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My Bundeswehr group ended last week. Most of the students didn’t really want to be there, or if they originally did their enthusiasm quickly waned after 7 hours a day, Monday to Friday, stuffed in a classroom without air conditioning in summer. Accordingly, i gave them frequent breaks and tried not to be too censorious at their soldier talk. Some amusing moments:

1. Tourette’s, a baker turned mountain infantrist started quoting Der Untergang and i became enthused and had to continue his quotation in my Hitler voice, gesticulating and screaming. Tourette’s then played the Steiner plan scene on his phone while we sat there, nodding approval and smiling. We spent a good couple of hours just talking about the Second World War, about paratroopers in Crete, Barbarossa, Dunkirk, the SS, the Winter War, tank design, and behold it was highly edifying and enjoyable.

2. An Alt-Lite colleague of mine had given me an envelope full of some Pediga-style bullshit stickers, i wasn’t sure what it was and opened it in the classroom and thought, Fuck; i have no intention of going around Munich covertly sticking them to lamp posts as if this will somehow awaken the Teutonic soul, and nor do i want to have these useless retarded things in my bag or even my flat.

Another mountain infantrist, a friendly Peruvian giant, saw the stickers and said: “A little racist, or?” and i replied “Islam isn’t a race.” He then said it was stupid to criticise one religion, said they are all bullshit, and claimed that thousands of women get publicly sexually assaulted every New Year’s Eve in Cologne, and the newspapers only made a fuss out of it because this year the attackers were foreigners. “Yeah it’s terrible how Germans can’t stop themselves raping women every day, in their thousands, and the newspapers cover it up,” i said blandly, and then he said Christianity is just as bad as Islam. i suggested that religion is somewhat like alcohol – it affects people in different ways, good or bad; though i refrained from adding that just as different alcohols make me differently drunk (spirits just make me energetic; wine and beer make me sluggish) so i think it’s fair to say the pattern of good/evil resultant from Christianity is clearly different in kind and probably in degree from Islam.

Amusingly, while the Peruvian Giant and i were discussing Islam, his comrade Tourette’s kept sardonically interjecting with comments like “goat-fuckers” and “they are too stupid to read”. i expected the Peruvian Giant to get angry at Tourette’s remarks but instead he easily ignored them, and they were offered so casually it seemed Tourette’s didn’t expect to cause offense.

3. Throughout the course i felt the bond between the soldiers (as opposed to the admin people, who were to some degree outsiders), especially those in the same unit. It’s a peculiar thing, somewhat like a familial bond but simpler, without the usual entrenched bitterness; nor is it exactly friendship. i felt the attraction of it, and understood why my German acquaintance/friend Der Fechter (who was in mountain infantry) said he often misses being with his comrades – at first i was bemused, since he is rich, educated, and he described them as mostly ignorant and base. But especially with this group, i felt what it would be to belong to a group, to have comrades. Even with my oldest friends, i wouldn’t be surprised if they one day just stopped talking to me – it’s not that i expect it, but it has happened with others who i thought close friends: they couldn’t be bothered writing anymore, and so i realised that even friends you see every day for years, friends you feed, and who feed you, friends who help you, friends you help, can shrug and forget about you as soon as you don’t live in the same city or you become inconvenient to them.

4. Last Monday i returned from my morning break to find two Fever Tree and two 5 cl Gordon’s Gin bottles on my desk, and Tourette’s said, – We thought you would like to have breakfast. It was 1030 and i hadn’t eaten since Sunday evening but thought, Why not, and drank the first then felt pleasantly situated; and i saved the second for the afternoon. There are not many groups who will buy their teacher gin on a Monday morning and encourage him to breakfast thereon.

5. The group took a strong dislike to Frank the Blowhard Yank. i like him but his attitude is wearisome: he struts about with a know-it-all look on his face, and practically every time he opens his mouth it’s to talk about how great his life is (he boasts of how he only has to work 2 hours a day because of his rich wife) and to lay the law down – the last time i went out drinking with him and Toddball, during the 2016 Euro, we were trying to watch a game on a pub screen and he spent the whole time talking about how shit and pointless “soccer” is and how anyone could do it, and how American football is infinitely superior. He apparently did the same thing to my Bundeswehr group, telling them that you can have a 90-minute “soccer” match with only one goal, “what’s that about? See, in American football, there are goals every few minutes. And it takes real skill and intelligence, not like soccer.”

Tourette’s reported: “Frank told us how shit our football is. I told him Americans don’t like our football because they cannot concentrate for more than five minutes without a goal or a hot dog,” and then, with a sly look and a shrug: “I think I pissed him off.”

6. While i was drinking my gin Tourette’s and the Giant were telling the paratrooper a story in German, to much mirth; i caught some of it but missed the sense so they translated: a comrade of theirs had gone to a house party with a civilian woman, she couldn’t finish her milk/cream-based cocktail so “he killed it”, then went to sleep in her guestroom, and being lactose intolerant shat the bed, then told her: “Don’t be embarrassed, it could happen to anyone”, as if it was her fault in the first place.

7. We discussed future plans and money. i told them i refuse to save money because “the War will come soon, the great Race War, you’ll wake up one day and see the cities on fire, and you’ll have to grab a weapon and run out onto the streets to start killing, and then you’ll think Fuck, why did I save all that money? Why didn’t I spend it on gin?

On my last day, i bade them farewell and said “probably won’t see you again”, and Tourette’s said: “the world is a small place, we see us again for sure”, and then the paratrooper smiled and said cheerfully: “see you when the War comes.”

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1. The Viking in accordance with ancient prophecy descended upon my exceedingly humble abode the week before last, bearing filth, madness, a huge Biblical beard, and modern Catholicism in equal measure. Luckily i had virtually no work that week so could entertain his delusions of modernity and get focken wasted on gin and whisky, by Harry. And so, here is my account of this horrific week:

2. The Viking appears in clouds of depravity. We watch Murdoch Murdoch videos (now Shoahed) and drink and smoke. We watch two episodes of the 80s classic Robin of Sherwood (Viking strokes his manly beard and mutters obscenities), Excalibur (Viking sniggers like a 10-year-old girl throughout), Seven Psychopaths (Viking strokes his manly beard and mutters obscenities) and Bram Stoker’s Dracula (Viking strokes his manly beard and stares in horror). As an autistic fundamentalist Calvinist Chemist, his criteria for a good film are: ROBOTS, ROBOTS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, ROBOTS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, ROBOTS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, ROBOTS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, FASCISM, ROBOTS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, OEDIPAL, ROBOTS, BIG TITS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, ROBOTS, ROBOTS. ROBOTS, ROBOTS, ROBOTS, you get the picture. He is basically a robot with a robot’s brain and a fascist 2-year-old’s soul – he has a Zen-like retard clarity though unfortunately one has to tell him things like “don’t set yourself on fire”.

3. His derision of Excalibur stirred me to thought. John Boorman was both sensitive to, and able to re-articulate, the central matter of the Arthurian myth, which is also the English tale. An odd thing – those who seem most sensitive to this greatest of English myths tend to be either rad-trad fascists or colonials or exiles; it is as if the white English are in some way blocked, as if a miasma lies over England itself; i note that Survive the Jive (from Berkshire) now lives in Sweden, and Millennial Woes is originally Scottish, and Theodore Dalrymple lives in France; only Roger Scruton manages to exist in England, and he lives on a farm where he can drink wine and smoke in peace with his horses. My ex-Muslim Pakistani schoolfriend Shrekh is more sensitive to Arthurian myth than the Viking – that expresses well the dispossession of the white English, for while Shrekh recognised the power of the myth and the film, the Viking spent most of the entire 2 hours giggling and snickering – and, indeed, precisely at the most sacred moments, for example Parsifal’s rebirth in the river

and his second ascension to the Grail Castle – throughout this scene, the Viking was rocking back and forth tugging his beard and cackling with deranged, childish hilarity, gasping occasionally “doh ho ho ho ho! ha hah hah! Arthur needs you! haha hah haha! look, he has a big beard! doh ho ho ho ho! look, he is like really sad and stuff!!! doh ho ho ho ho! He is like in a river and stuff! Doh ho ho ho ho! Thrashing about in the water! Doh ho hoh! Look, this weird old guy is in a chair! Doh ho ho ho hoh! Funny music! Doh ho ho ho hoh!” i was reminded of a newspaper article i read of English chav teenagers who were forced to watch Schindler’s List, presumably in an attempt to educate them about human suffering, but they sat there giggling and throwing popcorn about – there are people who would simply snicker and chortle if they saw the worst sufferings imaginable, and if faced with their own originating impulse would laugh and mock.

4. Later i reflected that the worst of the European countries, in terms of degeneracy, migrant invasion, and cultural alienation, are England and Sweden. England is i think the only nation with a strong and complex national myth; Sweden a Viking nation now fallen into effeminate degeneracy. Sweden has its own aetiology, to do with two centuries of peace and being a nation of homosexuals. England, however, is exceptional – i can think of no other nation with such a powerful, rich myth, reaching from the Dark Ages (Arthur) through to Dunkirk. This mythic life reflects a real spiritual force in the land and what the people once were; and this is why England, more than any other nation (save, perhaps, Sweden) has been systematically targeted for cultural annihilation: replacement of the native population with incompatible invaders, and violent tearing-up of the mythic roots.

Derision, mockery, is the common response to the sacred, among the deracinated, the dispossessed, the demonic. The triumph of evil is to have so corrupted the white English that, faced with the supreme exemplar of their own myth, they snicker and giggle uncontrollably like little girls. They do not even denounce their ancestry; they see it as so ridiculous as to merit only mockery. How, then, could they be loyal to the gods of their long fathers? How could such folk be other than modern?

From Albion Awakening

The final element is the land itself, the ‘pleasant pastures’, ‘mountains green’, and ‘clouded hills’ Blake evoked so powerfully in Jerusalem. There is a conspicuous absence in the UK, I think, of anything that might be called ‘British Christianity.’ None of the denominations, as far as I can see, seem interested in the powerhouse of mythic lore that animates our island and gives it such imaginative resonance and archetypal depth. There is no attempt to link the faith with the land and the aboriginal understanding that the land in itself (as Blake knew) is sacred and holy – qualitative not quantitative – hallowed ground, not a random collection of rivers, mountains and fields.

i have made it my life’s work to remedy the Viking’s debased nature, to purge him of Adam’s stain, to reform him with alcohol and tobacco and whores – with, so far, mixed results.

5. As part of my quest to redeem this fallen son of Odin, i dragged him to a rad trad Catholic Mass, mine & his first. i was afeared he would run around the church kicking the occult implements over and roaring with laughter: “Doh ho hoh! That stupid funny man in those like robes and stuff is on the floor!!! Doh ho hoh! He has like spilt all that wine and stuff! Doh ho hoh! Everyone is like pointing at me and shouting stuff!!! Doh ho hoh, my cock is out! Doh ho hoh, I am jizzing on the congregation! Doh ho hoh, I am drinking the wine and like conjuring up Cthulhu and CS Lewis and stuff!!! Doh ho hoh!!!”

However, to my surprise he comported himself with restraint. He didn’t disrobe, smear himself with mashed potato or jeer or (my greatest) fear leap over to the altar and start drinking the wine and scoffing the wafers with a gloating: “Doh ho hoh! Now I am God and you must worship me! Bring me mashed potato! Bring me gay manga! Bring me the daughters of Eve!”

It was the first effective Christian operative ceremony i have attended. There were about a dozen attendees, including a Matrix-clad priest in the pew in front of us, who looked highly fascistic and noble and unlikely to partake of manga; the rest were mostly quite young. There was an atmosphere of concentrated purpose, unlike any other so-called Christian ceremony i have witnessed.

For the most part the priest faced away from us, mumbling inaudibly at the altar, with occasional snatches of Latin, and only defiled himself in modern vice once, by turning and reading to us in German. The separation, far from alienating the congregation, instead created a vacuum in which the sacred could come into physical existence. The divine is not directly present within the world; it would destroy the world were it to directly be; thus, the reticence and secrecy of the old Mass allows for a fuller invocation than the profane modern way where the priest faces the congregation, speaking a vulgar tongue, prances and plays the bongos while the congregation sing Coldplay, baring their effeminate bodies for the orgy, the gay manga, and the melted cheese.

The more religions seek worldliness, the weaker their understanding of the gods. The Allfather created this world but he is only covertly present, as it were under a nom de guerre: Gangleri, Grimnir, Draugadróttinn, Alföðr, Christ, etc. He is hooded. The modern Christian displays seek to mock the Almighty, to say, “he is just like us! he listens to U2 and plays the banjo! Don’t think of God as some unapproachable old man on a cloud, think of him as Dave or Tony!” Naturally, this appeals to the modern man, who lacks the taste for mystery and would think mystery is merely bamboozlement and chicanery because as the Viking would put it: “Everything should be like clear and logical like in Chemistry, because like anything else is like difficult to understand and stuff.”

The Almighty is masked, hence any mystery can awaken a sense of the divine as creator of our world, as apart from our world. If god were present in our world, as a mountain or a cathedral or a tree, we would not know uncertainty and evil: we would go to god and see. If god were wholly absent and uninvolved in our world, we would not have even these momentary apprehensions; and our world would have already collapsed into non-being.

The nature of tradition is thus: it can began as apparently arbitrary gesticulation and pompery, but over time that which is incidental or wrongheaded is pared away, and that which is however covertly valid becomes central.

i had no particular expectations, save a fear that the Viking would run around laughing and knocking the chalices and swords and pentagrams and bells over. His restraint and decorum was itself remarkable – for those unfortunate enough not to have met the Viking, imagine a hyperactive 2-year-old child in the body of a 7 foot-tall robot, with almost no self-control. That he did not start running around smashing things and singing U2 was, for me, proof that something remarkable was occurring, apart from my subjective sense of the moment.

Of course i am not a “Christian”, though Odin is a hypostasis of the Christian God. However, i felt something come into being – not so much between the priest and the altar, as in the entire church; a reverberation out of silence.

6. After the Mass we went out and to the gay quarter for a drink. We ended up in a bar full of Aryan QT, hipsters, and anarchist stickers like “the whole of Giesing hates the police” and nonsense of this sort. i had a Brandy Alexander and complimented a young pregnant blonde, “white children – good work!” and she laughed. About forty minutes after the Mass ended i felt a peculiar quietness come over me, so looking over the Viking’s shoulder at this hideous “anti-racist” t-shirt i was able to retain my Buddha-like composure and aura of exceeding peaceableness.

7. The next day we went into Munich to get focken wasted and fight Antifa but we found ourself in the midst of a gorillion faggots, it being some kind of gay pride orgy. “We are in occupied territory,” i advised the Viking as we forced our way through thousands of leather-clad homosexuals and 400 lb blue-hair feminists, “We must keep a low profile and avoid overly fascistic statements.”

It was horrible.

However, i did see two smoking hot lesbos French kissing and stopped to watch, was indeed tempted to say “you take requests?” and throw them some of my hard-earned McLingua coin. Marching through this nest of degeneracy i fantasized to the Viking: “now more than ever the Muslim would be welcome, to blow himself up and kill us all, ridding the Earth of all this palaver, indeed while i would normally be the first to whip out my Uzi pen and tackle the Muslim i might now just stand and contemplate the matter as he screams Allahu Akhbar! and detonates in the name of Love and Tolerance. We should find a gay bar and when the Muslim whips out the AK and starts shooting we can hide under the table and whisper “go on, do it!” and then reach out and steal cocktails from the tables of the dead. ” The Viking merely stroked his beard and said, “Hmm.”

We ended up at an old student’s restaurant where i had a great Negroni, the Viking a beer, and we breathed the air of heterosexuality and normalcy while he drew obscenities:

This was the result:

The Viking was in fine form and drew this depiction of me coolly discussing the modern world:

My student came out and we chatted for a while, then he insisted the drinks were on the house. Given how focken broke i am, this was a Great Victory; i’d calculated how much we could drink based on my wallet, and the Viking’s almost equally meagre coin, and so we were enabled to continue our sojourn in the pit of vice that was Munich on this Gay Day, drinking and cursing modernity. The Viking stroked his beard and commented: “Now we are ahead of the curve.”

i almost forgave his degeneracy, and we returned to my miserable cramped den to watch more films and smoke and discuss the Race War. While the Viking has not yet been converted to the old gods, i have hope, and as a mark thereof as he was cooking for us i carefully and lovingly selected two of the prostitute business cards Toddball brought back from his wedding in Las Vegas, and slipped them into the Viking’s laptop bag, hoping he would accidentally pull them out while visiting his fiancee’s family, and end up derelict and desperate, homeless and despised by all, and ready for the Truth.

1. i need to rewrite bits & pieces of my nauseating Bildungsroman and so have started reading novels to recover the mindset, after a few years of fascist non-fiction; i just finished Lermontov’s superb A Hero of Our Times and skimmed through my Kindle’s huge library for the next, musing that 20 years ago i wished i could have already read everything, and felt alarmed to reflect that i didn’t know e.g. Thomas Dekker or Flaubert; i now gloatingly gaze upon all the allegedly great books i haven’t read; i am now grateful that i hadn’t read A Tale of Two Cities (my favourite Dickens) until this year.

2. i decided to read Ford Madox Ford’s The Good Soldier, and am enjoying it so far although i recoiled from this passage:

For all good soldiers are sentimentalists – all good soldiers of that type. Their profession, for one thing, is full of the big words, courage, loyalty, honour, constancy. And I have given a wrong impression of Edward Ashburnham if I have made you think that literally never in the course of our nine years of intimacy did he discuss what he would have called “the graver things.” Even before his final outburst to me, at times, very late at night, say, he has blurted out something that gave an insight into the sentimental view of the cosmos that was his. He would say how much the society of a good woman could do towards redeeming you, and he would say that constancy was the finest of the virtues. He said it very stiffly, of course, but still as if the statement admitted of no doubt.

Perhaps the narrator’s idea of a “good soldier” differs from mine but i am for example now teaching a Bundeswehr class, half admin people, half mountain infantry and airborne and one in (i guess) KSK, and just to give an idea, i had them doing a chain-spelling game (each student has to provide a word beginning with the last letter of the previous, e.g. doG, golF, finisH, hoteL) and among the usual vocab they managed to produce: tank, kill, LAW, widow, war, rape, erectile dysfunction, Nazi, idiotic, clown, nigger, racist, thief, faggot. i returned from one of my many tea breaks to find two mountain infantrists playing a youtube video of some guy with Tourette’s shouting and screaming, and i thereafter started referring to one of the students as “Tourette’s”, much to the mirth of the others. They are excellent chaps but like most professional soldiers their humour is basically akin to mine (murder, rape, genocide) and they are more interested in practical details (e.g. differences between French and German parachutes) than in grand words and ideas. i haven’t had a single bad Bundeswehr class or student; the only one who reads (a cold-eyed sardonic killer) remarked that their humour was “special” and i said “well, it’s more or less my humour; i went to an all-boy school where a boy was raped by another boy and we all thought it was funny and jeered at him because nobody liked him anyway.” i later reflected that especially in the military, this kind of humour helps to desensitize one to the inevitable dark side of reality and human nature.

The student i dubbed Tourette’s drew various map symbols on the board for the admin students, explaining how you indicate medium-range, long-range, mortar fire units, etc., and then drew a symbol of a kind of inverted u with two as it were antlers pointing upper left and upper right, and said cheerily “this means rape”. And i: “That’s useful, so the high command can look at the map and say, Engage the enemy with mortar fire; now send in a platoon of rapists.”

Throughout this, two highly hot Bundeswehr babes were sitting there looking mildly amused; i guess they had heard all this talk a gorillion times already.

3. i share this class with an Amercan blowhard called Frank, who is doing an English Lit PhD at the university here and teaches a few hours for money he doesn’t need. His wife is a Gymnasium teacher and makes more money than he or i could ever make; they have two blonde kids and i awoke her ire by commenting seriously “you’re saving the white race, good work” at the McLingua Christmas party. The year before, Frank and i got in a fight when he tried to stop me going home after midnight and i was a bit drunk so naturally we ended up rolling about on the carpet trying to kill each other until my boss intervened. Frank is smart – a Democrat of course like all my American colleagues, but not dumb like most of them, he actually knows something about politics beyond “Trump is like going to gas all the Jews, dude”. He suffers however an unfortunate combination of being almost wholly financially dependent on his wife, and being a belligerent know-it-all. The former makes him a mangina sponger who is openly proud to have bought nothing for himself or others in the last decade; and the latter is displeasing unto elberry.

The Bundeswehr group despise him. i heard him teaching them the Past Progressive (he left the door open in the heat) and it was both simplistic and overly theoretical, and of course delivered in his usual blowhard manner. One of the two hot babes is a bit dim and so the others often explain things to her in German – i allow this, Frank stormed over and told the helpful student “hey, you, yeah you, you don’t take your car to the mechanic then grab the wrench out of his hand and say, I know this better than you, so shut up and let me do my job”.

For all of Frank’s macho American routine he doesn’t understand that the Bundeswehr will naturally cover for their weaker members, and naturally assist their comrades. For him, this is merely an opportunity to pull his Californian cock out and swing it about in their faces.

i give him a pass because he despises Lit Theory and is, in literature, a traditionalist.

4. In The Good Soldier:

No, we never did go back anywhere. Not to Heidelberg, not to Hamelin, not to Verona, not to Mont Majour – not so much as to Carcassonne itself. We talked of it, of course, but I guess Florence got all she wanted out of one look at a place. She had the seeing eye.

I haven’t, unfortunately, so that the world is full of places to which I want to return – towns with the blinding white sun upon them; stone pines against the blue of the sky; corners of gables, all carved and painted with stags and scarlet flowers and crowstepped gables with the little saint at the top; and grey and pink palazzi and walled towns a mile or so back from the sea, on the Mediterranean, between Leghorn and Naples. Not one of them did we see more than once, so that the whole world for me is like spots of colour in an immense canvas. Perhaps if it weren’t so I should have something to catch hold of now.

i’m not sure one can extract the essence from a place, person, or book in one go; but i understand i think the narrator’s sense of having nothing “to catch hold of” (and the very beauty of his fragmentary impression suggests he was the one with the “seeing eye”, and that his wife – who felt once was enough – was in fact oblivious). Harold Bloom somewhere said the mark of a good book is, Can it be re-read? It seems impossible to do more than take a sketch from any first contact; one must assimilate that experience, be altered; and then return. And i think this holds good for most: for people, for books, for music, for films, for places. Frank, like most of my colleagues, strikes me as a man to make a judgement and stick to it, “as if the statement admitted of no doubt”; hence his finger-stabbing manner, his fashionable politics, the icy reception he seems to arouse in his students. Oddly enough, Frank touts himself as a grammar expert but the students told me they understood virtually nothing of his long-winded explanations and mine were easier to grasp; in fact, i don’t really give explanations as such, i find it better to provide examples till they have a general idea, and then conclude with an “explanation” to synthesise it all, e.g. we had a break and as i was about to go for tea the hot girls asked me about the Past Progressive: the cold-eyed killer was eating a banana and a huge mountain infantrist returned to the room, so gesturing grandly i said: “Cold-Eyes is eating the banana, this takes 2 minutes – relatively long; the Mountain comes into the room, naked and smeared with Schnitzel, that takes 2 seconds – relatively short; Cold-Eyes sees the naked Mountain and chokes on his banana and dies (i then mimicked choking to death while pointing at the Mountain in horror), you tell your officer: Cold-Eyes WAS EATING a banana when the naked Mountain CAME into the room. Now Cold-Eyes is dead” and this made sense. After the break i gave more examples before trying to  “explain” – and behold, they understood.

5. Having taught now for nearly 8 years, and being perpetually focken broke, i realise the occasional look of sudden comprehension in a student’s eyes is enough to keep me at an essentially minimum wage job, i mean apart from my inability to do anything else because i’m stupid and old. i like teaching English because i’m not really teaching; i merely guide the students to a closer sense of the language, the language not being my possession or secret – they can read English books or watch English films without me. Frank, as befits his California know-it-all manner, i think sees teaching as the imparting of secret knowledge to the uninitiated. i merely accelerate a process of comprehension; a process my students could undergo alone and unaided. i wish them to have a discerning ear and seeing eye, and so i do not impart information, but rather induce a way of perception.

Oddly, while “teaching” i became aware of Cold-Eyes’ cold eyes upon me; he is the only reader in the group, and wants to do a Psychology degree when he leaves the Bundeswehr. He sees, and i note that there is something unusual in his manner of observation, a kind of immediate focus on a person’s centre of being and degree of falsity or truth. As i was teaching, a blackbird suddenly flew onto the windowsill and looked about the room for a few seconds – it was odd indeed, as birds typically attend me when i am walking in a mental silence (the “internal dialogue” switched off) but here i was about my dirty intellectual business. i made my accustomed runic sign to the bird, which quickly glanced at the students – half of whom (facing the window) were silent and attentive – and then it flew away.

 

1. As the situation in Europe spirals out of control, the elites resort to progressively more authoritarian measures to suppress the native population. Thus, they will turn a blind eye to gang rape, assault, theft, murder committed by the invaders, while persecuting men like Tommy Robinson or Count Dankula.

At present, the elites are keen on censorship. i am unsure if censorship really works against the Right; my own move to traditionalism began in 2004, when i moved to Leeds and was subject to overweening chavvery on a daily basis; it became clear to me that there was a spiritual malaise at work, and that giving these people even more money or preferential access to universities wouldn’t help. i read no blogs or newspapers or magazines at that point, didn’t watch TV, so censorship would have made absolutely no difference.

My growing sense of the spiritual malaise was at best given shape by Theodore Dalrymple and Roger Scruton, who i discovered in 2007. Even if they’d been shoahed i would have naturally entered my full fascist estate, it just would have taken a bit longer (and neither Dalrymple or Scruton are of the black-clad legion).

i think it is so with many on the Right; their attitudes develop primarily from their experience of, and reflection on, daily phenomena, e.g the malevolence of chavs, modern architecture and modern politicians, the spectacle of a Muslim-occupied town like Blackburn or Birmingham.

2. As Vox Day puts it, SJWs always project. The Left are mostly opportunists and conformists, and because they need to read the Guardian and Salon and watch CNN and The Young Turks to know what to think, they assume this is so for everyone; if Trump did as they had frenziedly predicted, and censored the whole media in his favour, they would sit on their artisan sofas, drinking their artisan mineral water and staring vacantly at The Big Bang Theory, having no idea what to think, what is presently the correct opinion. They would in fact starve to death and be eaten by their cats.

3. i once thought the Leftists would immediately switch loyalties if the Right became fashionable and authoritative; but i think the Right will always be inhospitable terrain for the blue-haired 400-pounders and the cat ladies and shrieking degenerates. The Left has a vision of a totalitarian regime ruling over a cowed, deracinated populace, and of course each Leftist dreams of becoming a grinning bureaucrat in such a regime, wielding despotic power in the name of Humanity and Love and Peace and Islam. It is a vision of simultaneous tyranny and collective self-abnegation; of dominance exercised by those who can always shirk responsibility for their deeds. They will have the Gulag and the secret police and everyone will be an informer; but it will all be for the greater glory of Humanity. And, after all, who wouldn’t like to arrest, torture, and execute anyone he pleases, and then feel he is a warrior for social justice and equality and, frankly, deserves a pat on the back and a nice medal and a Starbucks voucher.

4. Socialism, including the Nazi variety, appeals to the weak and the vengeful. The former know they cannot stand on their own feet, and so want to be supported by the State; the latter want power to destroy others, and the self-righteous thrill of believing themselves to be on the side of Humanity and Love and Peace and Islam.

5. The Germanic peoples are natural conformists, uneasy without ubiquitous regulation and a gigantic State. Most of my students blindly believe what they read in Der Spiegel or the Süddeutsche Zeitung, and the phrase “mainstream media” or “corporate media” is, for the Hun, a glowing commendation. A few months ago i had a blonde MILF student, a lawyer in her 40s, and we chatted about the invasion. She said she had been very enthusiastic about welcoming the “refugees” in 2015, but her husband (ex-Bundeswehr) took one look at the pictures of military-age young men from Iraq and Africa and told her it would end badly for everyone. She refused to believe him, for a while.

When i taught her she’d come to accept that virtually all the invaders are economic migrants who hate Europe and will be unable to do any work here. She was a very nice woman, and so i was a bit startled when she launched into a rant against Turks – she said that when Erdogan won his constitutional referendum the Turks in Munich were driving up and down honking their horns, flying the Turkish flag and cheering. “If they want a dictator they should go back to Turkey,” she said, “They should not be in Germany.”

i was struck by her vehemence, and while of course i agree, and would go further and summarily deport all non-Europeans regardless of their behaviour, her anger was very much at odds with her pleasant, upper-middle-class demeanour and nature. i was also curious to note that she still thinks Angela Merkel is doing a great job and that the invasion isn’t Angie’s fault, it’s the fault of Eastern Europe for not taking six gorillion military-age Third World men to rape their women and transform their cities into Mogadishu.

When the Germans realise that their State doesn’t care about them one bit, that Merkel, the CDU, CSU, SPD, not to mention the Greens and die Linke, want to replace the white Europeans with Somalians and Iraqis; and when the Germans realise their media are corrupt and mendacious, i foresee many instances of such hard, abrupt anger, and then as i am sitting on my balcony drinking gin and smoking and reading Ernst Jünger the Hun will come to me, and say, Elberry, we need a glorious Führer to lead us to conquest against our enemies; and i will say, Okay but i need a gin allowance; and they will say, But you will be the Führer so you can just command gin to be brought to you; and i will say, What kind of gin?; and they will say, Whatever you like; and i will say, Interessant. Sehr interessant.

1. i am often struck by the stupidity, incompetence, and gutless simpering of Western politicians. In a country the size of the UK (65 million) those closest to power are people like Tony Blair, David Cameron, Theresa May, Jeremy Corbyn, and Diane Abbot. Putting aside their dream of Great Britain (especially England) as a police state with a Sunni mosque on every corner, they all seem extraordinarily ignorant and dim. i’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer myself but by god i could shank me some prisonyard greasers and so one must wonder, Why are most politicians so bad?

In part i think power has shifted from those nominally in charge to those who run the background processes – the so-called Deep State, which by now includes the corporate media; and so the average journalist or Intelligent officer or public sector bureaucrat is probably more intelligent and informed than e.g. a Theresa May or Tony Blair – though probably more consumed by the governing evil.

2. As an institution is corrupted, the good people leave or are broken. The corrupt rise to the top and hire their spiritual kind, and the process accelerates until the place becomes a direct inversion of its original model. i saw this most clearly at university, and i was lucky enough to go to one of the overlooked niches of traditionalism, where the weak corrupting elements merely enraged & prepared me for the broader evil at work in the West.

3. The early European Christians built their churches on sacred pagan sites, i guess in order to both destroy a place of forbidden worship, and to hopefully siphon off adherents. However, there is something oddly plastic & adaptive about Christianity, perhaps because of its strange birth as some kind of Jewish mystery cult influenced by Greek thought. There is also the fact that Christ and the evangelists were obviously intelligent, and St John a literary/philosophical genius; and then St Paul a differently talented thinker and writer. The concentration of genius in a small area, among a small group, in the turbulent mix of Jewish Messianic/mystical thought (which, especially under Roman occupation, was naturally symbolic, allusive, cryptic) and Greek philosophy makes Christianity a naturally rather bizarre, tentacular and morphic religion, rather like Cthulhu. i am most struck by the ironies of Christ; he seems to regard human beings with a kind of affection, occasional anger, and an overwhelming ironic distance; thus:

Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither.

The woman answered and said, I have no husband. Jesus said unto her, Thou hast well said, I have no husband: for thou hast had five husbands; and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband: in that saidst thou truly.

The woman saith unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet.

(John 4, 16-19)

Imagine a god who, wandering through some hideous hot sand land meets this loose woman and indulges in such wry observations. The ironic note – which i think was probably characteristic of the historical Christ – coexists easily with a total sincerity and passion (in our age, by contrast, what is called irony is usually sarcasm and allied to callow insincerity and timeserving Pharisaic shows).

i dare say Christ’s “soul” was naturally so but Jewish mysticism would have suited this temperament, and so Christianity began as an inherently ironic, serious, cryptic attitude – there is truth, but it is presented in parables subject to various interpretation (c.f. Dan Otto Via), in symbols which are not straightforward allegory, in often contradictory sayings – one of the problems the modern scientific-minded man has had with Christianity, science being a religion of black and white, right or wrong.

Mysticism and political resistance movements tend to obfuscation, metaphor, Aesopian code; mysticism because the vision lies beyond simple articulation; resistance because of the police state and its various punishments. If you imagine Christianity as an inherently mystical religion, conceived & raised in oppression, then its adaptive plasticity is inevitable. Not all religions can adapt, or can even understand the concept of metaphor and symbol. Thus Islam can adapt very little to Europe; Europe will merely become a tribal, 7th Century society with a lot of rape and a bit of modern technology thrown in (AK47s and grenades).

4. In building churches on pagan sites, i think Christianity was also covertly influenced by its predecessor and adversary. A place can retain a potential atmosphere & spirit especially if a lot of people were intensely occupied towards a single coherent goal. Thus even if the great universities are totally transformed into Social Justice Warrior academies, there will be a kind of subterranean unease and resistance, and they could very quickly revert to their former purpose. i wonder if this is true also of institutions: that is, i wonder if for example traditional Intelligence services still have an inherent form (protecting Western civilisation through guile), and a destructive friction will emerge between the form and the current content.

5. The West is set on its own suicide and as we see in America, even a radical opponent of the entrenched demonic agents will run constantly up against obstruction after obstruction. It doesn’t matter what the citizens of the country want – the elites, and their demonic masters, rule now. If there is to be a change, it must begin on a spiritual level – the old virtues of the West must reassert themselves, like a pagan temple in the usurping structure; so Durham Cathedral’s paleolithic decor:

6. i have a student who works for the Beast in Munich. To my surprise, he likes Wagner and is a fellow pipe-smoker. This time last year i taught the political editor of one of Germany’s biggest newspapers, who was going to America to liaise with the New York Times and Washington Post about election coverage. He had never heard of the “Alt-Right” or even Breitbart or Steve Bannon. i guess he does now. He didn’t strike me as evil, though he worked for an arm of the Beast. Probably he thought that Muslims are wonderful chaps, isn’t curry splendid, and we need to get rid of the white race, there is no race, and if you don’t want Sharia Law you’re a racist – the usual fashionable beliefs. But i didn’t feel he was evil – merely ignorant and foolish.

My hope is that those i know in the European “deep state” are not isolated cases, but that there are indeed many more or less decent people in the demonic apparatus, and they may begin to turn against their masters, covertly or openly. The truth is that while the globalist agenda is evil, and those at the top are either possessed by demons or strongly influenced thereby, there are not enough truly evil individuals to run even one arm of the Deep State, let alone the entirety. i don’t think anyone could meet Hillary Clinton or George Soros and go away feeling “this is a good person!”, and imagine if everyone in CNN radiated this bone-deep malevolence and corruption – they wouldn’t even need to blackmail humorists to reveal their true nature.

The evil at the heart of reality is inimical to reality. It is parasitic. It takes over good structures – the universities, the Intelligence services, the Church – because it cannot create; it can only corrupt. If corruption were unopposed the natural tendency of things would have long ago led to non-existence; looking at the West today the situation looks grim and there is no rational cause for hope. The Muslims will take over Europe and in a few decades the white race will be exterminated or kept in rape camps to serve as catamites, whores, and torture victims for our new masters.

Obviously, that will come to pass without some radical and unforeseen change. And i think this change will come. i don’t believe it will come through voting and political rallies and democracy, or even by old-school fascism. The consciousness of man must change, and then new societal forms will emerge.

7. If this comes to pass, the fairly ordinary functionaries within the Beast will begin to turn against their masters. In the CIA or CNN or even the European Commission a mild-mannered middle-aged bureaucrat called Bob or Dick or Steve will one day get a bolshie email from a female manager, he will try to write an appropriately groveling apology then suddenly snap and reach into his backpack and take out not an AR15 but an old pipe he found in a flea market for a dollar, which unbeknownst to him was actually Stalin’s

stalin smokes

and he will pack it with some baccy he found abandoned in a bus station, which unbeknownst to him was cultivated by Pope Honorious III, and in his innocence he will light up at his desk, triggering the smoke detectors, his sour-faced female colleagues will shriek and writhe before the majesty of a middle-aged man smoking a pipe at work, he will merely lean back in his chair, savouring the smoke while they hiss “sexist! misogynist! Climate Change denier! Holocaust denier! racist! homophobic! Islamophobic! smoker! man! white!”, security will be called but at precisely this moment Donald Trump will appear, majestically, having wandered randomly about America looking for steak, witness the altercation, and try to write a tweet but accidentally end up commanding all sound systems in a 10 km radius to play The Ride of Valkyries; all the Men in the vicinity, struck by:

1. The spectacle of a man smoking a pipe;

2. Donald Trump unexpectedly and inexplicably appearing at their workplace;

3. Wagner

will roar like ten thousand lions, and cast their female colleagues out of the windows, convert the building into a White Straight Male Domain and it will basically be like that Animal House film

with toga-clad men, men by god, dancing about drinking gin and toasting Nigel Farage and Jacob Rees-Mogg, eating steak with ketchup, terrorising neighbouring buildings and issuing memes, until finally Jean-Claude Juncker, George Soros, Hillary Clinton, Obama, Tony Blair, and assorted shitheads turn up with the secret EU Army to kill everyone but the first thing they see is this:

and they spontaneously turn to ash and are blown away like the worthless trash they always were, and everyone is happy.

1. Despite the grim situation in Western Europe i feel all it as it should be; much as i am not unduly depressed to find myself broke, since i did not aggressively seek out classes, and until recently bought fine whiskies and waistcoats as i felt moved – and so having no ‘gro in my bank is merely what i should expect. My work in July should be ample (crash courses) and i used the free time to write and think, so it’s all good.

2. i was teaching two software developers at a finance company and we fell to talking of abstruse matters such as C++ and C sharp, some kind of programming language for modern machines, apparently. By their account, one of these automatically allocates memory, the other not. i suppose, for computers, unused memory capacity is a good thing; by contrast, human beings and cultures are determined by their stored memories, by fullness rather than vacancy. In computer terms our processing power is the greater, the more we use our memory, the fuller our databanks.

3. Human memory is typically narrative. i think one function of dreams is to “process” recent memory, to weave it into a story. i do have a few snapshot memories where i have almost no idea of context, and typically these are perplexing. Memory is almost always narrative, within a framework of association. This established structure makes sense of experience. The greater the memory, the greater the possibilities of narrative subtlety and range.

Most people today actively defend themselves against extended memory. They know little of their ancestors and despise those who think it important. Nationalism no longer means much in Western Europe; these nations been flooded with immigrants for whom the history of e.g. England or Germany or France is totally irrelevant. 2nd and 3rd-generation immigrants typically know little of their own family history back in the desert, and just as typically despise European tradition – and they are legally citizens of European nations. This would go some way to explaining why 1st-gen immigrants aren’t as criminal as their children – those who grew up in e.g. Pakistan at least have some ancestral connection; their displaced children have none; and as they inevitably dilute and disrupt the native culture, in the end nobody has anything.

4. Discussing software – about which i am happy to understand nothing – one of the students said they use programs full of barely-comprehensible code, and occasionally find a “command line” with the notation do not delete, written by someone who has long since left the company; and while the line has seemingly no function, when it is altered the whole system goes drastically awry. It struck me as akin to civilisation, which is built on inscrutable enactments and beliefs; take them away and a land can go, in two or three generations, from this:

to this:

5. This transformation has naturally been in the interests of our elites, who would rather wield tyrannical power over a “Scouring of the Shire”-style land of cowed, bullied natives and widespread crime and terrorism than be public servants to a largely free land:

‘It would be a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculous Bagginses, became enslaved.’

Frodo shuddered. ‘But… why should he want such slaves?’

‘To tell you the truth,’ replied Gandalf, ‘I believe that hitherto – hitherto, mark you – he has entirely overlooked the existence of hobbits. You should be thankful. But your safety has passed. He does not need you — he has many more useful servants — but he won’t forget you again. And hobbits as miserable slaves would please him far more than hobbits happy and free. 

– hobbits and tattooed ginger Scots; speaking of whom, the case of Count Dankula deserves some attention. In short, a ginger Scot made an amusing video about his pug raising its right paw (my Russian hippy flatmate taught his dog this trick in Kassel), and is now facing prison time; here is a sober video on the topic:

This is the modern State: suppressing the native European population and smiling benignly upon Muslim rape gangs. Should you feel moved to send some cash this poor Scot’s way, click here. 

6. i am not political; there is no political solution. The modern man – debased, trivial, and childish as he is – must recover his ancestral memory. The usual aides-mémoire (ancient religious rite, landscape, traditional occupations) have mostly been destroyed through Protestantism, Vatican II, overpopulation, and the Industrial Revolution and urbanisation; and so the remembering will either be exceptionally traumatic, involving the destruction of cities and modern economy, genocide, and a return to hunter/gatherer and subsistence farming; or it will be merely very traumatic, involving a radical refiguring of Western consciousness within our existing way of life.

i am not trying to turn the clock back to a better time. i am, rather, trying to preserve seeds for an unimaginable future.

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