Drying the books that got wet gave me the opportunity to reread some pages of those I had read long ago. In the series “Sixteen Years Later” I talked about the texts in a binder I read when, starting in August 2009, I discovered a healthy white nationalism that hadn’t yet suffered the regression of today. Now I would like to discuss one of the books I read before my racial awakening.
As an anecdote, the books that were most damaged were the science-fiction paperbacks I bought in the 1980s and 90s. Since the task of drying them is enormous, and it is difficult for me because the sun rarely shines during this rainy season, and above all, I must prevent the proliferation of mould on the pages that had become soaked, I decided to tear out the wet pages that didn’t have my footnotes. It is not difficult to acquire other copies of the books I have mutilated. What is irreplaceable are my footnotes. So, in my paperback copy of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, which I read in 1994, I tore out almost all the pages to save myself the painful task of drying them.
Ever since I read it, Asimov’s science fiction has bothered me greatly. In another of my Asimov books, a non-fiction one, this Jew confesses that he loved living in New York. The room where this monk of letters wrote didn’t even have a window!
The difference between Aryans and Jews is that Aryans, being much more physically beautiful (see what I said about Éowyn in my post yesterday), have a religious calling to beauty that Jews lack (unless they have mixed genetically with Aryans, like Felix Mendelssohn). If we compare Asimov’s most renowned science-fiction work, Foundation, with Arthur Clarke’s The Songs of Distant Earth, the latter’s futurism even reminded me of Parrish’s paintings. The Jew lacks that call to beauty, at least to the religious level that I feel (cf. David Lane’s 14 words referring to the Aryan woman).
What bothered me about the first book in the Foundation series I read is that Asimov simply transfers his beloved New York to the capital of the empire, Trantor, with 40 billion humans: the centre of all intrigue and symbol of imperial corruption. Every day, fleets of tens of thousands of ships brought the produce of twenty agricultural worlds to the tables of Trantor. It’s a shame that Aryans like George Lucas have imitated Trantor with the city of Coruscant. Like Trantor, Coruscant is a kind of super-developed New York that encompasses the entire planet (in Lucas’ universe, Coruscant is also the seat of government). All of this is degeneration, obviously, and you have to read about what Thalassa was like in The Songs of Distant Earth to understand it.
In Foundation 25 million planets were inhabited in the Galaxy but the people that the novelist imagined were, from my POV, as Neanderthaloid as humans today. We can already imagine the sidereal level of unnecessary suffering that would exist in such a galactic nightmare!
But Asimov doesn’t see any of this. The city he imagines, covering the entire planet, lives under metal. People no longer saw the sky or the heavens. Not even the inhabitants knew what season it was outside the metal skin of the world—except for the emperor’s palace, nestled in natural land, full of green trees and adorned with flowers: a small island in an ocean of steel.
I have said it before, and it is worth repeating: the stars are not for man. Hitler himself believed that overmanhood could only arise on Earth. Even some YouTubers who speculate on cosmology are beginning to realise this; for example, what this guy says at the end of his video (yesterday I listened to that video in full, although without seeing the offensive images).
Even that vlogger fails because he succumbs to the YouTubers’ trend of saturating his videos with images of extra-terrestrial and space recreations and the like. Being faithful to Earth means attachment to earthly beings and landscapes; for example, the canvases of Romantic painters (Hitler tried, unsuccessfully, to be one of them). And knowing oneself. Only then can one know the universe and the Gods.
A scene like the one I embedded yesterday about Edoras tells me more than any of the hundreds of books Asimov wrote.