Deep pain

This will probably be a provisional post. I don’t know…

The only living creature I really loved here, my bunny, died this Friday. I have been searching for forums on pet bereavement and, unsurprisingly, I found people that (like me) were feeling great distress and even anxiety bordering panic within the few days after the loss.

The shock has been so great (remember I had lost everything in the country I am living) that I’ve decided to change the title of the book I am writing, of which I have completed about 50 pages.

Even the introduction to the book, which still appears in the Addenda of this blog, will be removed in the printed book version and I’ll write, instead, a totally different introduction focusing on what used to be a very strong bond between my bunny and me. By extension, and remember what I said about Goring, I will pay special attention on the welfare of other animals who share the planet with us.

In the next two hours or so, after dawn, I’ll bury my Conejito with my bare hands in my garden, very close to the spot he liked to rest. I can only hope that my agony will not last so long, especially when we keep in mind how Hitler himself cried when his pet Blondie died (I also cry after writing this, telling to myself with deep pain: “Mi Conejito, mi Conejito…”).

Published in: on March 26, 2017 at 6:17 am  Comments (17)  
Tags:

Hidalgo the kike

miguel-hidalgo
Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla (1753-1811), the father of the independence of Mexico, was ethnically Jewish.

All 19th century paintings of Hidalgo are fake—all of them! All were based on an original portrait of a Belgian priest who posed for the painter because nobody had taken the trouble to draw a portrait of the real, historical Hidalgo while he was alive. When his memory was elevated to the status of father of the independence of a new nation, the man was long dead. The new nation badly needed a noble face to honor and they resorted to fake portraits.

Original spoken reports describe Hidalgo not like the Aryan of noblest features that appears in the portraits, but with a hooked nose. The overwhelming majority of Mexicans ignore that the Catholic priest Hidalgo was the son of Jewish conversos!

Presently the Mexican Jews, no longer in need to hide their crypsis, have acknowledged it.

Here in Mexico City this day is a sacred holiday celebrating the Day of Independence from Spain. The streets are empty. The very few remaining criollos and the massive mestizos are in their homes.

Hidalgo’s war cry was “¡Mueran los gachupines!” (“Death to the Spaniards!”). It is so sad that these few criollos ignore, or don’t care the least bit, that the kike Hidalgo killed many civilian Iberian whites. Instead, they still regard him as a “hero.”

Published in: on September 16, 2015 at 12:54 pm  Comments (6)  
Tags:

Surreal Mexico

Race-wise Americans should consider the sociology down the south of Río Grande. Half a millennium of miscegenation ought to be enough not to repeat the Iberian history of the Americas.

Mexico in particular is fascinating. On February 17, 1992 a Newsweek article asked humorously, “Is Mexico blond?” because sometimes the Mexican TV commercials show blond Mexicans even though they are a tiny minority here. What Newsweek failed to report is that it is not uncommon that some Mexicans with overwhelming Indian blood celebrate when, due to Mendel laws, one of their newborns surprisingly looks much whiter than most members of their family.

The most surreal case I’ve witnessed happened in the 1990s during a show of an extreme leftist in Chapultepec’s Casa del Lago, in the open forum for stand-up comedians. I was fascinated to see books on sell authored by Stalin, Trotsky, Lenin and other commie luminaries very close a place with very poor, slightly mesticized Indians listening the comedian. Naturally, he was excoriating the Mexican bourgeois culture. But he said there was an exception: their women! The comedian said humorously that he much preferred the white Mexican woman to the common female of the proles.

mex bitchI was amazed since the brown audience never stopped to laugh at the comedian’s joke. They didn’t take any offence for what he said about the absolute superiority of the white female even though there were many brown women present; actually, virtually all of them were dark browns with their families. And this was a public show coming from an extremely radical leftist in a place that still sold books by Stalin!

We can imagine what would the reaction be if today a stand-up American Negro said the same about the appearance of the First Lady compared to, say, Nicole Kidman…

The anecdote makes my point beautifully. With five hundred years of miscegenation many “Latin” Americans, even the darkest proles, still can tell the abyssal difference between the superiority of the Aryan female before the Neanderthalesque native.

Published in: on May 15, 2015 at 9:59 am  Comments (4)  

Extermination • III

Libro
CHAPTER 1:

THE STAR CHILD
 
 
 
 

A dream in Madrid

The day after my birthday in 2011 I received a wonderful gift, a long letter in Spanish, from which I translate here only one of the opening paragraphs:

You see, like you I was raised and educated in Mexico, where I was taught from school and the official media to despise my people and consider myself a mestizo. Had it not been for the rectifier comments of my parents probably I would be one of those many Criollos waving an enemy flag as if it was my own. The point is that it gradually dawned on me that the Mexican society was multiracial garbage where the Mongoloid-American element has replaced the European element, so causing the current state of anarchy and endemic violence.

“Criollos” or “Creoles” were the children of Spaniards born in the New World who had no drop of Amerind blood. It’s true what the Criollo said, whom I shall refer to as “Ibero,” that in Mexican public education Indian blood far outweighs the Spanish. So true that even some phenotypically Creole people are more identified with the American-Mongoloid element than with their European roots. No wonder the popular Mexican genius says, “Mexico is a surreal country.”

Such surrealism is a direct result of the continental experiment of the Counter-Reformation to genetically mix the European-Iberian with the American-Mongoloid. Never before it had been attempted a project of biological and social engineering on a continental scale in previous centuries and millennia! While the Spaniards used to talk of limpieza de sangre (purity of blood) and a caste system prevailed in the Americas, with the peninsular Spaniards and the Criollos at the top of the pyramid, the desire to exploit economically the New World alongside the universalism of the papacy broke natural barriers between what, following William Pierce, were two different species of humans. The mix of European and Indian worsened considerably with the massive importation of blacks to the mainland. Few know that more blacks arrived in the Spanish and Portuguese colonies of America than to the colonies of their Anglo northern neighbors. The difference is that here they amalgamated earlier, resulting in the formation of a crossbreed stock of the three races that explains the falling behind of the nations south of the Río Bravo.

In the mid 1970s I studied two years at the Madrid School of Mexico City. Back then most of my peers were Caucasian, some even blond: children of refugees of the Franco regime. (The school I knew no longer exist. On February 16, 2014 I received a visual shock when seeing more than a dozen classmates of one of my nephews from the Madrid. There was only one that might be considered white.) The Viceroyalty of New Spain lasted exactly three hundred years, from 1521 to 1821. In one of the history lessons I received in the Madrid School, the teacher revealed that the New Spaniards amused themselves by classifying the mixtures between the three races. Note that in the list below, a transcript of the footnotes of the sixteen illustrations of various Mexican parents with their children, the “Morisco” should not be confused with the peninsular Moor, or “Chino” with the inhabitant of China, or “Gíbaro” with the Amazonian Jívaro tribe:

1.- Spanish with Indian, mestizo
2.- Mestizo with Spanish, castizo
3.- Castizo with Spanish, Spanish
4.- Spanish with mora [negress], mulatto
5.- Mulatto with Spanish, morisco
6.- Morisco with Spanish, chino
7.- Chino with Indian, salta atrás
8.- Salta atrás with mulatto, lobo [literally, wolf]
9.- Lobo with china, gíbaro
10.- Gíbaro with mulatta, albarazado

Castas

11.- Albarazado with negro, cambujo
12.- Cambujo with Indian, sambaigo
13.- Sambaigo with loba, calpamulato
14.- Calpamulato with cambuja, tente en el aire [literally, stay in the air]
15.- Tente en el aire con mulatta, noteentiendo [literally, I don’t get you]
16.- Noteentiendo with Indian, tornatrás [literally, jump back]

(The Jews were not included in this melting-pot list of the three races as the Inquisition always kept them at bay; although some say that every Spanish has at least a drop of Jewish blood.) In today’s Mexico these New Spaniard terms are no longer used but the naco, analogous to the North American nigger, is used to refer disparagingly the mestizo with pronounced Amerind features.

In a coffeehouse in the center of Tlalpan in Mexico City, on January 26, 2012 to be exact (as good autobiographer, I keep a diary), I personally met Ibero, the author of the above-cited epistle, when he returned from his stay in Spain. After a long conversation we agreed that we would start a radio program for Latin American Creoles, and that we would meet on Saturday to plan the details. Ibero spoke to cancel the appointment the same week we met and mysteriously did not answer my numerous e-mails. I let time pass and decided to phone him more than a year later, on 31 March 2013. His answer was laconic, and the tone of his voice was not benign. I forgot the matter but later that year, on December 14, Ibero called back. He was very apologetic; insisted on an appointment that afternoon, and we met at another coffeehouse in Tlalpan, near where I live, El caldero chorreado (a translation of The leaky cauldron), in honor of the Harry Potter movie that Alfonso Cuarón filmed.

After coffee I invited Ibero to see my bookshelves, which are under my sister’s house. All the talk had been, from the coffeehouse, friendly until for some reason the subject of Mediterraneans and Nordics was brought up. I was surprised that, with bilious zeal, Ibero said something like: “We [the Mediterraneans] have saved them [the Europeans] more than once!” Ibero ignores that the ruling castes of the ancient Greeks and Romans were Nordic, as shown in FR. Even in the early Middle Ages, Charles Martel, as a Frank, came from a Germanic tribe. But I was surprised when I told him that, to save myself from the currency crisis that is coming, it would be ideal to move to Iceland. I did not record the conversation, I just wrote down what he said: “They kill you!,” “They’d kill us!” or “They’ll kill us!” (when writing the diary I was not sure which of those phrases had been the most accurate and wrote down all three). He meant that the Icelanders would kill us if we dared to emigrate there. I was shocked because I thought it was obvious that the nacos would terminate us—not the Aryans—after the collapse of the dollar leads to social chaos in the largest metropolis in Latin America. I was stunned at Ibero’s vehemence and did not say anything. But when I showed him in a bookshelf the 2011 edition of Arthur Kemp’s March of the Titans, he got very upset. Although I do not remember the specific reason of the anger, the image of Ibero greatly exalted when showing him the book is very much present.

I feel bound to say that on my recent trip to the United Kingdom I visited Kemp in an ideal village to live: far from traitorous London and where I saw no people of color. Years ago Kemp’s car was vandalized by the antifa while working in the British National Party, so I’ll omit mention where he now lives. Suffice it to say that he was very kind to me, a real tourist guide. He took me in his car to Chester and several places of interest: beautiful English countryside far from the Babel of the large British cities. My talks with Arthur in one of the very small towns we visited revealed something I suspected but was not sure.

The anger not only of Ibero, but of a good portion of the white nationalist community about March of the Titans is due to such an elemental truth that it requires complete brainwashing by racial egalitarianism not to see it: The concept “Nordic” refers to those whites who are less mixed. It’s that simple. No one who reads Pierce or Kemp fails to see so elementary fact.

History is the tallest tower of experience, wrote Van Loon, the queen of the humanities; and he who fails to base his understanding of race on it—classics like Gobineau, Chamberlain and Günther—won’t learn the Letter A of racial studies. Most white nationalists persist in not seeing what they have in front of their noses and claim that those who have lived for millennia in the Mediterranean, so close to the Levant and Africa, have virtually the same percentage of non-whites genes that Scandinavians. Not only many so-called white nationalists cling to the absurd premise that the mixture was negligible. Those Mediterraneans with inferiority complex so take this revelation like a bomb that Arthur’s family suffered harassment by e-mail from a Greek man of very dark skin, the stalker came to be called, who felt insulted for the book.

Before I met Arthur I supposed the critique of Christianity by Kemp in a book that took years to investigate was a factor of the visceral rejection of March of the Titans coming from many white nationalists and Mediterraneanists. In the “very small town” I won’t name I became disabused. Questioning Arthur I realized that the cause was simply the most abject state of denial before the elemental on the part of those who had browsed the online version of the book. (Ignorant racists because, as I told Kemp, he had not done anything but “reinventing the wheel” already devised by Gobineau.) And this, even though Kemp was always very polite in his texts by adding, immediately afterwards, that not all Spanish, Greek, Slav or Balkan inhabitants had suffered considerable miscegenation. Qualifying his findings in each chapter was not enough. The mere fact of making discriminative distinctions drives crazy the “racists” who are currently “fighting” the dogma of equality, Ibero included.

Following my meeting with Ibero in El caldero chorreado he invited me to what, as I understood, would be a meeting of Creole nationalists to be held on 21 December. I hesitated but decided to go at the last minute. Besides Ibero I had not met anyone knowledgeable of “white nationalist” literature over the internet, and despite our differences I could not resist the temptation of meeting more people that, like Ibero, were familiar with the subject.

When I parked my car on the street Mecanógrafos in the Sifón neighborhood, where the meeting was held, I was struck by the rock music played in one of the houses. I thought some naco neighbors were having a party and wondered if the noise would mar our meeting. Imagine my surprise to learn that the “music” came exactly from Ibero’s friend’s home! In announcing my arrival to the woman who opened a window, she summoned the one who had invited me. Another surprise: with Ibero a guy on costume with a swastika on his arm opened the door! What left an impression on me was that Ibero’s companion was not Criollo. He was clearly a hybrid whose Mongoloid-American element stand out. As a courtesy, I won’t mention his name but in this book we shall call him “Mestizo.”

Upon entering the party—not a meeting of intellectuals as I had imagined—I was surprised again to see it be held in winter outdoors. At the back of the yard I saw a fabric with the sign of the German SS and another with the Blade of Burgundy: Nazism and Creole nationalism. In my idealized vision I had imagined people like, say, the racially conscious gentlemen of the London Forum I would meet the month before last. But the anti-music and outdoor December party were the opposite: they would perform a crude pagan celebration at midnight, a popular holiday condemned by the pope. More surprising still was that among a few whites were more people of swarthy skin. I could not believe it and the situation turned openly surreal—the surrealism that Mexicans are fond to self-parody—when the friendly Mestizo with his swastika on the arm said “I’m white” to a group of guests, standing and drinking alcoholic beverages. I remembered an adolescent story of Arturo’s follies, one of my classmates of the Madrid School. Arturo once got into his car some transvestites and the police stopped him. One of them made a scene by yelling at the police: “I have vagina! I have vagina!…” Arturo commented that, if he said that, it was obvious that he did not have one. The same is true of those airing from the rooftops that they are “white.” Although I spoke some time in the yard’s party with Ibero, Mestizo and a Punk who showed me the wounds of his fights against the antifas, I could not long stand the music and the cold and left. And yes: the trio was very kind to me and accompanied me off the street.

The following month, the first Sunday of 2014, I saw again Ibero and Mestizo but this time in the Casa del Té—a place chosen by me—in the Condesa neighborhood where, without quarreling, I informed them that I was the staunchest nordicist in the Anglophone blogosphere. I explained that it was all a platonic love for the nymph Catalina when I was in my early twenties. It was then that Ibero confessed that he did not read my blog, and I assumed that the cause was precisely the nordicist articles I was reproducing and my open contempt for Spain. Let’s recall that in FR I pick texts by William Pierce and Kenneth Clark where it is alleged that the Iberian Visigoths allowed to be duped by Christianity, thus breaking their ancient taboo of never mixing with non-Goths, and henceforward Spain had not contributed substantially to the development of the ideas that create Civilization. But what Ibero and Mestizo ignored is that my nordicism obeyed a tragedy that prevented me to relate, among other realities of life, with Catalina (tragedy that I’ll tell in the long chapter “In Search for the Soulmate,” although I mention some of it in the first book of HS).

Although our differences were irreconcilable, I felt very curious to know a little more about the group. In a couple of weekends after a flu that hit me, Mestizo and I met in other places: the first one, a solitary coffee shop on a side of the central church in Coyoacán; the second, at a restaurant in Paseo de la Reforma with distant group members (Ibero missed those meetings while Punk had problems with the law). At the last meeting I witnessed another incredibly surreal scene. Fabián, who barely knew the group had invited one Gabriel at the meeting: a subject with light skin but whose brachycephalic head denoted rude Indian ancestry. Mestizo degraded Gabriel in front of me, Fabián and Pedro—a son of Spaniards—by telling the other mestizo that, due to his Indian-white mixed breed, he could not belong to the group. Gabriel, who had arrived wearing Nazi paraphernalia, was a young man with good feelings and the degradation ceremony distressed me so much that I left the table. Even for Pedro, an authentic Criollo, it seemed excessive what Mestizo did to the other mestizo for being mestizo, and tried to make modest amends.

If we keep in mind that the ethno-state that will emerge in North America will have to know the peculiar psychology of her southern neighbors, you will understand why I mention such colorful anecdotes. The racial complex of the Mexicans is not limited to Mestizo. There is much “coconut” in the country: people brown outside and white inside. Even so-called neo-Nazi groups in Mexico are composed mostly of this type of people. I have seen in the subway of the big city very dark-skinned brown women with bleaching creams on their arms, and have heard of a mother who disowned her daughter for not having being born white. (Mrs. Hypocrite!: she was the one who married a very dark-skinned man!)

Surrealism also occurs in reverse, and even among the Mexican intelligentsia. A family member told the bizarre story about a man who visited my parents’ house: the partner of the former director of the Madrid School, Cristina Barros, granddaughter of the famous Justo Sierra. (Cristina’s daughter, Isabel, was fair-headed, perfectly dolichocephalic and of sublime facial features. To me she always seemed a nymph of pure “nordish” stock but, in reality, her blood was of the most Aryan type existing among Spaniards. She and her family travel with Mexican passports.) Cristina’s partner, whose name escapes me, said with total vehemence that he was “a pure Indian”—something that contradicted all appearances! Although it may seem laughable, there are not only “coconuts” aspiring to white in Mexico, but whites who repudiate their Creole blood as well. We cannot understand the impossible chimera of different ethnic groups that is now called “Mexico”—Indians that not even speak Spanish, a few Criollos, the full range of mestizos and dark-skinned browns with negro blood—if one ignores the psychic toll that such concoction of races caused.

The last time I saw Ibero and Mestizo was on 19 April this year I write in a homely meeting at which only these two attended. The other group members are hobbyists, as they take “Criollo” preservation more like a hobby than a profession. In the meeting Ibero said such an aberration that I won’t sit and take it.

He said, as I annotated the following day, that he did not mind the blond hair or blue eye to become extinct “provided the generic white survive,” i.e., the non-Aryan, peninsular Spaniard like him. Taking into account that I am devoted body and soul to the archetype of the nymph Catalina we did not see or talked again after that meeting; but that night I discovered that Mestizo had better feelings, as he was concerned that the blue-eyed blonds became extinct.

If we translate to Oldspeak Ibero’s vocabulary his words mean something like: “I don’t care that the white race is extinguished always providing the Criollo-types survive,” that is, the mudbloods, as the vast majority of Creoles are not even remotely as pure whites as Catalina or Isabel.

Ibero turned out to be my ideological antipode insofar I am so devoted to the archetype of my hyper-Nordic Catalina as that feudal nobility of the 12th century who fabled with an inaccessible and deified woman. Since childhood, my mind and my most cherished taste for those I fancy have been clearly and inexorably medieval.

The semantic trap in Ibero’s ideology is to call generic white those who are not. “White” as I said in FR refers to the European mixture that occurred in the United States and Canada before the migration of Jews in the late 19th century. Ibero and Mestizo abuse the term by referring to those folk that are far from the Aryan paradigm—Aryans that still exist, though they are very few, in Latin America. (The statistics of the article with the title of “Blanco” in the Spanish-written Wikipedia are misleading: they are based on surveys of mestizo-Americans that, as Mestizo does, call themselves “white” or “of white ancestry”.) Ibero’s stance is aggravated by granting amnesty to people who, without a doubt, are as mestizos as his colleague: accused physiognomies that remind me of the Moorish actors I have seen in several Spanish TV series filmed in the peninsula. “Generic white” does not mean Indo-European. Ibero misuses language as mestizo-Americans abuse words like “Latino” or “Hispanic” in the United States to refer to immigrants of the color of poop.

Although Mestizo has good feelings, cognitively he is a goner because, unlike the Brazilian, he has no objection to breed, as Ibero.

The latter is what the Spanish-speaking Metapedia denominates “mediterraneanist”: people who believe that the “meds” are superior to the Nordic.

In my discussions with Ibero I noticed he has got a clear animosity toward the real Aryans. In the last meeting I saw them he told me that those who fought with most courage in World War II were the Spaniards; and when I mentioned the looming monetary and energy crises he said he was hopeful that Spain would be saved. That is what matters to him.

I mention these stories because, I believe, Sebastian Ernst Ronin’s critique of white nationalism, a late version of American universalism, is correct. Ronin claims that all nationalism is ultimately ethno-nationalism, and that it makes no sense to use the word “white” in Europe.

The case of Ibero illustrates it. Though born in Mexico, Ibero is an ethno-nationalist (a Creole nationalist) to use Ronin’s language, not a “white nationalist.” He apparently has no Indian blood: his heart is in Spain or, rather, in an Hispanic America. Extrapolating the concept of “white race” to Europe is launching into a fool’s errand. Doing it in Spain would literally charge at windmills for the simple fact that many of the “meds” are not even white. Most people of the Iberian Peninsula will identify with other “meds” and, what is infinitely worse, with clearly mesticized people like the Hispanic Americans. Ronin is right: you cannot create “white” awareness among WASPs and MEDs of Europe or Latin America, including authentic Criollos. Perhaps it is worth mentioning that, the day of the pagan party outdoors, Ibero drove back some of the guests: pure English girls living in Mexico. When Ibero’s ideology—whom I repeat: has no-Amerindian blood—came up, one of these English said: “But you’re not white.”

The key to the whole thing is to notice how the inferiority complex of the Mediterranean, so well exemplified in Ibero, sometimes almost comes to desire the extinction of the real whites. It’s not only bothering he does not care that blue-eyed blonds become extinct—presumably, only an eccentric and expendable subset of the “generic white” in his mind. When I was on speaking terms with him I always detected a kind of peevishness towards them. And what’s scary is inferred from this, taking into account the harsh criticism of Ronin to white nationalism.

Although he has no Jewish blood, Ibero is a kind of Jew as he uses his Iberian genotype and phenotype as platform and inferiority complex to degrade the competition. And the competition is no less than the true white. Ibero is, as his internet pennames denote, an “Iberolobo,” a “Peninsular.” He never emphasizes, as I do, the fact that the peninsular Portuguese irreparably tarnished their genes with sub-Saharan, African blood. Although he and Mestizo—especially Ibero—have a good grasp of the content of white nationalist blogs for English speakers, Ibero’s mind orbits around another gravitational field: Spain and its American transplant. He is a silent scholar of English blogs only as inspirational material on how to develop a “Criollo” equivalent in the Americas. By remembering his outburst against Icelanders when I told him if I had money I would move there—with true Vikings genetically speaking—, we will see something fundamental. I never heard from Ibero a similar rebuff against the Mediterraneans, Amerinds, mestizos or Jews. Only the nordish peoples seem to arouse his anger.

I will be told that the case of Ibero is eccentric, and that it is illogical to generalize from an isolated case. But it is not so isolated. Drawing on my recent trip to London I will tell something I saw at the Millennium Bridge.

I joined a walking tour on the bridge led by a young man who spoke, in Spanish, of the desire to divorce of Henry VIII as if it was “a tantrum of a brat” which the Pope did not grant. Although many Spaniards have lost their faith, you may still feel the cultural inertia of previous centuries. Ibero himself, who is not Catholic, has told me he does not like the English. Similarly to the tour for Spaniards, contemporary nationalism reinforces ancient grudges between the nations. Europeans are not united by a common lack of skin melanin! Unlike them I do not care if the divorce was legitimate; only that the establishment of an independent church by Henry VIII helped to break the monolithic power of the Catholic Church which had chained the thought of the white man throughout Europe. An old-styled nationalist in Spain would never reason that way!

To be fair to Ibero, I must make it clear that his anti-nordicism can go completely unnoticed unless someone presses him a little. That distinguishes him from the ancient hatred of Jews for Aryans, who so badly want to exterminate them that in their Talmud they proclaim that “the best of the gentiles must be exterminated.” In other words, the animosity of Ibero before the Aryans is only dormant, not omnipresent as in the case of our ethnic enemies. However, Ibero’s mind is perfectly understood when we note his words, that he has repeated more than once: “I’m not a second-class white!” Actually, as the English girl who he gave a raid said, he’s not even properly white.

Had Hitler’s dream been fulfilled—an Aryan empire from the Atlantic to the Urals—the most Aryanized Spaniards would be already thinking like me, not as Ibero. But I would like to put forward a direct response to his stance that it doesn’t matter that blue-eyed blonds become extinct, and that what only matters are the so-called generic whites, with the opposite fantasy: although it was a gift from the unconscious.

Some years before meeting Ibero, in November 12, 2008, I arrived at the Madrid airport after barely sleeping the previous night in mainland and across the ocean for nervousness to travel: something that usually happens to me the day before transatlantic voyages. Falling into deep sleep that night in a city I had never been, something happened. Unlike my dreams that opened the chapters of my HS, so riddled with symbols, this time the descent into the abyss of my being took me to something I had known for some time but was no longer in the front of my consciousness. But before quoting the content of the naked “dream” without symbols I must say I slept in a soulless building, which was surrounded by more of them: residential complexes like those that have become so fashionable in the West since the culture fell.

The dream had somehow present the rudimentary faces of the Spaniards who had been in the neighborhood without soul where I slept. The message from my unconscious that awoke me suddenly well after midnight let me know that we had to level all that vacuous culture, wiping out the ugly people living there. In other words, in no way my destiny in life ended with the Hojas I wanted to publish (that trip to Spain, I naively believed, would lead to find a publisher for my 700-page book). No: there was not nearly the last word in my Hojas. The wake up dream on another continent, after some thirty-odd hours of not sleeping and then falling into the depths of my being, was analogous to those dreams in which the person believes to have received a divine message: You still have to speak about the extermination of the Neanderthals, César: you still need to talk about it…

Six years have passed since that night of late 2008, but instead of delving further into my unconscious let us continue our story.

Quite independently of my dream in Madrid, it would hurt me horrors that whites with brown hair and/or brown eyes became extinct. There are precious Aryans with black hair—think of the Liza Taylor in 1952 who filmed Ivanhoe or the 1889 painting by Heinrich Hoffman, Christ and the Rich Young Ruler (though of course: the neighborhood Madrilenians where I slept seemed troglodytes compared to them). I’m perfectly capable of appreciating the dark hair to the degree of falling in love if you reach that level of beauty for my eyes. But people like Ibero give us a slight clue to the envy of those who, during the Jacobin terror, sent to the guillotine the blonds of Paris (as Kemp tells us in his magnum opus).

In Europe “white nationalism” not only does not exists: it cannot exist. Ibero is neither white nationalist nor a Nazi, although the website of him and Mestizo, Visión Blanca, sometimes exhibits a rare fetish for Third Reich paraphernalia, a subject that Mestizo is more knowledgeable than us. As already explained, Ibero is simply an Iberian-Latin-American nationalist: he defends the Caucasoids of this part of the continent despite their mudblood. What is striking of quite a few white nationalists who blog or comment in English is that, as Ibero, they are capable of the doublethink that someone with brown skin is “white” simply because he is native of towns along the Mediterranean coast. The truth is that some Europeans are as “white” as Ibero’s partner, Mestizo. If those internet anti-nordicists who have offended me were confronted with pictures of both, they could not decide who is the American mestizo and who, say, the contemporary Greek.

No wonder that, once broken the Visigoth taboo of not mixing with the Mediterranean, the resulting stock of ancient Hispania embraced Christianity with such superstitious vehemence. Pierce said it clearly: the physical beauty of the Aryans is the splendor of divinity, so that the Christians (as the perpetrators of the Jacobin terror with the guillotined blonds) smashed the statues of the Greco-Roman world. A glance at the chapter on Hispania by Pierce in Who We Are is enough to see how the original Iberians mixed with the Semitic Carthaginians from time immemorial—long before the Muslim conquest of eight centuries, of which only the very stubborn say it did not leave a significant genetic mark. (Also, many Russian and Europeans of the Balkans mixed with Asians and Turks respectively.) This passage from the only non-fiction book from the pen of Pierce should be kept in mind:

The hard lesson taught by the different results of the European colonization of North America, Latin America, Australia, New Zealand, India, and southern Africa is that the only type of colonization with lasting significance is racial colonization; and that racial colonization can succeed only when Whites are willing and able to clear the land of non-White inhabitants and keep it clear.

By white Pierce understood of Indo-European origin; not what the newspeak of our days calls “Mediterranean,” “Hispanic” or worse, “Latino.” Independently of the behavior of the Brazilian, who according to the humorous illustration above would be a noteentiendo or tornatrás, he is well above the Criollo nationalists, white nationalists and even neo-Nazis (whom I have referred to in FR as fake Nazis). As seen in FR the Brazilian strongly believes in the “one-drop rule.”

Once one starts tolerating the first drops of non-white blood in one’s own body—say: the ancestral taboo that the Visigoths violated—, those drops will mark the beginning of the end. If we look at the history of the Iberian Peninsula from the highest tower of History we see that it is marked by two major Christian betrayals: the conversion of the Goths that broke the color barrier in the 6th century and, a thousand years later, the green light of a Pope for peninsular males to marry the conquered Amerindian. (In Portugal the church even allowed women to marry a number of imported negroes.) Regarding this last betrayal that began in the 16th century it is worth mentioning that, despite the system of castas the mestizos, the castizos and the harnizos used to bribe the Spanish authorities to be registered as “Criollos” though genetically they were not. These historical realities help us to understand the mind of Ibero’s partner, Mestizo; and also remind me the general amnesty that white nationalists have granted to the populations bordering the Mediterranean Sea.

There is no way to avoid the downward spiral of miscegenation once the line becomes blurred. If white nationalists lack the courage to draw a line highly enough the same fate will fall upon them—what happened to the continent conquered by the Spaniards and Portuguese. So-called Latin America is actually mestizo-America: a gigantic racial rubbish-dump from Río Grande to Tierra del Fuego. And this is true in spite of the fact that a tiny fraction of the population of these countries* remains authentically Aryan.


______________

* Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti, Honduras, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Dominican Republic, Uruguay and Venezuela.

On pre-Hispanic Amerinds, 6

SunStoneColored-NG

 

Tell me which gods you worship and I’ll tell you who you are.

In another chapter of the book El Sacrificio Humano I’ve been reviewing, Marie Areti-Hers, the author of the article on human sacrifice in the Toltec-Chichimeca culture, says that “to penetrate” into the Mesoamerican world one must take into account the complex statue represented by the last incarnation of that world, the “Summa Theologica locked in the formidable images of Coatlicue” (page 241).

The Spaniards placed Our Lady of Guadalupe, the symbol of Catholic Mexicans, on the Hill of Tepeyac. But what the authorities conceal from the Mexican schoolchildren is that precisely on that hill the Aztecs used to worship their goddess. And what a goddess…!

A picture is worth a thousand words. The below photograph shows a stone representation of almost 9 feet high of the Aztec goddess that you can see at the Museum of Anthropology when you visit Mexico City.

diosa-azteca

The Coatlicue is always represented with a skirt of interwoven snakes (nahuatl: Coatlicue, coatl, snake; cueitl skirt). See her collar consisting of a skull flanked by mutilated hands and hearts; her two large snakes that by kissing each other form a hideous face because the goddess’ children had decapitated her and the original face of the mother is missing. See also the phallic snake hanging between her paws like a third leg, paws which look as claws since, in the Aztec imagery, their favorite deity feeds from corpses. (In Tenochtitlan’s houses there were more figurines of the Coatlicue than of Huitzilopochtli, the male god of the Aztecs.) This goddess that devoured human hearts and blood was also the goddess of fertility and of the sacred earth.

The above image has lost its color. How had the statue made its impact when painted with the most violent colors (see the Aztec Calendar above, also of stone) in the pre-Columbian temple? Her aspect was so terrifying that Amerind women entered the shrine headed down to avoid making eye contact with the monster while offering her beautiful flowers.

And not just flowers… As I say in my book, it was said that to placate such goddess sacrifices of juicy infants were needed.

No wonder why the Spaniards chose the hill of Tonantzin-Coatlicue, which used to house the formidable statue, to impose the image of the Lady of Guadalupe they had copied from the Spanish Virgin with the same name. Most Mexicans ignore that the name of the Lady of Guadalupe derives directly from Extremadura, homeland of many conquistadors including Hernán Cortés himself (info in Spanish including an image of the Spanish Guadalupana: here).

Only with such transposition of deities the Spanish conquerors managed to banish the Aztec cult of the terrible mother…

My “pod” cousin

hispania-serie-de-tv

I am reposting the below entry, originally published on November 20, because for a mysterious reason comments were off below this article and I just discovered it a few minutes ago (maybe the reason why this entry had received zero comments). Did I inadvertently click on a wrong button last month?

At any event, now that I have seen more Spanish television series, I must say that what my “snatched” cousin did in Mexico the Spaniards are doing it too at the other side of the Atlantic. For example in the 2010 series Hispania (article of the Spanish wiki: here) the hero and liberator of some Hispanic towns from the Roman invaders, third guy in the above pic, is not an Aryan; and his daughter, not shown above, looked like an Amerindian child. Keep in mind that these series are supposed to depict the peoples of the Iberian Peninsula in the second century B.C., long before the huge mongrelization after the Moor invasion.

I also watched the 2012 prequel of it (article of the Spanish wiki: here) but I have no more liver left to continue to debunk all these silly series. Better repost about—:



My pod cousin


Gerardo-Tort

Recently I have been complaining about the fact that American films and British and Spanish TV series are mediums for either anti-white propaganda or at least not pro-white messages (with the sole exception of the first episode of The White Queen). A naïve person could think that if I approach, instead, a series directed by one of my cousins the message would be a little more positive.

Gritos de Muerte y Libertad (Screams of Death and Freedom) is a Mexican television series based on the period of the war of independence of Mexico, produced by Leopoldo Gómez and directed by my cousin Gerardo Tort (pic above) and the lesbian Mafer Suárez. Several writers wrote thirteen episodes of the first season of the series advised by a group of historians. The series premiered on August 30, 2010 to mark the bicentenary of the independence of Mexico from Spain and ended on September 16 of that year.

I have already quoted Mexican intellectual José Vasconcelos (1882-1959) in this blog stating that the war of independence was “supposed to destroy the Spaniards, who represented the force and culture of the country… all under the pretext of freeing the Indian.” And two months ago I revealed here some hidden facts about Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, the father of the Mexican independence.

All 19th century paintings of Hidalgo, like the one you see in the Wikipedia article about him, are fake. All were based on an original portrait of an Aryan man of Austrian origin who posed as Hidalgo because nobody had painted a portrait of the real Hidalgo by the time he was elevated to the status of father of the independence, and the man was long dead and the new nation needed a noble face to honor (just as the Americans have their portraits of George Washington).

Well, original spoken reports describe Hidalgo not like an Aryan but with hooked nose. What does it mean?

That the overwhelming majority of Mexicans ignore that the Catholic priest Hidalgo was probably the son of Jewish conversos. Presently even the Mexican Jews, no longer in the need to hide the Jewishness of their people, have acknowledged it.

Of course: my cousin Gerardo Tort was only a hired hand to direct a script written by others. But since I know him I surmise that he did not object the anti-Spain bias of the script. It is worth mentioning that at the beginning of the century Gerardo Tort had made an “author film” about homeless kids in Mexico City, and later filmed a documentary of his own about a Mexican guerrilla fighter he admires and perfectly fits his lefty ideology. I had not watched the series Gritos de Muerte y Libertad until yesterday [November 19, 2013] but now that I am reviewing other television series I would like to say something about it.

In the first episode one of the pro-Spain characters says these words (in Spanish of course) about the pro-independence movement, “Imagine a government of Creoles [Criollo people], Indians, Mestizos and Mulattos!”

Yes: thoroughgoing leftists like my cousin know that ultimately the struggle is racial. But race conveniently disappears when Whites claim majority rights—or even minority rights in the case of New Spain. In Gritos de Muerte y Libertad what I found most surreal is that the overwhelming majority of upper class New Spaniards are depicted as Mestizos or Castizos (slightly whiter Mestizos), not even as Harnizos (Iberian whites with a distant drop of Amerind blood) or true Iberian whites. The script that Gerardo Tort directed mentions “Creoles” many times in the textual dialogues, but during the casting he selected Mestizo actors. Phenotypical Creoles do appear in the next episode, but that episode was directed by the lesbian.

gritos-de-muerte-y-libertad

Most surreal of all is that the Aryan-looking actor who was chosen for Hidalgo by both directors, the actor at the far left in the pic, was—not in the series but in real history—a kike with even the prototypical hooked nose, according to the spoken testimony of those who had seen the historical Hidalgo in the flesh. Also, in Gritos de Muerte y Libertad my cousin depicts José de Iturrigaray, the Viceroy of New Spain from 1803 to 1808 (standing in the pic with a ridiculous wig), as an ignoble character; and for María Inés de Jáuregui y Aróstegui, his wife, he chose a Mestiza actress (wasn’t the historical Inés an Iberian White too?).

So you have Gerardo Tort, the phenotypical Creole, filming the Spanish Viceroy as the bad guy and the kike Hidalgo as the good guy of his movie. This said, I doubt that Gerardo knows that the historical Hidalgo was genetically Jewish. Like all Mexican leftists he is sleeping in a profound Matrix.

In the other episodes of the series that my cousin also directed a dialogue caught my attention. A woman asks Hidalgo: “Removing the command from the Europeans and handing it over—to who?” at the time of delivering a hostile look to a Mexican Indian beside her. Of course: the woman is depicted almost as a bigot.

Gritos de Muerte y Libertad includes explanatory notes to clarify the supposed historical events for the Mexican audience. In one of these texts it is announced that, once in jail and excommunicated by the Catholic Church, Hidalgo actually repented that the mud mobs he had commanded massacred civilians in the Alhóndiga de Granaditas—a ridiculous claim since Hidalgo was very well known for his cri de guerre “¡Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe y mueran los gachupines!” (“Life to the Virgin of Guadalupe and death to the Spaniards!”).

So clearly racial is the script of Gritos de Muerte y Libertad that it includes these words by a fearing Viceroy when Hidalgo’s mud mobs reached the capital of New Spain, “This is the main square of the Spanish crown! And no horde of Zambos [half-breeds of Amerinds and imported Negroes] will claim it ever!” This was the Viceroy who succeeded José de Iturrigaray, but my cousin also puts him under bad light.

In subsequent episodes, Gerardo Tort has Hidalgo incarcerated prior to his shooting after having lost important battles with the troops loyal to Spain. Once again my cousin used a Mestizo actor for the jailer. Hidalgo recounts his adventures to the jailer and is depicted as noble and wise. The jailer even recognizes that Hidalgo “is a good man, a son of God.” At least in that monologue my cousin has Hidalgo recognizing that in Guanajuato his furious mobs killed women and children, but he didn’t dare to film the actual scenes showing the Mexican public that the victims were probably White, and the assassins Indians and Zambos.

Gerardo Tort filmed the platoon that shot Hidalgo, again, as a group of slightly mesticized Indians. I wonder if machines to see the past are ever invented and we could see the historic scene rather as whiter men shooting an obvious kike? But before the shooting Hidalgo delivers candies—yes: candies!—to his executioners and after the shooting one of them is on the verge of tears. How moving.

There are two DVDs in the product Gritos de Muerte y Libertad that I acquired yesterday, the next one dealing with Hidalgo’s successor, the mulatto José María Morelos, who continued the killing of Iberian whites after the death of his mentor. But I don’t have any humor left to watch this second DVD.

A few years ago, here in Mexico City some nacos (insulting pejorative for Indian-looking residents of Mexico City, analogous to what in the US is called “nigger”) assaulted Gerardo’s brother. Curiously, one of Gerardo’s two sisters once told me during a private conversation that the nacos must “have the same rights.”

Yes… all of my relatives are now Pod people. And a worse kind of Pods to boot than the American liberals since among older American folks there is at least the memory of their nation being mostly White. Those who have watched the 1956 film Invasion of the Body Snatchers for instance can see a nice California town populated exclusively by Whites. This was California before Aztlán took over.

Mexico, even since the three centuries when it was known as New Spain, has experienced no less than half a millennium of miscegenation. The remaining Creoles have been so thoroughly indoctrinated through centuries of Christian and liberal propaganda that the sole mention of avoiding intercourse with the mudbloods would be considered a kind of unheard of heresy. I would go as far as claim that after the dollar crashes dragging the Mexican peso with it and after my native town burns, the apocalyptic shock won’t be enough to awaken the remaining Creoles (like Gerardo) from their catatonic sleep.

Escape from mud city

Mexican UntermenschenI know that many visitors of this blog are rather skeptical that the dollar will crash and thus skeptical of my urge to escape a huge metropolis that (I believe) will become a trap right after the crash.

But even completely ignoring what Austrian economists are saying, yesterday, the front page of the newspaper Reforma, announced that crime across the broader metropolitan area has already surrounded all zones of Mexico City. Sooner or later violent crime will reach the very shores of the Elysian island among a sea of mud I live in.

Some concrete proposals for my moving overseas have been made through email exchanges and even phone calls, and I must be grateful to all those who have either contacted me or made a contribution, however small, for my fundraising plea to escape a place that will become a killing zone (donate button has been moved now to the very bottom of this page).

Published in: on August 7, 2013 at 11:05 am  Comments (13)  

Don’t let this blog disappear!

Help us escape from Mexico City and the unending Mexican Drug War: an ongoing armed conflict among rival drug cartels fighting each other for regional control and against the government forces. I for one have already been kidnapped twice in my life!

If the dollar hyperinflates the situation in the Mexico City metropolitan area, with a population of 21.2 million people—the largest metropolitan area in the western hemisphere and the largest Spanish-speaking city in the world—will become even worse! For details see my entries on the coming currency crash. (Although an original draft of this entry was posted yesterday, my August 1 updated collection of WDH articles on the crash can be found here.)

I already have enough points for a ticket to cross the Atlantic; I only need a little travel money to arrive in one piece to a saner, whiter place and make my new home there…

Published in: on July 31, 2013 at 5:47 pm  Comments (16)  

Preparing for the crash

For those who have already read this entry,
see below my July 31 crossed-out words.



The American dollar will crash soon. The consequences will be dire for other countries insofar as many of them have most of their reserves in dollars.

I have been trying to sell a plot in the state of Morelos in Mexico to be able to get some travel money and emigrate to any racially homogenous place in the First World where the effects of the crash won’t be so ominous. However, it may take some time to find the appropriate customer.

The crash can happen today or in the next month or in 2014 or even later. Whenever it happens, the collapse of the dollar will unfold very rapidly, probably in a week or two.

If the crash surprises me without funds I’ll likely die in this Third World trap. Therefore, I’ll leave to a family member the task of selling the plot at market price—not just a desperate bargain sell but a good sell that allows me to establish properly in a better country.

Therefore, for the moment I have no choice but to accept a job that will allow me to save about $500 dollars per month [Note of 31 July: This job in Latinos Post, online news for mestizos in the US, turned out to be almost a fraud] and thus escape a large metropolis which will become pretty hellish after the American dollar hyperinflates.

At this rate, and perhaps still waiting for the area of real estate to be sold in Mexico by the end of the year, I must arrive to Europe with at least $2000 dollars (the US government is not granting me a visa).

Last month The West’s Darkest Hour (WDH) got 36,413 page loads, of which 21,051 were unique visits. If I manage to survive the crash in one piece, I plan to continue working for WDH from overseas.

Nonetheless, the job that I am about to accept is a full-time job. Presently I am adding an average of more than one entry per day. Unless I get my travel money from other sources (a minimum of $2000 dollars, independently of the one-way ticket that I already got) I will be posting only during my free time. This means that after I accept the job in the next few days I won’t be able to be as active in WDH as I have been since I started blogging in 2009.





P.S. The first one to donate $100 or more to WDH will receive by regular mail a DVD of the entire documentary End of the Road: How Money Became Worthless, which explains beautifully why will the dollar hyperinflate soon:

Published in: on July 22, 2013 at 1:40 pm  Comments (20)  

Nacoland

Or:

For those who still don’t believe
that the dollar will crash

Rarely I read newspapers in Spanish. My contempt for those who mixed their blood, and even for those who have not do it but who see nothing wrong with such mixing, is infinite. So much so that I have not a single friend in the town where I share the air with twenty millions…

However, out of curiosity in the case of Zimmerman’s acquittal, today I read a note on page 16 of the paper edition of the Mexican newspaper Reforma, which reproduced today an article of El País Internacional, “21 Arrested in Protests Against Racism” (my translation) by Yolanda Monge.

george-zimmerman closeup

The nigger who assaulted the mestizo Zimmerman wanted to “be a gangster” in his own words. But Yolanda omitted to say that Zimmerman, whose beaten-up face appears in the photo, was in danger of being killed when the savage was beating his face and banging his skull on the street floor.

Yolanda does not say a word—nothing!— that Zimmerman was being crushed when in self-defense he pulled the trigger.

This voluntary surrender to evil of the Mexican Reforma, the Spanish El País Internacional and those morons who buy, read and swallow such a press is hardly conceivable. After all, lots of them are as mestizos as Zimmerman! But I’d like to limit myself in recounting an autobiographical vignette that could explain the hatred I feel for today’s Mexico City.

As a child I lived a few blocks from where the Reforma edifice would be built. It was a vacant lot and, to get there from my house, I had to walk alongside other huge vacant lots: so huge in fact that children used to fly their kites on those wide and flat spaces.

Now on that same street where my grandmother’s house still exists, the San Lorenzo Street in Colonia Del Valle, they have constructed large masses of soulless buildings, and the whole colony has been flooded with crowds of Neanderthals that sprout from an underground metro station that did not exist when I was a kid. Moreover, the brown scrum that took over my former neighborhood carries with them countless street stalls that bastardize the public view of what had been my peaceful Del Valle.

The destruction of my house’s surroundings explains part of my desire for payback against Naco City (“naco” is the equivalent of nigger in the United States, although it only refers to slightly intermixed Amerinds).

I have no wish to be cannibalized by the nacos in the near future, when the dollar crashes. But I must say that those who still believe that it won’t collapse have to spend some of their time listening how Schiff debates the non-Austrians (just click on the above link, on the word “gangster”).

Escaping Naco City is the highest priority in my life. If I could escape not only the city but the entire Nacoland I could even indulge myself to learn that those who destroyed my nostalgic referents are starting to starve, after the crash…

Published in: on July 16, 2013 at 2:35 pm  Comments (4)  
Tags: