Ten films I recommend

Hamlet-1948

1. Hamlet (1948) 

2. Sleeping Beauty (1959)

3. Andrei Rublev (1966) 

4. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

5. Planet of the Apes (1968)

6. Death in Venice (1971)

7. Iphigenia (1977)

8. Sense and Sensibility (1995) 

9. Artificial Intelligence (2001)

10. Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Absolute relevancy

Denkmal auf dem Holzmarkt in Naumburg

I have noticed that people are not interested in my recent entries on Nietzsche and the New Testament (and my next entry will be none other than Karlheinz Deschner’s introduction to his ten-volume Criminal History of Christianity). Why I believe these topics are relevant for the cause?

Let’s put it this way. If inspired by Nietzsche a million Whites transvaluated Christian values, as I have already done in my mind—a process that like this poor man almost drove me mad—, most of our current problems would evaporate in a decade or so.

Incidentally, today I moved my toughest post ever written to the Addenda only because the pic of the Star Child, symbol of this New Christ or transvaluated Overman who returns to Earth over the clouds with great power and glory, combines better with the bluish colors of the Addenda than with the reddish background of this main page.

A postscript to my prolegomena

Further to what I said yesterday.

A deeper response to the questions raised by Stubbs would imply reminding my readers that, at the end of his Critique of Practical Reason, Kant said that there are two universes: the empirical universe and the subjective universe. Karl Popper comments that he who doesn’t believe in the second universe would do well to think about his own death—it is so obvious that a whole universe dies when a human being dies!

What I find nauseating in today’s academia is that it is an institution that denies the existence of this second universe. One could imagine what would happen if a student of psychology or psychiatry tried to write a lyric essay about why Nietzsche lost his mind, like the one that Stefan Zweig wrote and I have been excerpting for WDH. (And wait for the next chapters where Zweig’s story reaches its climax…)

A proper response to Stubbs would require an absolute break from the epistemological error, a category error, so ubiquitous in the academia. That is to say, we must approach such questions as if they were questions for our inner worlds.

The best way to respond to Stubbs, following what I have said about psychoclasses, is imagining that few whites have touched the black monolith of the film 2001. Those who have touched it—and here we are talking of the “second” universe that the current paradigm barely acknowledges—know that the most divine creature on Earth, the nymph, must be preserved at all costs.

This is not the sphere of objective science. Since we are talking of the ideals of our souls, let me confess that I became a white nationalist in 2009 when I lived in the Spanish island Gran Canaria, near Africa. The big unemployment that started in 2008 affected me and, without a job and completely broke, I spent a great deal of time in the internet. When I learned that a demographic winter was affecting all of the white population on planet Earth I was watching a Harry Potter film featuring a blondest female teenager. I remember that I told to myself something to the effect that, henceforward, I would defend the race with all of my teeth and claws.

However, to understand this universe I would have to tell the (tragic) story of the nymph Catalina: a pure white rose who happened to live around my home’s corner decades ago, who looked like the girl in that Parrish painting. But I won’t talk about the tragedy (something of it is recounted in Hojas Susurrantes). Suffice it to say that since then my mind has been devoted to her beauty and, by transference, it is now devoted to protect all genotype & phenotype that resembles hers…

Once we are talking from our own emergent universe (emergent compared to the Neanderthals who have not touched the monolith), Stubb’s questions are easily answered if one only dares to speak out what lies within our psyches:

So let me think of some fundamental questions that need to be answered: Why does it matter if the White race exists, if the rest of the humans are happy?

Speaks my inner universe: Because the rest of humans are like Neanderthals compared to Cro-Magnon whites. Here in Mexico I suffer real nightmares imagining the fate of the poor animals if whites go completely extinct (Amerinds are incapable of feeling the empathy I feel for our biological cousins).

Why does it matter if the White race continues to exist if I personally live my life out in comfort?

Speaks my inner universe: Because only pigs think like that. (Remember the first film of the Potter series, when Hagrid used magic to sprout a pig’s tail from Dudley’s fat bottom for gulping down Harry’s birthday cake.) We have a compromise with God’s creation even when a personal God does not exist.

Why should I be concerned with the White race if it only recently evolved from our ape-like ancestors, knowing that change is a part of the universe?

Speaks my inner universe: Because our mission is that we, not others, touch again the black monolith after four million years that one of our ancestors touched it.

Why should I be concerned with the existence of the White race if every White person is mortal, and preserving each one is futile?

Speaks my inner universe: It is a pity that no one has read The Yearling that I had been excerpting recently. I wanted to say something profound in the context of child abuse but that is a subject that does not interest WDH readers. Let me hint to what I thought after reading it.

To my mind the moral of the novel is not the moment when the father coerced his son to shoot Flag, but the very last page of Marjorie’s masterpiece. Suddenly Jody woke up at midnight and found himself exclaiming “Flag!” when his pet was already gone.

moment of eternity

The poet Octavio Paz once said that we are mortals, yes: but those “portions of eternity,” as a boy playing with his yearling, are the sense of the universe. The empirical (now I am talking of the external) universe was created precisely to give birth to these simple subjective moments: figments that depict our souls like no other moments in the universe’s horizon of events.

Why should I be concerned with preserving the White race if all White people who live will suffer, some horribly, and none would suffer if they were wiped out?

Speaks my inner universe: The boy suffered horribly when his father obliged him to murder Flag, yes. But the moment of eternity, as depicted in Wyeth’s illustration, had to be lived. It will probably leave a mark if another incarnation of the universe takes place…

Dies Irae

H and N

This piece has been chosen for my collection Day of Wrath. It has been slightly modified and presently can only be read as a PDF within the book, ready for printing in your home for a comfortable reading.

Beneath Ridley Scott’s planet

In my Hojas Susurrantes I recount how I liked Planet of the Apes (1968) the same year I watched Kubrick’s magnum opus on the big screen. When I learned as a child that they were filming the second part of the Planet, I loved the idea and thought it would be a fascinating film that would respect the original story. I remember that I found very long the months that, with great anxiety, I expected Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970) to be released.

When it finally was released in Mexico City and went with my cousin Julio to the Cine de los Insurgentes I was shocked. The film was light-years apart from what I imagined it should be a legitimate sequel. As a child I didn’t have the faintest idea of what Hollywood really was, much less did I imagine that much of Hollywood’s interests had nothing to do with art or with an indictment of humankind—the main theme of the 1968 film. The sequel Beneath the Planet of the Apes, which was released in Mexico about three years after the masterpiece of Franklin Schaffner, proved to be an absolute crap and the worst was that it made the boy I was feel completely cheated.

As a personal vignette I would say that, after watching the movie with my cousin, in the confusion we passed directly to the large roundabout which is in front of the now defunct Cine de los Insurgentes instead of going around it. (Incidentally, twenty years later they would film scenes of the 1990 Total Recall with Arnold Shwarzenegger in the commercial part beneath the roundabout.) We got stuck on it and the speed of the cars would not let us escape the roundabout. It was not built for pedestrians and Julio and I, who were about ten and twelve years old respectively, had gone to the theater without our parents. I discovered the roundabout was not made for pedestrians when I realized that the “sidewalk” had no room for my feet. In a sense we had risked our lives by rushing directly into the upper side of the roundabout when we left the movie theater. The chaotic and noisy Avenida de los Insurgentes and the congestion of the two children alone in the large roundabout turned out to be a pertinent corollary to my great disappointment.

Decades, and a dozen more disappointments of traitorous prequels, sequels and remakes to great sci-fi movies, passed until I grasped the fact that a market-driven society does not always coincide with my artistic sensibilities. In “Ridley Scott’s Prometheus” Trevor Lynch (Greg Johnson) recently put it this way:

As the credits rolled, I took off my 3-D glasses and rubbed by eyes in disbelief, trying to fathom the vulgarity of spirit behind this godawful movie. It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took the mysteries of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and gave us Peter Hyam’s sequel 2010 (1984), where the monoliths work to prevent nuclear war. It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took “the Force” of the original Star Wars trilogy and explained it in terms of little measurable material widgets called “midichlorians” in The Phantom Menace (1999). It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took the mysteries of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) and gave us Rick Rosenthal’s made-for-TV sequel The Birds II: Land’s End (1994), in which we are informed that the bird attacks are due to pollution.

Heidegger tells us that this vulgarization is the essence of modernity, which seeks to abolish all mystery and transcendence, replacing them with the transparent and available, which in cultural terms boils down to the vulgar and the trite.

But some of us are more modern than others, and it all fell into place when I spied the name of screenwriter Damon Lindelof, one of the principal culprits behind Lost […]. Prometheus is the same kind of portentous swindle: just Jews making millions peddling myths for morons. Don’t lose your money, or your lunch, at Prometheus.

I lost my money today watching this grotesque film and I agree. But about Star Wars Johnson failed to say that the real abomination started not with The Phantom Menace but with The Return of the Jedi: where an idiotic George Lucas completely betrayed the character of Darth Vader that had impressed many adolescents that had watched the splendid The Empire Strikes Back.

In the interview “Alien Special Features” of my DVD, Special Edition I heard a Ridley Scott saying that after Blade Runner he would never direct another sci-fi movie unless the story was really good, referring to the original script of the first Alien. With Prometheus Scott has just betrayed what he said.

Worst of all, of course, was 2010: Odyssey Two. Fuck you Arthur Clarke for having accepted the green bill, according to your own confession, to write a sequel you had promised never to write…

A manifestation of an inner degenerated state

“Tell me which music you like
and I’ll tell you who you are”


Yesterday at a Counter-Currents discussion about music (here) my friend—

Pat Hannagan answered me:

Those “old” folkloric songs in Covington’s podcasts are the songs sung by a people who held their culture together, and successfully won their independence against an invading tyrant. My kids love them instinctively…

I replied (slightly edited):

Pat: I wholeheartedly agree with you. You know, I said that my father used to be a composer. But he abandoned composing classical music when he had to earn a buck. He taught music to children and his mantra is that folk songs are paramount for the spirit of a culture. Yes: there’s a gulf between legit folk music and what I call “Neanderthal music”: the music for whiggers, niggers, and beaners (the mexicans).

Nonetheless, when I wrote my above posts I was in soliloquy mood. To put it simply, I am stirred when I listen some music of Wagner (e.g., Parsifal), which means that musically I’m closer to the Third Reich than to the coming Northwest Republic. I simply cannot feel American folk music because Lot has no nation, and no folk music can stir the stateless individual.

In another CC thread I said that the music I most identify with is the atonal Lux Aeterna by Ligeti, especially the compasses that Kubrick chose for the scenes of desolate moon landscapes with a floating bus en-route from Clavius to Tycho. Why that cinematic vision expressing the most extreme form of solitude describes me? Because that’s the way Lot feels in Gomorrah: There’s, literally, nobody around: not even the blue sky visible in central Antarctica. (However desolate among the ice, the lone scientist in his post at least sees the blue color of the sky, meaning that there must be oxygen somewhere out there on the planet—plants, life.) In contrast, in 2001’s moon landscapes there’s not even that: only a black sky and, without atmosphere, no shades: only black and white abyssal desolation among a world of elemental rock:


These are some of the previous comments in that thread (again, slightly edited). Strongly criticizing pop music, including rock, heavy metal screamers, etc., promoted at Counter Currents

Iranian for Aryans said:

Allow me to dissent. Though the general tenor (ha ha!) of the piece (ha ha!) is salubrious, it shows a ignorance towards European music heritage. Allow me to explain.

Yes, there is a difference between “black singing” and “white singing”. Yes, the media promotes that which is bad, to put it weakly. However, the examples cited of what is good are lacking and wholly degenerated.

There is no mention of real singing as exemplified through classical music. Rather, examples are shared of Nat King Cole, Sinatra, and some other nugatory folksy personages. Personally, I think Sinatra and Cole were horrid. Real examples of singers would be Franco Corelli, Anna Moffo (mamma mia!), Renata Tebaldi, Caballe, del Monaco, di Stefano, Giacomini, Siepi, Schwartzkopf, Ludwig, Melchior, et al. These persons are our vocal stars. They might have been ugly and fat, but they were true singers, artists of the highest order. Roy Orbison? Good God…! As for the hackneyed reference to Beethoven, I’ll make a wager.

People, white people, WNs [white nationalists], can make references to classical music as much as they want, but the majority, overwhelmingly so, do not live classical music, their heritage. Do they turn on the classical radio station and listen to Haydn or Schumann? When speaking of the voice, do they go crazy over Schubert’s Die Schone Mullerin? Of course not. The espousal of amity towards classical music is disingenuous and a trite tip of the hat to “that which was”, and, as far as most are concerned, no longer is, thank God. Empty signs of respect are worthless: do you live the music? Who wants to listen to Ockeghem when there’s Prussian Blue?

Another example of ignorance of classical music is the citation of Warlock. Warlock, best known for his Capriol Suite, is a big nothing. The world expects novelty and uniqueness, even if framed in a conservative mould, from a composer. Given that Warlock’s magnum opus is a collection of Elizabethan tunes, I can’t place him as a luminary.

CC proclaims a “New Right”. Let’s proclaim it through music. Let’s open up readers to the Western musical heritage: Bruckner, Josquin, Schumann, Handel, Brahms, Vivaldi, et al.

I said:

Iranian: As much as I like WNists I feel an insurmountable abyss with them every time I learn in threads like this that they like rock, heavy metal or even old folkloric—as in Covington’s podcasts—music. This is because I learnt classical music before I was born—literally, since my mother used to be a piano concertista and throughout her pregnancy I sensed and listened the piano through my mother’s womb. And my father was a composer of classical music (when I was a small child some of my dad’s orchestral pieces were played in New York).

My first love, still as a small child of five, was Mussorgsky. Alas, musically and sexually, in today’s culture I feel like Lot in Gomorrah.

I hate monkey music as much as I hate degenerate sexual mores that are driving our race straight to the path of extinction. In fact, like Hegel I believe that if music represents the Geist then the degeneracy we see every day on the streets, TV and Hollywood is faithfully represented in the spirit of that music. For example, the Neanderthal spirit I see every day among the beaners is faithfully represented in their salsa antimusic.

I don’t know if “billions will die”, including the beaners, during the coming convergence of catastrophes (though like Lot I wish their cities burn under Heaven’s fire). But my educated guess is that, after the end of the world as we know it, there will be a resurgence of traditional sexual mores and, with it, a thoroughgoing repudiation of both violent and perverted Hollywood along with all pop music after the 1960s that “sound like demons trying to cough-up the world’s biggest hair ball”.

Iranian for Aryans said:

Chechar,

I sympathize with your feeling of alienation. I live with it and am reminded of it ubiquitously. I think your analogy of Lot in Gomorrah is good.

The monkey music (black and “white”, rap and rock, respectively) that we both loathe has become a manifestation of an inner degenerated state. But to see WNs, the so-called enlightened ones, purvey such excrescences is truly troubling and indicative of a much lowered state.


Update of November 23:

Today Counter-Currents published still another article on music. I wrote (slightly edited):

In the other recent CC thread about music, Iranian for Aryans said:

The espousal of amity towards classical music [in the CC article] is disingenuous and a trite tip of the hat to “that which was”, and, as far as most are concerned, no longer is, thank God.

This is exactly what Christopher Pankhurst has done in the above article (here). Pankhurst is confusing Christendom—which is dying and will finally die later in the century—with orchestral music. I would claim that, unlike Burzum, the Black Metal abomination featured in his article (what a blasphemy putting it together with Strauss’ Metamorphosen!), orchestral music has a bright future once the West awakens from its dormition.

The great musical tradition that reached a high watermark with Bach, and that subsequently sought expression through the individual genius of Beethoven and Schubert, had its funeral song in Strauss’ Metamorphosen.

False. Tragically false. Even Pankhurst concedes that after the World Wars Ligeti created numinous pieces of music.

My father also composed good pieces of music before he had to make a living through music education for children. In a more healthy culture he wouldn’t have faced economic need. Instead, he could’ve devoted all of his energies in continuing to compose (at the Utica Observer-Dispatch, in 1962 Chuck Booth wrote about my father’s symphonic piece Estirpes played in New York). Alas, since the whole West is in dormition, the only way that a composer of classical music can make a good living is thru soundtracks. But even in this lesser genre one can listen that orchestral music has not experienced the funeral claimed by Pankhurst.

Of the eight Harry Potter films only one, the third of the series, was superbly directed. John Williams’ music during Buckbeak’s flight and the werewolf transformation scene are examples of good orchestral music composed in the 21st century. One can imagine how far could the likes of Williams had gone if, in a non-dormition culture, they could devote all of their time composing pure music outside Hollywood. But even in Hollywood once in a while some soundtracks represent the most exquisite form of musical art. Don’t you remember how in 1968 Kubrick used Khachaturian’s most elegiac piece, Gayane Ballet Suite, when the spaceship Discovery One is bound for Jupiter?

Every time I hear stuff like paying lip service to Classical Music and at the same time promoting abominations like Heavy Metal, I cannot but compare the situation with a so-called white nationalist woman boasting a T-shirt telling us, “I had an abortion” without apparently noticing the contradiction in both statements. But again, only after the West collapses and awakens from its dormition—a cultural nightmare actually—will it be all too clear that most pop music during the interregnum was but a manifestation of an inner degenerated state, even among the white nationalists.

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