Day of Wrath, 1

In philosophy the concept of alienation appears in the work of German philosophers. Entfremdung for example means “estrangement.” For Hegel alienation and estrangement refer to the moment of beginning to advance in oneself.

Such is my feeling of estrangement, or distance from Spanish speakers, that I stopped blogging in my native language when I realized that people did not leave intelligent comments in my racial blog or my anti-psychiatric blog. In the huge Spanish-speaking metropolis where I live it goes even worse: I do not love a single human being, I just loved my pet.

So in 2009 I started to comment on the forums in English. But it was not long before I began to feel, once again, distanced. In the comments section of Counter Currents for example, Andrew Hamilton once told me that my thinking was unfolding very rapidly. From a normie who knew nothing of the Jewish question, I passed relatively quickly to bicausalism A, then crossed the line to bicausalism B: something that most white nationalists do not like.

To rephrase what Francisco de Quevedo said about time I could say: humankind and I are two. This is probably because when I discovered the racialist sites, the fearsome spider-robot had already unplugged me from the cable that went from my neck to the Matrix. I mean that, unlike the wisdom accepted in white nationalism, the psychical implications of human childrearing is the most powerful taboo of humanity. Awakening to the Jewish question and the transvaluation of values à la Turner’s Diaries was easy compared to the central taboo of human societies. These latter awakenings—race, Jewish issue and fighting for an ethnic state—were easier than what the robot-spider did, like unplugging the secondary wires that went into Neo’s arms and back.

I think the primary unplug of my nape is what makes me feel an Other compared to humans, especially for the implications of that specific unplugging. What are these implications? Even now, ten years after I finished the first book on the subject, regular visitors of this site have no idea where I come from, nor have they realized what it means to be completely awake in the real world.

In the past, I have translated those texts of my book that give an idea of the trauma model of mental disorders: the model that blames abusive parents instead of the brain of their victims. Those translations, which on the way refute psychiatric pseudoscience, did not make a dent in my readers because what causes the disorders does not interest them. To them I tell you: if you are not unplugged from the central cable, you can never be drained out of the Matrix and see the real world with clean and clear eyes.

But the trauma model is only a prelude to understanding the development of human empathy from prehistory to the contemporary West. And an intrapsychic leap from what I call Neanderthalism to an elevated psychoclass evolves into the 4 words and days of true wrath…

I won’t even try to explain these obscure aphorisms in a blog entry. Rather, every Thursday I will add, again, the chapters translated into English that on this site were only available as PDFs. But first I would like to point out that the first two articles of Day of Wrath can already be read, once again, without printing the PDFs:

Dies Irae

Why psychiatry is a false science

If life allows, the following week I will publish here the corrected Introduction. Those interested in the whole book can request it: here.

On Spain and literature – IV

retrato de soledad anaya
Apropos of what I said in my previous post about blaming the Iberians’ lust of gold for their inter-breeding in the Americas, let me quote a translation of some lines of one of the poems of Francisco de Quevedo (1580-1645), “Poderoso caballero es don dinero,” that I reread recently in the book of my teacher Soledad Anaya (pic).

When Quevedo writes, “in the Indies did they nurse him” he means of course that gold is found in the newly-conquered West Indies, the lands of New Spain (now Mexico); and when he says “in Genoa did they hearse him” he means that the gold is buried as jewelry with the corpses of the wealthy merchants of the Italian city Genoa.

Mother, unto gold I yield me,
He and I are ardent lovers;
Pure affection now discovers
How his sunny rays shall shield me!
For a trifle more or less
All his power will confess,
Powerful knight is don money.

In the Indies did they nurse him,
While the world stood round admiring;
And in Spain was his expiring;
And in Genoa did they hearse him;
And the ugliest at his side
Shines with all of beauty’s pride;
Powerful knight is don money.

Noble are his proud ancestors
For his blood-veins are patrician;
Royalties make the position
Of his Orient investors;
So they find themselves preferred
To the duke or country herd,
Powerful knight is don money.

Never meets he dames ungracious
To his smiles or his attention,
How they glow but at the mention
Of his promises capacious!
And how bare-faced they become
To the coin beneath his thumb
Powerful knight is don money.

I’m not sure if the translation of “…to the duke or country herd” conveys accurately the meaning. In the original Spanish it says that the yellow metal “hace iguales al duque y al ganadero,” makes the duke and country herd equals.

You can imagine how the young and ambitious commoners in those times (like Cortés) looked for chances of upward mobility in the “West Indies.”

See Dr. William Pierce’s take on this very subject: here.

On Spain and literature – III

retrato de soledad anaya

The reason I almost never include poetry in this blog is simple. Very, very rarely a poem reaches the innermost of my soul. The first poem that reached me was one by Luis de Góngora, which I read in the textbook of Miss Anaya (photo) in my middle teens.

Góngora was a Baroque poet of the golden age of Spain. He, and his contemporary Francisco de Quevedo (about whom I have to quote something in the future), are considered the most prominent Spanish poets of all time. Góngora flourished by the end of the 16th and the beginning of the 17th centuries, when the Spanish language reached its maximum degree of perfection. Anaya, my former school teacher, tells us in Literatura Española that later in his life Góngora became a priest and lived in a chaplaincy of honor in Madrid in the palace of King Philip III.

Góngora composed his Sonnet LCXVI when he was twenty-one years old:

Mientras por competir con tu cabello
Oro bruñido el sol relumbra en vano,
Mientras con menosprecio en medio el llano
Mira tu blanca frente al lilio bello;

Mientras a cada labio, por cogello,
Siguen más ojos que al clavel temprano,
Y mientras triunfa con desdén lozano
Del luciente cristal tu gentil cuello,

Goza cuello, cabello, labio y frente,
Antes que lo que fue en tu edad dorada
Oro, lilio, clavel, cristal luciente,

No sólo en plata o vïola troncada
Se vuelva, más tú y ello juntamente
En tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.


Following is Edward Churton’s translation. Góngora’s urgent appeal to a young blonde nymph to enjoy her youth before time destroys her made a huge impression in the lad I was:

While to contend in brightness with thy hair
Sunlight on burnished gold may strive in vain,
While thy proud forehead’s whiteness may disdain
The lilies of the field, which bloom less fair,
While each red lip at once more eyes will snare
Than the perfumed carnation bud new born,
And while thy graceful neck with queenly scorn
Outshines bright crystal on the morning air:

Enjoy thy hour, neck, ringlets, lips, and brow;
Before the glories of this age of gold:
Earth’s precious ore, sweet flowers, and crystal bright
Turn pale and dim; and Time with fingers cold
Rifle the bud and bloom; and they, and thou
Become but ash, smoke, shadow, dust and night.