Mental health matters

Before the Christians destroyed everything
the ancient Greek aphorism ‘Know thyself’ was
one of the Delphic maxims. It was inscribed in
the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.

On my statistics page I have been seeing that my recent post, ‘Very important subject’, has been popular with visitors, a post that ends by saying that mental health matters.

By the poor mental health of our time I not only mean classic disorders such as alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, delusions of persecution or greatness, but all ideological deviancies. As I see the West, most have been in a state of psychosis since Constantine, either honouring the god of the Jews Yahweh, which is also Jesus and the divine dove (a psychosis that many American anti-Semites share) or more recently the psychosis of believing the dogma of equality in issues of race, gender and sexual orientation: the new Holy Trinity of the white race.

The vast majority of whites suffer, or at least don’t openly rebel, against one of these two psychoses. But there are many other ideologies as psychotic as these two major psychoses that many minority groups share.

I mean beliefs like UFOs, conspiracy theories, magical thinking, all sorts of beliefs in the paranormal and the many cults. When I lived in California I found out that there was a myriad of cults in that state, and it bothered me greatly that all that mind-rotting beliefs were considered ‘spiritual’ by Americans. The common white only hears of the largest new religions such as Scientology, but there are many more, as harmful as Dianetics, which are hardly spoken of because they have few followers. I myself fell into a New Age cult in my twenties, Eschatology, which is based on the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth.

Decades ago, I was unaware that it had been my Catholic father’s abusive behaviour that led me to the mental catastrophe of entering the world of Eschatology, something that I explain in the fifth book of my autobiographical series. But the problem with the vast majority of Westerners is that they do not have the faintest idea that similar catastrophes, such as falling into other sects or ‘spiritual’ systems, may have the same causes.

In the comment section of this site, for example, various types of Christians have wanted to argue with me completely clueless that their faith in the Bible is simply a parental introject. That is why I have told them more than once that they don’t know how to distinguish between the empirical world and the structure of their inner selves.

Europeans are not far behind. This day I received an email from a German who wants to promote his recently translated books into English (here and here). If Europeans in general were not crazy like goats what they would write would be, above all, historical reviews of what happened not only since Constantine, but the Second World War, as it is these two lies that destroy their race. The German who wrote to me today, on the other hand, in his books talks about the Illuminati, the attacks of 9/11 and even the aliens… The German system allows this type of controlled opposition because it does not represent any danger to the System. But what I’m after is something deeper.

What cured me of the mental virus of Eschatology was a kind of double helix so to speak: something we could call cognitive self-therapy (as I have confessed on this site) and writing my spiritual odyssey. Without the second the cure would not have been profound, as only when I realised that the parental introjects were at the core of my being, I understood that everything I believed about Jesus was not data from the empirical world, but malware from my inner self.

The subject is obviously huge, and that’s why I decided to write so many pages about it in my native language. But what hurts me is that many people who want to do something for the white race cannot do it because they continue to be slaves of their introjects, and will continue to be until they follow the mandate of the oracle of Delphi.

Published in: on March 31, 2020 at 1:27 pm  Comments (7)  

On the ‘Atomwaffen Division’

‘Satanism is alright. Depends on how you go about it. But then again, I’m more well read on the subject than most people. Most people get scared away and only go into the crust, rather than down to the core’. —Rape [penname], AWD Discord server, November 9, 2017.

Using a negative Christian symbol (Satan) to scare Christians, as the so-called Atomwaffen Division (AWD) does, should trigger the alarm signal in anyone wishing to recover the West. It is the reverse of using a positive Christian symbol (the hymn that Martin Luther composed) to please Christians, as in the case of another failed revolutionary, Harold Covington.

AWD with James Mason at the centre

When I see someone using satanic symbols the first thing that comes to my mind is: ‘A mental infant…!’

It should be obvious that if someone wants to start distancing himself from the religion of our parents, the distancing mustn’t be done childishly but maturely: assimilating books like that of the Spaniard Evropa Soberana about the psychological warfare that Judea fought against Rome after the destruction of Jerusalem; what I translated from the German Karlheinz Deschner, or even a book written by a liberal English, like Catherine Nixey’s.

But no: these neochristian Americans, unlike the Europeans mentioned above, make a teenage tantrum with Christian symbols that only denote their inability to reach adulthood.

If a revolutionary man wants to do something against Christianity, adulthood begins by reading, say, Uncle Adolf’s table talks. On this site I still have to collect the remaining of Hitler’s anti-Christian pronouncements in my cited quotations (I am missing another seven citations).

The tragedy I see with these groups who aspire to revolutionaries is that they don’t seem to realise that, given that the ethnosuicide of the West has to do with Semitic psyops, it’s more urgent to imitate Athens than Sparta at the moment; more important to philosophically understand the psyop than to do a military career. Otherwise one ends up playing with unassimilated forms of Christianity either with Satanism (which circumscribes an Abrahamic religion although negatively) or with the Luther hymn.

What kind of ‘anti-Semitic’ revolutionaries are these who cannot encapsulate the virus of Judeo-Christianity in their minds? Why don’t they follow the commandment of the Oracle of Delphi, an Apollonian oracle uncontaminated by Abrahamic religions (cf. my forthcoming translated autobiographical book)?

A Satanist would not scare the educated Christians of the racialist movement in the US. He would only inspire pity, as if he were a mentally ill person, a schizo individual. However, when I discuss with a Christian, as I recently did in Unz Review, he resorts to wanting to psychoanalyse me with my father because the objective information I represent he cannot answer.

Published in: on March 4, 2020 at 11:58 am  Comments (17)  

Joker, Molyneux and CC

Or:

An opportunity to present the trauma model
 

In recent years I don’t usually go to the movies. If there is something I say to my nephews when I see them it is that, in the media and the cinema, all the messages are bad. But yesterday I broke my habit after watching Stefan Molyneux’s video about the Joker movie.

I am glad that, as Molyneux confessed in one of his latest videos, eighty percent of his audience dropped last year. Is it because of his dishonesty about the JQ? Whatever caused the drop, from alt-lite to neo-Nazism, passing through white nationalism, Molyneux is the only notable personality in our underworld who has consistently talked about child abuse.

As the visitors of this blogsite know, I spent more decades investigating child abuse than the single decade I’ve dedicated to investigating the darkest hour in the West: whose report, The Fair Race, now appears as a free PDF. Since my oldest specialty is the subject of child abuse I must say that what Molyneux tells us in his one-hour video is, in general terms, correct.

The video revolves around the character Arthur Fleck / Joker, a mentally-ill man who dreams to become a stand-up comedian but so disregarded by a hellish and diverse Gotham City that decides to become a criminal. Curiously, the actor Joaquin Phoenix did not look to previous Joker actors for inspiration: he simply read some reports about political assassinations.

Hollywood movies usually lack psychological realism. For example, in the 1989 Jack Nicholson movie the Joker origin story simply falls into a vat of acid. The 2019 movie, on the other hand, gives its central character a plausible origin. So plausible that the film has been described as reminiscent of mass shootings in the US, and the incel community loved it. What’s more, some people from the establishment have expressed concern that Joker could inspire real-world violence.

In a moment of the first minutes of his video, Molyneux confesses that he has received horrific verbal abuse just for mentioning the naked facts of his own childhood, and that hostility toward those who were abused as children or teenagers is not uncommon if the adult victim dares to open his mouth.

At this point I would like to distinguish between dysfunctional parents and schizogenic parents, that is, parents who literally murder their children’s souls. While almost everyone I know comes from family dysfunction in one way or another, the category of schizogenic parents simply does not exist in our society. Since the 1950s the Big Pharma has ensured that civil society does not find out that there is a trauma model to understand the mental disorder that competes with its profitable medical model.

But what does all this have to do with the recent film Joker? As can be deduced from Molyneux’s video, and regardless of the sinister motivation of its Jewish creators, the film could be used, by us, to present the trauma model to the public. I was the one who started this Wikipedia article on the trauma model, an academic text that appeals to the left hemisphere of our brains. He who wants to delve deeper into this research line, and in a more literary way, can read my book Day of Wrath. On the other hand, he who prefers a personal testimony that presents the trauma model appealing to our right hemisphere could read John Modrow’s touching autobiography, How to Become a Schizophrenic.

Furthermore, he who is unwilling even to read any the above literature, but willing to educate himself on the subject having some fun, could see the films Shine (1996), Monster (2003), The Piano Teacher (2001) and even Artificial Intelligence by Spielberg, which can be used to grasp what proponents of the trauma model call ‘the problem of attachment to the perpetrator’.

Although it may seem incredible, sometimes fairy tales portray the destructive interaction of parents with their children. In almost all fairy tales, including modern fairy tales like Kubrick/Spielberg’s A.I. or Harry Potter, the parental figure is substituted so as not to touch it directly. In the case of the Potter series the abusers are Harry’s uncle and aunt. As to David, the child robot in A.I., obviously he had no biological parents but Monica functions like a substitute mother. But sometimes the storyteller sneaks parents directly into the story as the villains who abandon their children (for example in Tom Thumb).

But there are more serious forms of abuse than abandoning your child in the woods, what also happened to David. What Molyneux says about not forgiving schizogenic parents is true. I would go as far as to claim that to forgive such parents is the most toxic thing for the mental health of the victim. Mine is an opposed claim to what the establishment wants us to believe.

Why is the forgiveness that religionists and therapists preach so toxic? Because it is the abusive parents and society the ones who are currently murdering young souls. As the Armenian lawyer said in Spotlight, which won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 2015: ‘This city, these people [Boston people] are making the rest of us feel like we don’t belong. But they’re no better than us. Look at how they treat their children. Mark my words, Mr. Rezendes [another Armenian]: If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one’ (emphasis added).

For the victim, unilaterally forgiving the perpetrator or a society that never accepts its soul-murdering sins is simply a betrayal of oneself and the other adult victims, now suffering from mental stress and even disorders.

In addition to the first minutes of Molyneux’s video, using as a paradigm the Joker’s abusive interaction with his mother Penny in Gotham City, Molyneux advances ideas analogous to what I have known for a long time. Watch also the segments after minute 35 of his video: how female evil is still taboo in the film industry.

It is curious to note the chasm between those who, like Molyneux and I, have investigated child abuse due to our past, and those who did not have such destructive parenting.

Greg Johnson for example is a Batfan. In his recent review of Joker, which he writes under the penname of Trevor Lynch, Johnson prefers Heath Ledger’s Joker in the 2008 The Dark Knight than the Joker of the movie released this month. Johnson expresses very derogatory of this latest Joker: ‘You’d want to squash him like a bug’. ‘Ledger’s Joker launched a million memes, both because of his character and his lines. Phoenix’s Joker will have no such influence. He’s a pathetic nobody with nothing to say’. ‘Arthur [the Joker] is entirely absorbed in self-pity’. ‘Joker is a boring movie about a disgusting loser’.

Well, it didn’t look boring to me… But the commenters on Counter-Currents who opined about Johnson’s review said very similar things: ‘People like him deserve to get left behind by society, and the true tragedy of this movie is that successful, well-adjusted men like Thomas Wayne insist on trying to love the Arthur Flecks of the world and take care of them’. Really? The conservative commenter also said: ‘The defects like Arthur would be put in mental asylums and [eugenically] sterilized’. [1]

Such commenters remind me that, in the movie, Thomas Wayne, the billionaire father of the future Batman, labels those Gotham residents envious of the wealthy as ‘clowns’, not only the Joker. I don’t know how many viewers enjoyed the moment when, by the end of the movie, a rioter corners the Wayne family in an alley and murders Thomas and his wife sparing the child Bruce. Another commenter said: ‘One of the great things about Heath Ledger’s Joker in Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight is that he does not have an origin story’.

I dare not judge the Marvel universe as I feel deeply revolted by it. But in the real world, isn’t it good to know, say, the psychopathological motivations of those women in the Charles Manson family? But the commenters’ lack of elemental compassion is even noticeable about the previous Joker represented by Heath Ledger, an actor that incidentally has already passed away. In one of the dialogues the now dead Joker explains his scars. He said that his father ‘comes at me with a knife. “Why so serious?” He sticks a blade in my mouth. “Let’s put a smile on that face”.’

This father strikes me as ‘soul murderer’. Note this other phrase from the CC commenter: ‘Arthur [the Joker who’s alive] is far too damaged for any regular person to identify with him’.

How will a normie commenter identify with him if only one percent (or less) of Westerners have endured schizogenic parents?

Incidentally, last night, as I watched the psychological thriller, there were times when I laughed (as the character does in the film) when the audience was serious and nobody laughed. That happened to me, yesterday, in the climax of the film when the Joker kills the establishment character that Robert de Niro represented.

As I said, I usually don’t go to the movies now. But decades ago the same phenomenon occurred to me with some films by Luis Buñuel, whom I met personally, in which nobody laughed. It also happened to me when I watched Dr. Strangelove by Kubrick on the big screen. I laughed at the black humour in which the nuclear extermination of humanity was at stake while the hundreds of people watching the movie with me were quiet in the theatre. Only when I read a Kubrick biography by Vincent Lobrutto did I find out that Kubrick had a very black sense of humour. Then did I understand me and the non-laugher spectators of Dr. Strangelove!

Joker ends when Arthur laughs and tells a psychiatrist that she would not understand the joke…

_____________

[1] In the comments section on Joker in Counter-Currents Johnson shows how ignorant he is about psychiatry: a supposed branch of medicine with as little scientific basis as parapsychology or the study of UFOs, as shown in my writings (for example: here). Johnson wrote ‘If Arthur is adopted then his mental illness cannot be inherited from this mother’. This is a credulity stance regarding the psychiatric allegations that mental illness is genetic. Apparently, Johnson forgot what I said in one of my articles in which he himself corrected my syntax (see this piece which appears in my Hojas Susurrantes).

Darkening Age, 25

Bosch, The Last Judgement
(detail) 1500-05

Editor’s note: Regarding the view of Robert Morgan in the previous post, I disagree in the sense that it is unclear what would have happened to technology if the Third Reich had emerged triumphant. As the bad guys won the war, the use of technology in the West is self-destructing for the fair race.

It is true what Arthur Kemp says: that the use of non-whites after the Aryan conquests has been the primary cause of the decline of empires, due to the eventual miscegenation. But we live in a time when whites have become passionately ethno-suicidal, and that can only be explained by the texts linked in the sticky post. The history of Christianity, one of the two DNA axes of Aryan suicide according to the POV of this site, should be analysed with the same eagerness as white nationalists analyse the Jewish question.

When I talk to the white people, say, with whom I have spoken in England, I see an injured self-image to the degree that it evokes the mass psychosis, in a sector of the population, right after the triumph of Constantine. I refer to the Christian hermits and ascetics whose movement would eventually evolve into monastic orders. The mass psychosis, so well depicted by Hieronymus Bosch, had to do with the introduction of a fear that did not exist in the Greco-Roman world. I refer to the fear of eternal torment: something that, occasionally, persists even on the internet sites of southern nationalists in the US.

To understand what is happening to the white man it is necessary to realise that Kevin MacDonald and his followers fail to diagnose the origin of this tremendous collective guilt. Jews only thrive because of it. That’s why it is essential to tell what really happened to the Aryan psyche after the crushing triumph of Constantine. In chapter 14 of The Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World, Catherine Nixey wrote:

 

______ 卐 ______

 

If you had travelled to the great cities in the eastern empire, to Alexandria and to Antioch, in the fourth and fifth centuries, then long before you came to a city itself you would have seen them. At dawn, they emerged from caves in the hills and holes in the ground, their dark robes flapping; their faces gaunt and pale from hunger, their eyes hollow from lack of sleep. As the cocks began to crow, while the city beyond was still slumbering, they gathered in the monasteries and hills beyond and, ‘forming themselves into a holy choir, they stand, and lifting up their hands all at once sing the sacred hymns’. An impressive sight – and an eerie one, their filthy, emaciated figures a living rebuke to the opulence and bustle of urban life below: a new, and newly strange, power in the world.

This was the great age of the monk. Ever since Antony had set out to the desert to do battle with demons, men had flocked after him in imitation. These men were the ideal Christians; the perfect renouncers of all those sinful pleasures of the flesh. And their way of life was thriving: so many had gone out since Antony that the desert was described as a city. And what a strange city this was. You wouldn’t find bathhouses and banquets and theatres here. The habits of these men were infamously ascetic. In Syria, St Simeon Stylites (‘of the pillar’) stood on a stone column for decades, until his feet burst open from the continual pressure. Other monks lived in caves, or holes, or hollows or shacks. In the eighteenth century, a traveller to Egypt had looked up into the cliffs above the Nile and seen thousands of cells in the rock above. It was in these burrows, he realized, that monks had lived out lives of unimaginable austerity, surviving on almost no food and only able to drink by letting down buckets on ropes to draw water from the river when it was in flood.

What was a monk at this time? In the fourth and fifth centuries, the now-ancient tradition of monasticism was only in its infancy and its ways were still being formed. In this odd and as yet uncodified existence, monks turned to the wisdom of their famous predecessors to know how to live. Collections of monkish sayings proliferated. Self-help guides of a sort – but a world away from Ovid. What is a monk? ‘He is a monk,’ wrote one, ‘who does violence to himself in everything.’ A monk was toil, said another. All toil. How should a monk live? ‘Eat straw, wear straw, sleep on straw,’ advised another revered saying. ‘Despise everything.’ Athletes of austerity, these men mortified their flesh in a hundred ways on a thousand days. One monk, it was said, had stood upright in thorn bushes for a fortnight. Another lived with a stone in his mouth for three years, to teach himself to be silent. Some, nostalgic for the tortures of past persecutions, draped themselves in chains and clanked round in them for years…

It is hardly surprising, therefore, that many of the empire’s urban, urbane men found this new breed of men who shunned the civilized life baffling to the point of repellent. To the Greek orator Libanius, monks were madmen, ‘that crew who pack themselves tight into the caves’ and who then ‘claim to converse with the creator of the universe in the mountains’. Their fasts were fiction, he said. These men weren’t starving themselves: they didn’t not eat; they just didn’t grow or buy their own food. When no one was looking, he said, they scuttled into the temples of the loathed pagans, stole those sinful sacrifices and ate them instead. Far from being ascetics they were ‘models of sobriety, only as far as their dress is concerned’. Their vicious and thuggish attacks on the temples weren’t done out of piety, said Libanius. They committed them out of pure greed…

The modern mind would tend towards a more clinical (albeit anachronistic) conclusion: many of these men must have been profoundly depressed.

Starvation was one of the most popular of monkish mortifications – no special equipment was required – but it was also one of the hardest to bear. One monk fasted all day then ate only two hard biscuits. Another lived from the age of twenty-seven to thirty on just roots and wild herbs, then for the next four years on half a pound of barley bread a day and some herbs. Eventually he felt his eyes going dim while his skin became ‘as rough as a pumice stone’. He added a little oil to his diet, then went on as before until he was sixty, to the awe and admiration of his fellow monks. There had been asceticism before – but this went further. Others, like ruminants, lived on all fours, browsing for their food like animals. In some ways hunger helped: a famished monk would be less beset by the demons of fornication or anger than one with a full belly. ‘A needy body,’ as one put it, ‘is a tame horse.’ But thoughts of food became an obsession with these men. In their reading of the Fall, the apple that Eve gives to Adam is not seen as a symbolic representation of sex; it is seen as nothing more, or less, than an apple. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs made monkish flesh.

The monks tormented themselves by what they put on their bodies as much as what they put in them. Some chose to dress in woven palm fronds instead of any softer fabric. To wear the usual coarse monkish habit was regarded, in this extreme world, as being ‘foppishly dressed’. Others, under the desert sun, tortured their skin with abrasive hair shirts. Another dressed in an extraordinary leather costume (that would in a later era have different connotations) that left only his mouth and nose exposed. To be pleasing to the Lord, a monk’s clothes must, it was said, be an offence against aestheticism: a habit should be tatty rather than smart, old rather than new, mended and re-mended and mended again. Anything less was vanity. A monk’s clothes should be such that, if he threw his habit out of his cell for three days, no one would steal it. The monks’ self-sacrifice was unquestionable; their smell must have been unspeakable.

If this sounds like a life lived on the edge of sanity, it was. In the searing heat of the desert day, reality shimmered, flickered and thinned. One monk saw a dragon in a lake; another slew a basilisk. Another saw the Devil himself sitting at his window. Demons appeared then vanished like smoke; meditating monks turned into flames. Watch one monk as he prayed and you would see his fingers turn into lamps of fire. Pray well and you might yourself become all flame. Demons teemed around monks like flies around food. One monk was beset by visions of rotting corpses, bursting open as they decayed. Alone for weeks, months on end in their cells, with nothing more than ageing hard bread to eat and an oil lamp to look at, monks were plagued by more tempting visions of sex, and food, and youth. Some monks lost their minds – if they had ever been in full possession of them. When Apollo of Scetis, a shepherd who later became a monk, spotted a pregnant woman in a field, he said to himself: ‘I should like to see how the child lies in her womb.’ He ripped the woman open and saw the foetus. The child and the mother died.

The reasons for these peculiar practices are hard to fathom. One theory is that Christian domination of the empire had brought many gains; but one of its great losses was that it had become considerably harder to be made a martyr by unsympathetic Roman governors. Deprived of the chance to die in one terrible, glorious, sin-erasing show, these men instead martyred themselves slowly, agonizingly, tormenting their flesh a little more every hour, thwarting their desires a little more every year. These practices would become known as ‘white martyrdom’. The monks died daily in the hope that, one day, after they died, they might live. ‘Remember the day of your death,’ advised one monk. ‘Remember also what happens in hell and think about the state of the souls down there, their painful silence, their most bitter groanings, their fear, their strife, their waiting…’ A terrible enough plight, but the monk had not finished yet; he concluded his cheering list with: ‘the punishments, the eternal fire, worms that rest not, the darkness, gnashing of teeth, fear and supplications…’

Carpe diem, Horace had said. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you will be dead for eternity. The monks offered an alternative to this view: die today and you might live for eternity. This was a life lived in terror of its end. ‘Always keep your death in mind,’ was a common piece of advice: do not forget the eternal judgement. When one brother started to laugh during a meal, he was immediately reproached by a fellow monk: ‘What does this brother have in his heart, that he should laugh, when he ought to weep?’ How should one live well in this new and austere world? By constantly accusing yourself, said another monk, by ‘constantly reproaching myself to myself.’ Sit in your cell all day, advised another, weeping for your sins.

A hint of desert isolationism started to find its way into pious city life, too. In John Chrysostom’s writings, contact with women of all kinds was something to be feared and, if possible, avoided altogether. ‘If we meet a woman in the market-place,’ Chrysostom told his congregation, herding his listeners into complicity with that first-person plural, then we are ‘disturbed’. Desire was dangerously easy to inflame. Women who inflamed it were not to be relished as Ovid had relished them, but eschewed, scorned and denigrated in writings that made it abundantly clear that the fault of the man’s desire lay with them. In this atmosphere a group of fashionable women with their low-cut necklines were not praised as beauties but excoriated as a ‘parade of whores’.

Eventually, clerical disapproval was reinforced by law. Pagan festivals, with their exuberant merriment and dancing, were banned… If anyone declared themselves an official in charge of pagan festivals then, the law said, they would be executed. John Chrysostom jubilantly observed their decline. ‘The tradition of the forefathers has been destroyed, the deep rooted custom has been torn out, the tyranny of joy [and] the accursed festivals have been obliterated just like smoke.’

Schizo American WN

This discussion between Tom Robb and Matt Heimbach illustrates the split personality of American racists who, at the same time, try to be good Christians.

Pay special attention to what Robb and Heimbach say in the highlighted red boxes.

Friday postscript: It seems that this exchange happened in ca. July 2017 (before the scandal with Matt Parrott’s wife).

Published in: on May 1, 2019 at 2:58 pm  Comments (3)  

Fuck white nationalism!

Or:

On American schizophrenics

See what American racists are saying this Easter: — ‘Be kind. Love one another. Go to church or read the Bible’ (Occidental Dissent). — ‘Christ is Risen!’ (The Daily Stormer). — ‘This Easter Sunday we need to go back to church’ (Adam Piggott). — ‘The Promise of Easter’ (The Political Cesspool). — ‘Dr. Duke and Mark Collett on Taking Christ Out of Easter’ (David Duke). — ‘Happy Easter, in Spite of the Christophobia-inspired Spring Bunny’ (VDARE). — By referring to ‘god’, just before Easter while speaking about Notre Dame, Jared Taylor inadvertently was referring to the god of the Jews that his silly parents taught him in Japan.

With schizophrenics such as them and many others, who fancy they’re doing some work to save the Aryan but still worship the god of the Jews, no wonder why whites will go extinct. Look, in this Alt-Right aggregator, how most of these folks with split personalities didn’t pay yesterday any homage to Adolf Hitler on the 130th anniversary of his birth. Instead, they pay homage to the Big Jew, who didn’t exist by the way!

I won’t add any post tomorrow to give new visitors a chance to ponder on the main texts of this site:

The masthead of this site

The Hellstorm Holocaust

WN is a farce, NS is the real thing

 

______ 卐 ______

 

 

Fuck white nationalism!

Fuck American southern nationalism!

Eternal glory to our eternal Führer!

 

Published in: on April 21, 2019 at 3:50 pm  Comments (66)  

Paleologic modes of cognition

If there is something that bothers me in the forums of the racialist dissidents, it is the abundance of conspiracy theories right after attacks like the one in New Zealand the previous week. However, as I have decided not to read these forums anymore, but rather to convert this site into a platform for disseminating National Socialism, today I will present my conclusions without dwelling on the subject with due detail.

I believe that conspiracy theories, inside and outside of white nationalism, have to do with the immaturity of the human mind in the sense of archaic atavisms: what Silvano Arieti (1914-1981) called ‘paleologic thought’: a phenomenon that I explained in Day of Wrath.

In addition to a few more articles critical of psychiatry that I still have to translate, it occurs to me starting a new series, based on Arieti’s texts, explaining the paleological thought in greater detail than Day of Wrath. For the moment, suffice it to say that the paleologician reasons in a similar way to that of the schizophrenic although, unlike the latter, the former can function reasonably well in modern society.

It is fundamental to understand schizophrenia in general to comprehend why, during lone-wolf attacks similar to last week’s, the most bizarre conspiracy theories immediately crop up like fungi.

The university faculties do not understand schizophrenia insofar as they study it under the pseudo-scientific medical model of mental disorders. But the work of Arieti and others opens the door to the inner world of the schizophrenic, which sometimes seems indistinguishable from the most regressive aspects of the urban myths of today.

Published in: on March 18, 2019 at 3:53 pm  Comments (12)  

Dark night of the soul

I’m looking forward to Richard Spencer and James Edwards running for president and vice president this year to let white nationalists know that, legally, they’re not going anywhere (cf. Charlottesville).

The time has come to speak about a revolution within the limits allowed by the law of the United States. As today the book Siege is the most popular of the radical wing of the nationalists, I must say a few words about the author and Siege readers. Recently, a friend posted this on his Twitter account:

I think James Mason’s current philosophy—that there’s no need for revolutionary action because NS Germany sacrificed for us all, just wait until the climax comes—is related to the fact that Mason’s had enough days of action and is now a 66 year old Boomer in retirement phase.

Another friend emailed me:

James Mason’s Christian Identity may seem an obvious point to start at. Not that he is CI of course, but that he apparently does nothing to vanquish Satanism from Atomwaffen [Division]. If he truly believed in his own religion then he would be writing multiple articles denouncing Satanism and proselytising his theological beliefs, and yet he concentrates on doomsaying and the occasional news commentary. If he believes in fire and brimstone then he should give them fire and brimstone.

Not long ago Mason spoke about the entire world being punished as in the Old Testament, the innocent along with the guilty (listen to his brief audios: here). But what about the revolution that he used to preach? Is it possible that Christianity has tamed the blond beast? There are many 66-year-old Islamists who yearn to die heroically in Jihad attacks for their holy cause. What would have happened if, instead of the Christian pond to which Mason fell after writing Siege, he had reached the towers that appear below? Would he still promote revolution?

Impossible to know. But I still would like to say something about the pond.

I do not believe in the magic of the Tarot. But I do believe, as Jung said, that the figures in the pack of cards represent archetypal symbols. And from this angle I can use the symbol of The Moon to offer my views on Mason and his epigones. Unlike the ‘psychoanalysis’ of the Jew Freud, Jung’s analyses had much more Aryan overtones. So here I would like to interpret the two quotations cited above, and what I’ve heard of Mason, from the point of view of what Sallie Nichols wrote about the card of The Moon. [1]

As we see in the picture, the hero that Nichols sees in other Tarot cards does not appear in The Moon. The intellectual ego of the hero has been submerged in a pond. He fell deeply into a depression, because unlike the hopeful card The Star, no human figure appears to help him out of the darkness. He is as immersed in the aqueous unconscious as is the prehistoric crab imprisoned in the pond. This is the blackest moment in the journey of the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana: a journey towards the knowledge of our Self (the ideal of the Oracle of Delphi).

The territory that is on the other side of the water is unknown land, a country unexplored until now. Advancing through this place full of abysmal terrors and infinite promises (the towers of distance) requires great courage, more than Mason and his epigones have shown in their later years, as it involves full apostasy (not pseudo-apostasy) from the religion of our parents. As in the initiation rites that we shall see in the forthcoming articles about Emperor Julian, in the transition that the hero must now face he should go by naked and alone.

He cannot go back to the mandates of Christian ethics because, expelled from worldly conventions, the hero has been rejected by civilisation, by Western humanity. It takes courage and faith to act as our ancestral enemy, Abraham, did: to get away ‘from your people, from your loved ones, from your home, in search of the land to which I will lead you’ (Gen. 12: 1).

In a route that goes exactly opposite Jerusalem (to Jerusalem all whites of our century are heading), our hero must transform himself to be reborn from the night of terror. We find other accidents in the sky that are bad omens, because the multicoloured drops that appear, unlike the card of The Sun, are directed from the earth to the sky. It is as if the Goddess Moon, as a devouring mother, called to herself all the creative energy of the land of the white man, leaving it desolate and empty.

It is the Dark Night of the Soul that the most famous saints of the language of Cervantes spoke about, as in the poetry of Saint John of the Cross. In psychological terms, it symbolises a victory of Jerusalem over Rome: the devouring aspects of the unconscious that have resulted in a historical psychosis throughout the West. The Moon of the image seems to suck the energies of the hero, leaving him totally weakened to even think about revolutionary action.

But rebelling against Judeo-Christianity also has its perils. The dogs of Hecate, also trapped under the spell of the Goddess of Night, could tear the hero apart, leaving him raging and foaming at the mouth into a perpetual night: a psychosis without recovery like the one Nietzsche suffered from 1889 to 1900, when he died. Only in the regions of greatest terror, such as the darkest hour of the West, can the golden treasure be found. As Jung said, enlightenment is not achieved by imagining (as stupid New Agers do) figures of light. It is achieved by making ourselves familiar with our darkest side (what I do with my autobiographical books).

The hero sees the river crab trapped in the pond. He feels that it can be prepared to abandon his annoying carapace (the last Christian vestiges) and climb the scale of evolution (as the Greeks, Romans, and also those who dined at the Führer’s table had done). Wet with our own dew of the lacrimae lunae, the tears of the moon, when we are faced with this card the golden towers look very attractive. One wants to move forward to discover what’s inside them. There is no possible return: the road, especially in other pictorial versions of the Tarot’s Moon, leads clearly forward.

The towers of the card are the knowledge that this site provides, especially what we say here about the history of Christianity and how Christian ethics have turned the Aryans into lunatics: a perpetual night of the soul from which not even the revolutionaries have awakened. Regular visitors to this site will remember that, last July, I interrupted my weekly publication of Siege. Mason had written:

In Southern Europe, Christianity came to power slowly, via more subtle means, while in Northern Europe it was brought to power largely by the use of the sword.

Interspersed in Siege’s text I offered my reply:

Mason wrote this article the year of my first visit to the US. There was no internet and Mason was completely unaware that Southern Europe had suffered an ISIS-like takeover by fanatic Christians after Constantine empowered them. Remember: the real history of early Christianity has only been revealed to the general public of our times thanks to the efforts of Karlheinz Deschner in German, Vlassis Rassias’ book Demolish Them in Greek, and more recently Catherine Nixey in English. At the time that Mason wrote his article only ivory-tower academics knew about the apocalypse that southern whites had suffered in the 4th and 5th centuries.

But not only ivory-tower academics knew about real history. To write Julian Gore Vidal had to read a huge amount of classical literature while living in Rome (he wrote the novel from April 1959 to January 1964). That knowledge, the one that Vidal became acquainted with without knowing this site, is the treasure that the towers of the faraway keep. Ever since I read the book of Nichols, those towers have reminded me of the library tower of The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco, located in the Middle Ages when knowledge of certain forbidden books was feared by a monk who began to poison those who dared to read them.

Satanism in Atomwaffen? That’s pseudo-apostasy, as these bubs are still immersed in the pond of Xtian symbols.

Christian Identity influence on Mason? All that and more is just howling at the Moon in a dense and haunted night instead of reaching the finis Africae.[2]

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[1] Sallie Nichols (1908-1982) was a lecturer at Jungian organisations in California. A long-time student of Jung’s psychology, she had the opportunity to study at the Carl Gustav Jung Institute in Zurich while Jung was still alive.

[2] In Eco’s novel the finis Africae was a hidden room in the tower that contained the forbidden works of the pagans.

Published in: on January 24, 2019 at 10:25 am  Comments Off on Dark night of the soul  

The hammer of the victims

To contextualise this series about psychiatry, see: here. Below, an abridged translation of a chapter of one of the books that I wrote in the last century:
 

This quotation explains perfectly why the so-called mental health professions have so much power in our societies:

To commit violent and unjust acts, it is not enough for a government to have the will or even the power; the habits, ideas, and passions of the time must lend themselves to their committal. —Alexis de Tocqueville [1]

Since psychiatrists and psychoanalysts diagnose people who are actually victims of insulting environments, their fundamental postulate is precisely to deny what they are. In psychiatric Newspeak the expression ‘victim of the environment’ has been eliminated; the aetiology of any disorder has to be looked for in the reign of the somatic. By doing this it is methodologically impossible that the profession will blame the parents even in cases of flagrant physical, sexual or emotional abuse toward the children (schizophrenogenic emotional abuse was what Helfgott and Modrow suffered). Thus psychiatry carries out an important function: to exonerate the family, the cell of civilisation, of the devastation manifested in the children.

Civil society lives in denial too. It doesn’t want to see that inside its most sacred institution maddening abuses exist on its most vulnerable members: children and adolescents. Both present-day university professions and civil society are as ignorant and superstitious of this situation as the Middle Ages was about diseases caused by microorganisms.

Voltaire saw the learned inquisitors as what they were—instead of diagnosing as ‘heretics’ the persons that the Inquisition tortured and murdered. Henceforth his call Écrasez l’infame! against the church, with which he annotated his liberating letters.

Nowadays the therapeutic state took over the labour of social control of the theocratic state. The call Écrasez l’infame!—Crush the infamy!—can be no more pertinent to refer to a profession that tortures and murders souls of children through psychological re-victimizations and handicapping drugs.

The studying of perpetrators is a revaluation of values of psychiatry: a new science that in lieu of hammering the victims it studies the perpetrators, or simply perps. In this revaluation of all psychiatric values science has to re-orient itself to the study of maddening parents (cf. Helfgott’s life), re-victimizing psychiatrists (cf. Breggin), charlatans who call themselves analysts (cf. Masson), and the civil struggle to abolish the therapeutic state (cf. Szasz).

In addition to these lines of investigation and struggle, my dream is that the study of perps will eventually include a new type of literature to reclaim for biographers and autobiographers the study of the human soul which was usurped by politicians that people call psychiatrists, psychoanalysts and clinical psychologists (psychiatry, psychoanalysis and clinical psychology are pseudosciences). One of the paradigms of this new literature is the study by John Modrow, who contributed to solving the mystery of why some adolescents get mad (in psychiatric Newspeak, ‘schizophrenia’) if subjected to parental abuse and psychiatric re-victimization.

If this new kind of vindictive autobiography doesn’t develop in the future, the true study of the human psyche will stagnate. The Lithuanian poet Czeslaw Milosz, Nobel laureate in 1980, has said that events such as the Napoleonic Wars, the American Civil War and even the Trench Warfare of WW1 were not autobiographically recalled in a satisfactory way, independently of the fact that historians have written entire libraries about those events. [2]

The same can be said of the absent autobiographies of the victims of our society. Hundreds of thousands of Doras didn’t recall literarily their testimonies. Brilliant politicians like Eugen Bleuler and Freud took their words out of their mouths and spoke in their names. Hersilie Rouy, Julie La Roche, Modrow and a few others are the exceptions.

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[1] Alexis de Tocqueville, quoted in W.H. Auden and L. Kronenberger (eds.), The Viking book of aphorisms: a personal selection (Dorset Press, 1981), p. 297, quoted in a lecture by Thomas Szasz presented in the Foucault Symposium in Berlin University, May 1998.

[2] Czeslaw Milosz in La experiencia de la libertad/3: la palabra liberada (Espejo de Obsidiana Ediciones, 1991), pp. 102f.

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A labelled orphan

To contextualise this series about psychiatry, see: here. Below, an abridged translation of a chapter of one of my books that I wrote in the last century:
 

‘And do no wrong or violence to the alien, the fatherless and
the widow, nor shed innocent blood in this place’. —Jeremiah [1]

Some readers may be under the impression that I overstated my case with my hypothetical Dora—not Freud’s real Dora, the subject of another chapter—by claiming that psychiatrists are the hammer of the victims. To clear that impression away I will quote the testimony of John Bell: a boy who, like my Dora, was hammered by psychiatrists. Bell’s testimony was published in Speaking Our Minds, an English anthology of survivors of psychiatry:

There is a saying that goes, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me’. Yet there is one name that has caused me more pain and unhappiness that goes beyond imagination. And not only the name but all that went with it. The name in question is ‘schizophrenic’.

Three days before Christmas 1968, my father died from cancer. Five weeks later, my mother followed him. In a very short space of time I had gone from being a happy, carefree schoolboy to an orphan. I had only just turned 14 at the time. I went to stay with an uncle until arrangements could be made for me to be fostered or adopted.

Unfortunately, it never got to that stage. On the way home from school one day I was knocked off my pushbike by a car. As a result, I was admitted to hospital with severe concussion. After a week I was discharged. I then started to get attacks of anxiety. This, I have been told, is quite common after having a concussion.

My GP did not think so at the time and so passed me over to a psychiatrist. After a long talk with the psychiatrist, he said that I would be safer in a hospital. When he told me which hospital, I refused point blank. This was the place that my mother had referred to as Cotford Lunatic Asylum, the place they put people who were mad or insane. I knew the place as Tone Vale Mental Hospital.

Anyway, the psychiatrist issued me with some drugs which he said would help me. In fact, they did the opposite. The effects of these drugs were quite horrific and as a result I ended up in another hospital where some tests, including a lumbar puncture, were carried out.

In September 1969 I was taken to the Tone Vale and the only reason I was given was that they wished to discharge me from the hospital and I had no place to go except Tone Vale. The truth of it is that the psychiatrist had told my uncle that he suspected I had schizophrenia and that I would be safer in Tone Vale.

This was the start of events which devastated my life.

At Tone Vale there is a special unit called Merryfield. Because of my age I should have gone to that unit. Instead, I was placed in the main hospital, which, I can tell you, was a very terrifying experience. I knew that there was nothing wrong with me, that I did not need to be in a mental hospital, but I’m afraid I was the only one who saw it that way.

For the next seven months I went through hell. It was no use trying to talk to the nurses as all they did was mock me. My uncle took the trouble to visit me now and sign, but they always knew when he was coming and so the dose of Largactil was upped to a level that I was unable to stand up.

On more than one occasion I was beaten up by nurses. They actually enjoyed doing it. And when they used to tell me that nobody would believe me, they were right. Like the charge nurse once said to me, ‘Who is going to believe anyone in a mental hospital. We just put it down to you being ill. Tell people if you want but they are not going to take any notice’. I tried to tell my uncle what they did to me once, but the charge nurse was right, he didn’t believe a word of it. And as a result, I was given a shot of Paraldehyde.

The worst thing that I suffered in that first seven months is something that I have done my best to hide all these years. I was sexually abused by another patient one night. And when he had finished, he threw me onto the floor and kicked the living hell out of me. And a nurse just stood there and laughed.

My lucky break came when the Chief Medical Superintendent went on holiday. The doctor who stood in for him called me into the office one day. She told me that a mental hospital was no place for a boy of my age and as she could see nothing wrong with me, she discharged me there and then.

What I thought was the end of it all was just a break. A social worker was called in to take me back to my uncle’s house. When I showed up he was horrified. He made it clear he wasn’t prepared to have a schizophrenic in his house. Everybody else shared the same view. Not one single person wanted to know me.

My mind could take no more and so I stole a motorbike and rode it straight into a brick wall. I just wanted to die. There was nothing left to live for. I was alone in a big, cruel world and with the threat of having to return to Tone Vale. How I survived I am told is a miracle. I made a right mess of myself. I really wish I had not survived—it would have saved me from what was to come next.

I was taken back to Tone Vale under Section 25 of the Mental Health Act 1959. Before the end of the twenty-eight days [stipulated by law] were up I was handed a piece of paper stating that I was being detained under Section 26 and the diagnosis was ‘schizophrenia’. I was then taken to the back of the hospital and placed on a locked ward. It was put to me by the charge nurse of this ward that the only way I would leave it was when they transferred me to the geriatric ward below or in a coffin.

There were seventy patients on this ward and it was impossible to talk to any of them. Their minds had been destroyed. I saw some of those poor buggers get ECT neat. No doctor present either. I fell victim to it twice. Hardly a day went by when I didn’t get beaten by a nurse. But that’s it. They weren’t nurses. They were keepers. Some of the things that went on are unbelievable.

One day, I was taken down to see the Chief Medical Superintendent in his office. He told me that my condition was worsening and that they were considering giving me a small operation which he assured me would make me feel a lot better. On the way back to the ward my escort of two nurses delighted in showing me the operating room where he would ‘fix’ my brain.

It’s fair to say that the [municipal kennel] treats stray dogs better than I was treated by the nurses on Hood Ward. After two years I was released from Tone Vale. It would take far too long to say how, but I can tell you that it was by the skin of my teeth.

The fact that I had been labelled a schizophrenic has destroyed my life ever since. Everything that I have ever wanted to do has been ruined by that one word and the fact that I was detained in a mental hospital as a youngster. Employment, for example—people are reluctant to work with you when they find out; they feel threatened.

What happened to me years ago did a lot of damage—damage that can never be repaired or reversed. They took everything away from me. My youth. My rights as a human being. My dignity and self-respect. But the one thing that I did manage to hang onto was my mind, which is why for the past eighteen years I have fought so hard to prove that I was wronged. I fought so hard that I could take no more and became very ill—so ill, that in June 1990 I was once more admitted to Tone Vale, the place I swore I would never end up again. Back to the scene of the crime, as one nurse put it.

But it was worth going back. Why? Because the answers that I had been searching for, for so long, I got in the one place on this earth I never dreamed of—the place responsible in the first place. I was amazed at how much the place had changed over the past eighteen years. The building is still the same, but the methods of nursing have changed, and for the better I am glad to say.

The ward that I was on years ago is closed and boarded up now. What did surprise me is that they went to the trouble of getting it opened for a short while so that I could go up with the hope of laying some ghosts to rest. If nothing else, it certainly stirred up my emotions. It filled me with anger to think that so many lives were ruined on that ward.

My other major surprise was that during a meeting with my psychiatrist, Dr Hunt, he told me that he could find no evidence that I was schizophrenic, that the diagnosis of schizophrenia was made in error and that he would give me a letter to this effect. All the staff was amazed, as they told me there is no way that Dr Hunt would do this, but he did. I have been told by numerous people in the medical profession that this is a first. It means so much to me, because I no longer have to prove that I never suffered from schizophrenia. But it still doesn’t justify what happened and how it has ruined my life ever since. Nobody can give me back what I have lost.

While I was in Tone Vale last year, it was suggested that I write a book which I am in the process of doing. I need to write this book—not just for myself but for all those others who couldn’t tell their story, how they were destroyed, how they never got a chance. Getting it published is my only problem. I don’t know how to go about it. I intend to carry on fighting as well—fighting for better conditions for those diagnosed ‘mentally ill’. It’s like my key worker, Staff Nurse Chris Parker, said to me: ‘Psychiatry has come a long way since you left Tone Vale in 1972, but it still has a long way to go’.

To finish on a happier note—I shared a joke with Chris when I was in Tone Vale last. He said that having a key worker must seem strange to me. It’s a pretty new thing at Tone Vale. I replied, ‘No. They had them here in ’69. They unlocked the doors to let you in and they locked them to keep you in’. [2]

This case is only one among thousands of re-victimised persons by that criminal organization that is called psychiatry. It is evident that if his parents had not died this boy would never have been committed. His emotional problems were caused by the tragedy of the death of his parents, not by a ‘chemical imbalance’ that required medical imprisonment. To diagnose and commit Bell was a re-victimisation of a victim—just what I tried to illustrate with Dora—, something that not even Dr. Hunt could indemnify.

The case of John Bell shows once more that psychiatrists unconditionally side parents or tutors. The fact that an egoist uncle wanted to free himself from the tutelage of his fourteen- year-old nephew was enough for a psychiatrist to label Bell as the previous step to imprison him in a place where other victims were systematically re-victimised until driven mad.

In spite of the fact that psychiatric conditions have changed in England, I cannot agree with Chris Parker in that psychiatry ‘still has a long way to go’. Tom Szasz would simply say that involuntary psychiatry has to be abolished. Similarly, the Inquisition did not need any sort of reform, only abolition. Everything these inquisitors did to Bell was possible because of the articles 25 and 26 of the Mental Health Law of 1959, the foundation of psychiatric power in England at that time (today the British have a similar law, that of 1983). As stated in a previous chapter, those of us who believe in human rights must fight to derogate the 1983 law and the equivalent laws in the other nations.

Regarding the plans of the Chief Medical Superintendent to lobotomise this helpless orphan, I would like to confess something. Once I realised the existence of something that almost everybody is unaware of, the modern Inquisition, I had doubts to quote psychiatrists Theodore Lidz and Silvano Arieti in this book. Even though Lidz and Arieti disagreed with their colleagues about lobotomy, as far as I know they failed to condemn this mutilation of healthy brains and the criminals who practice it. [3]

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[1] Jeremiah, 22:3 (Old Testament).

[2] John Bell, ‘Label removed, but scar remains’ in Jim Reed and Jill Reynolds (eds.), Speaking our minds: an anthology of personal experiences of mental distress and its consequences (The Open University, 1996), pp. 105-108.

[3] See, for example, the interview to Lidz in Laing and antipsychiatry (op. cit.). Arieti’s failure to condemn lobotomy appears in his classic work Interpretation of schizophrenia (op. cit.), pp. 670ff.

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Published in: on November 23, 2018 at 1:33 pm  Comments (2)