Parting word:

Only the eternal feminine leads to the Absolute

Catalina (1980)

Above, Maxfield Parrish’s 1925 Lady Violet, who reminds me a girl I met long, long time ago… If an ethno-state is ever created, my ultimate dream is that in the distant future its people will resemble the paradisiacal world of Parrish.

What prevents whites from working toward that noble end, keeping in mind that Aryan female beauty represents the crown of the evolution? Elsewhere I have discussed the majority report: Capitalism and Christian axiology as the twofold etiology of Western malaise (Jewish depredations, a tertiary infection). But I have also mentioned my minority report: that the most extreme cases of self-hatred among whites—those who celebrate that their kind will become a minority surrounded by non-white swarms—cannot be explained satisfactorily by any of these two factors.

In this blog I have briefly written about how child abuse among some whites drives them to hate the culture of their parents, and also presented my book Hojas Susurrantes, most of which has not been translated to English.

After publication of this entry I won’t add new posts to this blogsite. Although I’ll still answer some comments, the site will basically remain frozen with the below PDFs advertising my books until the dollar crashes. But I’ll be busy explaining my minority report: writing another book related to the subject of why, in some families, the silly mechanism erected by the abused victim is none other than hatred for his or her parents’ civilization.

____________________________

Day of Wrath

The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour

The death of art

The following quotes are taken from The Death of Western Art by Kenneth Lloyd Anderson, which appeared in Instauration Vol. 24, No. 6, May 1999, p. 6-8 (viewable here).


Peter_Paul_Rubens
There is definitely a parallel between accepting virtually anything as art and the interracial, international egalitarian acceptance of all races and all people. A world without borders parallels art with no restrictions and no narrative history.

Six centuries of Western art have come to an end, apparently to be followed by the end of Western man. What Arthur Danto calls the “post-historical” period will be followed by post-white man, since the narrative history of Western Art was essentially narrated and created by white men.

The affirmation of white culture in art ended with WWII. Internationalism and interracialism conquered nationalism. The concept of “no borders” was increasingly reflected in the artistic concepts of unreality and nihilism.

The history of art shows that the affirmation of the sacred—those things which each race holds of divine provenance—has been the formula behind the greatest works of art.

The exciting thing about a racial preservationist movement in art is that it can revive sacred art, which has been buried by the profane art of the modern and postmodern world.

Ellen Dissanayake’s book on the biological origin of art (Homo Aestheticus, 1995, University of Washington Press) suggests that traditional art is concerned with “making special” those things which are considered important, such as birth, puberty, marriage and death.

Modern art does not make special the traditionally important aspects of life, perhaps because survival is far easier now and one doesn’t need to bond people through art for survival’s sake. Unimportant things are “made special” by the commonness and vulgarity of Pop Art subjects.

Reviving or saving a declining or dying race and culture is an exciting cause, perfectly designed for “making special” what is traditionally important—the affirmation of the sacred in art. This has the potential for creating great art.

Would Chechar fight for my balls?

Just look at the mirror every morning you shave
—and be honest!

 
In a previous thread Mr Deutsch said:

What I am not a supporter of: Accusations that Mediterraneans (outside of specific areas) have a comprised genetic pool. There is no science to back it up, so Nordicists…

I responded:

Not only outside Sicily or Greece. I said above I’m planning to write an autobiographical book that starts with my impressions of what I saw the first day I visited Madrid: most Spaniards are clearly not Aryans. That’s the whole point. parrish-1927 And since my mind starts to build his thoughts and motivations after the 14 words (see: here) it goes without saying that quite a few Iberians are of no use for my ultimate goal (see also the last pages of Day of Wrath)—racial purity is paramount.

To put it in extremely brutal terms, do you honestly believe that in the coming racial wars I would risk my life for the hairy balls (i.e., genetic material) of that brown Italian player you claim to be white? Gimme a break. Those testicles are of no interest for our higher goals. I would fight only for those whose sperm carries the info to create the “girls on the rocks” that Max Parrish was so fond of painting in times when the Americans still treasured their Nordish blood.
 

________________

(For the context of this brutal response see the ongoing
exchange in the previous thread: here.)

Being and the 14 words

Pieter_Bruegel

The blindness discussed in my previous posts, and Greg Johnson’s second thoughts on Harold Covington, have moved me to relocate this entry originally posted elsewhere.


An old comment of Michael O’Meara:

This [Johnson’s book-review of Covington’s Quartet] is an extraordinary article on an extraordinary subject.

I am constantly amazed by the fact that the Quartet has been virtually ignored in our community. Part of this, I imagine, is due to the fact that the present generation of racialists, like their unconscious cohorts, no longer reads. Anything that’s more than two or three thousand words long and lacks illustrations is practically inaccessible to them.

A second reason I imagine the Quartet has been ignored is probably due to Covington himself, who is apparently an uncompromising individual and certainly one who has acquired a great many enemies. I don’t personally know Covington, so I have no way of evaluating the various charges made against him.

In any case, even if the nasty things said about him by his enemies are true, it still distracts not in the least from the quality of his works, which are virtually unparalleled in our community. This gets me to the third reason I think the Quartet is ignored. Both white nationalism and race realism are largely cyber phenomena. If you take Covington seriously, however, you would have to tear yourself away from the computer monitor and act in the real world—with all its attendant inconveniences. The thought of political activity, though, is apparently too much for most of us. We too, even if we have remained unmoved by the system’s racial fictions, seem to behave in ways not unlike the rest of the sheep. Will we also go quietly to the slaughter?

I think it’s significant that the spontaneous uprising depicted in the Quartet at Coeur d’Alene, which provoked the war leading to the eventual formation of the Northwest American Republic, was something of a mystery. This rings true to me.

We may no longer be the men who defied the might of the British Empire in 1776 or 1916, but there are other forces that might save us from ourselves.

The greatest of the “conservative” thinkers, Joseph de Maistre, pointed out long ago that the French Revolution led the revolutionaries rather than was led by them. For he believed that certain Providential forces rule our lives. These forces he saw in Christian terms, but others, like Heidegger, for instance, saw them in terms of Being, over which humans have no control. In either case, the force of Providence or Being or Destiny has a power that has often made itself felt in our history [italics added by César Tort]. For this reason, I have little doubt that Europeans will eventually throw off the Judeo-liberal system programming their destruction. I’m less confident about we Americans, given the greater weakness of our collective identity and destiny. But nevertheless even we might be saved from ourselves by this force—as long as we do what is still in our power to do.

Führer anniversary

Or

Rockwell’s numinous call vs. white nationalism

Now that I gave up “white nationalism”—because it was an effete, neo-Christian, non-genocidal and anti-Nordicist pseudo-movement (Golden Dawn is a real movement)—what better homage to the martyr of the Second World War than remembering a call onto the real path revealed to George Lincoln Rockwell the year I would be born:

During this period, Rockwell had an experience about which he has never written and which he related to only a few people. Always a skeptic where the supernatural was concerned, he was certainly not a man to be easily influenced by omens. Yet there can be no doubt that he attached special significance to a series of dreams that he had then. The dreams—actually all variations of a single dream—occurred nearly every night for a period of several weeks and were of such intensity that he could recall them vividly upon waking. In each dream he saw himself in some everyday situation: sitting in a crowded theater, eating at a counter in a diner, walking through the busy lobby of an office building, or inspecting the airplanes of his squadron at an airfield hangar.

And in each dream a man would approach him—theater usher, diner cook, office clerk, or mechanic—and say something to the effect, “Mr. Rockwell, there is someone to see you.” And then he would be led off to some back room or side office in the building or hangar, as the case may have been. He would open the door and find waiting for him inside, always alone—Adolf Hitler. Then the dream would end.

hitlerOne can most easily interpret these dreams as a case of autosuggestion, but in the light of later developments Rockwell considered them as a symbolic summons, a beckoning onto the path for which he was then still groping, whether that beckoning was the consequence of an internal or an external stimulus.

Cited in “Rockwell: A National Socialist Life.”
 

* * *

 
“Because it was non-genocidal…” I said above. What better example to show what is wrong with American white nationalism that a recent interview of Kevin MacDonald by Luke Ford.

In the You Tube interview we can listen that Ford asks MacDonald if he sees similarities and differences between the white nationalist movement in America and National Socialism in Germany. MacDonald responded after 1:10:23, “The white advocacy movement, as I see it, is not exterminating anybody. It is simply going to assert our interests within the democratic form of government that we have… It doesn’t advocate conquering Mexico, you know—anything like that. There are lots of differences.”

Asserting white interests within US Democracy? Democracy—the worst form of government from the racial viewpoint that has ever been tried? Has MacDonald read what Hajo Liaucius said about the United States (cf. my forthcoming PDF)?

MacDonald’s stance is identical to what other notable white nationalists and southern nationalists believe. The latter fancy themselves as “sane, moral, wholesome, reasonable people” whose Christianity prevents them from becoming “silly vanguardists” of the revolutionary type. Their politics are actually church-picnic stuff with no future after the dollar collapses.

Conservative-religious types aside, in his summary of his latest book, New Right vs. Old Right, Greg Johnson rejects “the Old Right’s party politics, totalitarianism, imperialism, and genocide” in favor of “the metapolitical project of constructing a hegemonic White Nationalist consciousness within a pluralistic society.” Take note that Johnson’s “pluralism,” which reminds me Alex Linder’s non-fascist libertarianism, is incompatible with racial hegemony in Sparta, the Gothic and Visigothic societies, and the Third Reich.

Back to the Ford interview. MacDonald also said that repatriation of non-whites could be performed if a white nationalist reached the US presidency but nothing “short of gas chambers and genocide.”

A single example, related to “not conquering Mexico” will suffice to show how difficult such an apparently noble task would be.

“It is inexcusable that, having power,
you do not want to dominate.”

—Nietzsche

Here in Mexico a non-Jew, Emilio Fernando Azcárraga, the mogul who owns Televisa company, has married a Jewess. This means that in the future the largest multimedia mass media in Latin America will be run by a Jewish family. Do you imagine an ethnostate within the US that expels the brown Mexicans without being demonized 7/24 by the Latin American media? Since presumably Jews will be expelled too in MacDonald and Johnson’s non-genocidal scenario, you can imagine how the Jewish lobbies would press through their powerful media urging Latin American civil societies and governments to build nuclear weapons for their “defense” against the racists that took over the North.

In other words, even without genocide after a North American ethnostate starts expelling the mudbloods, the Rubicon would have been crossed with no way back. There is no credible way to triumph in that scenario except by conquering a potentially nuclear subcontinent that, if forever unconquered, would simply repeat the cycle of what the Jews did in America after a brainwashed West ganged up on Germany.

Starting with Mexico, “Latin” (or more accurately Mestizo) America must be conquered right after the Jew-controlled media starts rising hell in Mestizo America after the expulsion of non-whites. I am not alone in this view. Just compare today’s Christian and Neochristian white nationalism with what Francis Parker Yockey wrote in 1953 in his essay “The Enemy of Europe”:

For the purpose of demonstrating with the utmost clarity the elements of the two world-outlooks in this period of Western history between the Second and Third World Wars, a paradigm is appended.

In that paradigm Yockey dramatically contrasted the cultivation of soldierly virtues in healthy western societies with the cult of bourgeois virtues and the worship of Mammon. More specifically, he compared the virile attitudes of “war and conquest” with the ethno-suicidal “pacifism, non-imperialism and the preparation of the coloured populations for ‘self-government’.”

New_Right_vs._Old_RightIf Yockey were alive today what would he think about “white nationalism”? What would he say about Greg Johnson’s manifesto, recently published in a book with a foreword by MacDonald himself?: “I do not want anything to do with gun-toting armies of one. The only gun I want to own is made of porcelain” (emphasis Johnson).

George Lincoln Rockwell’s numinous series of dreams with Uncle Adolf, not this effete pseudo-movement, should be our call.

The Drink of Despair

I am writing this entry from a borrowed computer. It now looks like I’ll need some time to stabilize my financial situation, probably overseas, to the point of resuming my blogging.

Meanwhile I’d like to add something to what I had said in previous entries, that in order to understand our woes you must purchase and read a copy of Tom Goodrich’s Hellstorm: The Death of Nazi Germany (1944-1947).

Readers of this book have complained a lot that a detailed account of the Allies’ atrocities committed during and after the Second World War—a true Holocaust of German victims—is too ghastly and painful to contemplate. The author himself told me that he died “a thousand deaths” while writing Hellstorm.

In his Archipelago Solzhenitsyn said that in prison you have to “eat a mountain” of pain to be able to metamorphose your soul instead of becoming mad, as other zeks became mad in the Gulag. He meant to cross the dark night of the soul all the way through the other side. Some passages of his book convey beautifully what I want to say here. However, since in these times very few young westerners have read Solzhenitsyn, I must find a metaphor to explain the same dilemma to a broader audience.

Drink_of_Despair

In the Harry Potter film when Dumbledore dies (a silly film but it makes my point), Dumbledore explains a mysterious potion, the Drink of Despair, to his pupil:
 

Harry: “You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?”

Dumbledore: “Oh yes. But how to reach it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand… I can only conclude this potion is supposed to be drunk.”

Dumbledore drinks the potion to the point of experiencing extreme fear, delirium, and thirst but that was the only way to reach the Horcrux.

I would say the same about Hellstorm. If we are to find and destroy the Judeo-liberal Horcrux that presently is making our enemy invulnerable, there’s no other way but to endure the torment of reading Hellstorm from cover to cover.

You really got to drink that potion, and then talk with your pupil-friends about it, to understand the whys of the West’s darkest hour…

Quotable quote

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny
but in ourselves.”

—Shakespeare

Published in: on December 9, 2013 at 11:33 pm  Comments (1)  

Civilisation’s “Romance and Reality”

For an introduction to these series, see here.

Below, some indented excerpts of “Romance and Reality,” the third chapter of Civilisation by Kenneth Clark, after which I offer my comments.

Originally I posted this entry on April 15 of the last year, but now that I posted another entry about Spain’s Teresa of Ávila I would like to see some feedback in the comments section about my thoughts on St. Francis from those interested in child abuse as a subject.

Ellipsis omitted between unquoted passages:

I am in the Gothic world, the world of chivalry, courtesy and romance; a world in which serious things were done with a sense of play—where even war and theology could become a sort of game; and when architecture reached a point of extravagance unequalled in history. After all the great unifying convictions of the twelfth century, High Gothic art can look fantastic and luxurious—what Marxists call conspicuous waste. And yet these centuries produced some of the greatest spirits in the human history of man, amongst them St Francis and Dante.

A couple of pages later, Clark says:

Several of the stories depicted in the [Chartres Cathedral] arches concern Old Testament heroines; and at the corner of the portico is one of the first consciously graceful women in western art. Only a very few years before, women were thought of as the squat, bad-tempered viragos that we see on the front of Winchester Cathedral: these were the women who accompanied the Norsemen to Iceland.

Now look at this embodiment of chastity, lifting her mantle, raising her hand, turning her head with a movement of self-conscious refinement that was to become mannered but here is genuinely modest. She might be Dante’s Beatrice.

There, for almost the first time in visual art, one gets a sense of human rapport between man and woman.

About the sentiment of courtly love, on the next page Clark adds that it was entirely unknown to antiquity, and that to the Romans and the Vikings it would have seemed not only absurd but unbelievable.

A ‘love match’ is almost an invention of the late eighteenth century. Medieval marriages were entirely a matter of property, and, as everybody knows, marriage without love means love without marriage.

Then I suppose one must admit that the cult of the Virgin had something to do with it. In this context it sounds rather blasphemous, but the fact remains that one often hardly knows if a medieval love lyric is addresses to the poet’s mistress or to the Virgin Mary.

For all these reasons I think it is permissible to associate the cult of ideal love with the ravishing beauty and delicacy that one finds in the madonnas of the thirteenth century. Were there ever more delicate creatures than the ladies on Gothic ivories? How gross, compared to them, are the great beauties of other woman-worshiping epochs.

When I read these pages for the first time I was surprised to discover that my tastes of women have always been, literally, medieval; especially when I studied closely the face of the woman at the right in the tapestry known as The Lady with the Unicorn, reproduced on a whole page in Clark’s book with more detail than the illustration I’ve just downloaded. I have never fancied the aggressive, Hollywood females whose images are bombarded everywhere through our degenerate media. In fact, what moves me to write are precisely David Lane’s 14 words to preserve the beauty and delicacy of the most spiritual females of the white race.

Alas, it seems that the parents did not treat their delicate daughters well enough during the Middle Ages. Clark said:

So it is all the more surprising to learn that these exquisite creatures got terribly knocked about. It must be true, because there is a manual of how to treat women—actually how to bring up daughters—by a character called the Knight of the Tower of Landry, written in 1370 and so successful that it went on being read as a sort of textbook right up to the sixteenth century—in fact and edition was published with illustrations by Dürer. In it the knight, who is known to have been an exceptionally kind man, describes how disobedient women must be beaten and starved and dragged around by the hair of the head.

And six pages later Clark speaks about the most famous Saint in the High Middle Ages, whose live I would also consider the result of parental abuse:

In the years when the portal of Chartres was being built, a rich young man named Francesco Bernadone suffered a change of heart.

One day when he had fitted himself up in his best clothes in preparation for some chivalrous campaign, he met a poor gentleman whose need seemed to be greater than his own, and gave him his cloak. That night he dreamed that he should rebuild the Celestial City. Later he gave away his possessions so liberally that his father, who was a rich businessman in the Italian town of Assisi, was moved to disown him; whereupon Francesco took off his remaining clothes and said he would possess nothing, absolutely nothing. The Bishop of Assisi hid his nakedness, and afterwards gave him a cloak; and Francesco went off the woods, singing a French song.

The next three years he spent in abject poverty, looking after lepers, who were very much in evidence in the Middle Ages, and rebuilding with his own hands (for he had taken his dream literally) abandoned churches.

He threw away his staff and his sandals and went out bare-foot onto the hills. He said that he had taken poverty for his Lady, partly because he felt that it was discourteous to be in company of anyone poorer than oneself.

From the first everyone recognised that St Francis (as we may now call him) was a religious genius—the greatest, I believe, that Europe has ever produced.

Francis died in 1226 at the age of forty-three worn out by his austerities. On his deathbed he asked forgiveness of ‘poor brother donkey, my body’ for the hardships he had made it suffer.

Those of Francis’s disciples, called Fraticelli, who clung to his doctrine of poverty were denounced as heretics and burnt at the stake. And for seven hundred years capitalism has continued to grow to its present monstrous proportions. It may seem that St Francis has had no influence at all, because even the humane reformers of the nineteenth century who sometimes invoked him did not wish to exalt or sanctify poverty but to abolish it.

St Francis is a figure of the pure Gothic time—the time of crusades and castles and of the great cathedrals. But already during the lifetime of St Francis another world was growing up, which, for better or worse, is the ancestor of our own, the world of trade and of banking, of cities full of hard-headed men whose aim in life was to grow rich without ceasing to appear respectable.

Of course, Clark could not say that Francesco’s life was a classic case of battered child. Profound studies about child abuse would only start years after the Civilisation series. Today I would say that, since Francesco never wrote a vindictive text—something unthinkable in the Middle Ages that would not appear until Kafka’s letter to his father—, he internalized the parental abuse with such violence that his asceticism took his life prematurely.

What is missing in Clark’s account is that Francesco’s father whipped him in front of all the town people after Francesco stole from his shop several rolls of cloth. After the scourging inflicted by his father, with his own hands, and public humiliation, a citizen of Assisi reminded him that the town statutes allowed the father to incarcerate the rebellious son at home. Pedro shut Francesco in a sweltering, dark warehouse where “Francesco languished without seeing the light except when his father opened the door for Pica [the mother] taking a bowl of soup and a piece of bread.” After several weeks of being locked Francesco escaped and, always fearful of his father, hid in a cave. The earliest texts add that in the cave he often wept with great fear.

Francesco then embarked on a spectacular acting out of his emotional issues with his father. He made a big scene by returning to Assisi, undressing in the town’s square in front of Bishop Guido and addressing the crowd: “Hear all ye, and understand. Until now have I called Pedro Bernadone ‘my father’. But I now give back unto him the money, over which he was vexed, and all the clothes that I have had of him, desiring to say only, ‘Our Father, which art in Heaven,’ instead of ‘My father, Pedro Bernadone.’”

To everyone’s surprise Francesco broke with his wealthy parents forever, thus renouncing any possible reconciliation. So resolute was his parental repudiation, writes a Catholic biographer, that from that day on Pedro and Pica disappear from all the biographies of their son. There is no historical evidence of reconciliation, and no information about his parents or the circumstances of their death.

But I don’t want to diminish the figure of St Francis. Quite the contrary: in my middle teens I wanted to emulate him—and precisely as a result of the abuse inflicted by my father on me. And nowadays our world that has Mammon as its real God—trade, banking and dehumanized cities that are rapidly destroying the white race—, this will always remind me what Clark said about St Francis.

Nevertheless, despite my teenage infatuation with the saintly young man of Assisi, I doubt that poor Francesco’s defence mechanism to protect his mind against his father’s betrayal could be of any help now…

Uncle Adolf’s table talk – 5

“I have dipped into Mein Kampf but never read it: it was written only partly by Hitler, and that is the problem. More important are… Hitler’s table talks: daily memoranda which first Heim (Bormann’s adjutant, whom I interviewed) and then Picker wrote down at his table side”. —David Irving


the-real-hitler
 
Night of 21-22 July 1941

[Gratitude to the Jesuits - Protestant fanaticism - Similarities between Germany and Italy - Dante and Luther - The Duce is one of the Caesars - The march on Rome - a turning-point in history - Delightful Italian towns - Rome and Paris.]
 

When all’s said, we should be grateful to the Jesuits. Who knows if, but for them, we might have abandoned Gothic architecture for the light, airy, bright architecture of the Counter-Reformation? In the face of Luther’s efforts to lead an upper clergy that had acquired profane habits back to mysticism, the Jesuits restored to the world the joy of the senses.

It’s certain that Luther had no desire to mould humanity to the letter of the Scriptures. He has a whole series of reflections in which he clearly sets himself against the Bible. He recognises that it contains a lot of bad things.

Fanaticism is a matter of climate—for Protestantism, too, has burnt its witches. Nothing of that sort in Italy. The Southerner has a lighter attitude towards matters of faith. The Frenchman has personally an easy way of behaving in his churches. With us, it’s enough not to kneel to attract attention.

But Luther had the merit of rising against the Pope and the organisation of the Church. It was the first of the great revolutions. And thanks to his translation of the Bible, Luther replaced our dialects by the great German language!

It’s remarkable to observe the resemblances between the evolution of Germany and that of Italy. The creators of the language, Dante and Luther, rose against the ecumenical desires of the papacy.

Each of the two nations was led to unity, against the dynastic interests, by one man. They achieved their unity against the will of the Pope.

I must say, I always enjoy meeting the Duce. He’s a great personality. It’s curious to think that, at the same period as myself, he was working in the building trade in Germany. Our programme was worked out in 1919, and at that time I knew nothing about him. Our doctrines are based on the foundations proper to each of them, but every man’s way of thinking is a result. Don’t suppose that events in Italy had no influence on us. The brown shirt would probably not have existed without the black shirt. The march on Rome, in 1922, was one of the turning-points of history. The mere fact that anything of the sort could be attempted, and could succeed, gave us an impetus. A few weeks after the march on Rome, I was received by the Minister Schweyer. That would never have happened otherwise.

If Mussolini had been outdistanced by Marxism, I don’t know whether we could have succeeded in holding out. At that period National Socialism was a very fragile growth.

If the Duce were to die, it would be a great misfortune for Italy. As I walked with him in the gardens of the Villa Borghese, I could easily compare his profile with that of the Roman busts, and I realised he was one of the Caesars. There’s no doubt at all that Mussolini is the heir of the great men of that period.

Despite their weaknesses, the Italians have so many qualities that make us like them.

Italy is the country where intelligence created the notion of the State. The Roman Empire is a great political creation, the greatest of all.

The Italian people’s musical sense, its liking for harmonious proportions, the beauty of its race! The Renaissance was the dawn of a new era, in which Aryan man found himself anew. There’s also our own past on Italian soil. A man who is indifferent to history is a man without hearing, without sight. Such a man can live, of course—but what a life?

The magic of Florence and Rome, of Ravenna, Siena, Perugia! Tuscany and Umbria, how lovely they are!

The smallest palazzo in Florence or Rome is worth more than all Windsor Castle. If the English destroy anything in Florence or Rome, it will be a crime. In Moscow, it wouldn’t do any great harm; nor in Berlin, unfortunately.

I’ve seen Rome and Paris, and I must say that Paris, with the exception of the Arc de Triomphe, has nothing on the scale of the Coliseum, or the Castle of San Angelo, or St. Peter’s. These monuments, which are the product of a collective effort, have ceased to be on the scale of the individual. There’s something queer about the Paris buildings, whether it’s those bull’s-eye windows, so badly proportioned, or those gables that obliterate whole façades. If I compare the Pantheon in Rome with the Pantheon in Paris, what a poor building—and what sculptures! What I saw in Paris has disappeared from my memory: Rome really seized hold of me.

When the Duce came to Berlin, we gave him a magnificent reception. But our journey in Italy, that was something else! The reception when we arrived, with all the ceremonial; the visit to the Quirinal.

Naples, apart from the castle, might be anywhere in South America. But there’s always the courtyard of the royal palace. What nobility of proportions!

My dearest wish would be to be able to wander about in Italy as an unknown painter.

Hunter – 6

dr_pierce


Excerpted from
William Pierce’s novel
Hunter, which depicts one man’s attempt to right the wrongs in society by murdering interracial couples:







“That would do it,” Harry agreed. “We dream about that sort of thing. Some of our rasher mem… er, friends have proposed seizing a broadcasting studio of one of the networks during a live broadcast of a major sports event and sending a taped message up to the satellite and into 40 million living rooms. They figure we could hold off the cops for half an hour while our tape was broadcast. And believe me, we’d try it if we thought it would have a major effect. But a single broadcast, no matter how well done, won’t make much of an impression on the public. The only way to get a new idea into people’s heads or to change old ideas is through endless repetition. The first time they don’t even realize what you’ve said. After the thousandth time they begin to get the idea. And after the ten thousandth time they’re convinced.

”Knowledge is a collection of data—organized data, presumably—in someone’s mind, together with a system for making sense of it. Knowledge is what one acquires when one studies French or learns how to operate a computer—or hears a lecture on the history of the race. If one has the capacity for it, then one also acquires a certain degree of understanding along with the raw data.

”But consciousness is a higher state of development. Consciousness is knowledge plus awareness plus motivation. Knowledge involves only the mental faculty; consciousness involves a coupling of the mental and spiritual faculties. Knowledge resides in the mind, in the depths; consciousness becomes a part of the personality; it resides on the surface as well as in the depths; it permeates the being.

”If I study the history of my race, then after a while I may be racially knowledgeable. I may be able to quote you a lot of facts, to tell you the ethnic makeups of the opposing armies at the Catalaunian Fields in 451 and at Tours in 732, or list two dozen genetically based differences between Blacks and Whites besides skin color. But that does not make me racially conscious. There are many racially knowledgeable people on the faculties of our universities, but virtually no racially conscious ones. To become racially conscious one must elevate one’s racial knowledge to such a degree that it actually governs one’s thoughts and behavior; one must have a constant awareness of it; one must feel it. One can gain knowledge from reading books or listening to sermons, but achieving and maintaining consciousness generally involves changing the way one lives.”

Harry laughed. “Sure, we do have some degree of consciousness. I only wish it came near to being as strong as that of the Jews! Our consciousness, instead of being based on a feeling of personal danger, of personal threat, depends on our capacity for abstraction. We perceive the threat to everything which is beautiful and good in the world. Some of us might state that a little differently, perhaps a little more personally, and say that we perceive in the mindless push toward an ever more inclusive egalitarianism, an ever more debased democracy, and all the consequences those things entail—more and more ugliness, more and more disorder, more and more racial degradation—a threat to the meaning of our existence. We’re not threatened personally and physically, but the thing we identify with, the thing which gives meaning and purpose to our lives, is threatened. We identify with our race, with an idealization of our race—more than that, with the process of which our race is the principal agent, the process of higher organization, the process which is the active principle of God.”

Harry blushed ever so slightly, perhaps because he had bared his soul to his listeners more than he intended. Oscar looked at him intensely and then said quietly, “I didn’t realize that you were a religious man, Harry.” Harry laughed again, this time to cover his embarrassment. “There are no atheists in this fight, to paraphrase what someone else said.”

Published in: on September 27, 2013 at 3:00 pm  Comments (1)  
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