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Hate Racial right Sponsor

Writing is not for me

These days I’ve been fantasizing what I would do if I had the means to do it. I would reduce the entries of this blog to a minimum and hire a secretary to continue with the translations of Deschner.

Since as a child I wanted to be a film director, the most natural thing for me would be to have a Crossfire program inspired in that TV program of the 1980s, when Pat Buchanan argued with a liberal and I saw them in my job in Novato, California.

It is natural that the massive hits are on YouTube of the Alt-Lite (for example, Molyneux) and the Alt-Right (Gariépy) more than on websites and blogs. We can imagine the number of hits that a daily crossfire encounter, from Monday to Saturday, would get featuring two of the most radical voices of The West’s Darkest Hour.

In addition to that audiovisual program, I would like to visit all the Western countries that are receiving massive migration. In a white area I would have a picket on the street, ‘I am a Tourist, Speak to me in English’.

I confess that I have the obsession to answer a question that I am unable to answer in this blog. In Europe and North America, Australia and New Zealand, I would interview only Aryan males. After the usual courtesies I would ask the direct question, ‘Do you hate the culture that is exterminating your race?’

Recently in the comments section of this blog a British nationalist declared that it was difficult to hate. As it happened to me when I met the people of the London Forum, all the English people left me perplexed. The most natural thing is hatred when there is an explicit extermination program, to the extent of putting images of mixed couples everywhere in the largest city of Europe. And the nationalists don’t hate? Why…?

Sometimes I wonder if the people I know are not NPCs and I am alone in a virtual world to which I have been punished, a kind of solipsism.

Why white men do not hate with their entire mind, with all their body, with all their soul and all their heart (the reversal of Jesus’ commandments)? Who don’t they see the sin against the Holy Spirit of life everywhere (Aryan women with blacks)?

Let’s put it bluntly: As a mudblood myself I don’t get white people. I do not know what they have in their heads.

If I had power, you know what I would do: you only have to see the central chapter of my book Day of Wrath to find out. But apparently, not even white nationalists hate. They look like NPCs in a virtual game that only torments me.

But as a therapy, if I had the means, I would make that trip to interview as many Aryan men as I could and transmit my elemental hatred (and my state of absolute astonishment and perplexity that my interlocutor did not feel exactly the same).

What are their reasons? A whole race is being exterminated and goes to the streets as if nothing? And why don’t even white nationalists hate like me? It would be great to interview them too, at least the best known.

I do not want to reach a premature conclusion. But my working hypothesis is that they do not hate because the Jew told them not to hate, and the white nationalists obey the Jew, even the atheists. Maybe there is another explanation and that would be the goal of my hundreds of interviews. I wonder if in Germany or Austria it would be illegal to ask this type of question to the Aryans who pass by the street and see my picket ‘I am a Tourist, Speak to me in English’.

On the other side of the Atlantic I cannot imagine what would happen when I interviewed the white nationalists who send money, say, to a Greg Johnson. ‘Do you really believe that Batman’s essays will save the race?’, I would ask. ‘Why, instead of reading Johnson’s webzine, you have not become an idolater of The Turner Diaries, to the extent of spreading the novel everywhere?’, I would ask.

How interesting it would be, in my program, to be able to interview Richard Spencer, who recently expressed himself against the Diaries. I would let him know that throughout Latin America the mestizos and the few remaining Creoles are like little Jews who do not give a damn about the fact that Nordish whites are dying out. (Interestingly, the pure Indians I know do not hate the gringos.) I would ask Spencer why he hates the Diaries when the feeling of unconditional love for the Other is not reciprocal. Non-reciprocity is a phenomenon that can be observed not only in Latin America but also in North America. What would the atheist Spencer say? That we must love them even though they don’t give a damn about white extinction, and many even celebrate it?

I am a creature of pure hatred. I doubt very much that any of the interviewees could dissuade me from my exterminationist ideology. But at least the torment of solipsism, of feeling that they are all NPCs in a virtual game that only torments me, would begin to dissipate throughout the interviews.

Categories
Feminism Feminized western males Jane Austen Roger Devlin Transvaluation of all values Women

On banning feminists

Last Wednesday I explained my reasons why those who cry ‘Jew!’ while losing an argument should be banned on this site. Now I would say the same about ethno-suicidal feminists. Simon Elliot (pic: here) for one did not cry ‘Jew!’ certainly, but he told me:

Men usually like it when women are attractive, and since you don’t, and you *claim* not to be an old testament fanatic, the only conclusion I’m left with is that you must be a homosexual. I see no other explanation.

All false. I do like attractive women and I’m not a homo. But I am not banning Simon for that comment, who by the way uses the avatar of a girl in his Twitter account (this one). I am banning him because his feminist ideology is destroying in his country what I care the most: Lane’s 14 words. This for example was his very last comment on this site:

You are clearly in agreement with Anglin, that repulsive little gremlin, when it comes to women. The consensus here is clear. Unless they’re pumping out babies to be used as cannon fodder in your race war, they’re worthless whores who may as well drop dead. So much for your love of English roses. You will destroy them if you arrange for them to reproduce with hyper-masculine males. I warned you of that, and you can resent it all you want, but it remains true. Genetics is a bitch.

I will leave others to respond to that.

Tonight I am watching how nasty British feminists are (‘Jordan Peterson destroyed by feminist NPC | Facts and logic not even needed, TPS #209’). Simon is a typical feminist Briton. Ever since our initial interactions he confessed he hates Roger Devlin. (Unlike the troll Anglin whose style I happen to like, Dr. Devlin uses an academic prose in his scholarly papers against feminism.)

pride-and-prejudice 2005 filmI am now closing the thread where Simon made his last comment. Contra him and other ethno-suicidal Britons, I would say that if our civilization is under the grip of liberal mores, especially the belief that non-discrimination on race and gender is the highest moral value, when values are transvalued back to Austen mores our women will be having six or more kids.

If whites are to survive as a people the vagina gentium must be reopened, whether our spoiled women, or feminized Britons, like it or not.

Categories
Julian (novel) Literature

Julian, 46

Julian presiding at a conference of Sectarians
(Edward Armitage, 1875)

 
As I stood there looking up at the tarry shields, a youth approached me. He was bearded; his clothes were dirty; he wore a student’s cloak and he looked a typical New Cynic of the sort I deplore. I have recently written at considerable length about these vagabonds. In the last few years the philosophy of Crates and Zeno has been taken over by idlers who, though they have no interest in philosophy, deliberately imitate the Cynics in such externals as not cutting their hair or beards, carrying sticks and wallets, and begging. But where the original Cynics despised wealth, sought virtue, questioned all things in order to find what was true, these imitators mock all things, including the true, using the mask of philosophy to disguise licence and irresponsibility. Nowadays, any young man who does not choose to study or to work grows a beard, insults the gods, and calls himself Cynic. No wonder philosophy has earned the contempt of so many in this unhappy age.

Without ceremony, the New Cynic pointed at the wall. “That is Aeschylus,” he said. I looked politely at the painting of a bearded soldier, no different from the others except for the famous name written above his head. The playwright is shown engaged in combat with a Persian. But though he is fighting for his life, his sombre face is turned towards us, as though to say: I know that I am immortal!

“The painter was self-conscious,” I said neutrally, fully expecting to be asked for money and ready not to give it.

The Cynic grinned at me. Apparently he chose to regard neutrality as friendship. He tapped the painting. A flake of paint zigzagged to the ground. “One day the whole thing will disappear and then who will know what Marathon was like, when this picture’s gone?” As he spoke, something stirred in my memory. I recognized the voice. Yet the face was completely strange to me. Confident now that we were friends, he turned from the painting to me. Had I just arrived in Athens? Yes. Was I a student? Yes. Was I a Cynic? No. Well, there was no cause to be so emphatic (smiling). He himself dressed as a Cynic only because he was poor. By the time this startling news had been revealed to me, we had climbed the steps to the temple of Hephaestos. Here the view of the agora is wide and elegant. In the clear noon light one could see beyond the city to the dark small windows of those houses which cluster at the foot of Hymettos.

“Beautiful,” said my companion, making even that simple word sound ambiguous. “Though beauty…”

“Is absolute,” I said firmly. Then to forestall Cynic chatter, I turned abruptly into the desolate garden of the temple. The place was overrun with weeds, while the temple itself was shabby and sad. But at least the Galileans have not turned it into a charnel house. Far better that a temple fall in ruins than be so desecrated. Better of course that it be restored.

My companion asked if I was hungry. I said no, which he took as yes (he tended not to listen to answers). He suggested we visit a tavern in the quarter just back of the temple. It was, he assured me, a place much frequented by students of the “better” sort. He was sure that I would enjoy it. Amused by his effrontery (and still intrigued by that voice which haunted me), I accompanied him through the narrow hot streets of the near by quarter of the smiths, whose shops glowed blue as they hammered out metal in a blaring racket: metal struck metal in a swarm of sparks, like comets’ tails.

The tavern was a low building with a sagging roof from which too many tiles had been removed by time and weather. I bent low to enter the main door. I was also forced to stoop inside, for the ceiling was too low for me and the beams were haphazard, even dangerous in the dim light. My companion had no difficulty standing straight. I winced at the heavy odour of rancid oil burning in pots on the stove.

Two trestle tables with benches filled the room. A dozen youths sat together close to the back door, which opened on to a dismal courtyard containing a dead olive tree which looked as though it had been sketched in silver on the whitewashed wall behind it.

My companion knew most of the other students. All were New Cynics, bearded, loud, disdainful, unread. They greeted us with cheerful obscenities. I felt uncomfortable but was determined to go through with my adventure. After all, this was what I had dreamed of. To be just one among many, even among New Cynics. The moment was unique, or so I thought. When asked who I was, they were told “Not a Cynic.” They laughed good-humouredly. But then when they heard I was new to Athens, each made an effort to get me to attend lectures with his teacher. My companion rescued me. “He is already taken. He studies with Prohaeresius.” I was surprised, for I had said nothing to my guide about Prohaeresius, and yet Prohaeresius was indeed the teacher of my choice. How did he know?

“I know all about you,” he said mysteriously. “I read minds, tell fortunes.” He was interrupted by one of the youths, who suggested that I shave my beard since otherwise I might be mistaken for a New Cynic and give them a bad name by my good behaviour. This was considered witty in that room. Others debated whether or not I should be carried off to the baths to be scrubbed, the traditional hazing for new students, and one which I had every intention of avoiding. If necessary, I would invoke lèse majesté!

But my guardian shoved the students away and sat me down at the opposite table close to the courtyard door, for which I was grateful. I am not particularly sensitive to odours, but on a blazing hot day the odour of unwashed students combined with thick smoke from old burning oil was almost too much for me. The tavern-keeper, making sure I had money (apparently my companion was deep in his debt), brought us cheese, bitter olives, old bread, sour wine. To my surprise, I was hungry. I ate quickly, without tasting. Suddenly I paused, aware that I was being stared at. I looked across the table at my companion. Yes?

“You have forgotten me, haven’t you, Julian?”

Then I identified the familiar voice. I recognized Gregory of Nazianzus. We had been together at Pergamon. I burst out laughing and shook his hand. “How did such a dedicated Christian become a New Cynic?”

“Poverty, plain poverty.” Gregory indicated the torn and dirty cloak, the unkempt beard. “And protection.” He lowered his voice, indicating the students at the other table. “Christians are outnumbered in Athens. It’s a detestable city. There is no faith, only argument and atheism.”

“Then why are you here?”

He sighed. “The best teachers are here, the best instructors in rhetoric. Also, it is good to know the enemy, to be able to fight him with his own weapons.”

I nodded and pretended agreement. I was not very brave in those days. But even though I could never be candid with Gregory, he was an amusing companion. He was as devoted to the Galilian nonsense as I was to the truth. I attributed this to his unfortunate childhood. His family are Cappadocian. They live in a small town some fifty miles south-west of Caesarea, the provincial capital. His mother was a most strong-willed woman named… I cannot recall her name but I did meet her once a few years ago, and a most formidable creature she was. Passionate and proud and perfectly intolerant of everything not Galilean.

Gregory’s father was part Jew and part Greek. As a result of his wife’s relentless admonitions, he succumbed finally to the Galilean religion. According to Gregory, when his father was splashed with water by the bishop of Nazianzus, a great nimbus shone all round the convert. The bishop was so moved that he declared, “Here is my successor!” A most generous-minded man, that bishop! Most of us prefer not to name our successor. In due course, Gregory’s father became bishop of Nazianzus. So his predecessor had the gift of prophecy, if nothing else.

All in a rush Gregory was telling me of himself. “… a terrible trip, by sea. Just before we got to Aegina, the storm struck us. I was sure the ship would sink. I was terrified. I’d never been (I still am not) baptized. So if I died like that at sea… Well, you must know yourself what I went through.” He looked at me sharply. “Are you baptized?”

I said that I had been baptized as a child. I looked as reverent as possible when I said this.

“I prayed and prayed. Finally I fell asleep, exhausted. We all did. I dreamed that something loathsome, some sort of Fury, had come to take me to hell. Meanwhile, one of the cabin boys, a boy from Nazianzus, was dreaming that he saw—now this is really a miracle—Mother walking upon the water.”

“His mother or your mother or the mother of Jesus?” I am afraid that I asked this out of mischief. I couldn’t help myself.

But Gregory took the question straight. “My mother,” he said. “The boy knew her, and there she was walking across that raging sea. Then she took the ship by its prow and drew it after her to a safe harbour. Which is exactly what happened. That very night the storm stopped. A Phoenician ship found us and towed us into the harbour of Rhodes.” He sat back in triumph. “What do you think of that?”

“Your mother is a remarkable woman,” I said accurately. Gregory agreed and talked at enthusiastic length about that stern virago. Then he told me of his adventures in Athens, of his poverty (this was a hint which I took: I gave him a good deal of money during the course of my stay), of our friend Basil who was also in Athens and was, I suspect, the reason for Gregory’s attendance at the University. Wherever Basil went, Gregory followed. At Athens they were nicknamed “the Twins”.

“I am expecting Basil now. We’re both due at Prohaeresius’s house this afternoon. We’ll take you. You know we live together here. We study together. We argue almost as a team against the local Sophists. And we usually win.”

This was true. Both he and Basil were—are—eloquent. I deplore of course the uses to which their eloquence is put. Today they are most active as Galilean apologists, and I often wonder what they think of their old companion who governs the state. Nothing good, I fear. When I became emperor I asked them both to visit me at Constantinople. Gregory agreed to come, but never did. Basil refused. Of the two, I prefer Basil. He is plain, like me. He is misguided in his beliefs but honest. I suspect Gregory of self-seeking.

Categories
Manosphere Sexual degeneracy

Yoga shooter was an incel revolutionary

by Andrew Anglin

Editor’s note:

On Friday, a 40-year-old man shot and killed two people and wounded five others at a Tallahassee yoga studio before turning his handgun on himself.

 
Incels [involuntary celibates] are deserving of pity, and no one is giving it to them. Instead, they are called losers and creeps, and told that their oppression is their own fault.

Historically, every man other than the very bottom of the gene pool got laid, because we enforced strict rules against sluts. In the modern age, we have no rules enforced against sluts—instead we have the opposite: we have rules enforced to protect and comfort sluts, to enable them to maximize their whoring beyond levels you can even begin to imagine.

And yet somehow, we are supposed to be shocked that some guys lose their nerve and can’t take it anymore and shoot-up a yoga studio?

Well, apparently, the chickens have come home to roost. The incel rebellion is in full-swing.

The way to stop this is easy: you bring back traditional sexual standards. But there is no will to do that, because the Jews want white women to be whores fucking niggers.

I obviously do not support or encourage anyone to shoot up yoga studios, and in fact think this is very ungood. But you cannot expect it to not happen. It is the direct consequence of the actions of the Jews in “liberating” women to be completely godless whores.

It’s all very sad.

Categories
Alexandria Art Christendom Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World (book) Destruction of Greco-Roman world Evil

Darkening Age, 14

In chapter eight of The Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World, Catherine Nixey wrote:
 
Further south, the firebrand preacher John Chrysostom—John ‘Goldenmouth’—weighed in. This man was so charismatic that crowds of Christians would pack into Antioch’s Great Church to hear him speak, his eyes flashing, then leave as soon as he was finished, ‘as if’, he observed, with a distinct want of monkish humility, ‘I were a concert performance.’ Chrysostom was nothing if not zealous.

Hearing that Phoenicia was still ‘suffering from the madness of the demons’ rites’, he sent violent bands of monks, funded by the faithful women in his congregation, to destroy the shrines in the area. ‘Thus,’ concludes the historian Theodoret, ‘the remaining shrines of the demons were utterly destroyed.’ A papyrus fragment shows Bishop Theophilus standing triumphantly over an image of Serapis, Bible in hand, while on the right-hand side monks can be seen attacking the temple. St Benedict, St Martin, St John Chrysostom; the men leading these campaigns of violence were not embarrassing eccentrics but men at the very heart of the Church.

Augustine evidently assumed his congregants would be taking part in the violence—and implied that they were right to do so: throwing down temples, idols and groves was, he said, no less than ‘clear proof of our not honouring, but rather abhorring, these things’. Such destruction, he reminded his flock, was the express commandment of God. In AD 401, Augustine told Christians in Carthage to smash pagan objects because, he said, that was what God wanted and commanded. It has been said that sixty died in riots inflamed by this burst of oratorical fire. A little earlier a congregation of Augustine’s, eager to sack the temples of Carthage, had started reciting Psalm 83. ‘Let them be humiliated and be downcast forever,’ they chanted with grim significance. ‘Let them perish in disgrace.’

It is obvious that this violence was not only one’s Christian duty; it was also, for many; a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. Those carrying out the attacks sang as they smashed the ancient marble and roared with laughter as they destroyed statues. In Alexandria, ‘idolatrous’ images were taken from private houses and baths, then burned and mutilated in a jubilant public demonstration. Once the assault was complete, the Christians ‘all went off, praising God for the destruction of such error of demons and idolatry’.

Broken statues themselves were another cause for hilarity; their fragmented remains an occasion for ‘laughter and scorn’.

Categories
Child abuse Holocaust Psychiatry Psychology

Shine: a dad more devastating than Mengele

To contextualise this series about psychiatry, see: here. Below, an edited translation (I’ve now added a couple of triple brackets) of a chapter of one of my books that I wrote before my awakening on the JQ:
 

Mental illness in the biological sense is a myth. Yet, it is obvious that madness is not. Madness exists, but it is merely a psychological catastrophe.

Millions have seen this phenomenon on the big screen. The movie Shine is about the life of David Helfgott, who became famous after Geoffrey Rush interpreted his tragic and won an Oscar for best actor. I will sketch his life so flatly that the story’s pathos will be missed.

(((David Helfgott))), a sensible and talented boy for the piano, wasn’t only the eldest son of Peter, but his spiritual heir as well: the unlimited love of Peter insufflated his great music vocation. David, who used to run on the street to embrace his dad when he came back from work, corresponds to such love by consecrating his pianist career to his dad. But Peter did something wicked. He felt humiliated by other Jews in the community and displaced all of his impotence toward his favourite son. The assault to the ego of the boy lasted years. David became a disturbed young man, a ‘schizophrenic’.

This is a case of real life. At the writing of these lines [1999] David Helfgott still lives in Australia and continues to play the piano. However, David is under the care of his wife Gillian since he could never recover. In her biography Love You To Bits and Pieces, the result of years of maternal care of her husband, Gillian testifies that ‘David always believed’ that his father ‘caused his illness’. [1]

In essence, this is what the proponents of the trauma model of madness, Lidz, Laing and Arieti, have been trying to say. They studied parents like Peter instead of treating the brain of the victims of such parents, which is what bioreductionist psychiatrists do.

I would like to mention another case in real life, the boy (((Yakoff Skurnik))). Relying on Yakoff’s testimony, Gene Church wrote 80629: a Mengele experiment.[2]

Yakoff Skurnik survived Birkenau and Auschwitz, where he claims that all his family died and that he became a guinea pig of Josef Mengele. Immobilized by the staff and in Mengele’s presence, a doctor named Doering castrated Yakoff without the proper spinal anaesthesia. Apparently his castrated genitals were photographed by the Russians, but after liberation Yakoff and others were capable to thrive in life.

Yakoff didn’t become mad in a Nazi camp but David did before his abusive dad. How was that possible? Following the Sullivan-Modrow model, in some way the Nazis ran across more difficulties to reach Yakoff’s inner self and injure it than Peter with his son. A passage by Arieti sheds light on these two different cases:

First of all we have to repeat here what we already mentioned […], that conditions of obvious external danger, as in the case of wars, disasters, or other adversities that affect the collectivity [my italics], do not produce the type of anxiety that hurts the inner self and do not themselves favor [insanity]. Even extreme poverty, physical illness, or personal tragedies do not necessarily lead to [insanity] unless they have psychological ramifications that hurt the sense of self. Even homes broken by death, divorce, or desertion may be less destructive than homes where both parents are alive, live together, and always undermine the child’s conception of himself. [3]

Since the victims of a concentration camp are a collectivity, the self of Skurnik or his inmates was not necessarily assaulted; hence they had better chances to survive psychologically than the sole victim of parental abuse, such as Helfgott. Arieti’s passage answers also one of the favourite arguments of bioreductionist psychiatrists in their attempts to refute the trauma model of insanity. For instance, in a critique to his colleagues who believe in the model of trauma, August Piper argues that:

The logic of the claim that childhood trauma causes [insanity] demonstrates a serious final flaw. If the claim were true, the abuse of millions of children over the years should have caused many cases of [insanity]. A case in point: children who endured unspeakable maltreatment in the ghettoes, boxcars, and concentration camps of Nazi Germany. However, no evidence exists that any [become insane] (Bower 1994; Des Pres 1976; Eitinger 1980; Krystal 1991; Sofsky 1997) or that any dissociated or repressed their traumatic memories (Eisen 1988; Wagenaar and Growneweg 1990). Similarly, the same results hold in studies of children who saw a parent murdered (Eth y Pynoos 1994; Malmquist 1986); studies of kidnapped children (Terr 1979; Terr 1983); studies of children known to have been abused (Gold et al. 1994); and in several other investigations (Chudoff 1963; Pynoos y Nader 1989; Strom et al. 1962). Victims neither repressed their traumatic events, forgot about them, nor [become insane]. [4]

The case of Yakoff and his inmates, neither of whom became mad, exemplifies what Piper wanted to say in the above quotation. However, it is clear that Piper has not studied with attention the investigators he criticises. I know personally one of them, Colin Ross, whom I visited on 4 March 1997 in his Ross Institute for Psychological Trauma, a mental institution at the north of Dallas. I had written Ross after reading one of his books and he admitted me as a visiting researcher. Ross’ clinic of traumatised people is the only mental institution I have ever stepped in, and although I visited it for only nine hours, in the therapeutic sessions I saw many devastated women by domestic abuse.

Below I quote a passage from the text they give to the newcomer patients:

The problem of attachment to the perpetrator is a term invented by Dr. Ross. It provides a way of understanding the basic conflict in survivors of physical and sexual abuse by parents, relatives, and caretakers. The conflict exists in all of us to some degree, since we all had imperfect parents, but is much more intense and painful in abuse survivors. Ambivalent attachment may not be such a core problem when the perpetrator was not a family member or an important attachment figure [my italics].

The basic driver of [insanity] is simply the kind of people mom and dad were, and what it was like day in and day out in that family.

The focus of therapy is not on the content of memories, processing of memories as such, or any particular thing that happened. This is because the deepest pain and conflict does not come from any one specific event […].

Because children are mammals, they are biologically constructed to attach to their parents […]. There is no decision to make about attachment. Your biology decides for you and it happens automatically. In a halfway normal, regular family this all works out relatively well with the usual neurotic conflicts. The problem faced by many patients is that they did not grow up in a reasonably healthy, normal family. They grew up in an inconsistent, abusive, and traumatic family.

This is the cardinal distinction that biological psychiatrists do not want to acknowledge in their clinical practice: dysfunctional families are very different from schizophrenogenic families.

The very people to whom the child had to attach for survival, were also abuse perpetrators and hurt him or her badly […]. One way to cope with the abuse would be to withdraw, shut down one’s attachment system, and go into a cocoon. This would be psychological suicide, and would cause failure to thrive. Your biology will not let you make this decision—the drive to attachment overrides the withdrawal reflex. You must keep your attachment system up and running in order to survive […].

The basic conflict, the deepest pain, and the deepest source of symptoms, is the fact that mom and dad’s behavior hurts, did not fit together, and did not make sense. It was crazy and abusive. [5]

What Ross says complements what Arieti said: the only person before whom we are really vulnerable is the one with whom we are bonded since children. If the quotation of Piper refers to someone like Yakoff Skurnik, the latter refers to someone like David Helfgott. Ross talks of the abusive relationship of a minor with someone who represents something very special for him or her. The abuses that Piper recounts are not of the kind that Modrow suffered, the sensation of the betrayal of the universe. They are a completely different set of psychological phenomena.

This is one of the problems not only of psychiatry, but also of psychology in general. They want to study ‘objectively’ a subject without realising the existence of an entire universe inside him. It’s not possible to study a mind from the outside as behaviourists do: we need the individual testimonies, the survivors’ autobiographies. Independently of the scholarship of Piper (his paper contains a hundred references), his cases have little to do with a Modrow or a David Helfgott.

The Helfgott case also answers another favourite argument I have heard from other bioreductionist psychiatrists: ‘The question is why one becomes sick and not the other siblings’. If there is something common in the literature of victims, it is that the behaviour of schizophrenogenic parents is directed almost exclusively toward one child, not toward all of his brothers and sisters, just as Peter’s behaviour targeted David, not his other children, and the same can be read in Modrow’s autobiography.

In my comparison between the Jews David and Yakoff, one victimized by his father, the other in a concentration camp, there is something else. The Nazi dynamics toward Yakoff did not constitute a mixture of cruelty and love as was Peter’s attitude toward David—the ‘short circuit’ caused by ‘Jekyll-Hyde’ fluctuations about which I have written, that results in the ambivalent attachment to the perpetrator according to Ross. There is a big difference between being a victim of camp guards, who appeared in Yakoff’s mind as aliens, and being a victim of he who, with all of his love, formed the universe of the child David. In the words of David himself to his wife:

It’s all daddy’s fault. It’s all daddy’s fault […]. ’Cause father had a sort of a devil in him, and an angel in him, and all my life was like that. Dad always had a devil and an angel all his life. It’s a sort of a dichotomy, a split of scale. [6]

‘Father’ doesn’t seem to be the same ‘dad’ in David’s disturbed mind. That this dichotomy produces split personalities was precisely what I observed in the Dallas female patients (in the Ross Institute for Psychological Trauma almost all inmates for multiple personalities were women).

Resiliency is the capability of a strained object to recover its size and shape after stress. In elastics for instance the capability of resilience has a limit: if the elastic is extended beyond its breaking point it will break and won’t recover its original form. Using this analogy I would say that the Nazi abuses Yakoff was subjected lied within the ‘resiliency’ limit of his mind. It was not so with David’s Jewish daddy. The abuses he was subjected went beyond the breaking point and he suffered a permanent psychotic breakdown.

To sum up, the criterion to measure the level of trauma should be the breakdown that the abuse causes, not the abuse itself. A father who loves his Jewish son can break him better than a Nazi who does not like the Jewish prisoners. The breakdown of David’s mind occurred because relatively Peter’s atrocity was greater than that of the Nazi who castrated Yakoff. It came from the one on earth whom the abuse should never have come from: the one who formed his soul.

___________

[1] Love you to bits and pieces (Penguin Books, 1996), p. 268.

[2] Gene Church, 80629: a Mengele experiment (Route 66 Publishing, 1996).

[3] Interpretation of schizophrenia (op. cit.), p. 197. I substituted the word ‘schizophrenia’ for ‘insanity’ in the brackets—see the next note.

[4] August Piper Jr., ‘Multiple personality disorder: witchcraft survives in the twentieth century’ in Skeptical Inquirer (May/June 1998). Piper’s critique doesn’t refer to general madness but to so-called ‘multiple personality’. Yet, the substitution of psychiatric terms I have done in these quotations is pertinent. Ross himself told me that it is very common that psychiatrists become confused and diagnose as ‘schizophrenics’ those with ‘multiple personality’ and vice versa. The point is that, since I don’t believe in a formal system of categories (as is the DSM), I’m not obliged to make these distinctions. I prefer to include all psychoses within the vernacular word ‘insanity’ as I did with my brackets instead of the textual ‘MPD’ (multiple personality disorder).

John Modrow’s words are conclusive in this respect: ‘Since no clear-cut distinctions can be drawn between schizophrenia and a number of other psychiatric syndromes, such labels as schizophrenia, paranoia, manic-depression, and so forth, are mere artificial abstractions obscuring the unitary nature of madness. Indeed, I would go even further than that: the madness-sanity dichotomy is itself a mere artificial convention obscuring the fundamental unity of the human mind’ (How to become a schizophrenic, op. cit.), p. 238.

[5] Dissociative disorders program: patient information packet (Ross Institute for Psychological Trauma, undated).

[6] The two passages separated by the bracket come from Love you to bits and pieces (op. cit.), pp. 42 & 104.

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Hunter Wallace’s Molyneux-like trick

This Tuesday, in my post ‘Jean-François Gariépy destroys Stefan Molyneux’, I linked to Gariépy’s #201 show The Public Space where he demonstrates that Stefan Molyneux embarked on a completely parallel track in his pseudo-response to what white nationalists consider the Jewish problem. (In his Sunday video, ‘The Truth About the Pittsburgh Massacre’, dishonest Molyneux had strawmaned the whole issue by saying that liberalism affects Jews in Israel and in the Diaspora too.) Throughout his show, Gariépy aptly demonstrated that Molyneux never addressed the central question: that Jewish influence is toxic for whites.

Something similar happened today at Occidental Dissent. Hunter Wallace wrote:

Chechar asks: “I am most curious how Lutherans like Hunter Wallace of Occidental Dissent could respond to what we have been saying in this site, especially the translations of Deschner’s work, Evropa Soberana’s essay on Rome and Judea and Catherine Nixey’s book about the destruction of the classical world by the Christians? How can racist Christians reconcile their worship of the god of the Jews with Aryan preservation is a mystery for me.”

Take note that Wallace calls me by my obsolete penname, ‘Chechar’ (it’s like I called him by his obsolete penname, ‘Prozium’). But that is unimportant. What is important is that, exactly like Molyneux, Wallace did not address a single point by Deschner, Evropa Soberana (penname of a Spanish blogger) or Nixey. In our translations, in this site I have not reached the book where Deschner writes about Luther; Evropa Soberana’s essay is about the psyops that the Semitic Judeo-Christians used to destroy the classical world, whereas Nixey’s book also focuses on that destruction but omits Jewish problem. The Leitmotif of the writings of these three authors is that, since Constantine, Christianity has been a disaster for the West.

Obviously Wallace has either not read the texts of these authors as quoted in this site, or he has conveniently used the Molyneux trick: going to an entirely parallel track in his ‘reply’. Wallace’s article consists of quotes showing Luther’s credentials as an anti-Semite.

That is not the issue. The issue is whether or not the ‘Christian Question’ exists: if Christianity inverted healthy Greco-Roman values in order that Whites would be conquered by the Semites. (Even in my latest piece of translation of Deschner’s books, the Wednesday post in this site, the CQ is apparent for anyone who does not use a Molyneux-like trick.)

A postscript to ‘Jew obeyers’

On the tomb of Baruch Goldstein the inscription reads: ‘To the holy Baruch Goldstein who gave his life for the Jewish people, the Torah, and the nation of Israel’. Goldstein had murdered 29 Arabs and wounded 125 in the Mosque of Ibrahim in 1994.

Will white nationalists, folks in the Alt-Right or American southern nationalists ever engrave similar words on the tombs of Dylann and Robert after ZOG kills them?

Of course not: these schizophrenic Jew obeyers, who believe it’s possible to admire Jesus and Hitler at the same time, have unconsciously chosen ethno-suicide.