Don’t Pollute

The video’s title is “Foreigners were tossing trash from their car.” See what happens next.

This reminded me about a lecture we had in elementary school, under a political system that was Communist in name and iconography but more like vassal-state national socialism in practice. The teacher asked our first-grade class, “What are some of the ways you can show that you love your country?” The kids brought up heroic examples. I raised my hand, stood up when called on, and offered one such example too. Then the teacher said: “Another way to show that you love your country: don’t litter!” A lecture about respecting your public space followed.

Fifteen years ago, a friend of mine took a black acquaintance to a place that isn’t accustomed to having Diversity, and laughed to me about the guy’s bitching about being unpleasantly looked-at as the only vibrant there. Unamused with the anecdote, I replied with drawn-out, exaggerated sternness: “Don’t. Pollute.”

In the video, another driver asserts his ownership over the public space by checking a guest’s microaggression.

There are always opportunities to demonstrate respect for what’s yours.

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Human Suffering And God

The unthinkable recently happened to a high school teammate of mine. You also may have read about the three-year-old Afrikaner girl who was crucified to a kitchen table and raped by blacks. The old question, if God is all-powerful and all-good, how does one account for human suffering? Over at Chateau Heartiste, Greg Eliot explains:

Satan, and then Adam and Eve, basically told God “We don’t need you, we can figure out things for ourselves, and rule ourselves… so don’t tell us what to do!”

Sound familiar.

God says, within reason, “Okay, you asked for it and you got it… good and hard. See how far you get with Satan’s advice.” (Hint: the book of Job is a good microcosm, which you may dismiss as a cruel thing for God to do on a “gentleman’s bet”, but when you are accused of not being able to have your own Creation love you of their own free will, and before the entire assembly of angels and demons, that’s a challenge that can’t go unanswered… remember, Satan already swayed one-third of the angels to go his way.)

So Mankind and Satan’s challenge has and will go on for whatever time is needed to convince all and sundry that God is indeed needed and worthy of the love and devotion of His Creation. But free will, as true free will, does put (for lack of a better word) constraints on what would be considered a fair trial and true justice.

So any cruel indifference (in Man’s eyes) is that of his own doing… like telling a parent to “fuck off!” and then whining afterward about “why didn’t you protect me!”

As in Job, God is going to make-up for all the suffering Satan has administered, and in a big way, so that these earthly travails over the past thousands of years will be like a distant memory of some childhood illness, grievous at the time, but as an adult barely remembered.

Now one may rightfully ask “When, Oh Lord?”, but He has His timeline and His reasons, which we may not always understand or even accept. But when the Judgment comes, it has to be so that no man nor demon nor angel can rightfully say that they didn’t get a square chance to prove they could rule themselves.

Accept this synopsis, which deserves much discussion and further elaboration, or dismiss it… namely, choose this day whom you will serve.

***

The song below was originally recorded in 1985. It all hangs on a thin string, which is why gratitude is the only proper way to relate to life, regardless of your lot. It helps to repeat that.

That’s a woman’s song. The pathos is female. For a man, there is silence in the abyss of his thoughts, and then acting toward redemption. My translation:

Zamiast / Instead of… – Edyta Geppert

Ty, Panie tyle czasu masz / Thou, Lord, you have so much time
mieszkanie w chmurach i błękicie / Up in your home in the clouds and azure
A ja na głowie mnóstwo spraw / While I have so much on my mind
I na to wszystko jedno życie. / And just one life to deal with all of it.

A skoro wszystko lepiej wiesz / But since you know everything better
Bo patrzysz na nas z lotu ptaka / Because you see us from above
To powiedz czemu tak mi jest, / Tell me why
Że czasem tylko siąść i płakać / Sometimes I just want to sit and cry

Ja się nie skarżę na swój los / I don’t complain of my lot
Potulna jestem jak baranek / I am meek like a lamb
I tylko mam nadzieję, że… / And I just hope that…
że chyba wiesz, co robisz, Panie. / That you know what are you doing, Lord.

Ile mam grzechów? któż to wie… / How many sins do I have? who knows …
A do liczenia nie mam głowy / I’m bad at counting
Wszystkie darujesz mi i tak / All of them you will forgive me anyway
Nie jesteś przecież drobiazgowy / Because you are not petty

Lecz czemu mnie do raju bram / But why, to heaven’s gates
Prowadzisz drogą taką krętą / Do you lead me up such a winding road
I czemu wciąż doświadczasz tak / And why do you keep on
Jak gdybyś chciał uczynić świętą. / As though you wanted to make me a saint.

Nie chcę się skarżyć na swój los / I don’t complain of my lot
Nie proszę więcej, niż dać możesz / I do not ask for more than you can give me
I ciągle mam nadzieję, że… / And I still hope that…
Że chyba wiesz, co robisz, Boże. / That you know what you are doing, God.

To życie minie jak zły sen / This life will pass like a bad dream
Jak tragifarsa, komediodramat / Like a tragicomedy, farce and drama
A gdy się zbudzę, westchnę – cóż / And when I awake, I will sigh – well
To wszystko było chyba… zamiast / Perhaps all of it was… instead of

Lecz póki co w zamęcie trwam / But for now I remain in turmoil
Liczę na palcach lata szare / I count the gray years on my fingers
I tylko czasem przemknie myśl / And at moments a thought passes
Przecież nie jestem tu za karę. / That after all, I’m not being punished.

Dziś czuję się, jak mrówka gdy / Today I feel like an ant when
Czyjś but tratuje jej mrowisko / Someone’s boot tramples her anthill.
Czemu mi dałeś wiarę w cud / Why did you give me faith in miracles
A potem odebrałeś wszystko. / And then took everything away.

Nie chcę się skarżyć na swój los / I don’t complain of my lot
Choć wiem, jak będzie jutro rano / Though I can’t vouch for tomorrow morning
Tyle powiedzieć chciałam ci / That’s all I wanted to tell you
Zamiast… pacierza na dobranoc / Instead of… a bedtime prayer

(Lyrics: Magdalena Czapińska. Music: Włodzimierz Korcz.)

Greeks Bearing Gifts (and songs) – Part 2

Part 1.

“Boss, I have so much to tell you. I never loved a man, more than you.” – Zorba

Syrtaki Flash Mob. That line is from the original Syrtaki, in the final scene of the 1964 film “Zorba The Greek.” Plot synopsis: an earnest young Englishman ventures on a pie-in-the-sky moneymaking scheme in Crete, with Zorba (Anthony Quinn) as his assistant and unlikely mentor. The business venture goes to ruin, and when he loses it all in a most spectacular way, the young man is ready to learn how to dance.

More recently, a group of young Greeks performs Mikis Theodorakis’ Zorba’s Dance in Birmingham, England:

0:36 – It’s about to start. The portly fellow who kicks things off looks like an introvert, yet he thinks nothing of starting a flash mob. I know guys like him, including his physical type. “Superdelta” might well be a sociosexual subcategory of ordinary men with rock-solid frame. He steals the show.

1:02 – Fancy blacks hanging out. Everyone knows that they have to go back.

1:12 – The hottest of the female conspirators joins the so-called portly fellow. What’s “smokeshow” in Greek?

1:28 – A niqab floats by in the background. They have to go back.

1:50 – The girl in grey tights and white sweater is exactly how I’ve imagined Penelope. Notice the glow of pride on her face. That look is only possible when you are doing something with your own people.

4:32 – The world’s ugliest female, a streetshitter among the spectators. They have to go back.

3:56 – Winston Smith in the orange shirt… the face of the British working class. He’s smiling as though he’s unsure he has the licence to smile. Like he’s secretively watching something that’s too good to be legal. Like a resident of Moscow in 1950, who doesn’t laugh loudly on his own street because the secret police can do anything they want.

4:23 – I can watch those ponytails bounce all day.

***

“It’s been known for quite some time that in situations where males compete, the outcome produces persistent changes in testosterone vs cortisol. It’s been known, and repeatedly validated, to the point that I find it rather suspicious when people elide the human ecological impact of obviously foreign males in the environment that are not forcefully challenged by the native males.” – James Bowery

“Human ecology means simply the health of the population in question. The study he is referring to is probably saying that when foreign males are around and unchecked, the native males grow pussies. Either that or get depressed. Or both.” – Suburban_elk

The video is a repudiation of multiculturalism. It should be the English dancing on their own streets. But until that happens and when every guest is gone, sincere thanks are due to the young Greeks for sharing a few minutes of cheer in a time of paper-tyranny.

Ώπα!

Greeks Bearing Gifts (and songs) – Part 1

“Girls we love for what they are; young men for what they promise to be.”
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Vicky Leandros, Après toi. Boys have to earn their value, girls have to preserve theirs. This Eurovision classic is about the Alpha Widow, a new name for the old term “damaged goods” — a woman whose sexual experience leaves her incapable of loving any man who’d give her his commitment. Vicky Leandros (born Vassiliki Papathanasiou) won the 1972 competition with that song, representing Luxembourg; it’s in French, the video has English subtitles:

With you, I had learnt to laugh
And my laughter only comes from you
After you, I will be only the shadow
Of your shadow, after you

Even one day if I go on with my life
If I keep the promise
That joins two being together, after you
I will be able maybe to give my affection
But none of my love

Be the guy who makes her laugh, as goes the Red Pill counsel, but Dionysian ethos alone will burn through the capital of a civilization:

All matriarchies have one thing in common: over time the women become ugly, inside and out. They become that way in part as a defense against being bombarded by endless unwanted advances. They become corrupted by their adventures with to the most vulgar expressions of masculinity. But the kicker is, part of them also loves all that attention along with the lowered expectations on their behavior, and they become complacent, having lost the incentive to bring anything to the table besides their gash.

Every civilization strikes a balance between license and repression. Whites have done well in relying on female self-restraint (modesty) and male honor, both enforced by law and habit. Slut-shaming for women, “You Break It, You Buy It” for men. Anything less would be uncivilized:

So under Patriarchy, girls get to relax a little. The bitch-shields are lowered because the first-tier girls aren’t pestered by presumptuous Betas’ clumsy fumbling and the second-tier girls by Alphas’ nakedly mercenary interest in them. And paradoxically, this collective self-restraint does not create a sexless or repressed environment. Quite to the contrary: Betas are charming without being creepy, while the Alphas lay on the charisma without triggering a lower-tier girl’s anti-slut defenses. And the girls can then let down their guard and actually be pleasant to everyone.

So I referenced modesty. Before geographic mobility weakened our social bonds, grandmothers told girls that modesty is the path to happiness. You can apply the word to a woman’s dress and demeanor. On another level, observe a good woman’s behavior: she’s not going to try to parry a man’s flirtation if she’s single and he’s out of her league, or if she’s married. She knows that she’s weak, that appearances matter, and that a stranger’s lewd interest is gross. She’ll walk away, not letting things escalate to where she’s being gamed.

Nana Mouskouri and Demis Roussos, To Gelakaki. Those of us from small nations, we don’t erect our flag when our brave men and women in uniform murder Middle Eastern civilians with an air strike. Chances are, if you relate to the small world of your grandparents, you don’t relate to Tomahawk missiles. The meek shall inherit the Earth, keeps me going. Maybe you relate to this dialogue between Nana and the (outlandishly hirsute) Demis:

NANA: Can we sing a song together?
DEMIS: It’s a nice idea.
NANA: Yes, do you remember an old Greek song, saying: “The underlining of your jacket I weaved with all my tears and my sighs…”
DEMIS: Oh, you mean To Gelekaki [trails off in Greek]
NANA: [Laughing like a little girl] Yes, yes…
DEMIS: Oh, that was my grandmother’s song!
BOTH: [Laughing together]
NANA: Do you mind if we sing it together now?
DEMIS: Not at all.

See her move when she catches her native rhythm!

Eleni Tzoka (née Milopoulou). She was born in Poland to Greek parents and she has a lovely voice, especially on her Polish-language Christmas recordings. She publicly forgave the killer of her only child, 17-year-old Afrodyta. This was in 1994. When police informed her that the girl’s boyfriend was arrested as the suspect, she phoned the boyfriend’s mother and told her that they both had just lost their children.

On forgiveness… here it feels different than when some churchian cuck in America forgives a black murderer, or a European liberal forgives a Muslim truck driver for killing his son or daughter. It really is different with your own folk… even given Eleni’s different ethnic origin. Among Christians of the same culture — in the family, so to speak — there is no vanity incentive to make a political show of faux-Christian “forgiveness.”

A war atrocity (such as interracial murder) demands collective retribution. It’s a profoundly impersonal crime in which the victim is a stand-in for his national group and is dehumanized by his very association with his killer because his life and death amounts to a scoreboard loss. Here, individual forgiveness is misplaced because war is not between individuals, and acts of war continue to claim new victims until the enemy is stopped. Here, forgiveness is treason.

In contrast, forgiveness for an “in the family” crime of passion, given the killer’s remorse and just punishment, in a way gives a greater dimension to the humanity of the victim and the murderer. Eleni’s daughter Afrodyta had dated Piotr G. since she was 13, and he shot her after they started drifting apart when she was accepted to an art college while he had dropped out of trade school. He was sentenced to 25 years in prison, Poland’s most severe criminal penalty at the time, so he will be out two years from now. From a newspaper clipping of the sentencing, the photo inset:

When the judge read the sentence, a cry was heard. Tears ran down Eleni’s face, and Piotr’s — the girl’s killer.

Eleni1.jpg

Maria Athanasopoulou, “Golden Dawn Song.” Greeks created an identitarian movement that owns the streets before any other country in the West did. The song is good, has English subtitles, and the video has well-chosen images to go with the lyrics. Another things that makes listening to Greek enjoyable is picking up the words that are at the root of our own languages. Examples of ones I recognized in the song:

  • patrida: country
  • agoni: struggle
  • pioni: pawn (“pionek” in Polish)
  • antropi: people
  • hellines: Greeks
  • mega alexandro: Alexander the Great
  • philli: race

There is a powerful moment early in the song where the lyrics go on about the depredation of globalists and their homegrown lackeys, and then there is the verse, with photos of Golden Dawn leaders:

But I know there are people
– Allá xéro óti ypárchoun ánthropoi
[The phonetic Greek is from an online translation, not actual lyrics]

Who really love this land
– Poios pragmatiká agapá aftí ti gi
And when we line up like soldiers
– Kai ótan katatássoume san stratiótes
Pains and woe to the traitors, we will find you!
 – Pónoi kai alímono stous prodótes, tha sas vroúme!

(Part 2)

Nationalism: Amateurs, Criminals, Leaders

“Somehow (((they))) managed to subvert the far-right Jobbik party, and to turn it against the nationalist Fidesz government.” — comment at Chateau Heartiste

Radical political parties draw not only visionaries and idealists, but also untrustworthy marginal and mercenary personalities to their leadership ranks. A question came up earlier: where is the IRA, now that they are needed to take back Irish schools and streets?

Apparently, nowhere; I don’t know anything about the IRA but it is not a stretch to speculate that its heyday leaders were more criminal than patriot. There was profit incentive, for example, in sectarian conflict where property transfer was the prize. There is no such economic opportunity under present conditions in hypothetical hits on propertyless migrants muhdikking around Belfast, so there is no native criminal syndicate doing action.

Effective national movements are run by talented Alpha men who have many avenues of success open to them. Most such types will steer clear of crime or radical politics for obvious reasons: too risky, too downmarket. Note that Fidesz was a moderate party, which grew into a revolutionary force because someone of Viktor Orban’s caliber took helm of it.

You see a similar dynamic on the AltRight, where sometimes it’s difficult to tell where the nationalists end and clowns begin. I’m not criticizing: amateurism is the provenance of destiny. Conditions have created a demand for leadership. Cream is already rising to the top.

A Magic Wand

“Trump is doing his part for the benefit of the alt-right, now we have to do ours. The idea of the President as some omnipotent messiah/savior/mentor/benefactor who waves a magic wand and gives you everything you want is best left to the blacks and liberals.” — Camlost

I’ll fess up to a touch of “magic wand” optimism when Trump was elected:

If you’re tempted to be magnanimous with [the cracked Obama coalition], stop. First, they are still dangerous. Secondly, think two weeks ahead to all the empty place settings at Thanksgiving tables for the people taken from us by Social Justice scum. Let the libs twist in the wilderness. Reflection will do the misguided liberals good and the SJWs are dead to us anyway.

This is not a time to come together. This is a time to break the anti-Whites into submission and uncuck the culture. A president can do a lot — defund programs and smash the student loan racket, trust-bust the media monopolies, and above all, build the wall — but he needs creative volunteers who aren’t afraid of getting dirty. The Alt-Right has a talent for mass-persuasion and the game just got bigger. It’s not low-energy Jeb or crooked Hillary we’re up against this time, but the entire cultural agenda that had been set in motion decades ago.

Winning the election was euphoric. My notion of magic wand was that there would be this watershed moment of normal people seeing the light on liberalism, with AltRight at the vanguard of articulating the aspirations of a humiliated nation.

Events showed that it’ll be a much tougher slough. With regards to the public, there is the intractable Boomer anti-racism even among conservatives, along with the Stockholm Syndrome among Millennials.

If there were two sober-up moments from the election euphoria, the first one was the March 2017 missile lob at a Syrian air strip. That was my moment of doubt with Trump. I did a cartoon-post, showing the scorpion stinging the MAGA frog. Since then, I vowed to hold off on casting rash and definitive judgment about Trump’s moves on grounds that we see only a scintilla of a fraction of the war behind the scenes.

A year later, it’s become clear that The Swamp is not going away quietly. When it comes to fascinating speculation and analysis, Anonymous Conservative’s blog is where you appreciate what Trump’s up against, and you also get the feeling that the enemy is going down tough, but they’re going down.

And my second sober-up moment was the aftermath of the Charlottesville march last summer. The Swamp used the occasion to drum up panic among normies about the AltRight. And to carry on as though Hillary had won the election, with all the deplatforming of right wing bloggers. We may have been unwitting witnesses to a failed coup against Trump that summer. One liberal drunkenly confronted me (he sort of knows I’m involved in AltRight blogging) and made an overwrought case about Spencer and “Jew will not replace us” being a horrible thing to say. I corrected him: “They chanted ‘You will not replace us’” — the guy said “bullshit.” I replied: “Well, being replaced is a bad thing.” He just veered off into some other incoherence and I bailed from the convo. Point being, that should the AltRight take up arms or do some other decisive act, some of the idiot normies would cheer if government goons opened fire us.

However — those people are FOLLOWERS. Which means that it doesn’t matter what they think. They will think as they are told told. The AltRight and the spirit of Trump populism from the election campaign, with or without Trump, is the future.

Reacting To Trump And Syria

A lot of over-the-top harsh words from our side on Gab. I posted the following this morning:

Control your emotions and wait. Trump hasn’t DONE anything in Syria yet. Only words so far. Could be jewing, could be bluffing. We don’t know.

Excessive black pill emoting puts you in a psychological position where on some level you WANT Trump to cuck:

Your human ego plays by its own rules and it hates to eat crow when things turn out well after all.

Here are ‘agree’ and ‘disagree’ replies to my post:

***

latest Trump tweets encourage hope

it’s interesting to see a confident President after a lifetime of powerless men – Nixon to Obama – it’s a joy to have lived long enough to see the wheel turn

***

Blackpilling is bad for us.  And Trump is the master of Bluffing, so who knows.  On the other side I read some normie (leftish) rags recently and the anti-Trumpness was garish to the point of it being poor writing.  Interesting part is it can’t be mentally healthy to be on the left right now.  Correction, less mentally healthy than before.

***

His yowling and thumping and posturing is still profoundly stupid. At best, it’s clownish, and at worst, it’s dangerous. He’s antagonizing the Russians and encouraging Israeli aggression for nothing.

Also, if this is all posturing, then probably everything he does is posturing. “We’re going to build a big beautiful Wall!” Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Sick of him.

***

With luck TRUMP will only missile the moslem areas Soros wants to build a pipeline in.

When TRUMP last missile attacked Syria he warned the Russians ahead of time & they invited all the non moslems to a BBQ cookout at the local Piggly Wiggly

***

I was saying this a couple of days ago. Now it looks like he can’t back off after the moronic tweet telling everyone the missiles were coming. This guy I’m sorry to say, is all over the place. Can’t trust him.

***

Plus, if his past has told us anything, Trump himself would call it stupid to publicly TELL his enemies when and what he’s doing militarily. And if anything it’s an appeasement to the GOP chicken-hawks and warmongers. At worst, he may fire some missiles at an unimportant target. At best, nothing really happens at all.

***

At absolute worst he’ll lob a couple of missiles at another empty airbase and call it a day. WWIII isn’t coming. Everybody calm the hell down.

***

Tucker Carlson’s clear and forceful denounciation of war: