Don’t let this blog disappear!

Help us escape from Mexico City and the unending Mexican Drug War: an ongoing armed conflict among rival drug cartels fighting each other for regional control and against the government forces. I for one have already been kidnapped twice in my life!

If the dollar hyperinflates the situation in the Mexico City metropolitan area, with a population of 21.2 million people—the largest metropolitan area in the western hemisphere and the largest Spanish-speaking city in the world—will become even worse! For details see my entries on the coming currency crash. (Although an original draft of this entry was posted yesterday, my August 1 updated collection of WDH articles on the crash can be found here.)

I already have enough points for a ticket to cross the Atlantic; I only need a little travel money to arrive in one piece to a saner, whiter place and make my new home there…

Published in: on July 31, 2013 at 5:47 pm  Comments (16)  

The Struggle with the Daimon


der_kampf_mit_dem_daemon

For an easy reading,
you can read all of my excerpts
of Zweig’s essay on Nietzsche
at Ex libris (here).

Quotable quote

“Ethnic group” is a favorite term of those social anthropologists who wish to drain race of its emotional content and subjectivity.

 —Wilmot Robertson

Published in: on July 30, 2013 at 11:42 pm  Comments Off on Quotable quote  

The teacher of freedom

der_kampf_mit_dem_daemon

“After the next European war, people will understand me.” Such is the prophetic utterance that shines conspicuously forth from among Nietzsche’s last writings. In very truth, the real significance, the historical necessity of this seer is made plain to us only in relation to the tensed, unstable, and dangerous condition of our world at the turn of the century.

In this sensitive, who transformed every atmospheric convulsion from nerve to spirit, from intimation into word, there occurred a foreboding discharge of all the tensions of the morally obtuse Europe. There was a cataclysm in Nietzsche’s mind as a presage of the most terrible cataclysm in human history. His “far-thinking” vision glimpsed the crisis while others were comfortably warming their heads before the agreeable fires of well-turned phrases. He discerned the causes of what was about to happen: “The national cardiac pruritus and the blood-poisoning thanks to which, throughout Europe, nation shuts itself off from nation as if they were quarantining against one another’s plagues.” He saw the “nationalism as of horned cattle.”

Wrathfully he predicts catastrophe in view of the convulsive endeavours “to eternalize particularism throughout Europe” and to defend a morality established upon egoistic interests and upon business. In letters of fire upon the wall he wrote: “This absurd state of affairs must speedily be brought to an end.” No one heard more plainly than did Nietzsche the ominous cracking in the edifice of European society; no one, in a time of unwarranted optimism and self-satisfaction, sounded so loudly as he the summons to fight. A new and mighty order was about to begin. Now at length we know it, as he knew it decades ago. Such agonizing foresight was his greatness and his heroism; and there is a spiritual truth underlying the belief of simple souls that before wars and crises comets pursue their erratic course athwart the sky. He alone recognized how frightful a hurricane was about to disturb our civilisation.

But it is the perennial tragedy of the spirit that what it perceives in its higher, more luminous spheres can never be communicated to those who dwell in the heavier atmosphere upon the lower levels; that the present never grasps what is impending, is never able to read the message of the skies. Even the most translucent genius of the nineteenth century could not speak plainly enough to enable his contemporaries to understand him. No more was vouchsafed to him than the cry of warning which was incompressible to his contemporaries. Then his mind gave way.

“There are no heroic ages, but solely heroic persons.” It is the individual who achieves independence within the world, and for himself alone. Nietzsche’s independence did not therefore transmit, as scholastics declare, a doctrine, but, rather, an atmosphere—the limpid and passionate atmosphere of a daimonic nature.

Just as, in the domain of natural forces, there is need at times for whirlwinds wherein the excess of energy rises in revolt against stability, so likewise, now and again, in the realm of mind there is need for a daimonic being whose transcendent powers shall make him the spearhead of a revolt against the triviality of habitual thought and the monotonousness of conventional morality. There is need of a man who will embody the forces of destruction and who will destroy himself likewise.

____________

After a few more words, Zweig’s essay on Nietzsche ends.
In all of these entries I only typed those paragraphs
which struck me the most.

Quotable quote

“A people of good race which has too few children has a sure ticket for the grave, for insignificance in fifty to a hundred years, for burial in 250 years.”

—Himmler

Published in: on July 30, 2013 at 7:19 pm  Comments (2)  

Dance over the abyss

der_kampf_mit_dem_daemon

If you look into an abyss, the
abyss, likewise, looks into you.



This self-addressed pæan of intoxicated happiness is, I know, regarded by modern physicians as a morbid euphoria, as the last pleasure in a decaying brain, as the stigma of that megalomania which is characteristic of the early stage of paralytic dementia. But Nietzsche talks clearly and incisively amid the ardours of intoxication. No other mortal, perhaps, has ever in full awareness and without a trace of giddiness leaned so far and seen so clearly over the edge of the precipice of lunacy.

No doubt the light that sparkles here is a perilous one. It has the phantasmal and morbid luminosity of a midnight sun glowing red above icebergs; it is a northern light of the soul whose unique splendour makes us shudder. It does not warm us, it terrifies us. It does not dazzle, but it slays. He is not carried away as was Hölderlin by an obscure rhythm of feeling, is not overwhelmed by the onrush of melancholy. He is scorched by his own ardours, is sunstruck by his own rays, is affected by a white-hot and intolerable cheerfulness. Nietzsche’s collapse was a sort of carbonization in his own flames.

He commanded the German emperor to go to Rome in order to be shot; he summoned the European powers to take united military action against Germany, to encircle his fatherland in a ring of iron. Never did apocalyptic wrath shout more savagely into vacancy, never did so glorious presumption scourge a mind beyond earthly bounds. His words issued like hammer-blows striving to demolish the edifice of established civilisation. The Christian era was to cease with the publication of his Antichrist, and a new numbering of the years was to begin.

“No one has written, felt, suffered in such a manner before; the sufferings of a god, a Dionysius.” These words, penned when his mental disorder had already begun, are painfully true. The little room of the fourth floor, and the hermitage of Sils-Maria, not only sheltered the man Friedrich Nietzsche whose nerves were breaking under the strain, but also served as the places from which were issued a marvellous message to the dying century. The Creative Spirit had taken refuge beneath the attic roof heated by the southern sun, and was bestowing its entire wealth upon a timid, neglected, and lonely being, bestowing far more than any isolated person could sustain.

Within those narrow walls, wrestling with infinities, the poor mortal senses were stumbling and groping amid the lightening-flashes of revelation. Like Hölderlin, he felt that a god was revealing himself, a fiery god whose radiance the eyes could not bear and whose proximity was scorching. Again and again the cowering wrench raised his head and attempted to look upon the countenance of this deity, his thoughts running riot the while.

Was not he who felt and wrote and suffered such unthinkable things, was not he himself God? Had not a god reanimated the world after he, Nietzsche, had slain the old god? Who was he? Who was Nietzsche? Was Nietzsche the Crucified; the dead god or the living one; the god of his youth, Dionysius; or both Dionysus and the Crucified—the crucified Dionysius?

More and more confused grew his thoughts; the current roared too loud beneath the superfluity of light. Was it still light? Had it not become music? The narrow room on the fourth floor in the Via Carlo Alberto began to intone; the shining spheres made music; all heaven was aglow. What wonderful music! Tears tricked down his face, warm tears. What sublime tenderness, what auspicious happiness! And now, what lucidity! In the street, everyone smiled at him in friendly fashion; they stood up to greet him; they made obeisance to him, the slayer of gods; they were all so delighted to see him. Why? Why?

He knew. Antichrist had appeared upon earth, and men acclaimed him with hosannas. The world hummed with jubilation, was full of music. Then suddenly the tumult was stilled. Something, someone fell down. It is he, himself, in the street, in front of the house where he lodged. He was picked up. He found himself back in his room.

Had he been asleep for a long time? It seemed very dark. There was the piano. Music! Music! Then, unexpectedly, people appeared in the room. Surely one of them must be Overbeck. But Overbeck is in Basel; and where is he, Nietzsche? He no longer remembers. Why does the company look at him so strangely, so anxiously? He is in a train, rattling along the rails, and the wheels are singing; yes, they are singing the “Gondolier’s Chanty,” and he joins in, signs in an interminable darkness.

He is in a strange room, and always it is dark. No more sunshine, no light at all, either within or without. People talk in the room. A woman among them, surely it is his sister? He had thought she was travelling. She reads aloud to him, now from one book, now from another. Books? “Was not I once a writer of books?” Comes a gentle answer, but he cannot understand. One in whose soul such a hurricane has raged grows deaf to ordinary speech. One who has gazed so intently into the eyes of the daimon is henceforth blinded.

On the need of cultured thugs

Now that I reread William Ventvogel’s “On Cities, Women, and White Survival,” linked in my previous post, “Sanskrit saying,” it struck me to see the gulf between Ventvogel’s approach to white preservation and Greg Johnson’s latest article, “The Nigger Word,” where Johnson writes: “We do not use the nigger word and other crude racial slurs… We don’t have to be hateful. We don’t have to be strident. We don’t have to be crude.”

Compare this with the cited Ventvogel 2003 article, that incidentally mentioned the word nigger eighteen times, and especially with Ventvogel’s revolutionary sentiments:

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.

No need to be hateful? Really? Now that the dollar will crash and that the large American cities will become killing zones, you can guess who has better chances to survive, the Johnsons armed with “porcelain guns” (Greg’s own words—search for the word porcelain: here) or the Ventvogels…

Snake said (below, in the comment section):

The real problem has been combining righteous hatred with calm rationality. We’re effectively stuck with craven intellectuals and idiots whose sole contribution to our race is screaming “kike-nigger-spic!” As Jonathan Bowden would say, we need cultured thugs.

Published in: on July 29, 2013 at 7:29 pm  Comments (9)  

March of the Titans

The following sentences of March of the Titans: The Complete History of the White Race by Arthur Kemp caught my attention:

Racial cauldron – Rome and the Near Middle East

The story of Roman expansion to the east is no less dramatic than that of its extension to the west—the major difference was that in racial terms, the effect of occupying areas to the east was far greater than the areas in the west.

In fact, it was the extension of the Empire to the east which ultimately led to its downfall, for through the inclusion of eastern territories, vast numbers of people were drawn into Rome who shared a different genetic inheritance than the original founders—unlike the situation in the West.

Once again, as had been the case with every great civilization before it, Rome fell because the original people who created the Empire disappeared: submerged into a mass of foreigners—replaced by immigrants and the descendants of slaves brought in from all over North Africa, the wider Mediterranean and the Middle and Near East.

The full extent of the Roman Empire in the east
is shown here: From the Tigris-Euphrates Rivers
to the southern reaches of the Nile.
In this way masses of mixed race peoples from
this region were given access to Rome itself.


Prior to the Roman expansion into the Middle and Near East, the process of racial integration in that region had proceeded apace. Original Nordic Indo-European and Old European Mediterranean types had all but vanished by the year 100 BC. In the space of a few hundred years, large numbers of Indo-Europeans had been completely submerged into the far faster breeding Semitic, Arabic and Asian elements filling up the Middle and Near East.

[Kemp then writes about the Roman miscegenation with Persians, and in Asia Minor (Turkey), Syria, and North Africa. Then he says something about Emperor Philip:]

The infiltration of Roman society by individuals born in all corners of the world was exemplified by the emperor Philip (244-249 AD). Born in the Roman province of Arabia, in what today is the village of Shahba, roughly 55 miles south-southeast of Damascus, Philip’s father was a prominent local man, Julius Marinus, who had been awarded Roman citizenship and was thus not a native born Roman. Nothing is known of Philip’s mother. Known as “Philip the Arabian,” Philip was an emperor who was clearly not of pure European descent.

The vast numbers of Arabic Semites and mixed races included in the new regions in the Middle East and North Africa were all put through the customary Romanizing process. Within the space of a few decades they were allowed to elect senators to the Roman senate in Rome—their sheer weight of numbers soon meant that true Romans quickly made up a minority of senators in the capital of the Empire. It takes no imagination to understand how the relatively small group of original Romans soon lost control of the racial make-up of Rome under these conditions.

It was, simply put, demographically impossible for the Romans alone to supply the manpower to run such a vast area. They were forced to Romanize the local population and recruit soldiers and tradesmen from the local populations. Very often only the most senior civil servants in the Roman provinces were actually originally from Rome—and in a very many cases, even they too were supplanted in the course of time by locals.

Eventually the logical step was taken by the Emperor Caracalla in 212 AD, when he gave all free men in the Empire Roman citizenship, the racial implications of which were huge and which have already been discussed. Caracalla was himself born of a Roman family in Africa and a Syrian mother—his own dubious citizenship status may have played a role in his decision to extend citizenship to all.

“Fate”

H youth2


From Faith and Action (1938) by Helmut Stellrecht for the Hitler Youth:


We do not believe in a blind fate that leads people through their lives. We do not believe that god’s angels protect us in every step that we take and keep us from falling. But we do believe in a godly will that gives meaning to each life that is born. Not an arbitrary generally meaning, but rather each life has its own particular purpose and meaning.

§ In the depths of our souls we sense whether we act according to this meaning. One can call this conscience or something else. It is there. We probably know the right path. We need only ask. A voice within us gives the answer, and speaks of the godly will that shows us the path we should go.

§ This path is our fate. Each has but one proper path. To follow it makes one happy to the highest degree, even if it is a path that brings only poverty and toil.

§ Any path that leads away from the meaning and purpose of life is death and sin. And even if the path seems ever so pleasant, you will sin every day of your life.

§ But you have the freedom to decide which path you want to follow. No blind fate rules you. You go your own way.

§ If you follow the law in your own heart, it is the way to your god. It is the way that comes from eternity and goes to eternity; in all the world there is never an end, only transformation. There is no death that is not also a beginning. Everything is part of the enormous plan of the worlds, of which you are a part if you seek your path. Everything is in development. The joy of creation lives in each, for it belongs to the builders at work. There is no heaven of pleasure and blessedness. But work and life alternate in eternal form, whether in the realm of the body or the sphere of the spirit.

§ Those who fell for an idea of god — and people and fatherland are such — continue to work for it. They become a part of the soul and the strength of their people. They continue to work and grow. They are in reality in us as our better thoughts.

§ Thus each creature plays its part, both in body and soul, in the great plan of the worlds. It is god, the eternal wisdom and the exalted sense of that which is beyond comprehension. When you submit and follow the path, it is also in you. You understand your part and do what you can, and whatever happens to you, you will be happy. You carry god in your own heart. You have overcome death, and if you do die, you live on as a part of the eternal strength that works continually and creates.

§ Your fate is the path that is shown to you. Your free will decides if you follow it and if you fulfill your task.

Published in: on July 29, 2013 at 12:34 pm  Comments Off on “Fate”  

Sanskrit saying

“From the corruption of women… all evils follow.”

Published in: on July 29, 2013 at 11:51 am  Comments (14)