A Normal Country

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Best kinds of comments under PeterSweden’s tweet are along the lines of “What a great example for the rest of us!” Exactly. The worst kinds of comments, and thankfully there were very few of those and I only saw them from European female posters: “I wish I could move to Poland.” Poland in the present moment is an example of a White Christian society that is free to be itself. This makes PeterSweden’s statement “feels like a normal country” mean more than it does on its face.

An anecdote from my most-recent visit there, which was three years ago. I was in the historic downtown of one of the smaller cities. My brother-in-law and I were at an outdoor table of a restaurant. Next to us were two men, maybe mid-twenties. They discussed something. One of them was passionate about the subject and the other was listening. For the first time ever in all of my visits to Poland, I felt that my SMV is behind the curve there. Age does its thing, of course, but that wasn’t it. Rather, after twenty years of my regular visits, I felt that… the young men there suddenly looked taller, better dressed, more intelligent, less awed by a shiny foreigner, more ready to give you that piercing look like they can make it hurt. They are healthy people who see the same global war on Whites that I do, encircling their country. The difference between me and them, is that I as a sort-of American represented a conquered people and they represented free men. What a difference that makes.

Poland had its 101st anniversary celebration of national independence today. I looked for a video from the Warsaw march to post today. I imagine that it will take a day or two for short, artistically edited, high-definition, narrated and subtitled videos to be uploaded to YouTube.

When searching in Polish by “marsz niepodległości 2019,” I mostly came across two- or three-hour-long reports from the march, or mainstream media discussion panels. Those aren’t blog-friendly format. I did watch YouTube Live from one of the news sources there during the march. A reporter among the participants in the march gave a street-level view. Being virtually embedded there as a viewer, from the vantage point of his cameraman, gave me a nice sense for what it was like in the march, among the participants. The turnout looked as massive as it’s been in recent years. The sky was overcast. It was cold, judging by people’s scarves and winter hats. Red-and-white flags everywhere like trees, the glow of familiar red flares all around.

The reporter raised my suspicion as to his motives. He approached people for short interviews. None of the people he walked up to were militant-looking or with aggressive banners. All were ordinary people, none carrying anything more than a Polish flag. He was evidently baiting them for “extremist” soundbites. No one that I saw took the bait. He asked a young couple, working class by appearance, what they thought about people who oppose their idea of Polish patriotism. The young man politely sidestepped that entire frame, simply saying that everyone marching today is a patriot, and that is a good thing.

The reporter then stopped to speak with a middle-aged couple that was standing among the spectators on the sidewalk. My translation of their short conversation:

REPORTER: How important is Independence Day to you?

WOMAN: [smiling] It’s the most important day after Christmas for us. That’s how I felt today.

REPORTER: It’s clearly very important to you. But I’d also say that this day is not very important in every home. To put that delicately.

MAN: I must say that having traveled all over the world, having seen all kinds of countries, having come across all kinds of different people and all kinds of situations, I am happy to have my own country. I am happy to be a Pole. It’s a reason to be proud.

“Normal country.” Ordinary people in a normal country aren’t going to be defensive or get in your face. Nor will they hem-and-haw like a normie-cuckservative who watches his words lest a non-lie slips out. What they will do, is patiently and politely tell you the simple truth because they are not ashamed of anything.

Meanwhile, when searching in English for “poland independence day 2019,” I got a lot of unedited, low resolution videos. Along with many foreign media films with alarmist headlines about the “far-right” and “nationalists.” But I did find a short, watchable video that gives a good snap-impression of today’s Independence Day march in Warsaw:

The formerly-Communist countries of Eastern Europe are in a better position than their western brothers to raise alarms — and to defy — the communism of our day. This is why the world, Poland’s well-wishers as well as those with malice toward that country, watches Poles celebrating their national holiday with such attention.

The communism of our day. You should look up the Pitesti Prison in Romania. Communist henchmen between 1949 and 1951 tortured Christians there. The prisoners were priests and nuns, seminary students, as well as Romanian patriots who refused to renounce Jesus Christ. The tortures were obscenely sacrilegious. True to the nature of the ultimate enemy, who mocks God. He mocks the beautiful and the true. That is what Satan does and that is what the men and women who serve Satan do.

All of the West is in a death-struggle against that Enemy. Satan’s mockery of human dignity on the “free” side of the Iron Curtain became blatant right after WWII, with the teaching of West Germans and Americans to be ashamed of who they are. The forcible desegregation of neighborhoods and schools has wasted so much. Such mountains of lies and hypocrisy now tower over us. Then the humiliation of Rotherham, the interracial agitprop in advertising, ads that groom children into homosexuality. The demon-transsexuals and their access to children. A mockery of the very God-granted human spirit.

This is why Poland is so unusual to Western observers. It is a normal country in which men are masculine and women are feminine. PeterSweden’s flattering comment about Poles should be as banal as an observation that the people there have two arms and two legs each. Yet it’s a startling observation because proper masculinity and femininity are under attack. Under these circumstances, Poland is paradoxically an extraordinary normal country. And so be it. It’s Poland’s task and honor to show that it’s normal to worship God and dream of a White Europe of brotherly nations. That Communism can’t be accommodated, as the countries of Eastern Europe have learned. That the works of the devil must be renounced in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

The Empire

I recently learned a lesson. Namely, that sometimes if things suck it’s best to wait them out. The story: I traveled to a fancy semi-urban part of Arlington, Virginia on a work assignment. I go there from time to time, so it’s familiar turf. To those unfamiliar with Mordor… Arlington is on the west side of Potomac river, across from Washington DC and it’s home to every which kind of military-industrial complex contractor. It’s a lovely area to visit on a crisp autumn day. Filter out the equatorial complexions along with the pudgy Asians, and all you see is White women in their late twenties to late thirties doing who-knows-what. Most of them work there but it’s not all wasted eggs, not all of them have a dog. You see fit young women in yoga pants walking their baby stroller, sometimes with two or more White children. They live in very expensive new condos that have miniature colonial-style courtyards.

Not my world. I was done by 5:00 PM and it was time to head back home, a considerable distance away. And here is where I fucked up. As I mentioned, it was five in the afternoon and it was getting dark. The rush hour hell was nowhere yet near its crescendo. I looked at my phone’s GPS and saw how long it would take me to get home. It didn’t look good. Haste makes waste, as goes the saying. I failed to heed it. Instead, I decided that I’d get on the road, suffer the traffic, and get home sooner rather than later.

Long story short, the GPS took me into The Pentagon’s employee parking lot to creatively trim a few estimated minutes from my travel time. In theory, it should have worked. In practice, it was a Charlie Foxtrot. A million drivers also following their GPS were now stuck in the same funnel that I was. It took me an hour to get through it; that is, to travel about two hundred meters. And then the GPS directed me to… forget it. I pulled away from the mess of the freeway on-ramp and went in the opposite direction of where everyone one else was standing still to go. I drove through several traffic lights. Then I pulled over along a pay-parking sidewalk. To describe the environs between The Pentagon and Crystal City, it is the mixed-use residential, retail, office nodule of the empire’s enforcement arm. It buzzes maniacally with young striver-class Whites.

(Empathy is a good thing to practice, so I appreciated the fact that I was like them twenty years ago. Granted, it was in Boston and it wasn’t so damn fake. But like them, I too was kick-starting my career. And like them, I clustered with my after-hours peer group with the unconscious goal of finding a wife).

Ambitious Whites and their imperial camp-followers — the brown immigrants who work in every service-sector job there. A lot of East Africans, mostly female. There is no White working class there. There is no White middle class there or any kind of a middle class, because high-earning singles in pricey studio apartments in those glassy new high rises are not the middle class. There are also the silver-haired executives who commute to a top-zip inner suburb. Awkwardly balding hipsters too, but I don’t know where they live.

I suddenly missed home, where there is none of that alienation and cool White American teenagers work in the local grocery store.

I parked the car. I prepaid for a long amount of time because I had no desire to get back on the road any time soon. The traffic was one big gridlock. I walked into the Whole Foods store, bought a few things to eat and a drink there, found a table in the crowded cafe area, and read the latest blog comments on my phone.

As I entered the store, the first thing that hit me was the loud thumping techno-like music that I rather liked. I waded through human voices. Camps of people around each table who made invisible walls around their group. I walked past gorilla-faced women in native-print dresses animatedly talking in a guttural language. And above all, groups of single, upwardly bound Whites in their twenties and thirties who owned that public space.

In the young, dislocated individual’s consciousness it is always now, there is no past and there is no future. Bezos Wonderland. There were Amazon go-go grocery pickup lockers, or whatever they’re called. You can pay with a phone app at the softly glowing self-service cash registers.

What I should have done, back at 5:00 PM, is to have left my car parked where it was, walked to one of the many excellent restaurants in the immediate area of where I was working that day, gotten dinner, and gotten back on the road at around seven o’clock when things were starting to settle down. Instead, I ended up sucked into a portal to a utopia that has to be waited out.

The Midwit Tough Guy

A remark in the comments, about an older man: “His generation, which is the boomers, will not reevaluate their position.” About that. My previous blog post was graciously linked by an unfamiliar to me 2A forum. Right off, a commenter there declares “Fake news. Photoshop.” So other forum participants post articles about this airlift of Africans to Germany and one posts a Twitter video to prove its authenticity. Elsewhere that same putatively conservative boomer dismisses someone as “an antisemite.”

I saw a lot of that in the Army, where we young GenX soldiers were subject to this subtle and not-so-subtle globalist indoctrination. Sayings that circulated: “I don’t care if you’re white, black, or purple…” and “I don’t care about skin color, I only care about green.” “Green,” depending on context, could mean your uniform or it could mean money. As in, “You’re a sap if you care about race. You should be a tough-minded realist like me and only care about money.” Nice values there, chief. How much for your daughter?

And of course, the indoctrination about females in our ranks. “You’re a pussy if you’re threatened by women in the military.” [Well, I’m not threatened, I even had relations with two of them. I just think that they are detrimental to unit cohesion and to the Army’s mission… was the reply in my mind to the latest “Army Times” op-ed]

The Midwit Tough Guy. Men without whom all of our civilization would have collapsed on day-one. Indispensable. You want them on your side.

But they shouldn’t propagate philosophy unless it’s legitimate Tradition and only in their humble spheres in life because for all of their other virtues, they aren’t cognizant of the possibility that they might be wrong. Average Intelligence + Excessive Confidence = …

Most prominently these days, it’s the conservative midwit Boomer tough-guy. When liberated from his ancestors’ fear of one true God, when disconnected from his folk prejudice… he will hate globalism but will defend to the death globalists’ prerogative to devour our world.

Looks like somebody is building an army

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They are not airlifted into Europe to augment any labor shortages. They are not airlifted into Europe for humanitarian reasons. Those are absurdities that not even the enemy bothers to say anymore. It’s an army. The only question is, what kind of an army.

A. Recruits who will be taught discipline and trained in latest-technology NATO equipment in preparation for a war that is being planned to begin in central Europe.

B. Expendable footsoldiers tasked (to their delight) with terrorizing unarmed local populations in central Europe, backed by well trained and equipped UN/NATO personnel.

C. Something else.

The synthetic collapse of the Western world is happening in our lifetimes, right before our eyes. The 9/11 event was a Go signal. And so it strains credulity that there wouldn’t be a party in some kind of a position of power that isn’t operating in opposition to the horror-scenario that’s encapsulated in the above photo.

The armed forces of their respective nations will have their loyalty put to the test. European civilians will relearn guerilla warfare. Things really sort themselves out once hardware goes kinetic. History never ends.

Cabaret songs to the whistle of bullets

As mentioned earlier, I’ll be posting videos from the recent August 1 concerts in Poland’s capital commemorating the anniversary of the 1944 Warsaw Uprising [as distinct from the 1943 Jewish Ghetto uprising, to clarify a confusion that sometimes still comes up]. I’m doing this in anticipation of the city’s November 11th Independence Day march, which to foreign observers has grown to represent the aspirations of White nations worldwide of once again having their own countries and a future for their people.

Below are two performances from the 2018 concert of wartime songs. Both are in the playful style that was fashionable in the early 1940s. You can call it jazzy, or cabaret. It’s a treat to see the nonagenarian Home Army veterans in the audience singing along with all of today’s young people and children.

You don’t have to like the style of music [though it does grow on you] or understand the lyrics. It’s enough to get into the spirit with the audience to get a sense of what’s possible in every White country despite the present predicament throughout the West.

In the introduction, the emcee tells the audience about the rich cultural life that went on in insurgent-held parts of the city throughout the ’44 Uprising: radio and newspaper; theater and cabarets, even concerts that were performed by famous pre-war recording artists. Dances and poetry readings, all of it giving the fighters and the civilians an immense boost in morale.

“Zośka” (Sophie)

So what, that a bullet scratches you
So what, that blood gushes?
Assault-hymns we sing, our battle song
And when a comrade falls into the sleep of death
I shall wish him pleasant dreams
Perhaps tomorrow we’ll meet again, my friend

Sophie, hey doll, come on darlin’
We’re going into battle
To the whistle of the fired rounds
With a few lines of machine gun rattle
To the rhythm of this chorus!

The next song is also introduced by the event emcee who takes a minute to recognize the bravery of the field nurses in the Uprising:

… the downtown was cut off from the Old Town. Though despite the enemy’s advantage, the insurgents did not give up. One of the most spectacular operations was the capture of the telecommunications building. After several hours of combat, the building was ours. It was in our hands. Enemy’s losses: forty Germans killed, more than 120 taken prisoner. We held that building to the very end of the Uprising.

Right after that, the siege of the Old Town began. The insurgents had, literally, a hail of gunfire falling on them. Also, the air bombardment began. There was no way out. They had to evacuate through the sewer tunnels. That subterranean network of tunnels served the soldiers from the very start of the Uprising. There is where lines of communication were maintained among the fighting units. There, ammunition and food was transported. There, the civilian population was evacuated. Finally, there the wounded were transported to field hospitals.

However, on the field of battle or not far from it, the wounded were given first aid by the field nurses. Women who were among the bravest of the brave.

“Sanitariuszka Małgorzatka” (Combat medic Maggie)

The song is about a frivolous girl with whom the lightly wounded soldier falls in love. Alas, she loves another insurgent. The hapless Chaplinesque speaker thinks it’s because the other fellow has a better submachine gun.

Maggie before the Uprising:

Before the action she was a modest girl
She lived somewhere on Roses Avenue
She had a flat with a big bathtub
A Pinscher dog and platform shoes
A little pouty, a little frisky
Seen only at the fashionable nightclubs
She ran to the riverbank early mornings
To tan her top and her bottom

And during the excitement:

Lovely combat medic Maggie
On the front line to the last
A radiant smile she brings us
If you get shot she’ll will dress the wound
Sweeter than the rationed mead

It can be a surprise, how the same person is one way during a frivolous time and quite another way during a heroic time.

Also, notice how the ladies in the audience, aged ten to ninety-nine, are absolutely loving those songs. It’s a lie that women lust after the enemy if the enemy is stronger. They don’t understand honor the way men do, but they are drawn to male righteousness and repelled by cowardice. It can be as simple as that.

The ball

Things I learned in my amateur career as an advanced-beginner guitarist include the long notes-intro to Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here,” along with the overarching appreciation for how much fun it is to bang out a popular song you like once you get a handle on the basics of playing a six-string. I like the Pop-Country original, but this cover version of the song will make your weekend.

While I was idly musing about what makes a folk classic that people sing even centuries later versus songs that are popular for only a few decades, Suburban_elk coincidentally posted this observation:

Did you know that there is a whole new thing, not even really new at this point, but it’s called Dad Rock?

It’s obvious what it is. But in case it’s not obvious. It’s dads who learned to play their instruments to a fair degree of competence back in high school, and probably used this talent suite back 20 30 years to good effect — hubba hubba if you know what I mean! — and but now still, are using this same but perhaps shall we say, to less good effect. Or put another way: they are still playing the same songs; but finally playing out in the venues that maybe 30 years ago, woulda been someplace?

He then segued into some pretty interesting thoughts on music as such:

Since no one will be asking me what songs I am working on: sad face goes here.

— The D harmonic minor song: it feels very Russian. It’s find to pretend that you are at “a ball” and elegant people in costume are dancing Mazurkas or whatever it was they would dance.

The main chords you want to use are D-minor and A7. The other chords you will want to know are C and C7, and also B-flat and F and G-minor. More advanced players will include C-sharp diminished. (Learn your diminished chords, kids.)

— Bob Dylan, many examples of which; he made it look so easy: all you had to do (back then) was to write a simple few lines, and then come up with verses to wow the confused goyim with. He liked to make up pretend adventures and tell about them.

— The other chords you might want to incorporate into your Russian-sounding ballroom pretensions, are the 9th chords. They make for a more fancier tonal palette, which is a nice phrase to throw around when you are trying to impress people, that you are not a typical townie, and that rather your cultural background might be more shall-we-say “continental.”. You can also learn your flat-ninths and 13’s, but that shit is bordering on jazz and maybe should be avoided entirely.

There’s a whole youtube genre which blasts through music school theory, including the above examples, in like ten minutes, complete with competent demonstrations of standard progressions. But such youtubes are somehow a lessening of it all. Morgoth made this point eloquently in one of his videos.

All this beautiful music, is not about a youtube presentation, or for that matter a recital. It was MEANT TO BE part of something larger. Like a ball. (Obv “ball” not in the gangster sense of the word; and nor also in the America post WWII sense, when it got to be used by wannabe lady sophisticates talking about going to Las Vegas and having a ball.)

May the lights be shining on you!

“I thought you guys killed yourselves! Without me!”

“Fake and Gay” — a new episode of Murdoch Murdoch.

Remember that older episode in which Murdoch-Chan (the girl) redpilled Taylor Swift:

There are many virtues that are attractive about men besides money. Like honor. Courage. Intelligence. Taking leadership when needed regardless of his social status.

No such high ideals in this episode. Here, they plunge into nihilism. It gets ugly. But it’s Halloween and time for a horror story.

On and off, questions come up in Murdoch Murdoch storylines, like: is everything we do in vain. In this episode, the fiasco of Charlottesville is shown for the waste it was. The cyanide capsule of the black pill is never far from reach but there is sometimes a faith that rises above the hellscape. They search for salvation in the spirit of the Volk. In great books. In the most recent episode they invoked this daemon, Coniugator.

There is one place they haven’t looked.

And they overcame him [Satan] by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.

Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time. (Rev. 12:11-12)

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Murdoch Murdoch videos are archived under cheekyvideos.net and under murdochmurdoch.net.