1. Oulu is, much like Kassel and my hometown Huddersfield, a medium-sized modernist dreariness, surrounded by countryside, though thank god not as multiculturally-enriched as Huddersfield (rife with Pakistani and black: pimps, drug dealers, dolescum, rapists, and gangsters, not to speak even of our white chavs) or Kassel now (swarming with Merkel Muslims; naturally, rape and assaults are suddenly now normal, but hey, there’s a war in Syria, what are you, a NAZI????). i saw a few Africans and sand peoples in Oulu, but they lacked the vicious swagger and evident criminality of the English variety, perhaps because they are at present vastly outnumbered by the white man; and unlike in Germany or Sweden, a good many Finnish men look like the cast of Vikings, bearded cold-eyed killers.
The Muslim, in my experience, are generally cowards, hence most of the Merkel sex attacks have been against small boys and girls, or thirty Muslims against one or two German women; though to be fair i doubt you could find many rapists who would take on a woman of brawn, one-on-one; but then rape seems the norm among the sand peoples and the religion of peace, less so among the civilised white devil.
When last in Oulu, i was amused that a late-teens African with guitar strapped to his back asked me & the Man in Black for directions; the MIB cordially and helpfully gave directions, and then answered my querying look, – That was one of the acceptable ones. Besides, he had a guitar, so he was artistic.
Generally bland as Oulu is, it is nonetheless by the sea, and so there is lots of water:
and a few old wood buildings, mostly serving as a kind of Finnish Disneyland amidst the concrete monstrosities of modernity, because it is, after all, the current year:
In one such wooden shack, i found Crockett & Jones wear, a small shoe store with sherry & tea in one corner, lots of decent shoes; and went in to chat with the young chap on service (he was polishing a shoe) about leather and whatnot and whatnot. The MIB, who dresses in what i can only term peasant shoes (black of course), scowled at us, and then said, – While you were talking snob nonsense with that shoe homosexual, I was looking at his sherry.
2. As every time in Finland, i slumped with the Man in Black on his black sofa in his black living room, in the Black Wing of his black mansion, watching his black television while i gorged myself on Karelian pies and he soiled himself with black beer and long drinks, waving his functional left arm and chanting runic workings to summon more beer at which point three very pale women with black hair appeared from somewhere, bearing platters of beer and Karelian pies. As far as i could ascertain, they are his brides.
It sounds rather odd but he is, i feel fairly sure, my closest brother from my last Austrian life, and also in this life initiated me into Wednesday matters, and so our connection runs weird. His right arm was cut off in a freak photocopier/forklift truck accident at work a few years ago, and now he dedicates his life to drinking beer and watching True Detective. We watched Vares, a great Finnish detective series – usually, i loathe police & detective fictions, but this was great. Vares is a rather seedy private detective in Turku, Southwest Finland.
Generally, each episode/film comprises the following scenes:
2.1 Vares drinks with his loser friends, a failed priest who now runs a failed bookstore, and a failed writer.
2.2 Vares gets a mysterious job offer investigating some Finnish shit to do with whores.
2.3 Vares bangs some fucked-up femme fatale who the actual Vares actor is married to in real life, or the actress is a lesbian who murdered her children in real life. Vares lies on his back and the femme fatale rides him like a Finnish mule while he looks drunk.
2.4 Vares accepts a drink from his arch-nemesis, and passes out.
2.5 Vares is beaten.
2.6 Vares is saved by another arch-nemesis, who takes out the first one.
2.7 Vares is triumphant.
2.8 Vares has a drink with his loser friends.
3. We also watched some Finnish movies about degradation and bootlegging. The Man in Black, as is proper for a grotesque elder brother, taught me the following Finnish phrases:
3.1 Saatanan nullki – fucking punk!
3.11 Saatanan huora! – fucking whore!
3.2 Turpa kiinni! – shut your mouth!
3.3 Ihan sama – whatever (as in egal, or doesn’t matter)
It is strange, listening to Finnish. i have a quite capable vocabulary of Romance and Germanc languages now, a bit of Slavic and so was pretty fucking flummoxed by Finnish. When the Man in Black talked to his Dracula Brides, i listened and tried to penetrate the grammar and shift of a few centuries, without success, for Finnish is, as Basque, not beholden to Indo-European. Once or twice however:
Man in Black: There is a Finnish pie, with, what is it, taika? Anyway, fucker, you take the taika –
me: Pastry, dough?
Man in Black: Yes, but it is superior to your Zionist Masonic pastry.
In German, it is Teig. Or:
Man in Black to his Dracula Brides: [Finnish nonsense] vitsi [Finnish nonsense]
me: a joke?
Man in Black: Yes, of course. Are you stupid, you fucker?
In German, joke is Witz.
He also is given to Satanic practical jokes, for example brandishing his runic dagger in states of advanced drunkedness, threatening to stab me to death and indeed in his insobriety coming close to at least a good maiming. As he commented, leering hideously – There are often police reports where a man kills his friend or his whore or a Somalian or someone and it says, ‘a personal dispute under the influence of alcohol’. That could happen now. But you are not a Muslim so no one will care what I do to you.
4. When he could bear to leave his runic sofa, we went to various Oulu shitholes, including Snooker Time, easily the most depressing establishment i have frequented, outside of Bradford:
however like erring souls transmigrating through variously shitty incarnations, we finally progressed through to the superior Graal:
and to Hevimesta:
Where they played hard rock and metal – no Coldplay, thank god, the loathsome soundtrack to much of our voyaging, persecuting us wherever we went. i would have happily gone there every night but unfortunately the Man in Black committed an occult ritual in public, cackling horribly, and we had to leave in a hurry. On the walk home i chastised him, – I liked that place, we could have gone back there. And he: – Of course we can go back. In disguise. We just need new jackets, so nobody will recognise us.
And so we returned to the sofa, where none could judge us:
5. i’d wanted to see the Finnish woman who was my eldest sister in my last life – the Man in Black’s too, of course – but she was too ill to make the 2 hour bus trip from the little village where she lives as 19th Century a life as possible. In our Austrian life, i often wondered at my family, the constellations of brother & sister, which of us hated which, which could abide which, etc. These relations are more or less the same in this: the eldest sister is reclusive, musical, shy; the Man in Black is domineering, peculiar, maimed; and a third sister is now a Social Justice Warrior (then a kind of vacuous champagne socialist fascinated by the latest things). It is interesting to see what changes, and what endures, over lives. Things like musical or literary tastes usually change, but fundamental attitudes tend to persevere, so i suspect that most so-called “far-right extremists” have always at some point sensed the twining-together of the gods & traditions, valued the accumulated treasures of the past more than vulgar fashion; and most of the modern Left have probably been abused as children, developed what we call borderline/narcissistic personality disorders, or were born bipolar, and conduct lives of self-righteousness, rage, hatred, the will to destroy the world from which they came – no matter if the entire West resembles Somalia in 25 years, their own personal psychoses will be satisfied by heaps of dead white bodies. Of course, the self-righteous, the emotionally-damaged, the insane will always be with us – one cannot, unfortunately, persuade them not to reincarnate; but their power to destroy is minimised when they can, at best, gossip and pride themselves on whatever nonsense they care for; in our world, the bipolar, the borderline, the abused and insane, have almost automatic access to the levers of power in universities, the UN, the EU, every Leftist organisation and institute and committee.
England is pretty much gone into darkness already, a land of belly-patting Southron apple polishers, chavs, and Muslim rapists; the only decent folk i’ve met tended to be born before the 60s; but i take heart that at least in the Finland i have seen, Finland is still Finland. Perhaps there is something in the land itself – even in the language – which insulates it from the destruction willed by the Left. If anything survives the long night to come, it will be in pockets of European tradition; and when the Muslims have killed all the whites in Sweden, England, Germany, France, Belgium, Netherlands, etc., and then turned on each other, and all of Europe resembles Liberia, then perhaps civilisation could begin anew from such places as Finland. i would like to fast-forward to this rebirth, because i am not exactly looking forward to the initial collapse, the race war, the total annihilation of the white race, then the descent of Eurabia into a failed continent of warlords. But perhaps this is the way of all civilisations: they rise, they are destroyed from within by the insane, and then the barbarians enter.