The chronically atheistic are starting to notice that there is a holy war going on, and their only response is to make light of the very idea that daemons exist. Take slingers like Michael “Fats” Tracey drank deeply from the draught of “materialism” and are intellectually incapable of engaging with ideas and concepts involving the immaterial. They are also incapable of recognizing that they are the “Sunday Christians” of the progressive faith. They may not believe as deeply as the prog zealots that shoot up church schools, assassinate campus debaters, or side with black murderers at every opportunity, but they are no less members of the Church of Progress. Oftentimes they are more comfortable doing their devotionals under the auspices of Scienceism because it lets them retain the delusion that they are being reasonable and objective.
Last year I tangled with neopaganism. The discussion between Christians and neopagans is always fraught and inevitably breaks down into acrimonious personal attacks, and is almost always a waste of time. There are important things to be discussed, and there are a substantial number of good men who ascribe to neopaganism, men who I stand with and behind with no reservations, full stop. But it has become a trivial and futile merry-go-round and I think it’s best to leave it be by default. But there is one aspect, one talking point really, that I will not let go of:
This is not an attack, and I am not going to engage with any “Yeah, but…”s or shrill Whataboutist whining. The fact is that the godless American elites in entertainment, the Academy, and politics love to play dress up with a paganist aesthetic. Some folks like to point out the distinction between paganism and satanism, but in my personal, subjective opinion, it’s a distinction without a difference. The exceptions I have found, both linked in the previous paragraph, prove the rule for me: a lot of people like to play pretend even as they actively consort with daemons. Whether they got bullied by Christian Chad in middle school or labor under the delusion that Nature’s God owes them an explanation for why bad things happen, many of the people who truck with principalities and powers do so purely to register their discontent with God.
On the one hand, I empathize. It took me a long time to recognize that my suffering, my pain and trauma, is mine and mine alone, and it does not give me license to spit in the face of Nature’s God. Nor is it a valid excuse for tolerating explicit evil. The slippery slope is real, and even if you are just playing make-believe for Halloween, symbols have power. When you take up the tools and symbols of the powers, they notice you, and they respond accordingly, whether you realize it or not, whether you believe in it or not.
If you purge the baseline materialism ubiquitous in our culture, the softcore denials of the spiritual world and the rejection of the power of faith & symbolism, and look at art and entertainment objectively, you start to see that the celebration of evil and the daemonic is everywhere. Once you see it, the bell never stops ringing.
I don't often write about movies or music, but when I do I am no longer surprised when the essay never gets finished. It's hard for me to organize my thoughts in a way that stays interesting over the period of time it takes to wend and weave to and through. I usually get distracted by something more within my wheelhouse and the piece languishes in Drafts purgatory. More directly influential is the fact that I have basically gone "pop culture" free across the board. This might sound like hipster-fag onanism, and by some measure it is, but it happens to be the truth. Part of this is being a parent of young children, but I can't claim that it was any different before I had them.
The last time I went to a movie theater to see movie may have been Get Out. The last time I was excited for a movie and saw it at midnight was District 9. The last time I paid to go to a show was at the behest of my wife to see a metal band at a bar. I've seen bands and live music since, but it's never the purpose for why we are going somewhere, it just happens to be there in addition to the real reason. Ditto for movies. The last time we watched a movie it was Dune from questionable provenance on a tablet + Bluetooth speaker.
Interesting people most always have interesting things to say, but I think we can all agree that this is not the proper garden in which to grow valid and valuable commentary on pop culture. Nevertheless…
During a bout of insomnia I was doomscrolling, bouncing between Twitter & YouTube and hating myself more with each thumb swipe. I was looking for an interminably long history video with the voice of a somnolent Brit to ease my weary eyes when a combination of font and frame grabbed my attention:
The color/contrast combination was appealing and I stopped scrolling for a moment, so the video began to play silently in the background. When I saw what it was, who it was, I was about to scroll away in mild disgust when I started thinking about the last time I saw this particular whore of Babylon getting millions of pairs of eyeballs on her janky face and unremarkable body1. The imagery soon became something I wish I could look away from. Directed by Tim Burton, this is the kind of music video the label loves, because it's relatively simple and cheap. Just a bunch of props all within a very specific vein, the memetic vehicle herself shucking & jiving, and very few locations.
I’m going to say the quiet part out loud right now, so there is no confusion as to where I stand:
Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta is a disgusting and irredeemable tool of satan. She has assisted countless souls on the path to damnation. I believe she is complicit in the process of manipulating, molesting, mutilating, and murdering children for the purposes of greed, status, and nominal success by means of the occult, the satanic, and the perverse blackmail economy. I believe she is compelled by her religion to confess these horrendous acts in coded language and occluded imagery.
While these are strong statements of personal belief, I am certain that an objective review of her history as a performer provide overwhelming circumstantial evidence to support my assertions. If you dive into her professional and personal attachments and associations, you will almost certainly find evil and guilty persons in very few steps. There is a whole crowd of sluts, slatterns, whores, and shrews who can be splashed with the same hue.
I know this topic, and my handling of it, crosses from the subjectively qualifiable into the realm of tinfoil and loathing. We have all been trained to shy away from topics like this. We are taught that slippery slopes aren’t real, daemons and spirits aren’t real, that art is just art for the sake of art. I reject these impotent theses entirely. It is obvious to me that there is a massive and expensive concerted effort to propagate the symbols and customs of daemon worshippers and the veneration of satan, in tandem with a decades long psyop campaign with the singular goal of getting you and all reasonable people to roll your eyes when these things are pointed out or discussed. I’ve linked to my previous essays on this topic, and I earnestly hope you read them, think on them, speak to people about them, and decide for yourself where you and yours stand.
I will now go into some studied analysis of still frames captured directly from the music video, which I will NOT be linking2. I find this stuff distasteful and unsettling, I hate having these pictures saved on any of my devices, and I hope that whatever psychic damage I am doing to myself, and possibly you, is a worthy sacrifice in the millennial struggle against these disgusting fucking freaks. You will not hurt my feelings in the slightest if you scroll no further.
Roll the ugliness…
Right out of the gate, we are assaulted with violent and obvious imagery. The font is intended to evoke classic “monster mash” vibes while the color pallet dredges up memory of black & white TV. This is nostalgia lubrication for the soul rape inbound, and your warning is the avatar baby head on a spike. Notice the psuedo-child’s mouth shape. In the medium background we start seeing the “stacked dead.” This is a thematic aesthetic that will recur. Look further, into the deep background… what is that? Relative sizes and foreshortening indicate something more life-sized, more “human” shaped. But it is not human. It is the Watcher.
A quick note, before we proceed: this is a taste of how I am going to handle this process. I am going to make assertions, interpret imagery, and state categorically as well as caveat and dance around things. This is how art critique works as I was taught: speak boldly and confidently, but leave the door open to review, re-analyzation, and retraction. The whole thing that undercuts definite artistic interpretation is that, at it’s very core, art really is about feelings. Again, going back to my period of instruction, this is a feature, not a bug. It means we get to productively revisit topics every generation, if only to confirm that yes, Picasso took the coward’s way out, even if he did so skillfully.
Here’s the title card. Notice the decapitated children analogs in the foreground. Notice the hanging babies in the background. Notice the young girl, left side and bottom third, she will be a recurring theme, and I am warning you now it will get dark. Now, if you have somehow missed it, turn your attention to the singer’s analog dead center. This is Stefani in doll form. This artist has to self-insert, in addition to the gay lip sync schtick, because the quim mill from whence she arose is an apparatus for taking pretty little girls and turning them into used up whores.
Don’t just read that sentence and move on; read it, test it in your mind, plumb the depths of what I am asserting and implying, and ask yourself if my statement has merit. The music and movie industries, indeed all entertainment, are an exercise in monkey see/monkey do. The process reflects the purpose. Look up pictures of any popstar you can think of at the height of their popularity, then juxtapose that picture with them at 30, 40, 50, etc. If you want to get really depressed, do the same thing with average women of the same period. Women move with herd dynamics3. Pop media is, at its core, a device for controlling women. Guiding men about by their dicks is secondary. Everything female popstars do is pointed at, primarily, inducting young girls into the Whore-to-Spinster memeplex, secondarily, ostracizing women that don’t comply, and tertiarily, reifying the decisions made by the now ruined and unrecoverably shrewish. (Hint: this is why sodomites and trannies are starting to feature more prominently in media. Seeing some mentally retarded male pretend he’s a girl makes used up old women with bowl haircuts feel slightly more female. As a treat.)
Notice the detailed tailoring of the dress, and contrast this with the rags all the other dolls are dressed in. Notice the 7 pointed crown addition to accompany the dress. Notice the face shape as compared to the other dolls. This image will come back, and it will confirm everything I am saying here.
Here’s the frame Tim Burton decided he wanted to be the background for his title credit. Notice the progression: naked child on the left, naked preteen in the middle, clothed teen on the right. You can play around with the ages all you like, but the progression is obvious. Notice the aborted fetus head hanging from the top third on the left, skull fractured and brains vacuumed out. Notice the aborted fetus on the teen doll shoulder. This is the reminder of that first one, which every one of these sacrificial whores has. These themes of baby murder, sexual exploitation, and progression reverberate through the whole video. This is a celebration of destruction, a confession of despoliation, and a prayer to satan for continuation: look upon our sacrifice and see that it is good in your eyes.
Here’s Stefani, introducing herself as a puppet, a pinned butterfly, surrounded by a pile of dead. Notice that most of the victims are clothed. There are two naked barbie dolls, one decapitated. There’s a lifelike child, left third/top third; this is another reference to the first abortion. They always reference the first time they give of their body to moloch. It’s the piper payment, the proof they belong. These freaks treasure it. Most of the bodies are clothed. Some are mutilated, some are whole. Notice Stefani’s relative size to the dolls. The judas goat is always a member of the flock, selected out for certain qualities and characteristics, but a herd beast all the same.
This part of the video auditions the convulsive dance style that meanders throughout this maggot riddled smorgasbord of gay fucking bullshit. If you have ever seen someone suffer through convulsions, you will see the resemblance. It is one part reference to suffering, and one part homage to galvanic echoes in death. Stefani is telling you she is a puppet, she is dead, that she is not in control of herself, and, as we will see, this is exactly what she wanted.
Stefani is now shuttering forward as she lip syncs her worshipful offering to satan. She is telling you, the mark, the patsy, the target, exactly what she is. Notice the similarity of this dress with the one on the doll in the opening frames, the self-insert; same cut with colors inverted. Notice the dangling accessories: baby organs hanging in a V from where her vagina should be (it wouldn’t surprise me at all if this filthy cunt has carved out her genitals at this point). This is Stefani signaling that her body is the sacrifice, just as much as her soul. Take some time to look at the background and think about the set decorators and PAs affixing baby body avatars to boards so some vaudevillian monstrosity can gyrate around like a palsied whore for a few minutes. It would be funny if it were funny.
The intro ends and now the used up slut really starts to jostle around. I think this is the part teen girls and withered gays love because loud music make good feeling in tummy. There is a progression here of the decapitated, the eviscerated, the vivisected, and the mutilated reanimating because the beat is just that fly. As near as I can tell, this is the payload. This is the message to young women: it doesn’t matter what happens to your body, to your mind, to your soul, just keep on dancing and everything will be alright.
See? It’s a good thing! Stefani is smiling, because she gets to keep her dress on, even as the little girls followed her into the grist mill, offered up their precious children as a dog meat sacrifice to crowd of soulless, six pointed star worshipping sodomites, and pissed away everything their ancestors worked for. The Stefani insert is happy because killing babies is good, mindlessly dancing on the fetid, rotting shreds of guts and limbs is good, manually deconstructing IQ to stay current and popular is good, participating in an industry that enriches pedophiles is good; everything bad is good! You should dance until you’re DEAD, you stupid goy motherfucker.
'Cause when you killed me inside, that's when I came alive
Yeah, the music's gonna bring me back from death
Ha ha how creative! How artistic! Women are so interesting as they grow old without children.
Now Stefani is joined by the dance troupe. Of course, these lickspittles wear masks when they dare stand next to her. Their wardrobe shows their status; no dress for you, gyrating tranny. This whole sequence is exactly the kind of thing that makes “dance people” fawn and gush. I don’t want to go too far down this side trail, but singing and dancing are two of the most organic activities humans have. When we are young, we all sing, we all dance, until someone comes along and tells us we aren’t good enough to participate. It is almost always a dried out shrew, a disease riddled faggot, or some negro worshipping wigger. “White people can’t dance” is a very common refrain, but it’s bully propaganda. Everyone dances until they are forced to stop; everyone sings until they are silenced. Death to the gatekeepers of human celebration.
Here we see Stefani touring the abattoir of aborted babies, caressing the organs that are ripped out and sold to cosmetic companies. “This goodbye won’t make me cry,” is a lyric directly pointed at abortion, losing virginity, losing pregnancy viability, losing the predicates of femininity. Never forget: these subhuman freaks hate young women more than anything else. They learn to do this because healthy and right-thinking young women become the mothers of sons who grow to be men that put these godless freaks on helicopters and spikes. They know what happens when young women are free to follow biology and culture, so they use any and every method to break that cycle and unleash hell, horror, and sterility. That’s all this is: venerating sterility.
Stefani inserts herself into the position of the dancing rape victim. This is a recurring progression, reinforcing the same message: my body is the sacrifice, my irretrievable loss is the purpose, and I am so happy that this is happening. She dances back through the abattoir, smacking the hanging babies and body parts, and you know that the director and producers were smiling. “Isn’t it genius? Isn’t it cool? Those stupid goyim will eat this up ha ha ha.”
The Abattoir is important. This is Stefani telling her handlers, her master, that she is a willing sacrifice. It takes on the features and meaning of a bridge, a crossover point, a thing that is sought, traversed, remembered, memorialized. This is the primrose path she is bringing a new generation of girls down. Remember how old this hoe is. Just like Gwen Stefani before her, she’s getting rolled up and squeezed like a tube of toothpaste for that last little bit. She know this, so now is the time to leave it all on the field for the fallen one.
And now color is in the frame. This is the signal that we have crossed over, that we are in a different place than where we started. Look at the composition here, juxtaposed with the props. Notice the topless teen, the double amputated baby on a spike, the little girl with her leg bent backward for easier access, even as she smiles and dances in the pulsating light.
Let’s pause here and remember something very important: every single thing you see in frame is a conscious choice. At this level of production, there are no accidents. In movies and series, sure, morons get put in charge, people get lazy, and starbucks cups sneak into frame. But music videos are zero profit. It is purely an expense picked up by the artist if they are independent or the label if they are not. Occasionally you’ll get sponsors, but this adds “accountability,” meaning more eyes with more concerted interest to know and show exactly what is desired. Professional music videos are the most meticulously cultivated cinema products by far. So, everything you are seeing is a choice. Every. Single. Thing.
The colors are garish, totally displacing the old timey nostalgia of black & white. As well, they have a “disco” effect of sublimating away whatever artistic credibility remained in this bitch’s brew of disgusting imagery and boring notes. The dance troupe even does the characteristic disco dance thing. Like everything with this music video, it is very on the nose. Everything about it is on the nose. My suspicion is that the forces behind this kind of disgustingness sense that the clock is counting down, that those of like mind to me are no longer hoping and praying, we are waiting and collecting. These freaks love to suffer, so when the curtain drops on their shameless and soulless little flesh empire, they will be cackling all the way to the surface of the Pacific.
Here it is, Stefani speaking directly to your daughter, your niece, your neighbor girl. “This you? Is this you dancing around naked and unafraid?” She’s telling them (and warning you) upfront and unobscured: you are meat, and we are going to eat you.
*
I’m done posting these images. There’s more to analyze, probably some very interesting, evocative, and portentous stuff. Do it yourself; I’m purging this curse.
I wish I was done talking about this stuff. It hurts me. It makes me think about things I don’t want to think about. It makes me angry, suspicious, skeptical, and edgy. It makes me think thrice about every note, image, movement, and comment. And the dumbest part is that it is so pointless, needless, and useless. Nothing in history or the Bible says we have to indulge the urges of shrews and sodomites. Not a single thing. They contribute nothing, they build nothing, and they just absorb grace, kindness, largesse, and excess. Every single gay costs thousands of dollars an hour to keep alive, did you know that? Did you know that trillions of dollars have gone into keeping them alive so they can continue their mindless, pointless rutting? And before anyone dares get high and mighty with me, every single collection of sodomites has pedophiles in it. It’s literally how they are created.
Maybe you can accept that, but balk at my inclusion of shrews with them. OK, find me a single shrew that doesn’t associate with piles of gays. They are two sides to the same coin: the elevation of hedonics, the veneration of sterility, the desecration of fertility. And, at the more shallow material level, they are also a constant drain of resources. They contribute nothing of long term consequence. One single, illiterate housewife who births a few kids does more for us as a society than 1000 professionally employed spinsters. They are given preferential treatment, they indulge in all the compassion and support typically reserved for widows, and they pay us back by overwhelmingly supporting criminals, foreign invaders, and the erasure of our culture.
It’s a terrible place our culture has descended to, and the salt in the wound is that when you try to discuss this, when you try to point this stuff out in good faith, some dumb fuck comes along and says, “Oh, lighten up. It’s just music. It’s just dancing. It’s just toy dolls. It’s just ART.” OK then, if it’s “just art,” cancel the endowments. Shutter the museums. Close the concert halls. Dissolve the orchestras and labels. It’s just art, after all. If people want art, they will make some in their backyard. Who cares, right?
I care. We care. We are all a part of The Culture, and “pop culture” is our scaled up reflection in the societal mirror. Pop is not pointless, it is not ephemeral. It is the true shape of Us in the aggregate. We deserve better pop, and to get there…
Well…
3 million views in 3 days. Even if half of them are jeets/bots, that's pretty insane.
It’s very easy to find, but you will get nothing productive from it. In strict materialist terms, it’s a washed up shrew desperately trying to be relevant again. In reality, it’s the petty offering of soul snarers going after children, teens, and disney adults who have thus far slipped through their previous nets. I reject the devil, his thralls, and all their works.
Solely for the benefit of first time readers: exceptions prove rules. If all you care about is exceptions, this place is not for you.
In convos with pagans, it's always "why do you imagine whatever or who-ever you are summoning into your life means you any good? How do you know it won't eat you or someone you love?"
On a happier note, an old friend of mine, with who I'd had a similar conversation, and blithely argued "it's just a game", got unstuck, long after it had ceased to be playful at all.
She's safe in the arms of Christ.