You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,
Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty;
Blind force with accomplished shape.
–Czeslaw Milosz (“Dedication”)
There’s a rather innocuous painting by Peter Saul called “Bathroom Sex Murder,” so this article’s title is also a harmless joke. It’s better than “My Summer Vacation,” no? Of course, I’m not anti-Semitic. Jew canceled, I’m just trying to uncancel myself, bits by bits, with tads of cutesy sensationalism.
Walking into a bar, a guy shouts, “Women are all bitches, I tell you.”
Bartender, “Why, what happened?”
“I’ve just got a divorce.”
“That’s not unusual.”
“You don’t understand. This is, like, my 100th divorce. I’ve lost count.”
“You must be the world’s greatest asshole.” The bartender shakes his head.
“Fuck you, man, and fuck every woman! I’m the greatest guy ever.”
No Jewish comedian, I’m just a chopped liverish travel writer. It is beyond pitiful. We begin:
Because of the Iron Curtain, Communism exuded a dark allure, born of mystery. Growing up in Saigon in the 60’s and 70’s, I often wondered about Hanoi, my mother’s hometown. I never thought I would see it. When I finally visited Hanoi in 1995, it felt positively magical, starting with the ride from the airport.
Much older than Saigon, Hanoi has 36 ancient streets with names like Flower, Coffin, Sail, Silver, Barrel, Paper and Pen, to designate the merchandises sold on them. There are long “tube” houses that resemble indoors alleys. Hutongs are just like fallopian tubes, uteruses and, well, you know, for the whole neighborhood.
My first night, I stayed at a private home. I had my own room, but no toilet. In fact, there was none in the entire house. The communal shitter was down the alley. That wasn’t so magical. As well documented by Orwell, many Londoners lived that way in the early 20th century.
(Listen, man, I’m the least picky about accommodations. In the Mekong Delta, I paid about four bucks to sleep in a plywood box. In the US, I curled up under a truck in near freezing weather. I’ve used many buses and bus stations as hotels. To save a few bucks, I simply bought alcohol and walked around nearly all night, until the train or bus station opened. The sun rose, the sky blushed and I was on my way, on a cushioned seat.)
Anyway, a key paradox of Communism is that it retards progress. Under it, China smelled Taiwan’s and Singapore’s exhaust. North Korea is decades behind South Korea. Guided by Pol Pot, Cambodians marched into the Stone Age. A Canadian friend told me that when he arrived in Laos in 1993, the country only had one working traffic light, and he could identify each car in Vientiane, there were so few.
State monopolies stunt collective and individual growth. How can they not? Worse, government tyranny degrades individuals, when not killing them, by the millions. Still, Communism seduces, because it’s “progressive.”
In Belgrade, I’m again in a Communist-era dwelling. Paying just $385 a month, I get a reasonably spacious room, kitchen and bathroom, with even a washing machine and free wifi included. My kitchen faucet has no hot water, but that’s no biggie. I simply boil water to pour on my dirty dishes. My shower stall is like an upright coffin, which is fine. With only a few ticks left, I can use the rehearsal. I’m getting a great deal, so don’t kill my landlord.
At my first supermarket here, I bought some instant “wedding soup,” I kid you not, but svadbena supa turned out to be just soggy croutons in a salty bouillon. Each packet was, like, less than a buck. You can get addicted to anything, I swear, for should I ever turn into a disgusting vegetable, I want that broth intravenously dripped into my aspiring cadaver. Thank you, Lord.
Hirsute and becalmed, my Serbian landlord seems a stereotypical Druid priest. In the correct lighting, plus a tab of acid, there’s a golden, swirvy halo hovering above his beatific face, but when we finally had a chance to chat over coffee, Wuk, let’s just call him that, admitted he was just an old hippie.
“When I grew up here, with my long hair and beard, people often said, ‘You belong in America,’ but when I finally went to America, I was told to cut my hair and beard off.” He laughed. “I had a job with Mister Softee.”
“Mister Softee, the ice cream truck.”
“That’s hilarious. Where was this?”
“Chicago. I was in a student exchange program.”
“Did you go anywhere else in the States?”
“I went to New York, and Ocean City, Maryland. That was nice.”
“How come there are so many Serbs in Chicago?”
“They went there after World War II, to work in the steel factories.”
“I don’t know.”
“Gary is a mess, man. There are no more steel mills in America. The biggest American steel mill was in Pittsburgh, but that’s shut down, and the one in Bethlehem is a casino.” I paused to let this sink in. “Sands Casino bought Bethlehem Steel, built a casino on its ground, but they never tore it down, so the chimneys, you know, the stacks, are still there, because they look cool.”
Wuk smiled. I laughed, “So every day, there are all these buses coming into Bethlehem from New York City, carrying Chinese, mostly. New York doesn’t have a casino, you see, so all these Chinese have to come to Bethlehem, to lose all their money!”
Wuk is well-traveled. Beyond Europe, he had visited Lebanon and Israel. “With a Yugoslavian passport, I could visit both Communist and Capitalist countries!”
In the 60’s, Tito issued passports quite freely. In nearby Albania, if someone managed to escape, the state arrested a family member.
Wuk had just returned from Greece, “I was on a beach, and it was almost empty, because of the coronavirus!” The next day, he was headed for Kosovo, “I’ll be in the mountains. I love nature.”
“Is there any problem with you going there as a Serb?”
It was pretty ugly not so long ago. Wuk remembered, “I had a pizzeria in Brac. That’s in Croatia now. The Muslims wanted to build a mosque there, but the Croatians didn’t want it, so there was a problem. The Muslims had to run into my pizzeria and hide.”
“Then there was a problem between Croatians and Serbs. All these people came into my restaurant and threw my chairs into the ocean!” Wuk shook his head. “I knew these people. I drank beer with them. Soon after that, I put everything on a truck and left.”
“So you knew these people?”
“I knew them all! We were friends. My wife always went to Brac for vacation, since she was a child.” Wuk lowered his right hand to the height of a dog.
“That’s amazing. What do you think caused all this?”
Henry Adams did say, “Politics is the systematic organization of hatreds,” but those divisions must already exist.
Wuk, “Three years after the fighting, my wife returned to Brac, and everything was OK.” He laughed. “Before she went, she was a little nervous, you know, because the people she knew, maybe they had a relative, a husband or a brother, who died during the war.”
“But everything was OK? They were friends again?”
“Everything was OK. I don’t understand it. If I talk to somebody about politics, and we don’t agree, it’s OK. Let’s just play football!”
We talked about the States some more, about the bloody chaos erupting daily in too many places to list.
“Just look at what’s happening in Chicago, man,” I said. “Did you go all over when you were there? There are neighborhoods people just avoid. Black neighborhoods.” I chuckled. Wuk flinched slightly.
“No, I didn’t go to too many places.”
“Good for you. In Philadelphia, I went everywhere, because I’m a writer, and I was curious.”
“Once when I was waiting for a bus, a police car stopped. The cop asked what I was doing there, then he gave me a ride to where I was going. That actually happened twice.”
“He could see you didn’t know where you were!” I laughed. “Here in Belgrade, I can walk anywhere, any time, but you can’t do that in most American cities, man. Every day in Philly, there were, like, two murders, and almost all of the murderers were black. I’m not kidding. You know, the black murder rate is six or seven times higher than whites’.”
Clearly frowning, Wuk said, “That’s because they’re poorer.”
“It’s not just that… Most Americans don’t have time to figure it out, man. They just avoid black neighborhoods. Most blacks also avoid black neighborhoods, if they have a choice.”
We moved on from the uneasy topic.
Checking New York and Chicago news for my last article, I discovered two trivial items, by American standards. A 28-year-old black man had just been arrested for stabbing four sleeping homeless people in neck, killing one. Collecting aluminum cans, an 81-year-old man was slashed in the face by a black, totally unprovoked. The attacker and his two companions have not been caught.
Here in Belgrade, there’s a Patris Lumumba Student Dormitory, and the Red Star’s leading scorer, for 2+ seasons, is a Comorian, El Fardou Ben. (The Partizan’s leading scorer is a Japanese, Takuma Asano.) On the streets, I seldom see blacks, and though the Chinese are clearly here (1,373 according to the 2011 census), they’re hidden inside their restaurants and stores. Before the current tourist drought, Chinese were quite visible in major Serbian cities, I’ve been told, and signs in touristy areas are in Serbian, English, Chinese and Russian. (In South Korea, subway train announcements are in Korean, English, Chinese and Japanese.)
What I haven’t seen in Serbia is a Tito statue, though I’m sure there must exist a few somewhere. Without uproar, his bronze likenesses had been removed.
Tucked into a corner of Café Liberte, there’s a small double portrait of Tito and Ceaușescu, the Romanian Communist dictator. Thanks to Jewish brainwashing, only right-wing despots are condemned, while genocidal Commie leaders are lionized as great leaders of “the people.” Communism bred, challenged and inspired Fascism.
Looking so harmless and gay, Ceaușescu reminded me of Liberace, but the dude jailed and killed plenty of people. At age 71, this vampire finally sniffed garlic. With mobs howling for his neck, and hundreds of soldiers volunteering to shoot him, Ceaușescu and his wife were executed together.
As for Tito, he’s often depicted as not so bad, but any man who runs a country for nearly three decades without an election is clearly a dictator.
Belgrade’s most monumental building is The Church of Saint Sava. Began in 1935, its construction was interruped by World War II, then banned by the Communists, so that it could only resume in 1984, four years after Tito’s death. In 1985, a hundred thousand joyous Serbs attended a liturgy at this magnificent temple.
Though the writer Momo Kapor never suffered the worst of Tito’s reign, he still describes it as an era “full of deprivation and misery—a time when beautiful things were so scarce,” when “the bravest fled to the West across mountain ranges or by hiding between the wheels of a railroad coach heading west.”
Recently trapped into renting a depressing room by the ocean, Kapor laments, “It reminds you of your shattered youth, a psychic space you’ve spent a lifetime fleeing, only to return to it now, on your vacation.”
Even when praising the folksy šajkača, Kapor contrasts it with “the terrorism of Tito’s caps.”
Though Yugoslavia’s Communism was mild compared to perhaps everywhere else, it was evil enough, so Kapor’s bitterness is understandable.
Even when you’re not killed, jailed or starved, your psychic integrity is continually violated, so just imagine enduring that for year after year, or even an entire lifetime. No man anywhere likes to be told how to think correctly about everything.
With its budding political correct idiocy, America is just getting a taste of this Jewish poison.
Jewish bullshit is truth! Jewish war is the spreading of democracy! Jewish brainwashing is higher education! Jewish revenge is healing! Jewish us-against-them is universal brotherhood! Jewish destruction of your heritage is the new enlightenment! Jewish divide-and-conquer is more dining options! Jewish slave trading is Black Lives Matter! Jewish genocide is Remembering the Holocaust©! What a gas!
Although Jewish thinking seared the 20th century, the bloodiest ever, it was also an era of petrochemical affluence, so for those whose lives weren’t wrecked, it may have been fantastic even, but that joy ride is over.
With your politicians all bought or browbeaten by Jews, your Jewish media perverting all facts, your cities in chaos and burning, your kids addicted to porn or sexually confused (and hating themselves if they’re white), your common folks savagely caricatured and your religion relentlessly mocked, it should be clear by now you’re living in a world of Jewish shell games, mind rapes and final solutions.
Jewish hell is utopia, for morons, corpses and hypocrites.
Wake up, man, and I don’t mean woke, obviously.
Man up before it’s too late.
Failing to do so is worse than toxic.
It’s almost midnight.