A single man can make a difference

Now that I have decided to reproduce on the weekdays Siege articles, published decades ago, the question arises as to why, since then, none of that has been translated into real action.

The answer is clear: modern life turned each and every white male into cretins: a process that even Nietzsche glimpsed in the 19th century as we saw today on the other entry. Modernity, or the ‘One Ring’ to use the metaphor of this site, is responsible. That’s why I believe that the most relevant issues for Aryan preservation are both the pitiful state of the economy in the US (watch the first four videos of Mike Maloney’s course: here), and the studies on Peak Oil (watch Chris Martenson’s chapter: here).

I really believe that these two catastrophes, currency crash and energy devolution, will occur in this century, resulting in a true apocalypse.

My advice to those young white nationalists who doubt that these catastrophes will occur: Forget my predictions if you want but (1) watch the movie Twelve Monkeys and (2) make a career in biology with a specialty in virology. Follow the advice of James Mason in the previous entry as to go unnoticed while infiltrating the System.

Hollywood reverses the roles of hero and villain. The hero, of course, is he who destroys the System.

Published in: on June 5, 2018 at 11:47 am  Comments (7)  

Siege, 33

On the way into Poland in 1939

…or more accurately, on the way back into the Polish-occupied German territory at the outset of World War Two, Adolf Hitler told his troops, “Close your hearts to pity”.

A strange thing for a Nazi to be telling other Nazis. After all, that is supposed to be a foregone conclusion if we have been taught right. Didn’t Hitler start the war for the pure fun and brutality of it? We know otherwise but there is still a subtle message in what Hitler told his men in 1939. In spite of Polish occupation of German territories since 1918 and in spite of some of the worst outrages done against the German inhabitants by some over-zealous Poles, Hitler knew he had to spell out plainly to his men what the mission was if it was going to be done right.

It is part of the White Man’s makeup to forget, to know pity… it is found in no other race. And this trait has cost us plenty over the centuries because we have let so many enemies get away.

As we all too painfully know, THAT was the prime reason for the loss of World War Two: Hitler was not the bad guy he is made out to be. Had he been, the British Army at Dunkirk would have been annihilated; every Jew in Europe WOULD have been killed; and idealism would not have been so high as to prevent the immediate use of millions of Russians and Ukrainians in the fight against Marxist-Leninism.

But in a lot of respects, those German soldiers crashing their way back into their lost provinces had it a lot easier than we shall in closing our hearts to pity, for when an enemy is shooting at you, the instinct is to shoot back. And in the case of a war between European States, once the issue was settled on the field of honor, life could go on as before… not so at all for the United States in the civil war that is coming up.

One well-known Right Wing leader has already said that we must not neglect to assemble our own “lists” of enemy operatives and sympathizers in our own locales for quick reference later on. His argument—and he is correct—is that you know damned good and well that they certainly have us on their lists, in triplicate! On the surface this isn’t a bad idea but I know how lazy the Movement is.

It is by no means wishful thinking for me to draw you this picture: not many months ago I had regular occasion to screen people in their homes in the line of work. Conversation invariably drifted to the topic of the neighborhood. More than once I found myself standing in windows or yards being given a visual guided tour of where the race-mixers lived. At those times I could visualize myself in the same circumstances only this time in official capacity as a “Revolutionary Clean-Up Man”. And THAT is part of how the civil war is going to shape up.

The real White Americans who are left (and there are many) HATE the very sight of race-mixing even though they scarcely understand the larger, genetic meaning of it. They HATE those of their own race who are involved in it. Don’t you think they’d LOVE to come to us later on, after this existing race-mixing System has been smashed down by revolution, and “finger” every single race-mixer known to them, knowing fast action on our part will follow instantaneously? This sort of renders the need for “lists” unnecessary. As far as the System’s kingpins are concerned, everybody knows who they are. As far as the System Sucks are concerned, we here know ours by heart very well and you can and should be the same in your area.

The truth is that assembling and keeping these so-called “hit lists” for us at this time is a DANGER. Looks bad as hell in case of a raid and it is UNNECESSARY. Actual System bureaucrats will get it during the full-phase course of the revolution as we go about the real business of smashing the power of the System.

The larger “clean-up” phase during and after the civil war, which even then will be raging, is a different matter. As most of you have long ago noticed, a lot of the most rabid, sneering miscegenators are blond, blue-eyed doll babies. If you can’t close your heart to pity, if you couldn’t blast the head off of one or a thousand of these types, then you had better bow out right now.

War is war and it is something highly impersonal. But White renegades, be they government officials or plain bleeding hearts, are another matter. We must swear an oath to ourselves now—while we’re down, while things are tough, while the Enemy is in full power, while the vile race-mixers daily promenade openly in public protected by this evil System, now while it is easy to HATE—that for the United States there will be no need for concentration camps of any kind, for not a single transgressor will survive long enough to make it to that kind of haven.

Vol. IX, #6 – October, 1980

Published in: on May 31, 2018 at 6:50 pm  Comments (11)  

The Columbine Pilgrim

This is a postscript to my entry on Wednesday, basically a response to what has been said in the discussion thread of that post.

In the first place, when I said that only vengeance heals the soul, I referred to vengeance on grievances of which one was at the absolute mercy of the environment. A teenager can get out from an abusive school; but not from home, at least not in the third world: where there are no decently paid jobs for minors. It is a huge difference. While the teenager has the option of fleeing from a tormenting school, he cannot run away from the tormenting home.

Also, the bulling one receives in school destroys the victim’s self-esteem. The type of persistent, targeted mistreatment from father to son like what we saw in the movie Shine, destroys the mind of the victim. So we are talking about fundamentally different things.

This said, in 2011 Greg Johnson sent me, by mistake, The Columbine Pilgrim by Andy Nowicki. Then he sent me the book I had requested but did not charge me for Nowicki’s, and I actually read it. It’s not the kind of literature that I like, but I still think I should say some things.

Nowicki’s 2011 book smells like ink. The previous year, Johnson had published Michael O’Meara’s Toward the White Republic: the only one in the Johnson collection that smells like gunpowder, especially the final chapter.

That Nowicki is afraid of gunpowder is shown in the fact that, the same year he published his novella, I criticised what he said about Breivik in Johnson’s webzine. But Nowicki’s book has some good points. For me, it is literature lite, like the one I could read in a boring waiting room at an airport. Non-lite literature is the one that requires my study’s armchair and would move us to the revolution, like O’Meara’s book. In The Columbine Pilgrim we read:

My name is Tony Meander, and I am a Columbine-oholic.

What if you find yourself irresistibly drawn to a mass murder/suicide?

Tell people you’re obsessed with Columbine, and their eyes will cloud over. [page 1]

Set off the H-bomb within you and incinerate all those zombies posing as humans. [page 5]

I was the kind of boy pretty girls loved to tease, because pretty teenage girls are probably the cruelest, most hateful species to walk the earth; being young, pert, and beautiful, they have all the power in the world at their disposal… [page 32]

“You want to fuck me? Listen, you pathetic retard… YOU WILL NEVER FUCK ME. NEVER!” [page 36]

They drove the poor man [Nietzsche] to insanity… Nietzsche provided a spark that Hitler was able to stoke into a flame, a flame that set all of Europe on fire, burning and cleansing the face of the earth. [page 43]

Eric and Dylan are not Christ; they are far greater than Christ! Reb and Vodka would never stop so low as to be crucified—no! Instead, they blasted their would-be crucifiers with bullets and bombs; they turned the tables on their persecutors, brought them low, made them bleed. [page 48]

Hitler, their spiritual forebear, born on April 20th himself, a century and a decade previous… [page 44]

Ask yourself this. What have I done with my life that is worthy of the example set by Eric and Dylan? [page 51]

Why did it happen? I don’t know. Nobody knows. Some things we just can’t explain. Some of course, take issue with Principal Edmund. They charge that, in fact, bullying has been endemic at Dogwood for a long time… [page 67]

Every reaction is produced by some kind of action. Don’t try to tell ME that this guy was just the Devil incarnate… [page 71]

In the climax of his slim book Nowicki wrote the following (Patricia is the same Patti Hart Byron bitch quoted above):

“You remember me, dontcha, Bernie boy?” Meander continued, mercilessly…

The shot nearly tore off the entire top part of Bernard’s head. Patricia began screaming uncontrollably, and Meander walked over and savagely punched her in the face, causing her again to fall in the floor.

“STAND UP!” Meander then ordered. [pages 93-94]

He fired into his fellow alum’s chest, killing him instantly. Patricia screamed again, and began to sob loudly, but this time Meander just ignored her. He fastidiously dusted off his jacket, spat on the corpse… [page 95]

Then he fired seven shots into his face… [page 98]

Patricia had hit particularly hard times once her teen queen days were over…

“A long time ago, you told me something. Do you remember what you told me?”

Meander’s fly was still unzipped, his genitals still hanging out.

Patricia whimpered, covered her eyes, hid her face. Meander stooped over, grabbed her hair and pulled it hard.

“You fuck me,” he told her with emphasis, “or you die…”

“Take off your dress…”

“Take everything else off…”

“You’re not as beautiful as you used to be,” he told her in an even, appraising tone.” [pages 99-101]

Both Nowicki and I were educated in the Catholic religion. But unlike me, Nowicki never broke cleanly with that institution, which Nietzsche wanted to sweep to its foundations. (And he was even more vehement against the Protestants, as his father, a parish priest, had very probably abused him.)

That’s why Nowicki is a fan of ink, not of gunpowder.

Poetic justice

I’m coming from a funeral.

In the above pic, my uncles and an aunt appear in a costume party called here posada [1] when I was just a small child (ca. 1965). The uncle who appears with the blond beard died this morning.

He had married a very swarthy woman, almost an Amerindian, of very low social class: something harshly criticized in the family. A few months ago his wife and swarthy children confiscated his property, stole his money, and put him in a nursing home—and the whitest of the three biblical magi died of sadness in the asylum.

More than half a century ago, about the times when the pic was taken, a white American woman living in Mexico City was very much in love with him. Imagine the white kids the couple could have had after marrying in the big city, and then perhaps moving to the US.

But my uncle preferred Mexico and the mestiza of a lower class…

_________

[1] Posada: A Christmas festival originating in Latin America that dramatizes the search of Joseph and Mary for lodging.

Published in: on February 3, 2018 at 8:51 pm  Comments (11)  

SIEGE quote

There was no way my trained mind could not have reacted the way it did to the covers on those pulp tabloids depicting Negro darling, Michael Jackson, and burnt-out, used-up “White” renegade, Brooke Shields. There was just enough reactionary left in me to get my blood hot at that sight.

And immediately after the animal brain had subsided and the human intellect regained the upper hand, I remarked to my companion in the store check-out lane that here was a more worthy target for some of my comrades who lately have gotten themselves locked up for killing a few lowlifes.

“Send Them A Message”, as old George Corley Wallace used to say. The message would state that to dare use your celebrity status to set such an example for totally impressionable White youth would mean death.

SIEGE, page 295

Published in: on January 10, 2018 at 2:46 pm  Comments (1)  

SIEGE quote

‘Best of all is the fact that Franklin supposedly has been killing mixed couples… the rotten Whites right along with the Blacks. Bravo!’

SIEGE, page 275

Published in: on January 8, 2018 at 6:01 pm  Comments (2)  

Hail Ares, Lord of struggle

An August 31, 2014 comment on this site:

 

I took a hard look at the behavior of white women around me, and all those I knew…

I will admit that I was wrong. We can not live if we don’t have the willingness to slaughter those who are planning and executing the destruction of our race. Violence is the answer, now more than ever. Those who are willing to live will fight, and those not willing to fight will be hunted down and butchered alive for treason. Any creature which willingly serves its own children as a sacrifice to a diversity god must be destroyed in rivers of blood.

I now understand after reviewing the state of Aryan men and women around me, that your proposed methods don’t go too far enough. What we need more than anything is the complete annihilation of anything that is even remotely liberal, jewish, and unaryan. Drugs, sex, porn, alcohol, vice, and degeneracy—like the whores of late Rome they all indulge in the Semitic sins. They are not our people. Even if they carry our genes those will too be lost with time. They are wholly an abomination and deserve to be purified. Allowing them to spread the cancer the Jew has infected them with would be suicide.

While I still try to cling to Aryan honor, tradition and high culture and spirituality, I realize these things are what blinded me from seeing this abhorrent creature that they truly are. I had seen clairvoyantly what they were, and peered into their soul. I saw a desecrated zombie masquerading as an Aryan, a filth-filled soul that has been eternally perverted by the Jew. Nothing will ever be brought back from them and they are an eternal blight to anything around them.

All of it must go, Chechar. We need to kill them all, and ensure with the most painful, powerful and memorable methods that this is never going to happen again.

Hail Ares, the Lord of Struggle!

Published in: on October 24, 2017 at 9:41 pm  Comments (1)  

KD Rebel, 5

Editor’s note. With the exception of how Trebor’s pal, some time later according to the internal chronology of the novel, abducted his own Sabine woman I won’t reproduce the rest of the novel:
 


The country club golf course was surrounded by an eight foot high chain link fence. A gate providing access to a service road for maintenance vehicles and supplies was situated at the far end of the course from the club house. Opening the gate would be child’s play for Trebor. They would however have to leave the car parked outside the course and proceed on foot to Dory’s parents’ house in order to avoid detection by the groundskeepers, who would be watering and mowing fairways and greens all night long.

Wearing dark clothes and carrying their usual issue of weapons and tools, the efficient raiders arrived at the two story brick home which was their destination shortly before midnight. They could see no lights on in the house. Finding a pair of expensive cars in the garage, they surmised that the family was already asleep.

To their delight they discovered that a back door to the palatial home was unlocked. “Guess these rich folks feel pretty secure,” Eric whispered.

“Uhmmm,” was all Trebor replied.

Due to its isolation the house was too dark to explore without the aid of the small flashlights they carried. Reconnaissance of the first floor found it devoid of humans. After creeping silently up the stairs to the second floor, they found there were a half dozen doors, all of them closed. No way to know which door might lead to Dory’s bedroom, and it was too dark to explore rooms without using flashlights, which would likely awaken the occupants. This would have to be done the hard way.

Standing at one end of a hallway, they whispered. “Might as well start here at the first door,” said Trebor.

“Okay, I go in first,” Eric was eager.

“Okay.”

Slowly and silently Eric turned the doorknob of the first doorway and eased it open. It was pitch dark, and they couldn’t see a thing. Suddenly Trebor switched on his flashlight and illuminated what turned out to be some kind of studio or study. There was no one in the room but the raiders. Each heaved a sigh of frustration because the tension would have to be repeated.

A second door opened into a deserted guest bedroom. The third room was occupied, but unfortunately not by Dory. Trebor’s flashlight revealed a couple sleeping on a king-sized bed. The man, an overweight specimen perhaps fifty years old, awakened almost instantly, shielding his eyes from the light. He stammered, “What the hell, who are you?”

Eric flipped on the light switch and closed the door. Now both raiders stood revealed, holding 9mm handguns aimed at the bed. The woman woke up then, saw the KD raiders and screamed.

“Shut up,” Trebor warned in a quiet but menacing voice, aiming his handgun directly at the hysterical woman’s face. The screaming ended abruptly. “No telling who she woke up. You’d better look for your girl now,” Trebor advised.

As Eric hurried to find Dory’s bedroom, Trebor began to tie up her parents with duct tape around their ankles and wrists. Dory’s mother was a rather attractive woman despite showing signs of wear from a dissipated life. In a trembling voice she asked, “What do you want?”

“Just your daughter,” Trebor replied. He was disgusted to see the look of relief on the woman’s face. She had to know that horrible fates often awaited women who were abducted, but obviously she didn’t care so long as her own decadent carcass was safe.

“Why our daughter?” the overweight man asked.

“To save her,” was Trebor’s terse reply.

“Save her? Save her from what?”

“From dating and mating with non-Whites,” Trebor explained.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re all equal. We can’t be racist!” The System line spouted by the slob made Trebor want to vomit.

The woman chimed in, “Hell, my oldest daughter is married to an African-American.” Although they didn’t know it, the two racial renegades had just sealed their own fates.

Meanwhile Eric raced down the hall, opening doors and flipping on lights. The first two rooms were empty. In the third he discovered that Dory had indeed been awakened by her mother’s scream. She had a phone in her hand and was just about to dial the police emergency number. He leaped across the room and struck the instrument from her hand.

The two sized each other up. Dressed in a short nightie that showed all of her shapely legs and the outlines of firm young breasts, Dory was a vision that aroused Eric despite the tension of the moment. A pert nose, pouty lips, and just a few freckles decorated a pretty face framed by flowing light brown hair. Despite the terror in her eyes, she was a fine figure of a woman.

What Dory saw was a stocky but well built, clean cut young man holding a gun that looked like a cannon to her.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she stammered.

Although his Aryan soul would have preferred to offer solace and comfort, Eric knew that a whole new mindset would have to be created in his captive, a mindset in which respect and compassion were earned by service to folk, mate and family, not by demands or pleas. So his response was brusque. “You have one minute to get dressed. I’d recommend jeans, a sweater and sneakers,” he advised.

When Dory hesitated, Eric began to count off the seconds aloud while pointing to his gun. At the count of ten Dory scrambled to obey, too terrified to consider the show she was putting on for the intruder. Eric didn’t miss a thing.

Moments later Eric and Dory arrived at the door to the bedroom where Trebor was talking to her parents.

“I’ll be downstairs in a minute,” said Trebor, indicating Eric should take his captive down there and wait. When they had left, Trebor turned to the pair on the bed.

“Untold thousands of generations of your ancestors struggled, fought and died so that beauty like your daughter’s would exist on Midgard today. Then you taught your daughters to defile their heritage by mating with Skraelings. This is justice.” With that he plunged his knife into their throats, first one, then the other, all in one swift motion.

Wiping his knife clean on a blanket, he muttered curses upon the very memory such vile creatures, then went to join Eric.

“Sorry, young lady, but we can’t take a chance on you screaming,” Trebor advised before placing a piece of tape across Dory’s mouth. Each of the raiders holding one of her arms, they escorted her across the dark golf course and placed her into the back seat of their car with Eric.

As Trebor headed the car for Kinsland, Eric removed the tape covering Dory’s mouth.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“Kinsland,” Eric told her.

Like Candy and Heather before her, Dory became even more terrified upon hearing such news. Certain that a fate worse than a quick death awaited her, she gasped, “Why, why me?”

“Because you are good genetic material and I need a mate.”

“You mean, like a wife?” Dory could not hide the astonishment in her voice. Eric merely nodded.

“What about him?” She indicated Trebor.

“Oh, Trebor just acquired two new mates very recently. He has no interest in you.”

“Two wives?”

“Sure. You have a problem with that?”

Anxious not to offend her captors, Dory quickly avowed that it was none of her business to judge. Now that it seemed she wasn’t about to be tortured or killed, she felt emboldened enough to ask questions.

____________________

KD Rebel is available from Daybreak Press: here.

Published in: on October 13, 2017 at 6:43 am  Comments (1)  
Tags:

Deadliest shooting in US history

The problem I see with today’s racists is that they are blind about the extremely toxic aspects of their culture. Gambling in Las Vegas or listening degenerate music are two sides of the same coin.

It’s a shame that a White guy snapped and killed a bunch of fellow Whites [in Las Vegas Strip shooting] who were enjoying a White oriented C&W music festival. But that’s the kind of stressed-out society we live in now. So I blame the jews and the niggers.

In a subsequent comment this Occidental Dissent commenter added: ‘This particular nut may have realized that killing a lot of innocent White people…’ (italics added).

I have also seen the article in The Daily Stormer on the massacre. Apparently the commenters ignore that Las Vegas is Gomorrah, and that no psychically healthy white should be around that place. This is analogous to what happened not long ago in a concert hall in Paris: the righteous Muslims massacred the Europeans who were listening degenerate music.

The abyss that separates me from the white nationalist can be conceived if imagining myself as a Lot trapped in a Gomorrah from which he cannot get out. Events like those in Las Vegas or Paris enter my mind in a radically different way as they enter the mind of the typical normie or white nationalist (compared to me, they’re the same).

For me, a few white degenerates have died; and my mind flies to the Norwegian violin we hear when we look at Edoras in the second LOTR film or my nostalgia for the films I saw as a child, like this one of a Julius Verne novel situated in nineteenth-century Scotland. Both scenes depict the antithesis of degeneracy: extremely healthy whites.

If there is one thing that white nationalists will never understand is that white Gomorrahites must die for the ethno-state to be born. Pierce saw that in The Turner Diaries but hardly anyone, as far as I know, has done a deep reading of the novel.

Two novels

Yesterday I watched a popular video with Ben Shapiro sitting beside a trans-man who claims he’s a woman. Samantha Schacher, host of Pop Trigger, said that we should expand our inclusiveness and compassion to these machos that pose as women.

This morning I had to pick up a bill from a hospital. Since the parking lot is expensive I parked the car a few blocks away from the hospital and the walking gave me the opportunity for a little soliloquy about the video in which, by the way, the muscular tranny threatened skinny Shapiro with violence as the latter said that transgenderism is a mental disorder.

But what made me think was Samantha’s impassioned speech that we should start mainstreaming transgenderism.

This is the conclusion of my peripatetic self-conversation: Women are, biologically, sexual objects. Just look at the fairest specimens of Homo sapiens and it’s all-too clear that Nature wants that we impregnate them all. Their brain is hard-wired not only to have lots of babies, but to nurture and raise them with empathy.

Once we tell women that they are not objects but ‘souls’ in the Christian and Neo-Christian sense of the term, free-will entities that just happen to inhabit a woman’s body, little women will forfeit Mother Nature by not having babies.

The psychological toll of forfeiting motherhood is apocalyptic. Feminism becomes a weapon of mass destruction not only for the fair race, but for the fair sex as well. For the liberated woman, her hard-wired sense of compassion starts to be transferred onto apparently unprotected humans that are not her own babies. That’s how the Negro and the Homo and the Tranny became like the new babies for the childless woman or even those who, like Samantha, only have one child.

I call the process pathological transference of compassion and presently it is affecting almost all western women, including those feminised males and manly females in white nationalism that are scared of the humorous ‘white sharia’ meme.

The cure for the disease is simple. Forget the white sharia meme for the moment. Use a Western meme instead. Just wait until the convergence of catastrophes makes the holy racial wars possible and the founders of a New Rome will abduct and rape the fairest Sabines as described in David Lane’s novel KD Rebel. (By the way, wouldn’t it be nice if I start publishing Lane’s novel in this site?)

And believe it or not: the pretty Sabines will be the lucky ones. Those who are not fair, e.g. fat women well after their teens and early twenties like Heather Heyer will face justice in the Day of the Rope. To quote Pierce’s novel, ‘There are many thousands of hanging female corpses like that in this city tonight, all wearing identical placards around their necks. They are the White women who were married to or living with Blacks, with Jews, or with other non-White males’.

And thus the feminist problem is solved.