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.