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Category: Feminism

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Degenerate art Feminism Kali Yuga Music

Epigrams and arrows

Why is the white nationalist movement fraudulent? Because white nationalists don’t really believe in their own shit:

• Any “nationalist” who says he hates Hitler is a phony white nationalist

• Any “nationalist” who says he supports homos is a phony white nationalist

• Any “nationalist” who promotes pop music is a phony white nationalist

• Any “nationalist” who embraces feminism is a phony white nationalist

• Any “nationalist” ignorant of the history of Europe is a phony white nationalist

How many are there in the American scene that hate Hitler or accept the homo agenda or listen popular music (this includes gyms) or accept women in what should be boys only clubs or are reluctant to learn basic facts about the Old World that allowed the New World in the first place?

If these guys are the cream of the Aryan people… you guys must be in good shape! Consider these epigrams and arrows taken from the site of Iranian for Aryans:


§ The sign of the times is degeneracy. This term—degeneracy—sums up all that is happening to the West. As a case in point, witness the efflorescence of “zoo brothels” in Germany (here). What’s amazing—is it really?—is that the zoophilic campaigners push the moral relativism card.

§ I am a staunch defender of the Western canon and I consider those who degrade it and marginalize it as my enemies.

§ White man, stop being such a degenerate. Your daughters sleep with niggers, they dress like strumpets, they behave like harlots, they talk back, and they abort. And to think that you have the temerity to be offended! What fatuousness!

§ Everything that this unlamented, for me, degenerate stood for was a direct slap to civilization and culture; especially, music. The strident cacophony, the profligacy, the words, the attire, the overall appearance, and the destructive aura of these retarded, sophomoric culture-wreckers damns them to eternal perdition as far as I’m concerned.

§ Sexual jealousy is one of the worst feelings a man can have. It is all-consuming and all-encompassing. Now I fully realize the importance of the traditional doctrine of marrying a virgin.

§ Hell is having to listen to and watch all forms of modern entertainment.

§ I’m sick of seeing young white women with tattoos.

§ I hate, I detest, I loath, I excoriate, I vilify modern “movies”, “music”, “art”, “poetry”, “literature”, and every other flatus meant to represent modern “culture”.

§ The “White movement” is no movement in the true sense. It is a loose aggregate—at best—of armchair loudmouths and pretentious pontificators. The overwhelming number of individuals who are either self-penned or peon-promoted “leaders” are half-baked intellectuals; to wit, those who spout off Evola and Nietzsche from one aperture while doing the same for rock’n’roll from the other, posterior one.

The pretenders, these pseudo-thinkers claim, disingenuously, that modern Whites, youth especially, don’t like and can’t digest the Western musical canon. They need, so they say, something more “up beat” and “relevant”. In other words, let’s teach them all the thoughts of the bigwigs from the Western past, which is somehow not antithetical, while pushing the “musical” excrescences of modernity. This is not only hypocritical, but otiose, since our agenda must be to invoke the Past in its entirety. Imagine, having a people who can quote Guénon while gyrating to AC/DC!

If such a group was ever to come to fruition, it would get nowhere. How can a mind house the soul of a nigger? It is a veritable abortion. And the people who talk big while listening to filth have no taste and they have no soul. The thoughts and milieux of great minds are antipodal to modern “White music” and even to musical modernisms of any and all sorts à la Stravinsky and Bartok. Can one even fathom a Nietzsche-like prophetic figure perorating such great and inspiring thoughts while contemplating offal?

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Alice Miller Autobiography Child abuse Feminism Hojas Susurrantes (book) Islamization of Europe Liberalism Psychiatry Psychology Women

A body-snatched Spaniard

I have edited and moved this entry here (see also here).

Categories
Feminism Friedrich Nietzsche Islam Islamization of Europe Liberalism Sex Twilight of the idols (book)

Atheist scum

Unlike Nietzsche and other nineteenth-century critics of Christianity, today’s atheists are scum. A single example will illustrate my point.

Atheist Richard Dawkins, who has appeared in talk shows arguing that homophobia is bigotry, claims to be an evolutionary biologist. But Dawkins has never dared to take seriously the most elemental biological law of evolution regarding the future of his people: to grow and multiply—not even when whites are flagrantly violating that law and heading toward extinction.

The following is a brief exchange between Dawkins and a Palestinian Muslim. Keep in mind my recent post on Pride & Prejudice and Will Durant’s words, that Nature “sees that a nation with low birth rate shall be periodically chastened by some more virile and fertile group”:

Muslim: Fix your women.

Dawkins: Fix your women! That’s not my business; that’s my women’s business.

Muslim: No, no! It is your business. When you take your women and dress them like whores in…

Dawkins: I don’t dress women! They dress themselves!

Muslim: I know but you allow it as a norm to let women on the street dressed like this. What’s going on with your society? What’s wrong with the…?

See the video of this exchange here. Dawkins could not tolerate more cognitive dissonance and, as you can see in the video, he simply faded out the audio of what the Muslim was trying to tell him.

Unless a white revolution reclaims Europe, the Muslims will teach the feminized western males of Eurabia how to grow a pair again, especially regarding our treatment of women. How sad that the Muslims have to teach us what we already knew when, unlike the atheists of today, we took the laws of biology very seriously.

This is Nietzsche’s critique of licentiousness under the guise of liberty taken from Twilight of the Idols, chapter “Skirmishes of an Untimely Man,” section 41:

Freedom which I do not mean.* In times like these, abandonment to one’s instincts is one calamity more… Today the individual still has to be made possible by being pruned: possible here means whole. The reverse is what happens: the claim for independence, for free development, for laisser aller is pressed most hotly by the very people for whom no reins would be too strict. This is true in politics, this is true in art. But that is a symptom of décadence: our modern conception of “freedom” is one more proof of the degeneration of the instincts.

(*) Adding a “not” Nietzsche is quoting here a popular German verse from a Max von Schenkendorf poem titled Liberty.

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F. Roger Devlin Feminism Homosexuality Jane Austen Liberalism Marriage Pride & Prejudice Sex Who We Are (book) Women

Europe’s vagina

I had posted this entry on February 5 but want to repost it so that it may be read along with my previous entry on Nietzsche’s very traditional views about what used to be our most sacred institution before Western man committed racial suicide: Marriage.

The subject of the virtual abolition of Marriage is, to my mind, more important than the Jewish question. Those who want to know why are advised to print Roger Devlin’s article “Sexual Utopia in Power” and study it carefully.


♣



During pre-Christian times Nordics began emigrating in wave after wave heading south. The original Romans, themselves the descendants of one of these waves, would later refer to the German-Scandinavian area as vagina gentium, the womb of white nations. Also, the land which ultimately comprised Russia ought to be hugely significant for white nationalists because it included the Caucasus area, the original source of the “Indo-European” (Caucasian) peoples.

What pained me the most while reading both William Pierce and Arthur Kemp’s stories of the white race is that Europe’s vagina was closed and raped into the Asiatic gene pool in the course of the Asiatic invasions. After those interminable invasions that lasted centuries the Caucasus area ceased to be the womb of the Nordish peoples. “It was perhaps the single most important racial genocide in history” wrote Kemp.

The aggressor was external of course. But during my lifespan I have witnessed the destruction of whites by whites themselves on a scale no seen since the Mongolian invasions. With reproduction levels below the minimum relacement of 2.1 per family, we, not the Huns or Genghis Khan’s hordes, have closed the womb through the so-called sexual liberation movement, feminism, the pill, the legalization of abortion, the empowerment of women, mixed marriages, and the destigmatization of lesbianism and male homosexuality.

It is my hope that, after the dollar crashes and Western society falls into utter chaos—and, thanks to the laws of social entropy, ethno-states are formed at both sides of the Atlantic—, Roger Devlin’s dream to reinstitute heterosexual marriage will become reality.

pride-and-prejudice 2005 film

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 transvaluated 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 like it or not…

Categories
Feminism Liberalism Science Sex Who We Are (book) William Pierce

Origin of the Family

Excerpted from the third article of William Pierce’s “Who We Are: a Series of Articles on the History of the White Race”:



Since the use of [Paleolithic] tools required a larger brain than before, and since the birth canal had become smaller, infants had to be born in a premature state, with a relatively long period of postnatal development and growth ahead of them. This meant a long period of incapacitation for mothers, while they nursed and cared for their helpless young. And this in turn required a prolonged dependence of the female on the male.

Thus, stable male-female pairing, with the male taking the role of hunter-provider and the female the role of mother-nurse, became established in our evolutionary line hundreds of thousands of generations ago. It is what is natural for our race, in that a predisposition for it is born with us. The foolish liberals who see it as the “oppression” of women and imagine that they can abolish it with a few acts of Congress or a Constitutional amendment have not the faintest understanding of what they are tampering with.

Categories
Feminism Michael O'Meara Sex

How the sexual

revolution is destroying the West

by Michael O’Meara

Sexe et dévoiement
Éditions du Lore, 2011

Four years after Guillaume Faye’s La Nouvelle question juive (The New Jewish Question, 2007) alienated many of his admirers and apparently caused him to retreat from identitarianism and Euro-nationalism, his latest work signals a definite return, reminding us of why he remains one of the most creative thinkers defending the future of the white race.

In this 400-page book, which is an essay and not a work of scholarship, Mr. Faye’s central concern is the family, and the catastrophic impact the rising number of divorces and broken households is having on white demographic renewal. In linking family decline to its demographic and civilizational consequences, he dissects the larger social pathologies associated with the “inverted” sexuality now disfiguring European life. These pathologies include the de-virilization and feminization of white men, the normalization of homosexuality, feminist androgyny, Third-World colonization, miscegenation, the loss of bio-anthropological norms (like the blond Jesus)—and all that comes with the denial of biological reality.

At the core of Mr. Faye’s argument is the contention that sexuality constitutes a people’s fundamental basis; it governs its reproduction and ensures its survival. Thus, it is the key to any analysis of contemporary society.

As the ethologist Konrad Lorenz and the anthropologist/social theorist Arnold Gehlen (both of whom have influenced Mr. Faye) have demonstrated, there is nothing automatic or spontaneous in human sexuality, as it is in other animals. Man’s body may be like those of the higher mammals, but it is also a cultural, plastic one with few governing instincts. Socioeconomic, ideological, and emotional imperatives play a major role in shaping human behavior, especially in the higher civilizations.

Given, moreover, that humanity is no monolith, there can be no universal form of sexual behavior, and thus the sexuality, like everything else, of Europeans differs from that of non-Europeans. In the United States and Brazil, for example, the sexual practices and family forms of blacks are still very unlike those of whites, despite ten generations in these European-founded countries. Every form of sexuality, Mr. Faye argues, stems from a specific bioculture (a historically-defined “stock”), which varies according to time and people. Human behavior is thus for him always the result of a native, inborn ethno-psychology, historically embodied in cultural, religious, and ideological superstructures.

The higher, more creative the culture the more sexuality also tends to depend on fragile, individual factors—such as desire, libido, self-interest—in contrast to less developed cultures, whose reproduction relies more on collective and instinctive factors. High cultures consequently reproduce less and low cultures more, though the latter suffer far greater infant mortality (an equilibrium that was upset only in the 20th century, when high cultures intervened to reduce the infant mortality of lower cultures, thereby setting off today’s explosive Third-World population growth).

Despite these differences and despite the world’s great variety of family forms and sexual customs, the overwhelming majority of peoples and races nevertheless prohibit incest, pedophilia, racially mixed marriages, homosexual unions, and “unparented” children.

By contravening many of these traditional prohibitions in recent decades, Western civilization has embarked on a process that Mr. Faye calls derailment, which is evident in the profound social and mental pathologies that follow the inversion of “natural” (i.e., historic or ancient) norms—inversions that have been legitimized in the name of morality, freedom, and equality.

Sexe et dévoiement is an essay, then, about the practices and ideologies currently affecting European sexuality and about how these practices and ideologies are leading Europeans into a self-defeating struggle against nature—against their nature, upon which their biocivilization rests.


The Death of the Family

Since the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s, expressions of egalitarianism and a nihilistic individualism have helped undermine the family, bringing it to the critical stage it has reached today. Of these, the most destructive for Mr. Faye has been the ideology of libidinal love (championed by the so-called “sexual liberation” movement of the period), which confused recreational sex with freedom, disconnected sex from reproduction, and treated traditional social/cultural norms as forms of oppression.

The “liberationists” of the 1960s—the first generation raised on TV—were linked to the New Left, which saw all restraint as oppressive and all individuals as interchangeable. They were convinced that all things were possible, as they sought to free desire from the “oppressive” mores of what Mr. Faye calls the “bourgeois family.”

This ’60s-style sexual liberation, he notes, was “Anglo-Saxon” in origin, motivated by a shift from prudery to the opposite extreme. Originally, this middle-class, Protestant prudery confined sexuality to the monogamous nuclear family, which represented a compromise between individual desire and familial interests. This compromise preserved the family line and reared children to carry it on.

In the 1960s, when the Boomers came of age, the puritans passed to the other extreme, jettisoning their sexual “squeamishness” and joining the movement to liberate the libido. In practice, this meant abolishing conjugal fidelity, heterosexual dominance, “patriarchy,” and whatever taboos opposed the feel-good “philosophy” of the liberationists. As the Sorbonne’s walls proclaimed in ‘68: “It’s prohibited to prohibit.” The “rights” of individual desire and happiness would henceforth come at the expense of all the prohibitions that had formerly made the family viable. Mr. Faye does not mention it, but American-style consumerism was beginning to take hold in Western Europe at the same time, promoting self-indulgent materialism and the pursuit of pleasure.

Americans pioneered the ideology of sexual liberation, along with gay pride and the porn industry, but a significant number of “ordinary” white Americans resist their elites’ anti-traditional sexual ideology. Salt Lake City here prevails over Las Vegas. The Washington Leviathan nevertheless continues to use these ideologies and practices to subvert non-liberal societies, though not always with success: The Russians have rebuffed “international opinion” and refuse to tolerate gay pride parades.

Europeans, by contrast, have been qualitatively more influenced by the “libertine revolutionaries,” and Mr. Faye’s work speaks more to Europeans than to Americans, though it seems likely that the European experience will sooner or later come to the United States.

Against the backdrop of ’60s-style sexual liberation, personal sexual relations were reconceived as a strictly individualistic and libidinal “love,” based on the belief that this highly inflated emotional state was too important to limit to conjugal monogamy. Marriages based on impulsive sexual attractions and the “hormonal tempests” they set off have since become the tomb not just of stable families, but increasingly of Europe herself.

For with this adolescent cult of sexualized love that elevates the desires of the solitary individual above his communal and familial duties, there comes another kind of short-sighted, feel-good liberal ideology that destroys collective imperatives: the cult of human rights. This flood of discourses and laws promoting brotherhood and anti-racism are synonymous with de-virilizition, ethnomaschoism, and the destruction of Europe’s historic identity.

Romantic love, which is impulsive on principle, and sexual liberation have destroyed stable families. This “casino of pleasure” may be passionate, but it is also ephemeral and compelled by egoism. Indeed, almost all sentiments grouped under the rubric of love, Mr. Faye contends, are egoistic and self-interested. Love in this sense is an investment from which one expects a return—one loves to be loved. A family of this kind is thus one inclined to allow superficial or immediate considerations to prevail over established, time-tested ones. Similarly, the rupture of such conjugal unions seems almost unavoidable, for once the pact of love is broken—and a strictly libidinal love always fades—the union dissolves.

The death of the “oppressive” bourgeois family at the hands of the emancipation movements of the ’60s has given rise to unstable stepfamilies, no-fault divorce, teenage mothers, single-parent homes, abandoned children, homosexual “families,” unisex ideology, new sexual categories, and an increasingly isolated and frustrated individual delivered over almost entirely to his own caprices.

The egoism governing such love-based families produces few children. To the degree that married couples today even want children, it seems to Mr. Faye less for the sake of sons and daughters to continue the line and more for the sake of a baby to pamper, a living toy that is an adjunct to their consumerism. And since the infant is idolized in this way, parents feel little responsibility for disciplining him. They subscribe to the “cult of the child,” which considers children to be “noble savages” rather than beings that need instruction.

The result is that children lack self-control and an ethic of obedience. Their development is compromised and their socialization neglected. These post-’60s families also tend to be short lived, which means children are frequently traumatized by broken homes, raised by single parents or in stepfamilies, where their intellectual development is stunted and their blood ties confused. Without stable families and a sense of lineage, they lose all sense of ethnic or national consciousness and fail to understand why miscegenation and immigration ought to be opposed. The destruction of stable families, Mr. Faye surmises, bears directly on the present social-sexual chaos and the impending destruction of Europe’s racial stock.

Against the sexual liberationists, Mr. Faye upholds the model of the past. Though perhaps no longer possible, the stable couples of the bourgeois family structure put familial and communal interests over amorous ones, to the long-term welfare of both the couple and the children. Conjugal love came, as a result, to be impressed with friendship, partnership, and habitual attachments, for the couple was not defined as a self-contained amorous symbiosis, but as the pillar of a larger family architecture. This made conjugal love moderate and balanced rather than passionate. It was sustained by habit, tenderness, interest, care of the children, and la douceur du foyer (“the comforts of home”). Sexual desire remained, but in most cases declined in intensity or dissipated in time.

This family structure was extraordinarily stable. It assured the lineage, raised properly-socialized children, respected women, and won the support of law and custom. There were, of course, compromises and even hypocrisies (as men satisfied libidinal urgings in brothels), but in any case the family, the basic cell of society, was protected—even privileged.

The great irony of sexual liberation and its ensuing destruction of the bourgeois family is that it has obviously not brought greater happiness or freedom, but rather greater alienation and misery. In this spirit, the media now routinely (almost obsessively) sexualizes the universe, but sex has become more virtual than real: There is more pornography but fewer children. Once the “rights” of desire were emancipated, sex took on a different meaning, the family collapsed, sexual identity was increasingly confused, and perversions and transgressions became greater and more serious. As everyone set off in pursuit of an illusory libidinal fulfillment, the population became correspondently more atomized, uprooted, and miscegenated. In France today, 30 percent of all adults are single and there are even reports of a new “asexuality” in reaction to the sexualization of everything.

There is a civilization-destroying tragedy here: for, once Europeans are deprived of their family lineage, they cease to transmit their cultural and genetic heritage and thus lose all sense of who they are. This is critical to everything else. As the historians Michael Mitterauer and Reinhard Sieder write: “The family is one of the most archaic forms of social community, and at all times men have used the family as a model for the formation of human societies.” The loss of family stability, and thus the collapse of the family as society’s basic cell, Mr. Faye emphasizes, not only dissolves social relations, it brings disorder and makes all tyrannies possible. Once sexual emancipation helps turn society into a highly individualized, Balkanized mass, totalitarianism—not Soviet or fascist, but US progressive—becomes increasingly likely.

The Idolatry of Homosexuality

Homophilia and feminism are the most important children of the cultural revolution. They share, as such, much of the same ideological baggage that denies biological realities and makes war on the family. Mr. Faye claims that in the late 1960s, when homosexuals began demanding legal equality, they were fully within their rights. Homosexuality in his view is a genetic affliction affecting fewer than 5 percent of males, but he does not object to homosexuals practices within the privacy of the bedroom. What he finds objectionable is the confusion of private and public realms and the assertion of homophilia as a social norm. Worse, he claims that in much elite discourse, homosexuals have quickly gone from being pariahs to privileged beings, who flaunt their alleged “superiority” over heterosexuals, who are seen as old-fashioned, outmoded, ridiculous. Heterosexuals are like women who center their lives on the care of children rather than on a career, and are thus something bizarre and implicitly opposed to liberal-style “emancipation.”

Mr. Faye, who is by no means a prude, contends that female homosexuality is considerably different from and less damaging than male homosexuality. Most lesbians, in his view, are bisexual, rather than purely homosexual, and for whatever reason have turned against men. This he sees as a reflection on men. Even in traditional societies, women who engaged in homosexuality retained their femininity and so were not so shocking as their male counterparts. By contrast, male homosexuality was considered abhorrent, because it violated the nature of masculinity, making men no longer “properly” male and thus something mutant. To those who evoke the ancient glories of Athens as a counter-argument, Mr. Faye, a long-time Graeco-Latinist, says that in the period when a certain form of pederasty was tolerated, no adult male ever achieved respectability if he was not married, devoted to the interests of his family and clan, and, above all, was never to be “made of woman,” i.e., penetrated.

Like feminism, homophilia holds that humans are bisexual at birth and, willfully or not, choose their sexual orientation—as if anatomical differences are insignificant and all humans are a blank slate upon which they inscribe their self-chosen “destiny.” This view lacks any scientific credibility, to be sure, even if it is professed in our elite universities. Like anti-racism, it denies biological realities incompatible with the reigning dogmas. Facts, though, have rarely stood in the way of faith or ideology—or, in the way of secular 20th-century ideologies that have become religious faiths.

Despite its progressive and emancipatory pretensions, homophilia, like sexual liberation in general, is entirely self-centered and indifferent to future and past, promoting “lifestyles” hostile to family formation and thus to white reproduction. Homophilia here marches hand in hand with anti-racism, denying the significance of biological differences and the imperatives of white survival.

This subversive ideology now even aspires to re-invent homosexuals as the flowers of society: liberators preparing the way to joy, liberty, fraternity, tolerance, social well-being, good taste, etc. As vice is transformed into virtue, homosexuality allegedly introduces a new sense of play and gaiety to the one-dimensional society of sad, heterosexual males. Except, Mr. Faye insists, there’s nothing genuinely gay about the gays, for theirs is a condition of stress and disequilibrium. At odds with their own nature, homosexuality is often a Calvary—and not because of social oppression, but because of those endogenous reasons (particularly their attraction to their own sex) that condemn them to a reproductive and genetic dead end.

In its public displays as gay pride, hemophilia defines itself as narcissistic, exhibitionist, and infantile, thus revealing those traits specific to its abnormal condition. In any case, a community worthy of itself, Mr. Faye tells us, is founded on shared values, on achievements, on origins—not on a dysgenic sexual orientation.

Schizophrenic Feminism

The reigning egalitarianism is always extending itself, trying to force genuine sexuality, individuality, demography, race, etc., to conform to its tenets. The demand that women have the same legal rights and opportunities as men, Mr. Faye thinks, was entirely just, especially for Europeans—and especially Celtic, Scandinavian, and Germanic Europeans—for their cultures have long respected the humanity of women. Indeed, he considers legal equality the single great accomplishment of feminism. But feminism has since been transformed into another utopian egalitarianism that makes sexes, like races, equivalent and interchangeable. Mr. Faye, though, refuses to equate legal equality with natural equality, for such an ideological muddling denies obvious biological differences, offending both science and common sense.

The dogma that differences between men and women are simply cultural derives from a feminist behaviorism in which women are seen as potential men, and femininity is treated as a social distortion. In Simone de Beauvoir’s formulation: “One is not born a woman, one becomes one.” Feminists therefore affirm the equality and interchangeability of men and women, yet at the same time they reject femininity, which they consider something inferior and imposed. The feminist model is thus the man, and feminism’s New Woman is simply his “photocopy.” In trying to suppress the specifically feminine in this way, feminism aims to masculinize women and feminize men in the image of its androgynous ideal.

This is like the anti-racist ideal of the mixed race or half-caste. This unisex ideology characterizes the mother as a slave and the devoted wife as a fool. In practice, it even rejects the biological functions of the female body, aspiring to a masculinism that imitates men and seeks to emulate them socially, politically, and otherwise. Feminism is anti-feminine—anti-mother and anti-family—and ultimately anti-reproduction.

Anatomical differences, however, have consequences. Male humans, like males of other species, always differ from females and behave differently. Male superiority in achievement—conceptual, mathematical, artistic, political, and otherwise—is often explained away as the result of female oppression. Mr. Faye rejects this, though he acknowledges that in many areas of life, for just or unjust reasons, women do suffer disadvantages; many non-whites practice outright subjugation of women. Male physical strength may also enable men to dominate women. But generally, Mr. Faye sees a rough equality of intelligence between men and women. Their main differences, he contends, are psychological and characterological, for men tend to be more outwardly oriented than women. As such, they use their intelligence more in competition, innovation, and discovery. They are usually more aggressive, more competitive, more vain and narcissistic than women who, by contrast, are more inclined to be emotionally loyal, submissive, prudent, temperate, and far-sighted.

Men and women are better viewed as organic complements, rather than as inferior or superior. From Homer to Cervantes to Mme. de Stäel, the image of women, their realms and their work, however diverse and complicated, have differed from that of men. Women may be able to handle most masculine tasks, but at the same time their disposition differs from men, especially in the realm of creativity.

This is vitally important for Mr. Faye. In all sectors of practical intelligence they perform as well as men, but not in their capacity for imaginative projection, which detaches and abstracts one’s self from contingent reality for the sake of imagining another. This is true in practically all areas: epic poetry, science, invention, religion, even cuisine and design. It is not from female brains, he notes, that have emerged submarines, space flight, philosophical systems, great political and economic theories, and the major scientific discoveries (Mme. Curie being the exception). Most of the great breakthroughs have been made by men and it has had nothing to do with women being oppressed. Feminine dreams are simply not the same as masculine ones, which search the impossible, the risky, the unreal.

Akin, then, in spirit to homophilia, anti-racism, and ’60s-style sexual liberation, feminism’s rejection of biological realities and its effort to masculinize women end up not just distorting what it supposedly champions—women—it reveals its totally egoistic and present-oriented nature, for it rejects women as mothers and thus rejects the reproduction of the race.

Conclusion

Sexe et dévoiement treats a variety of other issues: Christian and Islamic views of sexuality; immigration and the different sexual practices it brings, some of which are extremely primitive and brutal; the role of prostitution; and the effect new bio-technologies will have on sexuality.

From the above discussion of the family, homophilia, and feminism, the reader should already sense the direction of Mr. Faye’s arguments, as he relates individual sexuality to certain macro-changes now forcing European civilization off its rails. His perspective is especially illuminating in that he is one of very few authors who link the decline of the white race to larger questions of civilization, sex, and demography.

Nevertheless I would make several criticisms. Like the European New Right as a whole, he tends to be overly simplistic in attributing the origins of the maladies he depicts to the secularization of certain Christian notions, such as equality and love. He also places the blame for undesirable social/economic developments on cultural/ideological influences rather than depicting a more realistic dialectical relationship of mutual causation. Likewise, he fails to consider the ethnocidal effects on Europe of America’s imperial supremacy, with its post-European rules of behavior and its anti-Christian policies.

But having said that—and after having written reviews of many of Guillaume Faye’s works over the last 10 years, and reading many other books that have made me more critical of aspects of his thought—I think whatever his “failings,” they pale in comparison to the light he sheds on the ethnocidal forces now bearing down on the white race.

_____________

American Renaissance, June 29, 2012

Categories
Feminism Homosexuality Sex

The fate of the white race—in the hands of the empty-headed sex

It is important to notice that the great increase in homosexuality that we see nowadays, and also the increase in prestige for that form of behavior, is due in no small measure to the existence of scientific means of birth control. This development was a watershed event in evolutionary terms, decoupling sex from the natural, reproductive function it had served ever since life began on earth and making it into something that is now widely viewed as only a lifestyle statement. By their nature, scientific birth control technologies create a large pool of people of both sexes who don’t have children and who won’t have them, either by choice or simply because they are not able to conform to cultural norms. Such people have no stake in the future, and live only for themselves. The existence of this element acts like a corrosive acid on the structure of a society, eating away cultural bonds and decomposing it into individual atoms.

Once the pleasures of sex have been in this way decoupled from reproduction, the inevitable result is equality—between the sexes, because now women can have sex with the same abandon that was previously only the birthright of men, and between heterosexual and homosexual, because heterosexual sex need not necessarily lead to reproductive consequences either. It all becomes just undifferentiated pleasure, a lifestyle choice. This has the effect of raising the prestige of homosexuality, which had heretofore been held in contempt since ancient times, to put it on a par with heterosexuality.

Before the advent of such technologies, women had very little say in whether they were going to have children or not. The biological attractions of the reproductive act are such that virtually all fertile women ended up having them. But now, in what must certainly be a supremely dysgenic move, the genetic fate of the White race has been placed into the hands of the empty-headed, weak-willed, easily-brainwashed sex. As a result, the most intelligent White women often defer having children until it is too late. Even the White women who do have White children often end up choosing to have the children of the more feminine, brainwashed, politically-correct males available to them, because such males fit in better with our politically-correct culture and are therefore more likely to have stable social networks and employment. Some of them—too many of them, no doubt—have even aborted White children and chosen to have trendy niglets instead.

All in all, it’s hard to overstate what a disaster scientific birth control techniques have been to the White race.


Posted by Der weiße Engel
on December 2010, discussed again at TOO today

Categories
Feminism Homosexuality Liberalism

Liberals—

about to be mugged by reality

Takuan Seiyo is half-Jewish. Nationalists must be aware of this fact. This said, some chapters of his online From Meccania to Atlantis, a serial being published in The Brussels Journal, are worth reading. The “Body-snatched Pod” metaphor of the film is one of the best I have seen to understand liberals. I would recommend watching the trailer of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (here).

Below, some excerpts from a couple of chapters of From Meccania to Atlantis (no ellipsis added between unquoted paragraphs):


European Commissioners opine that “Immigration Is Moral Necessity” and “Islam Is Welcome.” A French President predicts that “Arabic Is the Language of the Future.” A Moroccan becomes Mayor of Rotterdam. Europeans who wish to assert their ethnic identity and interests versus those of aliens are roughed up.

In the United States—a country that has ruined itself through its own naïveté about human nature, about the world and about itself, the presidential election is being contested between a right-liberal candidate of the Stupid Party and a left-liberal candidate of the Evil Party. The latter’s position is that America’s wealth should be redistributed to the Afro-American “community” so that the country can have its salvation. He may have rephrased this idea in more unctuous words as his political shrewdness was increasing over the years, but essentially this is still the intention.

Soon enough the United States will be turning from a stupid form of capitalism to a stupid form of socialism, and from a stupid form of multiculturalism to an evil one—of the Eurabian kind. It will be Sweden West, without the virtues that ethnic Swedes still possess.

To begin with, who are “we”?

One Identity

We are the ethno-conservatives—perhaps 60 million people in Western Europe, North America and Oceania. There are probably four times that number who are like us, but they are latent, unable at this time to cut through the fog of suppressive propaganda and inertia.

We are vastly outnumbered, and have few friends among the leading elites of the Western world. But it helps to remember that 185 million ex-Russia, non-Muslim Eastern Europeans are behind us. Living under Soviet tyranny has immunized them against the terrible mental virus that has ravaged the West. They have their own problems, related to economic development, but their combined weight is on our side. We ought not to forget who came to the rescue of Vienna and Western civilization in their hopeless encirclement in 1683.

Our common denominator is not white, for our most numerous and powerful opponents are also white. Rather, it is our opposition to our disfranchisement, marginalization and impoverishment by our own ruling elites in government, media, education, culture and business.

In America, we steam for having been abandoned by our government to mayhem and rape by illegal aliens. This is so obvious, that our ruling elites’ willful subversion of this precept is the greatest act of mass treason and insanity in the history of the world.

Jihad is an opportunistic infection that lay dormant as long as the West was strong and self-confident. The West’s own impairment of its cultural immune functions and the related importation of millions of Muslims has allowed the dormant jihadi virus to thaw and flourish.

We need our particular ethnicity and our singular culture, as other peoples need theirs. In contrast, the ruling American elite—including Republicans—has gone mad to such an extent that “minorities” are now over 1/3 of America’s population, soon to be half. And the EU ruling elite is welcoming, nay, soliciting, an Islamic wave that will accomplish what it failed previously at Tours, Lepanto and Vienna.

Together, they have brainwashed two generations of Westerners so effectively that the majority of whites in the world, notably among the young, celebrates “diversity”—i.e. their peoples’ and Western Civilization’s inevitable dissolution—as their core value. It is against this part of the population, and the politicians and subversive intellectuals who hold their puppet strings, that I believe we ought to define ourselves.

The Pods

Most contemporary whites are docilely or actively complicit in their own displacement, disappropriation, and disproportional share of rape, battery and murder by more savage peoples who have fewer scruples.

That’s why I think of them as “Pods” and of us as “Nonpods.” I use these words in the context of one of the great masterpieces of American cinema, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, released in 1956 and directed by Don Siegel, based on a novel by Jack Finney. In it, a doctor returns to a small California town to find out that one by one, its people, most of whom he has known all his life, have been replaced by dopplegängers.

These emotionless beings animated by a single instinct—proliferation—develop from large, foaming seedpods; in effect a biological production line for lifelike automatons, set up by evil space aliens.

One by one, real people disappear—acquaintances, friends and ultimately the protagonist’s girlfriend, until he remains the sole nonpod, encircled by human-like, giant legumes: the Body Snatchers.

Pods whose previous identities have been snatched and extinguished seem to be multiplying in our world too, and they are passionate in their hatred—of us. Middle-aged men and women who demonstrate publicly their desire for Europe to remain European are beaten up by Antifa gangs half their age and twenty times their number.

Pods view biological race and gender differences as social constructs, and therefore social group differences as an unjust inequality that must be rectified by reconstructing society. They view nation, ethnoculture, and private property as obsolete obstacles in the way of freedom, equality and fraternity of all people. Therefore, the right of anyone to immigrate anywhere precedes the right of the one suffering the destruction of his social capital by this immigration.

They view the refusal to tolerate the intolerable as unacceptable intolerance, and the desire to protect and preserve one’s family, community, country and culture as racism and xenophobia. And lastly, they have stood Jesus’ metaphor on its end, so that they fail to see the beam in the nonwhites’, non-Christians’ eye, but they see and greatly magnify the speck in their own peoples’ eye.

This is deep, delusionary dementia. This mental disorder is now the dominant orientation of the Western peoples, with its triumphant apotheosis, The One We Have Been Waiting For, coasting on the final approach to the most powerful job in the world, so that he can change the world into Pod kingdom.

Barack Obama is expected to receive 75-80% of the white vote in many urban areas of the United States. If this is not having one’s body and soul snatched, nothing is.


From Chapter 11: “Mugged by Reality”

The Pinocchio regime

The grand Body Snatcher project of erasing race-ethnicity-religion-culture-gender distinctions does not, of course, erase them. It merely, in the manner of a babbling baby, starts calling da-da what was previously doo-doo, as if through this onomatopaeic transfiguration shit could be turned into father.

The willful lying about reality, the manipulation of language and images to disguise such lies, the teaching and enforcement of the lies and the persecution of those who challenge the lies is the chief occupation of the regime of Meccania.

Even the few politicians and journalists who take a principled stand against immigration lie. Culture can be reliably correlated with the quartet, and only the full quartet, of race, ethnicity, religion and social class. But to do that would be to commit the dreaded crime of “discrimination.” In Meccania, one cannot discriminate on pain of severe penalties. But the ultimate peril is to Meccania itself.

Reality will continue to discriminate, no matter what Body Snatchers say or do. And a clash between a reality-averse ideology and Reality has the same pre-ordained outcome as a test crash between a knockoff car and a wall. It’s only a question of the speed, acceleration, mass and distance of the lying car from the solid wall.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPpU5azjCB8&hl=es_ES&fs=1&]

The virus is pitiless and catholic, though limited to the (previously) white West alone. In Sweden, there is a plague of rapes committed by Muslim immigrants. As Muslim immigrants in Malmö increased to 25% of the population, the number of rapes tripled. The Rosengård area is largely no-go even for the Swedish police. But the authorities blame the rapes on warm weather, alcohol, Internet dating sites and increase in reporting rape. Fjordman quotes a leading Swedish journalist, Helle Klein, “If the debate is about that there are problems caused by refugees and immigrants, we don’t want it.”

By the time Ms. Klein personally will have already been crash-tested by Reality. Debate will no longer be an option, only submission.

Male-dominated societies like China and Russia aggressively threaten the West’s vital interest, and Islamic patriarchal primitives ravage it from without and within, but the West is busy feminizing itself further, confusing its genders, enforcing gender and race quotas to elevate non-deserving and incompetent nonwhites or non-males, lying to itself outrageously about innate group differences.

E = mv2

The energy released by the impact of Snatcher State’s smashup against the Wall of Reality may or may not be expressible in elegant mathematical formulas, but it’s clearly related to the mass hurling forward toward the “progressive” future, times some order of velocity.

The mass is incalculably enormous. Snatcher State now controls every part of every sphere of activity in every Western country. Through Gramscian education, Snatcher State has controlled the brains of the last three generations of its subjects.

The velocity is quite dizzying too. In the Eurabian districts of Meccania, one can compute the approximate date of impact by comparing demographic data on immigration and fertility rates of Muslim immigrants versus those of indigenous Europeans. The meeting with The Wall will occur around mid-21st century. The consequences of the impact are visible now, 40 years in advance.

The crash may take 100 years to unfold fully, just as the test truck folds in slow-motion upon meeting the wall. But its shape is on display in the once-thriving parts of Christian civilization such as North Africa, Syria, Lebanon and Turkey, and in once-peaceful and Buddhist countries like Afghanistan and Pakistan. It’s on display now in every country where a minority of another race and faith lives among a Muslim majority.

Detroit has already met The Wall. Its industry is shattered. It looks like a post-Apocalypse city. It has the highest per-capita crime rate in North America, probably in all of Meccania: 1,220 violent crimes per 100,000. 84% of Detroit’s population is black, voting strictly by racial allegiance and electing criminal, incompetent mayors and a city council of crude, whitey-bashing ignoramuses.

These problems are impossible to fix, because the ruling Body Snatchers are racist cowards who tacitly hold black (and mestizo) people to lower standards of conduct than they do Whites.

It’s more difficult to know what ultimate shape America’s Wall will take, for its Snatchers (as in the U.K.) come in three flavors: “Progressive,” Liberal and Pseudo-Conservative, whereas in continental Europe they are all from the Left mold. Nevertheless, three things seem solidly in America’s future:

One is the destruction of the dollar and of America’s capitalist model itself. The second item is the inevitable crash of the global economy. In the West, this will impact the U.S. the most. In either case, Americans will have only their White Pod elite to blame, going back to 1965.

Eurabia will know it has hit The Wall when the muezzin’s call issues from the tower of the Westerkerk. Europe’s secular-socialist feminists will have experienced The Wall when they choose themselves to wear the full body chador rather than suffer spontaneous and frequent street violence. The society that swoons at transvestite politicians, gay marriage, homosexual indoctrination in schools and “empowerment” of men-hating Marxist women will know the test of Reality when its fertility rate is no longer 1.3 but 0.65.

Before the impact

The crash seems inevitable. The momentum is enormous. The steering wheel is in the unprisable grip of crash-test dummies. A large majority of the passengers are altered Pods, happy to be on a ride toward a democratic, “progressive” future—peaceful, diverse, integrated, free of discrimination, racism, sexism, homophobia, inequality and all things nasty.

Eventually, when the Wall of Reality is so close, all but the chief priests of the Pod cult will want to bail out from the speeding vehicle. There is nothing like imminent pulverization to reprogram a chip in a hurry. But by then, the velocity will be such that staying or jumping will make no difference.

We might speculate as to the full dimensions of the crash. In areas where the population is less brainwashed, e.g. some parts of the U.S., Australia, Switzerland and Italy, it may avert the crash altogether.

The way to exit the Pod vehicle is to separate from the Body Snatchers. Persuasion, rhetoric, political propaganda, electoral politics cannot do it. A chip that has been molded to oscillate only at one frequency cannot be made to vibrate to another.

Who are the anti-Pods? The “simple folks” who study and work and pay their bills and go through life under their own steam.

It’s people who volunteer for military service rather than attend pacifist demonstrations under a security umbrella provided by the soldiering of others. Who own guns and are ready to defend their families, because they know that Podism breeds crime and the police are always too late. Who marry only those with whom nature has made breeding possible, and who go through the tribulations of raising and providing for their brood. It’s a minority of professionals and intellectuals who had enough inner strength to go through years of Pod indoctrination and peer pressure at university and on the job without losing their hold on Reality’s compass.

Exodus fundamentals

First, singularity. Podism is a single viral pathogen that knows no boundary of territory, culture, language or religion, except it’s limited, as though by a genetic mutation, to people of European origin alone.

Exodus is not simply a flight from high taxes, street crime or ethnic discrimination. When the totem of faked, forced equality hovers like a giant Moloch over Western Civilization, there remains only one option for cultural survival: construct a new civilization—a new civilization that restores and reinvigorates the old one. It will be described hereafter as Atlantis.

Anti-Pods in each town ought to strive to live next to each other, on the same street, in close proximity. When more move in, more contiguous streets. A neighborhood. Anti-Pod café-salons. Anti-Pod clothing stores selling (only high-quality) clothing made by anti-Pods on patterns from the 50s. An anti-Pod radio station and Community-TV channel and an anti-Pod film theatre running only films free of Snatcher propaganda. Anti-Pod schools and kindergartens.

Right there you see the problem. For Meccania has laws that constrain its citizens’ freedom in many of these areas. In Germany, they’ll throw you in jail for home-schooling your child. In the U.S., some Snatcher judge will find a way to coerce you to accept Pod residents and employees, and rehab clinics or mosques for Pod clients, and Pod media content, and Pod schooling.

True self-government for anti-Pods will not be possible in any of the major cities of the West—except after the crash. Hence, for anti-Pods for whom it’s possible, the goal should be to move away from all centers where Snatchers dominate, to populate villages, towns and provinces that have the fewest Pods and Pod-clients.

The ultimate step would be secession.

Categories
Civil war Feminism Justice / revenge

“…and stuck a second Jack into her mouth”

The Brigade excerpts, chapter V

by Harold Covington


Hunting The Hunters



No ellipsis
added between
unquoted paragraphs:


On the morning of February 15th, Hatfield, Cat-Eyes Lockhart, Charlie Washburn, Tony Campisi, Len Ekstrom, and Lee Washburn met in a trailer out in the woods, which had used by their circle of friends as a hunting lodge in times past.

“Does Marie know?” asked Hatfield.

“She’s pretty sharp. She knows I’m up to something,” Tony admitted. “I just hope she doesn’t think I’m screwing around on her with another woman. I know you’re leery of bringing in married men because most white women can’t be trusted nowadays not to betray even their own husbands for money or to save their lifestyles, but don’t worry. They’re not all like that. Marie is one of the good ones.”

“I know she is,” said Hatfield with a nod. “And yes, I know they’re not all like that. It’s just that so many white women have become so damaged by life in this filthy society; we’ve got to tread very carefully. It’s a real problem and we have to be aware of it. And somehow we’re got to beat it, to bring white women around and show them that their future is with us. We can’t do this without our sisters at our side, gentlemen.”

After Tony left to stand watch, Charlie Washburn plunked down two newspapers. “Our little St. Valentine’s Day Massacre last night made the front page in both the Daily Astorian and the Oregonian.”

Hatfield looked at the screaming headlines. “Yeah, I bet if you count up the column inches and the minutes of television air time on this one, you’ll find that the Goldmans rate five times more than mere police officers. Dead Jews get the establishment’s attention. Well, hopefully today or tomorrow we can give them some more to jabber about. But this is going to be a lot tougher, gentlemen. Last night we took down two unarmed targets, hit the Beast in the soft underbelly like we’re supposed to. But this second act is going to be different. Now we have to attack armed targets who are trained in firefighting techniques and who will shoot back. Even more than the Goldmans, we need to make sure we have our shit together on this.”

“I drove by 39th Street on the way out here,” said Washburn. “The sun was barely up but all you could see was flashing lights. Those poor guys must have been out there all night. What the hell were they doing?”

“Probably they all trooped down there as soon as the sun rose to search the area in daylight,” said Hatfield. “That means they’re already doing CSI investigation. They probably have a state police crime lab team down from Portland or Salem. That means most likely the Feds won’t be bringing their own, which is good. Fewer FBI means more chance of cutting a couple away from the law enforcement herd when they go for pizza or something. Okay, here’s my educated guess. Two or more FBI agents are going to show up at the 39th Street pier late this morning or early this afternoon, even if the state and local boys have already done the work. The feebs will rock up at Rigoletto’s Beanery if only to show the flag and convince the local lefty establishment that they’re doing something. That’s where we need to wait for them, with Cat-Eyes in place and ready to fire.”

“Okay, Cat, I want us to get into position in the area so that we can get in there quick,” said Hatfield. “We’ll wait at the Maritime Museum on Marine Boulevard; there are always vehicles parked there, and anyone driving by will think we’re just tourists gawping at all the shippy stuff. As soon as we get word that the Feebs are in town, we drive to Columbia Prospect and park in front like we belong there. We go into the building through the lobby, with those boxes I showed you held up to shield our faces from the security cameras, just in case they’re operational. Are the boxes all scrubbed down?”

“With alcohol and with a Scotch pad, clean as a whistle,” said Lockhart.

“Good. Don’t touch them again without gloves. We’re going to be leaving them behind and I don’t want them to find a single fingerprint. “We have to hope the roof door isn’t alarmed,” said Hatfield. “I haven’t been able to actually get up there and take a look. It should be okay as a firing position, but if it isn’t we’ll have to go to Plan B.”

“Which is?” asked Charlie.

“If for any reason we can’t get up onto the apartment house roof, or the roof isn’t suitable, we’ll have to break into one of the third floor apartments on the north side of the building, with a view over the river, and fire from one of the windows,” said Hatfield. “That may involve hostage taking and restraint, if anybody’s home. Once we know they’re in town, if they haven’t showed at last night’s crime scene after a reasonable time, we’re going to have to clock them, improvise and take them on the wing somewhere. That’s why I want you guys in two other cars.”

“Now, on that subject, the brigade adjutant was able to give me some interesting info when I went up to Portland Sunday,” continued Hatfield. “The idea behind all the diversity is for them to be able to blend in to traffic and not be spotted as Fed, but they made one dumb-ass mistake which kind of defeats that whole purpose. The windows on these vehicles are all tinted so we can’t see inside, which is against the law. You can assume that any motor vehicle you see with fully tinted window is a federal car. Don’t ask me why they missed something so obvious.”

“Because they’re stupid,” said Ekstrom.

“Bingo, and that’s encouraging,” said Hatfield with a smile. “Any agency dumb enough to pull a boner like that isn’t smart enough to catch us, eh, guys? Now, on the armor. The windows and windshield are top-of-the-line bulletproof glass, which isn’t really glass. It’s what they call a polycarbonate compound, and don’t ask me what that is, but whatever this stuff is, it’s stopped whatever we’ve thrown at it thus far, and not just in Oregon. The gas tank is self-sealing and can allegedly stand a tracer hit. The tires are some kind of super-duper steel belted radial that’s supposed to be proof against caltrops and land mines and whatnot, and the underside of the vehicle is composed not of steel but these nylon-sheathed plates, so they’re not magnetic. The main thing is that when they’re in the vehicle, the FBI agents will be likely shielded from a single rifle bullet.”

“I’ve got a full magazine of standard USGI tungsten armor-piercing .308, if that helps,” said Lockhart.

“It might,” said Hatfield. “A lot of this so-called bullet-proof glass is quirky, and if you hit it at the right angle or velocity it breaches, as we found out on numerous occasions in Baghdad.

“One last little reminder, gentlemen,” Hatfield went on in a grim voice. “These are bad people and they’ve done very bad things. I for one think they still owe us for Sam and Vicky Weaver. There are times when vengeance is thoroughly justified, and this is one of them. But there’s more to it than that, much more. We’re not just sending a message to the FBI today, we’re sending our message to Joe Six-Pack. He has to understand that these people no longer rule the roost in the Northwest, that when he sees something he shouldn’t or he has some kind of problem with the NVA, the last damned thing on earth he wants to do is call the police or the FBI, because they can’t even protect themselves, much less him and his family. This is about destroying the occupation’s credible monopoly of armed force.”

GOT IT, LET ME KNOW WHEN replied Zack, and closed the phone. “Jeez,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Luck is with us. This couldn’t be better. Only two FBI agents, one white male and one Asian female, driving a green SUV. Let’s roll, boys!”

*   *   *

FBI Special Agent Rabang Miller practically pranced into the day room of the Clatsop County sheriff’s office. In ten years with the Bureau she had mastered what she saw as the necessary combination of brisk efficiency, no-nonsense assertiveness and a touch of arrogance.

She was a short, orange-ish woman with long black hair in a severe bun, dressed in a dark green pants suit with matching jacket to cover the 9-mm sidearm in a clip holster by her side, a Glock with a specially modified grip to fit the generally smaller hands of female agents. Rabang Miller was Filipino, the child of a Subic Bay bar girl and prostitute. Her father was an unknown American serviceman of undetermined identity or racial ancestry, but judging from her appearance, most likely a Hispanic of some kind. After entering her mother’s trade at 14, she had eventually achieved the ultimate life coup that all Filipino bar-girls dreamed of. She had fucked and sucked a dumb-ass alcoholic redneck Army sergeant from North Carolina into marrying her and bringing her to the Great Golden Paradise of the U.S.A. From then on it was up, up, up all the way for this strong and valiant womyn of color.

Rabang proceeded to ride every available affirmative action program out of Bragg, into Duke University and an eventual law degree, then into the United States Attorney’s office, whence she slid into the Bureau as a trade-off for not bringing formal charges of sexual harassment against the federal judge who was her boss. She kept Miller’s name because all of her original immigration documents were in that name, and she didn’t want to provoke any official examination of them through a legal change that might reveal certain discrepancies such as her age and the fact that her marriage to the sergeant was technically statutory rape. She was now married to another judge in Portland, with a twenty-room Colonial mansion in a wealthy gated suburb, a 13 year-old mulatto son who was already on the crack pipe, and her eye on bureau chief if she could find some way to finesse it. She was already throwing the present SAIC two-hour Subic Bay Specials in an assortment of motels around town, looking for his weaknesses, anything she could use to bring him down, but a good case clearance or two on her record certainly wouldn’t hurt. Cracking the Goldman murders and reeling in a gang of white racist domestic terrorists would be just the ticket.

Agent Miller’s partner was Special Agent Brian Pangborn. Pangborn was the kind of agent who would have gone far under the old régime of J. Edgar Hoover. He was tall and lean, with sandy hair and blue eyes, sharp from his freshly pressed suit and his spit-shined shores up to his buzz cut, and active member of Promise Keepers and the 700 Club.

Pangborn was Rabang Miller’s third partner in the two years since she had come to the Portland office. Her previous two had asked to be re-assigned, and he was about ready to do the same. Pangborn had come to admit to himself that he loathed the officious little Asian woman; being in her presence was like continually hearing nails drawn across a chalkboard. Pangborn had one serious drawback as an FBI agent—he suffered from occasional spurts of independent thought and initiative. Combined with his race and gender, Pangborn knew these character flaws were enough to blight him forever on the Bureau’s career track.

Rabang Miller stomped up to the nearest deputy behind a desk. “Where’s the sheriff?” she demanded. She whipped out her badge and ID with a practiced flourish. “Miller and Pangborn, FBI.”

The deputy was remarkably unimpressed. “I’ll see if he’s in.” He picked up the phone. “Ted, those people from the FBI are here.”

Another deputy came into the day room. “Hey, is anyone here driving a green Chrysler Aspen with completely illegal full-tinted windows, parked in my parking space in the garage?” he yelled across the room.

“That’s our vehicle,” Rabang called back. “What about it?”

“Well, I just gave you a $250 ticket!” snapped back the deputy. “Tinting is against the law, and taking my parking space damned well ought to be!”

“We are FBI agents!” hissed Rabang in a rage.

“So you don’t have to obey the law like everyone else?” demanded the deputy. “Oh, sorry, silly me! What a question!” At one end of the day room was a raised platform enclosed with three cubicle walls, which contained the combined law enforcement and emergency services 911 and dispatch radios, maps, and unit location board. No one noticed a slim blond girl in long sleeves and trousers [Christina Ekstrom], sitting at a computer with a radio headset on. The girl quietly leaned over, took a look, and then surreptitiously pulled out a cell phone and started texting a message.

Ted Lear came out of his office and extended his hand. He was a surprisingly young man of medium height and auburn hair, with a slim and strong physique. “Hi,” he said, forcing a polite smile and extending his hand. “Ted Lear, Clatsop County sheriff.”

“Miller and Pangborn, FBI,” replied Rabang in a clipped staccato voice like a drill sergeant, flashing her ID again. She ignored the sheriff’s outstretched hand and Pangborn reached over and shook it before the snub became obvious. “Brian Pangborn,” he said with genuine warmth. “Glad to meet you, sheriff.”

“There seem to be an awful lot of people hanging around in here fourteen hours after a major homicide,” said Rabang, looking around the day room disapprovingly. “I understand that your department doesn’t give priority to hatecrimes, sheriff. This is the second double murder you’ve had in three months, both incidents clearly motivated by hatred against sexual orientation in the first case and racial hatred in the second. Why aren’t all your people out there pounding the pavement, or better yet pounding your local racist inbreds and getting some answers as to who killed Jake and Irene Goldman?”

“We’re kind of old-fashioned here, Special Agent, ah, Miller,” said Ted mildly. “We like to ask the questions first, before we start beating on people. By the way, you said the homicide here last night was racially motivated?”

“Of course it was!” screeched Rabang. “Our information is that the fascist terrorists called in to your local newspaper and claimed credit!”

“Someone called the editor of the Astorian, yes,” said Lear in the same mild tone. “No, I was curious because you used the term racially motivated. I didn’t think Jews were a race.” Miller suddenly pulled up, realizing she had inadvertently made a potentially dangerous error in politically correct nomenclature that did not need to get back to her superiors. “Well, you know what I meant,” she explained lamely. “Persons of the Jewish faith are one of the officially recognized politically protected special victim categories. All offenses against Jews are hatecrimes under the law.”

“So they are,” agreed Lear. “Would you step into my office, please?”

Once inside Lear’s office with the door closed, Rabang launched herself at him again like a striking snake. “Alright, cut the bullshit, sheriff! You know damned well that you’ve had four hatecrime homicides on your turf plus the disappearance of a large number of privately held firearms, and the NVA claimed credit for the killings last night! Time for you to wake up and smell the coffee. You’ve got a racist death squad operating right here in your little tourist paradise, and we are here to make sure it gets crushed out of existence, and fast! The Portland office doesn’t want any of this disgraceful foot-dragging that occurred in the murders of Elizabeth King and Martha Proudfoot. If you don’t get some results within forty-eight hours, the U.S. Attorney in Portland is assuming jurisdiction over these cases under the Patriot Act as domestic terrorism, the Bureau will be taking over completely, and I will tell you right up front that these murders and that gun raid aren’t the only things that we will be investigating!”

Lear ignored the threat. He sat down behind his desk and replied calmly and rationally, like someone trying to explain something to a stubborn child. “As I have repeatedly briefed the U.S. Attorney, the Oregon Attorney General, and various people from your own office, there was no foot-dragging in the Liddy King and Martha Proudfoot murders,” he told them patiently. “The case is still active and I have detectives assigned to the ongoing investigation. The reason we haven’t arrested and charged anyone is simple. We have no idea who did it. It wasn’t the husband, because he was in jail here on a potential domestic violence preventive detention warrant and also pending an indictment for hatespeech. Whoever it was left us not a jot, not a smidgeon of forensic evidence. It’s true someone wrote the letters NVA on the wall, but that could have been a red herring to throw us off.”

“You know perfectly well that ever since 9/11, evidence isn’t necessary!” argued Miller. “The Patriot Act gives local as well as federal law enforcement broad proactive powers to protect lives and property and the security of the United States against both foreign and domestic terrorism! If you’ve got two brain cells to rub together as a law enforcement officer, you know or else you damned well should know every individual in your county who so much as harbors a racist thought!”

“I have to admit, I’ve never arrested anyone for their thoughts before,” confessed Lear.

“Well, with two murdered Jews on your doorstep, don’t you think it’s fucking well time you started?” shouted Rabang in anger. “You’ve got to know who these people are! It’s your business to know!”

“No, ma’am, I don’t know,” said Lear wearily. “Where do I start? Anyone who has ever complained about losing his job to an illegal alien or an affirmative action employee? Anyone who has ever had his son rejected by every college he applied to and then dragged away into the Army and killed in Bumfuckistan? Anyone who has ever had a child raped or murdered or mutilated or their brains fried like an egg on drugs in our Brave New World here? Anyone who has ever walked through a public park with their children and seen two Third Worlders copulating like dogs under a tree? Where do I start? No, I mean it, really. Since we’re just pulling names out of a hat, who would you like me to arrest first for unapproved thoughts?”

Pangborn and Lear both understood that this was terribly dangerous talk and if he kept it up, there was every chance he would leave his own office in handcuffs on a federal charge of hatespeech, but Lear couldn’t seem to help himself. Pangborn caught Lear’s eye and shook his head.

Lear picked up a torn sheet from a notepad from his desk and read, “At 8 p.m. on February 14th, an active service unit from D Company, First Portland Brigade, Northwest Volunteer Army, carried out an enforcement action under General Order Number Four issued by the Army Council on November 24th of last year, ordering all non-whites including Jews to leave the territory of the Northwest American Republic forthwith. The NVA accordingly has shot dead Jacob and Irene Goldman for non-compliance with that General Order. All Jews and non-whites who are apprehended by the NVA will be similarly dealt with.” He put the paper down. “That’s it. I gather that’s pretty much their style?” he asked.

“That’s their racist fascist anti-Semitic jargon, yes,” snarled Rabang. “And do you still deny you have one of these racist murder gangs operating in your county, sheriff?”

“I never denied that we did,” protested Lear. “Maybe we do, God help us. But you will notice they said Portland Brigade. I think there’s a very good chance the shooters came down here from outside, from your bailiwick up in the city.”

Rabang was getting more and more steamed. “You need to get out of your denial phase really fast, sheriff, because I am starting to wonder about you.”

“We passed the crime scene on the way in here, and we saw the units there. Did the CSI team from the Oregon State Police get here yet?” interrupted Pangborn. He was used to trying to keep a leash on Rabang, but it was getting harder and more distasteful all the time.

“Yes, they’re out there now and I just came back from there when you arrived,” said Lear. “I was out there all night, if that improves your opinion of my professional zeal any, Agent Miller, but there was damn-all to find. The rain washed away any traces of anything and they must have used revolvers, because there were no cartridge casings found.”

“Or else if they were real pros, they policed up their brass,” said Pangborn.

“Maybe,” conceded Lear. “The medical examiner’s preliminary opinion was medium-heavy handgun rounds, either .357 or capped .38s, Devastators or something like that. Both of them shot once in the chest and twice in the head. Judging from the blood splatter patterns, they got hit in the head when they were down, to finish them off. That sounds pretty professional and pretty damned cold to me. Like the kind of thing we’re seeing in Portland or Seattle or Spokane.”

“We’ll take a look ourselves,” snarled Rabang, getting up.

“Knock yourselves out,” said Lear cheerfully, glad to be getting rid of them. “Agent Miller, if you guys can find anything out there I missed, I’ll buy you both dinner when Rigoletto’s re-opens.”

Rabang ignored his tentative peace offering. “Bullshit,” she said. “I told you. You get the cuffs on these racist motherfuckers within forty-eight hours or the U.S. Attorney is assuming jurisdiction and you can look forward to a career as a security guard at Mighty Mart.” She stalked out, followed by Pangborn, who turned at the office door and looked at Lear helplessly with a shrug. Lear gave him a friendly wave, the unspoken acknowledgement of helpless chagrin between white males in all strata of society that had been growing more and common over the years. When the door was closed, Lear picked up the intercom.

“Dispatch,” said a female voice.

“Hi, Chrissie,” said Lear in a weary voice. “Chrissie, could you radio Leo Galli out at Rigoletto’s, and tell him to tell the officers on the scene and those state forensics people that they are about to have the edifying experience of a visit from two charming folks from the FBI? They’re on they’re way now.”

“Sure, sheriff!” chirped Christina Ekstrom brightly. “I’ll let the guys know right away!”

*   *   *

“Hey, lieutenant, you know what they say,” responded Lockhart cheerfully. “No plan survives the first day of combat.”

“I don’t want the plan to survive, I want us to survive,” said Hatfield.

“Down,” ordered Zack. “They might be able to see us out here, especially if they’ve got binoculars.” The two of them low-crawled across the roof to a low brick parapet topped with an ornate iron railing, approximately twenty inches high, and Cat-Eyes looked around him.

“Uh, I don’t know about this, sir,” he said dubiously, shaking his head. Zack saw what he meant. From where they lay, they could see the 39th Street pier and the platform at the end of it whereon stood the yuppie restaurant and a series of smaller shops. There were at least eight police cars there or parked along the pier, blue and red lights flashing, and a large official-looking van that had to be a crime scene unit. Cops were standing in clumps, smoking and drinking coffee, or sitting in their cars, obviously waiting for something.”

Hatfield’s phone beeped. He took out his phone and saw I CAN TASTE THAT GREEN BEER NOW. “They’re coming,” he told Cat. He closed the phone and it beeped again almost right away. This time he read TWO DELIVERIES SHOULD BE THERE SOON. “Okay, Mr. Green is on them. Green SUV, fully tinted windows, remember.”

“They’ll have to exit the vehicle when they get out there on that pier,” said Lockhart confidently. “When they do, I’ll knock both their asses into the river!”

In the Chrysler Aspen, Rabang Miller had finally finished tearing the deputy’s citation into the tiniest possible shreds, and she rolled down the window and tossed the confetti out. Brian Pangborn, who was driving, looked over and said to her sharply, “Roll that window up! You know procedure!”

“Like these bumpkins are going to give me another ticket for littering?” Rabang sneered.

Rabang’s cell phone chimed with the first few bars of “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar” and she opened it. Pangborn drove along in silence and turned left onto 39th Street while Rabang engaged in a conversation with someone apparently from her son’s expensive private middle school in Portland. Sounds like Junior has dropped himself in the shit again, thought Pangborn. He drove past Columbia Prospect on his right, onto the pier, and toward the police cars and yellow crime scene tape on the platform.

“There they are,” said Hatfield, looking through a crack in the blinds.

“Got ’em,” replied Lockhart, sighting the rifle and slowly matching the Chrysler’s pace.

In the SUV Rabang closed her phone in a fit of irritation. “What’s Juan done now?” asked Pangborn, hoping to distract her from the previous conversation.

“The usual,” snapped Rabang. “Just a few rocks in his locker this time, but this is one time too many and they’re talking expulsion. If he gets kicked out of Westwood Academy that will be the second school this year! I told the principal I’d be in for a parent teacher conference at 1 o’clock.”

“That’s going to be cutting it pretty close,” said Pangborn as he slowed to a stop by the state police forensics van. “We’ll be at least half an hour here, then two hours minimum back to Portland, where we’ll run into lunch hour traffic. I don’t think you can make it. You better call him back and re-schedule.”

“Fuck it,” said Rabang. “I’m not going to risk throwing another eight thousand dollars down the tube because that little junkie can’t even finish a semester. Let’s go back now.”

“Back to Portland? Now?” asked Pangborn, stunned. A senior Clatsop County deputy was walking over to their vehicle. “Aren’t we supposed to be investigating a double homicide?”

“Screw that,” said Rabang. “You heard me tell Cletus back there that he’s got forty-eight hours to catch these racists, and since I doubt if he could catch a cold, in two days we’ll be back here with full authority and our own team, with a list of names from Homeland Security. We will shake every tree in this county, gather up all the apes who fall out, and use the Dershowitz Protocol to get the information we need, as well as all the confessions we need.” The deputy was knocking on the window. Pangborn rolled his window down and flashed his badge.

“FBI,” he said.

“Hey there,” said the deputy. “Sheriff said you guys would be coming out. We’ve been waiting on you.”

“Can you give us a minute, deputy?” asked Pangborn, and rolled up the power window again.

“Never mind that,” said Rabang. “Turn around and head back for Portland.

There was something else, a sixth sense left over from Pangborn’s own time in Iraq. The roof, all those windows. In Baghdad he and his men would never have gotten anywhere near a building like that until it was cleared and secured.

“Fine,” said Pangborn, backing the SUV around and driving slowly back off the pier and out onto 39th Street. “Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.” Behind them the deputies stared at one another in astonishment.

“What in the name of the devil? They’re leaving!” hissed Hatfield.

“They were tipped off somehow,” said Lockhart.

“I can’t believe it!”

“Do we abort, sir?” asked Lockhart.

Zack took a deep breath. “Like hell we do! Maybe they’ve been tipped, maybe they just got spooked, maybe they got called back, who knows? But I can see them, God damn it, and they’re not getting away from right under our noses! No matter what, we’re taking those bastards down today! Let’s go!”

They pelted down the hall and down the outside stairwell, and they were in the front seat of the Yukon, Cat’s rifle between his knees, and Zack was firing up the engine in twenty-eight seconds. Zack pulled onto 39th Street just in time to see the green SUV turn left onto Leif Erickson Drive. “Looks like they’re going back to Portland for some reason,” said Hatfield.

“Or luring us into a trap,” suggested Lockhart.

“If it was an ambush they would have either hit us in the apartment building or at least outside in the parking lot,” said Hatfield. “Feds always try to surround and contain. They never let their targets get mobile if they can help it. No, for some reason those two must have got spooked, and they’re trying to make it back to their nest. Roll up your mask,” he said, suiting the action to the word. “Don’t want people to see two masked men driving down the road, after last night.” After a little speeding Zack now had the Chrysler in sight. They were doing the speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour on the winding road out of Astoria. There was another vehicle between them. Zack took out his phone and hit the speed dial for Charlie Washburn’s phone. It rang and Charlie answered. “Praise Jesus!” he shouted.

“Sorry about the call, Reverend,” said Hatfield, “But I don’t see any other way to do this. You know we were all gonna gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river, but we got a couple of sinners here who done backslid and have turned their faces against salvation. They’re headed in your direction, ETA maybe ninety seconds, green Chrysler Aspen, fully tinted windows, which I can’t think of any way to say Scripturally. Could you please show them the error of their ways and await our second coming, that we may smite them with a rod of iron?”

“Verily, we shall vouchsafe unto them the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.”

“Uh, Reverend, that’s not the Bible. That’s Monty Python,” said Hatfield in exasperation.

“Just keep far enough back so you don’t go to your own heavenly reward. And always look on the bright side of life, my son.” Charlie hung up.

“I tell you, if that was recorded and played back in court, we could plead insanity,” said Hatfield. “They’re going to try and use their pipe to bomb blow the feds off the road at Tongue Point. As soon as their vehicle stops, we take them. Somehow.”

“I’ll get up on the roof and fire from there,” said Lockhart.

The funny feeling in the back of Brian Pangborn’s mind hadn’t gone away. He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw the car behind him turning off into a driveway. Behind that car came a battered OD green Yukon SUV. It was coming up a little too fast for his liking. He interrupted Rabang. “The witnesses in the restaurant said the shooters were two men who fled the scene in a dark colored SUV, right?”

“Yes,” said Rabang. “Why?”

“That’s a Yukon behind us,” he said. “There seem to be two men in it.”

Rabang twisted around to look back. “It could be anybody,” she said.

“See the way he speeds up a bit and then slows?” pointed out Pangborn. “He’s trying to keep a set distance between us, a bit too much distance, like he’s hanging back for some reason. On this winding road at thirty-five, if he’s a local yahoo he should be getting in closer. It’s just a feeling, but I don’t like it.” They passed the point where Lief Erickson drive transmuted into Highway 30, and the speed limit went up to forty-five. “See? I’m speeding up now, and so is he, but he’s still keeping about seventy yards between us.”

At Tongue Point Charlie Washburn had turned the black Toyota Camry around and pointed it into the highway. “We gonna ram ’em?” asked Lee. “Not unless we have to,” said Charlie. “I’ll hit them with the Uzi and you get ready to flick your Bic, light that fuse, and see if you can blow an axle off, and not endanger Zack and Cat who will be coming up behind them. God, I hope traffic stays this light and no one else comes driving along right into the middle of this! Masks on!”

In the Chrysler, Rabang Miller pulled out her pistol and jacked a round into the chamber. “Be careful with that!” snapped Pangborn, looking for a place to pull over so he could let the Yukon pass, or not as the case might be. He saw a possible pulling off spot right at the intersection of Tongue Point Road and Emerald Drive, and so he was actually slowing down and veering right when all of a sudden the Camry roared out of Tongue Point Road and stopped right beneath the blinking yellow light hanging over the intersection. Pangborn saw two men in ski masks leap out of the car. He heard the stuttering of the Uzi, saw the muzzle flash and heard the pop pop pop as the 9-mm slugs slammed into the windshield. The polycarbonate glass held, but big ugly white splotches blossomed on the windshield before him.

“It’s them!” screamed Rabang in terror. “Fuck the car behind us, you asshole! They’re in front of us!”

Pangborn decided to try for a right turn up onto Emerald Drive, but he briefly saw a black cylindrical sailing through the air toward him. It banged against the windshield, bounced off, and just as he yelled “Bomb!” the pipe bomb exploded in the air about four feet in front of the FBI agents, with a weird crushing sound rather like a cross between a crump! and a clink! The Chrysler’s armor still held, but the front bumper was ripped almost entirely off and flapped up onto the windshield, and the force of the explosion crumpled the front end and caused all kinds of hissing and steaming fluid leaks and electrical shorts within. Pangborn lost control and the Chrysler slid into the ditch. The Uzi was still pattering bullets against the armored body.

A mere 50 yards behind them, the Yukon rolled to a stop. Hatfield got out and covered down on the disabled FBI vehicle with his submachine gun, leaning over the Yukon’s hood, waiting for a target. Cat-Eyes Lockhart was out the other door and he slithered up onto the roof with the agility of a serpent, spreading himself prone and sighting the rifle. “If they don’t come out I’ll move in with our bomb. Get ready to cover me!” called out Hatfield.

Steam, smoke and the smell of burning began to fill the passenger compartment of the Chrysler through the vents from the damaged engine. “We’re on fire!” shrieked Special Agent Miller. She tore her door open and bailed out of the car.

“No, wait!” yelled Pangborn. Rabang had thrown down her gun and she was running up the embankment, screaming hysterically in pure fear. She was completely open to the Uzi and Pangborn jerked open his own door and leaped out, crouching behind it with his handgun at the ready, planning on using the armored panels as cover to fire at the Toyota and the Uzi gunner, make them keep their heads down so Rabang might have a chance to get down or into the woods. He was convinced that the two men in the Toyota were the killers of Jacob and Irene Goldman, and the simple fact was that he had completely forgotten about the green Yukon that had been following them.

Nor did Pangborn have any more time to remember. Lockhart’s first armor-piercing bullet entered the base of his skull from behind and decapitated him; he never even heard the shot.

One second later, Lockhart’s second shot snapped the fleeing Rabang Miller’s spine, tore through her heart and sternum, and sent her spinning to the ground as bleeding rag that twitched and kicked and scrambled and then lay still.

Cat-Eyes leaped down off the Yukon, ran up to the smoking Chrysler’s open driver’s door, leaned down and inserted a Jack of Diamonds from a Bicycle playing deck into the dead hand of Brian Pangborn. He snagged Pangborn’s piece and stuck it his back pocket, ran up the hill to where Rabang Miller lay with her dead face staring at the sky, and stuck a second Jack into her mouth. He then ran back to the Yukon. Hatfield waved off the Washburns, who got into the Toyota and pulled off down Highway 30 toward John Day. The Yukon followed. From the moment the Toyota pulled out into the road until both NVA vehicles left the scene, the elapsed time was thirty-four seconds.

Cat-Eyes Lockhart turned to Zack Hatfield. “That’s it?” he exclaimed in amazement. “That’s the big, bad FBI? The rough tough G-Men that we’ve all been so afraid of for seventy years? Jesus, I’ve shot rabbits that put up more of a fight!”

Hatfield chuckled. “I think they’ve always been scared of this,” he said. “Scared that one day we’d find out just how easy it is.”

http://northwestfront.org/

Categories
Blacks Feminism Kali Yuga Real men Women

Women & cities

The following essay, “On Cities, Women, and White Survival” by William Ventvogel was published originally in January 3, 2003


Gentlemen, our survival depends on our attitude towards the most damaging set of lies fed to us by America’s Jewish community: the exceptions ploy. These are: “some blacks are okay,” “some homosexuals are okay,” “some career women are okay,” “some Jews are okay,” etc. If you have not learned by now that these are lies, that the presence of these people destroys White identity, we are doomed to fail.

Andrei Kievsky wrote recently that things are falling apart very fast. Yes. Mark the closeness of two milestones in the campaign to destroy Whites: 1) the blonde White woman‐nigger romantic pairing in media, and 2) the establishment of a super GRU murder‐repression agency by FedZOG. The current vogue of the mulatta Halle Berry is prep for White males to get over the color thing. And psycho killers loose in American society are to make us beg for security. The West isn’t doing much about the savages exterminating Whites in Africa and it won’t do much when it starts happening here, either. We’re finished with government. Fuck the government. We’re on our own.

Let’s look at the rest of it. White women are competing with us in the marketplace for money and influence. What sort of women? Those White women whom Jew propaganda has won over, that’s who. They are pro‐ZOG; they are unitarians, although many deny it. The fact is, these women face a bitter end, though most don’t seem to know it, and if they did they would back out. I’ve seen it happen, and they are pathetic at 40 years old, trying to re‐feminize themselves, trying to shuck the traits of competition and hoping a virile man will find them attractive, and perhaps make them mothers.

Taxes fund anti‐white politics—and Jews are superb at creating issues. All women in power today use some degree of government protection. A woman in level competition with men rarely lasts long. All women of influence owe something to the Jew government. Worst of all, most White men take these women seriously and use the Jew political lexicon in their relationship with them. That is, men negotiate with these women. I used to do that. I used to operate by the “some career women are okay” assumption. That’s conditioning; that’s the effect of Jew propaganda. What a mistake! Remember that the next time you see some redhead career cunt pawing a simian at the opera.

Jew corruption and support is concentrated in the cities. Pro‐Jew, unitarian, professional women are concentrated in the cities. The niggerball producers are there; queer power and welfare directorates are there; the corporate capos are there; the breeding and mud hordes and the elite Whites who use them are there. Take any member of these groups for other than what he or she is, and you are losing.

That Sanskrit saying, “From the corruption of women… all evils follow,” is true. But you can undermine the ZOG’s artificial order. Stop taking these women seriously! Women want to be dominated. When I gave up the nice guy crap and dropped the Jew lexicon and started hunting women ’70s style (and before), looking at them first as pussy, it was as if I had quit the Church of Goy Control, and been swept up by the Valhallans. Now I look at women as sources of pleasure and incubators for my children, and that levels everything else. That blows away the ZOG fog. Clarity and focus are mine.

Then I am powerful! If I realize that a certain woman deserves more respect from me, I shall give it. But until I see she is quality, she is my meat. The old “gentleman” and “nice guy” approaches don’t work. They are indicators of defeat and retreat, not civility. Good manners still impress—but not as we expect. There is a new dynamic at work in cities. It is predatory and commercial, cynical and claustrophobic and effete. Cities are no longer tenable for a gentlemanly White man with a touch of honor pulsing in him. Such men wash out. I know. The principal dynamic is, in short, Jewish. White women know something is off with White men. The White men are running away. They can’t handle it. What’s left to White women? That’s why so many White women are hooking up with Jews, niggers and orientals.

I live in the core of a rotting East Coast city. It is architecturally magnificent, the best of 200 years of civilized White men. But these men are all gone, and so is their type. Only the buildings remain of their civilization, in a swamp of nigger predators and parasites (there is plenty of wigger—White nigger—trash, too).

Here in the core, sushi faggots, Jew lawyers and landlords, lesbians and career twats dominate. Rabble makes up the rest of the population. In a city 70 percent nigger you find yourself inevitably in their company. They are everywhere. And, brothers, I was “going along to get along” until a few weeks ago when two niggers pulled a 9mm on me. I got away with my life and wallet, and someone called the cops, but I left before they arrived. I don’t know if they ever showed up and I don’t care. I wouldn’t have called them because I don’t need them. The incident was merely life in a place with Africans roaming at liberty. Niggers feed on Whites. This is the imperative that drives all niggers—the “nice” ones too. They follow the White man to get his standard of living. Or else they live like niggers, i.e., they eat each other and sell their children. A male nigger’s greatest coup is screwing a blonde or redheaded White woman. Any White man who thinks that’s okay is headed for a necktie party. That day is coming.

There is no such thing as an okay nigger. I can’t look at any nigger as I did before. The only “okay” nigger is in Africa, or dead. In the meantime, demographics and economics ensure they’ll continue to feed off us, take us down. That’s the Jew plan for us. I watch every simian now—watch his hands, his eyes. There are too many and I can’t handle it well anymore. Either I kill them or I get out. The Jew problem behind the nigger problem, and the queer problem, and the Ms. MBA‐hole [a feminist who has an advanced university degree and who is a real bitch] problem, is like a leech sucking out the White man’s energy and brains. The ambient stress is always there whether you feel it or not.

The city‐dwelling White man, being strong, ignores or “manages” it in order to survive. No matter, the stress will eventually destroy him, make him do something stupid. In the meantime I imagine with pleasant tones a life without the necessity of casing every nigger male, or every White male who’s friendly. There is too much enemy energy in the cities, too many Jews, too many questionable White women. And a healthy White man wants to clean it out, hunt them down and kill them, kill them all. And if he can’t or won’t, the stress eventually turns him passive—then apathetic—then cowardly—then materialistic. He is caught in the Jew vortex.

The way to handle the effects of cities at this time is to get out. Yes, eventually the Jews and muds will find us no matter where we go. But the cities are finished and there’s nothing to do but let them go down. We can take them back later—if there’s anything left. But a White man cannot keep his integrity in a city. If he thinks he can he is either degenerate or deluded by Jew propaganda. There are no White cities anymore, and the niggers and muds are always sniffing out virgin White territory. The moron Christians and unitarian Whites lick them all over, like a mama dog licks her pups. Only another decade or so will produce World Three urban conglomerations so filthy, dangerous and diseased, so hopelessly repulsive, no healthy White could stand them.

What will getting out of the city do for me? It will let me be White. It will give my kids a chance to know themselves. It will return my energy and mind to me. A low income is a low price to pay for my dignity and soul. If I stay here I will start hunting down and killing niggers and Jews—and I dare say if you stay, so will you. It would be natural to do it, but it isn’t the answer—yet. If I stay, corrupted White women will continue to remind me that the White man has shockingly turned away from himself. If I stay, I will witness more and more White people drifting into self‐destruction. We need a new and dangerous wilderness. The White man is his whitest in such places. No wonder we’re going down—there’s no wilderness left. Let’s step back and let them develop.

Sharpen your knives, White man. Breathe clean and wait for The Day.