To my great embarrassment a couple of years ago I lauded the uplift of Trump clone Boris Johnson as a great leap forward for Britishkind. It was not, most emphatically, although it did solemnify the proximal goals of Brexit — but unfortunately without the sort of steel-spined dedication necessary to make Brexit really work. And now Britain is saddled with another neocon scumbag as PM, and we are right back where we started — but at least it seems like the British situation is legal, unlike the US situation with its obviously stolen election…
But that is not the point of this post. The point of this post is to express the deep and truly sincere sorrow that ASD feels for the passing of Queen Elizabeth II. It is true that my daughter is named for “Queen Elizabeth”, although we have been somewhat reticent about choosing which Queen Elizabeth — both of them are pretty cool, and to be perfectly honest, my mother is also named Elizabeth, so there is that confound as well. But beyond all of that, the Queen clearly represents a link to a better time — surely we agree on this? — before the grayness of the Cold War and the Culture War and all the weird egregoric death matches that have followed the “end of history”. There was a time, ever so brief, when the world was united behind the idea that good had defeated evil, and the future was a shining bridge of possibility into the stars, and Elizabeth II was perhaps the most obvious icon of that epoch. One could perhaps argue that her “annus terribilis” in the 1990s was shared by all — the final collapse of postwar exuberance, the failure of the “peace dividend” and the Russian Commonwealth — but at least for me she remained a bridge to the old world all the way up to the present day. When the commie shitbags were dragging down statues in 2020, Elizabeth II was still Queen. When they set fire to Notre Dame, Elizabeth II was still Queen. When the best and brightest in the US were cheerleading the castration of pre-teens, Elizabeth II was still Queen. Now, all of those demons are still running wild through our society, like werewolves on a full moon, but Elizabeth II is no more. And what besides her remains from that old world, other than our “mystic chords of memory”?
Elizabeth II was the head of a Church that, in its heyday, would have burned me at the stake. But now her descendants and I stand facing an implacable enemy that is mutual, and apparently unstoppable. Can the memory of this indefatigable, superlative example of English womanhood spur us to action to save what can be saved? I hope so, but looking at her heir, the namesake of two usurped Charleses of the past, I despair… may the gods of the green and pleasant fields of my ancestors give me hope in these dark days!
The Antisocial Darwinist 