Another year closer to the end of Western civilization as we know it, seems to me.
The signs & symptoms that move me to such a gloomy forecast come not so much from the world of Islam as it undergoes its global revival in this 21st century; not so much from the sociopolitically dominant mainstream West as it persists in whitewashing the problem of Islam; but rather from those who should know better: those "in the Counter-Jihad" (as well as those who may only have one foot in the Counter-Jihad, but otherwise make a great show of being "against the Leftists").
This end will likely not come in the near future (depending on how you measure "near"); I estimate another century, give or take a few thousand beheadings ("...the thousand impure shocks / That flesh is heir to...") by Muslims.
If for the last ten years or so I had been seeing in the Counter-Jihad a healthy, robust growth in their Learning Curve of the Problem of Islam, I might have at least had a shred of hope that the Counter-Jihad could eventually succeed in its main reason for existing -- to wake up the broader mainstream West to the metastasizing, systemic danger of Islam. But, as the archives of this defunct blog here (as well as my "beyond-the-grave" blog, The Daily Decaf) demonstrate with dismayingly copious evidence, the Counter-Jihad has been stuck for the past nearly two decades since 911, grinding its gears, unable to jump the rails of a necessary paradigm shift.
A year ago today I posted a cheeky picture I'd found of Robert Blake giving the finger, as a way to express my frustration and anger at the Counter-Jihad (My parting shot to the Counter-Jihad). That posting a year ago was itself a one-year "anniversary" of what had been, for all intent and purpose -- on February 21, 2018 -- my final post before I definitively closed up shop here at this wheezing old battleship, the H.M.S. Hesperado.
That final posting (Arrivederci...), availing itself of a somehow apropos picture of Dean Martin, sums up all the reasons why I think this way; while the penultimate posting nearly 3 weeks prior (Au revoir, muthasuckas), graced by an exquisite photo of Ol' Blue Eyes himself, plumbed more deeply the dreary complexities of the Islamonnui of this ol' Desperado.
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Today, I just sit here on the tracks, knowing I can at least enjoy this stogie long after the train left the station.