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1. A student last week used the phrase “age of attention”, in reference to social media and ad clicks. Since quitting Facebook my attention is no longer drained by superficial response and the desire for virtual approval. Attention, or awareness, is the factor by which experiences are converted into experience. The former are mere events, the latter the interior colouration of the self and hence, one’s world. Attention is by definition limited. It is informing and malleable. Attention transforms sensory experience; it forms data into meaningful patterns. Thus, i’ve often noted my friend and accomplice the Viking pays no attention to anything, bumbling about tugging his beard and talking about Calvin and gay manga and tentacle porn. He doesn’t even perceive; as in the gorilla experiment, perception itself requires attention. i vaguely remember, two decades ago at Durham, he said he had hurt his head by walking into a door:  “I did not see it because it was not easy to notice.”

2. Attention is informing in the sense that we see what we expect to see – one reason, i think, that those thoroughly in tune with the neo-con/neo-liberal nihilism of the last 25 years didn’t see what was obvious to me – that Donald Trump would steamroller over his lame Republican rivals, and the Clinton machine. As a man out of time, i am undeceived by the current of our times, nor do i profit from it.

Attention is malleable in that we are influenced by the world; that world we create. i felt this in the rad-trad Mass i attended with the Viking last month: the ritual commanded a certain attention, and i felt an alteration in my sense of the world, my form of perception. We are not in any sense abandoned; but we must attend to the signs left for our world-formation. Typically, the modern man responds to such signs with derision and violence.

Anything which powerfully and deeply draws and forms attention has a spiritual component (even if it is malign). Such vectors are typically unpredictable, in worldly terms.

3. i seem to be undergoing a reconfiguration of awareness. i ceased using Facebook a few weeks ago and so now have vastly more free time and attention. Last week i vowed to go without alcohol for a day (for occult purposes) and have since mostly lost my 7-year-need for it; it is as if on a molecular level my body has reset to its pre-TEFL days, for i now can ignore alcohol where in the past it was sheer agony to go a day without alcohol (typically, an ordeal only endured for religious/occult reasons). It is curious to be physically altered so, from one day to the next.

i’ve also started re-learning Italian, after suddenly remembering the music i heard (ad nauseam) in Italy in the summer of 2003. i was browsing Youtube and came across this song by Piotta, ‘Supercafone’: a cafone is a kind of Italian chav:

i usually don’t like spoken Italian (it often sounds shrill to my ears) but i liked it here, and it reminded me of the Italian spoken in the great Romanza Criminale series. After a bit of the old Elberry research i realised both use the Rome dialect so perhaps i’ve found a form of Italian that doesn’t offend my tastes. i started reading The Godfather for some reason and was pleased to find a reference to gavone, a kind of chav – i guess the Sicilian version of cafone.

In some ways, i feel i’m rewinding back to an earlier self; disentangling from much of my present. Re-reading the above i realise that i began drinking heavily round the time i began using Facebook heavily, i.e. when i began teaching full-time.

4. A forward step, an escape from an old self, can be accompanied by sudden recollection and distant memory. In my case, i’m slowly losing weight and returning to the 9-9.5 stone i was for most of my life; losing the need for booze, and relearning Italian. It’s not that i prefer my pre-2010 life (i definitely don’t); but caches of energetic potential are accessed from the past.

Thus, politically & socially, i don’t believe our decayed democratic tyranny will revert to 30s fascism or even pre-French Revolution aristocracy. But it could be that just as energies and forms from my pre-2010 self are re-emerging, so too a new societal form could develop from ancestral roots.

5. My personal transition has been accompanied by season 3 of Twin Peaks. For most of the season Cooper has been a bumbling Viking-esque retard wandering about staring at coffee and repeating what anyone says to him. His memories were only stirred by e.g. the sight of a police badge, hearing the name “Gordon Cole” (Lynch’s character) on the television, and by violence. i was reminded of a Man from Uncle episode, The Nowhere Affair, where Napoleon Solo is kidnapped, takes a temporary amnesia pill, and is then subjected to floozies as his captors try to trigger his memories for an interrogation, reasoning that a womanizer would most likely snap out of his amnesia if he got his hands on a pair of them tig ol bitties. So Solo gets to blaze some Russian honeypot in captivity, but his memories remain stubbornly insulated; until he gets his hands on a gun and, immediately, remembers. Similarly in Twin Peaks, an angry midget assassin tries to take Retard/Viking Coop out and Retard/Viking Coop suddenly becomes Special Agent Dale Cooper, handing out the beats:

– before reverting to retardedness once more. In the latest episode (16) Cooper suddenly and fully recovers his memories. i found it, after 15 hours of Retard Coop, shocking and highly pleasing. i also understand now why Lynch delayed this so long – Woke Coop is not merely the Dale Cooper of 1992, he is a spiritual being with the persona of 1992 but a deeper knowledge and assurance, i guess also remembering his 25 years in the Black Lodge; as Gandalf says of some in Rivendell: “They do not fear the Ringwraiths, for those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power.” Such a character would disrupt the fabric of story, exert too strong an influence.

6. Watching this series has been akin to revisiting and recasting my life from the last 25 years; which, in a sense, is what this entire Elberry life is doing with some of my previous incarnations. It is not merely that conscious knowledge of past life events and people inevitably influences my actions; this life is in many ways a revisioning of the others.

The modern idea, that we can start from nothing (except technology) and ignore the past will lead, at best, to a generation of imbeciles. Strength comes from the past; not from repetition but from bursts of memory and relevance, from energetic forms that leap across (sometimes) centuries and seed the future in the present. There is a good cinematic example in the latest Rocky film, Creed, where “Adonis Creed”, son of Apollo, is knocked down by a brawling Irishman and is driven back to consciousness with a memory-vision from before his birth – of his father fighting Rocky (1.04):

Memory is typically individual, i.e. you (or some version of you) experienced it. There is also, i think, a kind of ancestral memory where an entire bloodline, Dune-style, speaks in the individual. And in the above vision, although Apollo Creed is central, he is seen as it were through Rocky’s eyes, suggesting that the memory, and the sense of Apollo, is communicated or facilitated by the bond between the young Creed and the old Rocky.

7. i was a little disappointed that Twin Peaks used none of the old soundtrack, though i understood that Lynch was not going to do a Force Awakens. Episode 16 however suddenly has the old Twin Peaks theme as Coop awakens and takes control once more. i found this use of the old soundtrack, after 15 episodes, powerfully moving. This scene has some of the strangeness and poignancy of past life memories layered onto the present, as at the end of The Winter’s Tale (or the other romances). There is something peculiarly affecting about remembering someone you loved, someone who died long ago, who is presently more or less my age, different but similar enough to their last life; and this is the effect of this last episode of Twin Peaks – a sense of mentem mortalia, of sorrow, but simultaneously reassurance, as “nothing is forgotten” (this is at the heart of myth).

7. i enjoyed Creed and as with Twin Peaks was surprised there was none of the usual Rocky theme music; which made this brief moment the more powerful, as young Creed heads back to the fray to the sudden accompaniment of Bill Conti’s immortal 80s tune:

There is an unexpected cross-transmission of energetic form, from Rocky to young Creed. Spiritual irruptions and influence tend to be both unexpected and familiar, as here.

i am tensely looking forward to the last 2 hours of Twin Peaks, i believe airing on Sunday. My hope is that it will transpire that David Bowie (Agent Phillip Jeffries) didn’t actually die last year and has been merely holed up in Dakota, covertly filming with Lynch, and will thus reappear in the last two episodes. However, that seems unlikely.

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1. i am, as the Germans would say, urlaubsreif, after 4.5 months without a break. i don’t need real holidays, it’s enough to get out of Munich for 3 days, and generally i just visit Juniper and try not to talk about McLingua.

Having now given up Facebook i have almost no social contacts with anyone, but then FB was more the simulacrum of contact so i’m better off honestly alone. The problem, as i see it, with Facebook and blogging is that the audience is quite large, and so it’s difficult to say anything without losing the reverberative honesty of person-to-person contact. To speak is to be aware of, to anticipate, response. There is a great difference between one-on-one and even small group communications. In my experience, subtlety is lost in the group; only what would be acceptable to all is uttered.

2. i note that the European governments are more or less eradicating free speech under the mantra that hate speech shouldn’t be allowed. Inevitably, this means that sand peoples can rape white teenage girls with impunity, because saying anything against it will get you fired or even imprisoned. As has often been observed, leftists Youtubers are entirely untouched by Youtube’s Terms of Service, but anyone perceived to be on the right is demonetized and even banned. And so it is with “hate speech”; it would be bad enough were it levelled equally against all so-called haters, but in practice it is used to suppress the native white population. A Muslim can publicly call for the death of all Christians and that’s just a nice bit of diversity; but Bristol bans St George’s Day as the city is apparently too diverse for the patron saint of England.

3. Because i usually only work in the morning and evening (no one wants classes in between) i often head home in the afternoon, and so get to see the recent diversity – on each train, outside of rush hour about half the passengers are military age male sand peoples, in gangs, grinning and playing with their iphones and, increasingly, radiating a sense of proprietorial confidence. The Germans look cowed and when they talk to each other, it’s often about the migrants: about a new camp going up here, a sex attack that happened there, a robbery, an assault.

There is already censorship in German media, but people have eyes. The State sanctions against “hate speech” (i.e. against the native population) will, i predict, have the effect of suppressing any early outbreaks of defensive violence; when the race war finally comes, it will be unstoppable: the State will send the police and army to slaughter the native whites and to help the Muslims hold down and rape the white women and children but it will be too late. Finally, Theresa May and Angela Merkel will have themselves dropped into the middle of migrant camps, clad in lingerie, and will offer themselves to the Muslims thus: “take me! I represent the haughty white women! Rape me and rape us all! You magnificent black bastards! Rape the white race to death! Death, my dark lovelies! Death to us all!”

i do not pretend to understand politicians.

4. i was teaching a financial analyst, asked if it was normal to stay at such a job, in the same company, for more than a few years, and he said that the longer you stay in such a job, the better you can do it (unlike English teaching). Why? i asked. Because, he said, the figures make more sense when you know the historical trends and factors.

i guess this is true of most things – the broader your time frame (which can only extend into the past), the greater your understanding. Isolated in the present, very little makes sense, e.g. when the next financial crash happens and governments print money, knowing that a cup of coffee costs 20,000 Euros might seem reasonable, presuming you’ve just been paid 10 million Euros; but if the coffee cost 15,000 Euros yesterday, and 14,000 Euros the day before, the numbers take on a different significance.

The danger of knowing the past is supposing the future will be some variant thereof. Some people at the moment are likening Trump to Reagan, and then assume the next few years will be as the 1980s. But i see no reason to suppose the present must be a repetition of some foregone era; new social energies and forms emerge from time to time, especially from mass corruption and disillusionment and social/financial disarray. In retrospect, people think the French Revolution, the Bolsheviks, the Nazis, were inevitable, but i actually see them as highly improbable. Nor would i say that some Masonic/Zionist cabal arranged all three and that’s why they came to pass. It is clear (to me, at least) that people naturally conspire, and that plans naturally go awry and fall apart or have unintended consequences. There are broader metaphysical currents at work behind history and the individual.

5. Now that i have a plethora of waistcoats and shoes, i spend most of my money eating pizzas at an Italian restaurant in Munich; not the best but it’s good, and cheapish during the early afternoon happy hour (when i’m typically free) and has a pleasant ambiance, and the waiters know me now. i treat myself by going there about once a week, when i have the money. The other day i was getting pleasantly drunk and a table of academics settled nearby, and i realised they were specialised in a field i knew well, in another life. i no longer have much interest in this field but because they were speaking English it was hard to shut out their conversation and their effete cosmopolitan accents, and so i ended up half-eavesdropping for the hour of their stay. For about the first half hour they mostly talked about grants and funding, and how to get them; then they talked entirely about credit cards and transaction fees for oversees withdrawals, and finally they spent about ten minutes talking about ATMs.

i disliked them instantly and remembered, at university, going out with some academics who only talked about grants and professorships, and openly sneered at me when i tried to talk about literature. It tended to be the younger generation, as i think the rot had set into the university in the 80s.

People automatically talk about their true interests. Thus, my Bundeswehr class talked about getting drunk, about weaponry, certain mountain trails, and the differing capabilities of different gear. You could hear the difference between the soldiers and the admin folk, because the former would mostly talk about equipment and situations of use.

6. i don’t know what the future will bring, though a world-ending financial crisis and subsequent race war seem probable. But the present is clear. Future generations will wonder that we could eat pizza and prattle about grants, and blog, just before the great war broke out; that is, if there are future generations.

1. In this video, Sargon of Akkad (also known as Carl of Swindon) casually states that he doesn’t think languages are special, and that ideally everyone would only speak English because for him language is just function. In the terms of Iain McGilchrist’s The Master and his Emissary, Sargon is a typically left-brain man, i.e. a modern man, a materialist, atheist, socialist. He is a figurehead of the Alt-Lite, meaning he recognises Islam is incompatible with Western civilisation, but would have no problem if every single white European died and the sand peoples moved in, provided said sand peoples have liberal Western values (which consist of “tolerance”). For him, there would be absolutely no difference.

i don’t hate or even despise Sargon, although i find his bearded pomposity a little tiresome and he hasn’t offered any unique or deep insights into anything, at least in what i have seen of his content. However, he’s anti-EU and pro-free-speech and i think his heart is in the right place, even if he’s basically a smug fat bastard with a beard; also any civic nationalist is good because i am sure that with negligible exceptions the sand peoples will never integrate into the West, and so inevitably a civic nationalist will end up attacking the same general problem as the ethnic nationalist. It would be as if one group are set against psychopaths (Alt-Right), and a second group (Alt-Lite) say psychopaths are fine but murder, manipulation, cruelty, and torture are unacceptable. In the end, both groups are more or less aligned, and will be regarded as Nazis and fascists by a third group (the Left), who are very much in favour of psychopaths and murder, manipulation, cruelty, and torture but call it peace and love.

2. Sargon and the Alt-Lite in general will admit of no racial differences, because they are functionalists, machine men who think in economic/material terms (his interlocuter, Styxhexenhammer666, is also a materialist but at least enjoys edgy material and is attracted to mystery). In McGilchrist’s terms, the left-brain are men who have become machines: impervious to beauty, to atmosphere, to morality, to the spirit, the mystical. For such people, only what is presented in concretely material terms has value; anything that cannot be explained in material terms does not exist. The fact that almost everything that gives our lives value cannot be explained does not perturb such folk, because as McGilchrist writes, the right-brain perspective can comprehend and make allowance for the left, but the left-brain perspective excludes any possibility of the right: the belly-patting Southron confidence of a Sargon relies upon his utter incomprehension of anything beyond the obviously material.

3. Sargon would happily see every language except English – presumably the only one he speaks – disappear, and he wouldn’t feel anything was lost. He would also i guess happily see every race become one weird brown homogeneous blob because then there would be no racism; though inevitably different geographical groups would begin to deviate from their neighbours and it would be necessary to exterminate them, or to periodically swamp them with other groups to eradicate their individuality. There’s also the problem that in the absence of race, there would be a subterranean sense that these people look like us, but aren’t us, and then witch-hunts of a kind would spontaneously erupt, with mass killings based on odd criteria.

It is deeply strange that most of us can say an object, e.g. the Sistine Chapel, is beautiful and should be preserved; but we cannot say the same for a culture or a race; or rather, we cannot say it for white culture or a white race. In 2017, Sephora Ikalaba won Miss Helsinki. Sephora Ikalaba  you may intone, frowning, that doesn’t sound very Finnish. But then Sargon would say that languages like Finnish should die out so everyone speaks the only language Sargon can speak (it would be interesting to see if anyone on the Alt-Lite can speak a second language), and so no one can say if a name sounds Finnish or not. Here’s a picture:

Sephora Ikalaba.

Guess which one won the Miss Helsinki contest. Guess which one the judges chose as the most beautiful Finnish woman that year. Go on, try and guess. Give it a go. Trust yourself.

In all honesty i saw more beautiful women than most of the above candidates just walking through Oulu with the drunken Man in Black last year. There were some of such unearthly beauty i could only stand there staring and making choking noises. i returned to Munich and found the typical 8/10 Aryan QT a little pallid after the exquisite elvish honeys of the land of the Black Sun.

4. It’s sometimes tempting to suppose that in our progressive modern age we no longer have any sense of culture or race, that we just see isolated meaningless individuals and no longer ask “where is this person from?”. But this is false, as we can readily see by imagining a plain white women winning Miss Uganda – or even a beautiful white woman; racism, they would cry, just as they cry that logic and science are products of the white patriarchy and do not apply in Africa.

The human race has not yet lost the sense that a culture or race exists, even if it exists in a much more nebulous, shifting, and imprecise way than e.g. the Sistine Chapel or a Seiko Alpinist. It is simply at present inadmissible regarding the white race and Western culture.

It seems that no one on the Left would see anything odd in a black woman winning Miss Helsinki, or see any problem with the white race dying out completely, or see that the destruction of a culture is in a sense akin to destroying a work of art.

5. i note that people seem to remember past lives where they were happy or at least fulfilled, where they had a deep love not merely for their kin but for the entire culture, the world of their habitation. It is often objected that whenever anyone claims to remember a past life, it is as Alexander the Great or Cleopatra – why don’t people remember being a mud farmer who did nothing exceptional, lived in squalor, and died of gout aged 22? Well, because there would be no “tug”, no energy in it. So if i were to be reborn after this life, i doubt i would recall being elberry – most of my life has been boring and unrewardingly difficult, with perhaps 4 years where my brain was in daily use (at university), preceded and followed by two decades of mental stagnation, occupied at minimum wage office work or teaching English. My central energy being intellectual, if that is denied my entire being weakens, and that has been the case for i would say almost my entire life save the 4 years at university. i don’t know anyone i can talk to about literature or philosophy, and on the rare occasions i meet someone who has read a book it seems to have left no trace. There would be almost nothing to recall from this life; but i have had other lives where that central energy was allowed expression and so i was more alive, albeit more tortured and difficult than now.

In addition, i disliked my surrounding culture until i came to Bavaria, so there would be very little of the tug of sympathy and need i felt for my world in some other lives. Imagine if e.g. Alexander the Great had also lived as a mud farmer in the 14th Century in Peru – why exactly would it be strange for his present day incarnation to remember being Alexander and not the mud farmer? And in my experience, a surprising number of people with ordinary lives have, at some point, been apparently extraordinary, so it is hardly as statistically improbable as it seems. One need only consider a historical era to see how many so-called great men and women were mediocrities thrust into power (Himmler and Goebbels, for example).

6. There are differences between a culture/race and a work of art: the former emerge, the latter are consciously created. A few weeks ago i was writing (on my now-deleted Facebook account) to Shrekh, my self-pitying schizophrenic ex-Muslim militant atheist schoolfriend:

me: the whole of Europe will be full of the Muslim soon, they will find your apostacy out and sodomize you with vehemence then throw you off a building for enjoying it

shrekh: Elberry, I’m scared, I’m afraid to go out. I just want to live somewhere remote where I don’t have to meet people but my medical condition means I can’t. Sometimes I just think about ending it all. There’s nowhere for people like me. There are Nazis and Muslims everywhere now.

me: Finland is relatively homogenous, they’re not as overrun with the Muslim as the rest of Western Europe.

shrekh: yeah but they’re like dead racist and they hate people who look like me.

He is almost retarded but his last statement got me to thinking; i explained to Shrekh that as far as i can tell Finland has fewer of the sand peoples not because the Finns are virulent racists but because their government didn’t actively import Muslims, Sweden-style. That is, what seems like natural cultural decay in England, Germany, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Sweden, is i think not so – if you leave a culture and race be, it will change slowly but remain recognisable and stable; it is only when the governments and the liberal elites strive to destroy their own people that a culture/race disintegrate as rapidly as we see today.

A culture and race need not be preserved as one would preserve a monument or painting; for one thing, those appointed for the preservation would invariably fuck it up, that being the way of officialdom and governments. The race/culture need only be recognised as a valid form of existence, and not be actively undermined.

The recognition of a thing’s unique being and worth is a mystical act – in the sense that it is inexplicable, unjustifiable, unutilitarian. There is no point trying to explain why a Medieval building shouldn’t be demolished to make way for a high-rise tower for Muslims-on-welfare (MOWs – i just created a new acronym), or why you shouldn’t execute homosexuals, or burn libraries, or why an entire racial group and culture shouldn’t be destroyed. Anyone who doesn’t see that the English culture i last witnessed in my last life should have been preserved from mass immigration and foreign domination is, as the Alt-Right would say, cucked. That includes, unfortunately, almost the entire intelligentsia on both Right & Left – those who perceive the worth of the white race and white culture, and dare speak of it, are now the extremists, the excluded, the thought criminals.

i believe i linked to the Camel & Friends channel in the past – it’s a woman who lives in some godawful desert with a bunch of dogs and whatnot; one of the bunch is a dobermann called Sugar Tree.

The dog has been bitten by a snake and it seems medical costs are high.

Normally i disdain charity and feel the weak should perish, however having only survived through repeated donations from friends, family, and readers i suppose i should admit some exceptions; also, there’s a dog involved and since the hostess decapitated the snake with a shovel, barefoot, i feel she doesn’t qualify as weak. i’ve been on & off watching the channel for a few years and feel she is a good person so should anyone feel like sending her dober a dollar, do so here.

 

1. i was going to watch a Black Mirror episode tonight, and then fell to thinking of this Millennial Woes video (i won’t embed it, because his whole channel will probably be Shoahed soon), The Dishonest Mirror. Human beings abstract from reality, we generalise, we form representations to communicate with others, and to explain reality to ourselves. We are to a degree imprisoned within our own representations, as Shakespeare’s kings believe themselves to be not the boys they once were, but rather King – hence, the near or actual insanity that comes from dethroning, as with Richard II and Lear.

2. It would be easy to say we should dispense with our representations; but we have them for a reason – to massively accelerate comprehension and communication. Without representations, we would exist in a state of animal-like immediacy, unfoolable but also without all culture and civilisation. There are days this seems preferable, e.g. when i want to check my email and Yahoo insists on telling me that Obama’s tweet about the Charleston is the most popular tweet of all time, as if i should care what a vapid actor thinks about a situation he created over 8 years of race baiting. In the world without representations, Obama would be the cunning, weak hyena who slinks about pretending to be wounded before crushing the skull of a giraffe baby in its jaws; despicable in a sense, but really just the way things are, and of course the snickering, creeping hyena would end his days destroyed by a lion. In a world of representations, however, the hyena becomes President, Time Man of the Year, and wins the Nobel Peace Prize despite drone-bombing thousands of civilians in Pakistan and Yemen. So it is, in the world.

3. There are those, like Varg V, who strive for an unrepresentational a reality as possible; but in his case i think he remembers a pre-literate Neolithic-style life (genetic groups and lifestyles continued for long after their supposed end date so it could have been relatively recently); but for the rest of us – who mostly remember nothing before we were born – such a life would be extremely difficult. Having said that, i wouldn’t want to present human history in a binary fashion as either literate/representational, or Neolithic; i’m only speculating, as my first life was relatively recent (shortly after the “invention” of writing), but i have always, it seems, acted within, and reacted against, representations such as language, and i think this is often the case. My feeling is that there are degrees of involvement in representation, and degrees of acuity – so in our age i have found the almost wholly uneducated have a sure instinct for reality; and the rest are misled by propaganda and nonsense of all sorts, with the very worst being the half-educated intelligentsia who, like the Communist, opine on everything and understand nothing.

4. Those in positions of power are mostly those who manipulate and (rather oddly) credit false representations. i have recently wondered how someone could consume the evident propaganda of CNN, the New York Times, Washington Post, the Guardian, etc. without noticing the disparity between reality and the official account. i think it’s partly that when such organs are disproved they simply move on – they don’t address their own falsity, and so if they say Trump hires Russian hookers to piss on him in Moscow, or that Putin controls Trump because of muh reasons, and these tales are systematically demolished the average consumer will just continue to believe, because at no point will the media admit “we just made that up”, and the general trend (this is good, that bad) will please the intelligentsia.

i once thought that journalists of course knew they were liars, but having met a few (through my job) i realised they utterly believe in the general party line (in favour of a totalitarian superstate, destruction of European culture and the white race) and so little falsehoods are of no account; and worse, they believe their own lies. Even when one could prove that they simply created a “story”, they must believe in it, much as some sociopaths i’ve known would utterly believe their own lies – even while they knew they’d just made it all up.

5. i stopped reading Breitbart a few months ago, when they had a story about some white guy in England who was beaten and thrown in a canal by sand people. The article was propaganda, insinuating that the attackers chose the victim because he wasn’t a Muslim. While, from my experience, the Muslims would probably have let me pass unharmed because i’m a darkie, there was absolutely nothing to substantiate the article’s interpretation. It was, coming from the Right, typical propaganda, falsification; and compared with the kind of out-and-out falsehoods to be found in the mainstream media, very minor.

6. My 4 years at university were largely a waste of time. When i lived with my sister & her then-husband and children, 11 years ago, the then-husband (a Fat Rabbit Leftist IT guy) joked that even the worst IT student from an ex-polytechnic would get a better job than someone with a BA 1st and MA Distinction in English Lit from Durham and i chuckled bitterly for of course it was true. However, i think in general the kind of close reading and analysis to which i was set has at least sensitized me to incongruities, e.g. Trump attacks violence on all sides after a bunch of (as far as i can judge) peacefully posturing Rightists, including LARPing “Nazis”, are physically attacked by Antifa while the police do nothing, and the media accuse Trump of being a Nazi because he denounces violence on all sides.

i talked with the Jew Yorker a few weeks ago and realised that virtually all her information comes from corporate media, meaning CNN, NYT, Washington Post. She has been well rewarded by the world, having money, status, a highly comfortable existence within an upper middle class bubble; and it is natural to suppose that if one’s life is gemütlich, that is because of one’s beliefs (white race bad, Islam good, etc.). i was surprised that she would continue to credit the corporate media after their years of practiced systematic deceit, but then they are of her world – the gated community elite – and so they naturally side with each other, against anyone who sees the broader spectrum (like Trump), or anyone who is wholly unmodern (like me).

7. The mirror is presently almost symmetrically false. One doesn’t need to investigate actual events to see this, they make claims like “Trump defends Nazis” and then one can just click on Trump’s Twitter and see the exact opposite. In Germany, people mostly believe whatever they read in Der Spiegel and see on the TV, because Germans are natural conformists; in addition, Germans hate Americans and Trump is, if nothing else, highly American. In America itself, i think probably most people’s opinions don’t coincide with the Mirror: the corporate media and corporate academics/journalists are mostly talking to each other. It reminds me of a shitty poetry book i tried to review 12 years ago; it was so bad i couldn’t bring myself to say anything; puzzled, i re-read all the glowing blurbs on the back, and noted that they were by other modern “poets” and that this so-called poet had won numerous poetry awards and also served on the committees of poetry awards, and then i began to realise how things work.

Academics don’t expect anyone to read their books; political propaganda is avidly consumed by a relatively small number of non-journalists in the gated community elite: and because that elite tend to live in the same areas (New York, Washington, California) and talk only to each other, they don’t realise e.g. just how few people think trannies are anything other than confused homosexuals, or how few people think a vagina sufficient qualification to be President, or how few people care that Trump rambles and is off-the-cuff and looks like some kind of neanderthal deity.

i thought, after the corporate media and corporate comedians said Trump wouldn’t have a chance of even winning the Republican nomination, let alone the Iron Throne,

that what the Z-Man calls the Cloud People might realise their Mirror is false; but that would involve the destruction of a lifetime’s self-esteem, and as with the collapse of the Soviet Union the true believers will continue to believe in their bumper harvests and record tractor quotas as the rest of the establishment quietly peel off and go rogue. And as with the USSR those who stay till the end will end up in prison or despised and derided to their graves. The sneering of the Leftists in the above video reminds me of the Viking’s uncontrolled snickering and giggling through Excalibur – this is a man who can sit stony-faced through a great comedy, tugging his beard and frowning, but was hysterical with mirth at scenes of redemption and heroism; i think this kind of laughter is a defence mechanism against reality, against a reality threatening to a childish mind. Just as the Viking, who inhabits a world of manga and cartoons, was terrified into deranged giggling by the force of his own denied cultural foundation, so the Left were hysterical with mirth at a real American presuming to serve America. In a late civilisation, reality is met not with terror but with mirth – at first the IT geeks and manga-fans and socialists think they can laugh reality away, and indeed they can laugh away the awareness, for a while; to quote Bane:

Now is not the time for fear – that comes later.

The mirror will crack.

Give me the glass, and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face that faced so many follies,
And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;

Dashes the glass against the ground

For there it is, crack’d in a hundred shivers.

1. i deleted my main Facebook accounts today, keeping only my “real name” account with no info so people can message me; and even that i only very cursorily check as one would check that the ghetto is still vibrant and on fire. i think i created my first FB account in 2009 but only really started using it in Kassel in 2010, and more after i came to Munich in 2011. It served well as a way to stay in touch with people who would never email, e.g. ex-colleagues, old students. After 7 years, i feel it’s enough and i’m regressing to the more isolated state i inhabited up to 2010/11, where i emailed friends privately, unter vier Augen as the Krauts would say, or blogged sans comments.

2. In part, i think it is to do with my age: in my 30s i was excited by human contact, and enjoyed joking (shitposting), posting photos, commenting, friending friends of friends, unfriending assholes, being unfriended because i am an asshole, being told to fuck off and die, telling people to fuck off and die, unfriending a champagne socialist (the Communist) because he imagined every post and every single comment was personally directed for his approval and so he had to weigh in with his witless sneering; he then punished me for unfriending him by hacking his son’s account and writing “fuck you Elberry you fucking sophomore” on my FB wall, and something similar on a mutual Jew Yorker’s wall. Well all of this was fun and games in my 30s but now i am an old dog and have different priorities.

3. As an old dog, i value face-to-face or at least unter vier Augen communications, which is in part why i disabled comments here – so i could pretend to myself that i write for some imagined reader (if i enabled comments they would swiftly fill up with “fuck off elberry” and “you Nazi bastard” from people who imagine everything is personally addressed to them and requires their imprimatur). Facebook at first seemed to me a generally good thing, as long as you could block the clinically insane, but over time i’ve come to see it as a generally bad thing. In part, it’s to do with the polarisation of politics as the Left seek to not only destroy Western civilisation but the white race itself. People become polarised and intolerant of those to their personal Left or Right, which meant almost anything i posted would be attacked for being Masonic-Zionist or Nazi. i could easily ignore Daily Stormer material, but found it gruelling to read Leftist posts, with e.g. the Jew Yorker (who only consumes the corporate media and seem to think that living in her upper middle class New York bubble gives her privileged access to the President’s psyche) writing something about how Trump is literally Hitler, and all of her friends commenting to the effect that Trump is a Russian agent and Hillary really won the election and the Jews are already being gassed and all of our civil liberties are being taken away, and we should kill Trump and anyone who voted for him and put Obama on the Iron Throne for life, and only blacks with a Master’s in Gender Studies should be allowed to vote, because democracy is good but populism is bad, etc. etc.

If i want to hear Kill Whitey sentiment i need only talk to my American colleagues or to Google anything; i no longer have the will to suffer it in my supposedly private conversation.

4. Just about the only good thing about Facebook was the ability to create photograph albums, but over time i realised that i didn’t even want to share images with anyone; my main FB account from 2010-16 had about 60 “friends” (some of whom unfriended me for not being their good little Kill Whitey house nigger); i deleted it to purge the heretics and for the last year had only six “friends”, only two of whom commented. i rarely commented on anyone else’s posts, as i felt distinctly unwanted in these strange waters.

5. i would typically open my laptop in the morning, see what new Youtube videos were on offer, and then open FB and leave it open. i rarely commented on other’s posts but on any given day i would usually follow some threads in communities (some private, some merely closed) and so there was plenty to attend to.

This is all part of the Attention Age, where it seems you can make money just by having lots of “views” (reminiscent of 15 Million Merits). Attention is money now. i don’t understand how this works: in the 7 years of my heavy Facebook use i paid absolutely nothing and only clicked on one advert (and didn’t buy the product). What kind of business model is this, exactly? i could understand it if you had to pay to access e.g. Youtube, and a channel would get a cut based on viewers, but there seems some nebulous idea that viewers leads to advertiser revenue. i suppose it makes sense – that if you get hundreds of thousands of viewers some of them might click on an advert, and some of them might buy something, maybe, but on an instinctual level i feel it is totally insane and companies like Facebook are bullshit companies selling bullshit to bullshitters, for money.

6. i expect to lose contact with most of my six Facebook friends; some i never emailed in the first place, some (like Bonehead) shifted to FB and where we once exchanged private emails, from 2011 to today we only communicated by commenting on each other’s posts; and since i didn’t know most of his FB “friends” i was much loath to write anything on his, and so we had barely any contact.

Facebook and social media in general seem to me to encourage a broad meaningless engagement (as Bilbo puts it, too little butter spread over too much bread). For example, Toddball (an extreme extrovert and partisan Democrat) had over 700 “friends” and i recall him once surfing through them, sneering at their updates & pictures, and then saying “who the fuck is this?” because he would accept requests from people he didn’t even know; and because like most extroverts “friendship” meant nothing to him – an extrovert cannot be alone, so a “friend” is merely someone who will drink with him.

7. So i won’t miss posting and knowing some of my FB “friends” were probably showing my words and images to their drinking buddies and sneering at me (Toddball-style); i won’t miss having to read recycled CNN propaganda; i won’t miss the motivational slogans; i won’t miss photos of people i know are unhappy, people whose relatives just tried to kill themselves, grinning and waving cheerily in scenic locations while their “friends” comment “hammergeil!” and “wunderschööööööööön!!!”; i won’t miss Feminists claiming the Horde are all 5-year-old Syrian orphans and i should feel bad for my scepticism. i will survive, somehow, and if i could i would conduct all personal correspondence on paper – but i know i would lose contact with everyone except my mother.

i am reclaiming my attention and my time, and mean to spend it drinking gin, reading Ernst Jünger, and writing right-wing propaganda.

1. i finished The Good Soldier. In general i think it makes little difference if you know the plot beforehand, so for example people who say you can only watch The Usual Suspects once are clearly idiots; however, here i think some of the effect was due to my assumption that it would be some kind of war novel, and then a kind of Henry Jamesian tale of middle class life before the War, and then layer by layer finding it to be quite different and grimmer than i had supposed. In brief: there are two unhappy marriages, which end in two suicides and one insanity, the whole thing narrated by one of the survivors. It has some of the tragical impetus and structure of Ancient Greek or Norse legend: none of the characters are particularly bad, merely weak and misguided, and their conjunction leads to death and madness.

The narrator seems a bit of an idiot; he marries a lying no-good floozy seemingly on a whim; he witnesses the collapse of two marriages, the mental destruction of the one character who seems genuinely good, and then remarks:

It is a queer and fantastic world. Why can’t people have what they want? The things were all there to content everybody; yet everybody has the wrong thing.

This is very much the modern note: we have everything we need for material happiness, so why are we unhappy, why do we smash everything we have? In this case, we have a feckless, gambling, adulterous husband, a Catholic wife who wishes only to preserve the estate and appearances, and the result is death and insanity. The narrator sees the gambling adulterer as a heroic, Romantic figure instead of an irresponsible, self-indulgent fool. And like the modern man, he blames tradition:

Conventions and traditions, I suppose, work blindly but surely for the preservation of the normal type; for the extinction of proud, resolute and unusual individuals.

– and yet none of the characters fall into this category; it is rather the narrator who wishes to see them as grand and exceptional, and cannot understand how ordinary human weakness could lead to such disaster. And so, he blames what he calls society:

Society must go on, I suppose, and society can only exist if the normal, if the virtuous, and the slightly deceitful flourish, and if the passionate, the headstrong, and the too-truthful are condemned to suicide and madness.

In fact, the main characters are habitual liars; selfish, but also capable of extreme cunning and cold-blooded manipulation: it is these the narrator describes as passionate, headstrong, and too-truthful. The narrator is himself a character and so the whole story is somewhat like reading an article from the corporate media – probably something actually happened, but not like this.

i think, as with The Great Gatsby, it’s a story about a selfish, grand figure, and about the narrator’s fascination for said figure, the whole glamour cast upon this world. It is the illusion and the weakness of all involved which leads to disaster. They demonstrate the corruption of their supposed virtues, so where the narrator presents them as proud, resolute and unusual, as passionate, headstrong, and too-truthful, they are in fact arrogant, stubborn, depraved, greedy, irresponsible, and hypocritical.

2. The narrator’s bewilderment and inability to even retrospectively understand reminds me of many today: they thought the Progressive agenda was unstoppable, that the white race and European culture would be destroyed in the next few years and none but a handful of “Nazis” would object. Instead, they found that outside of the cities of the plain, most people don’t want to be replaced in their own lands. i don’t see Brexit and Trump as great victories so much as a clarification: as we are seeing in both cases, almost the entire political elite, and certainly the media/academic classes, are thoroughly opposed to the good of the nation and the native population.

My feeling is that in the next few years the failure of democracy will become clearer and clearer. If the President of the United States, with a huge majority in Congress, cannot push through the policies on which he campaigned and won, if his own party stymie him at every turn, democracy is clearly a mere pretense, a pretense by which the people are destroyed by their enemies.

As long as times are good i don’t see any hope of a change, but once the economy collapses i think there will be a real political crisis and probably some kind of new order. Already, as i predicted, even Leftists in the belly of the beast are dissenting:

Many years ago, Google’s mission statement was “don’t be evil”; apparently they dropped this at the time of the migrant invasion in 2015.

3. Most of those i know in Munich don’t want to take public transport (now full of loud military-age young men from Africa and the Middle East), wouldn’t want a migrant camp anywhere in their neighbourhood, and yet believe NGOs are “rescuing” migrants from the coasts of Italy, and they can’t bring themselves to perceive that huge black guys clearly aren’t “Syrian refugees”. i predict that nothing will change politically this year, then there will be a financial collapse and everyone’s savings will be wiped out by hyperinflation, and the invaders will start to issue forth in gangs to rape and steal and murder, and the Europeans will form vigilante groups to protect their homes. There will be frantic censorship and State propaganda and suppression of the native population but as with James Damore the security/military services will start to turn against their corrupt masters.

i envisage a collapse of not merely the European Union but of individual countries – so Germany will once more be a collection of principalities, or rather defended areas where the natives protect themselves from the marauding horde:

4. It seems rather pointless now, given i’ll probably get killed by either the invaders or the natives in the next few years, but i plan to publish The Better Maker and also a bundle of stories, a play, and aphorisms in the next few months. i didn’t want to do it on Amazon but Lulu is frigging expensive for print copies and, as i was passing the Oxfam bookshop and saw a “welcome refugees” sign on a marketing piece playing on their window, i reflected that it is virtually impossible to avoid feeding the Beast. i’m not going to stop buying books at Oxfam, much as i mislike the idea of my coin going to ship in more invaders; just using money i’m participating in a rotten system. i could go full Varg and live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, but i’m not blond enough for that, alas, or rather too broke. So i’ll probably publish them on Amazon and i gleefully expect to sell tens of thousands of copies per month, and buy my own island somewhere.

 

 

1. i ran out of money about ten days ago, however here’s a life lesson for you young fascist bucks from Old Dog Elberry: even when there’s nothing left in the bank, even when your wallet is empty, there is still one fund left, one last source to turn to in your distress. Is it the Nazi gold you buried in the backyard? Is it your signed photo of the Führer? No – it is the jam jar where you keep coins for the washing machine.

i found 25 € in said jar, and now have about 70 cents left (i should get paid either tomorrow or Tuesday). Most of my unnecessary expenditure is on food and alcohol – i probably spend about 300 € a month just on things like smoked salmon, whisky, gin, fine-ass cheese, nice wine. However, i was interested to note that i can survive and even have quite a fine repast on 2 to 3 Euros a day: Edeka have a good Nero d’Avola for 2.70 €, canned stews for 1 €, and a bag of pasta is 1 €: i merely had to train myself to eat only once a day, at home, and i could get by on about 2 € a day. i even managed to lose a bit of weight and my belly no longer wobbles with its accustomed obscenity.

i ran out of gin a week ago and have since been making strange and frankly vile cocktails from the many ingredients lying about my flat. i had to think carefully, how to mix the various alcohols so i could last till payday, and behold i am now enjoying the last cocktail of my lean days.

2. i’ve been enjoying telling everyone how poor i am, and also exercising restraint and control. i typically organise my life so i don’t really need to make decisions of moment, or to exercise self-restraint: if i don’t have much money i just don’t go into shops, because i know i may see some exquisite waistcoat at half-price and can either buy it and then have no money for food or public transport, or i can not buy it and think dreamily about the waistcoat of glory and What Could Have Been for the rest of my life.

Not possible with food, so the last ten days have been an exercise in daily care and thought. A magician does not live idly or without attention. His life is controlled; like a submarine in deep oceans, he maintains his integrity against the terrific pressure of both the demonic and the material. The deeper he goes into power, the more exigent his tolerances.

For the last ten days i’ve lived in a daily web of concern and attention; it is personally inconvenient and spiritually useful. During this time an important prayer was answered, and i have felt myself inch closer to understanding the gods. i also had a new student – a very decent Jewish Psychologist with whom i’ve enjoyed some good conversations about religion, Christianity, mysticism, Nazis, and the nature of god; this clarified my own sense of religion, my sympathy for, and distance from, Christianity & Judaism.

3. i hope to soon publish a new volume of my writings: a play, my last five short stories, and a few thousand words of recently-written aphorisms and racist remarks. It will probably come to about 30-35,000 words and have a suitable title like Why I Am Your Führer; the aphorisms were all written by hand or on typewriter, so i’ve been typing them into MS Word, and then decided to go through what notebooks i’ve accumulated in the last 8 years (i also have a load in a friend’s garage in England) and see if there was anything to add therefrom.

It was a strange experience, to spend the whole of today re-reading my own journals. i tend to write down unusual dreams and occult occurrences, most of which i had forgotten, some of which make more sense now. i came across the name of a girl, let’s say “Veronique Rabenwald”, written without explanation, and then remembered – at the time, i suspected it was a girl i fell in love with while i was doing my Master’s. i saw her on the campus quite often, a tall German girl who knew one of my acquaintances; i talked to her only once or twice, recognising immediately that she was quite happy with her Greek boyfriend, that i wasn’t her type, that we had really nothing in common except her beauty and my sense thereof. i wasn’t even sure of her name, which was sufficiently un-English that i only had a vague idea of it and spent some time, back in my unemployed days, Altavistaing and FriendsReuniting until i decided she was probably Veronique R. Back at university, perhaps because i knew i wouldn’t even try to get to know her, i allowed myself to regard her with my full appreciation, and she always responded with the most superb grin, totally transforming her face from an impassive Teutonic gaze to a childlike pleasure and warmth. It’s odd to think that i don’t think she knew my name but would always, when she saw me, smile with this spontaneous delight, because i think of my own utterly simple perception and appreciation, my vision of her. She was i guess about 5′ 10″ to 6′, with a graceful, powerful walk, and looked a bit like Irene Jacob.

4. She was the third girl i fell in love with, and the first where it was merely joyous contemplation and dream. Because i never really got to know her, wasn’t even sure of her name, i never managed to fuck things up by e.g. carving runes on my face as a declaration of love or offering to kill people for her. For a long time after i left, she stayed in my mind – not as “someone i could be happy with”, but more as a sign of how beauty could be – and how we could respond to beauty, without complication. Even with my last relationship, with Juniper, i unconsciously strove to maintain this same simplicity, which i think is the reason we came together and are still good friends today.

Veronique, then, was as important to my development as Castaneda or Tolkien or TS Eliot; in the realm of beauty and desire, more even than Plato.

4. When i came across her name i decided to Google it, and found she married her Greek boyfriend and they have several white children and live actually not too far from me, relatively speaking. There were several photos of her, looking miraculously as she did 16 years ago, even after several childbirths. i saw the same spirit in her, and felt my old delight in her, and a new delight in the evident bliss of her life now; and that her genetic line will continue.

5. This was a little strange, as last week i dreamt repeatedly of another girl i knew at university, a year or two before i met Veronique; let’s call the other girl Iris. My memories of Iris are uncharacteristically vague and conflicting; itself very odd, given my memory’s usual rigour and pedantic attention to detail. As far as i remember, Iris was in a seminar i had in my 2nd year but i don’t think she ever spoke. i don’t know how, but she next appears in my memory of my 3rd year where i think i saw her with my an older undergrad (a minor TV celebrity now) and for some reason she gave me a copy of Paul Simon’s The Capeman and a letter where i found her handwriting identical both to the now-TV celebrity and to the first girl i fell in love with. Incidentally, while going through my journals i came across handwriting samples from two girls who were simultaneous incarnations of the same soul: the handwriting is similar but clearly from two different people.

i recall, in my 3rd year, being struck by Iris’s beauty – vaguely Scarlett Johanssonish, but more androgynous, with striking grey eyes. She had an air i sometimes found among the English upper class, the kind of quiet, friendly confidence and maturity which comes from having a family you can trace back to 1066, and enough money to travel, often with a Patrick Leigh Fermor-esque recklessness and idealism.

All i could think of was Pallas Athena, and indeed at the time i found her strange: her appearance seemed to change depending on the angle and light, and there was a quality of beyondness to her, which along with her unsolicited friendliness left me a bit baffled, and rather pleased.

i hardly thought of her after that, perhaps once every couple of years. i remember Googling her two or three times in the last 16 years, and finding almost nothing – all i could find was that someone of her name had worked in a magazine at some point; then she disappeared.

After these recent dreams, i wondered if she had existed in the first place. The weird vagueness & incoherence of my memories of her suggested something amiss. i even wondered if she had existed but was non-human, since i’ve found they often leave a strange trace in the memory, and don’t seem to be perceived in quite the way we would perceive human beings.

i Googled her again and found, through a bit of fancy Elberry thinking, that she got married and has a different surname – and then i found she has two white children and looks very happy.

6. i’m unsure what to make of these two very similar occurrences. While the answered prayer (which was purely to do with esoterica) and the Jewish student seem to me Odin’s way of clarifying certain religious matters, i have no idea why i have come across these two women again, in such a short space of time. Often, patterns of this kind seem surface manifestations of a deeper working, like the orchestra shifting posture before a new movement, and the working is deep enough to make no sense in our terms.

Its effect on me, now, is complex: i feel half-lost in memories of my youth, when i had hope (i didn’t yet realise that my odd character would render me conventionally unemployable, bringing me to the point where i only have 70 cents left), and at the same time i feel exceedingly glad that Veronique and Iris are happy and have children to continue their genetic line.

i am at present disconnected from the present; for we are normally living in the recent past (the last few seconds or minutes) and our expectations for the near future. i am now living 16-17 years ago, and assume the West will collapse into war in the next few years, and so my 70 cents are of little significance. What is of significance is a distant past, the past which birthed Europe, and a future for these children.

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