Model Minority


People who are getting red-pilled will cling to some types of blue pill.

Full red-pilling is not that you arrive at the right opinion regarding conspiracy theories, or at some other esoteric destination. Intelligent, wide-awake people can hold a range of opinions on 911 truth, on religion, or other subjects.

Rather, full red-pilling means that you reject the authority of the liberal system over your thoughts, over your moral orientation, over reality.

And people who haven’t gotten there yet continue to grant that legitimacy to liberalism. So when, for example, their eyes open on the subject of blacks, they will feel the need to compensate for this deviation from Narrative by doubling down on their praise for a comparatively high-functioning guest-race such as Asians.

They are afraid of severing too many connections with the liberal establishment.

Dispossession, Youth, Anger, Future

We have become adept at finding recreational areas that are free of diversity. For example, to have a good time at the beach around here, you avoid the lower-boardwalk area of Ocean City, Maryland. It’s not dangerous, there are just too many blacks and mestizos there with their obese families. (The latter are fewer than last year; maybe it’s the Trump effect). It’s buzzkill to share public space with even a small number of them, with the aggregate effect of their wet skins, shining like seals,’ clouding up a sunny day.

Bad money drives out the good, as goes Gresham’s law and this also applies to the economics of social capital. Unlike thirty years ago, the legendary boardwalk is not teeming with college girls in bikinis and American families making memories with their kids.

Those people exist, but they’re out of sight. The further north you go in Ocean City, the Whiter the boardwalk and the beaches become. Then, it gets even better as you drive up the Coastal Highway and along the small-town Delaware beaches, which have no boardwalks and where legal parking is a mystery to the unacquainted visitor, but which wink at you with their old-times, wholesome feel. Finally, you arrive at another major tourist destination, Rehoboth Beach. Owing to its prominence, you will see a bit of diversity there but nothing like in the lower areas of Ocean City.

We shouldn’t have to run like this. We built the O.C. boardwalk and it belongs to us. Squatters have to go back.

I recently traveled to the Durham-Raleigh “technology triangle” in central North Carolina and witnessed the apotheosis of the H-1B visa scam. Entire zip codes of upper-middle-class Northern transplant communities are Subcontinental colonies. You go to an all-American ice cream shop and Indian teenagers who speak perfect English work the counter.

I will as soon become Korean as they will become Americans. The difference between a fresh-off-the-boater and a U.S.-born foreigner is that the former looks at you befuddled, the latter arrogantly. They have to go back.

But it’s not about me. I got to be a boy in 1970s Poland and a teenager in 1980s America. You couldn’t ask for a better way to grow up because I had the opportunity to win or lose on my own merits, in a community of my people in places where we owned the outdoors.

It’s about the next generation, and they are growing up in a different reality.

Andrew Anglin writes:

The future belongs to the youth. And the youth belong to us.

From the time we started this website, we had no intention of appealing to a bunch of guys in their 40s and 50s who identified with White Nationalism. There were, at the time, plenty of websites already catering to existing racially-aware white people, and we had no interest in such a thing.

Our sole interest was to cater a message to young people. That is, people under 25, but with a specific focus on teenagers. Our goal was to hijack meme culture, and implant in it messages of anti-Semitism and white racial identity.

The purpose of material life is to pass your legacy to your people, your own children if you have them and your nation’s young as a whole. We’re one blood.

Young people, in case we forget in our middle age, don’t see life the same way we do. Their world is enticingly darker because they understand things only as far as their arm can reach. It has sharper edges but wider vistas, it makes sweeter promises, it hurts like fuck when things go wrong.

I once wrote about rockin’ it out as a way in which a teenage boy squares up to his angels and demons:

A teenager listens to popular music for self-idealization at the point in his life when he is wrestling with his social identity and sexual destiny, sometimes an exhilarating but more often a bewildering time. It’s not vanity; it’s a fumbling for light in the darkness. While the pop song’s rhythm and lyrics bring relief from thought when reflection is difficult, the mental image of the performer in the throes of pathos form an idol in the teen’s mind, giving shape to an avatar through which he approaches his aspirations and fears. And I contend that for this idol to bring catharsis, there has to be a visual element of physical performance tied to the song.

For young men today, it’s not just about “social identity and sexual destiny,” as solipsism is a peacetime luxury. GenZyklon lives and breathes bigger challenges.

For example, one of my all-time favorite bloggers is back from his three-year hiatus and he makes a point about the cohesion of ‘Rican gangs as contrasted with White teens’ atomization:

Meanwhile, the white boys in their late teens and early twenties are sitting home alone playing video games.  It’s quite tragic.

So there is a power vacuum in our society.  People are horribly lonely, and desperate to be part of something.  So if we manage to organize a group or an “urban tribe” in an area, others will quickly want to join.  We’ll get whites of both sexes out of their lonely solipsistic worlds and into a real community that gets stuff done and facilitates white family formation.

A community is the best recruiting tool, because modern white people are extremely deprived of community and sociability and gregariousness.

Welcome back, Mindweapon!

If there is one explicit shot of wisdom I’d drop here today, it’s that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone — and then you value it so much more when you get it back, at least for a little while. An illustration: several days ago I got caught in a sudden downpour while riding a bike and got soaked to the last thread. Thankfully, I had my gym bag with fresh clothes and shoes in the car, and I changed into them. Driving home, I felt profound gratitude and humility, appreciating something as commonplace as dry clothing.

White dispossession is why we don’t take so many commonplace things for granted: a beach or a park with nothing but White faces, the sight of teenage boys shitlording about with no token colored killing their vibe.

And the stakes are sky-high. What the Left had done, they will not willingly undo. They will double-down to their demise before they admit that they had made a mistake in tearing the walls down. They will have to be overcome.

They are not hard to fight; the harder part will be overpowering our own reflexive pity for the other races and the residue of anti-racist indoctrination. Will you, will all of us, have the commitment to the future of our people to tell the others “No, you can’t be here. You have to go back.”

The future of nations is at stake.

Welcome to your exciting future, White teenager. No sarcasm: a corollary to valuing something you’ve lost is the fact that the depths of evil make the heights of good shine that much more brightly. When was the last time in Western history that White men with open eyes, across the world, had felt this spirit of brotherhood with one another? And in solidarity with all people who despise the globalist blender-shredding of nations.

You have your angels and demons. They are different than mine were. Is the WN Rapper your avatar?

White America!
We built this nation from scratch
White America!
And 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

The Third Law Of Female Journalism

We are all familiar with Steve Sailer’s perspicacious First Law of Female Journalism, which he coined in 2009:

The most heartfelt articles by female journalists tend to be demands that social values be overturned in order that, Come the Revolution, the journalist herself will be considered hotter-looking.

Researching the subject, I discovered that someone had already come up with a Second Law of Female Journalism:

The types of sexual relationships advocated for by female journalists tend to follow closely with the sort currently purchasable by their sexual market value.

I will now humbly submit the third law. It occurred to me while reading an article titled “Why these professors are warning against promoting the work of straight, white men,” which cites this bit of heavy breathing:

doing so also perpetuates what they call “white heteromasculinism,” which they defined as a “system of oppression” that benefits only those who are “white, male, able-bodied, economically privileged, heterosexual, and cisgendered.”

Ever notice how women’s genuine expressions of racial aversion, across different cultures and eras, usually diminish the object-class of scorn with words of ridicule and disgust, while feminists’ anti-racist language echoes Sylvia Plath’s ode to masculine heft?

Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

The Third Law of Female Journalism:

Hostile writing by women about White men as a category tends to be an expression of their yearning to be ravaged by one, compounded by their frustration over remaining unnoticed as an object of such desire.

Photos of Couples In Love

Did you notice a pattern in professional photos that show a man and woman in love? See if you know what I’m talking about in this example:


That’s a fine couple, may they make many huWhyte Babiez together. I believe the woman in that photo is Vivii Suominen, European pageant runner-up from Finland.

Question: What could have made that photo more true to romantic love?

Answer: Natural sexual polarity.

Explanation: She could have been directed by the photographer to look up adoringly at her man while he — calm and cocksure — looks at us through the camera’s eye.

Reverse-polarity is the norm in contemporary depictions of sexual intimacy. It’s an observation I made a while ago and to test it, I web-searched variations on relevant key words “couples photo,” “man woman love,” “woman adores man,” and similar. What did I find?

  • The woman triumphantly eye-fucking the camera (isn’t she supposed to be doing that to him?), the man lost in her labyrinths such as in this blood-curdling shot:


Squaaaaawk! cries the bird of prey. Or like in this distressing pic:


Other combinations included:

  • Both looking into the distance
  • Both looking at each other

But I did not find one single professional photo that showed a man looking at the camera, with her adoringly gazing up at him.

Do we live in a loveless time, or is it just the art directors?

As goes the eternal truth, the next generation can set things right.


So, Are They?

There were many good comments under the previous post and I agree with them. The title question of that post is “nonsense” today but we are living in an era of such extensive liberal indoctrination, it’s difficult to imagine living any other way. But this is not normal. All of it across the spectrum of liberalism, from forcible school integration on down to fathers today going along with their wives’ tranny’ing-up of their sons.

This will come to an end, the question is when, and how. Tomorrow, as I put it in the post, people will be asking that question about blacks openly — and acting in accordance with the answer. The future will likely not be a continuation of bleeding Whites dry of everything just so blacks can keep on with this (from the comments):

In Chicago gangs are now just brazenly taking over public parks and having all-night parties in Summer, knowing that the police cannot possibly arrest 2,000 people, and have orders to “take it easy” on them. They’re climbing on cars, waving guns and filming “music videos”

Nigger paradise is White hell. There is no such thing as a free freaknik, so somebody is paying for those Chicago all-night parties, in a multitude of ways.

Donald Trump’s entry into politics spurred White American voters to think the unthinkable: the two parties are at fake opposition to each other. What else will Americans and others across the West begin thinking and doing as the Baby Boomer generation, with its manifold sentimental attachments to liberalism, dies off? “Separation is the only humane solution.”

In the previous post, I was initially going to alternate flattering photos of blacks with unflattering ones. But all of the flattering ones that are set in the contemporary era felt forced. Yay, a Talented Tenth in a suit, and there is one taking care of his kids. Instead, I led the post off with one timelessly sympathetic image, of Louis Armstrong. That was not an arbitrary choice, as his image had been a target of scorn among militant blacks.

I once talked with an older fellow who flew on government business to an African country. I asked him the usual “how was it,” and he gushed: “I had a great time! They are such warm, hospitable people.” Andrew Anglin just posted a satirical account of his (fictitious) expatting in Nigeria, and he hits on a fundamental truth:

In actual fact, Nigerians who leave on these boats to Italy are despised by the locals here in Nigeria. They are deeply ashamed at the horrible behavior of their kinsmen who go to Europe.

They are especially disgusted by black men who lust after white women, believing this practice to be unnatural and sick. They believe it can bring a curse on a man’s entire family for generations …

None of these Nigerians are talking about how they used to be wuz kangz until whites stole their civilization. That is 100% a belief of the kiked-out American Negroid.

The lower races naturally want to look up to us, to serve us, to learn from us.

This is the order of nature, and it is the default if you don’t have Jews

Anyone can be good or evil. In a way, properly playing the role of host seems to bring out the best in all people. Not so in other circumstances. Blacks, human or not (like I said, on that question I agree with my commenters), were created to have a home and a way of life of their own. They were never made to have others meddle with the balance of their ecosystem, charitably or otherwise. They were never meant to be brought to White countries — that’s our home to kill or die for. They were never meant to be told that they can live like us and with us in the West. We were never meant to hybridize.

All of those things are a mockery of us, and of them. Contact corrupts. Separation is the only humane solution but it is not the only solution.

The answer is No.

Observations In New York City


A group of my friends and I just spent some time in New York City. We do this every year. Things we did during this visit:

1. Had a drink at the Trump Tower. The waitresses are indubitably hand-picked by the big boss, as are their tight little black dresses.

2. Walked a bridge. I’ve walked all three of the lower-Manhattan bridges many times. Avoid the iconic Brooklyn Bridge during the day on a weekend because it’s jammed with tourists. For the views, it’s best to walk it westward after dark. Williamsburg Bridge is shown above.

3. People-watched in East Village. Unlike here in Mordor, there are young, attractive girls everywhere — sad! More about that in a bit.



I picked the restaurant in East Village and it was a good choice. Our outdoor table was ideally positioned for watching the crowds go by.

“I’m eyeballing the girls with no regard for their boyfriends,” said one of my companions, and he continued, “I don’t feel the man-rule to respect these shitlibs. That’s right; look away, pussy. I’ll hit you so hard you’ll feel it in your safe space.” You’d think he was talking out of character if you knew him, with his omni-social personality. He gets along with everyone. But there are things he despises and we trespassed on that playground.

He later nods in the direction of a man walking by. “There is a woke White man.” About our age, bald-shaven head, in but not of that environment. I said, “Definitely a shitlord. Head and eyes level like a soldier scanning the terrain. How’d you pick up on it?” He replies, “It’s the look of utter disgust in his eyes.”


Manhattan is a reservation for young women, who are vacuumed up from big towns and small colleges. These girls have set out to defy nature’s judgment on the abuse of the female body. That’s a dangerous game, given the weaker vessel’s symbiosis with the spirit.

But first, they do what all women do when indulged with perfect safety and freedom from want: they strip off their clothes.

Village girls know how to show their bodies to maximum titillation. Saw a lovely one swaggering forth in a completely see-through mesh top, nothing underneath. The braless look is making a comeback after nearly fifty years. The two-piece negligee, with its loose frilly bottom, is ubiquitous. And since women never display anything by accident, this is certainly calculated: the camel-toe is how they wear jeans-shorts now. Lucius Somesuch describes these girls in verse:

My locks are coiffed to tres chic perfection,
My alabaster limbs with glitter flicker.
My glassy gaze gives strangers an erection,
My thoughts are distant, on liquor, twitter.

The evening now casts its long shadows. I point her out to my friends: “She looks unhappy.” A slender brunette with ache twisting her face. Maybe she woke up with shattered expectations. Then I put on my magic sunglasses and know exactly what is the matter: a Pietà in a long dress, in her arms she cradles her mortally wounded soul.


An overwhelming majority of the couples are White, but there was more mixing than I am used to seeing. Where I live, mudsharking is a low-tier phenomenon. Not so in Manhattan, but it’s not standard ‘sharking either; the common American negro is not a part of that world. The girls were dating self-consciously attired mystery-meat. Hard to tell sometimes if it’s a curry-kebab hybrid or a fancy variation on the Mulatto.

With Manhattan being a place where the next generation of the elite is groomed, are we looking at a larval-stage mischling overclass? I don’t know, you tell me. But here is what I think: no, for three reasons.

One: birth control, if those apparent couples are more than LJBF. Two: a ruling class is never seen by the ruled as legitimate unless it looks and sounds like the people it governs. This is why Communists in Eastern Europe, followed by the neoliberal Davos class in the West, ran their own countries without effective internal opposition. Consider recent U.S. presidents — Bill Clinton and George W. Bush were no less subversive of America in their time than Barack Obama was during his terms, but it took the half-blood alien prince’s presidency to finally wake Whites up.

Three: outbreeding depression. A mixed caste is not leadership-grade. Racially incoherent people are more likely to be homosexual or suffer from mental illness, along with a generational drop in IQ. A rootless class of people has no shared identity, no cohesion, no in-group loyalty. They’ll drift to cabana-boy dilettantism while a new identitarian elite rises with popular support.

Some of the White men had dusky girlfriends too. What’s the fucking point, gentlemen? It’s not worth it unless it’s yours. Admittedly though, there is a personal bias in my question; I accept that men have the freedom to forge their own destiny, even if it leads to their death. Women, not so — a woman is born with three choices: to be a wife, a nun, or a prostitute. The flaw of modernity is the fact that they try to be all three, to farcical effect.

Back to New York. So we’ve left the restaurant, we’re walking, and at a half-block’s distance I notice a blonde pixie and a dandyish, small-framed black male ostentatiously kissing each other amidst an epicene crowd outside of a nightlife venue, both interrupting their clothed coitus to observe its effect on others. As I get closer, I realize that it’s an Asian girl with dyed hair. Then, as we walk past them and I take another look, I am pretty sure, at this point, that the Asian chick… is not a chick.

Every historic flare-up of decadence is a one-off episode. Like past (and future) eras of experimentation in immorality, mixing has its moment. The people who miscegenate today are like Dante’s damned, thrashing in eternal irrelevance. When the energy behind a deviant trend is spent, those who had always been disgusted by the looting of grain stores reassert their will to live. And the roadside wrecks grow over with weeds until finally they dissolve into the earth.


Take care of it. It’s the only one you’ve got.