No, this is just a stopover. Thought you might like to climb the highest peak in M-1, if only in astral form.”

“Why, of course. Thank you.”

They tarried for a while and then flew east again, heading for the region of Cydonia, north of Arabia Terra. A rather large structure was soon to be seen ahead, an enormous face looking up into the sky.

“The Cydonia Sphinx,” Holt said. “Great to see it from above.”

“So, you do know of it?” Angelicus said.

“Of course. We all do. An anomaly the authorities tried to explain away when it was discovered by the Viking Mars probe in the 1970s. However, I’ve personally been part of the cover-up so I mean, OK, whatever...”

They homed in on the structure and soon was inside it, just like that, because they were both astral bodies, immaterial. Soaring around in the interior Angelicus showed Holt bas-reliefs, inscriptions and remains of the Pleiadean presence. He said that the Pleiadean colonizers had built the structure, hewn out of solid rock and hollowed into a hall.

“A grand hall,” Holt said. “Red splendor, red rock... what can I say.”

“Just take it all in. Pleiadean remains, reminding you of humans having been here before. Colonizers claiming a planet and making it into a grand civilization. But recklessness and ‘too much head, too little heart’ caused them to devastate the land. In fact, destroying the whole ecosystem. Mars was habitable before they came, it had water and air and vegetation, but after their wayward experimentation, their tampering with the forces of nature, they blew the system up and died.”

“Except for the ones escaping to Earth.”

Angelicus nodded, adding:

“The lesson is: abandon nuclear technology. Go for crystal technology instead.”

“We already do,” Holt said. “I mean, crystal technology is out and about, as in crystalmagnets making quibbles soar.”

“But you still have nuclear energy.”

“We do.”

"This must cease. Spirit science strives for unity, for totality, unus mundus. Splitting the atom is anathema to this."

- - -

They left the interior of the sphinx and then flew here and there in their astral tripping, seeing remains in the land in the form of cities, roads and even canals. One canal led from the crater of Hellas Planitia and further north. In due time, when the terraforming had created enough water to result in the ocean of Mare Katharina and other water basins, this would be the river Madsus. Then, that river would flow from the round lake of Planitia to the northern ocean, the northern hemisphere of Mars having lower elevation than the land in the south and thus becoming an enormous water basin, an ocean, almost covering the whole northern part of the planet.

They saw the sights, astrally climbing the mountains of Mars, soaring along Valles Marineris, flying over the northern flats, and then returning to the plain where they had first met. By this, Holt’s soul spontaneously returned to his body, that was his inner wish, his overall, spiritual intention. When he was back in his corporeal form, opening his eyes, it was night, the stars twinkling above.

Angelicus was still with him. He bade him to stand up and led him to the well once again. Holt had his fill and even filled up his water bottle. Then they went to the cave where Holt had slept his first night in the open. Sitting by the mouth of it Angelicus said:

“So, do you now have a perspective on things? On Mars, man, the Pleiadean strain and all that?”

“I do. And I shall not do experiments in nuclear technology.”

“Well, fine. Do what you please; I’m no dictator. I’m just a guide showing you, representative of the Man to Come, of free mankind, the lay of the land.”

“Thank you, Angelicus. It has been most instructive.”

Holt spoke the truth. He was slightly overwhelmed by what he had seen. White man had a grand past and a grand future, too, for what it seemed. He would have a future in space, on Mars and beyond. He would colonize Mars and, in due time, re-establish contact with Pleiadeans, his ancestors.

But this colonizing of course had to be done openly, not as a black project, a secret project. The program was overripe for being made public. The elite plan of having Mars as a safe resort during a nuclear war was passé now, with Earth going through the popular, peaceful revolution.

And now what? For Holt personally? Go on living in the open, live on water...?

He asked Angelicus about this. The master then taught him how to live on sunlight. Going barefoot over grass, drinking water and basking in the sun gave enough energy to live on. It sustained the astral body and etheric body and, by influxus, the physical body.

In the following days, Holt learned this. And he could summon Angelicus for more lessons of this and that when needed. And, to make a long story short, soon the Mars colony was revealed to the public by an insider, a whistle blower. The project of terraforming was also made public.

The reaction among the public, among men of Earth, among white men, those who cared about such things as space colonization – Faustian man, always going Beyond the Beyond – that reaction was mixed. It was like: to build a Mars base and terraform the planet and not telling the public was criminal, yet, the plan itself was grand and heroic. So, the plan was taken over by official authorities. And a surge to colonize Mars went ahead.

The planet now had breathable air and water, however, not enough to sustain a massive invasion of humans. Not mass immigration once again...! There were strict quotas on who would go there and why.

But it happened. After 30 years, the settlement of Runaburg in Terra Arabia had 20,000 inhabitants. This soon became the capital of Mars. It was situated 17 km northwest of Burroughs Base.

Most importantly, Mars became the virtual possession of white man. Only he had the drive to go there. It was no surprise. In the past, what race was most persistent in conceiving of the stars, the planets...? -- The white race.

There might have been stargazers and astronomers-astrologers in other cultures, but the enduring scientific strain of looking at the stars and trying to fathom their inherent mechanics, that strain was an expression of white man, Faustian man. A man breeding a culture of exploration, of going Beyond the Beyond, conceptually and tangibly. The culture of Erathosthenes, Gallilei, Brahe, Kepler, Copernicus, Newton, Einstein, Goddard, Oberth, von Braun, Koroljov, Gagarin, Shephard, Glenn, Armstrong.

And Johnnie Holt. After a year of living in the Martian open, subsisting on water, sun and air, an earthly expedition arrived and made contact with him. It was an official expedition, using the previously hidden technology of the black projects’ world, with a crystal magnet-driven ship enabling a mere ten days to go from Earth to Mars. Supported by the facilities of the already established Burroughs Base the expedition soon encountered Holt, living, so to speak, on its doorstep, in the cave not far away from it, the base where he once had worked.

He became known as “The First Man on Mars,” meaning the first free man, the first one breaking out of the confines of the elite project planning to have Mars for its own purposes. He became known as “The First Man on Mars” or simply “the Martian”. Having made contact with men once again he readapted to an ordinary life, one of eating food and living in a habitat. For a while he continued to work as a clerk in the terraforming project. Soon, however, he could quit work for good, living by doing speaker tours on Earth, spreading the gospel of Angelicus, that of white man having a great future in space, on Mars and beyond. He preached the Pleiadean strain.

- - -

In his lectures, Holt spoke of many things within the framework of white space exploration. Spurred on by galactic history he became a pro-white spokesman, preaching against anti-whiteness and for “white community going its own way”. For instance, in Stockholm on June 23, 2070, he said this:

“White man will conquer space. You know what I’m talking about. Newton, Verne, Tsiolkovsky, Goddard, Oberth, von Braun, Armstrong. I’m not saying that other races can’t contribute. I’m just saying that for many reasons, now’s the time for white man to go his own way.

“I mean, today it’s no matter who concocted the infamous anti-white ideology. I’ll skip that for now...! Instead, I say: from the mid 20th century and on the expressions of sympathy towards white man from black, yellow, red man were few and far between.

“OK. I’m not saying that white man is an angel. But neither is he the demon the late 20th, early 21st century portrayed him as.

“White man enduring non-white mass immigration as a sort of punishment for perceived evils? OK, whatever. But now you’ve had your time, non-whites. You’ve thrived by living in white man’s technotopia, by benefiting from inventions like the car, the train and the plane, by central heating, sewage systems, electricity and information technology. And it was yours by right, right? Yours to use and benefit from, with not a word of thanks to the spiritual father of all this? A compensation for perceived evils, done to you by white man?

“OK. Then don’t follow us if we go to space and continue colonizing Mars.

“Don’t follow us, then, if we’re so evil.

“This is white community going its own way – into space.”

For the fees received Holt bought himself an apartment in a Runaburg redstone house, filled with objets d’art, carpets and furniture given to him by people thankful for his legendary feat, that of being the first man to venture out on the Martian surface alone, as a free man, free of the confines of a wayward secret program.

Burroughs Base and Runaburg were situated in what was until then known as Arabia Terra. Now it was renamed Aryavarta – land of the Aryans. Because it and all of Mars became the virtual domain of the white race.

Of course, there were no ethnically profiled quotas, no race laws prohibiting a black, a yellow or a red man from going to Mars. It just happened to be that predominantly and essentially, space colonization became a white thing. And, looking at white history, it was in the cards.

Barring a few individual examples, no other race altogether had the same urge to go to space and head for Mars, to colonize a new world, as the white race had. It was the same urge having had white man build ships and sail from European shores to America, India, China – by Vikings, Portuguese, Spaniards, Frenchmen, Dutch, Englishmen. Over time and accounting for the consistency of the projects, no other race had the staying power of the white race in venturing out, claiming new land and shaping it after his image. No other race was shaped by the image of “going to space” as white man was.

It was the white syndrome all the way back from Pleiadean man coming to Mars 2 million years ago. Venture out, claim the land, fashion it.

It was what Aryan man did: venture out, create empires.

Now, at the end of the 21st century, to white man, going into space was a case of necessity. To other races, it was just “one of those things”. Other races were happy to thrive in their earthly places of origin – Chinese in China, Indians in India, MENA people in MENA, Africans in Africa, etc. For its part, this strain was sealed in 2092 by the Charta Mundi convention, securing the existence of all people in their places of origin. This consolidated the gains of the peaceful revolution begun in the 2050s, restoring white countries to their majority populations – white men, Aryan men.

The Charta also secured the existence of white man in the multicultural USA. As such, this treaty didn’t come up with anything new. It merely stressed that ICERD – and the related convention CPPCG, incriminating genocide – should be respected. This put an end to the anti-white syndrome. Other than that, making the US secure for white man engendered a space colonizing surge. In the euphoric realization that white man had been on Mars before, the gospel spread by Holt’s lecturing, the American whites who matched the requirements emigrated to Mars in large numbers along with brethren from Europe, Australia and New Zeeland.

On Earth, Aryan man’s lands were secured as white lands – and “upstairs,” in space, white man took the lead in colonization. Therefore, Mars, the subsequent colony of Venus, and, later, the star systems man colonized to form the Mirotanian Empire, became a predominantly white dominion. It was explicitly and implicitly white. It was an Aryan space empire, with Mars as the first stopover and with a possible re-connection with the Pleiadean Realm as a distant goal.

That was the legacy of Johnnie Holt and his era.




Related
Redeeming Lucifer
Details
Going After the Saurian Baddies
Good Cop, Mad Cop
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Virtual Guru
Photo montage by LS.

torsdag 28 september 2017

Litegrann om denna blogg


In Swedish. -- Denna blogg har funnits ett tag. Härmed en presentation.




Jag står på en udde vid Södra sundet. Himlen är ljus. Några dimstråk flyter fram över vattnet.

Fågellivet är ganska markant här. Kväkande änder, tornseglare, gråtrutar, skator, måsar. Jaminsann. Och små bruna varelser som jag inte vet namnet på. Brunsparvar, kanske?

Här finns det mycket. Jag står och tar in scenen, ser simhallen på andra sidan, domkyrkan på kullen, diverse bebyggelse inbäddad i grönska. Vattenspegel, gästhamn. Och så parken där jag själv står.

Och så, i skyn, hörs plötsligt ett klagande läte.

Vad är nu detta...?

Och sedan ser jag två svanar passera, görande en överflygning och sikta mot Västra kanalen för att omsider landa i nattviken.

Svanar: så mytologiskt. Lohengrin, Völundskvädet, Östan om solen och nordan om jorden...

- - -

Den här bloggen har funnits sedan november 2007. Det är snart dags för tioårsjubileum, med andra ord. Men inte idag.

Tills jubileet stundar kan ni kolla in nioårsjubileet. Eller varför inte femårsjubileet.

På denna blogg finns annars ett och annat. Som nationaldagstal. Här är det senaste.

På bloggen finns även detta debattinlägg om en svensk kulturikon, Åsa Linderborg och hennes vurm för Lenin. Det handlar om hur hon ansåg att "Lenin öppnade för en ny kultur."

Det kanske kan intressera.

- - -

Jag postar allt möjligt på denna blogg. Sakligheter och mer friflygande texter. Till det senare hör poesi och dylikt. Här är till exempel dikten "På Tempelberget".

Och här är Norrlandsdikten "Solsken över ett kalhygge". Jag föddes i Norrland 1965. Här är hela min biografi.

Jag är norrlänning och mer Norrland finner man här, i ett inlägg kallat Åselehaiku.

- - -

På bloggen har det genom åren recenserats diverse skönlitteratur. Här är tre exempel ur högen:

. Borges: Ficciones (1945)

. Hassel: Döden på larvfötter (1958)

. Wilderäng: Midvintermörker (2012)

- - -

Und so weiter. På denna blogg finns det med andra ord mycket.

Jag kan fortsätta länka i all oändlighet men detta får räcka. Nu ska jag gå på Kabyssen och dricka en kopp öl.




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Clausewitz: Om kriget (1832)
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Nicholls: Fantasi och vetenskap i science fiction (1984)
Finland efter 1945

tisdag 26 september 2017

Astral War


"Is this a vision or astrality I see before my eyes...?"




The other day I mentioned the concept "astral war". Hereby some more deliberations on this spooky idea.

- - -

You can say that a war is raging on the planet today. A war called the astral war.

This is the main label. But it can also be called spirit war, holy war, propaganda war, media war, frequency war, energy war, psychic war, silent war, virtual war, spectral war – and, in German, Kulturkampf and Weltanschauungskrieg.

This fight is old. It has been going on since the dawn of time, since the primordial existence of dark and light. The Demiurge stands for the dark, God stands for the light.

The phrase itself, “astral war,” was coined by Chilean author Miguel Serrano (1917-2009). In The Golden Cord (1978) he said:
The war will be a celestial War, an Astral War, a Psychic War. It will be in Heaven but the results of this war will be seen on Earth.
Details aside, this concept helps you to see beyond the battles fought on material battlefields. To see beyond the material war and see the energy war, the spirit war, the astral war.

- - -

We are all fighting the astral war. No one is neutral. Every mind-endowed, thinking, living human being is a spirit warrior. Surfing on the net and being exposed to its images and texts is astral warfare. Reading books is astral war. Talking to the man in the street is astral war.

In this, you have of course to be a mindful operator and not a mindless one. The mindless actor is quickly devoured by the Demiurge. The mindful actor exudes light and fights his way with a virtual light saber.

- - -

The astral war is a somewhat abstract war, not a tangible, old-school, boots-on-the-ground war. However, such tangible action taking place becomes part of the astral war when given a propagandistic spin. This is the main reason why The Powers That Be still fight material wars: to conceptualize them as part of the imperialistic narrative, of good vs. evil, the Empire vs. indigenous peoples and such.

This view is in harmony with the concept of “4g warfare,” the modern type of warfare where the propagandistic, immaterial element is given a prominent place. Old-school warfare was fought with invasions, mass armies and industrial mobilization; today’s war is essentially an astral war, a propaganda war directed at our minds.

- - -

The astral war is raging and no one is neutral. There are no non-combatants in this war. It’s a total war, total in the sense that no act, no thought, no noteworthy feeling is unimportant.

The mindful actor controls his every thought and every emotion and thus avoids being brainwashed. The mindless actor, on the other hand, has no control of his thoughts and emotions and is virtual cannon fodder in this conflict.

- - -

The astral war is a war for your soul. Your soul is the battlefield.

And your soul is everything. Idam sarvam, yad ayam âtmâ.

Therefore, the astral war being a war for your soul, is a total war.

- - -

No one is neutral in this war. The only viable exemption warrant would be a declaration of insanity, signed by a psychiatrist.

So, those of you who are clinically insane, step aside, leave the battlefield and to the loony bin with you.

The rest of you must learn how to fight the astral war -- and win. You must learn how to oppose the Demiurge, the Eagle, the blind idiot god Azathoth, writhing at the center of the cosmos to the idiot piping of a demon flute.

We are opposing this darkness. We are opposing the Demiurge, bent on devouring our souls. We strive for the light, we strive for acknowledging and maintaining the soul light, the Inner Light, a fragment of the Divine Light.

We are the Army of the Light fighting the Army of the Dark. See my novel Redeeming Lucifer for a vision of such a battle.

- - -

To survive in the astral war, you must live a mindful life.

The following is what living a mindful life is, and the counterpart to it. To live a life hooked to mainstream media, constantly being upset by this and that happening, constantly hoping for paradise, constantly fearing hell – the person living such a life is insane. He is controlled by the Empire. He is astral war cannon fodder.

On the contrary, a person having will controlling his thought lives in equanimity. He entertains his mind with reading, deliberation and meditation. That person is viable astral warrior material.

Control every though and emotion and survive in the energy war. Or, live like a ship without a sail and be devoured by the Demiurge. You choose.

- - -

There is no neutrality in the astral war. You either support the freedom of the will, the freedom of expression, the freedom of thought, the freedom from oppression by The Powers That Be.

Information is light. To enable the flow of information is to fight for the light. Conversely, to hinder information is to support the dark side.

The astral war needs actors – mindful actors – you. To serve the light calls for action – dedicated action – weaponized mindfulness.




Related
Redeeming Lucifer (2017)
Inspiration -- Initiation -- Inebriation
In Swedish: Om Nick Carter-romanerna
Painting: Albert Bierstadt, Among the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

söndag 24 september 2017

Inspiration -- Initiation -- Inebriation


Welcome to this blog post. The title of it is, "Inspiration -- Initiation -- Inebriation".




I am.

I am a spiritualist, a mystic and an adept.

I stand for “inspiration, initiation, inebriation”. I stand for mindful, perennial tradition against the forces of reductive materialism ruling the world.

In the materialist miasma abounding today, I weaponize my “I AM”. I sum up my will-thought and passion to fight the ever-ongoing spirit war, propaganda war, energy war, astral war. The astral war is an immaterial war, a spectral war, a holy war.

- - -

So, again: I am.

I am an astral warrior, a spirit warrior – total man, absolute man, acknowledging the whole against reductive nonsense, the big picture against fragmentation. I stand for gods and devas, heroes and heroines, myth and legend, freedom of speech, freedom of expression, artistic freedom.

I am an astral warrior. I am the astral war. I have fought it for as long as I can remember.

And this I know: you can’t win this war if you haven’t got a will to win.

You can’t win this war if you haven’t got a vision of victory.

You can’t win the astral war if you don’t acknowledge your own spiritual being.

And that acknowledgement, that affirmation, do I need to spell it out again, is – I AM.

- - -

I’m energy, action, will, thought and passion.

I AM the unstoppable fire.

I AM the Martian Messiah and the Pleiadean Preacher, the thunder of the tundra, the pilgrim of the palearctic zone and beyond.

I want to be this preacher and teacher, I want to be at this specific moment of history. I affirm my being, my inner light.

I AM the last court of appeal of esoteric ontology.

I AM the last prophet of the I AM. After me, all mindful people will sooner or later have acknowledged their I AM. And then Sat Yuga will be realized. A new golden age for man will dawn.

- - -

The first prophet of the I AM was Manu. Q.v. Mânava-dharma-shâstra.

The second prophet of the I AM was Jesus Christ. Q.v. The Gospel of John.

The third prophet of the I AM was Rudolf Steiner. Q.v. Das Johannesevangelium (1910).

The fourth and possibly last prophet of the I AM is me. Q.v. Actionism (2017).

- - -

After my work is done the golden age will be here, enabling a traditional society where the strong are just, the weak secure and the peace preserved.

The law will be upheld by a judiciary, a police force and a military free from co-opting by mindless forces.

Media will stop brainwashing people and instead strive for the truth.

The academia will teach the truth and not be a venue of dualistic regimentation.

Hospitals and pharmaceutical ventures will cure people, not poison them.

- - -

After due cleaning-out of the current chaos harassing Earth, mankind will face a new dawn, a new renaissance, a Sat Yuga of truth to replace the Kâlî Yuga of death still lingering. The formal epochal break came in the autumn of 2011; then, mankind reached a new level in its development, according to C. J. Calleman and others. Now, it’s left for every individual to realize the shift within.

That's just the way it is.




Related
Actionism -- How to Become a Responsible Man
Redeeming Lucifer
Table of Contents
Castaneda: Words and Concepts
Photo montage by LS.

fredag 22 september 2017

Sigfrid Kall står pall


In Swedish. -- Härmed en kortnovell om en diskret trumslagare i tillvaron: Sigfrid Kall.




Han hette Sigfrid Kall. Han var en kall typ. Dessutom var han en slim nordisk figur, verksam i mediabranschen. Nu satt han i sin lägenhet på Norrlandsgatan och sa till sin papegoja:

"Jag vill dö. Nej, seriöst. Döden är ju tabu. Men tänk vilken poetisk kraft det är i ord som 'dö, döden, avlida'."

"Men dö då," sa papegojan, "det är väl ingen big deal. Vi ska alla dö. Och jag skulle ju inte sörja dig för du är ju bara som en matserverande maskin för mig."

"Nej, tycker du det?" sa Kall och tände en cigarrett.

"Nja," sa papegojan, en vit kakadua vid namn Stoss, "lite känner jag väl för dig. Men inte mycket. Jag älskar papegojor."

"Jaha," sa Kall. "Jag säger som en okänd internetpoet: 'Jag vill dö'."

"Verkligen?"

"Ja," sa Kall, "'verkligen' i så måtto att det där verkligen är ett citat från en poesisajt i det 21:a århundradet. En rad bara. 'Jag vill dö.'"

"Dö då."

"Nu dör jag."

Men Kall dog inte, han levde vidare för att röka sin cigg och snöa in på tillvarons irrgångar.




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Typ: Förståndig
Typ: Turist
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tisdag 19 september 2017

Inlägg idag


In Swedish. -- Detta inlägg skrivs och postas den 19 september 2017.




Idag är det tisdag. Igår var det måndag. Då läste jag Arthur C. Clarke-novellen Summer on Icarus. Den handlade om en man strandad på en asteroid nära solen. Den var bra.

Summer on Icarus är sf. Och apropå sf har jag skrivit denna bok. Men det är väl allmänt bekant.

- - -

Apropå inget så hade min morfar en Chrysler Valiant. Röd, 1960 års modell. En som vi barn tyckte stor bil men den var ju en compact car. Liten med amerikanska mått.

Så var det ju. Inlägget handlar om alla de bilar min morfar ägde, med denna Valiant som främsta symbolbärare.

Inte för att detta har något med något att göra. Jag vill bara antyda att på denna blogg finns det mycket.

- - -

Den 22 november i år är det tioårsjubileum för bloggen. Då blir det -- om Gud så vill -- postning av ett inlägg som säger, typ, "idag är det tioårsjubileum". Med tillbakablickar, minnen, länkar och annat smått och gott. En exposé över bloggens liv och leverne, från skapelsen 22/11 2007 fram till dagens dagliga verklighet, 2017.

Tills dess hänvisar jag till detta inlägg. Som är nioårsjubileet. Alltså högtidlighållandet av årsdagen 22/11 2016.

Detta inlägg har helt andra länkar än vad tioårsjubileet planeras att ha. Nioårsjubileet fokuserar för sin del på intressanta personer jag bloggat om. Tioårsjubileet kommer att ge en mycket vidare rundmålning av bloggens innehåll, utfört genom stickprov av allehanda ämnen som berörts genom åren.

Och innan dess kommer väl ett och annat nytt att postas. Vad vet jag inte nu. Men jag kommer nog på något vad det lider.




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Science Fiction Seen from the Right

torsdag 14 september 2017

Svensson: Fragments of a Story


These are fragments of a story. A science fiction story.




These are fragments of a story.

They are about Stax Medon, a soldier of a future war. In excerpt one he's a Sergeant. In excerpt two, he's out riding in a quibble craft. In excerpt three, he's promoted 1st Lieutenant.

That's all I have to say about these passages. Maybe you'll enjoy them. More fiction by me can be had in this book.

Now, for the fragments at hand. Skiffy!

- - -

Medon thanked for the assistance, peeked inside the new corridor and then threw a Q-grenade to be on the safe side. He waited for the explosion and then led the patrol along the smooth, steel-lined corridor. Kind of like in the caves of Bononsia of my youth, Medon thought.

Strange echoes were heard from afar. Finally, the corridor led them into a vast chamber, a large hall with walls in silvery white, concrete grey and sandstone red. There were screens of polypropane, instruments of monometal and monel plastic, tarpaulins of isometane fiber and cantilevers of diffusion steel. Medon sent his people securing the premises with himself going up a ladder into a cupola, looking out through the prisms and watching how blue force quibbles hovered over them.

- - -

Medon and Knake flew in a quibble over the northwestern outskirts of Fula. They were going to the 3rd Division HQ for a briefing. Down below they could see wrecks of Saurians rectangles, bombed out woods and advancing columns of Mirotanians.

“What do we see?” Knake said.

“It’s the rest of the breakthrough,” Medon said to his deputy. “We’ve penetrated the Saurian lines here on Cressida and made the enemy fall back.”

“And then...?”

“Then we’ve approached a fortress called Retoika, a strongpoint in the enemy’s second line of defense.”

“And where are we heading now? The two of us, today?”

“We are heading for an HQ to be briefed by General Glaubenskraft.”

They sat opposite each other by a porthole. Suddenly Knake got sight of an enormous crater in the terrain. He pointed towards it and said:

“What’s that?”

Medon looked at it, pondered and said:

“It must be from the orbo before the landings.”

“But we didn’t land here.”

“No, but we laid prep fire here.”

The crater was about one kilometer in diameter, a giant kettle being bombed out by a 1,000-ton lump of steel. This block had been hurled from a spaceship in orbit and then impacted here. In one word, it was an orbo, acronym for "orbital bomb".

- - -

Medon got his commission on December 20. Then he went for some R&R in Trypsium, again meeting with Deelah for some magic days with wining, dining and play; golden days, poetry and song, swimming in a sea of love...

Then their dream was torn apart, ripped asunder by the sound of a capsule thumping down in the pneumatic tube receiver in their apartment. Medon awoke and for a moment wondered where he was, groping for the woman lying by his side, tumbling over the remains of yesterday’s dreams, getting hold of the capsule and extricating its contents.

He tried to discern what it read but his eyes wouldn’t focus, he was still sleepy. He took a packet of cigarettes from a sideboard, lit one and inhaled the smoothly flavored smoke.

A cold morning light filtered through the Venetian blind. Deelah was sound asleep. Bostron smoked his cigarette slowly, treating his lungs with the ethereal drug. Then he stubbed it out, unfurled the paper of the tube and read:
ORDER
Unit Code Office Number Valid From
227768 932 2568-01-01
Order For
2541-04-07 Medon, Yoshi
98864, Destobryl, District 43, Trypsium
You are hereby ordered to report for duty at 3rd Division, Guards Battle Group,
2nd Batt, D Comp, on 2568-01-02. Appointment as COMPANY
COMMANDER. You are hereby promoted 1st Lieutenant.
Guards Battle Group, Medon thought, that’s nice, although it’s another battalion since last we met. And company commander and 1st Lieutenant, well that’s alright with me! It’s about time. And I’m no absolute beginner, I’ve commanded a company already, in the toughest conditions conceivable: in lethal combat against the Sauropods.




Related
Redeeming Lucifer (2017)
Grey Area Gabble
Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait (2014)

måndag 4 september 2017

Book News: Actionism -- How to Become a Responsible Man (Svensson 2017)


This is the new book by renowned author Lennart Svensson. It's called "Actionism" and it can be bought here, on Adlibris and here, on Amazon.com.




If you want a self-help guide teaching you how to live a will-powered life, this is the book for you.

This is "Actionism -- How to Become a Responsible Man".

- - -

The creed is called Actionism since we all have to act.

That is, you might think that you can live without acting -- living like a recluse, the "vita contemplativa" doing nothing.

This is an illusion.

We all have to act. Even the placid recluse, the mild-mannered hermit spending his day meditating.

Because, we all have to sustain our bodies. We all have to breathe, drink and eat.

Thus, we all have to act.

Thus, "we are all Actionists". We all live a "vita activa".

- - -

For starters, this book sketches essential reality, all founded in perennial thought. Then, an ethic is delieanted on the basis of this, having willpower, reason and passion to the fore. It's about "memento mori", "action as being" and "winning as propensity" and other arousing memes.

Next the book looks at the "actionist" aspects of the life and thought of D'Annunzio, T. E. Lawrence, Castaneda and Julius Evola.

The following chapters deliberates on how to conduct operations -- military, intelligence, catering etc.

The book also looks at how to arrange an Actionist society. And there are chapters on history, the impossibility today of major war, Antropolis and other pertinent stuff.

This is "Actionism -- How to Become a Responsible Man".

- - -

Product info:

Paperback: 464 pages
Publisher: Manticore Press (August 14, 2017)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0994595875
ISBN-13: 978-0994595874
Product Dimensions: 7 x 0.9 x 10 inches




Related
The Book Described at the Publisher's Website
Lennart Svensson: a Short Biography
Buy the Book on Adlibris
Buy the Book on Amazon.com
Buy the Book on Amazon.uk

söndag 3 september 2017

Robert Svensson-retrospektiven i Sundsvall, april 2017


In Swedish, about a Swedish art exhibition. It showcased art of my deceased brother Robert. A bio in English of him is to be found here. -- En retrospektiv utställning hölls i våras i Sundsvall. Objekt: Robert Svenssons måleri. Jag nämnde eventet här på bloggen, som en utannonsering före. Härmed en exposé över hur det hela såg ut i färdigt skick. -- Bilden överst visar Robert Svensson då han ännu var i livet, någon gång i början av 2000-talet. Han levde 1963-2016.





Till Norrlands ungdom (olja).


Nordingråkust (olja).


Färgspel (olja).


Havet (akvarell). -- Inrikespolitisk rapport (foto).


Söråselesjön (olja). -- Sommar i Söråsele (olja).


Akvedukt, rosa himmel (olja).


Längst till höger, Motiv från Nordingrå (olja).


Balingsta kyrka (olja).


Svenska Sörgårdsidyller (akvarell). -- Tranor vid Överön (akvarell).


Lupiner (akvarell). -- Passage till Paradiset (akvarell).


Den röda båten (akvarell).




Relaterat:
Robert Svensson: mina minnen av min bror
Ett rike utan like

måndag 28 augusti 2017

Svensson: Temple and Tree (poem)


Hereby a poem, summing up the current being of its author, Lennart Svensson.




I am temple and tree,
the guru in the garden --


a golden guru going south,
a hat-clad don Juan,
Merlin the Magician --


a golden river flowing south,
arcane, hyaline, holy.


I am Martian Messiah,
Pleiadean Preacher --


"glowing God of Mars,
body burning bright" --


riding on the wind,
guided by the immemorial
voice of a myth --


teaching, preaching,
dreaming, scheming.


I am myth, math and metaphor,
the alchemy of time and
consciousness.


I am movement as a state
of mind: MAASOM.


I am a creative Self in
an ever-present Now.




Related
Painters and Draughtsmen
The Swedenborg Machine
The Not-So-Good of Philip K. Dick
In Swedish: Jag och sf-fandom
In Swedish: Ett rike utan like
Pictures: (1) Skönsmon's church, Sundsvall (2) A painting by Henri Rousseau (3) The altar of Själevad's church, Övik (4) Unknown space art (5) Immanuel's church, Stockholm (6) A painting by Prince Eugen (7) A painting by van Gogh (8) Norwich cathedral (9) Detail from painting by nknown artist (10) Commercial photo, France.

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