Lebenskraft ! (4)
Bratislava
27th April
En route to Budapest I made a stop to visit the beautiful capital of Slovakia, a city bathed by the Danube, to explore its small streets.
But it is the beauty of the Aryan race that moves me to blog. In the studio where I work you can see some framed pictures I took from Parrish’s poster book (here and here), where we see perfect nymphs. In Parrish’s book we can also see ephebes, like these in the first illustration of the book, although I didn’t frame that image.
In Bratislava I made a disturbing find.
Since only the most beautiful specimens of the Aryan race are my inspiration, I couldn’t fight for the whites I saw in the Slovak Republic capital. I even saw a short woman walking next to a black man. Unlike the nymph I saw in Prague who was kissed by a gook, a female specimen who might as well have modelled for Parrish, the spectacle of the short woman in Bratislava didn’t bother me at all: her face was ugly, like most of the whites I saw there.
Another thing that surprised me was that the white men in Bratislava were shorter in stature than I was. In my soliloquies I re-evaluated the years I spent in the UK and the US, where I got to see women as beautiful as the paintings that now adorn the walls of my studio.
In my notebook I wrote: ‘For this race I wouldn’t fight, only for the perfect nymphs I have seen in regions much less mixed with non-Aryans. What a gulf with Catalina and Carmen!’[1] And I thought of the Norwegian actress Marta Kristen from Lost in Space, who had been born in one of Himmler’s human farms to breed a perfect race. I also wrote in the notebook I had bought in Prague: ‘These are the kind of purebred creatures who should now be living in all the parts of Europe I have visited, instead of these third-rate Europeans who evoke spaghetti Westerns’. And added: ‘I greatly despise white nationalists because, given their Christian/neochristian programming—egalitarianism among whites—they are incapable of making these distinctions. Himmler wasn’t of this perfect prototype, but he was noble enough to recognise it and to seek out, among the Nordics, the prototype’.
Then I sat down on a street famous for its trees to look at the faces of the people passing by. After a while I realised that I was next to the American embassy!
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[1] I talk about Catalina and Carmen in Lágrimas, the third book of my autobiography.