You all know how Captain Ahab is the captain of The Jolly
Roger. We chose the name for a reason. All that Ahab wanted to do
when he was young was go a-whaling, and bring home to the people a
valuable commodity which lit their lamps at night. All that the crew
of The Jolly Roger wished to do as college students was to serve
our generation with Great contemporary literature, to learn of the
Greats who wrote before us, to write in their context, to light the
lamps of our peer's moral consciences, and to enrich their existence.
And just as Moby Dick demasted Ahab, cleaving his right leg while Ahab
was yet a young whaler, so too is it that the postmodern boomer
bureaucracy has cleaved the rational aesthetic of this generation,
denying it its Natural Right to words that mean things, along with
families in which those who brought us into the world still hang out.
Without hesitation, aspiring liberal university presidents traded the
rich Western heritage for personal gain in the liberal resentnik
context. Perhaps they did not agree with everything that was said and
done, but they did not speak up, and that, matey, is the leader's
responsibility, which was once upon a time married to the title. They
hired all their friends and did their best to do away with the
conscientious publishing industry and profound press so that they could
reign supreme in a politicized, polemical context, as that is the
bureaucrat's favorite type of context. Where all were to be ruled by
pleasure and pain, and reason and logic were but for the insane.
Without any consideration for the future of their country, for the
spiritual health of their children, and for their responsibility
towards God and the community of eternal souls, the postmodern
smooth-talking leaders sold out to the liberal deconstructionist and
polemical resentnik. This Fact shall be Attested to by the Fallen State
of contemporary Culture, as well as their pretended innocence and
extreme silence on the Dervish Matter. For grave cultural crimes
occurred in the deep of the night, beneath their intellectually
indifferent command. We were all kicked out of creative writing class
by Joyce Carol Oates, but we bear her no malice, for it was all kind of
funny. As a fringe feminist, she was but a pawn in the greater liberal
crusade. Here's this hideous woman who cannot write, and what President
Shapiro of Princeton does is he sets her up as the paragon of all
writers, so that when the honest, rational soul comments on her
literary atrocities, the liberals can accuse that honest, rational soul
of being sexist. Liberals want you to be sexist. They need you to be.
If you were to admit that the Eternal Soul knows no color nor gender,
you would contradict their theories, and they would dismiss you as a
right-wing wacko for not judging people by their skin color and gender.
It's part of the postmodern paradox, part of the industry, part of the
joke. The fringe feminists' dominant presence upon the gothic grounds
of Princeton is but a microscopic symptom of a far more profound
cultural decay, where pornographers and embittered deconstructionists
dictate the tenor of the literary culture, while idle, amoral
administrators are paid huge salaries to keep their silence in the face
of their crew's cultural pillages, rampages, and burnings. And so it
is that the White Whale is the massive postmodern bureaucracy, and the
crew of The Jolly Roger, as well as the entire generation which
floats in the wake of the liberal-boomer-educational-CEOs, have been
demasted by it. And while so many are today bent on "profitable
cruises paid with dollars to be counted down from the mint" when they
got out of college, we have higher standards, for we value our sacred
honor and our heritage over our monetary wage. We sail The Jolly
Roger , on the wild seas of the WWW bent on "imitigable and
supernatural revenge." Argrhrghrgh!
But too, as we sailed onwards, achieving world dominance
without registering on the liberal's radar, we grew to recognize
softer sentiments aboard The Jolly Roger, such as those
likened to First Mate Starbuck's nature. And I say that it is
no small coincidence that on that gusty night by the Corolla
Light, the chapter of Moby Dick which the wind had
finally settled upon was was entitled Knights and Squires, and
you can find it here, or ye can continue with
this exposition.
It is the chapter which elaborates on Starbuck's character. I
urge ye to make a sincere, valiant effort in completing it, as
only in its context will the profundities of this essay manifest
themselves. Ye might as well get used to one thing, matey.
Only in the context of the Great Books will ye gain the full
riches of yer seafaring adventures aboard The Good Ship Jolly Roger.
It was the First Mate Starbuck who realized,
I am here
in this critical ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be
killed by them for theirs; and that hundreds of men had been so killed
Starbuck well knew. What doom was his own father's? Where, in the
bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of his
brother?
For look what the liberals have done to our
fathers and brothers, to Shakespeare, Homer, Milton, Dante, Donne, and
Melville upon the college campuses. Is it any wonder that they would
not hesitate to do the same to us? It is they who are out for
vengeance, against that near-extinct species, the Great White Male.
Nay, it is not us who seek vengeance. I have realized what F.
Scott Fitzgerald meant when he stated that "all fundamental decencies
are parceled out unevenly at birth." For the postmodern
resentniks, fringe feminists, and bureaucrats thrive in the
political and polemical because they know not how to appreciate
poetry. A true poet risks losing his soul and right to write when
entering the administrative politicized world, whereas
the politcian is unburdened with this artistic integrity and calling to
render the Truth. No fringe feminist who ever witnessed the romantic
glory of a storm blowing in off the Atlantic would seek to deconstruct
Shakespeare, for they are but one and the same. And without a
grounding in the ineffable romance of young love, without a
foundation in the wondrous mysteriousness which Einstein saw
lying at the base of all art and science, without an
appreciation of God's subtleties, without a sterling memory of
Misty's silhouette high-lighted by the sweeping Corolla light, without
the private property afforded by a resolutely honest spirit, they are
but the dumb brutes of society, a herd of polemical cowards. And the
Good Angel of Starbuck's voice rings out across the open waters of the
Web:
"Vengeance on a dumb brute!" cried Starbuck, "that simply smote thee
from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing,
Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous."-- Chapter 36 The Quarterdeck
Starbuck reminds us that it is not in God's plan for us to seek
retribution for having been kicked out of creative writing class-- to
forever berate the fringe feminists and expose
the boomer generation's void of intellectual leadership. God's Time
will take care of them and all they create, as sure as Time's God
will resurrect all that they have dismantled. The Good Ship's Mission
is to
build the world's largest classical community, and resurrect the
traditions, works, masterpieces, and ideals which set man free,
endowed him with morality, and which have made his life richer, his
soul eternal, and this country Great. And one of these ideals is
forgiveness.
Towards the magnificent end of Moby Dick, when Ahab has
already lowered twice on two consecutive days in pursuit of the
white whale, only to have his boat smashed to splinters by the
great white Leviathan, Ahab lowers once again on the third day
of the chase.
"Great God! but for one single
instant show thyself," cried Starbuck; "never, never wilt thou
capture him, old man- In Jesus's name no more of this, that's
worse than devil's madness. Two days chased; twice stove to
splinters; thy very leg once more snatched from under thee; thy
evil shadow gone- all good angels mobbing thee with warnings:-
what more wouldst thou have?- Shall we keep chasing this
murderous fish till he swamps the last man? Shall we be dragged
by him to the bottom of the sea? Shall we be towed by him to the
infernal world? Oh, oh,- Impiety and blasphemy to hunt him
more!"
And considering that the postmodern bureaucracy is a "dumb
brute," immune to reason, having expelled it at its inception,
would it not be mad to take vengeance upon that which has no
conscience to comprehend justice? For their sole intent today is to
distract us from our Purpose of laying the foundations for the
Millennium's Renaissance. They would like to drag us down in
their politics, and thus the best vengeance is to turn the other
cheek, forgive them, and let Eternity judge their doings. For
vengeance is the postmodern
liberal deconstructionist's game, and envy and materialistic
ambition is their sustenance. But lest we become like them, we
must remind ourselves that our mission is not their
deconstruction, for there is nothing to deconstruct, but rather
our mission is the creation of the world's largest classical
community. So we forgive them in this world, and may God have
mercy on them in the next.
And so we alter our course and turn towards a far greater cause-- to serve
the community of eternal souls. We turn away from the aging, passionless
pedants, and towards the nobler souls of the rising generation. For we,
the prematurely labeled slacker generation-x, have yet to speak for
ourselves. We turn
away from the fading illiterate boomer corporate grunge culture, towards the
millennium's renaissance. For within the kids exists all that the
liberals removed from the university, and I say that the teenagers shall
understand
the silent, sober beauty of that foggy night beside the Corolla Light,
long before the hippy turned management consultant develops the capacity
to appreciate rhyming, metered verse. I
am haunted. I can neither forget nor comprehend the way the great sweeping
light silhouetted her profile, as the beacon revolved about on its endless
voyage. All I know is that I've got to tell you about it. And below these
words from me mighty crew, ye'll find me final biddings.
From:
Becket Knottingham
To: cecilia
lynn comstock
Subject: Re: your
mail
I just read Kill devil hill by becket knottingham. It was very
moving for me. Finally, my thoughts and fears have been put into
words by someone. We are not all as the boomers would have
people believe. Most of us are desperately trying to be moral
and just human beings, in a society that tells us to be the
opposite.The boomers generation was about money, money, money. If
there is a lack of love, compassion, and justice within our
generation, it is only because they raised us that way. I
applaud your effort . Keep sailing, with GOD as your mate, for
he is surely mine.
From: Bidlack
To: becket@killdevilhill.com
Subject: wow
becket--
you are the absolute voice of truth; you speak straight to my
soul. i've been sitting here for the past couple hours just in
awe of your work. being only a freshman in high school, i'm
often encouraged by both friends and adults to just slack off
because it's not worth the trouble, but you have been the
inspiration and verification that i needed that it's going to be
up to me to find what's inside of me. thanks a lot. belinda
bidlack, an already struggling artist
From: Mary Cohutt
To:
drake@jollyroger.com
Subject: The most perfect silence.....
I know what the perfect silence is.......silent words that
touch.....tears that fall unnoticed... a softening heart...
Thank you for your words
From: Adam Jones
To: captain@jollyroger.com
Subject: A cancer within the literary world Mr Raft and
fellow JR mariners:
For some weeks now fellow JR deckhand
Seymour Jacklin and I have been conducting a campaign against
'poet' Murray Lachlan Young. For your sake I hope you have not
yet come across him as I am sure his rabid, vapid, drug fueled
rantings would drive you into apoplexy. Murray was recently
signed to EMI for around 1m pounds sterling, and, I believe,
appears occasionally on MTV in the States reading his
abominations between programs. He is being promoted as a poet
and sees himself as one. To think that a man who is clearly an
idiot is lining himself up with Whitman and Pound makes me
nauseous.
Unfortunately some of his poetry is now on the
net, and the following URL will refer you to one of his better
(but still dreadful) offerings. URL will refer you to one of his
better (but still dreadful) offerings.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/bookworm/juggler.htm.
So far the reaction to MLY has run along the following lines:
In a number of media interviews Young has painted a picture of
serious poets
- the majority of whom, naturally, do
not like him - as stuffy reactionaries opposing the man who heralds
the
renaissance of poetry. However poetry requires a certain amount of intellectual rigour and crafting; I
doubt that
even Young himself would consider
claiming his 'poetry' contains a modicum of either. (from my
web pages).
Although you must be very busy, Seymour and I
would be very happy to see opposition to 'the bimbo of poetry'
championed by the great JR crew. Failing that, a few words would
be very much appreciated as an indication to the crazed
supporters of this fraud that the poetry world isn't going to
lie down and let MLY urinate all over it.
The saddest thing
is that some elements of the press seem to think MLY represents
the future of English poetry and are pushing him as 'the modern
Byron'.
Thanks - regards to the great floating bastion of
literature and all who sail with her...
Adam.Jones@durham.ac.uk
http://www.dur.ac.uk/~d61m4w/
From: Greg and Jan Millsaps
To: mcgucken@jollyroger.com
Elliot,
I thoroughly enjoyed your massive website. I am a North Carolinian and
can appreciate your love for our Outer Banks and Blue Ridge
mountains. I
am an avid backpacker and surfer so I enjoy these extremes as well!
This site is definitely a wake up call to an apathetic and snoozing
generation. I think the neo-conservative/classical liberal/libertarian
type views are gaining a hold on the hearts and imaginations of our
generation (I consider myself part of the so-called "Gen X" even
though I
just turned 30). I found the articles in "Hatteras" intriguing. Do you
have a creative writing type of journal? If so I would love to submit
some poems and/or short stories for consideration.
Thanks again for the hard work you folks have put into this site... I
know this level of eloquent insight doesn't come cheaply! Please
email me back
when you get time.
- Greg
Date: Fri, 24 Oct 1997 12:06:32 -0500
From: Ville Platte High School Library
To: drake@jollyroger.com
Subject: on the really cool pirate theme of the web-site
Avast,maties and yo ho ho! This is the infamous Bloody eye billy. This the
best ship
Ive seen from Canary to James town. What inspired the pirate theme
and do
you have a
a musical like the Pirates of Penzance? If you do E-mail the lyrics to
me at
VPHSL@7.
Ahoy, throw the liberals to the sharks and sail on the seven
cyberseas! My
favorite book is Le Miserables but only after treasure island! Shiver me
timbers, Its a mutiny Ive
got to skin a few wharf rats!
From: SARAH SCHAEFFER
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Subject: Ahoy jollyroger!
Ahoy!. Thank you for the letter. It was
awesome. I cannot tell you how relieved I am at
yer words! In an effort to love me fellow man I was
becoming liberal minded. I was gettin' pulled down
in mire of creature worship. Ah thank you man, you
saved me from a fate worse than death.
I think I accidentally sent your message back to you.
I'm new at steering me rutter on the internet seas.
Not since I've read George Macdonald, have I
seen anything so thought provoking. I don't know
what I'm going to do with ya you bonnie man.
I was thinking that there is some one you'd like to
meet. He 's a pastor over here in Seattle Washington
(USA). He's 26 and endeavors to make the Book of
all books relevant to our generation. I call us the
orphaned generation. Left in front of the one eyed
babysitter while our parents went to accumulate all
the material possessions they rallied against in the
60's.
Anyway his name is Mark Driscoll, and he teaches
near the University District. He's real intelligent and
has a knack with words. They also have a discussion philosophical
group on campus. The web site is Marshillchurch@aol.com I think
you'd really enjoy yerself.
His friend Lief reminds me of the Red Avenger. He
has a talk show to reach out to the orphaned generation. He gets down
to the brass tacks too, cuts right to it.
Anyway, thanks again for your frank reply to the
Postmodern porno graphic 'slackers' who's 'words
don't mean anything.'
I would say one thing thou. It's real easy to get into the rut of
railing against the jerks and forget to
promote the good. I'm not worried though. You've got
a good head on your shoulders and I thought all you
needed is the merest whisper of a suggestion.
I look forward to your next hail. If there's anything I
can do for ya just whistle. Ayla the Jem piping off.
From: Kristen
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Subject: Love to all!!!!!1
This is amazing I never knew of your site till I stumbled upon it
this day. I am amazed and can not think of a greater place to find out
the Truth! I am definitely going to make sure my friends read this. I
am a junior in high school and fear the plot of liberals against me when
I go to enter college. I have already confronted extreme liberals in my
current school, and I was given an undeserved lower grade because of it
(but I got him back by telling the Truth in front of the class every
time he said something stupid, I mean liberal. I would love to receive
your newsletter or be notified if this site is updated. I am sorry, but
I do not know my e-mail, but as soon as I know I will write again (we
just rerouted our entire computer) Well, I'll be looking for more later
and thank you for the wonderful site!
Kirstin
From: Nat Carswell
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Cc: nacjr@iglou.com
Subject: AHOY!!!!!
I love this!! I have found my home on the world-wide web. My name is
John Carswell, and I am an eighteen year old high school senior at an
all-male Catholic high school in Louisville, KY. The cooling sting of
the sea-breeze, the gentle roar of the Atlantic shore... the possibility
of the high seas!!! This is madness!!! I have grown up with the
ocean a
part of my soul!! No man-made music is sweeter to me than the jollity of
the Jamaican steel drum. All of these things I associate with
literature, the poetry of Shakespeare, with my own endeavours into the
world of beautiful, painful truth, which is the Word!!!
I will be in contact with ye; rest assured of that!
The Dread Pirate Carswell
Date: Mon, 8 Dec 1997 23:49:57 -0500
From: Fred Hallett
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Subject: Sailor's Shakedown Cruise: A bit of wisdom from John Stuart Mill
Doolies (the lowest form of cadet life) at the U.S.Air Force Academy must
memorize this cogent bit of philosophy written by one of England's
foremost
thinkers. It bears repeating in this good company:
"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The
decayed and
degraded state of moral and patriotic feelings which thinks that
nothing is
worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is
willing
to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal
safety, is
a miserable creature, and has little chance of being free unless made and
kept so by the exertions of better men than himself. "
Sailor
From: barbara macauley
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Subject: Re: Duplicate Registration
Thanks for your letter. I am a grandmother, who received WEBTV from my
15 -year-old grandson last July for my 70th birthday. I am having great
fun with it, and found your website thereon. My husband and I retired
here to Chapel Hill in l982 to be near our only son. Then he moved to
Switzerland, London, New York, and lives in Connecticut at present.
DON'T ever try to follow your children...as they might MOVE. Anyway, we
are still here in Chapel Hill...and probably will stay here now. I
don't have any interest in starting a literary cafe, although this town
might be ripe for one. This is a very strange and diverse place.. as you
know. We are among the few Republicans in these parts... and the liberal
professors abound. But it is kind of fun to be different! Sincerely,
Barbara (The Blonde) Macauley.
From: Renee Gilbert
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Subject: English Major Burnout
Hello. I was browsing through your webpage while looking for things for
my paper. It was good enough for me to bookmark it.
I'm an English major at Indiana Univeristy. It is absolutely amazing
how much red tape and hassles I have gone through while attending this
stupid university. The thing that really burned me up was the fact that
if one were to transfer between campuses of the SAME university, the
credits won't even transfer!!! I was knocked a whole grade level because
of it.
Most of the profs are bland. The reason why they have the "My way of
no way" mind frame is laziness. They don't want to take the time to
even explore what anybody has to say.
I have one more year and I'm burned out. I even feel regret for even
attending university, but that stupid degree is needed.
Enough of my whining. For aboard your ship, I find myself beyond it
all. Renee
From: Philip A. Brown
To: becket@killdevilhill.com
Subject: think you
Thank you for putting a kick-ass site on the web. It's great to find
people I can actually discuss my studies with. This is what makes
learning such a great experience.
From: Kurt
To: becket@killdevilhill.com
Subject: motivation
It is nice to see that literature is not dead. Finding anything of
bookmarking Killdevilhill, I find it much easier. Thanks for helping
keep books alive.
From: The Boryan's
To: becket@jollyroger.com
Subject: Ahoy there matey
Dear becket,
I just simply love your web page. There are a lot of fun
things to do. I like that greeting card w\ the lighthouse and
the sonnet. That was a brilliant idea. I haven't had time to
explore your entire site, but I have bookmarked it and plan to
return many times. I appreciate the work you must put in to
send people (including myself) the sonnet of the day. That was
also a neat idea. I can appreciate your site even more, because
I have been to every one of those lighthouses you mentioned and
have pictured, and have stayed on the Outer Banks many times.
We usually stay in Duck. Well have fun keeping your site up.
Yea drop me a line if you get time at aboryan@hotmail.com
So many nights I have found myself thinking upon how cool it
would be to write in as profound and rich a context as Melville
wrote in. To be as well versed in the Bible and Shakespeare as he
was, and thus, ever since that misty May night, whence
Providence introduced me to the Greastest American Novel, I have
taken it upon myself to educate myself.
The starbuckclassicalpoetry.com Classical Poetry Port is a place for you to
post your favorite poems by the masters and discuss them. Voyage forth
upon the net, looking for the poetry which exalts yer soul, and bring
it on home to the starbuckclassicalpoetry.com Classical Poetry Port
and the Classical
Poet's Port. And too, in the rich context which develops, we hope
that ye try yer own hand at expressing yer deepest sentiments. And may
the best poet win the hearts and minds of this rising generation.
It are those few classic souls and teachers of all ages
who are called on by God to seek permanence in the written
language who endure the rise and fall of generations upon this
earth, forming the crown jewels of our cultural heritage. And
today the crew of The Jolly Roger has dedicated
themselves to reviving the eternal beacons of the lost classics
and laying the foundation for the millennium's renaissance. We
too are seeking to be wealthy, but whereas the neon corporate cultural
boomer's
wealth was counted down with dollars from the mint and tax-subsidized
honors and awards, our primary wealth derives from serving ye, the
fearless reader, with a literature endowed with Honor, Integrity, Truth,
and Beauty.
While virtually all modern leaders, lecturers, and pedants sail
without conscious regard for or respect of the classics, the classics
don't mind, for they know that the eternal souls that they have been
and will be enjoyed by far outnumber the pompous pedants of any given
age. Human nature tends to tell each of us that we are omniscient in
all matters of aesthetics, and thus all men believe themselves to be
superior critics of politics, art, music, and poetry. But in the end,
it is only the true artist who is the true critic, for they alone look
upon all possibilities the universe presents, and choose the one
element which they naturally know will endure. So it is that time
alone can prove the artist's sense of the immortal. Not because the
artist does not know it to be the Truth, but because the greater mass
of conformers, bureaucrats, and cultural experts of his day have
nothing to gain by comprehending the newly created order founded in
first principles, and a lot to lose. Now many tax-subsidized
postmodernists have posed as misunderstood creators, prophets, and
artists, attempting to utilize the darker history of the struggling
artist to secure government funds, but in fact these politicians are
not creators, but only destroyers of traditions. Though there is
little distinction between creation and deconstruction in the
postmodern mind, I perceive a bold demarcation, and I draw it here.
The true artist is paid infinitely well by the integrity of that which
they create. The true artist does not maliciously deconstruct
time-honored traditions, but he builds upon them, thereby honoring and
joining the eternal community of souls. The true artist respects the
masters who created before him, and in doing so he joins their eternal
context and adds to it, and so it is that he shall be respected by
masters yet to be.
For I am a haunted man. I've been walking the pristine
Holiday streets of Chapel Hill late at night, with white
Christmas-tree light snow flakes and wreathes adorning the lamp
posts, my breath hanging in the winter air silvered by the crisp
Carolina moon, and Melville's melodies running through my mind.
I have been reading the Greats, and in every passing face I see
a soul that they could speak to. I walk alone with these
effulgent visions which drive me out onto the streets for
late-night promenades, and there I feel the deck of the world
below me, the loyalty of me crew about me, the rising wind of a
cultural yearning calling me, and I notice that Franklin Street
is missing a Classicals Cafe, The Home Port of The Jolly
Roger. Perhaps when our founding voyages are completed, when
we have gained crow's feet about our eyes from long hours spent
squinting in the crow's nest, scanning the horizon for the White Whale
of all original poetry and prose; when the callouses
on our hands have begun to soften, and all noble battle wounds have
healed, I shall
meet ye there someday. For all these treasures I speak of, and all
these aspects I am haunted by, are yers.
Best Wishes & Happy
Holidays,
Becket
Knottingham: becket@jollyroger.com, 1997-2000
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