The NPC meme at work

Speaking of White supremacist clowns I was reading Kenaz Filan’s dismantling of Cyndi Brannen’s article on White advantage within contemporary Witchcraft traditions when I got bored and decided to see what’s been going on at Patheos Pagan since I haven’t bothered visiting in a while. And boy was there a lot of stuff advocating segregation and treating people differently based on race and political affiliation; stuff on collective guilt, blood debt and quotas; bizarre conspiracy theories and paranoid thinking, as well as a generally paternalistic and condescending tone taken towards minorities. (Examples of which can be found here, here, here, here, and here – and that’s all within the last month or so, as I got nauseous reading this shit and didn’t bother digging any deeper.) I mean it’s all dressed up in acceptable leftist icing and the buzzwords du jour but the core ideas (and much of the language, in the more explicit of the bunch) within these Patheos articles are the same as you’d find on 4chan, reddit, Breitbart or the Daily Stormer. I know there’s the whole horseshoe theory to account for this, but it’s quite something to see it with your own eyes. We really do need to be wary of infiltration from radical, hate-filled identitarians who would steal our symbols and traditions and twist them out of true – whether they are wearing Hugo Boss or Birkenstocks and balaklavas.  

It’s ok to wear greasepaint.

Well, fuck. According to Right Wing Watch clowns are now a symbol of White Nationalism and racism. 


I wonder if that includes Jerry Lewis and Charlie Chaplin or if it’s just limited to clowns of the amphibian variety.

Either way, this is no laughing matter – giant, monstrous clowns are going to destroy the world! And that’s not the Rachel Maddow/Don Lemon crowd talking, it’s straight outta the Eddas:

Sails a ship from the east with shades from Hel;
O’er the ocean stream steers it Loki;
In the wake of the Wolf rush fífils megir
Who with baleful Byleist’s brother do fare.
(Völuspá 51)

As scholar Randi Eldevik explains in Less than Kind: Giants in Germanic Tradition:

The only attested meaning of the Old Norse word fífil is ‘fool, clown, boor.’ Yet in England, the closely-related Anglo-Saxon word fifel appears exclusively with the meaning of ‘monster.’ In Beowulf, line 104, Grendel’s home is called fifelcynnes eard [land of monster-kin].

Randi goes on to connect the word to “swollen”, “voracious”, and “fond of wine, drunken” – attributes encountered equally among clowns and monsters in my experience.

But Nazism? Not so much. They’re far more likely to be into anarcho-libertarianism. 

Read better books

So this crazy White supremacist claimed that White people “own time” (ably rebutted by Tim Pool) and worse, “if time had a race it would be White.”

Which reminded me of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 7: A Mad Tea-Party:

Alice sighed wearily. `I think you might do something better with the time,’ she said, `than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.’

`If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, `you wouldn’t talk about wasting IT. It’s HIM.’

`I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice.

`Of course you don’t!’ the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. `I dare say you never even spoke to Time!’

Besides, that is just an utterly absurd proposition, man – Time doesn’t look anything like White people. According to Orpheus this is how Chronos looks:

It arose from water and earth, a serpent with heads of a bull and lion grown upon it, and in the middle the face of a God, and it has wings upon its shoulders, and is called Ageless Chronos and Herakles. (Damascius, De Principiis 123)

For more on this contentious topic I direct you here.

In closing, I would just like to say keep your hate out of our cosmology. (Unless you are Empedokles.)

Piety begins in the home.



While reading Aelian’s Historical Miscellany I came across this passage which gives us a truly unique glimpse into the domestic cultus of a public priest of Dionysos. Not only do we find a shared family altar, but even his young children know how to make proper and just offerings. Bolded for emphasis. 

There was a man from Mytilene called Makareus, who was a priest of Dionysos. Though to all appearances a mild and reasonable person, he was the most unscrupulous of men. When a visitor arrived and deposited with him a quantity of gold, Makareus dug a hole in a corner of the temple and buried the gold. Later the visitor came to ask for its return. Makareus took him in as if about to hand it back, murdered him and dug up the gold, putting the visitor’s body in its place. He thought that in this way he could escape divine as well as human attention. But matters did not turn out that way. How so? A short time elapsed, and the biennial festival of the God took place. He made opulent sacrifices. While he was occupied with the Bacchic celebrations his two sons were left at home. Imitating their father’s sacrificial ritual they approached the family altar while the offerings were still burning. The younger exposed his neck, the elder found a knife lying unused and killed his brother as a sacrificial offering. Members of the household who witnessed this raised a cry of horror. Hearing the shouts their mother jumped up, and seeing that one son was dead, while the other still held the blood-stained knife, she snatched from the altar the half-burnt log and with this killed her son. The news reached Makareus. He left the ceremony with the utmost haste and anxiety, burst into the home, and killed his own wife with the thyrsos he was carrying. The outrageous acts became generally known; Makareus was arrested and tortured; he confessed to what he had done in the temple, and during the ordeal he expired. The victim of his injustice received public honours and burial at the demand of the God. So Makareus paid no contemptible penalty, as the poets have it, with his own life, that of his wife and furthermore those of his sons. (13.2)

To Elen of the Ways

For Ellen.

I call to you, secretive Goddess of the woods,
the grassy steppes, the marshland rich in flowers
and the unheimlich realm of dream and vision;
you who run through the night with the herds,
you who teach the sorcerer to hunt and to travel between worlds,
you who hold the luck of the tribe and the sovereignty of the land
within your majestic and moonwhite hands,
you who respond only to skill, cleverness
and those whose hearts are unsullied,
you who laugh at man’s attempts to constrain and define you
for you are a mighty and shapeshifting Goddess.
O Elen, ancient and inexorable one,
beautiful as a maiden in a linen dress and ivy crown
who, entranced, crosses the clearing to stroke the soft throat
of a placid fawn munching leaves of your sacred tree,
enticing as the mysteries you hide behind your inhuman eyes,
exciting as the flames that dance and leap when sacrifices are given to you
and men and women once more
lift their voices to you in joyous song;
this I pray, O antlered One with face of bone,
cloak of deerskin, and spirals of red ochre
upon your lovely arms and chest,
lead those who have honored you rightly
truly and safely through the winding
and beguiling ways of that place
until they have seen what they need to,
and may return to their people
and be received again by the starry ancestors.

The whole world smiles with you


When you’re smilin’, when you’re smilin’
The whole world smiles with you
When you’re laughin’, when you’re laughin’
The sun comes shinin’ through

But when you’re cryin’, you bring on the rain
So stop your sighin’, be happy again
Keep on smilin’, ’cause when you’re smilin’
The whole world smiles with you

When you’re smilin’, when you’re smilin’
The whole world smiles with you
When you’re laughin’, when you’re laughin’
That sun comes shinin’ through

But when you’re cryin’, you bring on the rain
So stop your sighin’, be happy again
Keep on smilin’, ’cause when you’re smilin’
The whole world smiles with you