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1. Re-reading my Envy post it feels appropriately mean and dessicated, but then i was in a grim and misanthropic mood. i would say, Toddball is prone to envy and violent resentment but he has many complicating virtues; most importantly for me, humour and a reckless generosity. Some people are generous as a substitute for human understanding; that is, because they lack empathy they like to give presents – if you understand nothing of another person, you can always just give them things, as a substitute for genuine human contact; others see weakness as an opportunity for domination by apparent charity, and impose their wrong-headed advice and help, then become enraged when their target baulks – i once called such folk, the Kindly Ones as they present a fair face, with talk of compassion and fairness, until the victim says “i don’t want to do that” or “i already tried that and decided it’s not for me” – then their Medusa face is revealed (for they are always women):

2. Toddball’s generosity is not of this sort. He is a careless man, who loses or breaks everything, lives in a 5-second timeframe – in political terms he is an absolute sheep who believes whatever he’s just seen on CNN; in the last month he has posted the following two gems on Facebook:


…without irony, he simply believes whatever is presented to him by any suitably Left-wing source (his other posts are New York Times, CNN, etc. articles about how Trump is literally Hitler).

But he has his virtues: though he is bedecked with grudges they rarely last more than a few weeks, and he has a very old-fashioned feudal sense of generosity and personal loyalty. i don’t know how this jibes with his propensity toward envy but i guess they both proceed from the same crystalline centre. Perhaps i could say, that just as he hates and resents those above him, so he feels a certain protective care for those below, or more or less on his level. Thus, his generosity to me – i have considerably less work and hence less money than him, much much more debt, and his wife has a good job and so they can live in the centre of Munich in a flat several times the size of mine, and go on holidays and so on.

3. i’ve known Toddball for nearly 7 years and so as with Juniper and the Viking (my two closest friends) i perceive his vices, his failings. A twofold key:

i) One’s own failings and vices, as counterweight – all have fallen short;

ii) Vices and failings are often connected to virtues.

Juniper’s vices are quite limited: nagging, Germanity, being a woman, being a race-mixer and a bit of a man-hater.

The Viking’s are endless and complex: deviancy, beard-stroking, frivolity, tendencies towards Calvinism, autism, child-like insanity, uncoordinated spasms, sexual perversion of the highest order, alcoholism, inability to smoke pipes or cigars, fondness for rosé wines, blondness, aversion to black magic and voodoo, shabby trainers, receding hair, giggling, Chemistry, paunchy, middle-aged, enormous and daily consumption of mashed potato, etc.

3. Someone recently expressed amazement at the company i keep. It’s partly that when i talk about people, it is usually to analyse their failings & sin (more interesting than the obverse), partly because i like talking shit about everyone; but in truth most of my friends have little in common with me, and are to boot degenerate criminal Christians, because normal people bore me and nobody is like me, and if i met someone like me, i dare say he wouldn’t like me, nor i him.

To put it another way, i respect self-discipline, learning, thought, civility, courtesy, but i also love music like this:



1. i had cause to teach the same word twice this week – both times my students were describing unpleasant colleagues and said “I think it is Neid, what is that?” – and i, “envy”. If narcissism is the human condition, envy is like malaria in the Congo – far from a rarity, and one would not be surprised to find those it has utterly consumed.

It has probably been thus since Ugg came home from the hunt with a particularly splendid buffalo over his shoulder, and the berry-pickers bared their breasts, and Grug thought, “Ugg only get berries because Ugg get buffalo. Ugg only get buffalo because Ugg is bad. Grug kill Ugg and take buffalo and berry-pickers. Grug deserve it because Grug good Grug.” It was, i suppose, commonly understand as a human motivation when Genesis was composed:

But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him. And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him. (Genesis 4.  5-8)

My guess is that in the past envy was actively discouraged, and so it was more of a perpetual, weak grumbling that it’s alright for some innit and so on, among the weak & malcontent. It was in Christendom a cardinal sin; Dante devotes a terrace to it in Purgatorio (Cantos 13 and 14):

They appeared to me to be covered with coarse hair-cloth and the one supported the other with his shoulder and all were supported by the bank. Just so the blind who are destitute take their place at pardons to beg for their needs and one sinks his head on another so that the people may be quickly moved to pity not only by the sound of their words but by their looks which plead no less; and as the sun does not profit the blind, so to the shades in the place I speak of heaven’s light denies its bounty, for an iron wire pierces all their eyelids and stitches them up, as is done to an untamed falcon when it will not be still.

Dante converses with one of the penitents, who relates:

Sapient I was not though I was called Sapia, and I rejoiced far more at others’ hurt than at my own good fortune. 

2. In social psychology terms, the envious are obsessed with their status in the hierarchy, and do so by considering those above them with anger and resentment. It would make no difference how high they rise – they would always envy those who have more (the Satanic impulse). It is an increasingly normal attitude today; so for example i accused Toddball of being a thief and he responded: “What the fuck man, there’s all these rich fucks and they got all this fucking money and fuck yeah I’m gonna take it, I’m fucking robbing from the fucking rich ‘cos they’re all fucking douchebags. I don’t steal from fucking people I know, or from mom and pop stores, I fucking steal from the rich, ‘cos they got too much and they don’t fucking deserve it.” He has, in the time i’ve known him, stolen:

i) A book that a colleague unguardedly left in her file in the McLingua teacher room.

ii) An expensive lighter from a drunk guy at a bar.

iii) A bicycle he found unattended outside a shop in Munich (he rode it around then threw it in the river when he was done).

iv) The Sour Elf’s Red Pill cup.

i’m sure there are many more examples. He steals anything he can find and doesn’t care who from. In his view, if anyone except him has anything, they deserve to lose it because they only got it by being fucking douchebags. Envy is like a persistent malady in his psyche, so when he’s feeling jolly it is little more than a background tinge; and when he’s drunk, high, or pissed off it dominates and drives him.

He is a lifelong Democrat and Leftist, with characteristic motivations; for example he used to hang out with California Jesus, till McLingua offered a contract to the latter: at that point, his view of CJ became coloured entirely by invidia and he refused to talk to him. A few years ago one of my groups gave me a bottle of Laphroaig, and he snarled, “What the fuck man, why these fucking Germans always buying you shit?” i know that if (extremely unlikely) i sold The Better Maker for a few thousand euros, he wouldn’t say “well you’ve spent hundreds of hours over the last 16 years writing and editing it so that’s only fair” – no, he would feel hard done by; he should have got that money; i took it from him, somehow.

In Toddball’s world the very worst thing you can be – worse than a child rapist or murderer – is rich.

He’s not a bad person by any means, it’s just that his natural tendency to envy has been encouraged by, for one thing, growing up in Democrat Chicago (his father worked in the public sector); but more importantly, being born in the latter half of the 20th Century.

Envy has been encouraged, given a political platform, weaponised against the West. Because there will always be some who have less than others, and always those susceptible to resentment due to their personal defects, the Left will always have a huge voting block – and the more they try to sweep low IQ groups into Europe, the more strife and hence envy and hatred they can engender. The adolescent sense – that the Man (e.g. parents, teachers) is oppressive & wicked – has become generalised to the population at large, and given rise to varieties of ghetto art, characterised by violent resentment, deliberate ugliness & primitive, bestial aggression – by an embrace of the cardinal sins.

Of course this cannot continue indefinitely.

3. i’ve rarely felt envy; the closest i’ve come is baffled self-pity that despite all my important bits of paper i’ve only ever done minimum wage work and can find nothing better. Years ago, i came to the conclusion that i simply don’t belong in this world and have nothing to offer anyone – that, after all, makes more sense than assuming the world is wrong and i’m right. i can’t envy e.g. a fellow English Lit grad from Durham who i met at an Alumni party in 2006 in Leeds – he got a 2:1, was utterly bland and unexceptional, and had effortlessly drifted into a job making more than twice my highest salary; he belonged in the world, i don’t. Envying him would be like envying the eagle because it can fly.

But then, perhaps nobody really belongs in this world. Earlier this week i got my JobCentre class to read parts of Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction aloud, for pronunciation:

From this the poem springs: that we live in a place
That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves
And hard it is in spite of blazoned days.

i only feel this alienation among people and their cities; perhaps i don’t belong among humans; perhaps i could envy unimaginably strange creatures, in some other, non-human world.

1. i’m mildly ill after accidentally eschewing gin on Friday (had dinner with Toddball and drank so much wine & whisky i wasn’t in the mood for gin when i got home). My mind is clear but slightly off-kilter. Being ill is like waking up on another continent; enough is the same, or similar, to feel still oneself, in one’s own mind; but enough is different to engender confusion; one must constantly readjust, and with that comes a kind of bewildered clarity.

i thought of books written in illness, and the indefatigable physical wrecks of our literature: Proust, Dr Johnson, Samuel Beckett, Thomas Bernhard, Nietzsche; and the strength which is, it seems, only attained by overcoming weakness & pain.

2. On Friday Toddball invited me over for dinner, which turned out to be as usual an enormous banquet: wine, burritos, Schweinebauch, some kind of bread, and houmous. His little son Marlon was running around with power tools, trying to “fix” things as the grown-ups talked.

elberry [munching burrito]: Is this some kind of ethnic food?

Toddball: Hell yeah nukkah, you fucking ethnic minority you.

elberry: Nyom nom nom. You’re going to be an ethnic minority in your own country soon.

Toddball: Yeah I know. I’m gonna have to teach Marlon to crack some fucking skulls.

Later, he was moved to draw a picture of myself.

His commentary throughout: “Fuck. This doesn’t look anything like you nukkah. You got this weird-ass face. Your fucking lips man, they’re fucking gay lips you gay cocksucking ethnic minority. Fuck.”

3. South Africa seems well on its way to white genocide. The media & political reaction is instructive: just as the EU refused to accept Ukrainian refugees from a real war, but had an open door policy to all non-whites regardless of origin or criminality, so the South African whites are being left to their fate. i’m half-tempted to raise the topic with Jemima, an elderly black American colleague who hates whites; i imagine it so:

me: The South African Government are going to confiscate land from whites without compensation.

Jemima: Well, uh uh uh uh well you see uh uh uh uh elberry uh uh uh don’t you think this was never their land, I mean uh uh uh these people came to Africa and uh uh they took the land from the people there, the black people, so isn’t it only right that the Africans take it back?

me: Yeah i guess so. Though it is a bit worrying that Julius Malema said he wasn’t calling for the slaughter of the whites, yet.

Jemima: Well elberry, uh uh uh this isn’t the white man’s land, he doesn’t belong in Africa. My God, elberry uh uh uh if these people are going to go to Africa, they can’t start crying if they aren’t welcome.

me: Yeah, actually i think you’re right: people shouldn’t be allowed in a country which isn’t their ancestral home. Or they shouldn’t be allowed to vote or own property, and if they do anything bad they should be deported – even if they were born in the country.

Jemima: Exactly, these white people need to learn and stuff, and you know, Elberry, they can cry uh uh uh racist and uh uh uh murder and all this but they shouldn’t be in Africa.

me: Exactly. Imagine how wonderful it would be if the aliens had to go back to their ancestral lands, even if they’d been there for, i dunno, three hundred years. Especially if, for example, they were 13% of the population but committed about 50% of crime, they should clearly not be allowed in Wakanda.

Jemima: Exactly, these white people think they can take land from Africans and uh uh uh not face any uh consequences and stuff. And when they cry, oh my wife was raped and killed, or oh my house was burned down and my children were uh uh uh tortured to death and stuff, they uh well they have to accept the consequences, that uh uh uh they just shouldn’t be there.

And so on. My predictions for South Africa: white genocide accelerates; white liberals support destruction of their own people, hoping to be eaten last; South African economy collapses with no white people to do the work; famine; cannibalism; white liberals in Europe and America call for aid for the poor starving Africans; white liberals and all blacks blame the white South Africans and Donald Trump for everything. That is Wakanda, a haven of we wuzz kangz science and wisdom:

4. Jordan Peterson’s idea of the flood narrative: a people ignore reality and finally their civilisation is swept away. i sometimes think the West is indeed doomed; but i note many normies turning to the Alt-Lite/civic nationalism and perhaps 10% of those (the clearer of mind, the more radical & ardent) will turn to the Alt-Right/race realism. And it is the 10% who will determine the future. This remnant of the West is now beginning to act, to remember. As Q Anon wrote to the faithful on March 4, apropos the long defeat and destruction of the West:

You simply forgot how to PLAY.

1. i’m planning to visit my Alt-Lite colleague the Sour Elf tomorrow, to watch/listen to Milleniyule with Woes & The Golden One for optimal glory. i had the idea of going as Woes: growing my tramp beard, putting on a few kilos of fried Mars Bar fat, and wearing a bathrobe and drinking Coke and chain-smoking; she being blonde could attend the Temple of Iron to more closely resemble The Golden One,

however that may be too much to expect so we will probably just sit on her sofa and i will drink (being a sour Germand, she is abstinent) while she talks earnestly about tolerance and democracy and other highly abhorrent concepts.

2. Yesterday i bumped into an Irish colleague, let’s call her Mary since all Irish women are called Mary, she is short like a gnome and low energy, perpetually sighing and grumbling, a bad teacher and IRA sympathiser. She and her belligerently incoherent Irish husband visited Toddball for that American feast day in November and, in Toddball’s words, “they fucking stole everything, they brought tupperware boxes with them and all the leftovers, which I planned to give my kids, my fucking kids, the next day, ended up in those fucking Irish tupperware boxes.” i inquired, had the Irish brought anything to the American feast, and: “they brought potatoes. No man, don’t fucking laugh: potato fucking salad and some fucking potato tiramisu.”

So anyway i was in McLingua, and Mary was telling me about how her entire family are in the IRA, then she said how glad she was Roy Moore lost Alabama and how Trump had made America into the Third Reich, and she was meanwhile spitefully eating a 7 Euro salad and told me she had specifically requested a salad with separate dressing, and behold the salad arrived and it was drowned in dressing so she complained and the server duly made her another salad and gave the original salad to another customer for free. In her quaint Irish accent: “I said, Hey, why did you give him the fucking salad? Why don’t I get it for free? I should get it for free, not this fucking guy!”

i left but later wished i’d asked, Would it have been better if the server had thrown the original salad in the trash, so no one got anything for free?

i dare say it would have been better, for her.

3. On Wednesday i bumped into a quite pretty Satanist girl in the teacher room, 19 and never been baptized, teaches German and dyes her hair blue & purple. i first got talking to her when i noted a Leviathan/Satanic Cross on her jacket and asked, – Is that a Satanic cross?

We meet quite rarely; i have thought about asking her for an absinthe outside of work but am too lazy & fat & old so content myself with occasional chats when our paths cross at McLingua. On Wednesday she told me how she sometimes fantasizes about killing people when she’s walking through Munich. i’ve never thought about killing random people but then i’ve never been a Satanist or dyed my hair.

i recently came across a /pol thread, “are normies just NPCs?” Briefly, PCs are player characters, meaning in the game world a real human being is controlling their actions; NPC means non-player character, a character controlled by the computer, by a script. Some highlights of the thread:


i mentioned this thread to Satanist Girl and she vehemently agreed; i said that everyone has a script but perhaps normies are just much less flexible, much more terrified of altering their opinions; she said that normies aren’t even aware they have a script; i said that if you are aware of your script you can edit it, you can perceive your own character and at least try to change yourself.

People come to seem NPC when they become too predictable, for example if, over several years, every single communication features the word “Jew” or “Zionist” or “Israel” one starts to feel adrift in Baldur’s Gate, interacting over & over again with a computer script.

4. i got home and was watching an occult channel on Youtube, where the presenter spoke of our scripted reality, especially in media & politics and said one of the benignly startling things about the God Emperor is his tendency to go wildly off script, to misspell, to attack the mainstream script, to confuse & alarm normies.

On one level there are more or less visible forces are work – nations, ethnic groups, religions, ideologies. Beyond this, there is a scripted versus an unscripted reality. Our ubiquitous media has promoted the extent of the former to an unprecedented degree. Bearing an alternative script, however crudely, repetitively, & tediously, at least requires a degree of courage & obstinacy. The mainstream script – Drumpf is Hitler, globalism good, Muslims wonderful, Christianity bad, white race guilty – has tremendous force; and through the media it has become akin to a virus. One requires a degree of stubborn recalcitrance and even frowardness to reject the dominant script.

On a metaphysical level beyond politics, the structure of our conscious reality cannot be scripted: within the terms of human reality, human devisings cannot long exercise total determination, any more than a child can teach itself to talk. For the last generation or so we have inhabited a largely scripted reality, in which people talk like characters from Friends and The Big Bang Theory, mindlessly repeat what they hear on corporate media, and in general walk around market squares saying things like “howdy stranger, interested in a quest?” and “honest gold for honest work” and “an adventurer, eh?”

i look forward to increasing deviations from the “script”; the elites are in general all fully scripted and so aren’t really capable of engaging with a PC like Trump, a fact he exploits in his seeming craziness. It’s not even a question here of evil vs good: it’s the NPCs vs the PCs, the scripted vs the unscripted.

5. i feel it would be a mistake for the Alt-Right to become overly organised; it should remain largely decentralized, utterly unscripted – for one does not need a script to speak honestly. Replacing an utterly malign with a mostly benign script is not enough; and one can have group loyalty without mindlessly repeating the approved propaganda (even if said propaganda happens to be true).

At the moment there is a bit of a to-do in the Alt-Right with e.g. Varg (who is very much a party of one, or rather of himself and his wife & kids) denouncing the whole movement as a bunch of degenerates and Jews and childless women. My own feeling is that the very “diversity” of both Alt-Right & Alt-Lite is part of its power: on a social level, it’s ridiculous to claim that e.g. Milo Y (a gay Jew with a black boyfriend) is a Nazi; and then you have Alt-Righters like Millennial Woes (bisexual, had an Indian girlfriend); when Contrapoints (presumably a homosexual transvestite and i think some sort of Marxist) made this video attacking The Golden One:

the blonde Swedish beast responded with this masterpiece:

It is hard to fit such men into a script. Even Varg seems to me just, well, Varg. They deviate from the script because it does not apply, because they are human beings who i think reject not merely the mainstream script, but the idea of living within a script as a NPC. And that has its own power, regardless of politics, regardless even of morality – one could say it is beyond good and evil.

1. i’ve been doing a lot of writing recently, on computer; typos abound, sometimes letter substitutions, sometimes totally different words, e.g. “want” instead of “watch”.

This never happens with handwriting, nor so frequently when i write on one of my manual typewriters, perhaps because there is no delete key, perhaps because it feels (and is) more directly physical.

How differently we experience our own thought when we make so many errors, when error is so easily corrected.

2. People often suppose that we have the thought, fully-formed, and then express it with language. Instead, a kind of presence builds, vaguely, and we begin to speak or write; and the utterance creates the thought. It is not a matter of midwifing the thought, but rather of creating it with language.

3. i get most of my “news” from Youtube now: for a fuller sense of the person who creates the thought. i always found corporate media tedious – as with school, it felt wooden and mechanical. There was very little humanity to it – and by humanity i mean anything authentic (for good or ill). My father tried to force me to read the dreary Times every day and i leafed through it hoping for a good war or cannibal outbreak, but alas it was always tedious grey-haired London faggots writing about the junior undersecretary for trade’s latest tax incentive. Fuck that shit, thought i, i shall play Dune 2 and read David Gemmell.

The authentic will win out over time, which is one reason Social Justice Warriors try to co-opt and pervert non-ideological works such as Ghostbusters or Lord of the Flies or Thor or Star Trek/Wars: they want to destroy the original as much as possible, to put it in the “memory hole” and overwrite it with their Politically Correct Feminist, egalitarian Marxshit. It’s a sign of our degenerate times that Star Trek for example was always a progressive, globalist show – but by today’s standards it is appallingly misogynistic and Capitalist Imperialist and racist and sexist and homophobic and xenophobic and Islamophobic and Patriarchicacalifragilisticexpialidocioustistic and so must be overwritten.

The Left wish to consign the past to the memory hole because it’s easier to say “we never had real Communism” if people aren’t aware that every time it’s been attempted the results, for some odd reason, are always horrific; and because the original Star Trek (and TNG) while frequently silly & leftist, have a levity & nuance & zany weirdness

not to be found in today’s shrieking Left – and thus must be overwritten. Kirk would shit on these modern menstruals with his whacky antics and huge phallus, therefore he must be forgotten.

4. Youtube allows something like the spontaneity and authenticity of one-to-one conversation. If, for example, i read that blacks & whites don’t integrate in America, that may or may not be true; however, when Toddball told me he had black friends as a child in Chicago but as soon as they entered “middle school” (or something similarly American) his black friends automatically self-segregated and would only hang out with other negroes, i can judge this to be probably true – i have his facial expressions, his body language, his voice, and my knowledge of him and my read of his character.

5. Bryan Appleyard, if i recall correctly, wrote (in Understanding the Present) that the modern worldview is of the universe without a human viewer, a universe in which human beings are merely objects, data. The so-called scientific objectivity has leaked out into our wider culture, so newspapers have their house style and one of my more intelligent university tutors had a paper rejected as being “not academic style” – the aim is to remove the individual, the particular perspective, and attain a denatured objectivity.

i reach for as full a context as possible, to understand just who is speaking. When i discovered blogs, in 2005, i was stirred more by the authentic strange character of these strange people writing whatever nonsense or sense: Bryan Appleyard, KurpThe Grumpy Old Bookman, Ensio Kataja, Longsword, Brit, Richard MadeleySteven Moore, than by their particular content. Now most of the above have died of drink i find myself more interested in Youtube. Here is an old video by Millennial Woes who seems to me an evidently decent human being, and to have not mere facility with language, but a meditative, unscripted ease & fluency; and he values the individual and the group:

6. While language clearly can and is often used to deceive or for malign ends, the fuller the context the harder this is. The corporate media makes for a flat, ahistorical perspective; i would say, to use Nassim Taleb’s terms, one should have skin in the game, be involved and both perceive and present as full and unmitigated a context as possible.

1. i think Christopher Nolan one of the great living & working directors, along with Werner Herzog, Terrence Malick, Spielberg, Scorsese (i would add Michael Mann but he hasn’t done a great film in 20 years), however i find Nolan more exciting because he is relatively young and seems, artistically, to be one of “our guys” (incidentally, if you read my blog more than once, you are automatically a fascist of the most esoteric & deadly kind, congratulations you’re going to jail). The Dark Knight Rises is generally considered inferior to Batman Begins and The Dark Knight but is in fact my favourite of the trilogy because watching it is like watching the entire saga of our degenerate yet deeply Trumpific times, condensed to 2 and whatever hours. i don’t find it surprising that some have adopted Bane as something of an Alt-Right hero,

and for all i love Tom Hardy in the otherwise dreary Legend, in the insane Bronson, Warrior, The Drop, the astonishing Locke, for me he will always be Bane. And thus, when i went to see Dunkirk, knowing he would play a masked man, a pilot by god, i was hoping he would at some point intone “Crashing this plane – with no survivors!”.

But he didn’t.

2. i went with Toddball, who thrust a plastic bag at me as we waited for our u-bahn. i opened it and found a pickle and salami sandwich of his own construction and ate it with glee (he is a good cook and sandwich-maker, though his cocktails tend to the haphazard). Two security officers stared at us as i chomped my way through the sandwich clad in my WW2 Swedish army coat (which looks almost the same as the Wehrmacht feldgrau) with Toddball slouching nearby in his dirty clothes (his baseball cap literally smeared with dirt) looking like one of Al Capone’s goons with his criminal leer and shabby, food and vomit-smeared American clothes. Before and after the film he largely ignored me, instead going through his Facebook feed on a tablet, muttering “look at this fucking douchebag” and “what a douche” and “douche central” and “fucking douche” at his friends’ posts, seeming especially douchfuriated by an Alabama cousin who is a big Trump fan (Toddball is, naturally, a hardcore Democrat); finally he settled on a video of someone dragging goo out of an elephant’s behind and seemed highly diverted and spiritually nourished by this video, licking his lips and chuckling to himself. i’ve found this is Toddball’s normal behaviour in social situations, and i once watched him teach a one-on-one where as the student was hesitantly talking he got his smartphone out and without even trying to conceal his actions started scrolling through Facebook, chuckling and muttering “fucking douchebag” and “heh heh heh, that fucking cat looks funny” while the student looked at me with distress, presumably wondering if this was normal behaviour for a McLingua teacher.

It is the American Way.

3. i had a hipflask of whisky, actually whiskey/y since it was mostly Kilbeggan (gift from a student) but i mixed it with about 5% Talisker Storm. To my delight, the rather bland workaday Kilbeggan ended up tasting like Talisker, i guess because the latter is so formidable even a small addition will overwhelm a standard Irish whiskey. And behold, we drank it all over the next couple of hours.

First of course we had to sit through 20 minutes of adverts, of which Toddball commented “they should fucking pay us to watch this fucking shit”. Then the film began. It is extremely good and a directorial showcase: there is very little dialogue, almost no character backstory, no real story, so it lives or dies on the director’s judgement.

There are moments, for example when oil spills out of a wrecked ship and coats those who jumped into the sea, and without at any point making it explicit you feel the urgency, and know it makes everything extremely dangerous for those in the water; being a Das Boot buff i of course enjoyed the film at a higher level. But such a scene could have been wrecked by a workaday director – it was all a matter of timing, editing, soundtrack, mood.

4. The best thing about the whole film is the total absence of a love story. There are a few women, nurses and the like, mercifully in the background handing out tea and toast as the good Lord wills it. Also, virtually everyone is white: there are some black French soldiers which i suppose could be realistic, but they represent about 10 seconds in the film. It’s refreshing to see a historical drama which doesn’t try to pretend the English weren’t predominantly white until very very recently.

Tom Hardy is great as a pilot whose fuel gauge gets smashed so he has to use his Omega to guess at his reserves. The Kraut are here almost only in the form of bombers and fighter planes, so the only real combat is Hardy and some other pilots crashing the planes with no survivors.

5. In a sense, it isn’t a war film – it’s closer to a disaster film like The Towering Inferno, with the British soldiers being blown up, drowned, incinerated, shot to pieces as if by the world itself. It captures well something of what i will call “the storm of war”: it is a field of violent, chaotic force within which people die and it seems unimportant whether they are deliberately shot by the enemy, accidentally by their own comrades, if they fall down and break their neck, if they crash a jeep into a tree, if their aircraft engine fails, if they get food poisoning, if they drown crossing a river, if they kill themselves by accident or on purpose, if they are stabbed by a demented civilian, if their own munitions blow up for no reason, if a rat bites them and they get some ghastly disease and perish in hospital, if they get fragged by their own men, if they trip, break a leg, and then get left behind and left to die – it just seems that the war killed them. 

6. Hardy’s fuel runs out but then his reserve tanks kick in and he keeps at the Kraut a bit longer, gunning them down into the sea, and then finally even his reserve tanks run out and you think, Okay he’s going to bail out but he drifts and then reappears to take down another Kraut bomber. i exchanged bemused glances with Toddball. Afterwards, he said “his fuel kept on going like your fucking whisky flask, every time I thought it was empty there was some more left in they nigga.”

7. Taking the train home, i mused that the England of 1939 has so effectively and swiftly disappeared that it is as if the entire land has passed through to an alternate reality, where the capital of England is a minority-white city, where almost the entire political and media/academic class want to surrender national sovereignty to a German superstate, and will call you a Nazi for disagreeing, where white girls are systematically gangraped by Pakistanis, Iraqis, Turks, Iranians, Africans, and the white police cover it up and call the girls liars for twenty years.

There was to be no “home” for the Dunkirk soldiers. Home no longer exists for the English.

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.

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.”

1. and the rest were blinded.

i haven’t paid any attention to an election before in my life, probably not in my existence. i gave up faith in politicians when Nu Labour won in 97 and showed themselves a thousand times worse than the corrupt, grey Tories.

When i began reading “literature” aged 20, i was only interested in fiction, poetry, philosophy – the inner structure of the human mind; and felt history, politics, facts, were secondary at best. The bare bones & logic of things were enough, more than enough. In my job, i have come to find interest in “business”, and i became interested in history a few years ago, when i began reading WW2 era histories for my next novel. i now see the entirety of human endeavour as fractal, and so politics and war reflect on, are reflected by, philosophy and poetry.

2. Ten years ago i felt disconsolately out of step with this world, born a generation too late. i am now anticipating a wave of nationalist, conservative movements in Europe, and a profound metapolitical shift. i suppose the last would have been in 1989, though i was too young to notice; before that, it was 1945 – at that time, the metaphysical nature of our world changed, and for those who grew up before the First World War, it was like waking up on a different planet. It is difficult to convey just how unsettling it was, as if you had gone through a portal to an alternate reality: because the world of your making no longer existed. Entire cities were gone, as was the culture of Wilhelmine Germany and Imperial Austria.

Even long-term memory became difficult – this could be why, as WG Sebald wrote, many survivors of the Allies’ bombing raids, e .g. in Dresden, seemed to remember nothing when interviewed after the war. The unsettling sense of being in a different reality could be partly evaded by heading into the most backward rural areas, but even so, it was strange to remember the life before 1945 as if, perhaps, it had never happened, or was a distant faded photograph, in someone else’s album. Unsurprising, then, that some more or less accepted death, having outlived their world.

3. i see this happening now with certain Americans. Toddball, for example, a Bernie bro who gets his political opinions from overheard conversations, Facebook comment threads, youtube comedy clips, etc. He’s not exactly stupid, just ignorant, uneducated, uninterested in reading or sustained thought, so all his opinions are highly superficial and derived, second-hand, from mainstream media; e.g. he thought North Carolina was blocking the so-called bathroom bill because “them dumb-ass rednecks think trannies gonna molest their children”; whereas they were justifiably worried that perverts & paedos – who far outnumber trannies – would “identify” as women in order to go into the girls’ facilities).

He was naturally confident Hillary would win, while i was widely regarded as nuts for predicting a Trump victory. On the Glorious Morning (Wednesday 9 Nov) he smashed the McLingua kettle in the grotty Arbeitsamt (Job Centre) building, and threw it over my head at the wall of the teacher room, this being, i suppose, his idea of political commentary. i’m the only teacher who uses the kettle, the others all drinking coffee or beer at work.

He then wrote on FB: “Anyone who thinks what happened today is a good thing, UNFRIEND ME NOW” – so i did.

i found this quite amusing, and typically Left-wing. Perhaps it’s different in America, but all my life i have fought what Tolkien calls the long defeat, and so learnt to shift my attention to the metapolitical, hoping to preserve something of this culture before it is utterly destroyed. i haven’t been made angry by politics and the actions of the powers that be in a long time – not even hearing that the Iraqi who raped a 10-year-old boy was freed (or rather, had his conviction overturned) because, the good judges surmise, he probably didn’t know the boy wasn’t giving consent to a sexual assault. i merely thought, – Well, that’s what i would expect.

Toddball is a petty criminal, a thief, drug dealer, who naturally wants a Government who will tax anyone richer than him, and make sure he can get lots of free things, while working for cash in hand which he doesn’t declare. His father, a retired teacher, apparently taught English Literature at school on texts he couldn’t be bothered reading, and made sure he was popular by giving everyone high grades – a strategy Toddball has followed in McLingua. That is his background: a low-level corruption, crime, and a generous public sector salary. Naturally, he regards Donald Trump as the Antichrist.

4. For Toddball, as for all of those in mainstream media, the ongoing metapolitical shift is terrifying and strange; it has begun on a metaphysical level, and so will not be denied even by the usual vote rigging and corruption and violence. His anger is of course normal for the Left; he and a New York Left-wing FB friend of mine were both gloating about violence at a Trump rally a few months ago, where George Soros’ paid minions turned up to shut down a political gathering; they meanwhile accused Trump of being a fascist who will shut down free speech and freedom of assembly. Most amusing.

In part it is a reality shock, for they have long been on the winning side – more globalisation, more homogeneity, destruction of native cultures, more crime, and – the ultimate goal of the Left – the annihilation of Western civilisation (the general goal of both Bush and Obama). They are unaccustomed to losing, and take it badly.

The worse the crimes of the Left, the high treason of Angela Merkel, the greater the swing to the Right. We will see on 4 December, when Austria have their little elections, and the Italians. i will make sure to have a lot of gin to hand, to celebrate or console myself – the former, i think.

5. i have given much thought to Trump. i have consulted the gods (who predicted Clinton would burn herself in rage, and Trump would hold the reins) on his nature. i see him as a dreamer, odd though it may sound. We will have to see, but for now i think the crazed reaction of the mainstream media

and the political elite, not to mention George Soros, tell you what you need – he is genuinely feared & hated by the powers that be; and with cause. i would tentatively say he is a patriot because he is an egomaniac – he is American, hence sees America as a great country, and hence is unhappy to see it despised over the world, its blue collar jobs gone to China, its elite casting aspersions and curses on the people who made the country that made Donald Trump.

i think he is the figure who will begin the next metapolitical shift. i think he has the intelligence, the cunning, the strength of will and egotism, and i think he can’t be bought off, and he has been planning this a long time.

For those who say he’s crazy and stupid, look at his interviews from the 1970s/80s – a totally different persona. Look at his victory speech – as soon as he won, he dropped the madman ruse, because he no longer needed it to drive a hammer edge through the media. He is a master manipulator of image. And, i suspect, there is no real dirt on him – if there was, i am sure the Clintons would have dug it up by now. His vices are ordinary.

i don’t think he is a “good” man, but good men tend to live quiet retiring lives despairing of the world, walking around their flats in torn Adidas trousers, drinking beer and moaning. i think he is a surprisingly ordinary man, in terms of his interests, his pleasures; he enjoys & needs attention, and applause; and he doesn’t just want to get elected – he wants to be remembered as one of the great presidents, for a long time to come.

6. As for the future, i have long foreseen an awakening of the West, of tradition. But, as the progressives say, you can’t turn the clock back. i think there will be, simultaneous with the Ascension of the God Emperor, a new interest in European tradition, in the nation, in the identity of a people. If nothing else, the refugees military age Muslim men from Syria Afghanistan, Pakistan, North Africa, Somalia, etc., will force the question.

i disagree with the Liberal Right who say we just need to return to secular democracy with free speech, and if we can talk about everything openly everything will be fine. The problem is we had this, and it failed – it failed because the Left don’t care about free speech and democracy, they see it as a convenient weakness to exploit, to achieve their totalitarian utopia where the white race and Western civilisation have been exterminated.

i disagree with the radical traditionalists who want a return to the Middle Ages – and for me, “the Middle Ages” would be in many ways preferable to the present. i disagree because you can, of course, reintroduce strains of culture from the past, but only in a symbiosis with the present.

Unless guided by the gods, this new metapolitical world will be, i guess, bloody and appalling, even if it eventually saves Europe from turning into Somalia. But i feel sure the gods are at work here. On the night of Brexit, i assumed we would lose, that the elites would rig the vote, but i had strangely blissful dreams all night (usually i just dream about trying to get to work on time, or being homeless), strong with the present of Wotan – a presence i haven’t so keenly felt since 2008; and i woke in a mood of rare joy, thinking, “oh well, now i’ll open the internet and find we lost” – and found we had won. And though i knew the elites would try to block this, i also knew they would fail.

When the metaphysical change really extends out into the culture of the West, there will be many strange transformations; many who just change their mind, suddenly valuing European traditions and their long heritage. For those fearing this year is 1929 again, with the collapse of the old order, and the birth of new extremism – well, yes and no; no because there are new energies not merely in human culture but in the world, including the animals.

It’s a wider game now, being played for strange stakes. i understand almost nothing of this, except that i observe certain people alive now, some after a long time, and i feel that the bishops and knights and rooks are being brought into position.

1. After 5 years in Munich, i find i have almost nothing in common with my colleagues. Those i befriended in 2011/2, like Toddball, now seem juvenile and thuggish to me, feckless and criminal and untrustworthy; which makes me wonder if i was also so, in 2011, or if i merely found them amusing then and have now lost my taste for the criminal American element.

i bumped into a young British English teacher by chance as he was explaining cricket in the teacher room to a German teacher; we struck up a conversation and then met for a drink. His name is Gamgee and he teaches Physics at an international school, also does McLingua to supplement his income. He admitted “I just don’t like Americans, there’s always something wrong with them” – an sentiment i have come to share, though it is partly generational, for among my colleagues the older Americans, or the gays, tend to be okay, funny, interesting; but those my age or below are:

i) Female: bland, nondescript, impervious to irony, ambitious, grinning, Left-wing, aggressive;

ii) Male: clad in gangster rap t-shirts, boast of their criminality (drug dealing, theft, assault), shady, duplicitous, sneering, superficial, full of “yo homey, whassup my man?”, uneducated, wilfully ignorant, Left-wing, don’t even try to learn German.

2. i wouldn’t ordinarily have much contact with the Americans, but that when i teach the Arbeitsamt classes we have a designated derelict building in a shithole ghetto, and a teacher room, and since i don’t want to spend my break talking to my students i usually retreat to the so-called teacher room. There, the Americans dominate. California Jesus is one of the main Arbeitsamt teachers, because he can’t do anything else – most company groups stare in amazement at this baseball-hat-wearing “yo whassup homey” surfer dude bro, and then ask for a real teacher, but Arbeitsamt are just happy to be entertained.

Every single altercation i’ve had with colleagues has been in this one teacher room, in the Arbeitsamt ghetto. Typically, i’m talking to a colleague like Toddball or one of the okay Americans (i.e. over 50) and then a Female or California Jesus, eavesdropping, rebukes me, e.g.:

Toddball: El-bow, what you bin doin, nigga?

Elberry: Nothing much. Had this cool student at X, he –

California Jesus: Oh man! What you always be talking sheeit about them companies, man, no one wants to hear that punk ass shit!


Older American: Yeah, man, so like fucking last week I had this fucking hot student, early 30s, it’s a fucking group but only she fucking turned up, and she was fucking talking about her fucking boyfriend, heh heh heh, she was fucking undoing her top fucking button cos it was so fucking hot in those meeting rooms, heh heh heh.

Elberry: Oh yeah? Was the door closed?

California Jesus [sitting on his usual seat on the windowsill]: What the fuck, “was the door closed”, what kind of creepy-ass shit is that, man? Fuck, nigga!

This is a man who has slept with several of his students, i think some post-dating his girlfriend getting pregnant with their first child (second on the way), but an interesting hostility is developing between us, i think because he is a pure ignoramus, proud even of his ignorance, and although i never talk about anything fancy (books, politics, history, etc.) with my colleagues, they sense that i’m not of their kind, and they despise me therefore. i try to say as little as possible – even laughing at jokes has earned me rebukes, weird though it sounds. i gather that if i am to be allowed in the teacher room i must sit silently in the corner and not talk until talked to, and then only with Yessir and Nossir and Sorry sir.

i encountered a similar hostility in office work, where left-school-at-14 types would snarl “think you’re better than us?” if i so much as yawned. i never talked about my background but, alas, my face and voice and speech betray my ancestry and place. In our modern egalitarian days, this will excite hostility; i am reminded of a scene from Alan Furst’s The Polish Officer, where De Milja, a Polish aristocrat and intelligent officer, has to survive in the world of NKVD and Gestapo:

A uniformed NKVD guard looked through his documents, reading with a slow index finger on each word, then handed them back silently. He got out of Rovno on a dawn train to Brzesc, near the east bank of the river that formed the dividing line between German and Russian occupation forces. On this train, two men in overcoats; one of them stared at him, and foolishly, he stared back. Then realised what he’d done and looked away. At the very last instant. He could see from the posture of the man – his age, his build – that he was somebody, likely civilian NKVD, and was about to make a point of it.

De Milja’s heart hammered in his chest, he felt prickly sweat break out under his arms, he did not even dare a glance to see if the man had accepted his ‘surrender’: breaking off eye contact. Could not put a hand on the VIS, just tried to shrink down into the seat without a single sign of bravado. He was strong. And unafraid. And the way he carried himself, people knew that, and it would bury him in a hurry if he didn’t learn some other way to be in public.

The two men got off the train one station before Brzesc. From the platform, his enemy squinted at him through the window. De Milja stared at his shoes, a proud man subdued. The Russian didn’t buy it; with a certain casual violence he turned to get back on the train and, de Milja was sure, haul him off. But his partner stopped him and grabbed the shoulder of his coat, pulling him, with a joke and a laugh, along the platform – they had more important things to do. From the corner of his eye, de Milja could see the Russian as he glanced back one last time. He was red in the face. The man, de Milja knew beyond a doubt, had intended to kill him.

i have once or twice snapped back at the Americans but there’s no point – nothing to gain, they would only the more viciously despise me, and since i am now in the Arbeitsamt centre twice a week, it’s better to just keep my mouth shut and at best voice platitudes about the weather. Out of curiosity, i mentally logged the topics California Jesus deems acceptable, and they are as follows:

i) Beer

ii) Oktoberfest

iii) Going to beer gardens

iv) Going to the Isar

v) Basketball

vi) Baseball

vii) Things he’s stolen

viii) Bitches he’s fucked

ix) Horror and action films

This assertive mediocrity is typical of modernity – an anti-egalitarian, anti-intellectual impulse, the resentment of the slime and sludge as the first amphibians crawl onto land and taste the air.

3. Last week i taught an editor of some big-ass German newspaper, was surprised to find him (i think) younger than me, but then i’m now 40 and so most successful people are young enough to be my children, and regard me with pity. He was nice and intelligent, though oddly (given his section) ignorant of the Alt-Right, so i educated him on Hillary’s denunciation. An amusing moment:

Elberry: i’m from a shithole called Huddersfield, about 30 miles from Manchester.

Journalist: Do you know Bradford?

Elberry: Unfortunately, yes, i went to school there for 8 years. [i then named the school].

Journalist: I taught German there!

Elberry: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

Turns out he was in Bradford, doing some kind of course at the so-called university, and worked as a teaching assistant at my school, 15 or so years ago. We even know some of the same teachers, which is kind of bizarre.

4. i was brooding on the parallels between my Elberry life and the early 20th C life to which i am closest (there are apparently two others, more or less overlapping, which i don’t remember and feel little for, even as i can see the similarities). He was, and became increasingly, a traditionalist. As Elberry, i perceive that my Elberry life was designed to insulate me as much as possible from modernity, and allow an umbilical cord to Western tradition – i remained inert until i was 20, bored rigid by school, and largely ignored/despised by my family; thus, when i began to read age 20, i was almost a tabula rasa, and then i awoke.

My school was an old grammar, from the 16th C i think, a huge stone building full of deranged paedophiles and sadists (the teachers); and Hitler Youth rugger buggers, Muslims, rapists, and sadists (the boys). i was always stupid and bottom of my class, a reaction to the boredom and structure and also my own physical exhaustion & malnutrition, as i had to spend about 4 – 5 hours a day getting there & back by public transport, and usually subsisted on a chocolate bar for lunch, no breakfast, because my mother told me we were too poor to afford lunch tickets (at the same time, my father had 6 cars); i guess i was eating about 600-800 calories a day for most of my teenage years. i quite enjoyed some of the classes till we got to age 13 and they began on the GCSE curriculum – at that point, every class became tedious, the teachers uninterested, each lesson geared towards the exams. i was also bottom of my class at A-Level, my brain only waking up a few months before the final exams – fortuitously, since it meant i suddenly went from getting Cs and Ds, to straight As, and even that “awakening” was just a faint stirring, enough to master the trivia of school.

Although, in the 80s, corporal punishment was illegal, many of the magnificent old chaps still ruled by violent means, and brooked no insubordination. i was pushed around and got a clipped ear once or twice, nothing serious, and the best thing was the atmosphere – in many ways, it was the school of To Serve Them All My Days. There was a subterranean lineage and tradition, so even if i learnt virtually nothing, i was at least not contaminated by modernity.

After escaping, i first studied a science degree at a grim Northern shithole, but dropped out and pursued my real interest – English Lit, at Durham. It’s only now that i appreciate how protected Durham was against the barbarism of the Left, of Feminism and egalitarianism, for actually no one took Literary Theory seriously, even those who taught it. i lived for 2 years in a 18th C building just under the millenia-old Cathedral, had (some) tutors who read virtually nothing later than TS Eliot, and could read and speak Latin as they would English. i really had no idea how degenerate and debased the modern world had become, and when i left i was essentially a late 19th Century man; and hence, unemployable.

5. Naturally, i have continued in this vein. In the eyes of the world, a rampant failure; in the eyes of my colleagues, a freak and book-reading, like, fucking punk-ass Brit, man. All well and good. There is however a secret lineage, surviving across lives because it has no earthly descent and reckoning: it is without fruit, but nonetheless propagates, and flourishes. Those in this descent will most likely not attend school, or learn nothing there – Varg Vikernes says it best:

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