Everyday Rhetoric

Our job is to bridge the gap between us and the ordinary people who are captive to the liberal frame. Our challenge is compounded by the fact that we are outside of the mainstream. Herd-behaving liberals can out-group us, while it’s generally not an option we have because they are the polite society and we are the party-crashers. This will change, but for now the burden of social proof is on us.

The Red Pill is bitter so it must be given in measured doses. I went into that here as well. That said, people are hungry for the truth and they are unsettled by the environmental poz. Also, most people are followers and need properly worded dispensation, from the right source, to trust their own eyes. Here are examples of real and hypothetical conversations:

Choosing sides

He believes that right wingers are mean and liberals are nice. He says: “Man, I think Trump went too far this time. Did you hear about [some trite fake-news bullshit]?” You drop the smile, look at him and say: “Listen brah, there’s no more debate. There is no more politics. Things are coming to a war. And I know what side I’m on.” He might well slip out of the conversation at this point, probably with some flippant quip. If he doesn’t, and he asks you what side that is, nod in the direction of his kids and quietly tell him: “The side that wants them to be free men and women, not slaves.”

Electroshocking the liberal

Saw this out there: “Bernie would have won if not for the goddamned n_____s.”

Velvet gloves

I knew a young chick some years back, a good girl in a big city. She’s telling me about a fellow in her apartment building who pesters her is a really sweet guy. She is squirming on about how nice and smart he is, along with a few additional positive attributes. She adds an afterthought: “… and he’s an immigrant from Africa… I feel bad for blowing him off because he’s so sweet, do you think that’s wrong?” I reply: “Cross-cultural relationships never work out.” Her relief is palpable. My thoughts, telegraphed to dad: You’re welcome, mister.

Notice what I did. I spoke matter-of-factly. I said “culture” rather than “race” to bypass her indoctrination infrastructure. Finally, my rhetoric was absolute — “never” rather than “rarely.” Of course some intercultural relationships do work out. But that’s not the point. The point was to give her what she came to me for, which was permission to say No.

Elementary self-reliance

Your eyes tell you who is speaking the truth and who is lying to you.

Your heart tells you what’s kind and what’s cruel.

Your brain tells you what makes sense and what doesn’t.

Your gut tells you what’s healthy and what’s sick.

This is the time…

This is the time to be a young White boy. Your formative landscape is roadside Trump signs. You are a generation of boys that has a bona-fide hero as role model in public life. No one can take that from you. You also have the perfect foil to everything that’s beautiful and true: Hillary, a word now-synonymous with witchery and decrepitude.

As you and your friends laugh about your SJW teacher, the punchline comes naturally: “She probably likes Hillary.”

I said “witchery.” The notion of the toxic female has come back, and this is where you lump in every woman who is not a mother, not a nun, and not a prostitute.

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So, What’s Our Choice?

Lawrence Auster once threw his hands up in exasperation and asked his correspondents, and I’m paraphrasing from memory: “If Jews can’t live in the diaspora and they can’t live in Israel, then where can they live?”

We can ask globalists a similar question.

If our tolerance is rewarded with this:

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Immigrants protest against racism

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***

… and our nationalism makes you oy-vey:

Poland’s leaders have let an evil genie out of the bottle. What we’ve witnessed on the streets of Warsaw represents a threat not only to liberal democracy in Poland but also to the stability and welfare of the European Union.

… then it almost sounds like reasoning with you is not within the realm of options.

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Idle Thoughts On Misheard Lyrics

Everyone has his story on misheard lyrics that illustrates some biographical quirk. My three:

1. Boney M — “El Lute

I heard a bit of Disco as a kid in the late 1970s and El Lute was one of my favorite songs, even though I didn’t speak a word of English at the time. That campy Euro-Caribbean band would not cross my thoughts again until two decades later, when I came across their Greatest Hits in a music store. Now fluent in English at almost thirty years old, I bought the tape and took a trip down memory lane. When I got to El Lute, I played it again because the song’s lyrics captured my attention, with its story about the famed Spanish outlaw.

Eleuterio Sánchez is either a murderer as convicted, or an innocent man per his steadfast claim. Only he knows the truth. He was born in 1942 to a dirt-poor peasant family in northern Spain, remaining illiterate until adulthood. He learned to read, earned a law degree, and wrote two books while serving a thirty-year prison sentence.

Because they own the recording industry, the song is anti-Franco propaganda. Nevertheless, you might still have a brain, but you don’t have a heart if your pulse doesn’t quicken to that story. See Point No. 8, short excerpt here:

Do you believe that a race has its destiny? If so, then ours is to build and destroy, at turns… “The European soul craves more; it needs more. If necessary, it will upend and destroy the world to get that ‘more.’ It will even destroy itself.”

I don’t mind stealing communist propaganda toward my ends. After all, I’m just taking back what’s ours: they co-opted our talent, they hijacked our folklore, so like cultural Viet Cong, we salvage the usable parts of the enemy’s equipment. Like in this bit of fun with El Lute:

And he wanted a home
Just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free

“Free love” vs “date rape” is the dividing line between Baby Boomers and Generation X. The dividing line between the previous generations and Millennials is that the latter never had a country of their own.

Though he taught himself
To read and to write
It didn’t help El Lute

The modern pursuit of an education is like grabbing a dancing reflection on water. Ancient Greeks called the program of learning that was essential to carrying out the duties of a citizen “liberal arts.” (Latin: ars liberalis, “the mastery of practices fitting a free man”). John Milton wrote that the ultimate purpose of education…

“… is to repair the ruines of our first Parents by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him, as we may the neerest by possessing our souls of true vertue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith makes up the highest perfection.” (1644)

At my university seminar, we poured feminist grievances over Beowulf. In a twisted way, that was still education because education is as much revealed-desire to know, as it is acquired knowledge.

This is analogous to elite military training. A bus full of Army Special Forces trainees on their first day, all of them hand-picked by their respective company commanders as cream of the crop, pulled over on the side of a road on its way to the selection school where ruthless weeding-out is done up-front. The bus driver was uncommunicative with the soldiers, who were growing restless with the delay. What they didn’t know, is that the driver is an instructor who evaluated his passengers on their behavior and the first round of people, complainers and such, was cut before they even arrived at the school.

To be taught, a man must be teachable. I had a few excellent professors but on balance, it was my frustration with the corrupted learning that constituted my education. The Alt-Right is similarly self-educated in that by discovering the Red Pill, we reclaimed the accumulated wealth of Western wisdom, the path to which for us was a labyrinth.

With the prize on his head
People still gave him bread
And they gave him a hand
For they knew he was right
And his fight was their fight

Lead, follow, or get out of the way. Or to put it differently: if you’re a guerrilla fighter, never harm your friendly civilians. If you’re a civilian, show your fighters some appreciation. At the very least, never rat them out.

On walls every place
They had put up the face of El Lute
And he robbed where he could
Just like once Robin Hood

Every nation has its populist myths. There are ballads of Pretty Boy Floyd begging a meal from struggling farmers in Oklahoma during the Great Depression, then leaving one thousand dollars on their dinner table under his napkin before disappearing.

El Lute’s story ends well for him, but what does that have to do with us?

And then freedom really came to his land
And also to El Lute
Now he walks in the light
Of a sunny new day

2. Pink Floyd — “Another Brick in the Wall, Part II”

A quick gloss over an autobiographical matter: during my almost-teenage years, my family and I spend several months in Austria. This was at the beginning of the 1980s, and we were part of a wave of Eastern European asylees en route to their ultimate destinations in the Western Hemisphere. We were put up in a lovely Gasthaus in an Alpine village, but also spent a total of about two weeks at refugee camp outside of Vienna, at a facility that for me is the touchstone of dignified state architecture.

It was built in 1900 as a training academy for Imperial artillery officers. After WWII, the occupying Soviet Army used it as barracks. In 1956, it served as shelter for Hungarians after their crushed uprising, and the center continued to process Soviet Block refugees through the end of the Cold War. You can guess what kinds of refugees came through there more recently. That building today:

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One chilly morning, my dad took me into town outside the camp’s gates, to a breakfast diner. The small town was overwhelmed with foreigners, who were mostly from Communist countries that shared their borders with Austria. A man my dad’s age, a fellow-Pole, hears us talk and asks if he can join us, all tables being taken. Leaving the two adults to their conversation, I turned my attention to the busy scene inside the restaurant.

The jukebox comes on, playing a catchy, unfamiliar song that I correctly judged to be in English. When the song ends, a strangely behaving, possibly-drunk young man approaches the jukebox, drops coins into the slot and that same songs begins to play again. He shouts something in German to nobody in particular and guessing by his look, he was an East German refugee. This cycle repeats several times, with the song ending and the young man loudly announcing something as he puts it on again. I didn’t mind the repetition, as I was becoming captivated by the song’s bass line and the sneering intro vocals.

A twelve-year-old travels with wide-open eyes, absorbing every detail of a new country. This being Austria, I was fascinated with the Nazi lore I’ve grown up with behind the Iron Curtain, now being a guest near the epicenter of that legacy. The reason my thoughts went there is because the shouted line in the song, just before the refrain (in reality “Hey! teacher!”), had me convinced to be “Heil! Hitler!”

And that, my fellow AltRighters, is how I ended up right here with you.

3. Nirvana — “Smells Like Teen Spirit” 

Ten years later I’m a student, doing my brief stint as a waiter in a mid-Atlantic college town. The evening shift had ended. A wad of cash in my pocket, I was in the mood for loud music and a buzz, so I told a co-worker: “Let’s go to X.” He and I walked one door over to a pub/dance club and we grabbed a table.

With our white dress shirts, now comfortably unbuttoned at the neck, we were indubitably the only dudes in the place not wearing flannel. It was difficult to talk over the noise. Doesn’t matter: a peculiar new song came on, its opening power chords halting the conversation. Then the hello, hello, hello, hello as the shell is chambered, then boom! goes the payload:

With the lights out!
It’s less dangerous!
Here we are now! …

“… undertakers?” — asks my colleague, quizzically arching his eyebrow.

***

“Europe, Wake Up!” 2017 Independence Day March in Warsaw

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We are united by the words on that banner: “We Want God.”

Tens of thousands of people marched across downtown Warsaw today in an Independence Day procession organized by Poland’s nationalist youth movement. Last year’s march was estimated at 50,000 strong. This year, patriots from Hungary, Slovakia, and even Spain have joined.

A national event catches the attention of spectators outside of its borders when, despite that event’s particularist nature, it speaks to the aspirations of people worldwide. Poland represents an alternative. Imagine your cities and countryside not being the world’s human dumpster. Imagine no concrete barriers and storm troopers having to guard your Christmas markets. Imagine the people and the law being on the same side.

Poland shows the world that it is possible for everyone to have the same in his own country. And that assertion of a people’s exclusive claim on their public space is why Westerners today turns their eyes eastward.

Avowing The Particular

The avowal of Poland’s national identity, an exclusionary claim, was expressed in this portion of the march:

At 0:30, the march participants chant: “Faithful Poland! is our goal!” After that, an off-camera speaker (who I think is the young priest that gave the rousing speech at last year’s rally) addresses the marchers, speaking solely to his countrymen. He says:

Brothers and sisters, thanks to whom do we have an independent Poland?

Thanks to whom do we speak Polish?

Thanks to whom do we have a Polish mother and a Polish father?

So let’s remember, thanks to whom do we have these things? Armia Krajowa! [fighters in the 1944 Warsaw Uprising]. Long live Armia Krajowa!

At 1:05, the camera cuts to the singing of the national anthem. The anthem, the salute to national heroes, the affirmation of only one nation’s heritage and ancestry, on down to calling out their clean bloodlines, are by definition exclusionary and without that proprietorship, they would have no meaning.

Affirming The Universal

History has a sense of humor. European workers are finally united, just not in the way that Karl Marx had envisioned. Humor aside, White countries are under siege and everyone knows what happens if we lose this war. Our graves and monuments will be torn down and our people wiped away forever from this world.

The demonstrators know this, which is why despite this being a Polish holiday, they unfurled a giant banner that bore an English language inscription: “Europe, Wake Up!”

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What Kind of a Leftist Are You? (German edition)

My translations from the meme below, hopefully with the idioms right:

The Theoretician. Marx, Engels, Trotsky, Gramsci — he’s read them all! For him, socialism is the only true system. Even though it has already failed in more than 40 countries… this time, it will work out for sure!

The Noble Revolutionary. From a well-heeled home, he never had to experience material poverty or budgeting. Dad paid his Antifa riot lawyer fees. Deems himself the vanguard of the working class. Has never worked.

The East German Retiree. Was overwhelmed with the changes after the fall of the Berlin Wall. His apartment is still as it was in the 1970s. Similar to West German pensioners who vote for Merkel’s party, he is impervious to reason.

The Cosplay Communist. Because he’s a dwarf, everyone should be a dwarf. Dreams of a world in which all people are equal – just like him. He scorns achievement because he is too pathetic to accomplish anything.

The Open-Borderette. Projects her self-hatred onto her own people. Her moral high-horse is compensation for the shortcomings of her personality. Her daddy-complexes are the driving force behind her political worldview: the yearning for a strong daddy-state.

The SJW. Introduces more rules of behavior, thinking, and language than an 18th century French etiquette manual. Wants free shit for everyone. Hates capitalism but would die without Apple, Twitter and Starbucks.

***

It’s not a complete list but it aptly identifies the types of people who aren’t monsters or particularly deviant; they’re ordinary folk who’d have been ignored as harmless eccentrics or peer-motivated toward healthier attitudes in a free system.

A similar list for Americans might be lighter on high-theory and heavier on social justice. I also once listed the qualities of an Eastern European anti-racist. But whatever the nationality or impulse of a leftist, they all serve the interests of global usury.

(Open thread)

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God Bless The USA

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This marks the passing of one year since the Victory.

If tomorrow all the things were gone
I’d worked for all my life
And I had to start again
With just my children and my wife

When your woman stands by you through better or worse, setbacks aren’t life-wreckers and that’s the spirit of Lee Greenwood’s first verse. A friend of mine suffered a permanent injury yet his wife adores him, putting to shame today’s wives for their attitude toward their able-bodied husbands. Solid character sustains you in a tough time. The good news is that American women are among the best in the world. For one, they stood by their men and voted for Donald Trump.

“[If] I were asked, now that I am drawing to the close of this work, in which I have spoken of so many important things done by the Americans, to what the singular prosperity and growing strength of that people ought mainly to be attributed, I should reply: To the superiority of their women.” — Alexis de Tocqueville (1831)

Of course I know about the problems with modern American women. Yes, many of them are damaged, but so are many of us. Everyone has been subjected to malign pressures and incentives. Yet all considered, American women have acquitted themselves fairly. It’s as though many of them don’t want to become what they’re encouraged to be. What I’m saying is, they lack nothing in raw beauty and mettle. Just know where to look, start having children young, and wear the pants.

All women need the guiding hand of patriarchy. They say that “White Sharia Rape Gangs” polls better than “Family Values” but before we get to where we are free to assert corporal dominion, follow the fundamentals of raising a girl in a hostile culture because when she turns fourteen, she will decide what kind of a girl she’s going to be.

I’d thank my lucky stars
To be living here today

I thank my lucky stars every day for President Trump, for the freedom to blog at one degree of anonymity, for the 2nd Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, and for the men who died, who gave those rights to me.

’cause the flag still stands for freedom
And they can’t take that away

Well, they think they took that away. The American government has been in a territorial war against its people since 1954, a demographic war since 1965, a cultural war since President Reagan’s departure, a lock-down police state since 2001, and it has been openly genocidal of Whites since Obama’s reelection. The result: an engineered population replacement and decades of paying for “white privilege.” A White Nationalist rapper describes this privilege:

White America, we built this nation from scratch
White America, then the Jews gave it to Blacks
White America, they put us in unpayable debt
But our children won’t be slaves. No, we’re taking it back.

But rather than calibrating when victory is in sight, they always make their fatal error: they get pig-arrogant. Instead of easing the RPMs on poz when things go their way, they push the throttle. And so now, the U.S. national anthem is considered racist.

As it should be, because we can play that game to its resolution. So along with the Star Spangled Banner, the American flag is racist. As is the bald eagle, the Iwo Jima photo, 4th of July fireworks, the cowboy, the covered wagon, “Don’t Tread On Me,” Mount Rushmore, and all of other examples of American iconography. Those things belong to a specific nation, therefore by definition they are exclusionary. The anthem and the flag would mean nothing if they weren’t “racist.”

Onward with further disentanglement of plain truth from the pretty lies that they insisted on pushing ahead with, while we were willing, to a point, to go with the Proposition Nation lie. One, blacks aren’t Americans. There is no spite in that statement. It’s an objective fact of ancestry, no less so than saying that Chechens aren’t Russians. Two, Jews aren’t Americans. “Let my people go!” – Moses. “Let my people in!” – some kike who didn’t get into a country club. Three, “nation of immigrants” is fiction.

From the lakes of Minnesota
To the hills of Tennessee
Across the plains of Texas
From sea to shining sea

This is a beautiful land. I’ve never been to Minnesota but I know the hills of Tennessee and the plains of Texas. I’ve made long drives in my twenties over the unforgettable landscapes, including a cross-continental one during the mid-1990s. My then-girlfriend’s family in a southwestern state invited us to visit. With our schedules, she only had enough time to fly there for a couple of days while I had more time at my disposal so I drove solo, timing my arrival at her parents’ house with her arrival by plane. I also worked in several days of back-roads sightseeing on the way.

Her father was a retired military officer and a Vietnam war vet. The real deal: combat kills, survivor of an ambush-massacre. She handed me the phone as we planned the trip. His tone was stern but he asked me for a favor. He described the location of a cemetery in a small town in Oklahoma where his parents and a friend who died in Vietnam are buried, asking if I could drive into that town and tell him what shape their graves are in. “Of course,” I told him. When I described my planned back-roads route, he named a town in Texas and said: “Fill up when you get there. You won’t see another gas station for the next 100 miles.”

After two days of driving alone, you start talking to yourself. After three days, you struggle with enunciating words to a convenience store attendant. I stopped in that Oklahoma town, bought three bouquets of flowers, followed my written directions to find the cemetery and locate the graves (this was before the internet), and found them. I laid the flowers, prayed “Eternal Rest” over each grave, and took some photos. Then I found a commercial area in town, where a one-hour photo store developed my film.

You don’t know the plains of Texas until the lonesome feeling hits you upon realizing that you have not seen a single car over the past hour of driving. It felt like freedom.

After the excitement of meeting my girlfriend’s family, the unpacking, unwinding, and dinner, her father motioned for me to follow him to the back deck. The two of us sat down with a cooler of Coronas between us and lit our cigarettes. The long, relaxed conversation I had with that man was one of my most satisfying. We talked about everything as the hours went by, watching the sun go down over the desert and the stars take over the sky.

And on with Greenwood’s song:

From Detroit down to Houston,
And New York to L.A

Detroit was a jewel. Americans had spend the past six decades in the strange position of being, nominally and numerically, the defining racial group of the United States while being effectively barred from living in her cities. Instead, they were dispersed throughout refugee camps known as suburbs, secure on that turf at least until the next inbound moving van spurs them to once again run after “good schools.” Who the fuck lives like this.

The imperative to clear the continent for the second time, the opportunity to decentralize and reanimate the spirit of localism that the Founding Fathers envisioned… America, the place where you dream big.

Well there’s pride in every American heart
And it’s time we stand and say…

Yes, it’s time.

That I’m proud to be an American
Where at least I know I’m free
And I won’t forget the men who died
Who gave that right to me

Americans’ generosity was turned against them. Human beings are thinking creatures, but we also have instincts, the purpose of which is to remind us that the serpent is subtle. Always trust your gut. It will infallibly tell your brain that the stranger’s whisper is in fact a hiss.

***

“God bless the USA” in the song’s refrain isn’t some empty phrase for the occasion like “jingle bells.” Those words mean something. Namely, that without God this isn’t a country; it’s the enforcement arm of global usury. What happened one year ago makes you wonder. I’ve seen a doubting man allow for the possibility that Donald Trump is guided by God’s hand so that the nation may return to Christ and in doing so, that we make America great again.

And I gladly stand up
Next to you and defend her still today
Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land
God bless the USA

On Fighting Through (not Against) the Poz

A couple of shots of wisdom from tteclod on Gab:

my advice to young men from this side of 40

don’t marry if possible, and don’t marry early regardless
fuck the highest quality women you can & never with condoms
sire children as soon as possible
children appear expensive, but are cheap in bulk
don’t suffer a disobedient woman: replace her w/ haste

Sensible words. His follow-on comment:

after completing apprenticeship to learn your trade, strike out alone as soon as possible so that you learn commerce, accounting, and discipline

there are always jobs for competent men, but there are rarely business opportunities for men whose family responsibilities prohibit substantial risk

You can’t go wrong by studying engineering if you have the aptitude. Further:

related: I’ve decided to stick with Boy Scouts of America unless they eject my boy & I

a coed, integrated, & poz’d Scout Troop is a social lab for @Heartiste advice

& also a good training ground for young men who must eventually navigate Weimerika

The chaser:

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

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