I’ve barely mentioned it on this site, but a discerning reader would have noticed that my priesthood of sacred words doesn’t apply to all white people, only to the most beautiful.
They are the ones the priest would like to preserve.
If, in the future, the social architects of a fourth Reich were to decree mandatory beauty on the planet, they would choose only the most beautiful specimens of Homo sapiens.
“For many genes are called, but few are chosen.”
In ancient Greece, before they committed the sin against the Holy Spirit (miscegenation), there was already something of this, and it is precisely for this reason that their art reflected that spirit.
“As Murkan whites become ever more minuscule in their Neanderthal country, old instincts will kick back in. They will form Syssitias and Männerbunds” —Mauricio.
In these communities we would have temples… and rituals to “baptise” newborns in the new faith that commemorate those who bravely, though unsuccessfully, tried to force the eschaton into history.
In the comments section I added:
This site must impact more than two enriched souls to continue the chain reaction. The big question is, which third “atom” that allows its Self—a Jungian term—to be struck will appear, thus continuing the reaction (see the featured article)?
Several years ago, I received several booklets in the post that I had bought from an American distributor. Some time later, I wrote on the blank pages of the following booklet (my Spanish-English translation):
SS Leitheft, year 7, issue 2b.
After all this time, I am returning to reading these booklets because only now have I matured enough to criticise this naive NS who was never openly anti-Christian. Note that I am not criticising Hitler, but the German people who had to write these politically correct things so as not to break completely with tradition.
But I am having second thoughts. I think I should first read Richard Weikart’s book on Hitler’s anti-Christianity and only then return to these booklets. Otherwise, it’s like putting the cart before the horse.
The fact is that the Nazis Lite [who wrote it] weren’t like Hitler. Perhaps my new series should be titled “NS Lite 1,” “NS Lite 2,” etc., after reading Richard’s book.
In stark contrast to what I said today in the thread whose article features a nightmarish drawing by degenerate Swiss artist H.R. Giger, in this booklet we read:
What We Find Beautiful—That is Race!
There were once strange people in Germany. Their slogan was—and in the jewized Anglo-Saxon world it is still screamed at the top of the lungs—the assertion of the equality of everything that bears a human face. These strange preachers, erring lunatics and intentional liars, should have marched with us, when we entered the ghettos of Lublin and Warsaw, or when we drove together the first black prisoners in the west! Then these equalisers would have had the right material for observation, and we would have gladly allowed them to voluntarily mix into the ranks of their crooked-nosed, flat-footed “brothers” or among the thick-lipped Negroes. That such thinking could ever find any place at all among our folk, is because within a clan many really consider it a coincidence, if the children come into the world sometimes black-haired, sometimes blond-haired, sometimes tall, sometimes short, sometimes slender, sometimes chubby. Even our peasants, who are refined breeders of farm animals with precise knowledge of breeds of domestic animals, appear to have forgotten everything within their own home and think human breeding is nonsense, if not immoral.
It has already been a success that the concept of race is expressed in our folklore at all.
But long is still the path to the implementation of the consequences that must be derived from the scientific knowledge for all and each individual.
And it is ever more difficult to affirm the working of the laws of race in those spheres that appear to be so far removed from the physical-external that they are considered a private matter. And even if the equality of the countenance is no longer believed, many still want to think that men are the same when it comes down to feelings, love, aversion, beauty and justice. [pages 7-8]
Although I read the passage in the printed booklet whose image we see above, to avoid typing I copied and pasted this passage from Renegade Tribune (specifically, here). I’ve known about that site for a long time and love that they put Goodrich’s Hellstorm at the top. But until today, I didn’t know that Renegade Tribune has excellent NS material, including links to Bitchute of our Führer’s after-dinner talks. The booklet continues:
Many Folks—Nonetheless One Ideal!
When, for example, the soil of the ancient world, hence the Hellenic-Roman folks of the time two thousand years ago, today reveals marble statues, then it is as if one of our brothers, indeed the best looking one, is there chiselled into stone. Only a few externalities of the ancient figures seem strange to us, but without hesitation we take them as paradigms, and for centuries the German world, lacking it own supreme masterpieces, admired the Greek artworks as an ideal […].
The word “race” gives the key to the explanation. And if we had nothing more about the Greek works of art, no text and nothing written—from these portrayals we could see they were men of Nordic blood, immigrants and descendants of the great tribe that even today still fills our land with its blood.
Among our Germanic ancestors, it was the opposite. Their artworks, presumably carved in wood, have long since perished in the damp German soil. But here the witness of the fairy tales, sagas and heroic songs speaks a clear language. Where beauty and manliness are portrayed there, we read the adjectives “strong, tall and blond”. Women are praised because of the shimmering white of their skin, their tenderness and the rose colour of their cheecks. The kindly goddess of Germanic man, the older example of “our dear wives”, is Berchta, whose name downright means the “light one”, the “radiant one”. [pages 9-10]
But on that same page 10 and the next, we see a monocausal slant: mentioning Jewry, but not Judeo-Christianity which has rammed the Jew’s dick down the white throat (see Giger’s drawing). Although Renegade Tribune does acknowledge the Christian Question, it doesn’t present it as the primary source of Western decline.
In the next chapter of the booklet we see a beautiful poem, although translated from German into English something must be lost. It seems to portray in verse what I have conveyed on this site in images with the paintings of Parrish and other artists:
So sings Walther von der Vogelweide:
Sweetened through and flowered are the pure women: There was never anything so blissful to look at In the skies, nor on the earths, nor in all the green pastures. Where one sees a beautiful woman, that can moisten sad disposition. And dissolves everything sorrowful at the same hour, When her sweet, red mouth dearly laughs in love, And rays shoot from plating eyes into the base of the man’s heart.
This reminds me of an afterthought attributed to David Lane about the second 14 words: that female beauty turned out to be a lie. That’s relative. It’s only a lie when it comes to the millions of Pod women mentioned in my comment on “Damn Christians.” But it is not a lie if we reinstate patriarchy to the extent of transvaluing Woke values to the world of Jane Austen in terms of sexual morality. “Women are automatons,” a friend just told me. I would add that they would behave only if men reclaimed their manhood (something I will discuss in one of my next comments on Breaking Bad).
On the next page of the booklet’s poem, we see a reproduction of an image of the Virgin Mary in Freiburg Cathedral as an example of nobility of soul. True, but let us remember that the Church only allowed this type of artistic eulogy to Aryan women in the context that they were Semites: something false insofar as those Christians didn’t know what the kikes of first-century Palestine looked like! The editors of the booklet do not seem to have realised that their POV was ambivalent, and even less did they know that after 1945 the Semitic side would triumph decisively over the Aryan, to such an extent that the body of the Aryan woman is now only venerated in a culture that thoroughly degrades it.
In a blank space in this booklet that I read years ago, I wrote:
In my post, I will say that Richard Wagner was a stepping stone. And so were these booklets: another stone from Christianity to ancient paganism.
I do not criticise them, because it was natural to convince the German people step by step. Now, in The West’s Darkest Hour, only the ultimate truth must be told.
Regarding the “stepping stones,” I was referring to my metaphor of crossing back the psychological Rubicon to Greco-Roman values.
I recently mentioned the film The Village, and yesterday I watched the most exquisite scenes.
What impressed me most were the shots of the lead actress, and how she acted, perfectly imitating 19th-century mannerisms: how American women used to behave. I kept telling myself, awestruck, that this woman was absolutely beautiful, and I imagined what it would be like to marry such a creature and constantly gaze upon her! The story is simply a fairy tale, but what’s worthwhile is that only white people appear in the film, and the director’s artistic virtuosity is evident in quite a few shots.
In the end, I was surprised that the director—an Indian man!—was also the producer and writer of that 2004 film. It’s true that one of my two favourite films for the sacred words, P&P (2005) and S&S (1995), both based on Jane Austen novels, was also filmed in this century. But both were filmed in England. As for LOTR, it was filmed in New Zealand.
Aside from The Village, written, produced, and directed by an Indian man, is there an American film from this century that stars a young woman whose mannerisms overwhelmingly inspire a man to marry someone like her, but filmed by a white man? It’s not about beautiful women appearing on the big screen. It’s about any movie inspiring a white man to marry someone like that heavenly creature.
Drying the books that got wet gave me the opportunity to reread some pages of those I had read long ago. In the series “Sixteen Years Later” I talked about the texts in a binder I read when, starting in August 2009, I discovered a healthy white nationalism that hadn’t yet suffered the regression of today. Now I would like to discuss one of the books I read before my racial awakening.
As an anecdote, the books that were most damaged were the science-fiction paperbacks I bought in the 1980s and 90s. Since the task of drying them is enormous, and it is difficult for me because the sun rarely shines during this rainy season, and above all, I must prevent the proliferation of mould on the pages that had become soaked, I decided to tear out the wet pages that didn’t have my footnotes. It is not difficult to acquire other copies of the books I have mutilated. What is irreplaceable are my footnotes. So, in my paperback copy of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, which I read in 1994, I tore out almost all the pages to save myself the painful task of drying them.
Ever since I read it, Asimov’s science fiction has bothered me greatly. In another of my Asimov books, a non-fiction one, this Jew confesses that he loved living in New York. The room where this monk of letters wrote didn’t even have a window!
The difference between Aryans and Jews is that Aryans, being much more physically beautiful (see what I said about Éowyn in my post yesterday), have a religious calling to beauty that Jews lack (unless they have mixed genetically with Aryans, like Felix Mendelssohn). If we compare Asimov’s most renowned science-fiction work, Foundation, with Arthur Clarke’s The Songs of Distant Earth, the latter’s futurism even reminded me of Parrish’s paintings. The Jew lacks that call to beauty, at least to the religious level that I feel (cf. David Lane’s 14 words referring to the Aryan woman).
What bothered me about the first book in the Foundation series I read is that Asimov simply transfers his beloved New York to the capital of the empire, Trantor, with 40 billion humans: the centre of all intrigue and symbol of imperial corruption. Every day, fleets of tens of thousands of ships brought the produce of twenty agricultural worlds to the tables of Trantor. It’s a shame that Aryans like George Lucas have imitated Trantor with the city of Coruscant. Like Trantor, Coruscant is a kind of super-developed New York that encompasses the entire planet (in Lucas’ universe, Coruscant is also the seat of government). All of this is degeneration, obviously, and you have to read about what Thalassa was like in The Songs of Distant Earth to understand it.
In Foundation 25 million planets were inhabited in the Galaxy but the people that the novelist imagined were, from my POV, as Neanderthaloid as humans today. We can already imagine the sidereal level of unnecessary suffering that would exist in such a galactic nightmare!
But Asimov doesn’t see any of this. The city he imagines, covering the entire planet, lives under metal. People no longer saw the sky or the heavens. Not even the inhabitants knew what season it was outside the metal skin of the world—except for the emperor’s palace, nestled in natural land, full of green trees and adorned with flowers: a small island in an ocean of steel.
I have said it before, and it is worth repeating: the stars are not for man. Hitler himself believed that overmanhood could only arise on Earth. Even some YouTubers who speculate on cosmology are beginning to realise this; for example, what this guy says at the end of his video (yesterday I listened to that video in full, although without seeing the offensive images).
Even that vlogger fails because he succumbs to the YouTubers’ trend of saturating his videos with images of extra-terrestrial and space recreations and the like. Being faithful to Earth means attachment to earthly beings and landscapes; for example, the canvases of Romantic painters (Hitler tried, unsuccessfully, to be one of them). And knowing oneself. Only then can one know the universe and the Gods.
A scene like the one I embedded yesterday about Edoras tells me more than any of the hundreds of books Asimov wrote.
