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Racial right

Fuck white nationalism!

Or:

On American schizophrenics

See what American racists are saying this Easter: — ‘Be kind. Love one another. Go to church or read the Bible’ (Occidental Dissent). — ‘Christ is Risen!’ (The Daily Stormer). — ‘This Easter Sunday we need to go back to church’ (Adam Piggott). — ‘The Promise of Easter’ (The Political Cesspool). — ‘Dr. Duke and Mark Collett on Taking Christ Out of Easter’ (David Duke). — ‘Happy Easter, in Spite of the Christophobia-inspired Spring Bunny’ (VDARE). — By referring to ‘god’, just before Easter while speaking about Notre Dame, Jared Taylorinadvertently was referring to the god of the Jews that his silly parents taught him in Japan.

With schizophrenics such as them and many others, who fancy they’re doing some work to save the Aryan but still worship the god of the Jews, no wonder why whites will go extinct. Look, in this Alt-Right aggregator, how most of these folks with split personalities didn’t pay yesterday any homage to Adolf Hitler on the 130th anniversary of his birth. Instead, they pay homage to the Big Jew, who didn’t exist by the way!

I won’t add any post tomorrow to give new visitors a chance to ponder on the main texts of this site:

• The masthead of this site

• The Hellstorm Holocaust

• WN is a farce, NS is the real thing

______ 卐 ______

Fuck white nationalism!

Fuck American southern nationalism!

Eternal glory to our eternal Führer!

Categories
Julian (novel)

Julian, 64

Editor’s note: ‘“Helena has her own money,” said Eusebia sharply. “She should use it. She owns half of Rome”,’ wrote Gore Vidal. When Rome was healthy, women could own no more than an ounce of gold. But in imperial times, especially after Christian takeover, in addition to the Imperial Church feminism undermined the old Roman ethos of the now gone Republic.

My wedding day… what a strange thing for a celibate to write! It seems impossible now that I could ever have been a husband. Yet I became one on 13 November 355. I shall not describe the atrocious Galilean rites. It is enough to say that I endured them, heavy with purple and glittering with state jewels which I later sold in Gaul to buy soldiers.

After the ceremony, there were the usual celebrations and games in our honour. Helena delighted in all the panoply of rank; in this she resembled her brother. I was merely dutiful and did what was expected of me. A few days after the ceremony I was summoned to an audience with Eusebia.

“What do you think of the world now?” Eusebia’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

“I owe it all to you,” I said warmly.

“And how do you find Helena?”

“She is my wife,” I said formally; again the conspiratorial look.

“She is very… handsome,” said Eusebia, with an edge of malice.

“Noble, I should say.” I almost burst out laughing. But there is a rule to these games.

“You will leave soon.”

“I’m glad,” I said. Then added, “Not that I look forward to leaving…” I could not say “you” so I said “Milan”.

She shook her head. “This is not your sort of place. It’s not mine either, but…” She left what was serious unsaid. Then: “You will go into winter quarters at Vienne. Money…”

“Will be scarce.” The Grand Chamberlain had already told me that I would have to maintain myself and household on my salary as Caesar. Additional funds could not be granted at this time.

“Luckily, you are frugal.”

“Helena is not.”

“Helena has her own money,” said Eusebia sharply. “She should use it. She owns half of Rome.”

I was relieved to hear this, and said so.

“It is my hope,” said Eusebia, “that you will soon have a son, not only for yourself but for us.”

I admired her boldness. This was the one thing Eusebia did not want me to have, since it would endanger her own position. Rather than accept my son as his heir, Constantius was capable of divorcing Eusebia and taking a new wife who could give him what he most desired.

“It is my hope,” I answered evenly, “that you will be blessed with many children.”

But she did not believe me either. The interview now turned painful. No matter what either of us said, it sounded false. Yet I believe she did indeed wish me well, except in that one matter.

Finally, we got off the subject and she revealed to me the state of Constantius’s mind. “I speak to you candidly.” An admission that neither of us had been speaking candidly before. The sad face looked sadder still, while her long hands nervously fingered the folds of her robe. “He is divided. He cannot make up his mind about you. Naturally, there are those who tell him that you wish to overthrow him.”

“Not true!” I began to protest, but she stopped me.

“I know it is not true.”

“And it never will be true!” I believed myself.

“Be tolerant. Constantius has had to face many enemies. It is only natural that he fear you.”

“Then why won’t he let me go back to Athens, where I am no danger?”

“Because he needs you more than he fears you.” She looked at me, suddenly frightened. “Julian, we are in danger of losing all Gaul.”

I stared at her dumbly.

“This morning Constantius had a message from the praetorian prefect at Vienne. I don’t know what it said. But I suspect the worst. We have already lost the cities of the Rhine. Should the Germans attack this winter, it is the end of Gaul, unless…” She held her hand above the flame of the alabaster lamp. The flesh glowed. “Julian, help me!” For a stupid moment I thought she had burned her hand. “You must be loyal to us. You must help us!”

“I swear by all the gods, by Helios, by…”

She stopped me, unaware that in my sincerity I had sworn by the true gods. “Be patient with him. He will always be suspicious of you. That is his nature. But as long as I live, you are safe. If something should happen to me…” This was the first inkling I had that Eusebia was ill. “Be loyal to him anyway.”

I forget what I said. Doubtless more protestations of loyalty, all sincere. When I rose to go, she said, “I have a gift for you. You will see it on the day you leave.”

I thanked her and left. Despite all that Eusebia did to hurt me in the next two years, I still love her. After all I owe her not only the principate but my life.

Greatest white ever!

Categories
Feminized western males

Greg Johnson’s pacifism

I just flipped through yesterday’s article ‘Against White Nationalist Terrorism’because Johnson repeats his arguments in Sweden, that Linder and others already rebutted (see my excerpts: here).

Yes, we are against right-wing terrorism, because the enemy who is literally exterminating our people from Earth through genocide is going to be defeated with movie/tv reviews, intelligent essays about Heidegger and memes!

In the post I erroneously attributed this quote to Linder. It was actually penned by Joseph Curwen.

Categories
Kenneth Clark Philosophy of history Temple of Artemis

European civilisation’s foe

Yesterday a blogger posted an article, ‘The burning of Notre Dame’ on his WordPress sitethat Counter-Currents republished today.I would like to take issue with its first paragraph:

As news spread of the fire consuming the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, the first reaction of most people was shock and sadness. You don’t have to be Catholic or French to feel as if some part of you has been lost. That was not just an old building or a historically important place. It was a symbol of Western civilization. Stand inside a great church and you feel the awe and power that inspired the builders. That cathedral was the primal roar of a people celebrating their creator and the essence of who they were as a people. 

I am sorry, but Notre Dame was not‘a symbol of Western civilisation’, but of Western Christian civilisation. Big difference, as explained in one of the essays, excerpted on this site under the title ‘The Red Giant’, that moved me to start a blogging career.

In ‘The Red Giant’ the term ‘Western Christian civilization’ is repeated twenty-eight times, in contrast to ‘European civilization’. As the author put it:

It’s the Western Christian civilization that feeds all these processes (population explosion etc.). So the Western Christian civilization is in fact the worst enemy of what I call European civilization: another reason for wanting the Western Christian civilization to go away.

Even sophisticated intellectuals of the Alt-Right cannot see the difference between Western Christian civilisation and European civilisation, the latter so beautifully expressed in the sculpture of Apollo or in the immense temple of Artemis in Ephesus, one of the Seven Wonders that I would call the Notre Dame of the Ancient World. In fact, not even Lord Clark himself, the author of the 1969 TV series Civilisation, could distinguish between the two.

Categories
Christian art Paris

Notre Dame

The French, original title of Victor Hugo’s 1831 The Hunchback of Notre-Dame is simply the cathedral itself: Notre-Dame de Paris.

L’architecture est le grand livre de l’humanité, l’expression principale de l’homme à ses divers états de développement, soit comme force, soit comme intelligence.

Categories
Game of Thrones

Bad messages in Game of Thrones

In past years I have talked about the bad messages in previous seasons of Game of Thrones. In the first episode of the last season we see, once again, the masculine and aggressive female Yara Greyjoy that even hits his brother, the castrated Theon, when he rescues her. In the history of the West the norm has not been astute warrior women like Yara and silly and timid brothers like Theon, but on TV the goal is to invert the values. (Cersei Lannister, pic above, is another queen instead of her brother Jaime Lannister who is no king at all.)

I have said that white nationalism errs by calling this subversion ‘cultural Marxism’, a rather superficial term. Instead, I have been referring to subversion as ‘neo-Christianity’, in the sense that Christianity is an extension of the Jewish problem into the minds of whites. But even my term is inaccurate inasmuch as, throughout Christendom, men and women were not represented as in Game of Thrones, nor in modern times until the last decades. (I remember as if yesterday the first movie that reversed the roles of man-woman: Alien, which I saw on the big screen in 1979.)

Thus, more accurate than the term neo-Christianity is ‘neo-Franciscanism’, as St. Francis (1181–1226) was the saint who tried most to take the message of the gospel in all its purity into the real world.

Today this neo-Franciscanism is largely a secular phenomenon—think of Sweden for example—, although Pope Francis also wants to follow St. Francis’ steps, as explained in my last post about the humble man of Assisi.

Categories
Civilisation (TV series) Kenneth Clark

Kenneth Clark and Notre Dame

Start watching from: this minute.

Notre Dame is a sad icon of the fallen West. Fortunately, I visited it many years ago, before its destruction.

What will the cucked, self-flagellating and neo-Franciscan French build on its place, a mosque?

Categories
Julian (novel)

Julian, 63

Editor’s note: ‘Paul was imperturbable. His eyes shone in the lamplight; his hook nose made him resemble some great bird of prey’ wrote Gore Vidal below referring to Paul, of Constantius’ secret service.

Although Julian is only a novel, the author knew that the Roman courts after Constantine were plagued with Semites (as the secret service after Lenin was plagued with Jews): something that most white nationalists are still unwilling to acknowledge.

Vidal wrote:

______ 卐 ______

 
My first act as Caesar was to send for Oribasius, who was at Athens. He had arrived there only a week after my recall. I also wrote Maximus and Priscus, inviting them to join me. Meanwhile, I continued military practice. I also learned as much as possible about the administration of Gaul.

During this time I saw none of the imperial family, including my soon-to-be wife. Yet the day of the wedding had been set and the inevitable documents were brought to me to be studied. I was given a meticulous ground plan of the chapel and my position from moment to moment during the ceremony was precisely traced.

I had but one friend at court, Eutherius, the Armenian eunuch who had taught me at Constantinople. Every evening we would study various documents and memoranda. It was his task, he said, to make an administrator of me.

The night before my wedding, Eutherius came to me with the news that I was to leave for Gaul the first week in December.

“To what city?”

“Vienne. You’ll be there for the winter. Then in the spring you will take the field.” He looked at me closely. “Does it seem strange to you to be a general?”

“Strange!” I exploded. “Insane!”

He raised his hand in some alarm, indicating the shadows where guards stood and informers listened, always hopeful of catching me at treason.

I lowered my voice. “Of course it is strange. I’ve never seen a battle. I’ve never commanded a single soldier, much less an army. But…”

“But?”

“But l’m not afraid.” I did not say what I really felt: that I looked forward to military adventures.

“I am relieved.” Eutherius smiled. “Because I have just been appointed grand chamberlain at the court of the Caesar Julian. I go with you to Gaul.”

This was marvellous news. I embraced him warmly, babbling happily until he was forced to say, “Roman gravity, Caesar. Please. You are far too Asiatic.”

I laughed. “It can’t be helped, I am Asiatic…”

Suddenly, Eutherius was on his feet. With a speed which I would not have thought possible for one of his age, he darted into the shadowed archway just opposite us. A moment later he reappeared with a dark, richly dressed man.

“Caesar,” said Eutherius with grim ceremony, “allow me to present Paul, of the secret service. He has come to pay your greatness homage.”

I was hardly startled. I had been under surveillance all my life. The presence of the government’s chief secret agent merely reminded me that the higher I rose the more important it was for Constantius to have me watched.

“We are always pleased to receive the Emperor’s agents,” I said politely.

Paul was imperturbable. His eyes shone in the lamplight; his hook nose made him resemble some great bird of prey. He bowed. He spoke with a slight Spanish accent. “I was on my way to the east wing. To report to Rufinus, the praetorian prefect.”

“This is not the usual way to the east wing,” said Eutherius amiably.

“What can I say?” Paul spread his hands, bird’s talons ready to seize.

“You can say good night, Paul, and report to the praetorian prefect that you heard nothing useful,” I said.

Paul bowed. “I report only what I hear, Caesar.” He was carefully insolent.

“Stay longer,” I said, “and you will hear the beginning of your death.”

That shook him, though my boldness was perfect bluff. I had no power. One word from him and I could be brought down. Yet I knew that if I was to be Caesar I would have to assert myself or earn the fatal contempt of eunuchs and spies. Paul withdrew.

I turned to Eutherius. “Was I too Asiatic?” I teased him, though my heart pounded.

He shook his head. “Perhaps that is the wisest way to handle him. Anyway, you are safe for the moment.”

“But he is constructing one of his chains.”

“Perhaps he will trap himself.”

I nodded. Paul had been a prime mover in the plot which had destroyed my brother. That night in the palace at Milan I began my own plot.

Categories
Free speech / Free press

First Amendment under siege

https://youtu.be/l6PLh3km_X0