1. My first real office job was in a theatre company, a few months after i graduated. i had to call schools to persuade them to book a performance about post-GCSE career options, paid for by the Government but of course the school would have to organise hundreds of students into a hall at the same time. One teacher told me she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, as the theatre had done a show there the year before and the pupils apparently thought the actors were actually their characters, and had difficulty understanding it was a fiction. “They aren’t, uh, special students,” she said, “but they couldn’t see it was just a play.”

i wondered later if the pupils were having her on, but perhaps not: although everyone now watches TV few people have seen a play, and theatre is a very different experience.

2. There is an imaginative but real dimension to existence, intersecting strangely with the material. i guess even the most primitive reductionist would accept that ideas & emotions affect the physical reality, e.g. the abomination of modern architecture arises i would say from the machine-mind, and so the physical world now looks hideous. However, i think it’s more complex still: every thought, emotion, perception, enters a vast ocean of imaginative force, which in turn bears an enormous influence on our minds & hence our makings & our bodies.

In a sense, fictions are real; or rather, they have their own reality, and affect & even determine ours. The influence is typically indirect, i think because of our own perceptual limitations; when the influence is stronger, we tend to notice something odd, e.g. that the World War 1 armistice came into effect at 1100 on 11 November, or the unexpected rise of the God Emperor in defiance of corporate interference & the cackling of the Cloud People. The stronger the influence from the spirit world to ours, the more uncanny & clearly occult/supernatural the manifestation. It amuses me tremendously to imagine the “angelic orders” choosing Donald Trump of all people to hold the line against the demonic tide. But then, i suppose for gnostic reasons it would need to be an unspiritual man, not a visionary or saint but an ordinary Mensch, a bit blockheaded & crass, and yet a man untainted by the corruption (typically child abuse & sexual assault & drugs) common to the media/political elites, a man who if offered a 9-year-old girl would say, No thanks, I’m going to bang a 21-year-old supermodel and eat steak with ketchup, then two scoops of ice cream. If you want proof that God has a sense of humour, there it is.

3. Quite suddenly, a belief comes to seem questionable, then ludicrous – because the imaginative substrate is collapsing. The West is at an interesting point, with (as i see it) three main imaginative forces colliding:

i) Western civilisation & culture, which is basically this:

and this

and this (ignore Kate Bush’s support of the globalist “Tory” government, the song is truer than the singer):

ii) The panoply of nihilistic elements now predominant in the universities, media, the public sector, and the governments of Western Europe & Canada, ranging from the foot soldiers of idiocy:

to the higher functionaries:

iii) Islam.

The nihilists ally with the Muslims, on an enemy-of-my-enemy basis but when the latter are sufficiently numerous the frappuccino-sipping Marxists and tolerant “But I love a good balti!” Southrons will find themselves in a pickle, or to be more accurate gangraped to death.

The West has deep roots but through mass immigration & cultural persecution the nihilists have managed to blast all leaves & fruit & blossom, and to all appearances it seems Denethor is correct: “the West has failed” and we will soon have cities of rubble with the last shrieking feminists being chased down & butchered by a mob of men called Mohammed.

So it’s not all bad then.

4. When i grew up there were many TV shows with a dumb, blundering father, e.g. Inspector Gadget who is some kind of Terminator but mildly retarded and so his clever niece & her dog solve all the crimes behind his back. i wouldn’t see it as anti-male propaganda; the audience, rather, knew that in reality a small girl is unlikely to be smarter than even a stupid adult and so it was not so much pandering to children as creating an evident fantasy, which by its evident unreality was charged with that quality Lewis Carroll called fun.

i look at films today and when i see e.g. Scarlett Johansson throwing three hundred pound men around, even bearing in mind the Avengers films also feature a man in a flying robot suit, a giant green monster, the god Thor, i think, Well that just isn’t very realistic; in her case, the character (Black Widow) is basically just a bio-enhanced human being with training, and while i could imagine such a person being able to beat up street thugs, she routinely and without difficulty dispatches huge, trained fighters.

i feel that whereas e.g. Inspector Gadget was childlike fun & fiction, today’s kickass heroines are taken as in some way real: (stupid) people watch these films and think Scarlett Johansson really could beat up Mike Tyson. Wonder Woman (i tried to watch it but the CGI and smirking women put me off after 10 minutes) and the newish Ghostbusters film were advertised as a great blow struck against Hitler; that is, they are more or less openly advertised to be propaganda, as if showing a woman beating men up means women are now physically stronger than men:

5. Across our culture, the relation between representation and physical reality has become awkward. i gave up arguing with my American colleagues (all Bernie Bro globalists) when they say Trump is a racist or a rapist, because they get their “news” entirely from corporate media and they are firstly too stupid to notice the frequent contradictions and the disparity between e.g. CNN’s confident polling 13 months ago and the Glorious Reality, and to even begin questioning their lifelong narrative would be to question their status as morally superior, wise beings on a par with Justin Trudeau and Kevin Spacey.

Over the last year or so i’ve felt the reigning narrative (globalist, anti-Western culture) begin to come apart. The bewilderment of those whose financial and emotional well-being depend on the now dying, demonic illusion, attests to the real shift at work.

It is not a minor alteration. At present the powers are trying to deny it, by e.g. blocking Trump at every turn, humming & hawing about Brexit, and perhaps they would triumph, were this not a culmination of decades, with the force of a good millennium or so behind it.

The whole Hollywood sex scandal, where curiously most of Trump’s most prominent & vehement detractors have turned out to be rapists, perverts, and weirdos, is part of this glorious destruction, as an almost wholly false world-picture breaks apart. There is a limit to how long falsity can be maintained, before the truth comes out; and my occult sense is that many hidden things will come to light in the next few years, and the false mirror will be broken (perhaps even, the truth about the Clintons).

6. For about the last generation, those in the West have squatted in Plato’s cave to regard the flickering shadows and eschew reality as a fascist lie spun by Elberry out of spite & runic tweed. One could see the last few decades of fashionable nonsense as testament to the human imagination, like children believing in Father Christmas. Thus i had one student (from Cologne) claim that thousands of women are raped in Cologne every New Year’s Eve and Germans only made a big stink in 2015 because the attackers weren’t white. And this was by no means a moron (she was in fact a lawyer for a large company) – just someone whose imagination is focussed entirely on maintaining a narrative of bad white man vs exotic wonderful Muslim. As i said to the stupid bitch at the time, – Yes most people won’t be affected by the migrants. If you live in a good area and don’t take public transport i doubt you have much to fear.

Luckily the next financial crash (my occult feeling is, before the next European election cycle) will force many out of the cave, into the wilderness of reality, where they will be immediately eaten by a bear.


1. i was reading a /pol post about decades, everyone agreed that the last decent one was the 90s (though i would say the 80s), and one poster said 9/11 fucked the entire world up for good. As it happens, i was the same age in 2001 and 1914 in this and my last lives respectively, and now feel there are certain analogies between the two dates; to some degree, 2001 is our 1914.

2. i’ve given up trying to predict events in this life from my last; curiously, it worked quite well in retrospect, so similar things happened to me when i was 14/15 and 21/2 in both lives, and i spent the same time temping as in the First World War. However, when i started applying it to my present & future, the two lives diverged so i just accept things now and don’t keep looking at the calendar and making ill-founded predictions which inevitably fail, leaving me unshaven and obese and old, reading Julius Evola on my half-collapsed sofa bed and muttering to myself about sand peoples and Leftists and degeneracy.

3. i note in my own life certain periods of intense emotional/intellectual activity, for example the three years of my undergraduate degree (97-2000), my year in Kassel (2010), and 2015 to the present. It sounds a bit depressing but the rest of my life has been like sleepwalking without much sensation or thought, and no sense of purpose or value. As soon as Merkel decided to end the white race in Europe, i felt a quickening of purpose, a tautening of the history within which i live; it was as if a meandering, tedious film (e.g. The Phantom Menace) suddenly took on the tight narrative & technical mastery of The Empire Strikes Back 

or Weekend at Bernie’s The Godfather. The next 12 or so months were truly strange, as David Bowie, Prince, George Michael, Leonard Cohen, Muhammad Ali, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Castro, and Carrie Fisher all died, the uncucked British voted for Brexit, and the God Emperor ascended the Iron Throne despite the entire corporate media lambasting him as literally Hitler.

In terms of my 1914/2001 analogy, 2016 would have been 1929. i hesitate to think too much about such things, as i don’t believe you can read off dates and predict the future, but perhaps Europe will experience a change in the right direction in the 2021-2 election cycle, or perhaps politics & democracy will collapse entirely and we will have instead the Race War on our doorstep, gloriously coinciding with economic catastrophe, plague, and meteor strikes and rampaging dinosaurs and an entire SS Army Group will emerge from the secret Nazi base in the Arctic with orders to purify the land and reward Elberry with vintage waistcoats and Nazi whisky and blonde MILF.

4. In 2016 i cut back on the booze after damaging my gut, lost about 7 kilos, and started wearing a wristwatch, so a momentous year. At the moment i’m working on self-publishing Vocations, my volume of short stories, racist remarks, a play, and my temp memoir, really just waiting for the Viking to supply a drawing as illustration and then i can hopefully cast it into the world of eager readers, millions of scantily-clad buxom young women & blonde MILF, all hungering for pointless short stories, racist hyperbole, and self-pitying office anecdotes. Many of these gorillions of lady readers will look like this:

5. i also feel i have inadvertently but perhaps usefully created a distance about myself, as in the last 6 months i’ve lost contact with half a dozen people who were, in one way or another, draining my energy and leaving me irritated or depressed. Half of them i lost at once, by deleting my Facebook accounts, the others are all individual cases where i just found myself unable to write to them, and then unable to even read their words.

i only noticed the pattern a few weeks ago when i got a more than usually sneering letter from a (baby boomer prog) ex-professor i know from Durham, and after a day or two of wrath and Bane-like utterances to myself, i decided to reply with a bland, civil letter and then have no contact with him again. He was always given to passing ex cathedra judgements on my apparently rather terrible character, in of course a passive aggressive have you stopped beating your wife yet manner, but he seems to have become worse in the last few years; at the same time i’m becoming increasingly aggressive and terrifyingly violent, and also unwilling to shrug off ad hominem rebukes & denigration for the sake of being nice & staying in touch with someone who is, in many ways, interesting and not at all a bad person (just a hectoring self-righteous prog).

6. i feel my own character change is mysterious and complex. On the one hand i can see that i am becoming a grotesque supervillain living in a cavern of some kind, drinking gin and watching Varg Vikernes videos and then dreaming dark dreams of violent retribution on my decrepit sofa bed; on the other hand i think a new kind of energy is emerging alongside or in apparent contradistinction to my superb fascism & malice.

As an example of my fascistic propensities, i was teaching a new JobCentre class of unemployed Germands, one of the most low-energy groups i’ve ever had, they just sit there staring down at the table and avoid eye contact and don’t even talk to each other in the break, i thought maybe they disliked me but they were apparently even worse with California Jesus who is usually a favourite. It’s especially odd as these are not dummkopfters; their professions: HR lawyer, designer, pharma product manager, biochemist, legal secretary. This occurred on Monday:

me: Okay, we’ve finished the book. What should we do now? We can do some grammar, or a vocab game, or talk about Schnitzel, or just sit here in total silence. What would you like to do?

Total silence. Each student is staring down at the desk before him/her.

me: Grammar? Anyone want to do grammar? We could do comparatives, that’s good grammar hammer time, what do you say? Grammar? Grammar anyone? Anyone?

Total silence.

me: Or a vocab game? That’s fun! Who wants to do a game?

Total silence.

me: Or how about total silence? We can just sit here and pretend we don’t exist? That’s good too.

Total silence.

me: Okay. i’m going to take your total silence to mean you don’t want to be here, and you don’t want me to be here either and you don’t want to do anything at all and you wish you were dead. How about that? Is that accurate? Is that how i should interpret your absolute refusal to answer a simple question? You want to die? Am i right? Death? Death?

Total silence and still each student is looking down and avoiding eye contact or movement. i felt, later, a bit surprised that i’d been so confrontational about it, since i would normally just pretend not to notice their lack of motivation and would generally try to avoid talking about murder, death, and rape since the last time i got in trouble with McLingua for referring to the Battle of Stalingrad and Manstein’s attempted Unternehmen Wintergewitter in every grammar example. i’ve likewise been rather nasty with some of my colleagues, e.g. i was stuck in the McLingua teacher room with The Gook, a highly annoying young American colleague (a giant fat rich Nork who claims he’s Bavarian because he grew up here and speaks fluent hillbilly Bavarian & wears Lederhosen at every opportunity) and the Holy Spirit moved me to inform him that he was grotesque and a beast and a filthy degenerate, and when he started rambling about how you’re Bavarian if you can speak Bavarian i told him, – Only race matters. Racially, you and i are freaks who should not exist. You can only be European if you are white and have European culture. The rest is LARPing.

7. On the other hand Burroughs, a now early-70s teacher who was in Nam in an interestingly vague capacity, a homosexual and deviant of amusing proportions, said we should stay in touch when i told him i’d applied for a job in the Allgäu (i was rejected), in case i leave suddenly like many teachers. i like him enormously, though because he tends to shuffle about like a zombie and mutter “fuck the world” every few minutes. He’s one of the few long-time teachers who is still motivated and has consistently excellent feedback, and so i respect him as a colleague as well as enjoying his diatribes against humanity. i gave him my email address and he wrote to me yesterday:

Greetings on 9 November. I can remember this day in 1989 very clearly. My dementia hasn’t faded the image. However, my dementia prohibits me from doing housework. 

He openly told me he’s attracted to me – in the McLingua teacher room with various other teachers in attendance – which made me laugh hugely, and i said, – You are aware i’m only interested in blonde MILF? and he, – Oh that doesn’t matter.

i told him he’s just attracted to Asians, at least not enormous fat loud ones like The Gook, and he said, – No no, when I saw you I felt we were on the same wavelength, and well, look, you just light up the room when you come in.

Oddly, i’ve heard similar things recently-ish from female colleagues and even students, and on the train home, sitting opposite a Merkel Negro (who was dressed like a gangsta and kept muttering to himself in Negro, and was spooking the Germans with his aura of craziness & violence) i found myself distracted from my reading matter (Rupert Sheldrake’s The Science Delusion, after this video of Varg’s) by the Merkel’s twitching and mumbling and highly aggressive vibes and then felt the usual total relaxation, my prelude to violence, and until i alighted i was both smiling in anticipation of violence, and thinking that while i am becoming increasingly hostile to both the enemies of Europe and those who would impose upon me with their stupidity, hectoring & insanity, i at least maintain my old friendships (The Viking, Juniper, The Man in Black), and am apparently radiating some kind of benign energy for those with eyes to see – even though they are people as diverse as Burroughs and my variously fantastifascistical readers, and of course all those gorillions of blonde MILF & honeys hungering for Vocations and The Better Maker.

1. People tend to be surprised at my bohemian/fascistic political views. i sometimes tell normies i’m a centrist, by 1950s standards, but actually since democracy & liberal capitalism have led us to our current predicament even this is deceptive.

Most of my students have no real problem with controlled immigration but are becoming more & more opposed to Islam and so would count as moderate civic nationalists.

My colleagues are largely default open borders lefties who get their news from Facebook quotes (Toddball) or CNN and the New York Times (the more intellectual ones). i’ve met only one who seems on the Right, on the Alt-Lite i guess, a German teacher about my age who looks like a sour elf. i vaguely knew her from the staff room but only talked to her when she was discussing academia with an English teacher who wanted to do a PhD in Philosophy, i naturally told them how academia today is ridden & cursed with Marxism and post-modern bullshit, and the Sour Elf said to me, – I don’t know if you have heard of him, but there is a Canadian professor –

– Jordan Peterson? i asked, and she looked a little startled and asked how i had heard of him. i said i’d first come across him on the Computing Forever channel, then heard him mentioned by other Youtubers. i was also surprised that she knew these Youtubers (Sargon, Molyneux etc.) as i haven’t met a single person in Germany who uses Youtube for anything except cat videos.

2. We had lunch and have since become co-conspirators or rather co-moaners; she wanted me to infiltrate an Antifa meeting but i told her i lack interest in mere political actions and besides i would probably start saying things like, – Say what you like about Hitler, he was nice to dogs and he conquered France in six weeks.

She is very much a civic nationalist and so looked a bit disapproving when i uttered some of my ethnic tribalism sentiments, also she is like most Germans very focused on the material plane & political action, so she has left artefacts like this lying about McLingua:


– whereas i prefer to write here for my tiny audience (it seems to have held steady at about 20 for the last decade) or to e.g. perform runic ceremonies in the woods.

Like most of the civic nationalists/paleo-cons, she does not go far enough. To use the much-beloved Titanic image, she is trying to stuff the hole in the hull with tampons and i am on the bridge, gazing into the oncoming sea and adjusting my facemask for underwater existence, she dashes up, sodden and trembling and looking more than usually sour expostulates, – Elberry, what are you doing?

me: Crashing this plane – with no survivors.

Sour Elf: Elberry, we aren’t on a plane! We’re on a sinking ship! We must put our heads together and come up with a really clever solution! This is a really really seriously bad situation!

me: For you.

3. While over the last two years my fascism has naturally intensified, i think my first inoculation against modernity was 20 years ago at university, when i encountered Literary Theory. As i recall i was reading an essay on Lit Theory by Frank Kermode – i assumed it was a joke of some sort, then asked my first year tutor who confirmed that there is indeed a fashion known as Theory, which runs thus: instead of reading a book and analysing the language and thought, with perhaps some reference to what we know of the author & his time, we should seize the opportunity to talk about the oppression of “minorities”, at length, in almost incomprehensible prose. An example, from Homi Bhabha:

If, for a while, the ruse of desire is calculable for the uses of discipline soon the repetition of guilt, justification, pseudo-scientific theories, superstition, spurious authorities, and classifications can be seen as the desperate effort to “normalize” formally the disturbance of a discourse of splitting that violates the rational, enlightened claims of its enunciatory modality.

i forced myself to read a great deal of Lit Theory and found it intellectually vacuous; my first impression was one of blatant mendacity but i thought, Well if this is the bees knees today i should at least try to understand it; so i read and deciphered the almost incomprehensible prose, and found you could rephrase it all as either a flat uninteresting truism (e.g. women did not have the same experience as men in Shakespeare’s London) or as a tendentious assertion (all men are rapists even if they never rape or try to rape anyone).

i didn’t meet a single student who took it seriously, and luckily Durham at that time was highly conservative so there were few Theorists, and from what i could gather the foremost of these didn’t take it seriously either, she merely found it an easy career platform. Later i went out drinking with some of my tutors and remarked to one, a repugnant young cunt who had written a book about transqueering spaces, that i couldn’t stomach Theory; she looked sly, like a pervert alluding to some unspeakable practice, and then said, – You’ve just got to play the game, you have to learn to write like that, to use certain words.

i was struck by the contrast between these careerists with their transodomitical spaces drivel, and the experience of discussing Milton with an intelligent non-careerist like my first-year tutor. There was no intellectual argument which could have persuaded me that the latter was somehow old hat & inauthentic, or that Theory was daring & significant & honest. By reading Milton & TS Eliot i made my adult self, i came to understand something of my world & those i met; by Theory i was immediately and consistently disgusted, and all those i have met who fell for Foucault and his kind have turned out to be brittle neurotics who are slightly smarter than average and believe themselves to be genius-level savants (there seems a zone of above-average intelligence where the individual realises she is smarter than most people; however she isn’t smart enough to realise she’s not much above the median; above this zone people tend to realise how little they know, how limited their intellectual means relative to the questions they face).

4. Lit Theory was my first concentrated dose of modernity, damned though i have been to live in modern times. At first i thought it merely an academic perversion, but in time i’ve come to see it as one symptom of the machine age which exalts the monstrous in Man. Today i read Theodore Dalrymple on Le Corbusier (Charles-Édouard Jeanneret):

Jeanneret’s writing is exhortatory and often ungrammatical, and is full of non sequiturs and dubious assertions without foundation. He raves rather than argues; everything is written in an imperious take-it-or-leave-it mode, interspersed with scribbled sketches or photographs of little relevance, and if you choose to leave it rather than take it, he soon insults you by claiming that you cannot see, do not understand, are incapable of real thought, etc. To read Jeanneret is to be cornered by a religious fanatic threatening you with eternal hellfire unless you accept his doctrine in full. It is a very unpleasant experience.

That is more or less the experience of reading Literary Theory, or talking to those who take it seriously. It is not an isolated academic mania, it is part of modernity and in a sense i am grateful – that i cannot write let alone think in this “style”, and so could not have made a career in the modern university; and i realised that the “spirit” which produced Theory has also produced architecture like this

and turned the larger cities and towns of Western Europe into multicultural hellholes. People like the Sour Elf are on the right path but my opposition is not merely to millions of sand peoples swarming into Europe; it is to the entire modern world, and it is not in my nature to placate or appease.


So i went to Regensburg for a long weekend. My observations:

1. On train from Munich to Regensburg. Merkel-Negroes board, sans tickets, the conductor remonstrates, they start shouting at him; i ask myself, what should i do when they commence to pummel and scream “racist you racist!!!”. i finger my tactical pen and wonder if anyone would help me – probably not, it would just be me and Odin and my tactical pen. The Race War will begin here, on this train, and i will stand alone against The Horde. Luckily the train then pulls into Regensburg and the police board to apprehend the negroes (who will be released without charge). Regensburg Hauptbahnhof is highly confusing, i wander in the wrong direction, there are negro packs everywhere, military-age men leering and cackling in a barbarous tongue as they await their next welfare payment because they are Syrian orphan babies.

The few whites are cowed and apprehensive.

2. Juniper meets me at the entrance and we escape the Africans. She talks about apples and yoghurt. A typical conversation as we find our way through the narrow cobbled streets to our flat:

Juniper: We should buy some yoghurt so we can have a very healthy breakfast. There are too many, Dingsbums, what are those bad things in English?

me: Negroes. Muslims. Communists. Degenerates.

Juniper: No! Too many places, pubs, where fat unhealthy men like you can eat too much! We need yoghurt!  You should eat yoghurt and then you will have the, the –

me: Race War?

Juniper: No !

me: SS runes?

Juniper: No, a good start to the morning. Everyone should eat yoghurt and an apple! Not your horrible whisky and Schweinshaxen! We will have a healthy weekend and eat only apples and yoghurt and then you will not be so fat.

me: That’s the kind of thing Hitler would have said.

And then we found our flat.

3. An excellent abode.

Later we discuss architecture. In Kassel, Juniper lives in a dead-tech post-modernistic bullshit house of straight lines and space, a cold and inhuman arrangement. After a day she says our temporary Regensburg flat feels more like home than the flat she’s inhabited the last few years in Kassel. Modern architecture reflects the machine-mind of socialism, of linear & flat levelled spaces, equality, unprivacy. It is a pathological creation. Humans prefer nooks, spirals, inequality, the great & the little, the surprise.

The modern city and the modern house are products of socialism, whether national or international. The intent is to eradicate the exception and the unusual, to dictate all according to the human intellect – thus excluding the unexpected and the irregular. One sees this today, as governments enforce perversion in a highly structured orthodoxy, so even faggotry is now somehow tedious & mandatory, a matter of “how many black cocks were sucked per hour in this city” and so on. There are of course people who would like to live in Dubai, or in lobotomy houses like this:

…but really, what kind of people are these?

4. We venture out in search of food. Juniper becomes hungry and decides she will stray from her usual diet of apples and yoghurt. – We should eat a nice soup! she declares. – Soup is sehr gesund!

i find old-fash pubs full of pork and beer and wine, she looks disapproving and i realise this means she will enter but then sit there and suffer in radiant misery, so we wander for hours, looking for somewhere we can find soup. She dismisses each place, e.g. –  They only have creamy soup, that is not real soup; and – There are smelly dirty people here! and – They do not have the correct yoghurt! and – Do you really want to go in here? and – I am sure we can find someplace better, and – We should find a nice place where we can eat grass soup and water, das ist sehr gesund!, so on. We find what looks like a nice place but there is a skip instead of a beer garden:

and even i draw the line at climbing into a skip and eating what lies within, in the sump. Then i find a tapas place:

but Juniper glories when it turns out to be closed, and so our endless quest for food continues. We try Zur geflickten Trommel, some kind of Medieval-aesthetic restaurant where i want to drink mead and worship the Aesir and sacrifice a Muslim, but in the door i grimly note a sign (in German) WE DON’T SERVE RACISTS.

– They will probably turn us away, then, i tell Juniper sadly. – Because i am a fascist. They will say, We don’t serve your kind, Paki bastard, fuck off back to the secret Nazi base in the Arctic.

We enter and as foretold a bunch of hippy weirdos turn us away with scowls, claiming there are no free tables but i suspect they just don’t serve bad people (is that even legal?) and so Juniper & i are personae non gratae, though only i am a racist and anyway i’m half-Indian so i should get a pass because brown people can’t be racist. However perhaps i must shoulder some of the blame, as i was wearing my Feldgrau Swedish Army coat and muttering about Operation Barbarossa as we entered.

5. Finally we end up in a burger place because even Juniper is growing weak and every healthy grass-soup kitchen is closed or doesn’t serve exactly the right kind of soup. i want to order a Naziburger that costs 2 Euros more than the rest. She exclaims, disapprovingly, – Why do you want to eat this expensive burger? You should eat grass! Grass is sehr gesund!

i reply through gritted teeth, – i’m on holiday.

6. We survive the first day, somehow, and then venture out to explore Regensburg. A kind of brunch at Cafe Anna, which is plagued by screaming children (ignored by their upper middle class Der Spiegel-reading parents) and is far too light and open for my tastes:

i am mildly agoraphobic and so shrink somewhat from open spaces. Perhaps my upbringing in West Yorkshire pushed me to prefer infolded privacies, as even the countryside in my homeland is, like Regensburg, full of hidden areas and unexpected perspectives. Regensburg is a small-ish town but nonetheless seems of Borgesian complexity. Every time we walk down a street we find new shops, bars, grass soup kitchens; which would be fine except that old shops, bars, etc. disappear so we stand in the middle of a cobbled lane and think, eh, what happened to that yoghurt cafe?

The town seems to rearrange its streets every few minutes. Perhaps this is a feature of organically strange spaces, that they appear almost wholly different from different angles (like, often, the human face) and so contain unexpected infolded perspectives, Tardis-like. There are few stable, open spaces:

And otherwise a multitude of shifting lanes and vanishing shops, e.g. a hat shop where i look for a Peaky Blinder cap but alas i had already spent all my ‘gro on burgers and whisky to spite Juniper:

or flickering-out-of-being lanes & curvatures:

And here i find the following graffiti:

– no commentary required, i dare say.

7. There are, in the city, seemingly no McDonald’s, Burger Kings, Starbucks, Muslims, or crows. Crows we find only in a park, and even here not in the numbers one would expect. Juniper & i pass this oddity

and then raid a kind of book cabinet where people leave old books for others.

– a custom impossible to imagine in England (it would be irreparably vandalized within 24 hours). We then sit on a park bench and i finally get to smoke:

and talk of the evils of modernity.

8. We both love Regensburg. It reminds me of Durham but larger; and nowhere near as verkitscht as i had feared. Like Durham it has a river and cobbles and bicycles and old houses:

– and contrary to my fears, it is almost wholly white. When i first noticed that whereas Munich town centre is largely free of invaders, Kassel’s hideous centre is now seemingly 90% African/Arab Syrian orphan, i guessed the Munich police told the sand peoples not to hang around scaring the rich tourists. Juniper however remarked that the vaguely arty part of Kassel, Bebelplatz, is still European, and comparing the now African train station at Regensburg with the quiet cobbled streets even 5 minutes out, i think it is rather that the invaders shrink from beauty and traditional architecture. On the face of it, it makes no sense – if i were a Somalian rapist living off welfare, i would hang around nice parks in the old city, and spend hours in arty cafes trying to pick up MILF with talk of my terrible ordeal as a Syrian orphan baby in Kabul; instead, the invaders congregate in packs in the train station and the cobbled streets are 99% white (i was the 1% brown).

i now think that the invaders feel uncomfortable among European architecture, on cobbled streets, with stone & wood buildings, and so naturally seek out the ghetto, the denatured modern spaces of train and bus stations. They feel at their ease only amidst ugliness, concrete, litter, filth. It is, i would say, the same with our native chavs, which is why bus stations in England drove them forth with classical music.

9. Finally the holiday passes. Juniper does not get to eat soup and naturally enough blames me, but that’s fine.

i’m off on a brief holiday in a nearby town till Tuesday, will make notes & probably write some kind of report when i return on Tuesday evening or Wednesday. If the Race War begins before i get back know that i died valiantly, screaming racist abuse and confusing the Germans and the sand peoples both, and probably in fact i just got drunk and fell in a river and drowned before i could kill anyone.

1. i’ve been vividly dreaming the last few nights. On Monday night i dreamt of Millennial Woes (we were discussing the Race War) and of my student Heinrich. Woes is explicable because i’ve been binge-watching his old videos and they are sehr geil, Heinrich because i’ve been teaching him once a week for about a year. They are both of course Europeans and both tend to a lumberjack look, and both strike me as introverted and intelligent, but otherwise they have little in common. In the dream(s), i was discussing genocide with Woes and then later Heinrich appeared, and at some point the Heinrich dream was folded into the Woes dream. On awakening i was struck by this enfolding – i could feel that my dream mind had been trying to find a commonality between the two men and two narratives; it occurred to me that dreams are often so, taking disparate threads of our daily experience & thought and trying to compress them into one story (dreams are almost always stories). The strangeness of dreams arises in part from the attempt to form some kind of unity from plurality; it has an awkward, probing and taking-up and casting-aside nature, as in the 3rd movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, the music reworking what has gone before (c.f. Act 2, Scene 5 of Don Giovanni, or Cymbeline):

2. As with dreams, so our waking minds automatically seek similitude, oneness, to fold different experiences and thoughts into one clear line. Dreams, i think, are in part the formation of a narrative out of our daily experience & thought, because without an overarching & containing pattern we could make little sense of our lives. And this pattern is typically implicit, almost invisible because it is the means by which the visible is made comprehensible (and memorable); it is not the visible itself.

In our times, that which is not empirically testable or clearly visible is dismissed as a fancy or a lie. And yet it is precisely this which makes our world (die Welt ist die Gesamtheit der Tatsachen, nicht der Dinge).

3. Black Pigeon Speaks made a video on our foundation myth; in brief, in the West ours is: WHITE PEOPLE = NAZIS = HOLOCAUST = EVIL


Which is unfortunate for us but rather spiffing for non-Europeans, well for the moment.

4. i doubt Western civilisation (let alone culture) will return. But the dream may reassert itself, in some necessarily distorted, awkward, unexpected fashion. Although empires and civilisations & cultures have died in the past, ours is a little different: we have enough literature, art, and music from the heyday of the West to perhaps keep some version faintly alive, for eventual transformation. As Phillip Jeffries remarked in Fire Walk With Me, we live inside a dream. Our waking sentience is mostly directed to imposing some semblance of order on what is in fact a truly David Lynchian cosmos of malleable identity, time & space.

The world is inexplicably bizarre; but part of our dreaming is to fashion a dream acceptable to our own sanity. It is not so much that our understanding of the world is a lie, as it is very much within the parameters of our sanity. However, it occasionally shifts and then there tend to be psychic disturbances, odd incidences of e.g. collective amnesia or psychosis. Whenever the collective dream shifts, enormous energies of the unconscious spill out, in violence and madness and exaltation.

At present i feel unfortunately like Phillip Jeffries wandered back into civilisation after 2 years in the Black Lodge. Luckily, my job keeps me grounded in the day to day detail of ordinary men & women, since, after all, it is their dream too.

SOCRATES: So we are perfectly justified if we say that a small portion of pure white is to be regarded as whiter than a larger quantity of an impure whiteness, and at the same time more beautiful and possessed of more truth?

PROTARCHUS: Perfectly justified.

(Plato, Philebus, tr. Dorothea Frede)

1. Good video from The Great Order:

on insipid ad music. A great deal of our culture is advertising. If advertising in its modern form began by saying “look at these focken cool guys, you should be like them and buy these products”, it has now become embedded in our daily life – so everyone i know uses free services like Facebook, Whatsapp, Gmail, Google, Yahoo, where as far as i can tell the revenue comes entirely from data collection and hence advertising – well, assuming intelligence agencies didn’t fund these companies for data collection in the first place.

2. Propaganda and advertising are designed to overlay experience with a grid of values, so a Fiat is for sporty single women, a BMW for the older, established man of means, and so on. Although we are living in an unusually advanced propaganda-world, it is merely a development of ordinary social valuations. i’m told, for example, that although swords are not necessarily the most practical of melee weapons, because of their cost and the lengthy training required for mastery they became something of a status symbol. The difference is that, today, the Swords R Us company would hammer this point home with adverts showing a mud-encrusted peasant, hacking up blood and tooth fragments, hefting his cudgel en route to slaughter a pig or eat a clod of dung, and then behold! – he sees a moustache-twirling young buck with a longsword and says, Ee by Gad, that be reet special that be.

3. i had an Italian student recently, a middle manager at a large telecommunications company, who was planning to take a 6-month motorbike trip from Germany east through the ‘stans. He told the other students (all Germans) an anecdote: he was in Laos and his bike broke down in the middle of a jungle, he was afeared for his life but managed to capture a local Indian to sacrifice a virgin and all turned out for the best. “It was a really good experience,” he said, “I mean now. At the time I wanted to die, I really just wished I was dead. I was in the middle of a jungle with no one around and I thought, okay now I am totally lost.”

i mentioned Heart of Darkness, Marlow’s sense that the overpopulated, orderly life of London is inadequate, is something of an illusion & contrivance with infamous cookery, by God. Kierkegaard wrote, i think in Stages on Life’s Way, to the effect that the sailor lost at sea, or the traveler walking through the wilds at night, is closer to God than the city man who lives within a few hundred meters of the policeman and post office (Conrad uses very similar phrasing in Heart of Darkness). As my student talked i felt that despite all our achieved order and civilisation, we require a certain chaos & peril to feel alive; or say rather, our lives must be informed by the non-human, by that which is not under human control.

4. It is curious to see scowling Germans on the train, looking highly serious and disgruntled as is their wont with their fake Louis Vuitton bags and serious newspapers, and then someone comes on with a dog and almost everyone smiles and makes faces at the dog and tries to stroke it.

To be fully human is to impinge on the non-human; those who would live wholly within the manmade become robotic. We require periodic contact with that which we did not make, with apparent chaos; a greater order.

5. The dream of the Matrix is to order our vile chaotic humanity and slot us all neatly into pods for the harvest. But our proposed masters are not machines: they are very fallible men and women, and above them the demons who, i would suppose, are every bit as conflicted & uneasy amidst their power & malevolence.

6. The manmade order (Matrix) can only exist within the greater order of the cosmos. When the manmade order deviates sufficiently, it is destroyed. Prophets, if you like, are those who would re-establish the city with god, before the Flood. i feel reasonably sure there will be a catastrophic economic crash before the next European election cycle – this is based not on any knowledge but rather on paranoid glee – and this will come as an enormous psychic blow, especially to the Germans, and will be accompanied by, to put it mildly, social unrest on the part of our recent exotic guests.

i don’t think, however, it will be entirely horrific. Many will be delighted to have a reason not to go to work – even if that reason is that you’re being raped and eaten alive. After all, being raped and eaten only takes a few hours. And just think, if you don’t get raped and eaten but instead can take to the hills with a cudgel (or sword) and some kind of German dog, you might have yourself a rather splendid time.

7. Years ago in Italy, a proto-Leftist played me some of his CDs. i hadn’t brought any music (this was in 2003) and was going slightly nuts from deprivation, and so we spent many a glorious evening just sitting around his CD player drinking red wine and listening to his portable collection. We discussed how a song can be ruined by association – so it took me a long time to be able to listen to Layla without thinking of crummy Vauxhall Astra cars – the song was used on a high-rotation advert for a car that looked like this:

The proto-leftist told me he’d had Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain ruined for him by a similar advert; i didn’t know the song; he said there was no way i hadn’t heard it, i shrugged, so he played it; and indeed i hadn’t heard it ever before in my life and by the end he was almost weeping at the thought that for me it was pure & uncontaminated by advertising:

When our materialist, self-hating societies collapse into Mad Max-style slaughter & rape & cannibalism, it will of course be mildly unpleasant but there will also be that shock of the authentic, as when i heard ‘The Chain’. Modern religions having done away with a contained wildness & awe, the leopards will merely destroy the temple itself, and devour the congregation:

Leoparden brechen in den Tempel ein und saufen die Opferkrüge leer; das wiederholt sich immer wieder; schließlich kann man es vorausberechnen, und es wird ein Teil der Zeremonie.

Leopards break into the temple and drink from the sacrificial vessels; this happens again & again; finally, one can forecast it well in advance and indeed it even becomes part of the ceremony.

1. i hungered for carbs this evening, so decided to get me a frozen pizza because i am classy like that. By trial & error i’ve discovered that most frozen pizzas either stick to the baking tray or become awash with grease, or the outsides are burnt and the core is lukewarm and gooey. The exception: a supermarket own-brand, significantly cheaper but by God they cook up really good and taste like a new Murdoch Murdoch.

2. It is often alleged of Communism and its hundreds of millions of fatalities, that we never really had real Communism. Living as we do in an old chaos of the sun, amidst the messiness of men and women and their works & whims, i could say – the label and the packaging and marketing must be secondary to the result. One could accuse, that i have a cheap old oven (actually a Siemens and quite old so probably better than anything modern) and hence can’t cook these fancy pizzas the way they need. But, for me, that just means i shouldn’t be buying fancy pizzas.

Likewise, Mankind is an old, functional but wayward thing and modern ideas simply don’t cook right with us. The end and dream may be nice but if every attempted implementation leads to mass murder, tyranny, starvation, and the gulag, one might reasonably suppose something in this nice dream is in fact utterly at odds with reality and barring an unprecedented shift in human consciousness, it will always lead to suffering and death.

3. A dog finds a shiny interesting-looking piece of what could be food. It looks nice, smells nice, but causes a week’s intestinal anguish. Next time, the dog finds the same artifact and gobbles it up, however this time taking certain canine precautions, for example drinking more water. Same result. Next time, the dog finds the same artifact and gobbles it up, trying increasingly clever precautions (only on a Wednesday, only on an empty stomach, only in small doses, only before sleep, only with a Bifi roll) – same agonising result. But it looks so nice!!!

And then the dog meets a preening and fat pug, who tells him, – It will make you feel wonderful and you will be healthy and sturdy! You must be doing something wrong! It is so nice, if it is nasty to you, then you are the problem!!! We will take you to the dog pound and have you put down! 

1. Millennial Woes defined a group here (he originally did so in an earlier video but this stuck in my mind):

A set of individuals: people who might share characteristics but don’t necessarily have any bond with each other, and whose existence is entirely in the present moment. Contrast that with a group: people who share characteristics and have a bond with each other, and can be considered the present iteration of an entity which might have existed in the past and might exist in the future. The concept of time has been introduced, which inaugurates the group as a group rather than a set of random individuals who happen to have some similarities.

2. After copying out the above i went shopping and in the supermarket queue was standing behind a youngish guy who, i decided, was probably ex-military: Germany had conscription till recently so that’s not so remarkable, though usually they lose the manner fairly quickly after leaving. Without really paying attention i paid attention to his interaction with the cashier (a new guy, young, German), and felt that not only was the customer ex- (or perhaps still) military, but the cashier was also, and there was a kind of recognition. i was mostly thinking about what i would write about groups upon my return, and was thus only vaguely aware of the slight differences in body language, gaze, movement, etc. of the two, and then the cashier asked if the customer wanted the receipt, he said no, and the cashier said, Alles klar, and i smiled to myself; for outside of Das Boot

in my eight years in Germany i have only ever heard this phrase from Bundeswehr soldiers and i felt the cashier was either half-consciously letting him know, “i was in the Bund” or it was a wholly unconscious sympathetic response.

3. On the walk home i analysed my recognition of the two and realised that every single element could be disputed, that is not a single datum was in itself absolute proof. However, the presence and relation of several data is both difficult to explain and yet almost immediately sensed and typical of a particular identity. When i think, what characterises the group Bundeswehr, i would say they are brisk and yet relaxed, and don’t fidget. They often try not to look like soldiers, perhaps in the same way alcoholics try to act sober when they’ve in fact had a few ales.

4. Human beings are eminently social animals. But then, even animals are largely social. The social instinct – to identify with a group – seems innate. From a reductive biological perspective, those who lacked the sense of a group, and the desire to belong, are highly unlikely to have survived. So, if there is some biological basis to group identity (i find it hard to imagine that birds, by trial and error, figured out how to build nests or fly in formation, and then each generation somehow teaches its offspring in a manner no human observer can detect), probably everyone has it to some degree.

5. In our rather nauseating times, it is popular to declare oneself an individual. i am a human being! they say, Not a European! Fine but such folk merely reposition their group from the genetic and local to the political, and with oddly more ferocity – where hardcore Bavarians for example will happily say that they are not really German and Berliners are just Prussians, they don’t generally dislike non-Bavarians – they just regard them as different and a bit odd. But talk to a Leftist and, well – you don’t even need a signed copy of Mein Kampf anymore, it’s enough to say things like this:

and you’re in the gulag forever; i mean, unless your name is Clinton. i can’t think of a single person of my acquaintance who doesn’t express this group-desire in some form or another.

6. i don’t really see why people talk about individualism as if it’s even possible for more than a tiny number of, well, oddballs. You need an internal momentum and integrity to resist the allure of the consensual, and that is naturally rare. Those who advertise themselves as individuals are usually just losers who want to be cool, and then become partisan and join clubs and dye their hair blue and read the Guardian; and perhaps put on funny clothes, smash shit up, and get some of that sweet Soros gro. Those who are truly individual tend to an indeterminable, deep identity which also makes them hard to predict and liable to change their own mind on peripheral topics, and to associate with a variety of folk – for example, Styxhexenhammer666 has talked with civic nationalists like Sargon, the Jewish Bernie bro progressive H.A. Goodman, the Alt-Right Richard Spencer, the an-cap Stefan Molyneux.

The rest of humanity are just normies – they can be intelligent, they can be interesting, but ultimately they are driven by the need to be acceptable, and if tomorrow it became mainstream to eat babies they would read New York Times editorials on the health and social benefits of infantophagy and at first stare, uncomprehending, then nod slowly, and lick their lips, and when they look up to see the same narrative on CNN they will think, Yes, I always thought we should do something like this!

And the more intelligent they are, the cleverer their justifications and post hoc analyses.

7. Although i understand nothing of Physics, one could use the metaphor of particles & waves, and say that each person is an atomic thing, a particle, but part of being a particle is to also be a wave. From the particular standpoint, waves are illusory, are fancies and nonsense. One can take a teaspoon of water from a wave of the sea, and find no evidence of the wave in these five or so milliliters – that does not disprove the wave.

Perhaps it is better to say, not that the wave is greater than the teaspoon of water, but that they occupy different realities – or are different ways of seeing reality; the dancer & the dance.

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