Muslim refugees from the savage killing and fighting in Syria are swarming into Europe, threatening to overturn thousands of years of European history and culture, and the Europeans, locked in Marxist thinking, theory and practice, don’t know what to do about it. These people have no right to invade your house and demand you take them in, yet that is exactly what Europe is allowing to happen. Europe is living in a Marxist fantasy land, and it may very well be the death of them. Standing quietly on the quilted border between fantasy and reality, I was struck by how the land of fantasy shimmered gloriously in the morning sun, how beautiful the gently rolling hills, how peaceful the clean-swept villages. Standing just over the border was an elderly bearded man in a black frock coat, hands behind his back, staring out across the foul and fetid land of reality.

Herr Marx, I said, my name is Walt
He shook his head, said, All my fault
Too many took my words with salt
Creating not the whole gestalt
Reality is still right here
With fantasy so very near
Unrealized and thus I fear
My words perhaps were not so clear
So close that I hear people sing
Hosannahs to eternal Spring
Where every man is queen or king
Allowed he is to do his thing
I cry a lot quite late at night
The fantasy I know is right
We must relieve the poor man’s plight
Replace reality’s sore blight
Around us Muslims marched in ranks
And crossed the border, center, flanks
Not stopped by rivers or steep banks
To fantasy with Allah’s thanks

He was Beli Tsar, White Knight, in the language of his birth, but in a Romanized world he was Belisarius. Is Donald Trump a Belisarius? A Cincinnatus? Byzantium lived because Belisarius lived. Rome lived because Cincinnatus lived. Will the United States live because Donald Trump lived? It is truly said that no one and nothing lives forever, and so it is with every state, large or small, powerful or powerless, mean or great. Is the United States poised to enter that great decline despite a President Donald Trump? Byzantium and Rome are no longer with us, and for all of us, man or state, the end will come, as surely as the sun will rise and the birds will sing.

They called the young man Beli Tsar
White Knight, they said, you will go far
Byzantium his rightful home
But still his eyes cast west to Rome
A Rome a shell of Rome before
Torn down the jointed gates of war
The city sacked of slaves and gold
A Rome once vibrant, sick and old
Byzantium though still stood fast
Another thousand years ‘twould last
Until at last the knee would bend
And by the sword would see the end
And so it is for every state
Howsoever mean or great
A Belisarius will come
And by his strength the world for some
Will seem much blessed in wondrous ways
With scent filled nights and golden days
And yet the days are numbered fast
And soon enough they will not last

Veni, vici: I came, I conquered. There are two kinds of migrants, those who want to leave and those who don’t. The United States is flooded with migrants who want to leave their ancestral homes, and Europe is flooded with migrants who reluctantly leave their ancestral homes by forces beyond their control. Mankind has always been in migration. DNA has traced the migration pattern of the pre-historic Gauls from Anatolia eastward to the center of the great Asian grasslands where they met the Scythians who drove them back west, to arrive, many generations later, in Spain. In historical times the Huns pushed the Goths out of their ancestral homes, whereupon Valens, Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, invited them to settle in Thrace, and shortly thereafter Adrianople happened. Fortunately for the Eastern Empire (and the later Byzantium) the Goths eventually became good Byzantines, but it was too late for Valens. History is rife with accounts of unwelcome immigrants overwhelming the reluctant host country, which seems likely to be the inevitable end of both a passive Europe and a not quite as passive but ultimately just as doomed American Republic.

It matters not whose God you serve
And not to be too preachy
You will be graded on a curve
It’s veni and then vici
Your progeny will curse the day
You smiled and let in strangers
They’ll curse the simple minded way
You shrugged away the dangers
Oh yes the land will still be there
The rivers, lakes and mountains
But strangers now in charge won’t care
If water’s in the fountains
Or if the roads are still well paved
Your children strong and healthy
Or if endangered smelts are saved
Or you’re no longer wealthy
Invite them in or not invite
The time is short until you
Stand up and raise your fists and fight
For if you don’t they’ll kill you

Hillary looks to be in trouble, Joe Biden looks to be getting ready, Obama looks to be moving the pieces around on the big chessboard of his erratic mind. The Obama/Holder/Lynch Justice Department, including the FBI, would not be looking into Hillary’s emails any more than they were interested in Lois Lerner’s IRS emails, so obviously Obama wants Hillary destroyed. But why? The answer is ready to hand, and he has given hints in the recent past by saying if he ran again he would win. And he probably would, given the ultra-sophisticated fraud machine that worked so well in 2012. Obama is playing the game of setting them up and knocking them down in order to be the only one standing, at which point he will say he is reluctantly running for a third term in order to rescue the Democratic Party and to avoid a Constitutional crisis, knowing full well the 22^nd Amendment will not be a barrier.

Who’s that in the pillory
Sure looks like old friend Hillary
And golly, here’s a bummer
It looks like girlfriend Hummer
Whose mug shot’s next to Bill’s?
Why little Cheryl Mills
Obama says this stinks
While smiling like the sphinx
The plan is going well
It’s time to weave the spell
The empty sleigh now sits
Beside the turning spits
Where roasting on the coals
The creatures of the polls
Cry water, master, please
As Barack takes his ease
Obama aught sixteen
As all the wolves unseen
Return from whence they came
It’s how you play the game

Donald Trump is getting so much air time on the major cable and broadcast networks that none of the other Republican candidates can breathe, so much air is The Donald sucking out of the building, never mind the room. Huge, cheering crowds, huge television audiences, all to hear him say, in an entertaining way, what he has said before, that he will build a wall and that all illegal immigrants in the country will be sent home, a sure fire sign that the plank owners of the country want illegals to be stopped coming over the border in chartered bus convoys. Trump has found the message that will get him elected, and this has led to hand-wringing among Republican establishment types who just want to go along to get along. But the fire has been lit, it is getting plenty of oxygen to support combustion, and it will not burn out until it consumes all the fuel. It may be we are about to get our country back, not from the illegals but from the radical Left who wish to destroy what we have been in order to take us to a utopian leftist paradise like they have in Zimbabwe, with they, the Left, in power forever.

A vacuum is something abhorred
By nature or so it is said
But not when the voters are bored
And tired of the old talking head
The vacuum The Donald creates
In which only he fills his lungs
Results in an envy that grates
On the guys stranded on bottom rungs
The Donald has fired the crowd
By telling them truths unalloyed
He’s rude and he’s crude and he’s loud
And gets all the fogies annoyed
The race is now tortoise and hare
The tortoises slow and unsure
Their message falls flat on dead air
No longer will voters endure
The wishy washed words of the pols
Whom no one believes anymore
They try sticking pins into dolls
While Trump laughs and runs up the score

I have written at length of alternate universes and the infinity of infinite universes, but the closest of these are the universes next door, where ancient people who have shared the same stars and sun as we, have lived their lives, spoken their languages and practiced their religions, then disappeared, leaving only vague rumors and perhaps a drawer of grave goods in a museum to attest to their existence. But not all have disappeared without a trace, for there are some next door universes we have the knowing of. Such a universe is the universe of the Celts, a haunted people, who have left us ethereally haunting songs and beautiful raven haired maidens to sing them.

The children say at dusk in woodlands near
Is heard the sound of singing soft and clear
And dimly seen are maids of raven hair
All radiant of youth and beauty fair
The children say at times throughout the night
There dance the faeries under faerie light
And ghostly figures walk among the trees
As Eochaid Ollathair takes his ease
We do not know just how they may have felt
We know not what defined the ancient Celt
He was a warrior, artist, poet too
And fought with naked body painted blue
Tiberius had thrust them out of Gaul
And Claudius had pushed them to the wall
They found the fields of Ireland free of snow
And vowed this was as far as they would go
The land was green, as green as green could be
And there their ghosts still walk the valleys free
And to this day at dusk in woodlands near
Is heard the sound of singing, soft and clear
And seen are ghostly maids of raven hair
All radiant of youth and beauty fair

Our leaders and betters believe that what they think and what they do reflects the actual world, when in fact there are worlds where their actions would be completely wrong and thus counterfactual. I spoke to a man from a counterfactual world recently and asked what he thought about the war in the Middle East. He said, “What war is that? The Ottomans had it under control last I heard.” He then explained exactly what had happened.

A Hittite soldier killed by the Mizziri
A death that fate held to be counterfactual
Led to a world that differed much too clearly
From what you foolish people think is actual
The Hittite DNA that thus was missing
From future gene pools that produced your times
Resulted in some delicate moist kissing
Producing numbers that were all sub-primes
Thus many people were not born to  you here
And then of course were those who really were
Who weren’t born in my world which is quite near
As well some hims of yours to us were her
In short no Washington no revolution
We all remained under the British crown
You see it is explained by evolution
In 1914 no World War went down
We had no Hitler. Duce or Joe Stalin
So naturally our paths differed from yours
We had of course our creatures who went prowlin’
And guys who rode in on a snow white horse
The names were different but the history written
About the same when all is said and done
But we give thanks that you not us were smitten
With treasonously reptiles like The One

Possibly the most important election since 1860 is upon us, and what seems crystal clear to many, that it matters how you vote, is not at all clear to others. Four or eight more years of radical Leftist Obama policies, in the form of a Hillary Clinton or Joe Biden administration, will mean the death of the country we once were, for the Democrats will have won the race to turn us into a Third World, balkanized plantation, ruled in perpetuity by the Democrats. The Dems can only win in 2016 by fraud and the votes of the pig ignorant grievance classes, coupled with traditional low information Democrat voters who have no idea beyond tribal loyalty what they are voting for.

When I think of the things I’ve seen
Back when I was a lad
Life to my folks was grim and mean
To me was not so bad
My shining world of summer time
Lay at my sunburned feet
With seeming millions trees to climb
And skating in the street
I saw the Hindenburg fly by
And small skywriting planes
At night the lonesome whistle cry
Of passing long freight trains
I saw young neighbors join the fight
From Tarawa to Rome
Just guys who formed our nation’s might
And most of them came home
I saw the names that most now know
Ike, Churchill, FDR
El Duce, Hitler, Uncle Joe
How near and yet so far
Iron curtains then, lace curtains now
As Putin turns on charm
He smiles and takes what we allow
And say he means no harm
I saw the Dems turn genocide
Loose in the Middle East
I saw the Lefty Dems decide
To loose the Islam beast
Oh yes I miss the good old days
So good because we won
And worry as our strength decays
At the hands of The One
Who says a country founded by
White guys who all owned slaves
Deserves to linger then to die
At hand of Muslim waves
The day the Hindenburg flew past
A high skywriter wrote
Bad times will come but will not last
It matters how you vote

He laughed in delight. How absolutely beautiful, he thought, how absolutely wonderful! He turned and headed for the bottom, the sparkling bubble stream following him, passing through giant ferns, startling the tiny creatures that lived there. He reached for one of the tiny creatures and held it in his hand, examining it intently. He wished he could talk to it, wished he knew what it was thinking, what it was feeling. As he swam away, several large creatures darted in and attacked the tiny figures, tearing at them, shredding the flesh. He watched in horror as a cloud of blood and flesh and viscera rose around him. He woke then, sweating, and knew it was no dream, knew he was not the swimmer or the attackers, but one of the tiny creatures whose duty it is to obey their betters or be crushed.

The dark black water, placid, still
The surface smooth as milk
Invited all who had the will
To gain the furs and silk
From Samarkand along the road
Where spices filled the trees
Where men with giant footsteps strode
And weary, took their ease
But in the water dangers lurked
For dreams turn dark and true
Where creatures vile already perked
Would share not dreams with you
And should you be untimely waked
By your own silent scream
Your cry for water goes unslaked
As in another dream
You see the otherworld you left
The world of powerlust
Where shaven heads of men are cleft
And dreams are turned to dust

We may never know if the actions of the Obama administration are the result of incompetence or malice. We will not recover from the unmitigated disaster that is Barack Obama by electing an institutional Republican, all of whom have proved over the years to be Democrat Lite, and sometimes not so Lite. Therefore we need a gale force wind to sweep the governing class out, a tidal wave to clean the noisome stables of lobbyists and bureaucrats and drones, and an epochal earthquake to bring down the whole rotten political edifice that has stifled the country and betrayed the middle class working man and woman. In short, we need a man like Donald Trump, a man who eschews the proverbial white horse, preferring his 767.

The country’s stagnant, we need Trump
Obama left the place a dump
A man to make the rubble jump
That is Trump
We need to get over the hump
The Democrats we need to thump
In victory a big fist bump
Thanks to Trump
Enthusiasm he can pump
A First Lady who’s not a frump
A man to give the Left a lump
We need a Trump