Radio Renaissance

RadRen1

You can listen yesterday’s broadcast of Radio Renaissance by downloading it: here.

Sebastian Ronin’s group is absolutely right that white nationalists don’t want to abandon their comfort zone in the internet. They are right that a financial accident is coming and, later, an apocalyptic energy devolution that will open a window of opportunity for whites to shift paradigms. They are is also right that, as Ronin put it, “if a movement does not go political nothing happens.” His words sharply contrast with small groups at both sides of the Atlantic (for example Counter Currents and the London Forum) that limit themselves to so-called metapolitics—mere essayism and intellectual meetings. Ronin’s group is right that—unlike, say, Golden Dawn—white nationalist groups are composed by cowards who cannot understand the maxim, “No risk no return.”

However, we disagree with Ronin regarding Pierce: the best mind that this continent has ever produced. Also, Ronin doesn’t seem to know that the Christian problem is larger than the Jewish problem, and that in modern times it even encompasses it (see the recent entries quoting Jack Frost). In Ronin’s group the subject of the Hellstorm Holocaust goes unmentioned. Exposing it is the only way that the sins of the descendants of those who destroyed Germany’s spirit may be atoned.

I am afraid to say that Ronin’s group isn’t spiritual enough. Although Pat Buchanan is not one of us, in the Buchanan interview I recently linked in a couple of posts (e.g., here) Pat hit the nail: the West needs a St Paul for a great awakening. But I am not a Christian and agree with Michael O’Meara that one could see the next awakening in purely ontological terms. However, unlike the masters of the spoken word the colder intellectuals cannot fully understand Being. As my good friend Manu Rodríguez told me, we need a New Temple to reconnect with our Indo-European heritage. To me, a priest of the 14 words, Aryan female beauty is the first pillar of the New Temple, and I wish more people would “take the black” as I did.

For Ronin’s group the US and Canada will break down into several nation-states. While in the short run that would be advisable, in the long run a white Reich would conquer a fragmented new nation if it is not wholly militarized. A new, non-fascist ethnostate reminds me Hitler’s annexation of Austria. Furthermore, only a united Reich could face the challenges presented to the whole West by the awakened dragon, China. Hitler’s view of conquering a continent for his Reich is the right one. His is the only way forward. White nationalists’ and Ronin’s non-Imperium goals won’t face the huge challenges presented to us later in this century when slaying the awakened dragon. The big question is if the Aryan Reich will originate in Europe or in the continent where I am presently living (a subject to be discusses elsewhere).

Finally, Ronin’s “Renaissance” group supports the creation of Aztlán, a Negro ethnostate, and an Indian state in North Dakota. That cannot contrast more dramatically with Pierce’s dream of cleansing the whole area. Is the Renaissance group still trapped in Christian axiology or is that only PR tactics so that they don’t get demonized by the Jew-controlled media?

Whatever the answer, unlike them and white nationalists those who have taken the black know that only hatred big time will save the race.

Rape hate, part 1

by Tom Goodrich

 
All wars are bad. All wars are evil. All wars are inherently bad and evil. And World War Two was the most inherently bad and evil of all wars. No matter what some desk-bound Jewish propagandist might scribble, and no matter what some Christian nightly news reader might mumble, there is no such thing as a “Good War” and there was no such thing as a “Greatest Generation.” War unleashes pent hate. War lends a degree of legitimacy to the basest instincts in man. War is organized savagery. And never was this on uglier display than in World War Two. And never has the term “hell on earth” come closer to an actual manifestation than on the Eastern Front.

As momentum swung to the Soviet Union late in the war, the Red Army turned viciously on the crippled German Wehrmacht. First through Russia, then through Poland, the Soviets ruthlessly pursued the German army until by January, 1945, the communists were on the very borders of the Reich itself. When the final push for Berlin began, and when Soviet forces finally rolled across Germany, it caused widespread panic among German civilians.

The following is from my books, Rape Hate—Sex & Violence in War & Peace, and Hellstorm–The Death of Nazi Germany, 1944-1947. It is not a pretty picture to paint. For over 70 years the world has been told only one side of that terrible war–the side that won. To this very day, unfortunately, these books and a handful of others remain the only books which actually attempt to describe what the war looked like to those who lost it. My hope when I began writing these books–my hope then, my hope now–was to tell the story as accurately and honestly as possible; to let the world know what actually occurred during that so-called “Good War,” not simply what we were told occurred. My hope then, my hope now, is that if enough people of good will read the books, understand the books, act upon the books, then the day will soon come when the world will rise up and with a united voice declare that nothing like this will ever happen again, not in their names, not in their times, not to them… not to anyone.

Unfortunately, and as horrible as the ensuing pages are, the reader should keep in mind that the following deals with only one nightmarish component of a war filled with Allied war crimes–terror bombing, torture, starvation, massacre, enslavement—crimes that are even now, after over 70 years, still largely unknown. Taken together, the ugly things that were done to the defeated Germans by the victorious Allies remain to this day the darkest and best-kept secret in human history.


Book-cover

Although millions of Germans were on the roads in full flight, millions more remained at their farms, villages and towns. Despite the rumors of Bolshevik savagery and the reality of Nemmersdorf the previous autumn, many Germans were determined to ride out the red storm, refusing to believe the situation was as bad as Nazi propaganda would have them believe

“About one thousand inhabitants defied danger and remained in Schoenwald,” ran a typical account. “[T]hey did not really believe that the Russians were as cruel and inhuman as they were reputed to be, but hoped to win over the latter by welcoming them and being hospitiable.”

“Things never turn out either as well or as badly as one expects,” explained an old German adage, an adage that those who remained now desperately embraced. Nevertheless, as a precaution, many in Schoenwald and elsewhere took time to bury valuables, hang out white flags and hide their liquor in cellars. When these last safety measures were taken, there was little the people could do but watch, wait and pray to God their decision had been correct. For many, an answer came soon enough. Wrote a priest from the city of Lauban:

In the evening I climbed up onto the roof of the church and gazed at the countryside around me. Without being a prophet I realized that disaster was about to overtake us—a terrible disaster, for the heathens were rapidly approaching.

I could see the reflection of a fire on the horizon. It seemed to be moving… It was as though a wind of destruction and desolation swept the countryside…

It was as though there were a sinister warning in the very air. The whole sky was ablaze and the air seemed to vibrate with the rumble of the Soviet tanks, as they came nearer and nearer.

For the next several days, the fight for Lauban went on. “Shells and artillery fire rent the air and the concentrated fire of the tanks grew fiercer and fiercer,” the priest continues. “The thunder of the cannon which continued without pause was deafening. There was a stifling smell of sulfur.”

[A]bout noon some German soldiers came to the convent and told us that the Russians were likely to arrive in about an hour’s time… The tumult and commotion overhead grew louder and louder. We could hear soldiers tramping about overhead, but we could not tell whether they were Germans or Russians…

[B]efore we had a chance to get out of the cellar the first lot of Russians appeared. They stood at the entrance to the cellar and were obviously very surprised to find human creatures down here. They soon disappeared again, however. They did not look as bad as we had expected and most of us were rather relieved.

In numerous other towns and villages, frightened German civilians were also “rather relieved” upon their initial encounter with the Red Army. “[T]he first Russian troops entered the village from the east,” remembered one witness from Schoenwald. “This went off quite peacefully, no shots were fired, the Germans served food and drink to the Russians, and the latter were very amiable. Any misgivings, which some of the inhabitants of the village might have had, vanished.”

“One moment the streets were deserted, and the next moment they were full of Russians,” added a little girl from another village. “I was in our bedroom upstairs at the time, watching from a corner window partly facing the street. I thought I’d carefully lift a corner of the blanket covering that window to take a peek… I was spotted by an old Russian soldier sitting in the front of a covered wagon pulled by two enormous horses. He smiled at me and waved.”

“Most of them were of strong and sturdy build,” a resident of Kunzendorf observed. “And all of them, as they confronted us, were armed to the teeth—with revolvers and pistols of every type… They were attired in dirty, brownish, padded trousers and jackets, and on their heads they wore fur-caps.”

Composed largely of White Russians and Ukrainians, many Germans were shocked that the enemy often looked, sounded, and acted, much like themselves. Recalled Lali Horstmann:

There was a loud hammering on the door, which echoed through the house. When my husband opened the door, a tall, fair-haired officer… stood on the doorstep… When he entered the room, the Russian Army itself was in our home, taking possession. As always, reality differed from anticipation, for it was not he who was violent, but Bibi who flew at his legs before we could stop her, while the soldier made a friendly gesture towards the outraged little dog… He talked in the serious tones of a kindly grown-up soothing frightened children, and helpless though we were, we had a mutual respect for each other’s unalterable position. He stalked through the rooms in a formal search for German deserters. Then, his duty done, he gravely saluted with great dignity and departed, leaving us speechless and trembling.

Unfortunately, the fact that one Russian like the above might display proper conduct did not guarantee that the next would. The lack of consistency or a predictable policy among Soviet front line troops was one of the most confusing and paralyzing aspects of the Russian occupation. From a rural estate, Renate Hoffman wrote:

[W]e saw a Russian ride through the main gate on a horse. He must have been drunk because he fell off. A second Russian came, then a third. They staggered and reeled their way to the door and entered the house. It was worse than we had ever imagined. One of them went straight to the telephone, ripped it off the wall, and threw it on the floor… Another Russian went to the radio and threw that on the floor, making sure we no longer heard any more news broadcasts. More men came in. They raged through the house, going from room to room. They stormed into the kitchen and demanded the cook make them something to eat. There must have been about forty soldiers.

I took the children outside and hid them behind some bushes. Inside, we ran from one corner to the other, not knowing what to do. A man from the nearby village passed by and reported that the Russians were acting like animals everywhere… After hours of this, a Russian officer showed up with an interpreter… He was wearing a perfectly tailored uniform, an impressive looking man, and also wearing white gloves! This officer told us, through his translator, that he was confiscating the house and was giving us five minutes to leave the estate.

Continues a witness from Kaltwasser:

When the shelling ceased we ventured out of the cellar once more, but we had only got as far as the stairs when we saw… a Pole, coming towards us with a Russian officer and another man. We hoped for the best, but the interpreter promptly demanded our watches and rings. In fact, he actually tore my watch off its chain, and made the women remove all their rings, bracelets, and necklaces. We were horrified when the Russian officer and the interpreter seized hold of Mrs. M. and my aunt and dragged them off. When they eventually came back we went to the vicarage. The house was full of Russians and they had already wrought havoc in all the rooms. Some of them had ransacked the pantry and were gorging the food they had found there. Others had opened all the drawers and cupboards and thrown the contents onto the floor… Russians continued to raid the house all day long. They played the mouth-organ and the harmonium and set the gramophone going. There was a bottle of pure alcohol in the house and they drained it undiluted. They swarmed into the pantry and ate all the preserves… When it grew dark they set fire to the school. We did not dare go to bed as one lot of soldiers after another kept raiding the house… At about three o’clock in the morning a savage-looking Russian appeared and searched us. We had already been searched innumerable times by other Russians… In the course of their searches one of them opened the wardrobe and slashed all the garments to pieces with his dagger.

Traumatic as first encounters were, when the shock troops moved off many Germans would concur that the experience had not been as bad as feared. While rapes had occurred and while many German men of military age had been marched east or shot on the spot, the front line soldier was more concerned with fighting and survival than with loot, rape and revenge. Not so with those who followed. In numerous instances, before Red combat officers and men pushed on they turned to the helpless civilians with stone-like faces: “The Mongols are coming… Very bad men. You go quick. Go quick.”

Composed largely of Mongols and other Asians, as well as convicts and Jewish commissars, these men who formed the second wave of troops were regarded, even by their own comrades, as utterly merciless. Terrified by the news, many Germans did attempt to flee and move in the wake of the first Soviet wave. Most, however, found themselves trapped and could do little more than hide young girls and once again pray that their worst fears were unfounded. After a wait of sometimes days, but normally only hours, the dreaded second wave arrived. There were no preliminaries.

Unlike storm troops, who cautiously entered towns and villages and slipped nervously from door to door, the rear echelons burst noisily into communities atop trucks, tanks or peasant carts crammed high with loot. Often wildly drunk, many wore a bizarre array of stolen clothes and gaudy jewelry. Adding to the chaos were herds of bellowing cattle and sheep.

“It was almost like a scene from the Middle Ages—a migration, no less,” said one stunned observer.

Soon after the “carnival columns” halted in a German town, hell on earth was unleashed. “It seemed as though the devil himself had come,” a witness from Silesia wrote. “The ‘Mongol barbarism of the Asiatic plains’ had come not in a propaganda phrase but in the flesh.

raped-german-girl

“The Monghols are coming!”

While flames shot up from different corners of the towns and gunfire erupted as citizens were murdered in the streets, the invaders soon began kicking in doors to homes, shops and churches. “[A] whole horde of Asiatic-looking fellows appeared and started searching the cellar,” recalled one priest. “The place was a dreadful sight by the time they had finished. The room was already full of smoke and I begged one of the Russians to let us out… Were they going to let us be burnt to death? After a while, however, a more civilized-looking Russian appeared and I repeated my request. He led us out to… the courtyard of the convent. The noise was deafening—the raucous shouts of the Russians, the crackling of the flames, the crashing of beams and brickwork.”

Many horrified Germans tried to greet with a smile their strange visitors. Revealed one woman from a boarding house in Berbitz:

As a precaution, the landlord, Mr. Grebmann, had lined the vestibule with liquor bottles in the naive hope that his house might thereby be spared from ransacking. To the succeeding troop of slant-eyed Mongolians, the tenants brought their jewelry and watches. Hysterical, Mrs. Friedel embraced one of the greasy Kirgis and drank with him from the same bottle, and the elderly Mr. Grebmann patted them familiarly on the back… One of the Mongolians held up my Tom’s tall leather boots triumphantly, the other one put my rings into his pants pocket…

Scarcely had this second detachment left the house and we were beginning to breathe freely, when fists once more thundered at the door: thus it kept up the whole day. The house doors were not permitted to be locked any more. Each took what he wanted either in a more or less harmless or in a malicious way. Soon we and the Russians were wading knee-deep in thrown-around clothing, laundry and bits of smashed dishes…

As soon as a new detachment of Russians entered the house noisily, we squatted trembling about the round table in Grebmann’s living room. One of the soldiers sat at the table with us with pistol disengaged and demanded schnapps or vodka, while the others rummaged around the house… [N]o one dared to speak. We women sat with downcast eyes and lowered head. Someone had told us never to look a Russian in the eye, otherwise we would be lost…

Before long the inside of the house looked as if a band of robbers had lived there… The fellows had cut the beds up into little pieces, slit open the upholstered chairs, thrown furniture around; had slashed pictures, despoiled books, cracked eggs against the wall; had poured liqueur over the rugs, torn curtains down, and scattered the entire contents of all the closets and drawers all over.

One of the most painful shocks for me was to see how two of the ruffians with their heavy boots kicked the chest in which I had my beautiful porcelain wrapped in tissue paper and cotton wadding. They were all treasured pieces… My most beautiful piece… was used by one of them as a toilet.

As a rule, the Soviets generally sought out gold and jewelry first, with an especial eye for “uri,” or wristwatches. It was not unusual to see Red troops laden with necklaces and gold chains or sporting as many as a dozen watches on each arm. When the people had been plucked clean of valuables, interest usually turned to liquor. In their mad quest for “wodka,” soldiers greedily imbibed everything from fine wines and champagne to rubbing alcohol and perfume. Red troops, observed one woman, were “crazy for anything even smelling of alcohol.”

And then…

“Rape was a word that [had] occurred again and again in [our] conversation,” admitted Lali Horstmann. “It was an expression which caused no pang of fear in our times for its meaning was purely figurative—‘to be ravished’ belonged to the realm of lyrical poetry. Now its original sense was terrifyingly restored and brought us face to face with a new peril.”

“Suddenly the door of the room we were in was opened and some soldiers entered,” a frightened boy recalled as he sat huddled with a group of women in a dark room. “One or two matches were struck and I saw that there were about eight Russians in the room who were obviously looking for women.”

The child continues:

As I crouched there in my corner I saw one of the Russians coming towards me. The match he held in his hand went out. I felt, rather than saw, a hand reach out towards me. I had a fur cap on my head, and suddenly I felt fingers tracing curl-like movements on my temple. For a brief moment I did not know what to make of this, but the next instant, when a loud “No” resounded through the room, I thanked God with all my heart that I was not a woman or a girl. Meanwhile the beasts had spotted their victims and shared them out. Then they suddenly started shooting at random. But it was dark in the room and no one could see where the shots were being fired or who was hit. I heard wails and groans and voices calling out to me to help, but there was nothing I could do. Right next to me poor defenseless women were being ravished in the presence of their children.

Merely because a female had been raped once was no guarantee she would not be assaulted again and again. “Many of the girls were raped as often as ten times a night, and even more,” said a witness from Neustadt.

“There was never a moment’s peace either by day or at night,” added another victim:

The Russians were coming and going the whole time and they kept eying us greedily. The nights were dreadful because we were never safe for a moment. The women were raped, not once or twice but ten, twenty, thirty and a hundred times, and it was all the same to the Russians whether they raped mere children or old women. The youngest victim in the row houses where we lived was ten years of age and the oldest one was over seventy… I am sure that wild and hungry animals would not have behaved any differently.

Wrote one girl from Posen who desperately clung to a cousin for safety:

When we were lying in bed at night we kept hearing steps coming up the stairs… They beat on the door with their rifle-butts, until it was opened. Without any consideration for my mother and aunt, who had to get out of bed, we were raped by the Russians, who always held a machine pistol in one hand. They lay in bed with their dirty boots on, until the next lot came. As there was no light, everything was done by pocket torches, and we did not even know what the beasts looked like.

Like hunted prey leading predators from their young, some mothers instinctively sacrificed themselves. Recorded one little girl, ten-year-old Mignon Fries:

[S]he told us in a stern voice to go outside to play and under no circumstances to come back in. No matter what we heard, until she herself would come for us, no matter how long it took. Fearfully we looked at her even though we didn’t know exactly what we were afraid of… We went outside and stood around for awhile not knowing what to do, just listening to the noise in the apartment. My mother had just closed all the windows but we could still hear the soldiers talking, laughing and shouting. Then the music started and before long the soldiers were singing…

The day gave way to evening, it got rather chilly and still we were outside and the “party” got noisier. Every once in a while a soldier would open a window and throw an empty vodka bottle outside. Sometimes the music would stop for a while, but the singing and shouting continued. As it got later and later we became very hungry and cold, but having been raised in an atmosphere of strict obedience we didn’t dare go back in the house against our mother’s orders and just huddled against the wall of the shed in the garden trying to keep each other warm… The music and the singing broke off as suddenly as it had started… Within minutes it was all over and all the soldiers left the house… But it was a long time before our mother finally came out to get us. She was very pale and hugged both of us very tightly for a long time and we could feel her body shaking.

If front-line troops had displayed unpredictability regarding rape, the second wave did not. “All of us, without exception, suffered the same,” revealed one victim.

“And to make matters worse,” added a witness from Neisse, “these atrocities were not committed secretly or in hidden corners but in public, in churches, on the streets, and on the squares… Mothers were raped in the presence of their children, girls were raped in front of their brothers.”

“They… raped women and girls… in ditches and by the wayside, and as a rule not once but several times,” echoed another viewer. “Sometimes a whole bunch of soldiers would seize hold of one woman and all rape her.”

For those Germans who had naively imagined that they might “win over” the Soviets with kindness and courtesy, they now understood, too late, that Nazi propaganda had in this instance grossly understated the threat, rather than exaggerated it. “[T]he atrocity reports in the newspapers were harmless, compared to reality,” one incredulous victim revealed.

While many upright Russian officers courageously stepped in and risked their own lives to stop the murders and rapes, their efforts were little more than a drop of water to a forest fire.

“[A]ll of us knew very well that if the girls were German they could be raped and then shot,” admitted Alexander Solzhenitsyn. “This was almost a combat distinction.”

“There will be no mercy—for no one,” ran one Russian general’s order to his men. “It is pointless to ask our troops to exercise mercy.”

“Kill them all, men, old men, children and the women, after you have amused yourself with them,” urged the Jewish propagandist, Ilya Ehrenberg, in his flaming leaflets that were showered down from airplanes. “Kill. Nothing in Germany is guiltless, neither the living nor the yet unborn… Break the racial pride of the German women. Take her as your legitimate booty. Kill, you brave soldiers of the victorious Soviet Army.”

Springing from house to house and victim to victim “like wild beasts,” the drunken horde was determined to embrace such words as the above at their literal worst.

“When the Russians eventually tired of looting, robbing, murdering, and ill-treating the women and girls, they set fire to a considerable part of the village and razed it to the ground,” said a survivor of Schoenwald, the small community that had dismissed rumors of Russian ruthlessness and opted to welcome them instead.

Much like Schoenwald, one town after another was swiftly enveloped by the howling red storm… with the same results.

“And as we were then hauled out of the cellar,” recalled a woman who, along with her mother and grandmother had been raped repeatedly, “and as they stood there with their machine guns, my mother said, ‘Well, now we’ll probably be shot.’ And I said, ‘It’s all the same to me.’ It really was all the same to me.”

You can imagine Asian cruelty. “Frau, come,” that was the slogan. “Frau, come.” And I was so furious, because I’d had it up to here… [H]e had me in such a clinch I couldn’t free myself; with my elbow I hit him in the pit of his stomach. That definitely hurt him, and he yelled, “You, I shoot.” And he was brandishing this kind of machine gun around my nose and then I said, “Then shoot.” Yelled it, yelled it just like he did. “Then shoot.”

Though this woman miraculously lived, many who offered even token resistance did not. Wrote a witness from Bauschdorf:

Emilie Ertelt… wanted to protect her fifteen-year old daughter, who had been raped sixteen times on one and the same day. Holding a lighted candle in her hand, Mrs. Ertelt, and all those present in the room began to pray for her daughter… [F]our shots were suddenly fired at us. After a few moments some more Russians appeared and started shooting at Mrs. Ertelt, wounding her in the head. The blood streamed down her face, and the nuns who were present went to her assistance and bandaged her head. Soon afterwards another Russian appeared, a brutal-looking fellow… and fired a shot at close range. Mrs. Ertelt was killed instantaneously.

german kids

German victims of Red Army savages

Surrounded by Soviets, flight was simply not a sane option for females—and yet, some tried. One young teacher from Kriescht ran terror-stricken into the nearby woods. The woman was soon found, however, and, according to a chronicler, “they drove her out on the road stark naked, and many soldiers used her one after the other. She reached her village crawling on hands and knees along the ditch, through mud and snow.”

Another group of females found temporary haven in a barn near Schoeneiche. But again, the refuge was swiftly discovered. Remembered one who was there:

They burst in, drunk with vodka and with victory, looking for women. When they saw only older women and children hiding behind a pile of carpets, they must have suspected that somewhere younger bodies were being concealed, and they started to ram their bayonets into the carpets. Here and there first and then systematically… Nobody knows how many young girls were killed instantly that night. Eventually, the muffled cries of anguish and pain gave the hiding places away, and the victors started unrolling their prey. They chased those girls that had remained unhurt through the barn… By then the barn looked like a battle field with wounded women on the floor right next to screaming and fighting victims forced to endure repeated and violent acts of rape.

Faced by relentless assaults, with flight out of the question, females tried a variety of stratagems to save themselves. “Some of us tried to make ourselves as unattractive as possible by rouging the tips of our noses, putting gray powder on our upper lips to look like mustaches, and combing out our hair wildly,” revealed Lali Horstmann. Others placed pillows under their dresses and hobbled with sticks to appear like hunchbacks. One crazed woman, clad in an alluring night gown, left her door open purposely to attract soldiers to where she was lying in bed, in the hope of finding a protector.

“Two Russians, who had entered for a moment stood speechless. Then both spat in disgust, using a coarse word, shocked to the core by a woman who could offer herself to them. They went on to the room next door, from where soon came cries for help from the girl’s grandmother, aged sixty-nine. Her valiant defense of her honor had made her more attractive than the pretty, too willing girl.”

Regarding “willing” women such as the above as “unclean,” Red troops were as likely as not to kill on the spot such individuals. Many frantic females mistakenly assumed a house of God would provide protection. In fact, churches were usually the rapists’ first stop. Agonized a priest from Neisse:

The girls, women and nuns were raped incessantly for hours on end, the soldiers standing in queues, the officers at the head of the queues, in front of their victims. During the first night many of the nuns and women were raped as many as fifty times. Some of the nuns who resisted with all their strength were shot, others were ill-treated in a dreadful manner until they were too exhausted to offer any resistance. The Russians knocked them down, kicked them, beat them on the head and in the face with the butt-end of their revolvers and rifles, until they finally collapsed and in this unconscious condition became the helpless victims of brutish passion, which was so inhuman as to be inconceivable. The same dreadful scenes were enacted in the hospitals, homes for the aged, and other such institutions. Even nuns who were seventy and eighty years old and were ill and bedridden were raped and ill-treated by these barbarians.

Those women pregnant, on their menstrual cycle, or enduring diarrhea, suffered like all the rest. Nothing, it seemed—not age, ailment or ugliness—could repel the Red rapist. Even death was no defense.

“I… saw some twenty Red Army men standing in line before the corpse of a woman certainly beyond sixty years of age who had been raped to death,” one sickened witness recorded. “They were shouting and laughing and waiting for their satisfaction over her dead body.”

As the above viewer went on to add, and as numerous examples attest, such ghoulish depravities were not isolated events.

Etiology

Or:

Why do some westerners hate the West?

The book I am presently writing will ponder on subjects touched in Kevin MacDonald’s piece, “Psychopathology and Racial Self-Hate among Whites”: that some adult whites hate the West as a pathologic defense mechanism, or displaced reaction, against earlier abuse as children.

I’m writing it because today’s suicidal ethos throughout the West is unimaginably deeper than anything that the common white nationalist has glimpsed. While pundits are good in describing part of the etiology of western decline, especially the Jewish question, with the exception of Tom Sunic they are clueless about the primary and the secondary causes of white decline: capitalism and Christianity (my most recent entries on these subjects can be read here and here).

In addition to capitalism, Christianity and the Judeo-liberal media, the most extreme cases of self-hatred can be traced back to the way some of us were raised by our parents, and the defense mechanisms we unconsciously built in response to the family dynamics. Although I believe this is the universal cause of extreme self-loathing, in the sense of aversion towards our parents’ culture, in a 2009 series originally written in my mother language I used a single case-study to illustrate why a westerner I interacted with hates her culture to the point of desiring its destruction.

My translation of “Una canaria apañada” can now be read in English at Ex Libris.

Published in: on December 31, 2014 at 10:00 pm  Comments (1)  
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Praise for The West’s Darkest Hour

Some of the warmest acknowledgments
we have received here and elsewhere:

 

At The Daily Stormer Black Swan said:

Fantastic website, especially the excerpts from Hellstrom. Keep up the great work, your website is an invaluable resource for us and I link to it whenever and wherever I can.

 

WDHs_angel
 

Guest commented on “Parting word”:

Really enjoyed your tract on the psychological culture of the Mexican Indian Civilization. Really thought provoking stuff.

 

Balrung commented:

I’m very sorry to see you go. You are a voice in the wilderness, and were very helpful in my racial awakening. Reading your blog hasn’t been just food for thought; it has also been a force for concrete action for me personally and those in my sphere of influence. Never have I heard someone speak with such passion and intensity as you. And never has it been needed so much rather than the “compromise” we get from too many who claim to be friends of the Aryan!

 

Richard commented:

Dear Chechar: Thanks for your great work. You have inspired me and my comrades, leaving a deep impact in our minds. On our blog we will translate your The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour. Greetings from Germany.

 

An email from Patrick:

Dear César: The high quality of your site and writings made me come out of my shell to express my appreciation, even admiration. We do seem to be in very close agreement on all key points. You may be even more of an absolutist and perfectionist than myself.

 

Snake commented on Day of Wrath:

A hearty thanks to you, César! Your writings have been crucial to my moral development these last few years (particularly the Himmler-esque pieces and your polemics against modern music).

 

A visitor from Belgium:

Dear César: Hereby I’d just like to let you know how much I appreciate the insights on your blog. I felt that I needed to send you this mail to remind you that your message inspires more people than you’d think. Most people—while greatly appreciative of your blog—will merely read it, but not comment. Therefore I’d imagine you’d sometimes feel like talking to a wall, which isn’t the case.

 

Chrisjankyj commented on “The Red Giant”:

This post and comments are so true, it’s a pity it falls on mostly deaf ears. This blog is amazing. I’ve spent almost three weeks straight reading this. My book reading has fallen by the way-side… I don’t have much else to add to this post. It moved me enough to comment. I feel exactly and have expressed to others the above points, only to feel the backlash. Christianity is the poison of all races along with the other Abrahamic or Adamic religions.

 

Cattle commented on “The One Ring”:

Dear Chechar: I just want to tell you that I think your blog is by far the most decent and esthetic white nationalist blog I have come across. Like you, I am looking forward to the Day of the Rope.

 

Mister Deutsch said:

You have dealt with the homosexual issue very eloquently. By far, you are the best thinker in modern WN to date that I have read (I include a lot of scholars in that category with the possible exception of Tom Sunic). Keep up the good work.

 

A comment by Vikingbitch:

The West’s Darkest Hour has taught me that I must hate in order to survive as a white person.

 

A comment by Kurwenal:

I have just finished reading both chapters of Hojas Susurrantes. Congratulations! The book is well-written, very touching and controversial (in a positive sense): “El Retorno de Quetzalcóatl” [translated here]: Spine-chilling… I had nightmares last night. But also fascinating! Especially everything related to psychohistory and the evolution of consciousness.

 

A comment by Ivan Shatov:

First of all, fabulous blog. Absolutely fantastic. Thank you so much for your time and effort. When I first came across your initial blog I balked at the “antisemitism” and white nationalism. Your post on Pride and Prejudice notwithstanding I removed you from my links. But, I was fortunate to finally awaken.

 

Elviswinehouse commented on “New leaves”:

This condensation of the main points in March of the Titans has been extremely helpful to my understanding of Western history. The same can be said of what you have done with Hellstorm. I thank you very much.

In these modern times many folks—for various reasons—will not even begin to read an entire book (god forbid!). But the way you have ‘parcelled up’ Hellstorm and March of the Titans makes excellent reading and makes an excellent educational tool for the vast majority to get informed. It is a good idea to do this, and as useful propaganda, it is extremely effective. Just what we need! Again, many, many thanks my friend.

 

Mary commented on "The ascent of the soul":

A truly beautiful post, thank you. It captures the best of what you are :)

 

On The Daily Stormer Erik commented:

I really owe you for that blog you write. It is the best resource I have ever found for our White Race.

It really is a shinning tower of wisdom amidst the depraved junk of this Judeo-Western culture. I turn to it time and again, and I especially loved the information exposing Christianity, and the article on Lycanthropy. I read that particular one over and over as it lays out in chilling detail the ghastly future which awaits us and our women.

I can’t thank you enough.

 

IFA on “Civilisation's 'Man—the measure of all things'”:

Bravo on your insightful essay. Your sense of aesthetics is acute. I think you’re one of those rare birds: a Son of the West. You go beyond the insipid race-realism of culturally-violating white nationalists and espouse a return to European cultural values and concepts.

The majority of WNs are very lowbrow and, unbeknownst to themselves, agents of the Jewish and modernistic culture of decay. Don’t expect anything out of the overwhelming majority of white nationalists. They are degenerate down to the marrow.

 

Freedom Cobra said:

Your insights into psychiatry hit close to home. A rather important woman in my life has suffered immeasurably at the hands of the “mental health” industry. I’ve witnessed the drugging you mentioned in a previous post. Institutionalized horrors like these should fill nationalists with more dread than anything an external foe can do. So to cut my rambling short, thank you again!

 

Michael Wikander commented on “On music”:

I have been reading your articles with a lot of joy. I recognize many elements in your life, and it is heartening to meet someone who wrestles with these, especially Alice Miller and abuse. I loved your review of her Hitler nonsense! I agree totally that your musical tastes define who you are!…

Best regards, or better: Sieg Heil!

 

Hammerheart said:

OK I have read “Dies Irae” and “A postscript to Dies Irae”, and about 20 pages of material on either side… I have a “This…is…*it*!” moment. Thank god I found this material. Also, re: [Alice] Miller, your material basically theoretically predicts the Rotherham horror and, in hindsight, is prescient. OMG Chechar you is da bomb, homey. This is stupendous; this PDF monstronsity I will be reading and re-reading for a month. Oh thank god, I was beginning to question my sanity.

Published in: on November 8, 2014 at 10:10 pm  Comments (10)  

Extermination • IV

Libro
 
In a Louis XVI-style bedroom
 

In May 2012 I received a surprise in the cursed house.* Someone had left a box on the outside edge of the restroom for visitors. Opening it I saw something that amazed me: a little, divine animal! It looked like a bunny of short life but it was so beautiful and graceful that it could not be a rabbit, I thought. It took me time to recognize that it was actually a white bunny, but so otherworldly I felt that I had difficulty in reconciling my two hemispheres: one saying it could only be a divine creature, and another saying it was a little rabbit who had come to the world not long ago.

Almost abandoned in a box without custody, it had been one of many bunnies of a birthday gift to the children of a party bought by one of my irresponsible brothers, the father of the celebrated child. In a subsequent chapter I tell you how I got to interact with the creature, whom I rescued from an uncertain fate because of the pettiness of my family and Mexicans in general. Previously I had never interacted in such way with an animal; in fact, I never wanted to have pet even though I did not get married and have no offspring. But seeing such defenseless being at the mercy of the modified apes in my family moved me to adapt it. I’ll tell stories but in this chapter all I can add is that, over time, the white rabbit would help me to finally find my way out of the inverted world of Alice.

Just under two and a half years later I would receive a shock that changed the planned architecture of this book. The newspaper The Mirror reported that four young males of Seaham in Durham, England, between seventeen and twenty raped, tortured and murdered Percy: a bunny that, in the picture you can see on the internet with the naked young, looks identical to my pet, who is now an adult rabbit.

They tried to shave Percy, set her alight, tried to drown her and then threw her still alive from the window. The human monsters, all white, even filmed with a cell what they did: a video that the owner of the bunny (also white) could not see when the police arrested the perpetrators; just a still picture to identify the missing pet. The punishment for this crime was insignificant in today’s Britain. I would have ordered torture—exactly what they did to the rabbit—and then throwing them out the window to let them die in agony lying on the ground (tit for tat). In fact, if by some miracle of fate an extraterrestrial force had empowered me like a Karellen on my recent trip to the UK, I would have done it already.

We must remember that, had the Anglo-Saxon demons allowed Germany an empire from the Atlantic to the Urals, in areas under the Nazi flag the torment animals would have slowed considerably. Personally, I consider Hermann Göring my patron saint: and he should also be the patron for those who yearn for a world free of such abuses of human power. Never forget the caricature of 1933 on how freed animals—no more vivisection! no more animal testing!—salute their savior Hermann.

nazi-cartoon

Unlike my beloved Nazis, in both DW and my blog in English I talked about what the non-Nazis are capable to do with defenseless animals. I mentioned fur factories in China where some mammals are skinned alive; farms in Mexico where they hang the rabbits from their ears to death, something that has also happened in some Australian farms. This and what they did to Percy pierced my soul. Her photo in The Mirror shows her in a posture of quiet confidence before the humans who would torture her: identical image to the positions of how my own bunny—so used like Percy to benign owners—peacefully relaxes in human presence. The betrayal of the universe that Percy must have experienced facing the change from human angels to human devils is such that I have dedicated this book to her memory.

Although what those evil humans in Durham did was condemned by other English, so-called normal people do not stay behind. Human beings whom I consider exterminable are capable of pouring concentrated solutions for days in laboratory rabbits, and to prevent they close their eyes they fasten their lids with tongs! (How many women are unaware that their cosmetics are experimented such way…) This happens now with the blessing of society precisely because World War II was won by the wicked. Few know that in 1944-1947 the Soviets, Jews and Americans practiced a holocaust of Germans, the “Hellstorm” preventing inter alia that the benign policies of Hermann, who had saved our cousins in the brief historical window represented by the Third Reich, were implemented in the post-war West.

The philosopher of science Thomas Kuhn used the optical illusion of the duck-rabbit to show how a “paradigm shift” makes you see the same information in a completely different way. If westerners had not passed through a brainwashing process, instead of seeing a duck (the Nazis were evil) they would see a rabbit (they were actually good!). I noticed this in 1992 when studying the Faces of Bélmez in a small village of Andalusia. I started believing that the faces of the kitchen of María Gómez Cámara were a paranormal phenomenon until some day, looking at the face called La Pelona, I made a change in my inner subjectivity. I experienced the feeling that the broad strokes of the face were the work of human hand, shattering the parapsychological research upon which I had placed my hopes. Well ahead the book I will tell the details of that misadventure in Spain; suffice it to say that the paradigm shift comes from the inner will. Following the example of Kuhn, the volitional faculty of my mind stopped seeing a bird of the family Anatidae and discovered an Oryctolagus cuniculus.

duck-rabbit_illusion

The same can happen in our inner eye while revaluating Christian and neo-Christian values to their National Socialist antithesis (cf. FR and DW). Why do white nationalists, most of whom are Christian theists and neo-Christian atheists and both scared of The Turner Diaries are dissociated psychologically? Because, unlike William Pierce, with their stupid love for the modified apes they condemn other animals to a torture for millennia—while potentially the Aryans, who are going extinct, are capable of becoming Görings. For a truly integrated individual it becomes a no-brainer that what is moral is putting a screeching halt to the sadism towards our cousins, and the only way to do that is by dispatching the human devils. A change from love to hatred for sinful mankind—great hatred I mean: a hatred à la Yahweh from the mouth of Jeremiah—represents a paradigm shift. Does the quote from the novel Childhood’s End by Arthur Clarke I included in the fifth and final book in HS is recalled? In that novel humans are metamorphosed into a higher being. I quote again one of these passages, but remember that in the novel Karellen was the leader of the aliens who visited Earth: physically indistinguishable from the Christian iconography of devils.

“If you want a single proof of the essential—how shall I put it—benevolence of the Overlords, think of that cruelty-to-animals order which they made within a month of their arrival. If I had had any doubts about Karellen before, that banished them—even though that order has caused me more trouble than anything else he’s ever done!

That was scarcely an exaggeration, Stormgren thought. The whole incident had been an extraordinary one, the first revelation of the Overlords’ hatred of cruelty. That, and their passion for justice and order, seemed to be the dominant emotions in their lives—as far as one could judge them by their actions.

And it was the only time Karellen had shown anger, or at least the appearance of anger. “You may kill one another if you wish,” the message had gone, “and that is a matter between you and your own laws. But if you slay, except for food or in self-defense, the beasts that share your world with you—then you may be answerable to me.”

No one knew how comprehensive this ban was supposed to be, or what Karellen would do to enforce it. They had not long to wait.

The Plaza de Toros was full when the matadors and their attendants began their processional entry. Everything seemed normal; the brilliant sunlight blazed harshly on the traditional costumes, the great crowd greeted its favorites as it had a hundred times before. Yet here and there faces were turned anxiously towards the sky, to the aloof silver shape fifty kilometers above Madrid.

Then the picadors had taken up their places and the bull had come snorting out into the arena. The skinny horses, nostrils wide with terror, had wheeled in the sunlight and their riders forced them to meet their enemy. The first lance flashed—made contact—and at that moment came a sound that had never been heard on earth before.

It was the sound of ten thousand people screaming with the pain of the same wound—ten thousand people who, when they had recovered from the shock, found themselves completely unharmed. But that was the end of that bullfight, and indeed of all bullfighting, for the news spread rapidly.

Before I woke to the real world and stop demonizing the Third Reich, Childhood’s End was my favorite book. Now I see the devil Karellen, as painted by Clarke, was too magnanimous to humans. The sole fact that there are seedy slaughterhouses in the Spanish-speaking world warrants more drastic steps than that character’s actions.

In Mexico compartments for calves are so narrow that they cannot even turn around in the cage. When growing up farmers cut horns, mark with iron and castrate without anesthesia. On trucks en route to the Mexican slaughterhouses the animals sometimes travel more than a day without food or drink; they arrive hungry, thirsty and dizzy to Hell. The first thing the poor animals see in the slaughterhouse is a gruesome spectacle: pools of blood and skinned or dismembered carcasses of other cows; severed heads on the floor… They enter the first circles of hell in a state of panic. Arriving at the seventh the blow the killers give on the cow’s head does not always kill it. Sometimes this noble animal is injured, in shock and with the deepest pain wondering with no language why the demons of hell do you what they do. Mexicans are so exterminable that they usually put live pigs into an enormous pool of boiling water so that the Gehenna’s pain by fire makes the animal drop off its hairs. (In Mexico people are fond of eating pork rind—incidentally, a treat for my father—and they don’t like seeing hairs on it.)

The Spaniards are not left far behind. They prepare the bull in a bullfight to make it less dangerous by cutting the horns’ tips, smearing petroleum jelly on its eyes to blur the vision and an irritant solution onto the legs so that the animal will be always moving around the bull ring. (Before, they would have stuck a needle into the genitals to stunt their growth.) They put tow into its nose for making it harder to breathe; they give strong laxatives before the fight, and beat its loins and kidneys with sacks before it faces the matador. (And let us not mention what can be seen in the Spanish and Latin American television after the bull enters the arena.)

Only now it may be glimpsed the power of my unconscious during the dream in Madrid. If from the unconscious we take it not only to consciousness but to the super-consciousness it means that most humans should not exist. It is not enough that, according to polls, the majority of Spaniards today are uninterested in bullfighting. The mere fact that they and other people are involved in the chain of cruelty to animals—either using a product of feminine vanity experimented on the eyes of a bunny who was prevented from closing its eyelids, or gobbling the cutlet of a pig that had been submerged alive in boiling water—should be enough to arouse the exterminating hatred of the alien devil. Consider for example this passage from a commentary by one J. Marone, who in 2005 reviewed for Amazon Books Slaughterhouse: The Shocking Story of Greed, Neglect, and Inhumane Treatment Inside the US Meat Industry:

Cows, pigs and chickens are taken through the slaughter house alive. Cows are often alive all the way through the line, this includes while they are getting their legs chopped off with cutters—imagine that… They [those who work there] do not stop the line for these inconveniences. The workers shove electric prods in their rectums and eyes—deep into the sockets occasionally pulling out the eye to get them moving to the slaughter line.

After reading this [the book] I will never eat another piece of meat again. It is not my decision to make any other living thing suffer. But I find it amazing that when you go to share this book, people don’t want to know. They would rather stay ignorant and that in itself has shocked me tremendously.

The italics from the last paragraph are mine, and express why it is not enough that humans claim ignorance, as almost every adult has heard what happens in the slaughterhouses. When recently in my preparations for writing this chapter I began to read what was happening in those places I promised myself, like Marone, not to put pieces of corpses of mammals or birds in my mouth again. And now that I write these lines I notice that, to be consistent, I must also leave the dairy. From now on I will not be complicit of what dairy cows suffer in Mexican farms, which will eventually be killed in such spine-chilling way anyway. (I’ll even quit eating eggs. In this country of exterminable Neanderthals they put five chickens in a cage of less than one square meter where they live a year or more with electric lights to prevent normal sleeping hours and having them laying eggs like crazy. No wonder that a visitor to these coops called those places “gallinaceous madhouses.”)

I do not believe in the postmortem survival of the soul in the Christian or Buddhist sense. But clearly, Anatole France was right to say that, until you’ve stopped eating animal flesh (or derivatives of tormented animals I would say), a part of your soul remains unawakened. The thought of France takes us back to the points made in the fourth book of HS, where the psychogenic evolution of man is exposed. If regarding childrearing the Spaniards had taken a psychogenic quantum leap compared to Amerindians who still ate flesh of their children, a new leap means developing, in our times, empathy for our cousins in the animal kingdom.

Unlike Hitler and other vegetarians of the Nazi party, most Aryans have not gone through that leap. Just look at the pictures of mammals in laboratory experiments performed throughout North America and Europe and see that mankind is truly a damned species. I won’t incur into the rudeness of adding those pictures in this chapter: that is a task I leave to my readers. What I’m getting at is that the development of empathy has not even reached white nationalism or neo-Nazism understood in the American way. For example, on page 731 of Freedom’s Sons, the last novel in the saga of Harold Covington about the creation of a white nation northwest of North America, the author gives as ignoble the prohibition of eating beef, and on page 884 he puts as noble the practice of a child to go out hunting rabbits not to eat them, but for pleasure.

A parenthesis: When I talk about the extermination of the Neanderthals, in which I include virtually all non-whites and a good part of whites, it is not that I have forgotten the Jews. By now it should be obvious that those who continue cruel Mosaic practices in their treatment of animals to be eaten (in addition to the Talmudic injunction to exterminate the best of the goyim) are shown at the top of my blacklist. So, when I talk to exterminate the Neanderthalesque whites in the future, it is perfectly understood that cities like Jerusalem or Tel Aviv had already been ethnically cleansed and renamed as Himmler City or Eichmann City.

Such exterminating fantasies would not seem unhealthy if we do a thought experiment. In the article that gave the title to DW I quoted a nonfiction book by Arthur Clarke in which he spoke of the “Judgment from the Stars” the earthlings could experience. If we imagine that in real life someone like a Karellen visited our planet, what is the first thing he would see from his distant ships of silver, far above the human swarms? Urban sprawl. Environmentally destructive industries and bringing the cameras closer, abject human misery and unimaginable suffering of other species that share the planet with us. If, as in Clarke’s novel, the visitor also possessed machines to study the past of the species he would also perceive, along the hell that the naked apes put their cousins in, that throughout history and prehistory these apes had behaved hideously with their own children. It is worthwhile summarizing the statistics of the fourth book in HS.

With their machines to literally see the human past this hypothetical extraterrestrial would be taken aghast at the extent of infanticide: from fifteen to fifty percent of the total number of births in prehistoric times. Already in historical times, he would see thousands of young children slaughtered ritually, offered to the Babylonian goddess Ishtar. He would see the sacrifice of the infants of the Pelasgians; of the Syrians to Jupiter and Juno and more infant offerings at Gezer and Egypt in the centuries the earthlings call 10th-8th before Christ. Not to mention what the visitor would see with his machines when focusing them on the ancient Semites of Carthage, where burning children alive ordained by their own parents reached its infamous zenith. Something similar our visitor could see about other Phoenicians, Canaanites, Moabites, Sepharvites and the ancient Hebrews: who in their origins offered their eldest son as a sacrifice to their god(s). With their magic to see our past, the alien visitor would learn that it was not until the 4th century of the Gregorian calendar that Valentinian decreed that families must raise all their children, although both the exposure as the abandonment of infants continued in Europe until a council took action against the custom of killing one’s own kids.

Far worse things would our visitor see in the lands inhabited by non-whites: thousands of babies, mostly female, abandoned in the streets of ancient China; and how those not abandoned were put to death in cold water. He would see that in feudal Japan they suffocated the baby with wet paper covering her nose and mouth; how infanticide was systematic in the feudal Rajputs in India, sometimes throwing their children alive to the crocodiles; and how in pre-Islamic Arabia they buried alive a number of newborn females.

With his technology based on unimaginable principles the visitor would also see that the inhabitants of sub-Saharan Africa killed their children much more often than did other races: in Årebo, the Nama Hottentots, the inhabitants of the Lake Victoria Nyanza, the Tswana, the Ilso, the people of the bush, the !Kung of the Kalahari Desert, the Kikuyu (the most populous group in what is now Kenya), the Tswana, the Vadshagga, the Ibo village in Nigeria where the neonate was also buried alive or the Kuni, where every mother had killed at least one of their children. He would even see that child sacrifice was practiced in Zimbabwe as recently as the beginnings of the century the earthlings denominate 20th century. He would also see truly massive infanticides among the natives of the countless islands of Oceania, and in New Guinea, and even more among the extremely primitive aborigines of Australia, Tasmania and Polynesia. He would learn that in American tribes infanticide continued in times the practice had been abandoned in Europe, and also learn about the cannibalism among the Dene Amerindians and those of the Mackenzie Mountains; and that in the region now known as South Texas the Mariame practiced female infanticide on a large scale. He would see the same not only among the Central and South American tribes, but in the civilizations before the Spanish conquest where ritual slaughter of women and children suggests that they did it out of pure sadism. The hypothetical Karellen would see what I also mentioned in HS with reliable academic references: that some of these women and children were flayed on the face, or suffered eye mutilation before being executed. Finally, the visitor would see that, after the Conquest, the cruelty of the Mesoamerican and the Incan was prohibited by the Spanish only to be transferred to animals, which explains the cruelty in the slaughterhouses and farms at a time when our visitor does not have to use his devices to open the Complete Book of History and Prehistory of the species he studies.

It is clear where I want to go. If it is legitimate for this hypothetical alien to remove from the face of the Earth a newly-arrived species whose haughtiness blinds them from their evil, how can it be pathological that one of the terrestrials reaches the same conclusion? Just because, unlike the visitor, he does not have technological power?

The sad truth is that infanticide and human cruelty have not been atoned inwardly, only transferred onto our cousins.

In DW I spoke of the Star-Child. An eschatology from above would be a son of man returning on the clouds with great power and glory to judge mankind, or, in the new version of the myth, a David Bowman in a sphere of light approaching the Earth as in Kubrick’s film. But since I’m skeptical of both personal deities and intelligent civilizations in the Milky Way, I could conceive, rather than an eschatology “from above” an eschatology “from below.” I refer to the intra-psychic evolution of a human being while developing an infinitely more intense empathy of what the bulk of modified apes (whom I call Neanderthals) have developed.

The rhetoric currently in use among the protectors of children and animals in the West is only a first stammering of what we have in mind. Unlike the hypothetical Star-Child, the most fanatical “animal rights” activists whom I have personally met don’t even dare to see that, besides humans, other species must be removed from the Earth and its oceans. A Star-Child with mile-high empathy and powers would not tolerate, for example, the torture of several hours that a pack of killer whales inflict a whale calf while killing it to rip off its tongue. And pictures of hyenas eating a little elephant alive—there are video recordings of how a member of the pack rips the trunk of the alive elephant—speak for themselves and do not need lucubration on how we would proceed.

Animal-on-animal cruelty aside, the hatred that the metamorphosed human also feels for other modified apes around him can be glimpsed in the following anecdote. Before I went to England with plans to emigrate, I left my pet in the cursed house that, as we saw in the fifth book of HS, is virtually on Tlalpan Viaduct: a freeway that goes on the road to Cuernavaca where trucks and cars constantly pass, even well after midnight. Seeing my bunny in a cultivated garden that is paradise for him, but surrounded by such noise, especially at night, I imagined—with powers à la Bowman—eliminating all and every one of the Mexicans who drive that stretch of the road to avoid the background roar for my bunny. Such fantasy would not seem outlandish if, on a new scale of values, we value the modified apes negatively; and noble species of animals including lagomorph mammals, positively regardless of the relative size of their brains or sophistication of their culture.

It does not matter that to cleanse Tlalpan Viaduct from humans it requires eliminating millions of Mexicans, as there are millions who take that road. The interests of a single animal trump the interests of millions of humans, insofar as the modified apes are valued on the negative side of our scale. With the exception of a few nymphs as beautiful as Catalina who reside here, no inhabitant of this city is worth it—of male Criollos for example, I know exactly no one with honor or true nobility of soul. The sum of millions of modified apes in this city that Farnham O’Reilly declared that needs to be razed and transformed into a memorial atonement park dedicated to Nature does not give a positive for the mere fact that they are millions. It gives a large negative. Conversely, a single modified dinosaur (contemporary bird) or a lagomorph, as much as modest and discreet its life may be, is a small positive. The arithmetic with which the Star-Child judges the species on Earth, including Homo sapiens, has little to do with the standards about the “positive” and “negative” for humans.

A world of cultivated forests and Percys never again to be tortured by monstrous whites or of any other skin color is what shall inherit the Earth. It cannot be more significant that my most important works, Hojas Susurrantes and this one I am starting, Extermination, are dedicated to non-humans: a tree and a bunny.

Maxfield_Parrish_HilltopIn the final chapter of Childhood’s End the metamorphosed children eliminated all animal and plant life, except their own. I do not think we need to go that far. In the laws of the universe there is an Aristotelian golden mean between the apocalyptic children of the end and the law of the jungle that currently impose the naked apes. The mean is turning the world into an Elysian island. Young Clarke at twenty-nine beautifully described that place with his prose: the city of Lys in his first novella, Against the Fall of Night where, besides some animals, an evolved form of human being is allowed—a human where empathy is imposed and the original sin is gone. But let us go down the heights of genuine science fiction for a moment and return to the real world.

The monastic orders wrought by the Spanish crown alongside the soldiery, including some mendicant orders that protected the natives, did not represent a genuine empathy. The 16th century Spain was Quixote; and these orders represented a counterproductive version of empathy or compassion for those who suffer. What the Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians and eventually the Jesuits did in the Americas was quixotic folly: to conceive the naturals as souls to be saved.

In Tasmania and the Caribbean islands the Europeans would exterminate the natives but not having exterminated them in the American continent led to, over the Colonial period, the natives’ displacement of their sadism onto both their offspring (as we saw in HS) as the animals. If instead of catechizing they would have cornered the natives, as Americans would do in this continent, the New Spaniard psychoclass in the Americas would have reflected the Iberian psychoclass undyed of Mesoamerican sadism. The social engineering of the Counter-Reformation was the big culprit for the gestation of a mesticized cruelty between Spanish bullfighting and Amerindian sacrificial passion in this huge part of the continent.

The next chapter describes the stubborn infatuation of my father for the Dominican monk who protected Amerindians the most and originated, with his lamentations, the Black Legend against Spain. At the moment we can only say that the basis of my feelings towards humanity are already in these pages albeit very, very lightly sketched. HS was like the tunnel Dave suddenly found himself in: a vortex of colored lights where, terrified, he traveled at great speed across vast distances in space, viewing bizarre cosmological phenomena and strange landscapes of unusual colors. But HS ends before the final metamorphosis, before the new Odysseus discovers himself as middle aged in a bedroom designed in Louis XVI style; seeing progressively later versions of himself and, finally, as a very old man lying on a bed.

The rest of this book will explain how, due to the evilness in my family and society—Evil with capital E—, with no need of extraterrestrial agency as a black monolith at the foot of a bed for a centenarian elder dying in that bedroom, I suffered an inner metamorphosis and now come back to hate humanity so much as the Star-Child hated it.

On conservatives

“Not one of them should be allowed to vote, have any say whatsoever, or even reside in a future white homeland. We must turn our back on them completely, and let them live and perish in the hellholes that they helped the anti-whites bring about. What they have done to our people is so grotesquely awful that it should inspire authentic anger.”

Trainspotter

Published in: on November 30, 2013 at 12:57 pm  Comments (4)  

John Tyndall (1934-2005)

Or:

Before the BNP betrayed itself

“The day that our followers lose their ability to hate will be the day that they lose their power and their will to achieve anything worthwhile at all.”

—John Tyndall

 
TyndallDon’t miss British Paul Hickman’s premier radio-podcast aired today in a show that has been baptized “Voice of Albion.” Hickman is a National Socialist, and it is refreshing to listen that he has chosen classical music at the beginning and the end of his first episode instead of the common rock “music” we have to endure in most white nationalist sites.

It is also refreshing to know that Tyndall’s recorded voice sounds like the voice of a man instead of the feminized voices one hears in the programs of most white nationalists.

Published in: on October 27, 2013 at 6:11 pm  Comments (3)  

Animal hell & White sin

cute-bunnies
 

I am shocked. Tonight I went to the grocery store to buy some milk and saw a couple of typical Mexican kids, one with a rabbit in his arms. After talking about bunnies, the smaller kid of about eight years old told me a horror story.

At school his group was taken to a farm in Mexico to see all the farm animals. Unexpectedly, at some place he saw little bunnies, alive, strung up by their ears on wire. They were in excruciating pain, trying to escape by desperately moving, over the air, their little limbs. The older kid, while still carrying the female rabbit, his pet, told me that his brother came back traumatized for what he saw. The owner of the grocery, an old woman, commented that animal cruelty was so common, and that the farm landlords probably didn’t expect that the kids would pass through that specific place.

Exterminable monsters as the Mexican perpetrators of such animal torture may be, Whites are even worse. They are the ones who, like the kids I interviewed today, have exactly the right feelings of compassion that potentially could stop the crime. But they do nothing out of political correctness. With their WMD they could easily conquer Latin America, Africa, etc., and save the animals from hell. Alas, liberal Whites are so sinfully blind that they willfully ignore that, if their race goes extinct, that means hell—literally hell: thousands upon thousands of years of hell!—for the bunnies and the other farm animals that the colored people treat so bad.

Evil is described by Scott Peck as “militant ignorance.” Liberal Whites militantly like to ignore that the radical Other is not just like oneself. Paraphrasing Peck I would say that while most people are conscious of self-delusion at least on some level, evil liberals—i.e., most Whites—actively and militantly refuse elemental consciousness about the radical Other or non-white cultures.

If someone has any doubts about my ultimate dream—as written down in “Dies Irae”—, that billions of humans must die to make the world less hellish, please picture in your mind what these poor creatures are passing through this very moment here in Mexico and in other colored countries.

Liberals have been so astronomically idiotic, so evil; they so desperately want to believe that the colored are just like them, that they are under the impression that non-whites simply treat our brother animals as they do. If I were God I would punish the ones whom I gave most talents—Whites. Instead of making good use of their talents (e.g., conquering á la William Pierce all non-white lands), the white peoples just “went and hid their talents in the ground.”

This day, by the way, I linked “A Postscript to Dies Irae” on the sidebar as “On the morality of dispatching 500 million of degenerate whites.” I believe that such cruelty on lovely creatures should awaken, among the most emergent specimens of Homo sapiens, the same level of hate that I feel.

Fucking the Red Woman

melisandre-4


I have a very obscure past. After I left my parents’ home for horrendous, soul-destroying abuse, I fell in a sort of New Age cult which promised me to develop paranormal powers. Even after I quit the cult the internal damage was done and I spent the most precious springs of my life in a futile search of power through a “psi-development system,” as I used to say in my twenties. (I use the term “psi” in the sense of the purported paranormal abilities studied by parapsychology.)

Presently I not only disbelieve the existence of such abilities. After reading tons of skeptical literature debunking the claims of the paranormal, I have become one of the staunchest skeptics of religion and the paranormal in the pro-white blogosphere.

Notwithstanding such obscure origins, I still can enjoy cinematic experiences on how to “develop psi” as, say, Yoda teaching Luke Skywalker how to levitate a small ship in The Empire Strikes Back. More recently I enjoyed watching even darker “magic” as a powerful scene in Game of Thrones featuring Lady Melisandre: the priestess of fire who, always dressed in dark red, is in service of the phlegmatic Stannis Baratheon.

Stannis is the character of these series who, by right after his brother died, can claim the throne of the kingdom usurped by Geoffrey. In season two Lady Melisandre promises Stannis a son. Stannis has sex with Lady Melisandre on a table, scattering the war models onto the floor. Davos Seaworth (the “Onion Knight”), Stannis’ most loyal hand, vehemently dislikes black magic and always calls Melisandre “the Red Woman.”

In a later scene, Davos enters a cave in the cliff with a pregnant Lady Melisandre. Stannis had ordered him to watch an occult ritual. Davos, alone with the witch, says that it is strange that her Lord of Light asks her to work in the shadows. She counters that shadows cannot live in the dark and are servants of the light. He finds their way barred and says that the bars are new. Melisandre says that their passage cannot be barred and opens her robe. She appears nude and heavily pregnant and Davos calls on the seven gods for protection. Melisandre tells him that there is only one God and that He only protects those who serve him. Davos’ lantern glows with increasing intensity startling him as Melisandre takes off all her clothes. He backs along the wall of the cave as Melisandre lies down on her robe. Laying down on the cave’s floor she begins to moan to give birth and something shifts under the skin of her belly.

smoky

Her moans and gasps intensify as Davos looks on. A shadowy, black demon’s hands grip Melisandre’s legs while the dark figure pulls itself free of her womb. It stands before her for an instant before passing between the bars. Davos watches in horror. (As soon as detected, YouTube deletes most illegal clips of Game of Thrones but someone video-recorded the above scene directly on his TV screen with no electronic fingerprint to be detected: here.)

The smoky demon infiltrates Renly’s camp and assassinates Renly (like others, Renly, Stannis’ younger brother, illegally claimed a right to the throne). Thanks to such powerful sorcery Stannis regains control of the majority of his army that his homosexual brother Renly used to command. Catelyn Stark and Brienne of Tarth are in the tent with Renly when the smoky, unkillable creature stabbed Renly right into his heart. (YouTube clip: here. Later in the same season Catelyn is not sure what she saw, but Brienne is sure that the phantasmagorical creature resembled Stannis.)

?????

Davos is so disturbed by what he saw in the cave that he convinces Stannis not to bring Lady Melisandre along when their fleet and army attack King’s Landing to reclaim the throne. Davos wants a clean victory with no involvement of black sorcery at all.

Leaving these fantastic HBO series aside, this “one handy demon per fuck” to assassinate your enemies, even your brother if he misbehaves, reminds me my extremely recurrent fantasy of disturbing the whole anti-white System by means of killing a single human per day.

I confess that, after becoming racially conscious, I’ve indulged in a little fantasy before watching Game of Thrones, especially when trying to get some sleep. Psi or black magic probably don’t exist, but if they existed behold my list for targeted assassinations through ungraspable smokeys:

All heads of states in the West, starting with Chimpanzee

All moguls that own the mainstream media

All headmasters of Western universities

The Pope and all of his Cardinals

All protestant leaders

VIPs of the J tribe

The last point includes the millionaire sponsors of all Europhobic groups that promote anti-racism in their endeavors to exterminate “the best of the goyim.”

In season three of Game of the Thrones Stannis asks Lady Melisandre to make him another “son” to slay Joffrey, the monstrous king—monstrous in soul; physically he’s very young and good-looking—who had ordered the beheading of Ned Stark, thus usurping Stannis’ throne.

The witch refuses explaining that creating still other shadow-creatures may kill him. She needs to use Stannis’ own life-essence to fuel the entities, but this hugely drains him. (In the books more than one smoky demon is created inside Melisandre, and Davos notices that Stannis looks ten years older than before the Battle of Blackwater.) The use of assassins conjured from the witch’s womb is thus limited: the creation taxes the creator to the point of death.

So according to the traditional tales of black magic I would die. But I would gladly give my life to see at least some justice performed out of my above list.

Just curious: Knowing that you would also die in such an effort, would you fuck the Red Woman, the “mother of demons” as Davos once called her in impotent fury? If so, who would you add to your own black list?

Melisandre-3

Give up Christianity.

Transvaluate all Christian values in your heart.

Only real hate will save the white race from extinction…

Who are the real haters?

by Stanton

A casual comment on the Addenda merits reposting here:



SS girl

As I have written before, the difference between Adolf Hitler and Soviet leaders, and now all white western leaders, is love. Hitler loved his people and wanted a better culture, a better nation to serve his people. Hitler worked tirelessly towards that end. Former Soviet and current white, western, leaders hate their people and work tirelessly to destroy them. That fundamental difference explains the current policies seen in action throughout western civilization versus the lost policies of National Socialism. At their foundation, current policies are constructed by a people of hate. One only needs read their “holy” book to see the virulent hatred they display towards all outsiders.

Until white people and leaders relearn this love, a love of themselves, their race, their people, the destruction of white culture will continue. The white man doesn’t need to fight or revolt, he needs to love. The white man needs to love himself, his race and his culture. Until that happens all other efforts will be for naught. It is such love that will serve to diminish the virulent hatred foisted on them by the people of hate.

Published in: on September 18, 2013 at 1:43 pm  Comments (8)  
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