文化と文明 Culture and Civilization

In the history of war, ancient or modern,
You could declare you had never intended evil, with a dose of civic humility,
but do not be so arrogant as to declare you did history justice.
Your country robbed mine, and before that mine yours and several others.
The history of Man is based on plundering, raptio, enslavement, idea-burning and abuse.
Cultural and racial expungement in favour of a dominating political focus builds up all the Empires. It runs on bloodied money, unwilling slave-wives and stolen cattle, it will always be;
Let us not argue who did more right in history, but only who the less evil.
Although I admit it is good to have laws, good common sense and commerce, Rome to me was a stain.
How many natural and instinctive songs of underground worms, mountainous boars, and bush-snakes were scattered or extinguished by the force of that soul-panicking roar of the invading red Eagle?
And how many more dreamy and obscure mysteries of humanity, forgotten structures of curious immaterials under the dark ocean of imaginative consciousness, are left intact without being polluted, destroyed, or pillaged and sold ("commercialized") by civilized privateers / pirates?
We pay money to play video games and watch pornography. And have to learn about one's own ancient heritage through going to a university or a book club.
Mundane things that had been once beautiful, were stolen by the Progress, not of its will to do history justice, but the will to make from history, money to pay rents, food and education. So there could be more landly commerce-legionnaires bearing the Eagle sign, and sea's wonder-raiders with stolen Southern coral crowns---inlaid with forgotten gems of culture, who could intimidate us with their doubly martial and economic march*1, those jumping fools from Rome called Salii, a warning sign to us about decay and destruction of creativity and reason in a culture, as they march half-knowing the meanings of the words they chant*2, praising the rotting bodies of forgotten and useless idols and gods, under the waning Midday Sun, into the speckly purple twilight full of uncertainty and potential for death and the most certain black oblivion beyond it, while among us the less well-bred and less educated civilians are left behind clueless, but could only marvel at our masters' majesty and beauty, which once belonged to every person of every race, of every independent nation and culture's heart, when they desired something pleasingly-colourful or true, pleasantly-scented or real, or a song.
(though admittedly, always with the pain of Labour and great effort, as it is with developing any Skill and Science)

Roma delenda est.

ammendation:
"Non haec Roma, sed illa

Roma contra hominem,
delenda est."

Destruction be unto that Rome which is against humanity.
Let each united barbarian race or country find their own ethos and Progress. those of us not of roman birth, need not be their slaves or servants before proclaiming us civilized and are of noble caste. Throw that old-age nonsense out of the window, as Rome itself died as a petty eagling in the bush of the European forest outside our window long ago in history. We advance not through servitude, but from learning our bitterly admitted betters and one's own self-driven progress, through science, law and art, and thus bearing fruits in  technology, social order and culture.
Rome must be brought down, that dead idol---this must be the struggles of the new aeon. Being raised on the flags of pride as a terror-token above the army of privileged yeomen and boors, it is an impotent ghost, a powerless ensign of a dead predator bird perished in history now rotting in a bog of thought somewhere from our perspectives extratemporal; that bog is close to imaginative South (the artful, the rhetorical, the thinking)  but has lost all the proper creative heat (due to lack of artistic skill, and apparently absence of any moral purpose apart from inflating some stolen ego), and its pretending to be universal truth of the harsh and wintry North (the philosophical, the historical, the factual) by declaring its birthright to another earthly empire by historicity and Progress of civic spirit and civilization. It is only powerful, by haunting us, frustrating our applications of the imaginative faculties, and blind us with some imaginary racial, cultural or historicity bias that there is a kind of advancement of civilized history that must put out all other ideas about how Man should become better than they were… the toxic motto of "Let justice be done, though the world perish" / "Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus", of an ancient and dead King, and a respectable but outdated most draconian philosopher.
hear they say, with their dose of reason, "We the People"

(thus we, non-Romans, by mimicking their modes of thought and pathos, learning their culture, legal system and stratagems; by being a slave to their histories we become nouveau riche, parvenu feudal Lords under a stolen and resurrected Eagle banner, through some ridiculously disgraceful half-wit hocus-pocus necromancy. WE the PEOPLE, WHO got RICH. Murderous gentlefolk worshiping the God of Gelück. (Happiness, hapliness, fortune). 
Well, at lest we have Boethius.
Let all those filthy and unruly places born of "the Jungle", the deceiving and treacherous markets, dehumanizing animal farms, flesh industries with their stinky cheap perfume, opiate and alcohol mills, plastic workshops making fake flowers….the bustling idiocy and buffooneries on the television and hopeless reaching hands of beggars and lepers lacking social benefits…the bastion and its own beacon of all-stolen and all-stealing civilized stupor, the dingy and dinning street full of thieves, cheats, and homeless, the Ikea-outfitted household full of adulterers and swingers, and the school meant for education being obsessed with prestige and employment opportunities, in which full of giddy, mendacious, foolish or bullied children, being made into a joke by bullying from their classmates' harassment or their teasing or teachers' indifference alike. That civilization is not good for the soul…
But of course humanity would try to find a cure. We civilized persons, and of adequate financial abilities, in modern society through the benefits of science why couldn't we be cured?
Yet, how could one cure impotency in creativity, in boorishness of manners and social conducts, absence of civic spirit, non-obeisance to gist of justice, if one makes only shoddy goods and earns a paltry sum from working in those things in a culture that discourages spending time to find out what is truer, what is deeper, what is the unimaginable possibilities of the world and humanity----one that abandons healthy imagination and curiosity for eagerness to feed and breed, through gold?
Although fumbling, they even have attempted to monopolize the market for mental and creative things with  their Imperial currencies  (given credits by people that are claimed experts and with a degree, and all others are made joke if they lack capital worth) by inventing "art industry" or "music industry" to their own detriment of health (who would want their Venus sourced from an industrialized farm for harvesting human-flesh and a plastic-shaping factory, and bought from a supermarket that does discounts on goods of newly made idols?) …they would rather use half-wit knowledge, ignorance, guesses and a general happy-go-lucky entrepreneur spirit to advance economic exploitations of people's need for artistic, poetic and religious expressions. "We the Prospectors and Gold-Miners".
Observe too, 
the cults of spiritual growth, new age medicine, yoga, "healing"…now if you have got coins you could even fain to drive old gurus from India to grow your poverty of spirit out of it. "We the People, Now are Rich, so we make our own Art, which is a tireless and happy ever turning factory-mill and Churches, too which we appoint according to whatever our Will dictates". Husbandry- and Smokestack-thinking as always. Educated yeomen and boors. Like that Chinese saying " that Money would even drive the ogres to turn the mill in Hell" (where appropriately the noble ogres of the underworld were supposed to supervise and drive human to work in their eternal heaving Labour below the earth. as they were eastern children of Orcus and punisher of broken oaths in life. this is an east-west language-worm joke.)

For what cannot Romans buy, what gods, godlings and idols they cannot appease, in order to turn them in their favour? Is not Fortune theirs, and are said to smile on them, when they get rich and thus famously "fortunate"? They assume with fortune as the basis of their power, they could have stolen fruits of philosophy, art and poetry too, if they pay for lessons and go to gathering of cults called "book clubs" "debate clubs" "philosophical societies".
Or the infamous, India-going of hippies. Colonizing foreign ideas and sceneries with working wages of first world countries and bring them back as souvenirs. This is very typical of Roman caste-based thinking. 
Let that illusion of being able to steal enlightenment and wonders through gold be destroyed. Rome and its golden purpose must be brought down. Go to places where gold has no meaning. Not literally, please bear with me and read into my lines. You still need things of monetary worth or support from other people or else starve in the jungle in Amazon or the country in India, or up on the Himalayas, or any other famous tourist destinations for "spiritual journeys". And after all, you are still stuck in using money to purchase for your lunch and stay there in the lodge or a hostel. You are not becoming a demigod bucolic shepherd that eats his Mama's lunch in the wilderness of some ancient Arcadian world unknown to modern Man. That privilege belonged to those who had long surceased before us, in the wilderness, as witless barbarians constantly dying of digestive diseases, contagion and daily tribal grievances, thefts, murder, raptio or border disputes (and from the all-conquering Caesar, not to forget!) The rural countryside is not the place you could overcome or "escape (as in that Yankee word 'Escapism')" that sense of futility gradually gathering and revealing itself, the futility that shows there is no true purposes building up inherent in all golden things which we humans all try to take a hold of, but feel so irked and helpless about ourselves when we have it, and when we must have it not…
That kind of disease has never been cured by the bucolic Roman holiday dream, that kind of wet dream of tired bank-tellers and ad company employees.
We only forget that alienating and irritating emotion through spending money during holidays and fests, in "vacation" of ourselves, borrowing another Yankee word. However, take a look at the ancient Romans reveling in Pompeii and their festive stupidity. rich carnivalizing idiots. eating, mating, vomiting then eating again, and defaecating. and make their gold-employed poets sing some poetic praises or fancy chansons. a Circus. And what happened to them? A volcano erupted, a surprise. And they suffocated while they were sure they were still making jolly of their lucky life. 
Now would they have been more cautious, if there is instead a poet for the losers and the powerless men, telling them the evil in the mountains, the fear, the disgust in nature, the dangers of human instinct, instead of their dream of having conquered all natural orders and rebellious elements through civilization, symbolized by their divine conquest of other petty gods, heroes and magic beings with their own pantheon of idols? One cannot see things beneath them clearly when they are riding too tall a horse, and when that horse is as tall as the height equivalent to the lower edge of the sky they build the eidolons of their ego up to---in their ancient Temples, you know that they are bound to get stumped by the root of a tree that is as big as the world, or a charging boar twice the size of the world which we could only feel its disembodied head and the sharpness of fangs, or just their eastern neighbours with a similar history of rising from the station of pebbles, though that was where the Sun rose.
We need more tragedies and melancholic songs of the conquered underdogs if we ever wish to become more sagacious, in learning the failures instead of triumphs, we grow. Triumph is uncertain, but failures surely would reveal truth about our limitations, of knowledge and power. And the songs of underdogs always have more wisdom than their lords, for having been conquered in body, they could do nothing but try to rebel through spirit, and through wise-thinking and artificial invention of ways to achieve power, to make their lives feel strong and beautiful. Think of how stupid and vapid it would have been if Americans make all the animes in the world instead of Japanese. Japanese people did not learn how to make animes from MacArthur.
barbarians we are. therefore what?
with time, then all will learn, but do not better yourself by that feigned "high civility" and "high culture". driven by what petty barbarian or animal instinct were you to spit on the fruits of others imagination, trials and failures in scientific advancement and struggles to grasp or create social order, the history of "barbarians"? 
if you fancy yourself as the greatest military leader on earth that has killed a giant with a stone thrown at his eye, wait till he learns to forge a visor and a full set of plate-armor and leads an army of colossal black horse-riding giants from their barbaric countries, and try to flatten the mountains you live in by shaking it with their calvary. what is your excuse now? the stone you can throw is too small?
Let that "only bastion of civilization" die, let us become barbarians once more. Each return to some more ancient echoes of mankind. Let your mind journey out of enclosed city walls instead of your body. Thinking, always thinking, even when you are walking without a thought in mind. 
Identify yourself with nothing but a sad, pitiable man thinking of a way out of death, doom and gloom of the universe. You have never been the conqueror, the Universe is, and will be, as his apostle and proxy is called Death.
You have claimed Nothing, when you cannot defeat Death.

Borrowing some insights from Werner Herzog's "of Walking in Ice", I find there seems to be no beauty or spiritual significance you need to find somewhere on earth. His hard quest--a pilgrimage or crusade of a kind from Munich to Paris on foot alone in 70s from my understanding is an inventive way to challenge against the world in proving some old and noble chivalric values and attitudes in Europe when it was starting to forget what they were as the times and places were all in a bad way, not yet healed from the wars. I might would like to add that Earth we stand upon is just a spinning rotting mud ball (with some slush of chilly antediluvian and lethal ice that formed long before us petty apes, on either polar extremes that makes your hand burn when you try to hold its full girth on your palm). Vegetations are its evil. Life are its illness. Death is not release, not a discharge but its further contamination into eternal unconscious idiocy. if thou wouldst like the cure, drink poison and make poisonous songs then. Your willpower against such evil is your cure. You must become a venomous snake to Life itself, even your own life, to find philosophical or aesthetical truths. Even if they are fragile, baseless and easily refuted…transient truth that you know by senses but could not make sense of. The "exhilarating truth" of poetry and religion, and especially of those living against both standards of good and evil, and the underdogs, the losers, the sinned, the criminals, the ill and contagious... so we might know how to fight this lack of grace and life's affirmation.
A true Man knows to live with pride in a "benighted" continent half-abandoned by God even as if they were Cobra Verde (de Silva, of the Jungle) from Herzog's film of the same name.
Music and poetry can make money and produce true worth, but they will not always do. They are pale, tender, veiled and lunatic things and would fade in their values under the Sunlight, especially painted or sung things as they were made of salient vibrations stringed together, with some skill in echoing chamber of limited space definition, that would peter out altogether one day as Time dissipates. Why do you think we need to restore paintings and cultivate new generations of artists, and constantly playback the music we knew when we were free to have some "Fun", and teach children to appreciate good music through an education system? If not that we are animals with a pathetically persistent habit to forget, and would have forgotten or just failed to grasp the majestic beauty of things "once were" as they pass us by in our half-sleeping civilized life and unlife?
As they were being broken down through their lack of common usage, corrupted by ideas' comingling, transfigured through common senses into ugliness and defaecated through fading memories into oblivion; as all things and ideals pass through the ever-running bowels of ever-turning Time?

Let some sweeter music of Sylvester wilderness of Pan be known even in this age, though we live in unmarbled cities yet cloistered, made of brittle heat-preserving stone (concrete); we have made our gilded sepulchers out of cheap commercial rock (a Lot in the cemetery maybe?), but let us hear warm songs and see scented colours before we die.
Although that Pan fellow from the South, goat-hoofed, lion-maned, addersnake-fanged and twice-horned, draping himself all over with mountain green and wild, toxic (killing) berries, is ancient and of exotic Grecian birth, but his song plays everywhere anytime regardless of artificial borders made by Man and God (from all things space-temporal). Even now, "even here", not by nature that he is a steel-sinewed martial God and an invincible conqueror with a lightning spear or a thundering hammer, but he is the myth- and silence-breaking thinking exultation and prehending delight in everything by each its own secret and non-secular worth---to feel and decipher a mystery in life; heroic, isolated, savage and mystic, proud and self-righteous, one-man-against-the-universe kind of echoing worth,
the kind of worth known and appreciated by barbarians,
without being judged by the ever worth-depreciating golden Eagle standard of the (modern imitation of) Roman Empire, that hidden serpent's scale used to measure the use present in a race or culture from the perspective of victor's history for its own end. Build a most barbaric Empire that only harks to the most Gaulish boar-warrior's heart (or Japanese, Mongolian, Brazilian, Australian…whatever you want to call it, for it is yours) inside you. Let Caesar come, Galatian lands be his to take away. And well, maybe my descendants and I would be sold to the market as grain-slaves for many a centuries. But in twice a thousand year or so, we would have been French!
(just a little humour, no offence intended to French people)

le cœur du sanglier*3, le cœur des cœurs.
tworkos*4, torque, torche.

*1 Salii
---
"one representing Mars and the other Quirinus — as a dialectic relationship, showing the interdependency of the military and economic functions in Roman society"
Salii - Wikipedia

*2 
"
Alongside dancing, the Salii would also sing songs known as the Carmen Saliare. Varro claimed that the Salian priests did not understand the meanings of the lyrics they sung. It is possible they contained older spellings and archaic words.[20]"
Salii - Wikipedia

*3 from Latin singulāris (porcus) 
the solitary pig (denoting boar).

*4 Reconstruction:Proto-Celtic/tworkos - Wiktionary, the free dictionary
may Frenc people take up and bear their own torch, without being bound by historicity for what they are and should be, but what humanity are and should have become.