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1. Rather bizarrely, growing my Sturmstache has made me into some kind of gangster pimp. i can hardly walk down the street without Muslims exploding in admiration and women ripping their fine garments asunder for me to behold their voluptuous charms. i am frankly at a loss to explain it. i personally think the ‘stache just makes me look dour and hate-filled and old, and since i feel dour and hate-filled and old i rather like it. For me, the ‘stache is a way of saying “i can no longer even pretend to be young. i am old as fuck and i want to murder all coloured people, and most white people, also i want to bomb the entire Middle East and Africa, and Asia (except Japan and Korea) because i don’t like hot countries, and U2 are shit.”

But behold, i went into McLingua and was hailed thus by California Jesus: “Elberry my man, pimping it baby, pimping, you pimp gangsta!”

And Toddball, referring to the Arbeitsamt studentesses who (allegedly) want to romp with me on my broken sofabed: “you looking fucking dashing with that fucking ‘stache bro.”

2. i am in two minds. Obviously, the ‘stache stays. But what manner of ‘stache is this? Is it a hate-filled ‘stache, a stache of Rage, or a stache of Love? i asked Milena, my Chosen among the Arbeitsamt hotties, and she just looked wry and later tried to tell me the ‘stache pricks her when i become Amorous, but unfortunately her Czech-English dictionary translated the Czech for “to prick” as “to fuck” which naturgemäs merely encouraged me to grow the ‘stache to Nietzschean, hedge-like proportions  – much to her dismay.

When i look at women, do i regard them with love or with rage? As is often the case, The God Emperor has provided a clue.

There is the God Emperor, looking divine as ever. There is Shinzō Abe looking like “i’m with Trump actually”. There is a hideous old bag who looks like a sack of Stasi turnips. And – wait – something else – there is – a – a – could it be? – a – a – a – STURMSTACHE

By God that’s a ‘stache. The God Emperor could not have found a better prop for this phase of the War – having this grumpy looking professorial chap in the background is like casually pulling a rabid dobermann out of your pocket mid-interview and patting it on the head and saying things like “are you hungry? Would you like to feast on manflesh? No no no, just wait, i’ll feed you when we get home. Oh, you can’t wait?”

3. Now that the God Emperor has dealt with North Korea, he will presumably turn his full attentions to Iran as promised. It has been on the table for over 6 months.


Judging from the Saudi Arabia coup, and North Korea, the God Emperor’s approach to Iran won’t be one of aerial bombardment à la Bush, or “colour revolution”  à la Obama, but either persuade one faction to depose the rulers, or make a deal with the rulers to oust the Cabal. It is typical of Trump to use whatever tools lie to hand – Rex Tillotson, John Bolton – until they are no longer apt.

If my reading of Q is correct, tomorrow (June 14) will be a big day. Sessions will stir. i think in some sense Saudi Arabia and North Korea needed to be cleared from the table before the Swamp could be publicly drained – presumably, a matter of isolating one part of the network from its support/finance infrastructure. Again, if i read Q aright, things will accelerate to a denouement before the mid-terms, in time for the Remembrance Day Parade on 11 November 2018. There will be spates of celebrity/political suicides; the victims will have a predilection for Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, pizza, and have many involvements with the Clinton Foundation.

4. The God Emperor’s use of neo-con tools like Bolton is typical: those who offer loyalty will be spared; those who defy His will, annihilated. This has been planned, i would venture (for occult reasons), since late 2012, by military intelligence officers and men like Mattis. What we are seeing unfold now is, as Q says, a script; a script that was developed over 4 years before filming truly began. Actors were chosen. Locations were scouted. When i ask, Why? – i think the answer is, the evil of the Cabal was of such enormity that it provoked a response. Just as a source of goodness & truth will attract the special attentions of evil (for example, the utter corruption of Western universities), so the centres of evil provoke even relatively normal men to take up opposing arms. It is one thing to see e.g. the elites hustling in millions of 3rd Worlders to secure a Statist vote block and cheap labour – in such a case one could just shrug & sigh and move to a 100% white area; it’s something else to realise that any atrocity people can imagine – no matter how vile & dark – has been and is being performed by the elites, precisely because it is vile & dark, and thus a mark of especial favour in their own eyes, the illegality & immorality of the act a kind of distinction in the moral sumptuary laws – like wearing fine silks when all else are in sackcloth & filth (Satanically speaking); and it’s again something else to realise they are at least thinking about funneling uranium to create a false flag nuclear attack.

In such a case, you wouldn’t even need to be an especially upstanding human being to consider a counter-coup. Evil provokes good.

The polarising effect of evil – and the evil of Obama, the Clintons, not to mention most of the British establishment – and the great evil that lies behind such public faces – has i think forced some to consider the nature of their Oath, and their allegiance. The window of opportunity was visibly narrowing in late 2012 and then, i think, men like Mattis used their training, their experience, their traditions, to take action.


1. i spontaneously invited a Czech student, Milena, to join me for a drink or ten with Toddball and his Leftie wife and fascist kids in a beer garden near Casa Ball. Milena is i guess early 30s, has a young daughter. i was surprised to find she has read Kafka and Thomas Bernhard and knew of Jean Raspail’s Camp of the Saints; i was a little puzzled as she is an attractive big-titted young woman and typically nobody remotely normal reads anything. However, she said that her crazed mother didn’t allow her to leave the house except for school, and so she was exceedingly sheltered till she fled to Germany. It put me in mind of Thomas Bernhard’s stories of isolation, e.g. Amras, often brothers & sisters immured in some remote Austrian castle or farmhouse (usually ending in suicide).

2. Toddball and co left after a couple of hours and i stayed and chatted with Milena. Like many foreigners she is far more to the Right than the average Hun, and agreed that the present political situation (Muslims) would most likely end in genocide. As we spoke darkly in the evening dark on a beer garden bench, what sounded like bombs detonated a few hundred meters away; i supposed fireworks but the sound was somehow different; however there were no percussive effects or sound of smashing buildings and shrieking Hun so i presumed it was just some German jollity. We were both made nervous and it was getting late so i said i had to return to my half-broken sofa bed to dream of Ragnarok, and as we walked to the u-bahn we saw the fireworks, not sure if they were a hitherto unheard kind or it was to do with the urban environment but they sounded more like light artillery and i said, – Imagine, just 70 years ago there really were bombs falling here.

3. As i took the s-bahn home i thought that perhaps only those who have e.g. spent twenty years in isolation, immured with a mad person, would read Kafka or Bernhard. It’s a little painful for me to accept, as i always liked reading and i’ve loved almost every Bernhard, and even managed Auslöschung in German (though it took a good year) – i naturally think that what changed my life, what i deeply enjoy & indeed need, would be good for anyone; but it seems that literature is, in a sense, only relevant for those with unusually odd childhoods, and then only for those of a thinking disposition.

4. i was thinking that perhaps books are only for the insane and broken (and sexy women), then came across an interview with General Mattis on his library.

Some choice excerpts:

i. I’d like to tell you mine was designed with purpose in mind. In fact, it was to read everything interesting in the world and ignore the boring, which was about the only challenge. 

In my early 20s i had a similar ambition, though i assumed that even boring books could be good, or at least useful; having grown up reading Fantasy books, when i started to read Literature i didn’t see it in terms of interesting/boring, but rather good/less good.

Still today, i find most of my favourite juvenile Fantasy books interesting, and they mostly contain nuggets of value – generally, isolated intriguing characters or situations. The Fantasy books i would find boring today are the ones i struggled through aged 15, and only re-read once or twice.

ii. When I started getting rid of books it was heartbreaking because I had to get rid of thousands because I was tired of hauling them all around. I knew I wouldn’t read them again. I kept my geology books, some of my military books, a lot of my history, especially of the West, the American West.

i’ve been giving away some of my books, to the McLingua library (since almost all my colleagues are functional illiterates, this means i may as well be throwing the books away). i’ve given away my two William Maxwell books, as i enjoyed but won’t re-read them; bilingual German/English short story collections i read a few years ago; and others which i think are good but as with the Maxwell, i don’t like them enough to keep in my 23 square meter flat. In an old friend’s garage in England there are another 800 or so of my books, which were already pared down from a +1000 library in 2009. When i fantasize, it is not about sex or wealth but of having a Thomas Bernhard-style farmhouse where i can safely house all my books, and acquire more by God, and have dobermanns and some manner of whiskyarium, and occasionally order the execution of my Enemies (who are many).

The books i’ve hung onto – whether here in Munich or in my friend’s garage – are mostly poetry, philosophy, essays, fiction in good editions; a lot are late 19th C, early 20th, hardbacks i found in a 2nd-hand bookstore for 3 pounds. There’s no way i would give these away to Oxfam; not because i think i could sell them elsewhere, but because i know charity shops routinely bin anything that won’t quickly sell.

iii. Your personal library may be seven books you deeply value or seven thousand, and it may be beautifully organized and alphabetized or simply arranged by the color of the book’s cover.

With age, i feel i need less & less. The books i love – Dante’s Commedia, Shakespeare’s plays, the poems of TS Eliot, Yeats, Wallace Stevens, Alan Furst’s Dark Star, The Lord of the Rings, Ondaatje’s The English Patient, McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, Sir Gawain & the Green Knight, Paradise Lost, i’ve read so many times that i feel they are part of me now; it would be a great shame not to be able to read them again, but actually i think i could do without the old books now – i read & re-read them so obsessively, often copying lengthy passages out by hand, that i remember much in detail and at least from the novels wouldn’t extract much, save a pleasure dulled by familiarity (poetry has an infolded, incalculable quality so can seem very different even after years of re-reading). After watching The English Patient film last year, i wondered if i would be able to re-read the book or if Ondaatje’s multiculti anti-nationalist worldview would now enrage me beyond limit.

5. In one sense, it’s sad to lose a book i once loved. On the other hand, i just discovered the Warhammer 40k Horus books

via The Golden One, and doubt i would have relished them so intensely a decade ago, when i was yet a wee scamp, a clean-shaven civic nationalist in tweed. So, books come & books go, and i have replaced Ondaatje’s poetic prose & deracinated world with space marines, orbital bombardment, decapitations, and of course the God Emperor.

Toddball invited me for drinks on Friday, indeed he invited everyone at McLingua & everyone he knows in Munich; and since almost all my colleagues are deracinated, Californian hippy types i was surrounded by globalist libtards. Some highlights.

1. Usual s-bahn delays, i text Toddball that i will be late, no reply. Then i get an email: he has dropped his phone in the toilet. That’s the second phone he’s destroyed in 6 months.

i arrive to find him staggering about in American Clothes as is his habit:

He says, “yee-er you fucking Paki faggot Nazi you, you fuckin know what day it is, Nazi nigga?”

“April 20th.”

“Yeee-er,” he leers, rubbing his enormous beer belly and licking his lips. “You know what that shit means, you fucking Nazi nigga?”

“It’s a special day,” i say, reminiscing fondly, smiling to myself. “A special man was born.”

“Yeeee-eeer…heh heh heh, 4-20 nigga! Whoo! Yeee-er!”

“Indeed. It’s Hitler’s birthday,” i agree.

“Whaddafuck nigga?”

“Hitler. Adolf Hitler. The Führer -”

“Whaddafuck nigga? It’s fucking 4-20 nigga!!!”

“Yes. It’s Hitler’s birthday.”

“4-20 nigga!!!”

“Yes, Hitler.”

“Blaze it nigga!”

“Yes, it’s Hitler’s birthday.”

After prolonged discussion of this kind, i became aware that April 20th is a day in which drug users take drugs, and Toddball became aware that many years ago a man called Adolf Hitler ruled a country called Germany and was born on 20 April.

He makes me a big sandwich and slaps it down, “eat that shit, you fucking Nazi!” It is a great sandwich. Toddball leers: “That shit be the best fucking sandwich of your fucking life, nukkah!” Me: “Easily.”

2. We go to an Irish pub. There is a bartender from Kurpville, and a Millwall/Fulham game on the screen. Mercifully, most of Toddball’s invitees don’t turn up, just Doug the Greaser and Mary and her wall-eyed Irish husband (who apparently beats her now they’re married).

2.1 Mary’s husband starts incoherently on about Brexit, about all the focken idiots who voted for it and now it’s focken everythin up for everyone. i am slightly drunk so remark, – i voted for it, as did my entire family. My father has a Chemistry PhD and a medical degree. i have two de –

A volley of Irish gibberish, basically imagine Father Ted condensed to 4 seconds of sure and fock and fock and fock, and then he claims people like me were all lied to by the Government.

i shrug, having regained my equanimity. Never argue with normalfags. He rambles incoherently in Irish about the economy and i smile sourly to myself, thinking, – Another dead soul.

He is a traitor to his own country (Ireland); the Government and the entire elite are on his side, but he has to think of himself as a brave rebel; i simply nod and murmur vaguely. He’s amiable enough though apparently he stole drugs from Toddball on a previous drug-party in Casa Toddball, but then there is no honour among thieves.

3. A brief foray into US politics. Doug the Greaser says his sister is crazy; she believes Illuminati rule the world and Donald Trump is fighting them. Much laughter.

Ho ho ho ho ho.

i smile and coldly say, “she’s correct.”

Ho ho ho.

i tell Doug, “tell your sister to check out Q”; and he, woefully: “oh she knows all that shit, she’s always on about Q.”

i am surprised. Since everyone i know in real life is some version of Leftist/Centrist normalfag degenerate, my significant mental/spiritual experience is entirely online. Q for me has been akin to a private vision of reality. None of my colleagues could possibly understand – they are either too stupid or too dense; i sent a link to the Sour Elf and she replied sourly (in German) “that is too chaotic for me.” These people cannot be bothered to read, let alone cogitate; they want one authoritative news source to tell them what to think.

i discuss Q briefly. Doug believes it’s all crazy, a LARP; i say that Q often posts keywords e.g. “tip top” and Trump then says or tweets it: “at the least, Trump is reading Q”. Doug gives me a shrewd look and suggests slyly: “or Fox News is telling Trump what to say.”

i am baffled. Fox News? Then i think, Perhaps in Libtard land this is the new narrative: drop the Russian collusion scam, now Trump is controlled by Fox News.

4. We chat and to my surprise both Toddball and Doug (“low information voters”) have heard of Jordan Peterson, via meathead stoner Joe Rogan. A year or more ago i got to know the Sour Elf when she mentioned “a Canadian professor” and i guessed “Jordan Peterson”. At that point only the initiated would even know the name. He’s now on Bill Maher.

i like Peterson and find him both useful & interesting. He is a total cuck on racial questions but then what can you expect; he is as the Communists would say, a gatekeeper. The Leftists are in one sense correct: anyone to the right of a hardcore Communist is a potential gatekeeper because truth is inherently attractive and so any glimmers of reality will draw those not utterly unredeemable and dysfunctional. Even a Communist who says that free speech might be occasionally okay is a gatekeeper to the Alt-Right. Within the Matrix, any element which points however slightly in the right direction is a subversive, freedom-bearing agent.

5. Two 40s English guys appear to play darts. Toddball wants to fight them. One of them is a Millwall fan; i suggest we cede the board (we’d been playing for an hour already). They have their own personal darts and play with cool professionalism. i am shit at darts, Toddball is quite good, these guys are so good even Toddball says “fuck nigga, I’m glad I didn’t challenge these fuckers to a game.” They have the unshowy competence i think of as an English virtue – now disappearing as to be English is basically to be Pakistani or Somalian or a shrieking Guardian reader; but this is how it was once, perhaps will be once more:

After each amazing sequence of shots they just nod with mild satisfaction and let the other play. i chat with them for a bit – one is from Leeds, the other has a friend who lives in a village outside Huddersfield – and i think these are the types now being destroyed, the proles, the white race. But there is a hope –

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.

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