This is my 100th post here. What I enjoy most about blogging — besides the satisfaction of pressing Publish on something that I think is my better work — is the comments section. I read every comment here; you keep me sharp. There is also the elusive peak experience of forcing myself to think out of my comfort zone and doing so trigger a process analogous to a runner’s high, watching the post write itself. It’s comparable to standing over the shoulder of someone more focused than I am and seeing him type it.
Why am I blogging? One, because I want my posterity to read the things I am thinking about and better understand the time I live in. How will they relate to much of this? That is an open question. Two, we are living in an interesting historic period. Few struggles have offered its belligerents such a clear-cut choice of truth vs. lies, and with enemies that are so gimped, each in his own way. Yet to tear victory away from the hands of those who’d blend out our civilization, this era calls upon the complete suite of talents every Western man has, as well as his ripping himself away from passivity, online and off.
There is a three-way intersection consisting of things I want to write about, things that blog readers want to read, and things that I think blog readers should read — and I aim for that center. Below are excerpts from a selection of my posts, chronologically with newer ones first:
Globalists were winning by boiling the frog — in other words, selling their program incrementally for decades — under the guise of high-minded progress. “It’s not bestializing man for profit; it’s separation of church and state!”
As empire-builders have learned by observing racial relations in the United States, black people can be weaponized as universal solvent against every rooted social structure — family, community, nation — and deployed as such under the state’s protection wherever something needs wrecking.
The man is a tree, with women as vines wrapped around him, assuming his shape. Where there is nothing upright, the vine creeps along the ground. Woman — like any human being — has agency but she needs a man’s guidance to balance her sometimes conflicting instincts, and without that guidance she flails. This is why as men, we are responsible for directing women toward decisions that do not destroy their lives and snuff out our common future in the literal crib.
The time has come to build new walls between us and them, between the home and the wilderness, between nations so that each can live the best way it can. It is also time to tear down the walls that imprison our minds as we now more unrelentingly reach through barred windows for the severed parts of our whole selves.
Diversity demoralizes because absent commonly agreed-upon norms, the public space favors the lowest common denominator in civic behavior.
Waiting for my food, I started composing that scene in my mind and the unifying theme of this post becomes clear. Sometimes yes, dulce et decorum est indeed.
Jonathan comes from a line of men who live and die by the pride in their hearts and the fire in their guts. Quick to throw a punch, quicker to help a friend. His deepest desire is to serve and be needed and to see the fruits of his works. Men like him require a purpose and when they sense futility, they destroy themselves.
[A] key difference between religion and Anti-Racism: religion is adaptive for its adherents and Anti-Racism is maladaptive. Rather than sustaining its people, it devours them. That makes Anti-Racism, like Communism before, not a religion but a psychotic episode that at best mimics the outward forms of religious practice.
Thirty years ago you told them that they are a fungible commodity. You dumped monkeys, rats and snakes into their beds. You drugged them with corn, sold them brittle plastic trinkets, blew off their legs overseas and liberated their women’s gutter impulses.
[George] Zimmerman’s ordeal taught me that there is no need to worry about the blow-back on our iconoclasm when there was this perfect New Diversity Man who likely never wrote a single racisss word in his life, and yet the entire U.S. establishment threw all it had at him in an effort to put him in prison for said racism.
Have you ever fucked a girl who squirmed “maybe we shouldn’t…” but her eyes burned? Have you cold-cocked an Antifa? Are you making money? When was the last time your arms gave out on that last bench rep as a stranger spotted you?
A woman follows a man with adamantine principles. Girls on Tinder crave that too.
Female nature is a wild landscape with its caprices and twisted laws, flashes of sublimity and capacity for self-oblivion, without which it would be uninspiring. The woman’s nature makes passion and man’s very will to live and strive possible. If you strike her hypergamous strings the right way, she really does love you for who you are. The flip side to her infuriatingly childlike whimsy and taste for cruelty is that when you play her right, she will be yours and devoted to you to the end, no matter if you’re a poor man or a prince.
Sort of slouched, legs relaxed. Tight jeans, her crotch is very warm. Those girls seem endearingly oblivious to the effect they have on older men because only two kinds of men live their world: hot guys their age and people dad’s age. And it’s not even a salacious effect they have on us; it’s more like a knowing and an appreciation on our part, like our ancestors’ smiling at the girls with wreaths of flowers on their heads dancing around the maypole.
The Polish anti-racist should make a humbling effort to better understand the refugee influx and the state-enabled Islamic invasion of Europe. He should then extrapolate Europe’s — as well as Poland’s own — fate under the trajectory of those events. Then, as a collaborator with the Brussels-based empire, ask himself: Czy jestem dumny z tego, co robię?
He understands that there is no turning back and that he is now a folk hero. The visitor is on the floor, blood spreading over the vinyl tiles. Stefan swings once more, and this time he splits the coconut. Then, it doesn’t matter what happens. He did what he was born to do. Peace, like he had never felt before, fills his heart.
Men generally enjoy meeting men from other nations and races. There is a lot that is interesting, even fraternal, in the crossing of cultures—so long as these three conditions are met: both parties are coming from positions of equal relative status, each man has a home of his own, and each man knows who he is. Even Pashtun tribesmen are famed for their hospitality toward strangers whom they do not perceive as invaders. But multiculturalism, by imposing strangers on another’s home and codifying this intrusion with the Marxist duality of oppressor and oppressed, precludes any such fraternity.
Yet right this moment, a pair of piercing blue eyes opens amidst the bustle of maternity ward’s nurses. A little wanderer cries, impatient to test his wings and to roam, maybe setting his aim on descending to the gutters of Hades or ascending the peak of Olympus—either way, forged to stand in radiance and despise chains, proof-enough that man has been created in the image of God.
South Carolina loser jeb bush [sic] did his damned best on behalf of his nuclear family (the extended Bush family may be a complicated story here) and on behalf of every hill troll that wanted to grab a piece of your grandchildren’s birthright. Jeb bush is a good man by his lights, that awkward big galoot who wants your grandchildren to be brown, or never-born.
Fear God. Respect good men. Believe in yourself.
“Liberty” means to have an undisputed dominion over your public space, keeping it in your own image to reflect who you are. “Community” means sharing that space with like-minded people.
My message to today’s left-wing journalists: no one believes your story. […] You have placed yourself in service to lies in defiance of your code of professional ethics and common decency. But your name is on the bylines and history’s forthcoming judgment will be clear: Not only are you a whore, you are also accessory to genocide.
But then I saw three things in the real world: a young White woman one evening, she walked lightly. The streetlamp’s glow kissed her flowing hair and caressed her shoulder. A birthday party full of White children playing. Their bright faces were God’s own joy. A White man, his solid face and clear eyes, and I knew that I am looking at the only man in this world whom I can trust.
A reversal of our decline will begin when we White men affirm our responsibilities to our women and reassert our expectations of them, pulling together those scattered links of interdependence. The women of Europe are afraid and maybe Merkel’s deluge is Providence handing us an opportunity reclaim what is ours.
When you humiliate a man, he remembers it forever. The leaders of Western European countries are doing just that. In an unprovoked act of genocide-scale aggression, these governments and institutions are imposing on their people a fight-or-flight condition with nowhere to flee. People have picked up the scent of malice.
Which one of the following templates best describes people’s posture toward you? Family and friends don’t count. An insouciant Gamma among lesser Gammas will strut like an Alpha but will still fold in any competitive social environment outside of his in-group.
We Shitlords suffer no liars, we countenance no shills, we humor no saboteurs of White children’s future. And we most certainly (ahem!) stomach no fatties.
Here is my take on the forecasting of historic events: change happens either much later — or much sooner — than expected. Rarely when expected.
“Annie’s Song” by John Denver – It was a bright early spring day in Georgetown, Washington DC. I was walking toward the boathouse under the Key Bridge and a driver of a parked convertible car was playing the song very loudly, crystal clear from good speakers. Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
Peace in this world is what we earn when we secure the space to live as our best selves. Eternal peace is what we earn when we leave this world, having lived as men and women in Christ our Lord.
History never ends and as human beings, we are bound to repeat our mistakes, over and over. Satan stands behind you in the shadow, always watching. But there is Truth that blazes our path through the darkness. Not losing sight of that light is our hope for making it through just far enough to let our sons and daughters, in turn, walk yet farther onward, straight and true.
It is not strong minds, but weak stomachs that destroy leftist regimes.
Three generations ago, fathers could afford to be remote protectors and providers because robust faith, extended family, and community were there to nurture a child’s identity and sense of purpose. But we are now atomized and under cultural and demographic assault on all fronts. The modern White father can no longer be uninvolved in his daughter’s emotional and intellectual development. He is the only thing that stands between her and the malevolent, child-destroying maw of moloch America.
In no moral law is it written that asylum for refugees must become an open door to changing the national character of the host country. A good host will feed you and board you, not dispossess his son or give away his daughter for the guest’s sake.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn hated the Soviet Union but he always loved Russia.
[O]ur ancestors would be horrified by our problems. But our grandparents had their own problems, and they did what they could. On All Saints’ Day, we can clarify to each other that the wolf is always near. The beast takes different forms but it always seeks the same thing: our destruction, first moral and then physical. And we have to do what we can.
This post is not for those who seek to improve on their already-established effectiveness as managers. This post is for readers who struggle with the basics of being a boss.
If you think you are a cruelty artist, are you the first kind (“takes two to tangle”) or are you the second kind (the gamma power trip)? With the former, the more you lay it on, the more she lights up. In the second case the more you lay it on, the more her light goes out.