‘Only revenge heals the wounded soul’

This is an important comment of mine in the previous thread:

 

______ 卐 ______

 
You won’t believe it but, when I watched this film on the big screen years ago, I really enjoyed the last seconds of this scene:

I was bullied at school, and I recount some of my experiences in my thick autobiographical books. But the real damage did not come from my classmates, but from my parents who used extreme violence to force me into a school system that was totally alien to my soul.

If my life serves as a paradigm of what could have happened to these two kids, you need to keep in mind that only revenge heals the wounded soul—to the point that it becomes even more powerful than your instinct for life.

But I didn’t follow the steps of these two kids. I wanted, instead, to convey the extreme torment at home that drives kids mad.

Nothing of such drama appears in the translated selection from my two books in Day of Wrath. But if you could read Spanish you wouldn’t believe the extremes of hellish environments in apparently healthy and functional homes.

‘Apparently healthy’ families I said but, of course, it’s mere PR for relatives and acquaintances. As far as I know, I am the first person in the whole history of mankind who has written more than 1000 pages trying to explain what happens in one of these families.

Why my books in Spanish are important

Below, my reply to a Gedankenexperiment in a recent thread:

 
No: I think that without Jews it would be far easier to recover sanity. What the Iberians did in the Americas was not due to self-hatred but to greed (Aztec and Inca gold and silver). Nowadays, if all Jews dropped dead things would calm down and, after a while, the most radical voices on our side would start to be heard.

What in my family happened a long time ago, the axis of my two books in Spanish is eerily similar to the whole Jew-white dynamics that happened since remote times: the thesis of Soberana’s essay on Judea versus Rome. Eve provides the poisoned apple and a naïve male swallows it all! The tragedy of my family occurred after my father swallowed my mother’s claims: malicious slander about her children, believing every hysteric word and tantrum that came out from her viper tongue. Instead of putting her a screeching halt, he found more convenient to start sharing her psychosis, becoming the worse offender, and soul-murderer, among the two…

Believe it or not but my autobiography, the analysis of this folie à deux, sheds a good light on the folie that whites suffer today by believing everything that the Jews said in the New Testament or its secular incarnation, cultural Marxism. Without the influence of my mother, my father became miraculously sane: something that my brother observed—a really weird phenomenon to watch! I am sure that without Jews we would witness the same psychological phenomenon: white sanity.

Of course, of my parents, I despise more my late father, as his focalised psychosis on me was not something inherent in his mind: it was imported from my mother’s deranged mind. He could have chosen to listen to me (‘hojas susurrantes’ is a dream I had decades ago while sleeping about dad listening to me). But he chose Evil instead. In the same way, Louis Beam is right by blaming whites for their passivity, and I would say even behaving like Dobermans of their Semite owners, barking and biting poor whites. The eerie phenomenon of such folie à deux persists today and is something that its whys must be investigated.

The question of white vulnerability before Jewish psyops is something rarely studied in white nationalism. I do believe that Soberana’s essay provides a clue; he’s a sort of Sherlock Holmes in historical matters. Some years ago Hunter Wallace changed his penname to ‘Detective Hunter Wallace’ but as a Lutheran he’s no Holmes at all. Nor is MacDonald a good detective, as he has to appease his Christian audience.

In a sense, I disagree with Louis Beam (was he a Xtian preacher?) and Joseph Walsh regarding white passivity. It is my hunch that a white awakening can only happen if the diagnosis of white decline is complete. We only have half of the diagnosis, what I call the purple-pill. If I could convince nationalists that Christian ethics is the poisoned apple, real progress to a general awakening would start to be made. White nationalists are not making a difference in the real world because they still have to complete the analysis of the poison in the apple.

Published in: on April 26, 2018 at 7:10 pm  Comments (1)  
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Wirsén on Miller’s fans

That the author is secretly smuggling out and reworking, often lying about and numbing, their abusive emotional childhood is something Alice Miller tends to imply when dealing with works of art: a mode of thinking we as her readers easily slip into, isn’t it? That Kafka’s work is basically explainable as an artistic dramatization of a child’s insecurity about his parents’ true agenda, that the vampiric women of Baudelaire’s poems are in fact his emotionally unavailable and seductive mother… —this is still the only opening to Baudelaire’s work I can stand, the only way in which I can read his work with interest.

In this way, artistic work after Alice Miller demands a new openness and consciousness in the producer. We can’t only chew and chew the unworked-through emotions from our childhood and find creative ways of repackaging them, then call it Art. It’s a new game now. All bets are off… Which brings us to the subject of this post: C.T.’s criticism of Dennis Rodie’s novel The Curse of the Third Rate Artist. Discussing this opens the larger subject of the differences in worldview and even temperament between the two writers.

First I must clarify that I think César is a very promising and interesting writer who in his work is attempting to take on very large themes, which are important to me also. As mentioned briefly above, I believe artists working after Alice Miller have a new responsibility to be conscious. To this, I will add the meta-perspective on history developed by Lloyd deMause, which says that the whole of human history, in particular its destructive aspects, is based on childhood abuse.

“The history of childhood is a nightmare from which we have only recently begun to awaken…” begins his most important work. Miller says as much, but not as systematically and not as clearly as to the development that has, despite everything, taken place. Put in this perspective, the emotional abuses and the stressful life situation that Martin Maag, the narrator of Dennis’ novel, was put through was just as destructive as it was, but less destructive and less producing of the kind of howling-at-the-moon stressful psychosis and magical thinking that the childrearing of the European Middle Ages produced.

The criticism of your novel which César wrote in the context of polemics around the subject of Satanic Ritual Abuse elsewhere in this forum must be read in this context. Dennis Rodie’s novel does not have the same meta-perspective as C.T.’s has, something which Mr. Tort from his perspective must see as weaknesses. Since I, myself, am interested in the approach to writing and the expansion of consciousness of which his writing is the physical trace, created for communication that C.T. is developing, I share in part his criticism. Let me, to make writing this post quicker and easier, quote the relevant part from a review-letter I wrote recently to Dennis Rodie after having read his novel The Curse of the Third Rate Artist.

[Wirsén’s review of Dennis’ unpublished novel, a novel that by the way I printed and leather-bounded for my personal library, can be read in Dennis’ own forum. Daniel Mackler✡ on the other hand never shared his huge autobiography with anyone.]

Allow me to get personal for a while. For what I intend, and for the kind of writing I myself aim to produce, a perspective the world needs, I think César is a pioneer developing a new sport. His successes are mine, and even his failures will be valuable lessons. The way he dares to be expressively angry is inspiring to me, though for my own part I am unsure of the outcome. Perhaps by temperament (which can’t be helped), perhaps by lack of courage (which, if true, must be conquered) I cannot be that clear about my anger. On the other hand not anger, but sensitivity, seems to be the guiding star of Dennis Rodie’s novel. For me, the jury is still out and César’s, as well as Dennis’ future developments as a human being and an artist will give me the information I need as to whether this is the road I want to pursue.

César’s five-book work Hojas Susurrantes expands from angry letter to mother, through anti-psychiatric tractate to brutally honest (so I’m told, have not taken it on yet) autobiography, over to family history, to the chronicle of the bloody past of his nation into an assessment of the human race and where we are now, which is an expansion in a new direction of deMausian thought: the quick eradication of those who abuse and hurt children, thus stopping humanity from evolving into the best we can be. How César brings this off in his last book will be very exciting indeed to take part off. That much I know. Whether or not and to what degree I will agree is another of those questions where the jury is still out. On the negative part, he might be steering dangerously close to a new motivation for genocide, a new ideological twist on the old Nazi game.

Daniel Mackler, in his writing, seems to imply that there is a lack of what he calls “enlightenment” in C.T.’s exposing of his emotional life and his family’s. That this is unhealthy exhibitionism, and an unfortunate development of a tortured soul, rather than the pearl the clam produces because a grain of sand is torturing, cutting and carving at, its vulnerable pink flesh. To stop the hurt.

I lean toward César’s side in this conflict. I, myself, have ambitions as a major writer and find that, after assimilating the thinking of Alice Miller, works of art that are not intensely personal and honest to be unrewarding. Is Mackler suggesting that we keep our stories to ourselves and sit around healed in a lonely buddhistic state, when instead we could let our stories go out and make changes in the consciousnesses of the real world? As I said, I lean toward Tort’s interpretation, but as always the jury is still out. And I believe even Mackler can’t avoid looking at Tort’s work, like he has before with the psychological case studies or autobiographies—the motivation for writing which he finds emotionally doubtful—; can’t avoid looking at them as at a beautiful car crash, provided as entertainment for the Buddha from others’ flesh and blood. The Buddha floats around in the suffering of the world with a distanced face.

Everything I have written above must be read in the perspective that I found reading the writings of Daniel Mackler, C.T. and Dennis Rodie as a revelation and breathing with the life of a new integrated consciousness, pulsating with a true emotionality, which I have before found in the work of Alice Miller and Lloyd deMause and to which, once I’d tasted it, nothing else compares. This is the reason I care strongly enough about them to read and reflect on them, as well as writing this text.

Andreas

Very busy

Christians can think of themselves as anti-Jewish without understanding that they are the ultimate conclusion of Judaism. —Nietzsche

Further to what I said in my February entries ‘La Santa Furia’ and ‘Working’. I am now reviewing the 730 pages of my second and last book, in which I analyse my father as the central figure among those who destroyed my life; besides analysing my mother and other victims of them, like my sister and a cousin. My philosophy of the four words appears in the final section.

What I write in my mother tongue is as important, or more important, than what I write in English. But except for a Swede who became disenchanted with me when he learned about my political ideas, nobody in the world has fully appreciated the work in my native language. And it’s striking that someone who processes, over the decades, the pain of the crime that he was the object as a minor is able to see the world so differently that it would seem the mind of an extraterrestrial.

For example, in recent times a certain Ciaran, the same Irishman who complained about destroying the churches (quoted in an entry linked above), has been sending me copies of his correspondence with Alex Linder and others. Although Ciaran confesses to me that he has suffered a mental disorder, he has not paid attention to me in that the only way to heal is to process the pain. (Something I compare with an oil refinery in the sense that crude oil is the unprocessed early traumas that got to be processed.)

Instead, in his letter to Linder today (electronic copy to me), this traditionalist Christian starts talking about the ‘fact’ that the condemned are burning in hell without even knowing who he’s is sending a copy. (At the end of my first book, Hojas Susurrantes, I recount the unspeakable experiences I suffered in San Rafael, California, for having introjected the doctrine of the eternal damnation of my abusive father.) And today, in my previous entry of the Kriminalgeschichte series, another idiot posts again a comment mentioning such doctrine. (Take into account that of this Dutchman I have been deleting several other comments over the years in which he had written stupid things like, ‘hell is eternal’, ‘my religion’, etc.).

Christians or neo-Christians who believe they are helping their race with their twisted minds are, in fact, contributing to the white race dying. The reason for this is not only guessed in the essay ‘Rome vs. Judea’, but in the Kriminalgeschichte series that I translate little by little.

Little by little I say because, although now I am so busy that I will reduce my work on this site to the minimum until I finish the review of my second book, even after I finish I don’t think I’ll continue to translate the Kriminalgeschichte articles daily, as I did in the past. I will translate them, yes, but in a more spaced way. It is not an issue that attracts much attention because white nationalists believe that Jews, not Christians, are the primary cause of Aryan decline.

For an autobiographer who has processed his traumas inflicted at home, it is incredible the level of dissociation and madness that the movement suffers: a movement that presumes to defend the Aryan race and remains addicted to the millennial Jewish drug. And with this I also mean those English Christians who spoke in a podcast about the article by Hunter Wallace that I mentioned at an entry a couple of days ago. Manu Rodríguez wrote:

We are not ourselves; we cannot speak out as long as we try to speak from that space: the Jewish-Christian-Muslim milieu. Within these traditions we are not ourselves, we disappear.

Like Evropa Soberana, Rodríguez is Spanish. I translated the above quote from the language of Cervantes. Isn’t it funny that this pair of Spanish speakers have a better grasp of how to defend their race than the English speakers of the Alt-Right?

HS

After being deplatformed from another press last year, at last my Hojas Susurrantes is back, this time through Amazon Books.

The goal of my autobiographical books: Know thyself! He who knows himself will abandon Judeo-Christianity and may finally remove the virulence of the Semitic malware that destroys the white race.

This photo of me, dated September 1973, appears on page 12 in this 672-page book. Although I opened an Amazon account for this book last year, in fact, the published prologue is from this very month.

HS consists of five sections. Only the fourth section has been translated for Day of Wrath.

Published in: on January 26, 2018 at 11:46 pm  Leave a Comment  
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December 2017 edition

It looks like Amazon has ready Day for Wrath for the general public (click: [removed - see 1st comment]) although I still have to get my proof copy to spot errors, if any, which will arrive to my home next year. Following next is the Introduction to the 2018 edition:
 

Under the covers of this book I include five translations from chapters of my volumes Hojas Susurrantes and ¿Me Ayudarás? [1] plus a fantastic essay that gave the title to this book. However, I must say that this English selection omits the autobiographical confessions of my two books in Spanish (perhaps for what I will be remembered in the future).

Day of Wrath is the companion of The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour, where I collect the essays of other authors for readers who want to save the white race from extinction. The following is a brief recapitulation of the six texts that appear in this book.

I wrote “Dies Irae” in late 2012. Originally an entry for my blog, this article makes reference to the 14 words. (It may be advisable to become familiar with The Fair Race to contextualize this concept.)

My book Hojas Susurrantes consists of approximately 256,000 words. It is the first volume of my philosophical autobiography. In 2006 I wrote the text I reproduce here, “Unfalsifiability in Psychiatry”: a fraction of the second section within Hojas Susurrantes. In that essay I try to show that the profession called psychiatry does not meet the scientific requirement to distinguish it from pseudo-science.

I finished the fourth section of Hojas Susurrantes in 2008. In the present translation I interpolate brackets in italics and explaining passages for those who have not read my volumes in their original language. The following three texts, “The Trauma Model,” “The Feathered Serpent” and “Psychohistory” are taken from this fourth section. In these chapters I lay the foundations of the trauma model: the paradigm opposed to the pseudoscientific medical model of mental disorders taught at the universities. If the reader is an honest man, after reading this book he will acknowledge that abusive parents have driven their children mad throughout prehistory and recorded history.

¿Me Ayudarás?, the second volume of my autobiography, is a little longer than the previous one. “Dying in a Louis XVI-style bedroom” is taken from the introduction. Like the other chapters it has been adapted for this English translation. This last text is a portrait of my soul that connects with the first essay, “Dies Irae,” day of wrath in Latin.

Mexico City
19 December 2017

___________

[1] Previously titled Extermination in some posts of this site.

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)  

My tree

my_tree

Excerpted from Man and His Symbols,
an introductory book about the Carl Jung theory:



The psyche can be compared to a sphere [see illustration: here] with a bright field (A) on its surface, representing consciousness. The ego is the field’s center (only if “I” know a thing is it conscious). The Self is at once the nucleus and the whole sphere (B); its internal regulating processes produce dreams.

Since this psychic growth cannot be brought about by a conscious effort of will power, but happen involuntarily and naturally, it is in dreams frequently symbolized by the tree, whose slow, powerful, involuntary growth fulfills a definite pattern.

The organizing center from which the regulatory effect stems seems to be a sort of “nuclear atom” in our psychic system. One could also call it the inventor, organizer, and source of dream images. Jung called this center the “Self” and described it as the totality of the whole psyche, in order to distinguish it from the “ego,” which constitutes only a small part of the total psyche.

Throughout the ages men have been intuitively aware of the existence of such an inner center. The Greeks called it man’s inner daimon; in Egypt it was expressed by the concept of the Ba-soul; and the Romans worshiped it as the “genius” native to each individual.

The Self can be defined as an inner guiding factor that is different from the conscious personality and that can be grasped only through the investigation of one’s own dreams. These show it to be the regulating center that brings about a constant extension and maturing of the personality. But this larger, more nearly total aspect of the psyche appears first as merely an inborn personality. It may emerge very slightly, or it may develop relatively complete during one’s lifetime. How far it develops depends on whether or not the ego is willing to listen to the messages of the Self.

The individuation process is more than a coming to terms between the inborn germ of wholeness and the outer acts of fate. Its subjective experience conveys the feeling that some supra-personal force is actively interfering in a creative way. One sometimes feels that the unconscious is leading the way in accordance with a secret design. (pp. 161-162).

This relation of the Self to all surrounding nature and even the cosmos probably comes from the fact that the “nuclear atom” of our psyche is somehow woven into the whole world, both outer and inner. In ways that are still completely beyond our comprehension, our unconscious is similarly attuned to our surroundings—to our group, to society in general, and, beyond these, to the space-time continuum and the whole of nature. Indeed, many of our dreams are concerned with details of our outer life and our surroundings. Such things as the tree in front of the window… (pp. 207-208)

 
__________

Editor’s note:

My home garden’s tree I used to watch from my bedroom’s window as a child and teenager gave the title to my Hojas Susurrantes.

Published in: on September 18, 2015 at 2:46 pm  Leave a Comment  
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New literary genre

“Know thyself” (gnōthi seafton)
Delphic maxim in the Temple of Apollo

 

I started Hojas Susurrantes (HS) in 1988 and added the last touchups last year. It is neither a novel nor an essay; nor memoirs in the traditional sense nor a pamphlet or poetry. It is difficult to define this non-fictional genre in few words. My first reader, Andreas Wirsén, a Swede lover of literature, wrote in an online forum that I am “a pioneer developing a new sport.”

As stated in Day of Wrath which contains a Spanish-English translation of the longest chapter of HS, Stefan Zweig wrote in Adepts in Self-Portraiture that when Western literature began with Hesiod and Heraclitus it was still poetry, and of the inevitability of a decline in the mythopoetic talent of Greece when a more Aristotelian thought evolved. As compensation for this loss, says Zweig, modern man obtained with the novel an approach to a science of the mind. But the novel genre does not represent the ultimate degree of self-knowledge:

Autobiography is the hardest of all forms of literary art. Why, then, do new aspirants, generation after generation, try to solve this almost insoluble problem?

[For a] honest autobiography […] he must have a combination of qualities which will hardly be found once in a million instances. To expect perfect sincerity on self-portraiture would be as absurd as to expect absolute justice, freedom, and perfection here on earth. No doubt the pseudo-confession, as Goethe called it, confession under the rose, in the diaphanous veil of novel or poem, is much easier, and is often far more convincing from the artistic point of view, than an account with no assumption of reserve. Autobiography, precisely because it requires, not truth alone, but naked truth, demands from the artist an act of peculiar heroism; for the autobiographer must play the traitor to himself.

Gnothi_seautonOnly a ripe artist, one thoroughly acquainted with the workings of the mind, can be successful here. This is why psychological self-portraiture has appeared so late among the arts, belonging exclusively to our own days and those yet to come. Man had to discover continents, to fathom his seas, to learn his language, before he could turn his gaze inward to explore the universe of his soul. Classical antiquity had as yet no inkling of these mysterious paths. Caesar and Plutarch, the ancients who describe themselves, are content to deal with facts, with circumstantial happenings, and never dream of showing more than the surface of their hearts.

Zweig then devotes a long paragraph to St Augustine’s Confessions, the thinker I abhor the most of all Western tradition and whose theology about Hell caused massive psychological damage in my own life (also recounted in HS). Then Zweig wrote:

Many centuries were to pass before Rousseau (that remarkable man who was a pioneer in so many fields) was to draw a self-portrait for its own sake, and was to be amazed and startled at the novelty of his enterprise. Stendhal, Hebbel, Kierkegaard, Tolstoy, Amiel, the intrepid Hans Jaeger, have disclosed unsuspected realms of self-knowledge by self-portraiture. Their successors, provided with more delicate implements of research, will be able to penetrate stratum by stratum, room by room, farther and yet farther into our new universe, into the depths of the human mind.

This quote explains why I decided to devise a hybrid genre between the self-portraiture that betrays the author and thus penetrates beyond the strata pondered by Romantic autobiographers. Over the boards anti-Nazis have been making fun about my experiences in London last year. They have no idea what I am trying to say because they completely lack context. Together with the Zweig quote my December 31 entry, “Etiology,” provides a bit of the context of what I’m trying to say in the book I’m presently writing.

Extermination • IV

Or:

Dying in a Louis XVI-style bedroom

 

nazi-cartoon

Note of January 2017: I have removed this text because a slightly revised version of it is now available in print within my book Day of Wrath. However, this specific article can also be read as a PDF for free. duck-rabbit_illusion If you want to print it at home for a more comfortable reading with Letter-size or A4 sheets of paper, remember that on the PDF it is sized as a Pocketbook (4.25 x 6.88 in):

https://chechar.files.wordpress.com/2017/01/louis.pdf