If, after a generation of peaceful parenting, the nation-state dissolves, would not a free trade environment be the principled and logical environment of such a society?
No, my arguments depend upon the existence of the nation, not the state. If there is no coherent group of self-identified people sharing traditions, characteristics, and values, then there is no need to concern ourselves with their collective fate, as we owe nothing to them, share nothing with them, and can abandon them and ignore their interests without a thought. This, of course, is one reason why the globalist elite wants to destroy cohesive, coherent nations, for much the same reason they want to destroy the family. The individual is easily corrupted or destroyed, the nation, not so readily.
The Nation is your family.
Kith and kin.
Blood and soil.
Lo, I see my ancestors before me.
Doing the jobs Americans won't do.
“He sent this card, Your Highness,” the servant said, holding out a little silver card-tray, a habit the Association ladies had picked up from the perennially popular Austen novels.
She took the paper on it and unfolded it, breaking the daub of wax that held the folded rectangle of cream linen-rag paper together. Within was a visitor’s card that read:
Captain Alan Thurston (United States Army, reserve)
Hali Lake Ranch, District of Latah
And beneath it a sign, not one she recognized at all; like a triskel, but as if the central point were a writhing knot and the arms like irregular question-marks, the whole in yellow on a circle of black. It was probably a cattle-brand; most interior Ranchers used theirs as the rough equivalent of an Associate noble’s coat-of-arms.
Or a like a Japanese mon, she thought; she’d come to appreciate those for their spare elegance.
Heuradys leaned in to read it, touching the Sword lightly as she did with her hip, which was unusual. Órlaith blinked at a feeling of… something. It vanished when she tried to grasp it, and she shrugged and turned back to the message.
I’m awake, she thought, several hours later.
Heuradys had shown up a while ago smiling a revoltingly smug smile and with bits of hay in her hair. She was snoring slightly in the other bed, sleeping turned on her left side with one hand under the pillow, resting on the hilt of her knife. Órlaith swung her feet to the floor, feeling oddly reluctant to look back, and walked over to the French doors on tile that felt cool to her feet. They’d been left slightly ajar for the night breezes, and she walked out onto the balcony. Nobody was about in the courtyard below, though there would be two of her party on guard at the foot of the stairs under the arcade below. Moonlight played on the water splashing from a fountain in the middle of the long narrow pool that ran down the center of the rectangular space.
She looked up. The black of the stars moved against the sky, in patterns obscurely meaningful. A tower rose in a field of dark flowers, and huge blurred columnar shapes with the heads of bats or twisted dogs floated around it, slowly turning so that their blank yellow eyes glared in her direction. They started to drift towards her. The moon was huge and full beyond the wall southward, andbehind it were the spires of a city…
“Woah!” she said.
She jerked upright in bed and pressed her hands to the sides of her head. Macmac whimpered and twitched in his basket by the door.
“Wazzat?” Heuradys said, opening her eyes without moving her head.
“Nothing, just a dream… can’t even remember the details.”
She sank back and closed her eyes. Soft music fell down the stairs of sleep with her, past long terraces of pink stone to a cerulean sea where Johnny’s ship ghosted along with all sails set.
Stirling, you magnificent bastard!
quirks eyebrow Fascinating.
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