Amor fati

This is a response to a comment of Joseph Walsh (here).

Try to tell a child who was burned alive by her parents in Carthage that the whole universe is not a mistake. Obviously from her point of view it is a mistake. Only theists try to solve the problem of Evil by claiming that the ways of god are mysterious. But for non-theists like us it should be obvious that the universe is imperfect. Even Spahn Ranch has said that the phrase ‘In the beginning god created the heavens and the earth’ has been recognised by some as a mistake.

But metaphysical dissertations lead to nothing.

I am not just arguing that Nietzsche became insane, partly, because of his philosophy of amor fati. It is a human defence mechanism to idealise reality when reality hits you hard. I’ll try to explain it with a couple of examples.

When Saint Thérèse of Lisieux was totally unprotected and left alone in a personal tragedy, she ‘jumped into madness’ so to speak: she asserted to herself that god protected and cared for her: a compensatory fantasy for her desolate situation. Decades ago an acquaintance of mine, a great reader of Nietzsche, went to work in London and only found work as a street sweeper. The poor devil, being close to the psychological breakdown, embraced a huge pile of garbage telling himself ‘What does not destroy me makes me stronger!’ His brother literally became a schizophrenic (both had a schizogenic mother).

Nietzsche wanted to protect himself from the tragedy of his loneliness through an utterly unhealthy way: denying that tragedy existed. That led to insanity because it’s what I call an ‘idiotic defence mechanism’ (cf. the three chapters on the idiotic defence mechanisms of my father in my second book). In the course of a tragedy, this is a very crazy way of trying to give cohesion to the inner self: washing one’s own brain with claims that tragedies simply do not exist, that the world is perfect. If the personal tragedy is acute, it is a form of what psychologists call ‘negation’ of reality, like those cancer patients who deny that they’re sick (again, cf. my second book). In the words of Zweig:

Nietzsche never tried to evade the demands of the monster whose grip he felt. The harder the blows, the more resonantly did the unflawed metal of his will respond. And upon this anvil, brought to red heat by passion, the hammer descended with increased vigour, forging the slogan which was ultimately to steel his mind to every attack. ‘The greatness of man; amor fati; never desiring to change what has happened in the past; what will happen in the future and throughout eternity; not merely to bear the inevitable, still less to mask it, but to love it’.

But as life continued to hit the poor philosopher, and hit him hard, his defence mechanism (that is to say, the artificial security operation for his inner self) led him to a downward spiral that ended in the psychotic breakdown from which he never recovered, from January 1889 to 1900 when he died. His mom had to take care of him at home.

Playing mind games with artificial defence mechanisms is dangerous business, whether the player is a pious Christian (Thérèse) or an anti-Christian (Nietzsche). Loving fate is a desperate, existential cry of someone who’s suffering, and suffering a lot: a hug to the trash heap like that friend whose bro became schizo; an insane biography like that of many saints that only Catholics idealise.

Day of Wrath, 21

Abridged Spanish-English translation from the introduction to ¿Me Ayudarás?:
 

‘Men are the devils of the earth, and
animals are their tormented souls’.

—Schopenhauer

At fifty-three, I received a surprise in what in Hojas Susurrantes I call the cursed house. Someone had left a box on the shelf outside the bathroom for visitors. When I opened it I saw something that amazed me. A divine little animal! He looked like a very young bunny but it was so beautiful and graceful that it could not be a rabbit, I told myself. It took me a long time to recognize that he was really a white bunny, but so otherworldly it seemed to me that I had difficulty in reconciling my two hemispheres: one telling me that it could only be a divine creature, and another telling me that it was a little rabbit that had come into the world not long ago.

Almost abandoned in a non-custodial box, it had been one among many gift bunnies to the kids at a birthday party that one of my irresponsible siblings had bought, the father of the celebrated child. Elsewhere I might tell how I came to interact with the creature, whom I would rescue from an uncertain destiny due to the pettiness of my family and the Mexicans in general. I had never interacted in such way with an animal before. In fact, I had never wanted to have a pet even though I did not get married and have no offspring. But seeing a being so helpless and at the mercy of the modified apes in my family moved me to adapt it. Elsewhere I may tell anecdotes, but the only thing I can add now is that, over time, the white rabbit would help me in my way out from the inverted world of Alice.

A little less than two and a half years later I would receive a great shock. The Mirror reported that four teenagers from Seaham in Durham, England, tortured and murdered Percy: a bunny who, in the picture that can be seen online with the naked young people, seems identical to my pet; now, an adult rabbit. They tried to shave and rape Percy; set her on fire, tried to drown her and then threw her dying but still alive from the window. The human monsters, all white, even recorded on their cell phone what they did: a video that the owner of the bunny could not see when the police arrested the perpetrators; only a frozen image to identify it. The punishment for these criminals was negligible in today’s Britain. I would have tortured them—exactly what they did to the rabbit—and then cast them out the window to let them die in agony lying on the ground (eye for an eye). In fact, if by a miracle of fate an extraterrestrial force had empowered me on my latest visit to the United Kingdom, I would have done it.

We must bear in mind that if the Anglo-Saxon demons had allowed Germany an empire from the Atlantic to the Urals, in the areas under the Nazi flag the torment of the animals would have been greatly reduced. Personally, I regard Hermann Göring one of my patron saints: and he should also be for those who long for a world free of this type of abuse. Let us not forget the 1933 caricature in which the freed animals—“No more vivisection! No more experimentation with animals!”—salute their savior Hermann.

Unlike my beloved Nazis, in one of my blogs I spoke of what non-Nazis are capable of doing with defenseless animals. I mentioned fur coats factories in China where some mammals are skinned alive; farms in Mexico where they hang rabbits from their ears until they die, which has also happened in some Australian farms. That and what they did to Percy pierced my soul. Her photograph in The Mirror shows her in a posture of serene confidence before the humans who would torture her: identical image to the postures of my own little bunny who, accustomed as Percy was to her benign owner, relaxes placidly in human presence. The betrayal of the universe that Percy had to experience before the change from her angelic owner to human devils must have been such that I caressed the idea of dedicating this volume to her memory.

Although what those damned humans did in Durham was condemned by other Englishmen, so-called normal people are not left behind. Humans whom I consider exterminable are able to pour concentrated solutions into laboratory rabbits, and to prevent them from closing their eyes, hold their eyelids with tongs. How many women ignore that their cosmetic products have been tested in this way… This happens today with the approval of society precisely because the Second World War was won by the wicked. Few know that from 1944 to 1947 the Soviets and the Americans, including Jews on both sides, practiced a real holocaust of Germans, the “Hellstorm,” preventing among other things that the benign policies of Hermann, who had saved our mammals cousins in the very brief historical window that represented the Third Reich, were implemented in the West after the war.

Science philosopher Thomas Kuhn used the optical illusion of the duck-rabbit to show how a paradigm shift causes one to see the same information in a completely different way. If Westerners had not been brainwashed, instead of seeing a duck (the Nazis were bad) they would see a rabbit (actually they were the good guys). I noticed this psychological phenomenon in 1992 when I studied the so-called Faces of Bélmez in a small town in Andalusia.

(The author at thirty-three in Spain’s “House of the Faces”.) Originally I believed that the faces of Mrs. María Gómez Cámara’s kitchen were a paranormal phenomenon until, once, seeing the face called “La Pelona” (part of the concrete block with this image is behind my back in the photo above), I made a change in my inner subjectivity. I experienced the sensation that the crude strokes of the face were the work of a human hand, debunking the parapsychological investigation in which I had placed my hopes. Perhaps in the future I will have a life to write the details of that adventure in Spain. Suffice it to say that the paradigm shift comes from the internal will. Following Kuhn’s example, the volitional faculty of my mind stopped seeing a bird and discovered another small animal.

The same can happen in our inner eye as we transcend Christian and neo-Christian values to their National Socialist antithesis. Many white nationalists, mostly Christian theists and Neochristian atheists, are frightened by The Turner Diaries. Unlike William Pierce, with their stupid love for the modified apes they condemn other animals to a torture of millennia—as potentially the Aryans, who are extinguishing themselves, are capable of becoming Görings. For a truly integrated individual it is obvious that moral is putting a screeching stop to the sadism towards our cousins, and the only way to do this is to get rid of the human devils. A change from love to hatred towards sinful humanity—great hatred I mean: a hatred à la Yahweh in the mouth of Jeremiah—represents a paradigm shift.

Do you remember the quote from Arthur Clarke’s Childhood’s End that I included in the fifth and final book of Hojas Susurrantes? In this novel human beings are metamorphosed into a higher entity. I will quote one of those passages again. In the novel “Karellen” was the leader of the extraterrestrial visitors, physically indistinguishable from the iconography of the 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 up to the real world and stopped diabolizing Hitler, Childhood’s End had been my favorite book. Now I see that the devil Karellen, as Clarke painted him, was too magnanimous with humans. The mere fact that there are seedy slaughterhouses should move us to take more drastic measures than those of that character.

In Mexico the calves are enclosed in compartments so narrow that they cannot even turn inside the cage. As adults, farmers cut horns, castrate and mark with iron without anesthesia. In trucks on the way to the slaughterhouses, the animals sometimes spend more than a day without food or drink, arriving thirsty and dizzy to the Inferno. The first thing the poor animal sees in the slaughterhouse is a Dantesque spectacle: puddles of blood and corpses skinned or torn from other cows; severed heads on the ground… She enters the first circles of hell in a state of panic. At the seventh circle the blow that the slaughterer gives the cow’s head does not always kill her. Sometimes this noble animal is only wounded, in a state of shock and with the deepest pain, wondering without language why the demons of Hell do what they do to her. Humans are so exterminable that they throw live pigs into a pond of boiling water so that the pain of the Gehenna fire causes the animal to release its hairs. (In Mexico people are fond of eating pork rind—a delicacy for my father by the way—and they dislike seeing hairs on it.) The Spaniards do not stay too far behind. They prepare the bull in a bullfight to make it less dangerous: they cut off the tips of the horns, they put vaseline on his eyes to cloud his vision and an irritating solution on his legs so that the bull is always moving in the ring. (Long before they would have stuck a needle in his genitals to atrophy its growth.) They put tow in the nose to make it hard for him to breathe, they give him strong laxatives before the bullfight, and hit his loins and kidneys with sacks before he faces the bullfighter. And let’s not talk about what can be seen on television at both sides of the Atlantic once the bull goes out to the arena.

Only until now can the strength of my unconscious be glimpsed during my dream in Madrid [recounted also in the introduction to ¿Me Ayudarás?]. If we pass the dream from the unconscious not only to consciousness but to super-consciousness, it means that most human beings should not exist. It is not enough that, according to the polls, most Spaniards of today do not care about bullfighting. The mere fact that they and other peoples are involved in the chain of cruelty to animals—whether using a feminine vanity product that was experimented in the eyes of a bunny or gobbling fried skin from a pig that had been submerged alive in boiling water—should be enough to arouse the exterminationist hatred of the savior devil. Consider for example this passage from a comment by one J. Marone, who in 2005 reviewed for Amazon Books Slaughterhouse: The Shocking Story of Greed, Neglect, and Inhuman 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 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 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 in the last paragraph are mine and express why it is not enough for humans to claim ignorance, as almost every adult has heard what happens in the slaughterhouses.

When in my preparations to write this chapter I began to read what was happening in those places, I promised myself, like Marone, not to put again pieces of mammalian or bird carcasses into my mouth. I do not believe in the postmortem survival of the soul. However, until one has stopped eating meat (or derivatives from tormented animals), a part of our soul remains unawakened. This goes back to what was stated in the previous pages, which expose the psychogenic evolution of man. If in childrearing the Spaniards represented a psychogenic quantum leap compared to the Amerindians who still ate the flesh of their children, a new leap means to develop, in our times, empathy towards our cousins of the animal kingdom. Unlike Hitler and the vegetarians at the top of the Nazi party most Aryans have not gone through that leap, not even neo-Nazis. It is enough to see the photographs of mammals in laboratory experiments that are carried out throughout North America and Europe to perceive that the human being is truly a wicked species. I will not incur the rudeness of adding those photographs in this text: a task I leave to my readers.

My exterminating fantasies would not seem unhealthy if we do another thought experiment. In Dies Irae I quoted a non-fiction book by Arthur Clarke where he talked about the “judgment from the Stars” that earthlings could experience. If we imagine that in real life someone similar to a Karellen visited our planet, what is the first thing he would see from his distant silver ships, far above the human tingling? Urban spots. Industries that destroy the environment and, bringing his cameras closer, abject human misery and inconceivable suffering of the other species that share the planet with us. If, as in Clarke’s novel, the visitor also possessed machines to open a visual window to the past to study the species, he would perceive that, besides the hell that the naked apes subject their cousins, through history and prehistory they had behaved in an absolutely horrendous way with their own children. It does not hurt to summarize the revelations of the previous pages.

With his machines to literally see the human past this hypothetical extraterrestrial would be taken aghast by the magnitude of infanticide: nine percent of all human births. He would see thousands of young children slaughtered ritually, offered to the goddess of Babylon. He would see the infant sacrifices of the Pelasgians, the Syrians, the sacrifices in Gezer and in Egypt of the centuries that the earthlings call 10th to 8th before Christ. And let’s not talk about what the visitor would see with his machines when focusing on the ancient Semites of Carthage, where the burning of living children ordered by their own parents reached levels that surpassed the exclamation of Sahagún. Something similar could be seen by our visitor about other Phoenicians, Canaanites, Moabites, Sepharvaim, and ancient Hebrews: who in their origins offered their firstborn as a sacrifice to their gods. With his magic to see our past, the alien visitor would learn that both the exposure and the abandonment of infants continued in Europe until a council took action against the custom of leaving the children to die in the open.

With technology based on unimaginable principles the visitor would also see much worse behavior in the lands of colored people: thousands of babies, mostly women, abandoned in the streets of ancient China, and how those babies that were not abandoned were put in cold water until they died. He would see how in feudal Japan the baby was suffocated with wet paper covering her nose and mouth; how infanticide was systematic in the feudal Rajputs in India, sometimes throwing the living children to the crocodiles; and how in pre-Islamic Arabia they buried alive not a few newborns. The visitor would also see that the sub-Saharan inhabitants of Africa killed their children much more frequently than other races did. He would even see that the sacrifice of children in Zimbabwe was practiced as recently as the beginning of the century that the earthlings call the 20th century. The window to the past would also make visible the incredibly massive slaughter of infants among the natives of the countless islands of Oceania, New Guinea and even more so among the extremely primitive aborigines of Australia, Tasmania and Polynesia. He would realize that in the American tribes, including the redskins, infanticide continued at a time when the practice had been abandoned in Europe. The same happened not only in Central American and South American tribes, but also in the civilizations prior to the Spanish conquest: where the ritual sacrifice of women and children suggests that they did it out of pure sadism. Finally, the visitor would see how, after the Conquest, the sacrificial institution of the Mesoamerican and Inca Indians was forbidden only to be transferred to the animals in the so-called santería in times when our visitor no longer has to use his devices to open the Complete Book of History and Prehistory of the species he studies.

It’s clear where I want to go… If it is legitimate for this hypothetical extraterrestrial to remove from the face of the Earth a newly-arrived species whose haughtiness blinds them from seeing their evil ways, how can it be pathological for an earthling to arrive at identical conclusions? Just because, unlike the visitor, he lacks technological power? The sad truth is that the infanticidal passion and cruelty of primitive humans have not been atoned, only transferred to our cousins.

In Dies Irae I talked about the Star-Child. An eschatology from above would be a son of man who returned on the clouds with great power and glory to judge humanity, or, in the new version of the myth, a David Bowman in a sphere of light approaching Earth. But I, who am skeptical of both personal deities and intelligent civilizations in the Milky Way, could conceive, rather than an eschatology “from above”, an eschatology “from below.” I am referring to the intrapsychic evolution of a human being by developing an infinitely more intense empathy than that developed by the bulk of the modified apes (whom I call Neanderthals).

In other words, the rhetoric currently used by child and animal protectors in the West is just a first babbling of what we have in mind. Unlike the hypothetical Star-Child, the most fanatical animal protectors I have met do not even dare to see that, in addition to humans, there are other species that 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 hours that a pack of killer whales inflict on a whale calf by killing her to tear out her tongue. And the images of hyenas eating a small elephant alive—there are video recordings of how a member of the pack rips off the trunk from the small elephant—speak for themselves and we do not need to think much about how we would proceed.

Regardless of the cruelty of animals with animals, the hatred that the metamorphosed human also feels towards the modified apes that surround him can be glimpsed in the following anecdote. Before visiting England with plans to emigrate I left my pet in the cursed house that, as we saw in the fifth book of Hojas Susurrantes, is virtually on a freeway that goes out to the Cuernavaca highway where trucks and cars are constantly passing, even in the wee hours of the morning. Seeing my bunny in a cultivated garden that is paradise for him, but wrapped in such noise, especially at night, I imagined, with powers à la Bowman, eliminating each and every one of the Mexicans who drive through that stretch of the road in order to avoid the background roar for the little animal. Such a fantasy would not seem far-fetched if, in the new tablets of the law, we value the naked apes negatively; and noble species of animals, like some lagomorph mammals, positively regardless of the relative size of their brains or sophistication of their culture. It does not matter that to cleanse the freeway from humans it is necessary to eliminate millions of Mexicans, since literally millions are taking that road. The interests of a single bunny trump the interests of millions of humans, insofar as the modified apes are valued on the negative side of our scale.

Except for a few nymphs as beautiful as Catalina residing here (see the cover of The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour) no one else from the inhabitants of this city is worthy. Of Creole men, for example, I know exactly no one with honor or true nobility of the soul. In an article that the author himself requested to be removed from The Occidental Observer, Farnham O’Reilly stated that Mexico City needs to be razed and transformed into a memorial atonement park dedicated to Nature. I would add that the sum of millions of modified apes in this city does not give a positive just because they are millions. It gives a great negative. In contrast, a single modified dinosaur (contemporary bird) or a lagomorph, however modest and discreet his life, is a small positive. The arithmetic with which the Star-Child judges the species of the Earth, including the primates, has little to do with the standards about the positive or the negative in the eyes of the latter. A world of cultivated forests turned into an Arcadia, and Percys that will never be molested again by monsters, is what the Earth shall inherit. It cannot be more significant that my most important works to date, Hojas Susurrantes and this one that I begin to write, are dedicated to nonhumans: a tree and a bunny.

In the final chapter of Childhood’s End the metamorphosed children eliminated all forms of animal and plant life except theirs. I do not think it is necessary 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 the naked apes currently impose. The mean lies in populating the planet with an archipelago of Elysian islands. Twenty-nine-year-old Clarke beautifully described this place with his prose: the city of Lys in his first novella, Against the Fall of Night, where, in addition to the forests and some animals, an evolved form of human being is allowed—a human in which empathy prevails and the original sin is a thing of the past. But let’s get down from the heights of Clarkean science-fiction and get back to the real world.

The monastic orders brought by the Spanish crown alongside the soldiery, including some mendicant orders that protected the natives, did not represent genuine empathy. The 16th century Spain was Don Quixote, and these orders represented a counterproductive version of empathy or compassion for those who suffer. What the Franciscans, the Dominicans, the Augustinians, and eventually the Jesuits did in the Americas was quixotic folly: to conceive the naturals as souls to be saved. In the islands of the Caribbean and Tasmania the Europeans would exterminate the natives but not having exterminated them in the American continent meant that, throughout the Colonial period, the natives displaced their sadism with their children (as we have seen) towards the animals. If, instead of catechizing them, they had been cornered, as the Americans did on this part of the continent, the New Spaniard psychoclass of the Americas would have reflected the Iberian psychoclass without the tinges of Mesoamerican sadism. The social engineering of the Counter-Reformation was the great culprit that a mestizo cruelty between Spanish bullfighting and the Amerindian sacrificial passion was born in this enormous part of the continent.

In this book [¿Me Ayudarás?] we will analyze the stubborn infatuation of my father for a Dominican who protected the Amerindians and who, with his jeremiads, originated the Black Legend against Spain. At the moment suffice it to say that the bases of my feelings towards humanity are already in these pages. Hojas Susurrantes was like the tunnel in which Dave suddenly found himself: a vortex of colored lights where, terrified, he traveled at great speed across vast distances of space, seeing bizarre cosmological phenomena and strange landscapes of unusual colors. But Hojas ends before the final metamorphosis: before the new Odysseus discovered himself as middle-aged in a bedroom designed in the style of Louis XVI; progressively seeing later versions of himself and, finally, a very old man lying in a bed.

My complete autobiography will explain how, due to the evil in my family and society, without extraterrestrial agency in the form of a black monolith at the foot of the bed of an agonizing centenary, I underwent an inner metamorphosis and now I return to hate humanity as much as the Star-Child.

Kriminalgeschichte, 65

Below, an abridged translation from the first volume of Karlheinz Deschner’s Kriminalgeschichte des Christentums (Criminal History of Christianity). For a comprehensive text that explains the absolute need to destroy Judeo-Christianity, see here. In a nutshell, any white person who worships the god of the Jews is, ultimately, ethnosuicidal.

 
Augustine, the spiritual guide of the Church of the West, was born on November 13, 354 in Thagaste (now Souk-Ahras, Algeria), of petit-bourgeois parents. His mother, Monica, of strict Christian formation, educated her son in Christian thought, although she did not baptise him.

His father, Patricius, a pagan whose wife ‘served as a lord’, ‘became a believer towards the end of his temporary life’ (Augustine); he barely appears in all his work and Augustine only mentions him on the occasion of his death. Agustin had at least one brother, Navigius, and perhaps two sisters. One of them, when she was a widow, ended her life as the superior of a convent of nuns.

As a child, as a curious anecdote, Augustine did not like to study. His training began late, ended soon, and at first was overshadowed by coercion, beatings, useless protests and the laughter of adults for it, even his parents, who harassed him.


 
Editor’s Note:

This 15th-century painting of Niccolò di Pietro of Augustine taken to school by his mother is very deceptive. Scholars generally agree that Augustine and his family were Berbers, an ethnic group indigenous to North Africa. I find it extremely annoying and surreal how, after Christian takeover, Aryans meekly submitted their worldview to non-Aryans—and more annoying that even white nationalists continue to be blind to these facts!

Yesterday I modified my site previously called Fallen Leaves in order to start adding entries there, in which I rebut what a Mexican theologian said about the Shroud of Turin (which I will eventually translate for my shroud series in WDH). Previously, that site collected entries in English about child abuse, which was my specialty before discovering white nationalism in 2009.

I cannot avoid the idea that the mistreatments that Deschner mentions to the pubescent Augustine influenced his late theology. For example, a good part of my book ¿Me Ayudarás? is an analysis of my father’s misguided defence mechanisms—how he defended himself internally against the bullying at home and at school when he was a child. The point is that, if someone does not process these traumas, as an adult he will try to take revenge on innocents by repeating the abusive behaviour. I am sure that, had my father not been martyred as a child, he would not have launched invectives (‘To the eternal fire…’) as an adult when he spoke in the family.

I have read Augustine’s Confessions and I remember some passages in which he describes how his parents made fun of him while praying to avoid the bullying and beatings at school. I daresay that, had Augustine had an ‘accomplice witness’ as a boy, he would not have rationalised as fiercely as he did the doctrine of hell: where he put even unbaptized infants for eternal torment.

Deschner continues:

____________

 
At seventeen, the young man went to Carthage, rebuilt under Augustus. A rich bourgeois, Romanian, had supported the father of Augustine, who died at that time, allowing the son to carry out his studies. To tell the truth, he did not do it very hard. ‘What I liked’, admitted in his Confessions, was ‘to love and be loved’. He was seduced by ‘a wild chaos of tumultuous amorous entanglements’, he wandered ‘aimlessly through the streets of Babel’, he wallowed ‘in his mud, the same as in delicious spices and ointments’ while the Bible did not appeal to him either because of its content or its form, which seemed too simple.

Although he went to church, he went there to meet a female friend. And when he prayed, among other things he asked: ‘Give me chastity but not yet ’. He feared, indeed, that God would listen to him and ‘heal me of the disease of the carnal appetite, which I wanted to satiate rather than extirpate’. At eighteen he became a father. A concubine, who lived with him about a decade and a half, gave him a son in 372, Adeodatus (gift of God), who died in 389.

Augustine, whom on the night of Easter on April 25, 387 Ambrose baptised in Milan together with his son and his friend Alypius, was appointed in 391, despite a desperate opposition, presbyter of Hippo: a millennium-old port city, the second largest seaport in Africa. And in 395 Valerius, the old Greek bishop of the city, who spoke bad Latin, names him illegitimately, so Augustine confesses, ‘auxiliary bishop’ (coadjutor) contrary to the provisions of the Council of Nicaea, whose eighth canon prohibits the existence of two bishops in a city.

______ 卐 ______

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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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On myopia and perspectivism

After Nietzsche became insane, his sister and a friend of the philosopher assembled some of his loose writings in a book she published. §481 of that book that Nietzsche never intended to publish, The Will to Power, contains this sentence: ‘In so far as the word “knowledge” has any meaning, the world is knowable; but it is interpretable [emphasis in original]. Otherwise, it has no meaning behind it, but countless meanings—“perspectivism”.’

In other words, all ideations, even white nationalist ideations, take place from particular perspectives or points of view (POVs), and there are many possible conceptual schemes, or perspectives, which judgment of value can be made by integrating different vantage points together.

The image reveals a difference of contextuality. Each perspective is subsumed into another and adds an overall objective measure: a meta-perspective.

If we illustrate perspectivism with the current paradigm in white nationalism, that Jewish subversion is the primary cause of the downfall of whites, this working hypothesis may be represented by the smallest circle. An exemplary case of this point of view is that of David Duke. (Incidentally, I liked very much his most recent podcast about the ongoing Syrian crisis: here.)

But Duke is myopic: he cannot see that the Christian problem encompasses the Jewish problem (see the second circle encompassing the smallest one). Those nationalists who doubt the accuracy of this contextualisation should read the texts that support the encompassing claim: (1) Evropa Soberana’s Rome vs. Judea, (2) Jack Frost’s PDF and (3) the recently published Why Europeans Must Reject Christianity by Ferdinand Bardamu.

But the ‘Christian problem’ POV can also be subsumed into another circle: the Aryan problem, that we also have discussed on this site (listen e.g., to Arthur Kemp’s historical perspective) and so on: the Aryan problem can be subsumed into a larger circle, what Joseph Walsh recently called ‘the human problem’ in the comments section of this site.

But the ‘human problem’ is not the largest comprehensive vantage viewpoint or ‘circle’. In the last chapter of ¿Me Ayudarás?, which is basically an autobiographical book, I go further: the human problem can be subsumed into the larger understanding of the ‘animal problem’.

I tackle this larger problem, along with the even larger contextualisation than the animal problem—the ‘bio problem’ in other planets—with my principle of the four words: eliminar todo sufrimiento innecesario. But the point is that in order to take this most encompassing principle to the stars—the circle that encompasses all others: our meta-perspective—, presently we must concrete ourselves to solve the most immediate problem, the Jewish Problem. The stars, including the choice between us or A.I. en route for the Star Child (see the image chosen for my previous post, the last instalment of Bardamu’s essay) will come only if Aryans pass all the lesser tests.

My advice to solving the Jewish Problem is precisely to get rid of Christian ethics. It is the moral compass of contemporary whites what is driving Aryans toward the abyss, including the compass of most white nationalists.

So we are stuck in the second circle in this age of treason, which is why this site focuses on the Christian Problem. In the next few days, my humble contribution will be asking Bardamu if he would allow me to include his essay in the 2018 edition of The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour.

______ 卐 ______

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God

This text appears in Day of Wrath

______ 卐 ______

 
As I said in Hojas Susurrantes, in California I suffered an internal persecutor: a Christian fear of damnation caused by my father’s miserable introjects. On May 24, 1988, a few months after returning from California still carrying in my soul a legion of dementors, I dined with my parents in a restaurant [I wasn’t living with them]. From the street, three days before I had seen the dry branches of my tree and I believed that the tree would die so, in penance, I shaved my beard the next day after having let them grow for a few months; the only time in life I let them grow.
 

Saint Augustine

Before telling what happened in the restaurant I must mention that throughout my childhood I lived under the shadow of the figure of St. Augustine; as I recall, the favorite saint of my father when we lived in San Lorenzo (as we know, Augustine’s ideas had been one of my greatest dementors in California). At dinner with my parents, barely convalescing from the idea that tormented me, I jumped when (my mother?) mentioned the aforementioned saint. I exclaimed that Augustine had rationalized the eternal fire for unbaptized infants… More than convalescing, the psychic wounds of my family’s religion were still open, though not as maddeningly as the suffering in California. My parents felt the vehemence of my words, but not my agony behind them. What my father answered deserves to leave a record and it is worth saying that I wrote it down not in my diary, but in a single sheet. (When planning this volume I had to order my correspondence, documents and loose sheets in dozens of labeled envelopes.) According to my notes, my father answered me:

—Those [Augustine’s views] are people’s mistakes; human failures. I go to what Jesus says.

When I answered that the Gospel of Matthew put Jesus talking about the gnashing of teeth of the damned, he said:

—I do not see [emphasis in his voice] the anathemas of Jesus. I prefer to see the lilies and the birds; come and they will be given food, dressing be added.

On my single sheet, the following day I addressed myself: “Where is the Augustinian father of San Lorenzo? I am reacting—my Epistle [first book of Hojas Susurrantes] and anti-Christianity—against a father and a mother who no longer exist!”

I wrote that, as I said, in 1988. Today, twenty-seven years later, the dementors still persecute me somehow, although in a very much attenuated way compared to my youth. What I want to get is that, if the perpetrator does not recognize his fault, the mental virus transferred to the adult child goes out of control. If my father had been like, say, my very Catholic friend Paulina (who almost daily goes to church), another would be my story. It is not enough to point out the beautiful verses of Matthew to counterbalance the threats of Jesus about Gehenna in that same gospel. It is necessary to recognize that one committed an outrage when “educating” the son in the Christian doctrine of damnation. In one of her letters that she sent me to England by the end of the century, Paulina wrote to me: “Also, since you are not a believer, and you feel that religion was the first reason for your father to crucify you [my emphasis], you must hate religion. And I understand you. And for you it does not make sense to go to church, to say things you do not believe. And that also caused you harm (hell, torture, sadism).”

My father is not like my humble friend. In a dream I had my unconscious caricaturing him, putting in his mouth these words: “I am very Catholic because I only think of my salvation.” To understand the parental egotism that affected me so much, the religious mechanism with which he defended himself from his early sufferings must be analyzed.
 

God for Miller fans

When I returned from California in my twenty-ninth year, I was not only an extremely damaged young man but also extremely naive. I left in the television room [of my parents’ house] a number of books in English that I had brought in such a way that their covers wore the face of Jesus so that my father could see them. At that time I still believed that it was possible to negotiate my father’s faith with solid arguments.

Let us take into account that with the words of Jesus it “sufficed him,” and what he would tell me during the confrontation of the crucifix [recounted in a previous chapter]: that the fact that the miracles were interwoven with the teachings of Jesus implied that the story was true. I arrived in Mexico in February 1988. By the end of 1989 I began to familiarize myself with the skeptical criticism of the allegations of the paranormal by writers whose magazine I subscribed to, The Skeptical Inquirer. It was thanks to these skeptics that I saw clearly that reasoning like those of my father was fallacious. For example, that the (supposed) goodness of the teachings of Jesus demonstrates the historicity of his miracles cannot be sustained. “Logical systems get in trouble,” I paraphrase now from one of the articles in The Skeptical Inquirer, “when they are forced to show their own logic to demonstrate its claims self-referentially.”

When on another occasion I confronted my father with what I had read in those books whose covers he saw, I argued that the killing of the innocents could not be historical, as the historian Josephus, who belonged to the Hebrew priestly caste, does not mention it. (This historian of the 1st century did not silence any of Herod’s authentically historical cruelties.) My father got angry, but he did not answer my argument. While it is more reasonable to assume that the verses of Matthew and Luke about the killing of the innocents are literary fiction, by pure reason I would never get to communicate with him. However, the writers of the CSICOP (acronym of Committee for the Skeptical Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal), as this group was then called, had a great limitation. Those who helped me overcome my belief in the miraculous narrative did not reach the core of the problem: the defense mechanism. If my grandfather and the elementary school [in the early 1930s] had not tormented the child César [my father], the adult César would not have clung to the idea of a dad God with the impregnable faith that he did. For Alice Miller, a child whose childhood was lived in an atmosphere of respect is perfectly capable of developing his self without needing the idea of a personal God; preferring, instead, human models. The child destined to be my father could not develop his psyche with worldly models. He had to project the parental luminous side onto the deity of the same religion that his parents taught him.

About five years before I wrote the Epistle [ca. 1983], my father had confessed something important that I picked up right there in the old epistle. He was in his youth completely devastated by something terrible that had happened to him, that he did not specify. He opened the gospels and, according to his words, saw the passage “Come blessed of my father…!” If, for theists like my father, a kind Father has replaced the failed human father, we should not be surprised if they experience great fear upon discovering that this substitute Father also has a dark side. My father does not know English and he did not read what I brought from the United States, but from my Spanish books he borrowed without me knowing Respuesta a Job (Answer to Job) published in 1952 by Carl Jung, of which he told me “I read everything.”

At his late seventy-six years, the Swiss psychologist had dared to uncover the dark side of the God of Hebrews and Christians. The same year that I wrote the Epistle I wrote down in Answer to Job that my father had exclaimed: “A terrible book!” with great emphasis on his voice when pronouncing “terrible.” Jung’s essay had disturbed him so much that he had to read a pious text about Job to console himself. What Jung said about the Judeo-Christian deity is valuable to those who have entered the underworld whose door Miller opened. In May of 1991, three years after the anecdote recounted above, I noted down on the back cover of Answer to Job: “This is the only book I know of that does not criticize religion or Christians or the church: it criticizes God itself.” I could not say it better today, almost a quarter of a century later. Later that year I noted down that Jung had tried to psychoanalyze God. Much later, in my rereading of 2005, I wrote down:

It is amazing how Miller-like this book can be if we only know the ABC of the mind that Jung did not know. Just replace “Yahweh” with “father” and “God” with “mother” and see what you find.

Read for example pages 25f (“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without wisdom?”). They remind me of the conversation I had with my sister in 2000, the day of the cut tree, about dad: “And who are you to…?” he said to my sister. And page 28 (“Yahweh shows Job his omnipotence with so many thunder and lightning”) seems to portray how he treated me in my last confrontation, in 2004 [recounted in my book’s previous chapter]. On page 31 Jung says what for a long time I have said: pride is the other side of infantilism.

Pride is the other side of infantilism. How many times have I told myself this when diagnosing my father! Almost at the beginning of his essay, Jung observes something that could be applied to my initiative to confront my father for what he did, citing the Bible: “Job ‘wanted to reason with God’ (Job, 13:3). Job says ‘I will defend my ways before him’ (13, 15).” Nice phrase, which could summarize what I have written in hundreds of pages: defend my ways before my parents and their witch doctors. Precisely as it was extremely naive of me to hope that whoever destroyed me could, at the same time, listen to my complaint, that same ingenuity had been committed by Job on another level. (Actually, on the same level if we consider that the theistic narrative is nothing but the internal struggle with the parental introjects.) In the context of the supposed goodness of Yahweh, observes Jung: “From a man who does us evil we can not wait that helps us at the same time,” and already openly psychoanalyzing God he adds something that we could impute to either of my parents: “The dependence of the object is absolute when the subject does not possess self-reflection, and, consequently, does not have any vision of oneself.” Like any toxic parent—I would say—, about our parental deities Jung writes: “But Yahweh is too unconscious to be ‘moral’. Morality presupposes conscience.”

What better indication that the idea of God is nothing but the projection of our unresolved, attachment system with our parents! (keep in mind Colin Ross’ class). From this angle, the idea of providence is a parental shadow insofar as it is so full of the dark side that we see ourselves in the need to project it outwards: something that Jung himself was afraid to say. Nevertheless, the Swiss dared to write: “It was natural that humanity, superior to God in certain aspects, should remain unconscious”—unaware of the ultimate nature of the deity. The dissident disciple of Freud wrote the following in the text that scared dad: “Yahweh does not show signs of doubt, repentance or compassion, but only of cruelty and disregard. Yahweh cannot come here with the excuse of unconsciousness, for he flagrantly violates at least three of the commandments that he himself had promulgated at Sinai.”

This brings back to me the fact that my moral was founded on the moralistic tablets of my father. Recall the [1960s] anecdote of Hojas Susurrantes about the “instantaneous introject” when a swarthy boy threw a stone at a helpless crab on the beach. Unfortunately, and parallel to how my father did not regret what he was doing to us, on the next page Jung writes: “Yahweh does not think… of giving Job at least some moral compensation.” And two pages ahead what he says seems to be a reflection of the mentioned speech to Germancito [my nephew], when my father blamed me for my sister’s behavior: “Yahweh puts things backwards, so to speak, and blames Job for what he himself does: man must not be allowed to have any opinion about God.”

Shadow projected to the deity: “Parents should never be judged,” my mother has told me several times. And it is that “Yahweh pays so little attention to the person of Job… that it is not difficult to see that he is totally occupied with himself,” which brings back the penetrating observation of Pedro Martín Moreno and Scott Peck about evil. Later Jung speaks of the “fear of Yahweh to become conscious,” which also brings back the fear of parents like mine to see their behavior.

Yahweh can project, without frowning, his face shadows on man, and remain unconscious at the expense of him…

Job knew Yahweh only of “hearsay.” But now he has experienced the reality of Yahweh even more than David himself. This is an important lesson, which should not be forgotten. Job was once a simpleton; he had come to dream of a “good” God… he believed that God was truthful and faithful…

But to his horror, Job has seen that Yahweh is not a man, but that, in a certain way, he is less than a man, and that he is the same thing that Yahweh says of the Leviathan: “He is king over all the proud” (Job, 41:34).

The mistreated son by his father must not expect moral satisfaction from an intrinsically unconscious being. “I am an amoral natural power, a purely phenomenal force, that does not see its own back.” Job, the son at the complete mercy of the Father whose voice of thunder crushes him when he dared to confront him, becomes, secretly, judge of the divinity.

The author of Answer to Job closes the book’s chapter with these words: “The drama has been consummated for all eternity: the double nature of Yahweh has been revealed, and someone or something has seen and recorded it.”

No sword!

This is a postscript to my two previous entries. Next, the translation of two different passages of the book whose syntax I find myself reviewing:

Remember that [my father] baptised his cantata La Espada [The Sword]. Now that I have buried my mind into the texts of white nationalists, I could not help remembering when I read something that, rephrasing Dominique Venner, Michael O’Meara wrote: ‘The European of history is best seen as a warrior bearing a sword, symbol of his will’, and he added that the Hellenes made their debut in history by refusing to be slaves. Nothing can contrast this old European Aryan with the Shakespearean evasion that has sealed the character of my father. [page 116, a reference to the 1948 Hamlet film epigraph after minute 1:45]

The above quote was taken from a section, ‘Caballero sin espada’ (knight without a sword) in reference to a dream while sleeping that plagued my father’s youth, when he dreamt himself fighting an obscure force without a sword. The following is taken from page 11 of the Introduction:

The objective of my writings, in which I include what I write in my private blog Hojas Eliminadas, would be to show that the evil that afflicts the white man is exactly the same that destroyed my tree and the morals of my beloved family… If I could unravel the evil that destroyed me, I will probably unravel the evil that destroys the white race around the world, including the mass migration of people of colour into the West that I witnessed on my last trip to the United Kingdom. In other words, the evil I saw in my parents, acquaintances, psychiatrists and the evil I see in Westerners who commit ethnic suicide could be, ultimately, two sides of the same coin. There is no qualitative difference between my father’s ‘comfy’ mind and that of millions of Europeans, Americans and Australians. In times of bread for all and all kinds of circuses, the passivity of Westerners [no sword] before the elites ran parallel to the sociopathic passivity of my father before my [disturbed] mother. I confess that, in my [winter] soliloquy to warm my feet and hands, I told myself that those millions of white males were exactly like my father. For decades I had imagined that people outside my family were better, or in other words, less depraved; less destructive or less crazy. The truth is that those who are allowing their beautiful race to die out (note in the image of Missa Hercules[1] that the female above the young Greek is no longer Aryan) are as wicked as my father was. I do not think they are any less bad than the central character of my two volumes. What I could not understand in the Internet forums of those who complain about Aryan decline, we can ponder by reducing a complex problem—the character of millions of Westerners—to a problem that I am able to address: the character of my father. That deserves to venture into a new literary genre.

________________________

[1] This is a reference to a previous passage from the Preface where I reproduced this image: something related to the tragedy of the transition from the Classical World to the Christian world. As a teenager, I often listened to the music of this mass by Josquin Des Prés: an LP record that my father very much appreciated.

Of course, in-context the above-translated paragraphs are more comprehensible.

Published in: on March 12, 2018 at 12:20 pm  Comments (16)  
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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?

Metapedia article on me

Since the last year the German Metapedia started an article about me. I will try to contact the editor as I have changed the title of my final book, Exterminio to ¿Me Ayudarás? which will be available only for a select group of readers by the end of the next month.

(I am awaiting that my late father’s oratorio titled La Santa Furia is premiered on February 23, 2018 in the Palacio de Bellas Artes to add an appendix to ¿Me Ayudarás? before publishing it.)

Published in: on January 14, 2018 at 11:31 am  Comments Off on Metapedia article on me  

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)