Zero

Lebenskraft ! (I)

So disturbing was what I saw in Europe on my recent trip that I will radicalise my already radical POV even more. On 22 April I left for Germany and on 4 May I returned to my home country. The cities I visited were:

• Berlin
• Dresden
• Prague
• Bratislava
• Budapest
• Vienna
• Hallstatt
• Salzburg
• Munich
• Dachau and
• Frankfurt

I chose some beautiful towns and the former imperial cities, when the Aryan had not lost his manhood.
 

Berlin

When I arrived at my hotel in Berlin at night, I was ecstatic with soliloquies as if I were in a mythical city: the city that had been Hitler’s seat of power, that was to rule Europe in a new Germania. But already from the outskirts of my hotel, as I looked for a restaurant to dine in, I was greatly surprised by the masses of non-whites. In fact, I was so disappointed by this area that I locked myself in the hotel from 9 pm onwards and didn’t want to go out.

The next day the first thing I visited was the Berlin Wall and the Brandenburg Gate. All the photos in this series were taken with my mobile phone. The following picture could have been taken in Berlin in which Hitler would have been victorious, but I had to turn the camera up so that the non-whites wouldn’t dirty the image.

Travelling by bus, I passed the avenues where the offices of the Third Reich had been: the Parliament and the Reichstag. Then I would visit Potsdamer Platz, Alexanderplatz and Kurfusterdamn Avenue: all crowded with non-whites, though it was impossible to tell who were residents and who were tourists. Also, from the bus, I saw the cement-block sculpture space considered a memorial to the Jewish holocaust—but of the Hellstorm Holocaust, committed on the German people, there is absolutely nothing! Also inside the bus I saw the headquarters of the anti-white government that currently rules the brainwashed Germans. (If I moved to Berlin, they would soon trace my IP and break down the door of my house to arrest me, as the thoughtpolice did to our friend Tyrone Joseph Walsh in London.)

It is worth noting that, of the Third Reich offices, because of the Allied bombing only the Luftwaffe building remained (which after the war the new regime converted into the offices of the treasury to collect taxes). You can still see corners of other buildings bearing the scars of the virulent battle of Berlin in 1945, when the Red Army arrived:

Or this close-up:

In a capital that aspired to be Judenfrei in the last century, I couldn’t resist visiting the Jewish Quarter. It was there that I began to realise that anti-Nazi propaganda is still running amok eighty years after 1945, and will apparently continue until the last Aryan is extinct (that seems to be the Zeitgeist in Germany today). Indeed, this trip to continental Europe wasn’t a journey of pleasure but a journey of sorrow. My shock is appreciated by the sight of a healthy Berlin in this remastered video from the 1930s. In the Jewish Quarter I saw a sculpture depicting several women who were deported during the Third Reich.

What’s worse: Berlin started the practice of putting golden plaques in the concrete of the streets near the houses of Jews deported to extermination camps. The practice then spread to other countries, always commemorating the names of the disappeared Jews. Here we see some of them under my feet:

It seems as if the central commandment in 21st century Germany is something like ‘You shall love your fellow Jew and the sandniggers who have invaded your Fatherland, but never your own kind’. Look for example at this synagogue whose photo I took and compare it with the times when Berlin’s synagogues were destroyed.

When I was at the famous square not far from the Lutheran Cathedral, where places to eat both inside restaurants and outdoors swarm, I searched in vain for something similar to pubs to talk to perfect strangers and educate them. It was only in the evening that a German woman in the hotel lobby explained to me that Germany is not like England: you need to belong to a club to approach strangers. My very strong desire to talk to Aryan males and reveal that their government has been lying to them by omission (the Hellstorm Holocaust) was frustrated, and it was in that square that I photographed this aberration:

I must say that, unlike the white nationalists, I don’t just blame the Jews. Before my flight to Europe I spent a night at the Hilton in Mexico City airport. It was there that I learned about the death of Pope Francis I. On TV I saw a commentator speaking in Spanish, who confessed that what he liked most about his pontificate was that Francis I had promoted open doors to mass migration in Italy.

That is worse than the Jewish-controlled media because the Vatican is a Western institution. The betrayal goes centuries before Vatican II (think of the continent-wide mixed marriages that a pope sanctioned from the 1530s for the Iberian-conquered New World). That was a preamble to what we now see all over Europe, and the more ‘white nationalists’ stubbornly refuse to see something so obvious, the more difficult it will be to rework a salvific NS ideology that differs from 20th century NS in its full awareness of the Christian Question (CQ).

Back at the hotel, around 3 am, I took a diazepam pill! It had been about two decades since I had taken one of those tablets to help me sleep. My experience in Berlin—I had seen some mixed couples in the Führer’s former capital—had left me shaken and I woke up at about that time.

So disheartening was my experience that, when I was in the vicinity of the great Lutheran cathedral, I didn’t even feel like going into the museums. And yet my father had bequeathed us dozens of large illustrated books on the great European painters, which I had known since I was a child. Remember what I said about Tyrone in my essay on St Augustine and other influential writers, who refused to accompany me to Shakespeare’s Globe for the same reasons.

What is the point of high culture if the race that created that art is in a terminal phase, a phase of zero Lebenskraft or ethnosuicidal nihilism? And the same thing happened to me when, travelling on the bus, I spotted the Berlin Philharmonic. I didn’t feel like visiting it, even though a few LPs still survive from the large number of classical records my father had, some recorded by the Berlin Philharmonic (incidentally, Karajan was my favourite conductor).