A gloomy message sent by Seneca III from the multicultural dominion formerly known as England.
On the Eve of Destruction
by Seneca III
CHANGE is both a constant and a variable; a constant because it is always with us, a variable because its flavour and intensity changes over time. In itself this is not a bad thing, but when change takes a wrong turning in the road and descends into an age of national decay and suicidal lunacy such as that which is now upon us, we must either return to the start line and begin again or accept that we will have to sacrifice our integrity, honour, way of life and independence… and our country as well.
Barry McGuire got it spot on. This song is old, but it doesn’t age:
“Better days will return, we will be with our friends again, we will be with our families again, we will meet again.”
— Her Majesty the Queen, 5th April 2020.
Over half a century ago I swore an oath, the same oath that all persons enlisting or commissioned into the British Armed Forces, except Royal Navy Officers, are required to attest to or equivalently affirm:
I _____ swear by Almighty God (or do solemnly, and truly declare and affirm) that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Her Heirs and Successors, and that I will, as in duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend Her Majesty, Her Heirs and Successors, in Person, Crown and Dignity against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of Her Majesty, Her Heirs and Successors, and of the (admirals / generals/ air officers depending on the particular Service) and officers set over me. (So help me God.)
[Until recently no oath of allegiance was sworn by members of the Royal Navy, which is not maintained under an Act of Parliament but by the royal prerogative. This is still the case for officers as, by nature of the Navy’s authority deriving from the Crown and not Parliament, the loyalty of naval officers to the Sovereign is taken for granted.]
However, Her Majesty is no more an immortal than you or I. Her time will come as it will for all of us, as evolution has designed us to eventually shuffle of this mortal coil in order to make room for the next lot. The sad thing is that her immediate successor does not inspire confidence in me, to put it mildly, and this causes me to have to seriously reconsider that part of my oath that refers so repetitively to ‘Heirs and Successors’.
Yet there may be hope for the second in line and his charming, duty-conscious family if they have not been too badly afflicted by the verbal ramblings, divided loyalties and ideological circumlocutions of the current Crown Prince. I do hope so. Our Constitutional Monarchy is a wonderful thing, and serves as a safe harbour for all of our hopes and custodian of much of our physical and historic heritage that the Wokists are doing everything in their power to rub from the pages of history. I also have nightmare visions of a Republic led perhaps by a President Blair or Johnson or Starmer or their ilk.
Anyway, enough of me. So where, now, do we find ourselves?
Not necessarily, I suspect, looking out across bloodstained foreign fields and barricades again, but inward, to our homelands, to the cities, the occupied territories where several generations of feral incomers go about their daily business of crime, drug peddling, benefit scrounging, mugging and gratuitous violence mostly beyond the control of an overstretched Woke and Common-Purposed constabulary carrying out selective law enforcement and led by serial incompetents who are supported by a Judiciary fully on board with the same agenda, none of whom our spineless government will or can do anything about, as more reinforcements for these ferals come piling ashore on a daily basis aided and abetted by France.
This could, and probably will, lead to nationwide violence in the very near future. Or, to be precise, war, and we will learn more about the reality of survival in a month of combat with our brothers and sisters in arms by our sides than during a lifetime of reading books, believing the disinformation peddled by the media or studying in a Woke Academia and then going on to a lucrative future in a polluted Cesspit-on-Thames. Combat means death, pain, blood, fear comradeship, filth and boredom. And the sheer wonder of it all is the amount of pounding a human being can tolerate and still maintain his or her sanity. Some, sadly though, do not.
For obvious reasons war is mostly the domain the young, for it is they who fight battles. They have the energy and a subliminal sense of immortality — their world, this world, is young to them like they are, and they want to seize it. Yet, as we grow older we begin to wonder if it is or was really worth it. There is always a search for answers, but few if any ever come easily. And those that do are transients wandering in and out of consciousness, perhaps because of a healthy scepticism which in itself is a valuable asset, but one we must not let blind us nor deny us an ability to at least mentally prepare by observing those things that are happening around us and then projecting them into a possible near future.
And, finally, we must not give up no matter what happens, but treat each morning as the beginning of another day, no matter how gruesome that day turns out to be, and accept that in the time of Homo sapiens sapiens’ dominance acquisitive aggression is the norm, and can only be contained and repelled by an opposite and more than equal force.
We must soldier on to the end as best we can, serviceman or civilian, male and female alike. That is the way of man, always has been and ever more shall be so. There is no new thing under the sun.
— Seneca III
For links to previous essays by Seneca III, see the Seneca III Archives.