Cultural Melancholia

It seems to be easy for a person to grow up in a capitalist country to be uncultured. The society today makes all the base needs of an animal important constructs to happiness. The actions of celebrities are the center of activity in an adult’s world. Anyone raised in this environment will see that their day to day lacks the cultural growth that provides the individual with the warmth of a belief; the imagination of joy; and the love of natural belonging to Earth and it’s previous spiritual people. Just to name a few: Siebenburgen Saxons, Vikings, Roman, Pagans, Irish, &/or Scandinavians, all had a love for their beliefs/heritage. It was their bread that they could break and share with their community. It was their kindling that lit the fire in their bellies for defense and offense. They waved a flag with love; therefore, they had more than materialistic trinkets that gave them spiritual sustenance. In fact, the peoples from yesteryears were happier than those of today. Commonality is what makes man connect with others in nature and to himself. Mournfully today people don’t love enough of where they come from. The envy goes further back than one generation where the love of culture was shattered.

I grew up in an environment where knowledge and books were shunned. Of the talk of heritage is German and part Irish, yet nothing from the culture remains; other than the nationality name. There was no pass down of Irish folk music or German cuisine; likewise, there was also an absence of wanting to see our homelands. I had no seven forts to emboss my childhood with wonderment. I had no religion that I held close to my heart. Furthermore, I was just enveloped in the wispy embrace of being an American. Even though I had this faux identity there were still no Revolution or Civil War relics, but there was a few stories of a confederate veteran that died in 1861. It was a passing tale of possibility that he existed; at any rate, it was thrown to the fire like a TV Guide from the previous year.

The end result I found myself lost without a drive to conquer and explore the world around me. Moreover, a person raised like that the end result is he is liberal to everything simplistic and instant gratifying. A day that would have great discoveries of the shared wisdom of generations before is cast to collecting heavy metal from Scandinavia. In the hopes that something will stick to the rubber of the uncultured soul. The moments spent being the class clown with future trouble that awaited me; in fact, showed me that I wasted much of that time not learning. Learning comes hard for a person when the world he knows is shadowed by interpersonal dramas.

In conclusion, if a person isn’t raised in an environment then it takes that individual more years to find something that he or she should already love. For heritage is more than just a flag, banner, or belief; it is something that is as natural as the rain that brings the land subsistence. Homelands don’t have to be an ocean away, for they can be a person’s own hometown where grew up and die in one small space. The love should be centered on the people that were similar to you that came before you. A passionate embrace with the community and nature that one shares with the fabric of human existence. Too much time today is spent on moving away from the center and become Americanized; as a result, casting off the living world of heritage and adorning the armor of a money making machine. Man is supposed to never become disconnected and robotic, for that is what makes us pure of heart and accepting of our own demise that our offspring will continue our traditions. As man regresses to a pitiful, disjointed figure that walks and talks about modernism and corporations he has already divorced himself from his homeland cradle that only gave him contentment. This great divorce of the soul is the death of man’s light.

The Psychology of Marketing

The marketers in their board rooms and drawing boards create everything that we see and have seen throughout our whole lives. They are there builders and shapers of all we strive for and shun others for not having. They have the power to make anything famous, popular or are instrumental in all fads and beliefs that we hold private and personal to our hearts. They bewilder us with constant wants, needs and are in complete power to spin a picture into something either arbitrary or fantastic; yet in actuality is just a picture. Marketers hold the key to the future trend and the past fad.

“I look out into the world from my lofty office building and watch people pass by and I picture a world where what I want them to think, wear and buy comes from my mind. Mentally I am no smarter than the next guy, but what sets me apart from the other guy is: I’m a marketer and I have a vision of a world to come. The first thing I must do is step into the minds of the people coming within the demographic of the age I need to manipulate. It is not a difficult task, all I have to do is think of that blank wall that in close to me. All the other walls have posters, pictures and degrees on them, but that one blank spot is where I get my inspiration. The second thing to do is think if I were those blank walls what would I want to be put into me? It is true that you could put a picture of anything there that would hold the space and make it less empty sure; but we are talking about people here, they need identity and thus they need a banner to wave. So then I brainstorm about the psychology of people between 18-49, breaking it down into three categories: 18-30, 31-40, 41-49; each one of them feeling somewhat different. Each group has their own needs perpetrated by yours truly, but they don’t know that. That is the first rule in marketing: let the masses think that their own identity and choices came from their heads, not ours. It’s a illusionist game that they play and oh, the people walk that line blindly.

Let’s take for instance a 18 year old boy right out of high school, he’s looking for a new identity to call his own; he’s going to “redefine himself”, so he ends up looking for new music and movies to see. By his age he has taken in countless hours of video games, violent movies, trite music, and animated comedies with not so subtle messages about pramatist political debates. Let’s take the animated show Family Guy for instance: the kids 18 and younger love the show, but when you ask them what it’s about what do they say? They say it’s “funny, wacky, and that it’s about a family” but how many of them realize that there’s episodes that include: gay agendas, race issues, and anti-establishment messages? Yet if they threw out the animation and these same “funny topics” were on CSPAN or Lou Dobbs was talking about it, how many of those laughing kids would say they would watch that? What’s the difference? Ah, it’s the animation that gets them. It’s catered to young people, for it gives them a throwback to their childhood growing up drinking of a juicebox in front of the old TV. Yet in contrast to watching those shows from the past the messages weren’t so blantant or even involved at all as they are today. What’s the difference? The difference is all a show has to do is market itself as a show of laughs and hilarity to bring in enough people that it stays on for many years. South Park another political animated show, the writers took it upon themselves to break Family Guy down and showed the masses that it was all hype and that the storylines are fruitless and arbitrary. The funny part is this is the same show that starred Terrence and Phillip that just farted for hilarity. Yet the people overlooked that and some people started to exit Family Guy and enter South Park instead. They had made a dividing line of what was “cool” and what wasn’t. Did they do it really?

The cult of “cool” has been written in the annals of marketing for decades. We helped shape every trend, fad and pop culture icon since the 1950′s. From Elvis the counter-culture blue collar hero, to Motown the Motor City black music trend, to the hippies putting flowers in their hair and shouting down the war. I remember in the 1960′s when the war was at its peak, I looked out my window from my office building and I saw protesters playing the music I made popular and the look that had been signed off on my drawing board just a few years previous. it made me quite happy to see those people with something that filled up their empty walls, yet as a young marketer I felt a bit of disillusion by it all and I wondered how did those young people get so empty that all I had to do was pitch an image that took up as righteously as if God himself had given to them. I didn’t understand how those people could be protesting something that they didn’t even understand, then I soon realized that the war was being chatised in the media for being an unjust war. I didn’t have any friends in the media at that time and I saw them as a different animal, yet I soon became aware that they were my right hand. As soon as I pitched an idea it would be on the TV and then it would be on the crowds below me; it didn’t matter how ridiculous or arbitrary it was. I took things out of the trash can that I thought were too stupid for the intellgent masses, yet the very next day someone was carrying, wearing, listening and/or watching. I started to see the masses as not people any longer, but empty shells that needed everything I could give them. If I wasn’t creating, satirizing and making so much money for it I would have felt sorry for them, I didn’t. It wasn’t and isn’t for the money so much, it’s just the hilarity I get by pitching an idea that I would not like or listen to and that I can use my psychology of the masses to submit to my thought building creativity.

The youth are incredibly absentminded and shallow, take that 18 year old boy that needs a lifestyle makeover I was theorizing from before, if it is either funny, sexy, exciting or aggressive I have a product for him. For him it’s more than just a movie or music, it’s an identity. He sees Transformers 2 and wants to get the merchandise, the music soundtrack, the video game, and above all he wants to get all his friends to get all those same things and more. What does it do for him?  It gives him a shallow feeling state that he can be the center of something that is 2 1/2 hours and over. There is nothing in an action movie that can shape anything in a person’s life, besides going into the military. Yet for this 18 year old let’s call him Russ; wants to be a part of something and to also ridicule his friends for not having what he has. What does he have? After a month, nothing but a pile of outdated “played out” junk. Does he learn the lesson that the movie industry won’t give him what he needs to fill up his loneliness of soul? No, but he does look forward to when Sasha Baron Cohen’s pro-homosexuality vehicle,  Bruno is in theaters. Does Russ and his friends like gays? Well they don’t hate them because if they hated them then they would have one less thing that all their conforming friends would have to compete and rally around.

Conformity is an important aspect of people even though governments fight wars for “freedom” overseas, while domestically if the masses don’t like the right music, have odd friends and aren’t patriotic in certain circles makes one a non-conformist. Yet what is a non-conformist? Do they really exist? I come to realize that no, they don’t. Conforming is what glues us to our ancient animal relatives: instinct conforms the animals to sing in the morning and hunt at dusk. Man believes himself to be better than beast by celebrating the notion of freewill. A doctrine makes believe that man doesn’t follow trends, but creates them. The average person creates nothing. We create everything. We give them an instinct of what is good fashion, perfect beauty, feelings behind race, who’s famous, who’s important, what’s cool, what’s a classic, what’s history and/or what’s a conspiracy. Why do people conform in circles that preach individualism, but what to give that up for some cause or band to follow? The people today are no different from primitive man, so much that they see a tribe in a sports team, musical group, TV show, mainstream political affiliation and opinion, style of clothes, and the overall worship of the famous people. Marketers like me cater to the primitive needs of the people and give them something to buy and believe in, we in turn help their lives get fuller. Strangely enough they don’t see it, but we are in charge of their perception bending reality. It isn’t our fault that they shallow, empty sacks that have to consume media spins and products to live, for we benefit in their gullibility. If they only stepped out of the way of the marketing, media train they would see every choice they decided upon for their identity was out of my head. To the many cliques I spin the appearance of a figure that they all want to be like, the Breakfast Club generations, a part for everyone.

Well that’s all the time I have for this. I have minds to shape and illusions to grow, Russ needs a new identity and I have the next one for him.

Farewell.”

The White Nationalist Movement Is Suffering

I have been sitting here for nearly a week and I don’t have any jewels on my feet, that means one thing, the Movement is in trouble! If I don’t have the money coming in to supply my toes with jewels then the White Race is in peril. My contributors send me money when we get publicity on the news when some kook that thinks he knows what White Nationalism is goes on a rampage. I call him a kook because he thinks he knows what he’s fighting for, but all right up here.

The Movement is lacking commitment due to people becoming complacent and lazy. They are failing to write me checks so that I can further build a collection of jewels that can cover both hands and feet. Antis say that we don’t even have a party and I tell them that the White Nationalism message is all right up here.

If I wrote down on a piece of paper or on my forum what it is all about then others would steal it. Then they would use it put jewels on their feet instead of mine and I can tell you that wouldn’t be good for the Movement. I love that average WNs send me money it makes me feel like being in a garage band and having strangers send me money before I have even recorded an album yet. What incentive do I have to run for anything, if that just means I will lose money and my feet will slowly lose their jewels? White Nationalism is slowly gaining momentum with people as the recession goes into yet another month and people are losing their jobs, this is the best time for average folks to start writing checks and give their hard earned dollars so that I can kick back, put my feet up, get some women around me and make a living from doing nothing, but typing in an internet forum. Some say I should work for a living, but I never liked wearing shoes, I can’t see the jewels with shoes on them!

I am a WN leader because I get a check in the mail and I type all day long talking about the Movement. I never really say what it really is though because that’s all up here. Yet like Hal Turner put out a plea to people, I put a plea out to you, my feet need to be included in the Movement and it’s no better time than now that you send the checks that you spend working for your female black boss just for me to spend it on my bad back and my girlfriend’s toes, they need some jewels too…for the Movement of course. I have had this nagging back pain for well as long as I stopped working around Bob Novak and started collecting riches. I don’t know how it happened, but I can tell you that the Movement won’t have a safe place for future White babies unless it continues to get hits on my website and puts jewels on my feet.

Won’t you help the Movement?

The White Nationalist Rebel Uncovered

People in general have a need to gather together around commonality for it brings them things to rally around and it gives them a tribe. The ancient world is full of this notion and it was a strength that bonded people to a central ideology. Today is no different, there’s still people that support their local football team, popular bands and political parties. The only difference is today’s tribes only directly benefit: the owners of the sporting arenas, concert promoters/bands, and the candidates. While past shows this need was fulfilled around ideologies of learning, cultural revolutions and intellectual centers; this has since been abandoned. They gave up this high order thinking in favor of desiring the mediocrity of popularity. The ones that get caught in this trap have everything to believe in and everything buy; their world is open to whatever their upbringing was, as well as everything their peers say is cool.

For the ones that don’t find their niche in the trite world of consumerism find a whole other counter-culture system waiting on them and ripe for the taking. They have different things to buy that are intended to shock and appall the lemming masses. The ones that follow this rebellious call beckon for others to join them, but are glad that they don’t because it makes them feel special to be a part of an elite click that the world shuns. There are some that stop at being a Goth/emo, nerd, or a biker; whilst others that want the most extreme venture into hate groups. These gangs of tattooed covered rebels proudly show off their body art to anyone that is interested, but when you ask them about National Socialism they say, “Oh yeah Hitler rocked! He should have gassed them all! He was badass!” When you ask them about Mein Kampf they say, “Oh yeah I’ve read it,” When you question them about what other books they have read they say, “Turner Diaries, and bad ass shit like that!” Of course he has never read anything else that isn’t talked about in the media as bad, because once it strays out of the exterior image these guys have no interest other being an ego-centric angry teenager type. Anything that they can read that will perpetuate this illiterate stereotype they’ll continue to wholeheartedly do.

Yet, it doesn’t stop with their lack of literary interest either; they need to feel like that they are the baddest guy on the block to scare away a community; for a real National Socialism would beckon them to be better to one another, but they would rather be a thug than a member of society. A lot of them say they are Pagans, but upon asking them what that means (well the ones that don’t get defensive and angry revealing that they are full of shit) they tell you that they don’t like Christianity. So when the Gauls, Saxons, and early Vikings were Pagans they were doing it in a direct competition to another faith, does that make sense? All this time and I thought faith was something unquestioned by all constructs centering on an unshakable belief in something. The only thing these Pagans are unshakably believing in is that they don’t want to be their parents and the other happy people filling into their churches on Sunday morning. Some say they are Odinists, but have nothing to add to a Norse Mythology discussion, other than, “God of WAR, ODIN!” For all these ignorant people want is war, that’s at the center of it all. They want to break down society with their hedonist needs for killing as well as a need for destruction. They think by being a Pagan they are breaking up an ill-defined status quo by being a rebel. The society lets people be this rebel and even paints what a rebel is supposed to look like and act like, and these true WNs are that canvas.

Why do they let the media dictate to them this rebel need? What do rebels in general have in common? It is clear that the idea of being a rebellious young man has been in a celebration since the media captured the audience with the likes of: James Dean, Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley, it’s a twentieth century phenomenon. The psychology of the concept of a rebel is simply an outcast that builds himself out of the raw materials left over that the mainstream or collected masses won’t touch. The media builds a wholesome image from time to time, just to breed a counter-culture anti-hero that will sweep in and give young people something new to be. Yet the majority of these media produced rebels were already gravitating to what everyone else wasn’t doing. These are the left behind kids, the teens that hated their parents and everything they stood for, becoming more isolated than most teens that needed a uniform to wear when the Christians were preaching about good things. These outcasts need to have a banner to wave that leaves the others to question and even fear them. These lonely teenagers grow up with a chip on their shoulder and perceive that whole world is against them. They need to pump iron, get tattoos, smoke, excessive drinking, collect guns, get into barroom brawls, fight with police, grow drugs out of their basement and get into radical ideology that fuels their need to channel their anger. The consequences of this bitter rage are a myriad of problems including, but not withstanding: they have criminal records, broken bones wrecking their motorcycles and being an overall menace to the public. They make impulsive choices that lead them to obsessions that ruin their life. Under a veil of illusion they still see that the world or the form of government was the reason they have bad credit and an alimony check that’s due. They look upon those happy Christians coming out of their collective institution and a rebel revs his swastikas covered chopper and there he pronounces to the world that he is a Pagan!

These WNs use the rationale that the reason they hate Christians is because they are globalists, but that’s a bunch of convenient bullshit. They don’t like Christians also not because Jesus was a Jew either; for they don’t like them because they are constructive. These rebels are used to destroying everything and building nothing but an even longer arrest record. There ain’t no rebels building communities. They aren’t interested in anything that look as if they are straying back into country that the norm is walking. It would be a unfamiliar road that James Dean wouldn’t have strayed upon, so why would they?  These WN rebels are more suited for a professional wrestling character than a real person, yet they strive to be the biggest empty-headed badass that shocks the world that lets him shock it. The masses should look upon these WNs and laugh at the stereotype that they chose to be. They are no different than the country fan that wears a cowboy hat and spurs to a Toby Keith concert, but even these hick flag wavers have a collective in their government, what do WNs have? All the activism that could be accomplished isn’t suited for these guys, because any that they do looks like the temper tantrums of kiddie America than it does like the Beer Hall Putsch. The masses should peer upon these media induced rebels with a parallel of that of a long haired death metal fan with the spikes in his arms and biting glass look in his eyes. In other words, as just a part of the landscape rather than a threat to their survival or lifestyle.

These rebels don’t spring up out of a bubble, because what was the counter-culture anti-hero from the 19th century?  The ones that occur to me are train robbers. How about the early 20th century? Gangsters. Why are these two different criminal types anti-heroic, because they go against the strict order and establishment. What strict order and establishment exists today in Western countries? A place where everyone of every race, religion and creed can get married and raise children in peace. Why do these rebels trying to turn back the clock by installing a rigid Islamic like order to put constraints on them? In their media driven rebellion, do they realize that no matter what band, ideology and/or eccentric religion they have that in the end they are a consumer? Do they long to put under the boot of an establishment that validates their need to create a dramatic play where there is none? If White Nationalists are just a modern version of a train robber, gangster, and an Elvis Presley 1959 hip shaker then it doesn’t say a lot about being a rebel. Yet as long as they are caught in this counter-weight to the culture they will stay on the fringes and no matter how many events enter the headlines about them they will quickly exit. Yet that is how they like it, still being a movie character marching to the beat of the drum the media made for them.

The Ballad of Aleio Bresus

…here lies Aleio Bresus, the last of the Ostrogoths…

I see the river shining against the pale horizon,

it teems with life long after mine is cut down,

I listen to the echo against the rocks,

I can’t ignore my coming doom,

they have reached as far as they will this night,

for the next one I will have no time for reflection,

I traveled from long miles to reach these green plains,

my army and I walked foreign shores,

we brought our families,

brought our language,

brought our enemies,

and we brought our wars,

we marched to a new homeland,

the cascading hillocks and mountain passes did not stop us,

we marched shoulder to shoulder,

bringing death, heritage and religion,

there was no enemy that could stop us,

except the ones that chased us,

they did not reach us in this hinterland,

though we are pinned down here,

my army has been wounded, decreased or bought,

our once great fighting force reduced to rabble looking for the highest bid,

six long years we fought to survive,

now the sand in the hourglass is nearly depleted,

I stand here as: Aleio Bresus the last of the Ostrogoths,

to fight to the end,

a long life was not in my future,

it was beyond my foresight that I would be the last of my tribe,

yet I stand here with my most loyal guards,

our yellow banner will be our last sunrise tomorrow,

so let them come and bring our deaths,

let them remember the Ostrogoths and the name Bresus,

and to the ones that betrayed us,

let them meet our cold unforgiving steel,

for they haven’t forgotten,

and we still remember,

we will die tomorrow,

but dying isn’t trouble for a warrior,

living is far more distasteful,

we will give our enemies this salvation,

for the disappointed survivors,

we will give them a legend that will spread like our glorious amber banner…

Notes From The Underground: A Snapshot of The Unnamed

Notes From The Underground

By, Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“Well, of course, the laws of nature or the conclusions of natural sciences or of mathematics. When it is proved, for example, that you are descended from an ape, it’s no use scowling about it – accept it as a fact. Or it is demonstrated that half an ounce of your own fat ought essentially to be dearer to you than a hundred thousand of your fellow creatures, and that this demonstration finally disposes of all so-called good deeds, duties, and lunacies and prejudices, simply accept it; there’s nothing to be done about it, because twice two is mathematics. Just try to argue!”-pg 23

This Existential story could have been written in any time other than 1864. The search for one’s self of who he is, wants to be and all within the rigid confines of the Laws of Nature and his social class. His trials gave him strength and he faced his fears, but he found that breaking through himself was most difficult struggle he ever knew. As one reads this book they are instantly struck by the cold chill that seems to permeate the script. The cold reality of the unforgiving Russian winter was never yielding for a single breath that wasn’t frozen. The complex shock of the icy vapors did not impede the unnamed protagonist from describing his state of affairs with an unmoved rambling style.  For he did not ramble to hear himself talk, but he had valid points that shed light on everything that perplexed, scared and denied him victory.

He understood the Laws of Nature and how it was the prison for his seeking personality, it’s mere mention left him wanting more from life as a whole. Yet he felt the Laws and knew that he was a part of them and could do nothing but grind his teeth as he knowing and unknowingly stepped in front of them just to be rolled over by them again. He found that within his boredom to be more that he theorized brilliant, yet ill-conceived fantasies. Once he saw a man get thrown out of a tavern window and thought that he would like to be that man. He began a wonderful daydream of seeing himself confront that rowdy chap and he too would be another violent through the window refugee, so he mustered his courage to the point to the point of madness, but as soon as he entered he saw something else confront him and he exited out the door, his cowardice. As he walked by the unconscious man that had the strength to have this victory he is left to go home with his own internal rowdy chap to humiliate him more.

All the people he met from his past seemed to see that yellow stripe down his back and treated him accordingly. His schoolmates from years gone by told him of their party that was going to held and that he was invited. He went back to his poor flat and dressed himself up in his best uniform; though ratty and torn as it was, it was his best and exited to finally have his victory over his struggle. He theorized great things that would happen upon arrival; he would be brought into the upper class inner circle and everything that people said about him would be cast off as if it was a double.  He looked at his pocket watch and felt a surge of pride that he and arrived first and the others were late. The hours clicked by and the invitation was a lie. His schoolmates made it were no matter where they were that they didn’t desire him to be where they were. He got drunk and saw them after the party had concluded and told them what he really thought about them, but they didn’t seem to notice or care; for they had the social upper hand. His confrontation only led him to seek them out again to apologize for his words and he continued his inner self-respect seeking conflict yet again.

His confrontations with a creature called cowardice seemed to roar into everything that he did. It followed him like a bane, a shadow that beckoned his past and future defeats and it gained strength to conquer his present as well. Upon meeting a woman named Liza he saw a promising woman that he could love and grow affectionate towards, so much that he asked about her family and life. She was a prostitute that had no family and no friends. He saw within himself the same vulnerability that looked ugly, child-like, and shameful; he couldn’t help but hate her. He berated her for her inferiority, and how when she died that no one will be at her funeral and no will ever come to her grave. His words bit true for them both, but he was looking for her to crack like a nut and he saw that come to pass. His anger that had became down right mean was a victory for his emotions and a defeat for his decency. He felt that he had won as he passed his address across the table to her. He wondered if she would come…

Patience was a difficult virtue that he did not possess, especially when his roommate was so disorderly. Apollon was something of an intimidating man that dictated his rule with a staring down contest. He would shoot from his room with one of his hands behind his back and stare at his roommate fixedly like a man possessed. The protagnist with all of his daydreams, fears and wonders about Liza coming to his poverty stricken flat was tolerating this on his last nerve. Before he could see Apollon coming to start this sick game once again he jumped up and started yelling at this old fool, ‘How dare you come in here without my permission and stare at me like that? Answer me!’ The man could do nothing but shrink back into his room, but his angry roommate followed in tow, ‘Stop! Stay where you are! That’s it! Now answer me why do you come in my room and stare at me?’ Apollon could not answer even after his roommate seized his shoulder, but before he committed an act of physical violence there was a knock at the door, it was Liza.

After all the time he waited for her to arrive she had finally fulfilled her end of the appreciation. He hustled Apollon out of his house for tea and there he sat down with a woman that he thought he could love. He knew all of his flaws and his suffering trumped his strength, but he thought if she could drop her jeweller’s loop and see him for what he wanted her to be then everything would be perfect. Yet the Laws of Nature do not have what a man wants to see in its bag of tricks, and simply they are what they are. This lesson he had struggled with his whole life to this point and beyond. He wanted her to not see his poverty sticken flat, his dirty torn shirt, and his dysfinctional rude roommate. All he had to do is clean his body and his living condition up a bit and everything would fall into place.

Indeed, the Laws of Nature had their own plan when in the end she insulted him and he reveals he had ulterior motives beyond what emotional sentiment he had giving her his address, for he got what he wanted. His deceptive words of anger, revenge seeking and above all power hunger is why he lowered his guard to play this game with her. He wanted to see her humiliated and to repeat the cycle of abuse that his lack of assertive fortitude had left on him. He got spit on and forgotten in the tavern waiting on his friends to arrive in his best uniform; he approached a ranked official and every time he stepped out his way instead of the opposite; and he was stared at incessantly by his torturer roommate. He broke down and realized that everything he said to his woman was what he told himself. All his vile words and broken heart blues he spilled out of his mind and into another person and he began to sob. She took him into her arms and tried to ease his broken, awakened and for once alive soul. He had laid it vulnerable, writhing and escaped from the prison of his melancholy mind. He had nothing left but the vessel of his insecurities.

He had confront his rowdy chap of cowardice that gave him discontentment. He had opened himself bare to a woman that he wanted to love, but could not keep her. As she fled the room, he gave her a note for her trouble and she was never seen again. She may have been a temporary valuable vase for delicate and ugly flowers to rest his soul in, but she was always a prostitute and he didn’t forget. Thus he had disrespected her for the last time and his anti-hero status was still embossed suffocating his conscience when the book was finished, for it was a snapshot of 123 pages of this man’s life. Yet, there is no mystery that the man that loved to suffer didn’t conclude his expedition at the darkest realms of the human psyche at the mere end of its telling, but he found other demons that needed to be indulged in and driven away from him. It is not known how many years he lived, yet I believe he lived long enough to feel every emotion for all our given days.

Venturing to say, one must look to the stars in the sky reading this novel and think of some of the frivolous needs of this man. His victory seeking to have a man of higher social class to peel out of his way as if to say, “I stood my ground, sir, and now what is your next action?” Leaving the reader to think this man is quite simple, yet don’t we all share in this Absurd?  Don’t we all need for the opposite sex to look at us in that small moment in a crowded airport and smile? Don’t we all have tests and trials that bend us to our core to get the outcome we need to go forward? Don’t we all want to make a child laugh when we could just as well give he or she indifference? For it is these simple things that build us as a people giving us a foundation of on one hand: the Absurd, but also understanding the Laws of Nature that goes beyond simple animalistic needs that surpass our consciousness of survival and lends to us something far more human. It is these simple Absurd moments that makes us feel most connected with the state of things and empathy for our fellow man.

-“perhaps prosperity isn’t the only thing that pleases mankind, perhaps he is just as attracted to suffering.”-pg 41

This Is Today’s Amerikwa

…The typical day in a Kwan’s Life…

“I wake in the morning to not a thought in my head besides the drama my friends and I made the previous night. We did some extroverted act that only the few friends I have will ever know about it, but I perceive that my actions are groundbreaking. Before I pour my cereal and turn on the TV I check my phone for messages. There’s always someone that wants to share in my nothingness. The nothingness that is something based on how many movies, bands and or shows I like. If it wasn’t for the media putting a spotlight on what I need to like I wouldn’t know what I needed. I am an Amerikwan after all. Then I turn the TV on and avoid the serious stories because it makes me think conclusions about the world and that is what my parents do. I don’t want any of that just give me some rap music, or a new trailer to a Will Farrell movie I need to tell my friends about. My whole circle of believing comes from not breaking down my life and not defining what I think and whom I am the next day. I don’t know what I want, but I know I want everything.

I don’t have time for cereal, so I just pop something fast that was advertised with David Beckham. I shower and think about the Budweiser commercials that I saw the previous night at Krista’s house. I get my designer clothes that all the girls swoon for and all the men wish were their’s. I put my timberland kicks on, put some diamonds in my ears and bounce out of my crib. I drop my seat back and ride like all the rappers I have seen do. I envy their life it’s so much better than being a suburban White boy. I feel guilty about being White and all the shit we did to those black folks. We just did it cuz we were threatened by them being better athletes, musicians, and dancers. We put chains on them cuz we were jealous. Cuz we all know that in the 1800′s that those things were important that Whites were afraid of. I bump their superior cultured music out of my pimped out Honda Civic and I know them girls are looking at me as I roll. I stop at a red light and I get on my cellphone knowing that without people around to distract me I will start feeling lonely and I might actually think about that old man walking in the crosswalk; other than that dude is so old, I’ll never be like that. If something else crept into my mind at that given time I swear I would lose my mind. I blow through that green light and I’m calling up one my homegirls. I know I need to talk to someone right now. Oh shit, she’s not answering, so I text her a message while making a sharp curve. If I realized how fucked up this decision was I would be forced to realize that I ain’t got a plan for my soul or the idea that I even have one. Religion is something you get into when you are old like my parents, and no one I know is into that shit. Religion tells people to be good to each other, but they even mean to skinheads. I can’t be good to them, the media says they are more fo threat than terrorists.

I cruise into my bitch’s driveway and I pimp walk all the way up to her door and with a knock I’m in her crib. She’s got friends over and they are playing Call of Duty World At War. We start playing a multiplayer round and the girls are on Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter cuz they like to stay connected to their peeps even when the house is full of people that they could talk to. I start playing as the Americans or whatever and I start with my crew popping off heads of those Nazi punks. One thing I know in this world is that there ain’t nothing worse than Nazis. I have played every World War 2 game for every system and I can tell you when they cue the evil music they are telling me they are bad. I take to their message like a fish to a worm and when I see those goosestepping fucks I know that between these games and Family Guy that they are worse than demons. I don’t stop and think how much of a pawn I am to the media I take in or how I have surrendered my life to their agenda, but I do keep racking up a score that beats my friends’.

I sometimes think what this country would look like if we didn’t defeat Fascism in the 40′s, how we would be speaking German and how the country would be so boring. I couldn’t live in a country with that many guilty White people. Who would be entertaining us and giving us all those trends to follow? What would we be buying? I worry that we haven’t defeated it yet though, cuz a History Channel show I watched says that this country is on the beginning of new racial hatred. I worry about that stuff and then I go back and see what else the media says I need to collect. There’s always a new DVD special edition of a TV show that my parents watched, but don’t anymore, so it can be mine now. There’s always a dead celebrity like David Carradine that I need something that he made. When the newest Scarface DVD came out I laid a cool $40 bucks on it. I don’t seem to realize that everything I buy is thrown to the fire just as soon as I take the plastic off of it. When my friends stop talking about it I seem to lose interest in it, but just in time to buy the newest thing.”

America has no future, only a past. These kiddies have ditched religion for the bewildering consumption of material products. They buy, consume and die without ever really realizing that they have just sold their soul to Jewish media control. They have become cynical about everything except what the Jews say they should value. They spend a lot of their time killing fictional monsters in a video game, but they are anti-military. They have the same opinion of the military as the hippie Marxists from the 1960′s, but they are rebels. They would rather not be drafted into thinking something different about their social networking kingdom and mortality. They put everything else besides race, religion, military, media consumption and narcissism in flux, but have nothing to believe in besides buy,  socialize, consume and die.

They are Amerikwa, the fallen generation that look up to the Greatest Generation that would say these Kwans are lost souls. Yet, if you have ever been around those greats they consume just slightly less media than these Kwans have. They share one definable thread, they fear death, but who else fears death; Jews. The Greatest Generation, which translated just means the greatest generation that ended Nazism, and kikes the biggest rockstars in the world. To contrast them to the World War 1 generation dubbed: The Lost Generation, because their war was long and ardent, but it didn’t have the conclusion of kikes being a world protected people. These Kwans only have history from 1945-now, just like VNNers. It’s World War 2 and everything afterwards.

As proven in all wars in America history, the Amerikwa needs a draft to galvinize the youth behind a cause that they can fight for, and perhaps die for. They need to take an active role in preserving the cesspool that they have designed for themselves. Why leave the gun toting rural hicks to preserve the fictional monster hunters, Marxist cartoon watchers and rampant buyers of consumer goods? It is important to note that the hicks that are serving this country are ridiculously caught in the same kike cycle of buy, consume and die. They aren’t the noble ones that Fox News likes to tote as heroes. Yet, there is no reason for the Kwans not serving to continue to live in utter existential obscurity, for they too need to fight for their Jewish controlled overlords. It would be the only thing that would pull them away from their frivilous choices to remain on the outside when everything they are is in the inside. No reason for the liberal kiddies to watch the hicks come home butchered and bashed, while they collect a gamerscore. The Kwans need to share a fate and it would be the first solidarity that these people have ever felt and it would make them better as people. Yet this is Amerikwa and life here will continue to mean only what media control tells them it is…

The Failure of White Nationalism

The True Failure of White Nationalism

White Nationalism was great when the celebration was more defined; when it was clear cut and concise, but now it is scrambled rambling final act for lost emotional racists. They are so disorganized and media driven that even small events are big ones. They fight and squabble over one foolish thing over the other all clamoring to be the king of the empty skulls whilst heavily adorned clenched fists and angry looks.

I was on VNN for about six months with over a thousand posts and I see that this “Movement” is going nowhere. It isn’t the ideology that is the weak part it’s the people that have gravitated to it. These lower to middle class blue collar high school dropouts have only one thing in common with their enemy; they love TV. They get all their news stories from it and then clamor around to try to say that it is evil and Jew controlled but they couldn’t live without it. These cretins spend a lot of time watching cable news and reality shows trying to find a pro-White story to have something to feel pride. The shows could be anything on the dial, but they will always find the one that doesn’t share their message, like a moth to a flame. They continually monitor the TV to “keep an eye on the Jew”, but in actuality they just like to keep tabs on the shows that their friends, family and neighbors like too. They select out of the media that say they hate shows and pundits that sort of share their ideals like: Glenn Beck, Bill O’Reilly, Michael Savage, Lou Dobbs, Sean Hannity, and Rush Limbaugh. These media spotlighted heroes give them mainstream showcase that their less racially aware friends can spend time talking about their messages of  ultra-subtle right wing White agendas. Yet in reality all these people mentioned love Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, and believe that the Holocaust was the worst event in human history.

History: there’s a subject that most WNs could care less about. The history section on VNN was a joke. There were only a few new posts there in a month. They are not interested in the battles, the ideology behind White history; they are more interested in the pomp and bluster of symbols, flags and faces for their avatars. They don’t know hardly anything about great White heroes from the past. Posts about Typical Nigger Behavior gets far more attention than a post about Custer, Teutoberg Forest, or even the Battle of the Somme. VNNers believe that the only history Whites need is 1933-to present, the history before: be damned.

Not only do they lack the interest in history, philosophy and literature; but they would rather wear the uniforms of the past than believe in what the ones in that past believed. I’d hate to break it to them but the people back then didn’t wear their outfits for dress up on a Sunday morning, but they actually had a political party. Yet modern day racists think it’s “badass” to wear the period pieces to make their friends think you are a rebel. The funny thing is that, that is the reason that most WNs do this. They chase this feeling of being rebellious over everything else. They pose with their weapons, Nazi flag pinned meticulously to the wall and showing their plethora of tattoos. If they don’t show their arrest record it’s not because they don’t have one, but because they don’t have it printed as a tattoo yet. Moreover what they don’t show is that they don’t have goddamned book on their bookcase. They don’t need books, philosophy and history if they have muscles, a SS uniform they bought on eBay, a Soviet era weapon, and the tats that show the world that is what a man is supposed to look like. If that is so, then why did all the White philosophers and literary greats from Kant, to Schopenhauer, to Dickens, Martin Luther, to Socrates, to Tolkien not look like that? The reason being that in the past Whites didn’t live by this media stylized pomp that the people today live. The people back then were better not because of what they wore or what they showed the world on their skin, but what they had to say. They had observations about the world and the people and human condition that they endured here on Earth for the short time they lived. They knew that they were going to die, but they also knew how they were going to live; racists today only know one emotion: hate.

The media uses this singular emotion to cast a spell on the masses to propagate this image of these angry youths bent on as much self-destruction as violent communal mayhem. These hate filled men with their shaved heads and their jack boots making trouble for police and their senior citizen neighbors is what the world sees of them. Yet the ironic part is the media tells a pretty accurate story of what the top posters on VNN were like. The loudest racists are folks that look more like antis than they do the White scholars from one hundred years ago. The weird part is that the inner circle of unemployed alcoholics, mood disorder sufferers, and career girls don’t condemn this aspect. They seem to only care about quantity rather than quality. Normally when anything gets to this point it is already failing to reach the loosely defined goals. Although the message is a part of a tabloid to sway the non-believers (but believers in mainstream politics) is put in a newsletter randomly scattered on lawns throughout certain places in the country, the message still goes unheard. This is one of the failures of the movement as a whole.

Futile inner squabbles about whom is suspected of being an anti, troll, wedge, do nothing, and/or working for an international anti-hate organization break out as often as blacks on the street corners yelling about, “who be snitchin?” These fruitless battles to purify the ranks is nothing more than a pecking order to rise to the top of the hierarchy of other bikers and badboys. It’s more of a motorcycle gang than it is a political movement. How many other political parties have this motley crew of derelicts? Imagine the Catholics combing the churches for people that aren’t adhering to the strict creed that the Bible in the word of God to only be punished by banishment. Not only politically do they seek witch hunts when they are waiting for another TNB story to post, but they pursue racial purity hunts too. They comb the boards to find people that aren’t 100% White; if’n you have one drop of a strictly defined White ideal then you might as well be 100% mixed. What other political, religious, or regime ever had such a policy that wasn’t laughed right off the table? Yet that’s the conclusion that one must think: this whole “movement” is a joke to give disenfranchised youth and angry young men a tightly controlled highly regulated treehouse.

This treehouse is full of atheists too. Why wouldn’t it be; if their message is hatred and a blanket statement of 100% White then what legacy would they need? They have no legacy and the Jews know that these absent minded, but rebellious halflings are on the way out, but they keep collecting their Northern European Satanic Black Metal. The music that all the aforementioned scholars, literary greats, philosophers, and religion reformers would yell blasphemy at the top of their lungs and wonder about the sanity of the listeners. They would wonder why Whites had come so far as to listen to such vitriolic guttural music and wonder if the core of Whites had lost their heritage and beauty?

I ask why spit in the eye of the past generations and take up the banner of a lie? White Nationalism lacks everything that Wagner wrote in his plays, Mozart had in his music, and the stoic qualities of what White used to be. Whites didn’t have to be loud animals, but quiet creatures that appreciated more than just hate and image. We appreciated the day was our bread and that our lives were once lived before in our fallen kinsmen. The rain falls here and it did in the Roman Empire and we used to have a closer connection to that time. A movement that further divides us from our heritage and our homeland and replaces it all with hatred, dress up, and an insidious divisive treehouse is when being White is just a stone’s throw from being the minorities that we say we aren’t like. Furthermore, White Nationalism is a failure because the leaders and the rank in file have a sleepy, but angry vision and aren’t truly celebrating the real essence of what it is to be White.

‘Tardic Philosophy

‘Tard Town has a new Sheriff. Clearly, the population of this town is very low, but I see many in the hinterlands that should be a citizen here. Outriders swoop into town to rustle up some bar fights with the natives, yet run back to the norm. Tumbleweed and sand is swallowing up the borderlands as far as the crow flies.

This corral has seen many a legend pass by and die here. Young pups that think they are men, with cold steel at their sides. Their fiery tempers have sent them early to their graves. The Gods tolerate the citizens here only so long, before we are all bound to see our Master’s Call. We are locked in a beautiful impasse where we own what we have, but cast off what we don’t.

The sun blazes here and we see just beyond our borders all those dogs chasing their tails. They wander from one subject to another not realizing that they should have already seen the conclusions. These dogs are lost and lack what the free citizens of the Corral have, an understanding. They hunt a game that has no meat. They scale a mountain that has no peak. They fight with wooden swords and yell with broken words. They don’t see the moon arise, while we Corral Folk see it all. We aren’t a part of the Absurd illogical topic sports and post padding. We are free from the monotone and the predictable.

We are the stone that make fantastic ripples upon a quiet lagoon. We set the world afire and know why we did it all. Living our death, and dying our life. We sit upon a throne made of those that came before us peering at those fools repeating themselves a thousand times over. The one place that one is safe is a graveyard. Where the swings have stopped, the grass stops waving and the niggers aren’t doing anything. This is the essence of the Corral.

We are the light at the end of the world. When all lights cease to sparkle we will shine with fire. An island where execution is a possibility, but that we don’t fear the Gods. We know that we shone such a brilliant glow that will continue to brighten the sky. For the death of a Corral Folk is a trial of the duality, of glory and melancholy. Although the winds that blow and the judgment of the Gods is always a reality. Even with the finality of one’s own mortality in the Corral one thread is stitched into us one and all: we would never do our lives before any different. We are resigned in our fate to live, rule and die here like a champion.

The others curse the judgment of the Gods that bring them kicking and screaming here, but if one has to drug here they won’t be warriors of the Corral Clan. For those that do, are quick to anger the Gods and are soon face to face with their maker. We don’t need borderlanders that would rather be posting their hatred of Muzzies in This Just In or what the niggers are doing in St.Paul. They need to continue to chase their tails in general discussion, while we observe and realize the calmness of the Corral. Where fights in the bar rooms happen from time to time; but peace is quickly restored.