Laconic radio show

Some visitors might be wondering about why I don’t talk much in the WDH Radio Shows. Reason is: it is extremely frustrating to be able to speak with oratory fire in my native language but find myself babbling in my second language.

Yesterday I responded to a commenter: “Too bad that I think in Spanish. In my native language I can talk as passionately, frankly, brutally and fast as those blog posts in English that people like you like. My tragedy is that in the Spanish-speaking world nobody likes me. This means that my fiery oratory potential can only be glimpsed through translations…!”

Back in 2009, when I lived in Spain, I had a YouTube channel where I started to face directly the camera to talk about the Islamization of Europe. I also talked about the serial killers known as the Aztecs and was the object of much abuse in the comments section of my YouTube channel, mostly from Latin Americans. I decided to completely change my audience by choosing English instead. But the way I did it was not through YouTube blogging but opening an account at Blogspot.

Now that my voice is being heard again on the radio show, the idea has occurred to me: Why not go back to the audiovisual format speaking in Spanish but this time using English subtitles?

The problem is the hatred of course. I would need to purchase an expensive blond wig, exotic custom-fitted clothing and equipment for studio lighting to become unrecognizable among those in my town that otherwise would hurt me.

I can afford all that. But there’s a problem. As followers of my views on Austrian economics know, I believe that the dollar will collapse and that those who save precious metals will find the purchasing power of their savings expanded a tenfold after the crash. So if you have gold or silver coins worth of ten thousand dollars, after the financial accident that is coming you’ll actually have about a hundred thousand of purchasing power.

That’s why I won’t touch the precious coins I already have in my bank’s safe deposit box. This means that, although potentially I could purchase the equipment and become the most fiery orator of the racist blogosphere, I have to content myself with my laconic interventions on the radio shows…

In the early 1970s Mr. Geert Halen of Warner Bros offered work to my father to do educational film-strips for children in the United States. In Hollywood I would have grown not only speaking English but learning the trade for audiovisual messages!

But my stupid father rejected the offer…

Published in: on June 24, 2017 at 11:48 am  Comments (3)  
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This Time, 8

rockwell

A passage from This Time the World
by George Lincoln Rockwell

But then, in 1939, I sat in “Sociology I” class and tried my best to make some sense out of it all. I had been happy at the chance to study sociology, as it appeared to me logical that there must be some fundamental principles of the development of the social relationships of life, as I had discovered simple basic principles of other affairs I had looked into. I was most eager to learn these basic principles of the operation of human society so that I could understand the events around me and perhaps even predict sociological occurrences in accordance with the principles I would be taught.

But it would be many, many years before I would fight my way into the intellectual sunshine of such simple, fundamental and logical presentations of the facts of social life. In Professor Bucklin’s classroom on society, all was the most depressing darkness and confusion. It all sounded most enlightening, of course. There were lots of brave new words, ethnic groups, etc., but try as I might, I could not get to the bottom of it all to find any idea or principle I could get hold of. Everything was “by and large” and “in most cases” and “on the other hand” and “So-and-so says, but Dr. So-and-so says absolutely not.” Muddiness of mind was not deplored, but glorified. I buried myself in my sociology books, absolutely determined to find out why I was missing the kernel of the thing.

The best I could come up with was that human beings are all helpless tools of the environment; that we are all born as rigidly equal lumps and that the disparity of our achievements and stations was entirely the result of the forces of environment—that everybody, therefore, could theoretically be masters, geniuses and kings if only we could sufficiently improve everybody’s environment. I was bold enough to ask Professor Bucklin if this were the idea and he turned red with anger. I was told it was “impossible” to make any generalizations, although all I was asking was for the fundamental idea, if any, of sociology.

I began to see that sociology was different from any other course I had ever taken. Certain ideas produced apoplexy in the teacher, particularly the suggestion that perhaps some people were no good biological slobs from the day they were born. Certain other ideas, although they were never formulated nor stated frankly, were fostered and encouraged—these were always ideas revolving around the total power of the environment.

Slowly, I got the idea. At first, I just used it to get better grades. When I wrote my essay answers in examinations, I poured it on heavily that all hands in the civilization in question were potential Leonardo da Vincis, no matter how black they were, nor how they ate their best friends for thousands of years; and that with a quick change in environment, these cannibals too would be writing arias, building Parthenons and painting masterpieces.

But then I began to wonder “how come”? Certainly, environment was important. Anybody could see that. But it was obviously negative. You can make a helpless boob out of a born genius by bringing him up in a dark closet, but you can’t make a genius out of a drooling idiot, even by sending him to Brown [University]. Was it just old man Bucklin who was insane with environment? Or was it the whole subject? I went to the library and read more sociology books. They were universally pushing the same idea.

I began to make fun of sociology in the college paper in my column and got into more trouble. Some of the columns were “killed” before seeing the light. I was still too ignorant to know that I was fighting Lysenko and Marx and the whole Soviet theory of environmentalism—which has captured and hypnotized or terrorized all our intellectuals—and I imagined I was battling just one foolish college course!

During my second year at Brown, my picture of the world darkened as I discovered more and more intellectual dishonesty in this university which had first seemed almost heaven itself to me. I still knew little or nothing about Communism or its pimping little sister, “liberalism”, but I could not avoid the steady pressure, everywhere in the university, to accept the idea of massive human equality and the supremacy of environment. In every course, I was repelled by the intellectual cowardice of the faculty in failing to stand up for any doctrine whatsoever.

I majored in philosophy and, while I admired the intellectual brilliance of my professors, particularly Professor Ducasse, I was hugely disappointed in the headlong retreat of all the faculty whenever they were asked their own opinions as to the objective truth in any matter. I was told that “eternal seeking” is the way to knowledge and there is no denying that, but lively discussion is also vital to any advance of knowledge and you cannot have any lively discussion where the opposition either doesn’t exist or melts away like a wraith when you seek to take hold of it.

I was running into the disease of our modern life: cowardice and pathological fear of a strong personality or strong ideas. Dale Carnegie has codified and commercialized this creeping disease as “how to win friends and influence people”, which boils down to the essential principle of having no personality or strong feelings or ideas and becoming passive and empty so that “the other fellow” can display his ideas and personality. But he, too, is trying to become popular by being passive and dispassionate, so that the result is like connecting two dead batteries: no current. Such human robots are suited to enslavement by a 1984-type society, but not to life in a bold, free society of men. This is the way women should be, perhaps, but not our men and especially not our leaders.

I found the same feeble feminine approach in every subject except in the sciences, and for these last, I was very grateful. In geology and psychology I could find a few principles and laws which stayed there when I reached out to grasp them, and so I reveled in these subjects and rebelled to the limit of my capacity in the others. In sociology I went so far as to write an insolent examination paper which almost got me thrown out of Brown.

Psychological Rubicon

Open thread

Caesar paused on the banks of the Rubicon

 
In “Iceland – Normie Land” I confessed last week:

When I lived in Normie Land this was the path, my steppingstones that helped me to cross the psychological Rubicon:

1st stone: Robert Spencer and other online counter-jihadists (late 2008)

2nd stone: Larry Auster, who went beyond counter-jihadism onto stepping a racial and anti-feminist stone (but he was Jewish)

3rd stone: Jew-wise white nationalism, especially the webzines under the watch of Greg Johnson in the late 2009 and 2010 (in the following years I became disillusioned because of some ethno-suicidal traits of Johnson & the broader WN movement)

At the other side of the river I found the very solid ground of National Socialism.

And which was the path of your psychological Rubicon?

Published in: on May 27, 2017 at 8:59 am  Comments (5)  
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This Time, 7

rockwell

A passage from This Time the World
by George Lincoln Rockwell

I read and reread the Bible, as I had not done before, from beginning to end. I was appalled at the demand by God for human sacrifice, for the eating of human body waste by the Lord, for the horrible cruelties and atrocities demanded by the Lord, according to the Old Testament…

Most of all, I wondered at the idea that if there were a few simple ideas and facts to be understood to enjoy eternal life and happiness, here and later on, and God were all-powerful, He had made it impossible for me to believe those ideas and facts because of the very mind which he gave me! And then I am to be threatened with eternal damnation for not believing that which I cannot believe! My first reaction was atheism.

I did something I deeply regret and shall never do again. I had begun to discover my own power of persuasion and, in the eternal bull sessions of a boys’ school, religion is not exempt as a topic. I was genuinely sorry I had lost my belief in Christianity, for it has truly marvelous power to sustain and help one in times of tribulation. I began to discuss the matter with a devout Catholic boy who tried with all his heart and might to make me see my error. We skied five miles over to his church to see a priest he said could straighten me out and I was truly anxious to be shown my error, if error it was.

But the matter turned out differently. Coldly and scientifically I argued with the priest, refusing to let him lead me into the inevitable non sequiturs, redundancies, etc. and brutally holding to logic. He was reduced, eventually, to exclaiming, “You just must believe. You have to believe!” I told him I could not believe and asked him if he were not able to help me do what he said I must. He shook his head sadly, no doubt convinced that I was determined not to understand.

The effect on my friend was something I had not counted on. All the way back to the school we skied in silence. When we got back, he said not a word and for days avoided me. I felt a secret shame for which I could see no reason. Eventually, he told me that he had been forced to agree with me and had lost his faith. That he was no happier about it than I, with my own loss of faith, was obvious. In fact, he was even more stricken. The result was to set me thinking on what I had done and whether it was right.

I saw then what I believe all great religious teachers knew, but could not and did not say. The ordinary man is too weak and too helpless in the whirling vortex of life to sustain himself on his naked human will and his cold human reason. Only with some kind of deep belief in an all-powerful magical being of some kind can the masses of humanity maintain social and reasonably worthwhile lives. Without such a belief, they can see no reason for not immediately indulging themselves in their most animal and immediate desires and they despair in the face of death unless they can imagine something further.

As long as men are thus ignorant and weak-minded, they must have some such spiritual crutches. So religion, far from being an “opiate”, is truly the sustainer of the masses of people. He who destroys religion before humanity has progressed far beyond its present primitive intellectual state is helping to destroy civilization.

I am an agnostic, which means that to all proposals and explanations of the mysteries of life and eternity, I say, “I do not know and I don’t believe you or any other human does either.”

At the same time, I stand firmly for positive, ethical religions, whatever they may be and believe they must be protected and given the greatest freedom to do what they can to lessen the awesome burden of human misery on this tiny planet. I know there will be many intellectuals who will reply that religion has caused untold torture and suffering to stamp out “heresy”, but in view of man’s need for emotional catharsis in today’s immensely frustrating world, and in view of Pavlov’s experiments, I believe that religion is the poor man’s “psychiatry”, his only “escape” from intolerable pressures of society.

Since that ski-trip to the priest up in Maine, I have never tried to argue anybody out of his religion and have given strict orders in the American Nazi Party that religion is simply not permitted as a subject of discussion for anybody. We have Protestants, Catholics, atheists and agnostics among our membership and all of them are equally welcome and valuable.

Restructuring my being

Restructuring my life

Restructuring my
literary plans

 
Three weeks ago my only friend was probably killed by another animal. A month ago I had no idea that his death would break my life in two.

Although I have not written anything on the forums of those who have suffered the loss of a pet, I am greatly impressed that some of them confessed, in those forums, identical feelings to mine. I could not believe reading some testimonies: they seemed perfect clones of the agonies of my being…!

The death of Conejito affected me so much that I have abandoned the writing of De san Francisco a Himmler, of which I only wrote half a hundred pages. That was going to be a huge book that would cover, among other subjects, a more detailed denunciation of the family system from my adolescence to my fifties.

By definitively abandoning De san Francisco I find myself writing only a slim book, the tenth of an autobiographical series, which will culminate the other nine that I had written:

Carta a mamá Medusa
Cómo asesinar el alma de tu hijo
Mi infancia
El retorno de Quetzalcóatl
Hojas susurrantes
La muerte de papá
Corina
Madre
Leonora
Mi conejito

Instead of the work of years that was going to represent the very ambitious De san Francisco, once I finish the last one from the above list I could begin to translate them, starting with the first. But as the regulars of this blog know, a selection of chapters of those books has already been translated into English: Day of Wrath.

Published in: on April 14, 2017 at 11:00 am  Comments (10)  

Deep pain

This will probably be a provisional post. I don’t know…

The only living creature I really loved here, my bunny, died this Friday. I have been searching for forums on pet bereavement and, unsurprisingly, I found people that (like me) were feeling great distress and even anxiety bordering panic within the few days after the loss.

The shock has been so great (remember I had lost everything in the country I am living) that I’ve decided to change the title of the book I am writing, of which I have completed about 50 pages.

Even the introduction to the book, which still appears in the Addenda of this blog, will be removed in the printed book version and I’ll write, instead, a totally different introduction focusing on what used to be a very strong bond between my bunny and me. By extension, and remember what I said about Goring, I will pay special attention on the welfare of other animals who share the planet with us.

In the next two hours or so, after dawn, I’ll bury my Conejito with my bare hands in my garden, very close to the spot he liked to rest. I can only hope that my agony will not last so long, especially when we keep in mind how Hitler himself cried when his pet Blondie died (I also cry after writing this, telling to myself with deep pain: “Mi Conejito, mi Conejito…”).

Published in: on March 26, 2017 at 6:17 am  Comments (17)  
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For Spanish readers

cover-muerte-de-papa

At last I have finished the first book in Spanish of my Extermination series. I did major changes regarding the drafts I translated to English since the last year; translations reproduced in this blog. For example, I eliminated some personal vendettas with Latin Americans (e.g., the section about my misadventures in London).

Kevin MacDonald believes that understanding ethnosuicidal whites “is the toughest intellectual problem there is; psychology, studying Jews is easy by comparison.” I cannot agree more with this statement.

I invite those Spanish-speaking visitors unsatisfied with single-cause explanations of Western malaise to venture in my new book about the monsters from the Id that are capable of destroying not only families, but civilisations alike. La Muerte de Papá, the first volume of Extermination, is now available from Lulu (here).

Note of February 2017: I have removed this book from my Lulu books because it has been merged within a single cover in Exterminio. However, I hope that in the future an editor will sell separate the books again.

“El Orador”

silvia-piano

Before I was born my mother used to practice El Orador (YouTube audio here): a piece for piano composed by my father.

Throughout her pregnancy I happened to be a couple of inches from the piano’s keys, in embryonic state! My mother once told me that while practicing that piece I moved vigorously in her womb. I have this music amalgamated to my soul…

El Orador (The Orator) is a fantasia for piano that my father composed in 1952 and was performed for the first time by María Teresa Rodríguez, and then by my mother (photo above) in 1958, in private gatherings, after I was born.

Father Vértiz, a Catholic priest with eloquent oratory power had inspired the music of my father. According to my parents, the priest’s sermons were like a parable: they initiated in adages and after crescendos culminated in a violent rhetoric that captivated the faithful.

Published in: on September 30, 2015 at 12:02 am  Comments (15)  
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Fratricide

cain_abel

This 78 x 64 cm. framed illustration in my bedroom is a slightly modified copy drawn by my father in 1957 of Gustave Doré’s illustration of the most famous fratricide in Christendom.

Published in: on September 27, 2015 at 7:48 am  Leave a Comment  
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C. T. (1925-2015)

C.T. Sr., my father, died tonight at ninety.

 

junto al padre Mtz

My father in Madrid, Spain with Father Martínez, a teacher of the Madrid Royal Conservatory, a music college (ca. 1949-1950).

 

con reina Isabel

My father with Queen Elizabeth (1975). This is a low-quality photo because it has been scanned from a newspaper.

 

Hazme llorar (literally, “Make me cry”) is a piece composed in 1962 by my father for a duet of soprano, contralto and harp. The above is a 2014 performance at the Palace of Fine Arts, a few months before my father’s liver cancer was detected.

Published in: on September 23, 2015 at 9:57 pm  Comments (19)