onsdag 28 december 2016

Eftermiddag i Antropolis

This is a post in Swedish presenting a picture of "Antropolis," my fictitious city.

Antropolis är staden som är alla städer. Den är belägen i astralvärlden, i drömtidens icke-tid.

Bilderna visar Avenyn i Antropolis någon gång, någon dag i denna icke-tid.

Köp Antropolis på SF-Bokhandeln
Mer info om romanen
Antropolitansk profil 1: Hadar Lacq
Antropolitansk profil 2: Elander Lysion
Antropolitansk profil 3: Gotsis Fripp

måndag 26 december 2016

From My Collection of Model Soldiers

I have a collection of military miniatures, collected since my early childhood. They are kept in store in a secret location Beyond the Beyond, only accessible by pump trolley along a disused railroad track. This is a selection of my plastic figures.

1. German WW II soldier, 1/32, Airfix. Actually an Afrika Korps soldier that I've painted in regular, "mainland Europe" garb. How to paint figures like these, see caption for figure 7. Details aside, learning how to paint these ready-cast, one-piece, unpainted-on-delivery figures has been a process over the years, and now I'm reasonably satisfied with the result, the highlighting giving the figure some depth, some stature, some Gestaltkvalität as the Germans say.

2. Ready-made, factory painted Britains figure, 1/32, medieval archer.

3. Various (click on the picture for blow-up).

4. Vitrine.

5. Britains and Herald indians, 1/32, factory painted.

6. German 1/32 soldier, probably Matchbox. Painted by yours truly.

7. American Paratrooper, 1/32, Airfix, painted by me in a kind of highlighting fashion gained by priming the figure in light grey, then letting it dry. Then it's about painting it in olive drab, then, while paint is still wet, rubbing some of it off with a cloth. Further, the face is done by first painting it in flesh (and letting it dry), then adding a darker color, then wiping this off. This results in having the darker paint only settle in the cavities of the face, gaining some sort of detailed paint job without having to add every single brush stroke for this. -- Details like boots, weapon, belt are then painted, done without fuss, no highlighting.

8. The previous figures, both Airfix and Britains, are solid, one-piece ones, cast in one single piece. The one in this picture is an assembled model from Taimya, 1/35, panzer grenadier, with parts like body, arms, weapon, helmet glued together. This allows for a rather fine detail job, easy to paint before assembly. I assembled this figure while I was, say, 16 or 17, and it still looks quite good -- despite absence of highlighting in the painting, that was an unknown feature back in the day. In comparison, figure 1, 6 and 7 have been painted by me this year as a middle aged artist.

9. Various.

10. Various.

Related (in Swedish)
Kluge: "Slaget"
Melina Starr -- agent i befrielsen av Sverige
Castanedas värld: en ordlista
Recension på svenska av Jüngers "Der Kampf als inneres Erlebnis"

lördag 24 december 2016

Merry Christmas Everybody


It's Christmas. And I'll celebrate it with this picture of me as a six-year-old at pre-school, doing a mosaic. Color and pizazz, then as now. Enthroned on a part of my opus.

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. And acknowledge the I AM, the divine light within.

Nordic Sphinx (poem)
The New Improved Sun (poem)
Secular Hymns -- Ordinary Songs With Religious Feel
Who Are the Ascended Masters?

onsdag 21 december 2016

New Book in the Pipe

Acclaimed author Lennart Svensson has written another ground-breaking work.

If everything goes according to plan, the next title by Lennart Svensson will be Actionism -- How to Become a Responsible Man.

The publisher is Hadean Black, Australia.

The new title, Actionism, is a moral statement and a selfhelp guide, teaching you to sum up your will and become a Responsible Man.

Actionism is a perennially footed, esoterically oriented selfhelp guide. It's a vortex of erudition and experience, an ethic for the active and educated man and woman.

Read more about it on the publisher's website.

Forthcoming: Actionism
Borderline (2015)
Secular Hymns
The image is a bust of Julius Caesar, a man by way of Shakespeare quoted in Actionism: "I am the brother of danger... I am like the northern star... I am not afraid to tell grey-beards the truth...!"

söndag 18 december 2016

Written 18/12 2016

Good evening.

You see the image above. It's a view from Antropolis, city of cities, all cities and none. More can be read about it in my eponymous Swedish language novel, "Antropolis".

Here's a link to it (in Swedish). Not that I'm trying to sell it. I guess many are tired of buying stuff now, just before Christmas. It's just that many want to have links to stuff in any blog post.

Anyhow, this image is from Antropolis. Specifically, what we see is the Regimental Facility = "Regementets stad" in the book.

These are barracks. In Swedish, "kaserner". In German, "Kaserne". Makes you think of the song, "In den Kasernen, da warten sie -- auf menschen Brüdern, da schiessen sie."

Now I'll go and read Monier-Williams Sanskrit dictionary. Or whatever. Pre-Christmas coma prevailing.

Related (in Swedish)
Blogginlägg från oktober

tisdag 6 december 2016

"Science Fiction Seen from the Right" Reviewed

An important thing for a published book is to be reviewed. This is part of the reception of the book. And now the first review of Science Fiction Seen from the Right has seen light of day.

The first review of Science Fiction Seen from the Right has been published. James O’Meara of Counter-Currents has meticulously read my essay, and meticulously pointed out this and that in the case. Read the review here.

You could say that the review is about 51% positive about the book. The later part of the review has some praise for it. With that in mind, there’s also some criticism aired.

As for instance regarding the traditional angle of the book.

O’Meara intimates that the book isn’t really covering traditional strains. For instance, he says that Herbert’s Dune would be “pretty much the only – book/author that fits” the traditional costume.

To this, I, as the author of the book, say: with the method employed by O’Meara, not even Dune would pass the traditionalist test. For in book 2 of the series, Dune Messiah, Herbert reverses everything heroic and grand about book 1, Dune. And God Emperor of Dune (book 4) can be read as a scathing criticism of monarchy, feudalism, religion and all. As I say in my study, Herbert had this “bipolar” strain and it’s all over the Dune series. It has instances of “anti-tradition” throughout, along with the glorious archaism and traditionalism.

The thing of it is, to find 20th century authors showcasing traditional ideals isn’t easy. There virtually aren’t any thoroughbred traditional fiction authors nowadays. Examine them closely and out comes a man that might seem like a flaming liberal in many cases. True, we do have essayists like Evola and Guénon stating what tradition is and is not. However, when looking at 20th century fiction, I find it more fruitful to examine authors who may not “be” textbook traditionalists, but who “represent” traditional strains.

With this in mind, I think it’s justified to speak of for instance Heinlein and traditionalism. For instance, look at him when he (in Space Cadet) has a general saying that an officer must be “a true and noble knight”. And when he in Glory Road has the hero giving a beginner a lecture on how to be heroic. In modern literature it doesn't get any more traditional than that.

Further, it’s justified to speak of traditionalism when looking at Tolkien and C. S. Lewis with their worlds imbued by “the feudal spirit” and faith. It’s justified to examine the authors the way I do because — again — maybe they would fail a traditionalist exam — but, the important thing is what they in critical cases “represent” — and that, to me, is traditionalism. They acknowledge eternal values like duty, honor, courage, faith and justice.

That is why my general outlook still holds, I figure.

True, in some instances I might profit from what O’Meara calls “minuscule Tradition” along with the defining, “majuscule Tradition”. The attitude of fleshing out the study with “ordinary conservatism” along with the cutting edge, archaic Traditionalism. However, this I put up on the “grey area” account. And maybe I should have supplied some disclaimers regarding this in the introduction. You can’t have too many disclaimers these days, I’ve noticed.

However, I do have disclaimers in the book. Like regarding Heinlein. Which I both give pride of place in the book, giving him chapter 1 to shine in plus a major part of the last chapter. To me, he is the “iconic” right-wing SF writer because he gloriously represents the conservative, traditional mindset in SF garb. Then, of course, he also had liberal and libertarian attitudes and this I note. I do “disclaim” Heinlein as a Traditionalist stalwart through and through. Yet, in many a good book he represented conservative attitudes and for this he will, to me, remain the iconic SF rightwinger for ever and ever amen.

Another thing. The book is not a translation, as O’Meara intimates. It was written in English, by me, from start to finish.

The review is critical. Some criticism is delivered...! But — as hinted, there’s some praise too. In all, it’s a fine text doing the book some justice. Do read it, I say.

Svenssongalaxen Presentation of the Book
Buy the Book on Amazon
Buy the Book on Adlibris
Counter-Currents Reviews my SF Essay

måndag 28 november 2016

November Poems

Hereby some poems by Lennart Svensson, author of several modern classics.

I will now publish some choice poems, creations of timeless beauty and wisdom. The first poem is called Obey the Bey.
Badilidam, badilidoo,
I'm a singer and a poet, I sing as I go.
Dig-a-loo, Waterloo,
that's what we sing in Sweden
in Eurovision and so.

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine,
oh yes, oyez, you'd better obey --
obey The Bey, Ardath Bey,
the wise ol' Egyptian,
the adept and scholar,
the mystic, the rustic,
the king of it all.

I sing for fun, I blog on the net,
writing my poesy for all and sundry.
This blog fares well, there are readers
and stuff, visitors in the night.
It all fares well -- so I bid you,
for now, farewell!
You've just read a poem by me, Lennart Svensson, the editor and proprietor of this blog. There seems to be some visitors to this site and for that I'm glad. I mean, currently I'm not so eager to push it among people. The readers come anyway.

By the way, the pic above is of the Temple of Debod, Egypt.

- - -

Now for the next poem: The Sun in the Dark.
The sun shines in the dark
beaming through space, illuminating Earth
lighting my way as I go shopping:

- sunripe tomatoes

- solar grain bread

- mellow yellow bananas

- Solisan vitamin drink

Sol invictus! Triumphant Sun!

The sun burns in the dead of space
boils in 5,000, maybe FIVE MILLION degrees
radiating its heat into the abyss
and reaching our clod of earth
filtering through the atmosphere
sieving through the air
shining through a tree
and shining on me
as I go home from the store
with solar bread in my basket.

I'm a legend in my lunchtime, a poet and a pundit, a king and a clown, for ever seeking Harmony, Beauty and Spiritual Passion.

I seek and I find, the journey's over, I've arrived. "Home is the sailor, home from the sea / and the hunter is home from the woods" as Stevenson put it. Or, as I myself am putting it in the next poem, called Flower in the Desert.:
The Pilgrim went out into the desert
and there he found a flower,
who said "pick me, I'm nice".
So the Pilgrim picked it and
right then he just knew
this was the Flower of Sun.

Shall I stay in this desert, he mused
or shall I bring this Flower of Sun
to the people, let them rejoice
in its beauty and marvel at the colors?

From desert plains I bring you love...
From desert plains I bring you love...

With these lines from Judas Priest,
those Metal Gods of yore,
the Pilgrim went along and headed
for The Great City, whose lustre
shone ever so brightly beyond the horizon
of the nocturnal desert.

(The rather fine picture is "Desert Flower" by alien9875.)

How sweet it is...! Oh I dare say.

What then, do I say? I say: how sweet to express yourself in poetry. It's so tight, so dense, so full of information in the tiniest space possible.

So enough of my yakking, whaddaya say, let's boogie -- with the next poem -- the fourth and last -- called, Searching:
Searching for tomorrow,
searching for a read,
searching for a blogpost,
searching for some fun...

So how 'bout that apatia they talk about:
enjoy the silence, enjoy the nothingness,
shûnyatâ... how is it done, how...?

Just sit down and dream, la-la-la...
think about nothing, the nothingness now...
I am nothing, I am void, space, infinity...
extinction -- and expansion, evolution:

I have become Cosmos, the galaxy whirl:
"sarva-loka-pravriddha", dance with me Shiva...

Coleridge: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
The Not-So-Good of Philip K. Dick

tisdag 22 november 2016


This is the nine-year jubilee of this blog, presented in Swedish. -- Det är alltså nioårsjubileum för Galaxen idag. Det första inlägget postades 22/11 2007. Det var en annan värld då, tänk vad tiden går.

Bloggen fyller nio år idag. Tjoho.

Jag har inget särskilt att säga om bloggens förflutna just nu. Annat än att denna blogg har varit en trevlig hobby under dessa år. Från november 2007 till idag.

Jag har genom åren bloggat om ditt och datt. För att ge ett slags tvärsnitt av eländet denna jubileumsdag, härmed några länkar till personer jag bloggat om.

Ska vi börja i Sverges samtid kan man ju nämna detta inlägg om David Nessle. Nessle är en serietcknare och kreatör som kan förtjäna några rader.

Och en figur som vagt påminner om Nessle är Leonard Borgzinner. Denne norrman avled 1990 och förtjänar också några rader. En kreativ man, allt annat lika.

- - -

Nu gå vi till historien. Jag har även bloggat om den. En av de historiska figurer jag berört är Alkibiades, en athenare under peloponnesiska krigens stormar.

En person som är diger på historiska innebörder är vidare Robert E. Lee. Han var sydstatsgeneral under amerikanska inbördeskriget. Lika innebördsrika var andra världskrigets Patton och Rommel. Rommel var en något udda figur men visst var han historisk, ett generalsskap väl värt att studera.

En god representant för amerikansk general under efterkrigstiden är annars Norman Schwarzkopf. USA:s krigsmakt är iofs en imperialistisk erövrarmaskin, det har vi sett sedan Vietnam men ännu mer sedan Afghanistan och Irak. Men alla militärer gillar inte att användas som instrument för elitmaffian. Därför finns idag en gruppering inom Pentagon som kallas "White Hats", omnämnt i detta inlägg. Folk som Schwarzkopf tycks mig ha det rätta virket att vara en Hederlig General, en som förstår att uppfylla den ed man svurit, den att försvara konstitutionen. White Hats idé är att som soldater försvara konstitutionen, det har man gått ed på, inte US, Inc. som är elitmaffians rofferi- och utsugningsprojekt.

- - -

Det handlar om människor på min blogg. Går man till andliga storheter finns det ju några stycken. Men jag inskränker mig till de mer biografiska texterna. T.ex en sådan som den om Vivekânanda. Han var en indisk guru som verkade under början av 1900-talet. Han och hans lärare Râmakrishna hade sina poänger.

Fler porträtt av andliga typer som getts på bloggen, är t.ex denna över Swedenborg, en storsvensk andeskådare, och denna över Carlos Castaneda. Denna länk går till en recension av hans första bok. Här har ni bloggens hela Castanedatråd.

- - -

Personer jag bloggat om under dessa nio år: de är så många att jag knappt kan räkna dem. Men jag har till exempel skrivit några rader om Lasse Holmqvist (1930-1996), som hade ett möjligen gripande levnadsöde som stor TV-kändis på 80-talet. En skåning likt Holmqvist var för sin del Åke Ohlmarks (1911-1984) som jag alltid kommer att digga. Han var översättare, författare och bråkmakare.

- - -

Slutligen en figur i gråzonen: Arne Treholt. Han var intressant. Och skyldig. Denne norske Sovjetmedlöpare förtjänade sitt straff. Det sägs aldrig i MSM. Där hålls han om ryggen av mediavänstern.

Så denna dag är "lite festlig". Men det ska inte hindra mig från att polemisera om ditt och datt. Som i de länkar jag gett som ibland har lejonklon framme.

David Nessle skrev "Stadsliv"
Leonard Borgzinner
Carlos Castaneda

tisdag 15 november 2016

Rave Review of Borderline

My essay Borderline was published in 2015. The current year, 2016, in April, Heathen Harvest had a review of the book.

The review is written by American poet and author Juleigh Howard-Hobson. Apart from praising the book for being what it was meant to be, a readable overview of perennialism for today's culture, she appreciates the book's style. Like saying this:
And because Borderline is a supremely well-constructed book, [a certain chapter] concerns the creation of all that shares in the state of being (...) [T]his could be heavy-going, but Svensson manages to punctuate the ponderous with light “unscripted” statements like, “I must have forgotten noting it when putting this down on paper once” (concerning the ultimate source of a creation myth), that make a chapter’s worth of philosophical musings on the beginning of existence lively and interesting rather than deadly and dull.
To this I say: indeed, some effort on style was made when writing the book. I suspected that hundreds of pages of conceptual discussion could be hard to digest, therefore, I aimed at a style of "tight but loose," allowing for passages like the one noted above.

The review continues saying this, also touching on the style of the book:
Svensson gives a quick summation of Vedic Philosophy after this, having dived into it (so to speak) while discussing the creation of everything. It is fascinating to note that when he talks about The Rigveda, “the Upanishads and its successor, the Bhagavad-Gita,” the translations he uses are his own. This is even more fascinating when you realize that the book you are reading is in English although Svensson himself is Swedish, and he still manages to convey both personality and intelligence.
The review says a lot of things, virtually all of it in a positive vein. This paragraph sums up the text rather well:
There are twenty-six chapters that make up the bulk of this two hundred thirty-three-page book, which is also comprised of an introduction, a coda, aphorisms, a list of sources, and an index of persons mentioned. Spanning from Plato to Castaneda, Svensson manages to not only capture the essential spark and esoteric meaning of conjectures regarding ontology—the nature of being—but he also manages to recast these conjectures in a new light, “so that the educated reader of today gains clarity in the matter.” Achieving such a feat is not an easy task, I imagine, but achieve it Svensson most certainly has.
The whole review can be found online here. As such, Heathen Harvest has been online sine 2003 as a site for neofolk, ambient and industrial music plus related literature of the traditionalist kind.

Buy the book on Amazon
Buy the Book on Adlibris
Gangleri/nl Review of the Book
The Book Reviewed by N. M. Phoenix
Sarastus Review
Heathen Harvest Reviews Borderline
Aquarelle by Gunnar Brusewitz

torsdag 3 november 2016

Svensson: Virtual Guru (short story)

This is a short story by Lennart Svensson, the Swedish writer born in 1965, known for his essays "Borderline" and "Science Fiction Seen from the Right". -- In a future military academy the cadets are given a virtual walk through military history.


There was nothing strange about it, just a battle simulation game: just a virtual walk through military history as one of many exercises for the Republican Army Cadets. After graduation those cadets went on to fight a real war against alien aggressors, the Paloozans and their allies, but never mind that now. Never mind the ins and outs of that simulation game either, it’s just a setting for our story.

Well now, a story: we need a main character and that’ll be Cadet Sergeant Otto Graf, 22. He had taken part in the war for some time as Private 1st Class, had acted bravely on a forced landing and had been promoted Sergeant and Squad Leader. Then one day, in 2487, having successfully completed the Sisto campaign, he was sent to the War Academy on Massmo. And there he studied all the subjects, like tactics, blue and red force organization astrography etc. He had a good time in all, however busy. It was like "boot camp with books".

And then one day it was time for the virtual battle, the computer generated military history tour. The cadets’ performance in this game was judged by many standards; for instance, there wasn’t any ordinary gaming taboo against being killed, as the rules of bushido were common knowledge in the 25th century: you fight, you die. However, neither was there an intrinsic value in just going out there and being killed. The game let you endure some self-imagined pain, as well as despair and joy and pride and whatever feelings there were in a battle. It was for real in every sense of the word but the physical.

So one day, Cadet Graf was led into the actual VR-chamber, got strapped to a chair, and was fitted with helmet and sensors measuring handsweat, EEG and REM. The sensory deprivation made him relax, the input data and the images got him into combat mode – and to make a long story short he was soon fighting from a war chariot at the field of Kurukshetra, he was a hoplite at Plataea and a centurion at Zama. He was a sword fighter at Fyrisvall and he was a 17th century trooper in Europe.

He fought virtual battles, fought as an historical soldier in emblematic encounters.

As intimated he had reached the era of horse and musket, and as a pertinent cavalry man he one day, one virtual day alone rode through a frozen country with copses of defoiled maple and ash. He wore a tricorne, a blue coat, breeches and riding boots. The horse was grey with a black mane. Riding up on a little knoll he descried a castle in the distance, with towers and steeples and a welcoming light shining above the gate. He followed an urge to visit the castle so he rode away to it, crossed the draw-bridge, left his horse to a groom and went inside.

And there, in a resplendent hall with marble flooring and crystal pillars, a white-bearded man in a green cassock was sitting on a throne on a dais. He nodded as Graf entered. Graf for his part bowed and took a seat on a simple chair below the dais. Through a lancet window he could see the wintry landscape outside, complete with yellow clouds scudding across the sky.

”You are a soldier,” the man on the throne said. ”And I am Shuddi-Buddhi, a teacher of sorts, a guru if you will. So what do you want to know? You’ve seen some action already, that I can tell.”

”True,” Graf said.

”Then why did you come here?”

Graf didn’t know – and he was slighty confused as tho why he had to answer a question like this. This was all Virtual Reality, all part of the academy’s hands-on exercise in military history – ”hands-on” in that the cadets shouldn’t just read books about yesterday’s war but experience them too, if only in a computer-generated setting.

It was a rough class in military history – so why then was he here, why was he talking to an odd magician in a dream-castle? Shouldn’t he fight some additional wars, be out there in the thick of battle? But maybe the academy teachers had some motivation for this scene, to see if the cadet could act courteously or ask intelligent questions to men of knowledge or somesuch.

Graf then gathered himself and asked what he believed to be an intelligent question:

”Sir, what is the most important thing in the universe?”

”Life,” the teacher said without flinching, ”because everything is life. From electrons revolving around the nucleus of an atom to planets circling a sun. Fish and fowl, insects and mammals, scudding clouds and rotating galaxies; everything you see is life.”

”So what about making death your business then? As I am doing, being a soldier?”

”Well,” the bearded man said, ”if you are a soldier just for the hell of it, just to fight and kill, then you’re questionable I’d say. But if you’re fighting a war in order to make a better peace, then I see nothing wrong with it. You’ve got to have ideals.”


Ideals? Graf nodded. He asked himself if he indeed had any ideals. Well, maybe he had. Maybe he didn’t fight just for the hell of it: fight for the love of fighting, like some mercenary soldier of old. But someimes of course, out in the front line of the Paloozan war, he had felt the pull from the dark forces: he had experienced the allure of the battle itself, had sensed its rough charm, the urge to stay there forever, operating in an eternal No Man's Land. It didn’t matter then if the war ended, if only he could continue to fight and kill and command men and see the rocket ships flash through the skies, about to support their advance with sickly green fluoride lasers...

”To fight is easy, to live is hard,” the guru said. ”So while you fight you’ll have to remember that maybe one day the war will end, and then you’ll need personal contingencies, you’ll need some mental preparedness for what to do then: set up house, get a proper job... But when the solider starts to love his occupation for its intrinsical values, then he’s in a grey area I’d say...”

”But if you want to go career,” Graf said, ”then you must love your work in one way or another.”

”Well, do you? Want to go career? Aren’t you merely training to be an officer in the reserve? Big difference there, I gather.”

Graf had to admit that. He couldn’t see himself working as an officer in a peacetime army. He was simply a reservist, a good one at that, but he would never be a dyed-in-the-wool soldier, one who only thought about ranges of fire, cover and concealement. There were lots of other things in life he valued – as life itself, the planets in their courses, the sea full of fish, the birds in the skies... Smart guy this guru, he made you think, Graf mused.

Smart guy – and wise. He had that special aura about him, that indefinable something, that je ne sais quoi that made you want to linger and ask question about this and that. And the guru didn’t seem to be in a hurry, he just sat there as if he had all the time in the world – so Graf cleared his throat and asked:

”Now, if life is the most important thing in the universe, then what is it that creates life?”

”Well,” the teacher said, ”what do you think yourself?”

”I’d say God.”

”Why? Couldn’t life arise out of itself?”

”Hm,” Graf said, ”I’d said no. Because many scientists have tried to create life, but none have succeded. Not in the last 5-6-700 years or so...”


”No,” Graf echoed. ”That artificial intelligence thing you hear engineers intimate, this is just a pipe dream. And as for robots, well – they are nice toys but nothing more.”

”You’re very wise, my son,” Shuddhi-Buddhi said.

”Am I?”

”Yes, you truly are. Don’t you want to change career? I mean, after you’ve won the war, look out for a clerical career?”

Now it got strange, Graf thought. Change career, take some spiritual vows; one thing at a time, please... Then again, you never knew. Me, a priest? Stranger things had happened.

”But of course you needn’t be an ordained priest,” Shuddhi-Buddhi said. ”You could be a learned man in general, an informal guru.”

Graf nodded and thought, ”Or a virtual guru like you...”


The clouds sailed across the sky. The throne room was quiet. Graf wanted to say something diplomatical, something to round it all out.

”Anyhow,” he finally said, ”your company has been most enlightening.”

”Thank you,” the man said. ”But you already had some of the answers inside you, whatever it was you wanted to know. I’m like Socrates, performing his majeutical practice."


”His 'art of the midwife'. Assessing the pupil’s questions you sound out his conceptual depth, what he knows and knows not, and by asking counter questions you get him to realize the truth by himself.”


”It truly is.”

”Well, thank you for everything Great Teacher, Guru, Shuddhi-Buddhi!”

Graf got up from the chair, bowed and left the hall. And back in the saddle he continued his virtual mission, the march through military history. Next he rode to king Charles XI's camp in Småland, Sweden, to join him in fighting the Danish invader at Lund. In a mounted scuffle he was shot in the back by an enemy trooper and fell to the ground bleeding, mortally wounded.

On the next level of the game he commanded a French cavalry squadron in the battle of Austerlitz. His unit carried the day, partly because of Graf’s skill with the rapier. Then the scene shifted and he was commanding an infantry platoon at Missionary Ridge, storming up the slope against murderous rifle-fire. However, the unit came through and planted its banner on top of the ridge. Next, Graf was a Japanese infantry officer storming up another height, Height 205 in Port Arthur. In this battle Graf fell by a rifle shot in the chest.

Through the bogs of the Masurian Lakes as Schütze, over the Galician prairie as Austro-Hungarian ulan, through Meuse-Argonne as leatherneck was his way. There were ski-patrols in Finnish Lapland, envelopment of a bunker on a sun-baked Pacific atoll, city fight in the Rhineland urban sprawl, a landing at Inchon and a contest over the Hué citadel -- which was taken -- with Graf in the lead, wielding a .45 -- but -- he didn't see a North Vietnamese infantryman firing at him from a cranny -- so he died -- his last death.



In the VR chamber Graf was unstrapped from the chair and freed from helmet and sensors. He could walk away as a free man – or at least as a cadet in the world of the 25th century. For that part, Graf discussed his experiences in the computor game with his fellow cadets, especially the talk with the guru in the castle. Here his friends looked at him in amazement; no one else had experienced anything like that. One of his comrades even reported him to the teachers’ board on these grounds; an investigation was made, trying to find out if Graf maybe was crazy or unfit for command.

However, he was eventually acquitted for lack of evidence. But he never again mentioned his encounter in the castle with the glorified teacher, the white-bearded, green-clad Shuddhi-Buddhi. No one ever got to know about their talk about life and death and God, and whether one should go career or stay on as a reservist.

But what did Graf himself make out of it? Was it real, had their meeting actually taken place?

As an esotricist Graf decided that this had been part of the Astral War. A "virtual" episode, a dreamworld experience, real in the way that significant dreams could be real.

Science Fiction Seen from the Right
Good Cop, Mad Cop
The Swedenborg Machine
Johnnie Holt -- First Man on Mars
Johan Philip Lemke: "King Charles XI and field marshal Erik Dahlbergh riding among the enemy during the Battle of Lund".

måndag 31 oktober 2016

Grey Area Gabble

This post is mainly gabble, stream-of-consciousness, out of my head, babble, prattle and chatter. However, there is some kind of meaning to it. And that meaning is summed up in the concept, "grey area". An area of "in-between, nothingness, waiting room, no man's land" or whatever.

I AM. Do you hear me, world? I am. No one can take that away from me – the fact that I AM, that I’m a conscious, will-endowed human being looking, deliberating, reacting to what I see. No one can stop me from expressing myself. No one can stop me from acknowledging my Soul Spark, my personal fragment of the Divine Light, “das Vünklein der Seele”.

In the grey area, I AM. In the borderline, no man’s land, the zone, I AM.

- - -

Cover and concealment, fire and movement, firing range – “fire, I want you to learn; fire, I want you to burn”. Fire away, open up; forwards in the grey area, movement as a state in the twilight zone. Grey men in the grey area, a shadow among shadows, a weed among weeds. A brick in the wall, a rail in the railway, a nail in the coffin. Shadowlands.

Shadowlands, no man’s land, twilight zone, grey area, the middle zone. The borderland.

- - -

I am the light, I have the light within and I will never deny that. However, there’s also an artistic value in toning down “the bright light,” in acknowledging “the grey area, the zero point, the basic level, equanimity”. Stoic apatia and vedic samatva. Thus this post, thus these rants, thus this “in between” text, this “doldrums humdrums”.

- - -

This Rimbaud poem sums up my mood right now:
Assez vu. La vision s’est rencontrée à tous les airs.
Assez eu. Rumeurs des villes, le soir, et au soleil, et toujours.
Assez connu. Les arrêts de la vie. – O Rumeurs et Visions!
Départ dans l’affection et le bruit neufs!
In translation this would be:
Seen enough. The vision was met with in every air.
Had enough. Sounds of cities, in the evening and in the sun and always.
Known enough. Life’s halts. – O Sounds and Visions!
Departure in new affection and new noise.
This translation is by Louise Varèse.

- - -

Emptiness and internet, cover and concealment, fire and movement. I am the edge, now and forever.

I’m a survivor. I’m still alive.

I’m the grey area, the black and the white, the dark and the light. The god Abraxas that Jung spoke about, Gnostic concept, the glorious in-between, supra conduction beyond the beyond.

I’m the dark and the light, the black and white – fire and movement, cover and concealment – range of fire, firing range – the silence between the worlds – and the silence within the silence.

“I am that violet consuming flame – that is all mastery and all power – to change all things into divine perfection right now. – I am that I am in action here – now and forever. – Almighty I am – almighty I am – almighty I am.” This mantra is coined by Patricia Cota-Robles, I recite it now and then, it has a certain charm beyond being true. “It’s me, now,” pretty much so.

- - -

Cover and concealment, fire and movement. No man’s land, the grey area. Apatia, samatva.

Fire and movement, grey men at the border, grey woolen uniform. Swedish M/39-58, Finnish, German, Tsarist Russia, Confederate. Pale moon in a grey sky.

Innere Führung. Auftragstaktik. Movement as a state. I am the edge. Über Gräber vorwärts.

Borderline (2015)
Science Fiction Seen from the Right (2016)
A Post with Similar Rants
Pic from the innersleeve of BÖC's Imaginos album.

torsdag 27 oktober 2016


This is a mostly meaningless post, a diary of sorts. In Swedish.

Jag har försökt läsa Goethes "Faust". Jag kommer inte in i den. Den känns meningslös, känns som "välformulerat snömos". Larvig kärlekshistoria, teatralisk djävulsfigur, löjlig pakt. -- Jag gillar nog Goethe bättre som diktare, som poet. Ska det vara tysk dramatik från tidigt 1800-tal föredrar jag istället von Kleist med "Prinsen av Homburg" och "Pentiselia". Mindre larv, mer rakt på sak. Mer trovärdigt.

- - -

Favoriter: Ballard och Tangerine Dream. Det händer att jag lyssnar på Tangerine och läser Ballard, de hänger med genom åren. Båda är dystra nordeuropéer, de saknar kanske "ideell lyftning" men de har substans, de har något. Mer om Ballard här.

- - -

Min bror dog i mars. Han fick därmed inte se "the rise of Donald Trump"... men han missade ju inget för att, se här.

- - -

"I am the edge" är mitt mantra dessa dagar. Är man stressad, höj stressen till sublima nivåer. "Action as being" liksom.

- - -

Om cirka en månad firar bloggen nioårsjubileum. 22/11 sker det. Spännande. Nåja, en icke-händelse är det -- men -- nog har bloggen sin charm, nog finns det ännu saker att skriva om. Och nog finns det saker att länka till, internlänka alltså. Detta är ett, på sätt och vis, imponerande bibliotek av Svenssontexter. Bloggen växer, den utvecklas, om än diskret. "Bloggus mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis" -- bloggen förändras och vi med den.

Dödsruna över Robert Svensson
Bloggens tråd om J. G. Ballard
The Role of Trump
Från vänster till höger, min bror och jag, 2005.

söndag 16 oktober 2016

The New Improved Sun (poem)

I wrote this poem.

I'm in love with her and I feel fine --
living in this midsummer century --
praying at the watering place of good peace --
under the new, improved sun.
Far-out words, eh, awe-inspiring poesy of the melodical sort, eternally swinging-singing lines for a new era of humanity? Oh, the humanity...

It's a poem about faith and hope, Svensson style. It expresses what I feel today, very much so.

Jünger and the Craft of Science Fiction
SF Seen from the Right
In Swedish: David Nessle and his Fiction
Pic: a house in CityCity.

fredag 7 oktober 2016

Bildreportage: Gustav Adolfs kyrka, Sundsvall

This is Gustav Adolfs kyrka in Sundsvall, Sweden, built in 1894. The pictures were taken by me at a recent visit. Enjoy.

Säbrå kyrka
Gideå kyrka

onsdag 5 oktober 2016

Svensson: A Trip to Hell (short story)

This is a story by Lennart Svensson, author of "Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait" and "Borderline". -- Imagine that you were a devil worshiper having found the way to Hell. Then of course you'd like to go there, actually take that sinister road to that grey area. So here's a story on the subject, a horror goodie right out of the Svensson freeze box.

He was a devil worshiper going to Hell; indeed he was. He was finally to meet His Master for a cosy fireside chat and maybe get an idea or two about satanic extravagances – how, in short, to Raise Hell, to create Hell on This Earth.

He was called Bill our worshiper, looking like the most of us, not wearing a black cape or anything outlandish, or should I say nightlandish. No, nothing like that...! However, for the rest he was a full-fledged Satanist, aesthetical variety. That means: he was no modern, "downright dark" Ripsus de Foy-follower he, oh no; here we had classy stuff, like Milton, The Temptation in the Desert, The Book of Job and the cover of Judas Priest’s ”Sad Wings of Destiny” as inspiration; fire and brimstone and red velvet. Our Bill was a romantic worshiper, nevertheless sworn to Evil; he was the real deal, I can assure you that. He chose darkness before light, evil before good, and he did it with style. A hell-bound dandy, if you will.

And now he was going to Hell to meet His Master. You might wonder how he had found the way – but let’s just say that he had, that’s enough for our story. And so one day he went away over spectral landscapes, across an unholy land with purple bushes and weird flowers and yellow clouds in the sky – and suddenly he saw a tree in the distance, a certain tree his informant had told him would be the passage to Hell.

The tree was the gateway, strangely so. But this was nothing other than The Tree of Evil, The Radical Root of Reeking Ressentment; it grew up through the dimensions, through the astral spheres which surrounded Earth and whose downmost level was Sheol, Abaddon, Gehenna, Hell – that is, the lowest of the Eight Heavens and thus situated above Earth.

Bill, for his part, approached the tree, smelling of strong resin and hung with metallic yellow and red fruits. This seems promising he thought, metallic food is inedible, it’s sick, man...! So this must be the gate to Hell. He then searched the trunk for an entrance, eventually finding an aperture and going inside – and, once there, he saw a spiral staircase leading upwards, the tree being hollow with a flight of stairs inside. ”So I’d better ascend it then,” he thought.

- - -

Said and done; Bill started to walk up the stairs, round and round and up and up. Everything became a blur, a purple haze, and after forever he found himself standing on a misty moor, black mountains lining the horizon and the air heavy with sulphuric scents. He treated his lungs with the air, eagerly inhaling the stale evaporations and feeling alive, wonderously alive – and more evil than ever. Finally he was on the outskirts of Hell, soon he would meet His Master, at last he would become evil for real, a true practitioner and not just some scholarly worshipper...!

He walked over the lands, crossed desolate moors, walked over meadows with Hadean flowers and eventually came to a town: a black burgh, built by demons. Here it was all basalt, porphyry and volcaneous minerals, it was cornices adorned with ruby and sickly green statues, it was smooth pillars and echoing valves. Walking aimlessly along in the city Bill eventually came to a square with a palace as a backdrop, a dark obsidian front, shiny black glass adorned with pillars, acroteria and an inviting staircase leading to the entrance.

Fearlessly he walked up to the structure and entered, going through empty halls and soon coming to a library bathing in a grey light. Browsing the shelves and seeing works by de Sade, Abd al-Hazred and Crowley, nodding knowingly at the spines Bill felt like being at home. Hellish Heimat for sure!

- - -

Bill continued thorugh the halls and along the corridors, eventually coming to a great hall with dark pillars, smooth floor and high, pointed-arch windows with gossamer veils letting in a grey light. On a throne on a dais a figure was sitting, a figure with a tattered black suit, unkempt dark hair, a not so well-trimmed beard, bushy eybrows and a haggard look in his face. Despite the worn look Bill felt that this was his Master, so he bowed and said:

”Mr. Satan, I presume...?”

”Yeah, that’ll be me,” the being on the throne said.

Bill was overjoyed, started to jump around and dance, singing Maiden's ”666 – The Number Of The Beast”, followed by highlights from the Black Sabbath, Demon and Mercyful Fate songbooks. The enthroned being listened politely and then asked him to sit down on a little stool below the dais.

Expectantly Bill obeyed, saying:

”I’m your obedient servant, here to praise you...”

”But I’m finished as an artist,” The Devil said.


"Indeed. For you know, ever since the dawn of time we Hellish Angels have battled against the Heavenly Host; asuras versus devas you can call it, dark angels versus good ones – and believe you me, we’ve done a lot...! We’ve done our darndest to lead Man astray, teaching him devilry such as murder and adultery while devas have taught him arts and morals. We have gone for passion and melancholy, devas for piety and joy – and we, finally, seem to have lost the game.”

”Oh no, you can’t have!” Bill said. ”Earth is more miserable than ever, with warring in the Middle East, famine, overpopulation and pollution and –”

”True,” The Prince of Darkness said, ”Man still has his free will, and maybe me and my kind have inspired to that which you mention. But only indirectly so, for our reign is more or less over, finished and kaput, concerning the astral planes. You passed through Gehenna City on your way here, right? It was a boomtown once, a city teeming with hellish life, but now it’s just an empty ruin; that’s symbolical for our whole cause. Hell's Angels have ascended and switched sides. Only me is left. And my human stooges are done with, man is liberating himself and acknowledging the Light. The evil Cabal having ruled the Earth since the fall of Atlantis is kaput; the Money Masters are out of money, their fiat currency schemes are no more because now the forces of Light have issued gold-backed currency in the form of the Chinese yuan. Google "CNY" if you don't believe me.”

- - -

Bill nodded at The Devil's words and beheld the light from the windows, a faint astral light seeping in through the veils. He thought: if The Devil seemed to bask in its glory, at least not shy away -- well, then it was seriously bad. Bill started to get the picture, to realize the sordid state of Evil. He said:

”So what shall I do then, poor devil worshiper that I am? Can’t I inspire you to some evil machinations, to challenge God and tempt Jesus and all those things you were so good at in the past?”

”No, you can’t,” The Devil said and produced a piece of jewellery he was holding, green with red interior. ”Because here I happen to hold The Holy Grail, given to me by a knight in shining armour. And with this object I will seek passage to Heaven. Be the last Hell's Angel to ascend.”

”Indeed,” Bill said frostily to hide his astonishment. ”So why don’t you go there right away then?”

”I will, I will. I just have to gather myself before the meeting: to meet your Havenly Father after all these years, that’s not so simple. And to meet The Brother whose earthly, transmogrified blood is in the gem, in this selfsame emerald that I hold – that’s not so simple either! But I will go, by telepathy I will request for an audience. I hope they receive me and hear me out, I sincerely do. Well, you just have to be honest, I guess. I’ve washed my hands in it.”

- - -

Bill didn’t like what he heard, on the contrary: where he sat on the stool he sighed and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his temples in despair. This hadn’t gone well, his long awaited meeting with The Prince Of Darkness – on the contrary, it was a disaster! Instead of meeting a vigorous, gloriously evil Principality he just saw a pathetic old has-been, mentally worn out. It was the aesthete in Bill which revolted against it all; not only was there a lack in malignancy, no, above all there was a lack of style. Where was the Blakean, Miltonian Lucifer with all its melancholic beauty...? The Woodroffian Devil of Judas Priest album cover fame, a handsome Adonis spreading his wings of desire...?

Sic transit gloria inferni...

Bill sobered up and wondered what to do. Maybe just return to Earth – and pretend like nothing, above all not mentioning anything about the sordid state of their Master to his devil worshipping friends. The truth wouldn’t go down well with them.

Oh, what to do... but maybe he himself could assume the role of The Devil! That might work; he could be a surrogate devil, an Ersatz Evil, safe from intervention from higher planes since The Devil himself had thrown in the towel and switched sides... And forsooth there was no shortage of devilry on Earth; still Man made war, murdered and committed adultery like there was no tomorrow. Still drugs were abused, still children were left astray, still criminals were saluted like heroes and the gospel of atheism was preached here, there and everywhere – at the academies, in the press and in the arts. To be frank it seemed like a heyday for devilry!

- - -

Bill had had enough. He got up from the little stool and said to His Master:

”Well, goodby then, Mr. Devil. Still I revere you but for future times we'll have to do without you. If we’re going to create Hell On Earth we’ll have to do it by ourselves.”

”Seems so,” The Devil said. ”Man has a free will. Goodbye.”

He leaned back in his throne, enjoying the rays of a sun that for a moment shone through the hazy veils. Bill for his part shunned the light, not liking either this astral light nor the earthly light of day. He left the hall and went into a cabinet of the palace, visualising the Earth he had come from, longing himself back to the earthly night – and in a moment he was lying at the foot of The Tree of Evil, The Radical Root of Reeking Ressentiment, his passage to Gehenna. Shedding the dust he got up and made his way back to our world, in two minds but at the same time confident about the devilry he was about to carry out. Still there were possibilities to create a Hell on Earth, because -- as the Devil had said -- Man still had a free will.

There was in fact nothing to prevent war, adultery and murder galore! The road to ruin was all clear! So Bill danced away to familiar lands, shouting to an imaginary audience:

”Out in the fields, my brethren and sistren, let’s harrow the lands with drinking, fighting and swearing! Evil be my Good! Fire and brimstone!”

Good Cop, Mad Cop
The Swedenborg Machine
Svensson: Borderline (2015)
Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait (2014)
Going After the Saurian Baddies

torsdag 29 september 2016

Nya Tider och samtidsdebatten

This is about a Swedish weekly, Nya Tider. -- Veckotidningen Nya Tider befinner sig just nu i en brännpunkt.

Alla som hänger med i debatten vet det: tidningen Nya Tider spelar roll. Dess medverkan på bokmässan i Göteborg 22-25 september 2016 blev en katalysator för mycket. Det fick PK-Sverige att gå i taket.

Hur ska man då sammanfatta det hela? En bra sammanfattning av turerna gavs för sin delav postaren "Emanuhabb" på Flashback. Det var i tråden "Janne Josefsson och Jan Helin debatterar SVT:s oberoende":
1. Nya Tider får inte vara med på Bokmässan.
2. Nya Tider får vara med på Bokmässan.
3. Diskussioner uppstår om huruvida det var rätt att Nya Tider fick vara med på Bokmässan.
4. TV-inslag med Vavra Suk och Henrik Arnstad, där fegfjanten Arnstad vägrar debattera, och inslaget därför i stället blir en intervju med de båda.
5. Jan Helin säger på ett redaktionsmöte på SVT att människor som företräder ”extrema åsikter” (enligt vems bedömning?) inte ska få deltaga i debatter i SVT.
6. Jan Josefsson och Nike Nylander debatterar med Jan Helin i Aktuellt-inslag. Helin gör ett mycket förvirrat intryck, och kan inte inse att han återigen gjort bort sig totalt. Han har inte alls begripit vad inslaget handlar om, avbryter upprepade gånger för att byta samtalsämne, och pratar ensidigt om människors värde, vilket inte alls var ämnet för diskussionen.
7. De som sett Aktuellt-inslaget inser att Helin är en illasinnad idiot som försöker begränsa yttrandefriheten, och är synnerligen olämplig som chef på SVT.
Som sagt, vad Nya Tider gör spelar tydligen roll. Denna (förhållandevis) lilla veckotidning driver det svenska etablissemanget till vansinniga krumbukter.

Varför sker då detta? Vad gör denna tidning som är så nämnvärt?

Man är ju bara en oberoende tidning som skriver om nyheter som MSM ignorerar, såsom invandrarbrott och problem med mångkultur. Därtill är det debattinlägg om en rad inrikes och utrikes frågor, det är vetenskapsnytt och reportage om krig i MENA, vissa av dem på plats av utsända reportern Sanna Hill.

Summa summarum lever NyT och har hälsan. Gå hit för att prenumerera. Till exempel kostar det 293:- för ett halvår.

Prenumerera på NyT
Min Jüngerbok

lördag 24 september 2016

This Post

You are now reading This Post.

The other night I dreamed of an attic with two coffins in it. The light was sharp and the lids were open. It was vaguely unsettling as such -- but -- I sometimes like to return to images like these, they calm me down in an odd way. Not that I indulge in weirdness, though. It's about embracing, not indulging.

- - -

Trying to capture Leviathan, the Midgard Serpent, something elusive: that's the process of art. Hereby a sample in critcal contemporary style, attempting to describe a certain feeling.
It was a metal harsh reality, a bronze shimmer on a statue, the deep sapphire blue of the sky and a twilight luster over the things. It was a pathos-filled existence, neither “good” nor “evil”. Arno had long since left dualism behind. He wasn’t a saint but he was a man who strove towards liberation from indignation, indulgence and bitterness. Patrol with an SPW and a rifle squad, scout over A to B, getting to grips with the enemy, observe and report... this was Arno’s reality and he affirmed it fully. -- One word summed it up: elegy. And “elegy” for its part isn’t equal to “lament,” not exclusively. It’s a mixed feeling of euphoria, longing, passion and something undefined thereto, possibly the “apateia” of stoics.
- - -

I'm thinking about making a casserole. It will be based on red lentil purée, Chinese cabbage, onion, celery, broccoli, all fairly chopped / minced. At the end addition of minced (and peeled) tomato. To this some pasta. At the beginning some rapeseed oil and salt, no more seasoning required, it's in the ingredients. It's alchemical.

- - -

Iconic cars I've driven: (1) Saab 900 1985: practical and sporty, best Swedish car ever (2) Fintail Mercedes 200 1965: under-motorized yet impressive by its sheer gestalt. (3) Volvo 240 Combi 1984: barring the primitive rigid rear axle, in every other aspect the ultimate estate car.

- - -

The quotable element of prose is poetic and the quotable element of poetry is prosaic. Like, some poetic prose description from the former and some wise words from the latter.

- - -

Hereby a telling excerpt from a Svensson fantasy. Maybe it speaks for itself, maybe not, I dunno. Anyway, here it is:
Later that day, the Ledung camped on Crow Field, a savannah of dry grass and the odd shrubbery. In the distance they clearly saw the Vortex in the sky, the eye of evil sucking the life blood out of Ballisto and the whole Earth Kingdom, the symbol of Magador’s still negative presence. And below the vortex, on the southern tip of Ballisto, fully discernible from the Ledung deployment, the castle of Rohoosanna rose, a dark structure looming as a portent of evil, a dense gathering of towers, vaults, pillars, bridges and domes, a veritable castle-as-a-town, a hard to grip structure of structures. -- Dondelion called for Spacius. When his guru had arrived he asked him: ”Now what?”
- - -

As intimated by Jünger you shouldn't say things like, “I wasn’t made for these times.” Instead you should positively change the times, shape the zeitgeist with your Will and Thought.

Svensson's Biography
Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait
Science Fiction Seen From the Right (2016)
Infantryman of the Future
Shunter on Övik Central Station

söndag 18 september 2016

SF-Bokhandeln rear ut Antropolis för 38:-

Summary in English: this is info about a Swedish novel I've written.

Priset på min roman "Antropolis" är 150:-. Detta kostar den vid köp från mig, detta kostar den på SF-Bokhandeln. Eller rättare sagt, på det senare stället har den kostat det förr. Nu kostar den 38:-. Man rear ut den.

Detta är ju glada nyheter för envar Svensson-fan. OK, jag kan förstå om någon läsare som köpt boken av mig för det högre priset ogillar detta. Men då kan jag bara säga: jag har inget inflytande på SF-Bokhandelns prissättning.

Så vill du ha "Antropolis" till reducerat pris, gå hit och beställ. Kanske lägger man på porto utöver de 38 kronorna, det vet jag ej. Men ett fynd är det nog oavsett.

- - -

"Antropolis" skildrar annars en maktkamp i en stad i framtiden. Jenro Klao har byggt upp Antropolis från ruinerna. Men allt är inte frid och fröjd. Staden slits itu av idéer om teknokrati kontra andlighet. Ska Jenro Klao lyckas ena fraktionerna, ska Antropolis kunna leva som en kultur byggd på konst, vetenskap och kristallteknik?

"Antropolis" har gillats av sina läsare -- höger såväl som vänster, sf-läsare såväl som traditionalister. I Nova SF nr 20/2008 skrev Mats Linder detta om romanen:
Lättläst och personligt språk, massor med tankar och resonemang, sympatiskt innehåll.
Och i maj 2014 skrev Joakim Andersen detta om boken på Motpol:
Sammantaget är det alltså en fascinerande och läsvärd roman, en kombination av idéroman och framtidsvision. (...) Författarens bildning lyser igenom i romanen, och bidrar till upplevelsen. Den centrala roll mat, dryck och rökning spelar är gissningsvis också kopplat till författarens personlighet, liksom den betydelse det musiska har. Så är det ingen slump att Antropolis grundas efter att Klao börjar spela på en gammal orgel i kyrkoruinen. de Maistre menade att varhelst man finner ett altare, där finns civilisation, men där det finns en orgel finns förmodligen också Antropolis. -- Antropolis rekommenderas i varje fall varmt, det är en läsupplevelse på flera plan och en unik sådan.

- - -

Vidare i pressrösterna. I mars 2014 skrev Thomas Nydahl detta om "Antropolis" på sin blogg:
I Lennart Svenssons roman glider verkligheten och drömmarna in i varandra, utopierna och idealen blir ett med den skröpligaste tillvaro. Känslan av att inte stå på fast mark håller kvar mig i läsningen. Jag tycker mycket om detta, kanske mest av allt för att det är något för mig helt nytt och främmande. Ett spår i läsningen som jag aldrig tidigare befunnit mig i. Så det är klart att jag rekommenderar Antropolis!
Nyss återgavs en skribent på den radikalkonservativa sajten Motpol. Ännu en Antropolis-recension finns i mars 2016, för då skrev Robin Carell detta om romanen:
[Språket i romanen] ingjuter sannerligen en feelgood känsla. (...) Eftersom Antropolis speglar viss hinduisk tema så avslutar jag med att säga följande: Antropolis är ett stort AUM. Den är en skapelse, ett bevarande och en destruering. När vår civilisation går under i kali yuga så kommer ett Antropolis att resa sig i satya yuga.
Slutligen, i november 2011, skrev Peter Öberg några rader om "Antropolis" på bloggen Spektakulärt (bloggen tycks numera vara raderad):
I boktitelns stad befinner sej den filosoferande Jenro Klao, stadens grundare, eller återupptäckare om man så vill. Han blir vittne först till stadens förvandling till "städernas stad", sen till kampen mellan teknik och ande representerade av två fraktioner i staden. (...) Språket är skönt, präglat av ett behagligt om än kanske för jämnt tempo, och fyllt med allehanda funderingar samt referenser och fina ord som undertecknad inte är bekant med men som vittnar om författarens bildning.
Boken är i hårdpärm med skyddsomslag. Se bilderna nedan för den fiffiga layouten och det läckra, gröna klotbandet. Sidantal 205. ISBN-nr 978-91-633-3887-8. Köp boken här, från SF-Bokhandeln.

Med andra ord, vill du ha en roman som sammanfattar människans ödesfrågor idag, ta och läs "Antropolis". Sedan romanen skrevs 2009 har den bara blivit mer aktuell. Det handlar om idealism kontra nihilism, kultur kontra titanism.

SF-Bokhandeln säljer Antropolis
Mer info om romanen
Antropolitansk profil 1: Hadar Lacq
Antropolitansk profil 2: Elander Lysion
Antropolitansk profil 3: Gotsis Fripp

torsdag 15 september 2016

Nya Tider 37/2016 har kommit, där skriver jag om svensk sf

This is about a Swedish weekly. -- Nya Tider är en svensk veckotidning.

Nya Tider har varit i ropet på sistone. Det började med planerna på att närvara vid Bokmässan i Göteborg 23-25 september. Sedan avstängdes man för att man ansågs för kontroversiella. Sedan drev NyT saken vidare och hävdade att denna avstängning var rättsvidrig. Då gav Bokmässan med sig, NyT får närvara med bokbord för försäljning av Stefan Torssells bok om Estonia mm. Boken heter M/S Estonia -- svenska statens haveri och går noggrant igenom Estonias haveri. Den är utgiven av AlternaMedia som ger ut NyT.

Nya Tider är en vecklig nyhetstidning. Chefredaktör är Vavra Suk. Tidningen är oberoende och skriver om det som MSM struntar i att ta upp. Såsom problem med invandring och mångkultur, försummade medicinska och vetenskapliga perspektiv, internationell politik ur ett perspektiv kritiskt mot globalism etc. Jag skriver själv i tidningen ibland. Och i senaste numret har jag en recension av två svenska science fiction-böcker från 2015, C. H. Wahlunds roman Tre avtryck av himlen och Johan Fricks novellsamling Enkel biljett till nattens ände.

Vad jag anser om böckerna får ni läsa i tidningen. Det kan räcka med att nämna att jag tyckte de var intressanta. För prenumeration på NyT, gå hit. Till exempel kostar det 293:- för ett halvår.

- - -

Det aktuella numret, 37/2016, innehåller en hel del. Som Karl-Olov Arnstbergs debattinlägg om islam och västvärlden. Och Roger Sahlströms reportage från Borlänges synnerligen allvarliga mångkulturproblem. Och besök på Gunnes vikingamarknad i Uppland, som hålls denna tid varje år. Samt artiklar om Trump, Kina och en del annat, in alles 16 sidor. Jag är som medverkande "part i målet" men tidningen är välgjord, artiklarna är väldokumenterade, korrläsningen är noggrann och profilen som "alternativ tidning, skriver om det som MSM ignorerar" är uppfriskande.

NyT är veckotidningen för den regimkritiske Sverigevännen, helt enkelt.

Prenumerera på Nya Tider
Nya Tider 35/2013 och min medverkan i den
Min Jüngerbok

måndag 29 augusti 2016

Motpol recenserar "Eld och rörelse"

"Eld och rörelses" segertåg fortsätter.

Min novellsamling från 2007 finner ännu sina läsare. Nu senast är det Robin Carell som läst "Eld och rörelse" och recenserat den.

Texten finns på den radikalkonservativa sajten Motpol. Jag har själv varit skribent där. Det var 2011-2016. Vad gäller Carells recension av min bok så inleder han bland annat med att säga:
Det är alltid en fröjd att bekanta sig med Lennart Svenssons böcker. (...) I Eld och rörelse målas en skiss upp av andlighet, dygd, öde, nu och då. Alternativa tidslinjer möter den vi har erbjudits. Vi blir introducerade en spännande resa i Svenssongalaxen, som garanterat tilltalar majoriteten av motpols läsare. Eld och rörelse är Lennart Svenssons första bok som lämnar den pedantiske i ett moln av damm och bråte.
Vad gäller de enskilda texterna i boken säger recensenten ett och annat. Till exempel om "Den svenska stilen" sägs att detta är ...
... texter som pumpar nytt liv i välbekanta svenska författare, och fångar upp vitala delar av deras åskådning. Bland annat nämns August Strindberg, Vilhelm Ekelund och Vilhelm Moberg. (...) Den svenska stilen är en trevlig läsning med ironiska förtecken, samtidigt som den är lättsmält.
Om novellen "En stad vid havet" sägs detta:
Svensson tar oss från krig vidare till landsflykt för att sedan landa i en stad vid havet. Karaktären vi följer kan inte fånga upp sin nya atmosfär trots hans försök till assimilering, vilket för mig blir en berättelse som tar en tur i arketypernas gåtor och identitetsbegrepp. I det moderna biblioteket är En stad vid havet kontroversiell (speciellt för novellens klimax) och för motpols läsare ytterst intressant.
Och om titelberättelsen, själva "Eld och rörelse", sägs detta:
Eld och rörelse är bokens sista novell, och även den längsta. Vi följer med Sergeant F under ett fälttåg i krig. Två stridande arméer ställs mot varandra och Sergeant F tillhör den anfallande. Berättelsen består av tre delar: Skogen, Punkt 567 och Staden. Direkt i första delen fick jag samma känsla som uppstod när jag läste Ernst Jüngers Sturm. Trots Svenssons och Jüngers erfarenheter och fältkunskap inom ämnet skiljer sig markant så målar Svensson upp kriget på ett slående vis. Det är en känsla av att man befinner sig mitt i händelsen och går bredvid sergeanten genom kulregnet. Miljön beskrivs på ett kärnfullt vis, tillsammans med de actionfyllda scenarion. Eld och rörelse har en väldigt bra, smygande inledning som gör att man får en kick av adrenalin när stridsropet äntligen ljuder. Från stridsropet och framåt väcks sannerligen krigarkastet inom en till liv. Vill man ha en bra motreaktion till hipsterpacifismens bokhylla så står Eld och rörelse högt på listan.

- - -

Efter denna tämligen uppskattande recension finns ju inte mycket annat att tillägga än "tack och bock".

Hur pdf:en laddas ner beskrivs i detta inlägg.

Motpol recenserar Eld och rörelse
Eld och rörelse: fri pdf
F. G. Granlund om boken
Fler reaktioner

fredag 26 augusti 2016

Dikt: Tomma rum i tomma hus

Hereby a poem in Swedish. The poem is written by Lennart Svensson, depicted above.

Jag går genom tomma rum i tomma hus,
döda rum i döda hus, gröna rum i gula
hus och vita rum i gult hus,
rum i fil, från rum till rum i
detta condominium i Byzanthium,
tänkande på calvarium och Christum.

Jag är ett conundrum av ord, ett
korundum av ljus, en rubin av passion
i en död kultur -- en kultur där alla stirrar
mot horisonten efter svampmoln, i nyheterna
efter elände, de vill ha sitt ångestknark, de vill
prata om det, dela det, sitta i grupp
och ångestrunka.

Jag går ut på fälten, upp i bergen, ser
örnen flyga. Jag predikar en ny kultur
för en stelnad mänsklighet, en guru
för liv och blod i en värld av sten och mull.
Jag går från rum till rum och predikar ljus
och liv i en gråmelerad parodi på kultur.

Jag predikar liv för de levande,
inte död för de döda.

En Jüngerbok från 1949
Saabs bilar


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