A Ghey Story: Helsinki Hotel

The first of two ghey encounters from my past that make a good story, which I will relate here. No doubt you have yours.

This was about twenty years ago. I was traveling alone and had a 24-hour layover in Helsinki, which involved an overnight stay in a hotel. Though my time in that country was limited to a single day, I made the most of it. Landed in Helsinki in the morning, checked into the hotel, and right away I took a bus to the city’s center, where I walked around until evening. I wasn’t disappointed with the day. I’ve looked forward to that visit because Finland has always fascinated me, and it still does. In my preconception, I was visiting the realm of High Elves.

In a way, that’s the impression the people there made on me. Not that everyone was necessarily gracile or of noble features, but every Finn I interacted with — the hotel shuttle bus driver with whom I had a good chat, the store clerks, regular people in the streets — was young, spoke excellent English, and came across as intelligent.

I didn’t have an agenda or a list of must-see places. I just walked around, bought small stuff at convenience stores just to interact with the cashier, watched the bustling crowds of people, admired the northern architecture and the northern cast of sky. I didn’t think about that kind of stuff two decades ago, but I did make a note of the fact that everyone there was White, presumably Finnish or Swedish, as those were the only languages I heard all day in Helsinki. I don’t speak a word of either language but I can identify them by sound.

So I returned to the hotel late in the evening. I was not in the least bit tired. Instead, a thousand women danced in my fantasy. I took a shower, changed into shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed a towel and went to the hotel’s sauna. Those places are supposed to be coed in Scandinavia and I wanted to fuck a naked elf woman. Or any woman. But the sauna was cold, dark, empty. The travel caught up with me. It’s that feeling when the world suddenly feels very big.

I went back to my room, put on my street clothes, and went down to the hotel’s all-night restaurant. The place was empty, save for me and a man several tables away. I ordered a drink and lit a cigarette. Leaned back and admired the nine-story atrium. Finland really is an interesting place and you see this in every detail around you there.

After some time, the man sitting several tables away stood up and walked up to my table. A very normal-looking guy in his forties, about fifteen years older than me. Of slight built, lean face, thinning blond hair. He asked something in Swedish, gesturing toward a chair. I said OK, and he sat down. He started talking to me in Swedish, so I interrupted him and told him in English that I don’t speak that language. He paused, looked at me confused for a moment, and then resumed his effort at a conversation in the incomprehensible language.

Now feeling a bit annoyed, I asked sharply: “Do you speak English?” He shrugged that off, so I asked “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” hoping that we could at least communicate in German. Nothing. He’s still droning on in Swedish. Buzzing on my drink, equal parts irritated with this interruption of my solitude and open to a conversation after being alone all day, I took a few shots in the dark: Gavorit po russki? Czy mówi Pan po polsku? Habla usted Español? My knowledge of French is close to zero, but I even tried that: Parlez-vous Français?

Nothing. He now looks frustrated by our inability to communicate, but he’s still talking, still trying to ask me questions in Swedish. It crossed my mind to ask the waiter to interpret, but at this point I just wanted the guy gone. I told him something to that effect in English, with matching tone of voice and gesture. My food came and he went back to his own table.

The whole time, I was trying to get a read on this guy. Right away, I determined that he is not a gay. There was none of the mannerism, none of the excited glimmer in his eyes that pings the gaydar. He was definitely not drunk or high. I didn’t pick up on anything that would clue me in to why he’d persist in talking to me in a language that I clearly did not understand. I still have no idea what that was about.

The second ghey story is about lezzie lassies on a train.

53 thoughts on “A Ghey Story: Helsinki Hotel

  1. Pingback: A Ghey Story: Helsinki Hotel | Reaction Times

  2. speaking of ghey, i was taking a sat practice test and this sentence came up:

    ‘With their smartphones loaded with playlists, and their cooler loaded with veggie sandwiches, Imelda and Leigh filled the gas tank and went to pick up their other best friend, Tameka.’

    these are the same people who want you and your sons dead and your daughters pimped out to paki grooming gangs. suddenly, the odds aren’t so stacked up against us as some make out. those people are utterly helpless in any do-or-die situation.

  3. there can only be two best friends, because three is inherently unstable as far as goes longterm bff’s and therefore Tameka

  4. Our high school AP teacher coached us for the national exam: “When in doubt, pick C.”

    Now, it’s also thusly for multiple choice tests: “If the word problem has a competition scenario, the girl always wins.”

  5. I wrote this earlier here: Morrissey’s “Every Day Is Like Sunday” has the best first vocal note of any pop song, ever. The song is about the spectre of nuclear annihilation. I’m playing around with the lyrics to make them about the spectre of Diversity Annihilation, but it hasn’t clicked yet. Perhaps because the original lyrics cover that too?


    Trudging slowly over wet sand
    Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
    This is the coastal town
    That they forgot to close down
    Armageddon, come Armageddon!
    Come, Armageddon! Come!

    Everyday is like Sunday
    Everyday is silent and grey

    Hide on the promenade
    Etch a postcard:
    “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”
    In the seaside town
    That they forgot to bomb
    Come, come, come, nuclear bomb

    Everyday is like Sunday
    Everyday is silent and grey

    Trudging back over pebbles and sand
    And a strange dust lands on your hands
    (And on your face)
    (On your face) x3

    Everyday is like Sunday
    “Win yourself a cheap tray”
    Share some greased tea with me
    Everyday is silent and grey

  6. I used to consider Morrissey a sly stewart of nihilism (“…Piazza Cavour; What’s my life for?”) — but changed my mind after seeing him live. He seemingly means well, in spite of his clever trysts with likely outdated muses.

  7. It’s clear now that Spencer was imitating Morrissey, and not the other way around.

    What are the odds that the cheap set barberettes up at chain salon, uh excuse me the “stylists” there, will do a good job if I ask for a Morrissey?

    He has a nice singing voice. Nothing like Roll the Old Chariot New Hampshire folk festival guy though, aka David Coffin.

  8. I have suggested several times that voices can be placed on a bell curve, along several metrics different ones and subtle. But in terms of volume and force this guy is Zeus himself.

    Of course with that old English name, Coffin, and his bighead looks, and being at a folk festival in New Hampshire, he is a son of the sea salt.

    One of the CH commenters from this thread posed the interesting question. Of all the folk festival aficionados in the video, what percentage of them would publicly celebrate their children’s demographic replacement? Given that it’s New Hampshire. Those people are hardy folk but given to shitlib extremism; or at least that is how we are gaslit.

  9. I read that “Roll the Old Chariot” was a “black spiritual” song. Propaganda? The simplicity of the lyrics and lowly position of the lyricist’s voice seem ambiguous. Is this a bunch of slaves bitching or is it real men powering through a trial?

    (Yes, I recognize the “unconscious bias” in my writing)

  10. By the way, if it’s a manly seaman’s shanty you’re looking for, I would submit Barrett’s Privateers. The story and voice are more masculine, and the brokenness reminds me, for whatever reason, of “Ohne Dich”.

    (Not well known in the USA for reasons that will become obvious only a moment into the song)

  11. — Given that it’s New Hampshire.

    Real NH, not MA exurbans?

    — Those people are hardy folk but given to shitlib extremism; or at least that is how we are gaslit.

    Good point on gaslighting as such.

  12. @Jaded Jurist – ha, always good to see the Stan get some recognition down south! We grew up listening to that album on car trips.

  13. @SJEsq: How far south do you mean? For some reason I think of your location as Oz?

    PS “The Stan” makes me smile. Isn’t folk music the best? I mean, “Folk” itself means “your own kin.” I never think “Oh yeah, gimme some of that hokey, folkey music!” but when I hear such music, it never fails to touch my soul. Bloodlines are the best lines.

  14. Okay, SJ, youtube has actually been fruitful today. It recommended the following song, which is probably the best foot-tapping stylistic mashup between Bob Dylan and The Eagles that has ever been recorded:

    I’ve never been to Toronto. This song makes me want to go. But then I remember “Trona” has been overrun by the hordes of Mordor.

  15. How far south do you mean?

    Sorry bud, here in Canada “down south” typically means the US.

    As for Stan Rogers, my favourite song is this one; my son asks me to play this (on the guitar) quite regularly:

    Whenever I hear people lament that “white people” have no culture, I always want to point them at a rather large volume of folk music that I grew up with!

  16. It’s been eating all of ours, lately, then spitting them back out. The Russians, probably. Maybe the Venezuelans.

  17. “I once got kissed by a ghey in a bar. (On the cheek.)”

    Sorry you had to go through that revolting incident. How many teeth does he have left?

    But seriously, I, too, have been propositioned by so many phags it beggars belief. It literally makes me wonder what vibe I give off (Vox Day’s taxonomy would categorize me as a Sigma, but I’m also super friendly and forward). Were I not married to one of the girliest girls in all of girldom, I would be bothered by it.

    Like PA, I have to admit that I have some natural game (Sigma, not Alpha), and I escalate quickly because it feels right, not because I’m trying to get anywhere artificially. But I also hold myself to Christian standards when it comes to crossing the line. I struggle with fantasies of what could have been, had I allowed it.

    Women (and phags) pick up on my natural confidence and mistake it for looseness. I’ve had women try to tempt me with lines like “So…how Christian are you?” and ghey men try to tell me how irresistible my “s3xual energy” is right before exposing their phallic members to me.

    It’s all so weird.

  18. A nice wholesome looking group of Irish kids keeping their musical tradition going: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zxjvNUNXhkU

    7 million views. Even in my most left-wing days I always knew Irish kitsch and nostalgia was a “safe” way for white people to have cultural pride. Not saying this is kitsch at all.

    As a side note, do Celtic girls have a particularly tendency for fetchingly wideset eyes?

  19. @Nozdryov I don’t know how much I agree with your “wholesome” conclusion. The main singing dude is very androgynous, and the wide-eyed choir seems more alarming than alluring. I’m not on board at all. Perhaps others will correct me.

  20. Sorry you had to go through that revolting incident. How many teeth does he have left?

    Haha, no it was actually funny, I mean I’m not usually one to say that as I’m not exactly the most ghey-friendly of dudes, but in the circumstances the whole thing was a comedy. Dude was about five-foot-nothing, harmless.

  21. I was thinking about the term “folk music”, like we use that term but what does it mean? I would say it connotes music that evokes a “folkish” affinity and can be traced to, or associated with, a specific group of “folk”.

  22. “Not saying this is kitsch at all.”

    Kitsch is not traditionally an Irish phenomenon. German kitsch is historically known, however.

    A striking/recent example:

  23. “Folk” or, “Volk” in German, pronounced the same, means “people”. It’s the music the people identify with innately, rather than what “music” is forced upon the populace. It sings of the everyday hero (or loser). It tugs at the heart strings, regardless of how fancy it is or isn’t. It’s organic.

  24. By ghey, you mean strange and ambiguous, not definitely flaming gay, right? I worked security part-time in college and one night my new coworker told me he had just moved here from California, knew no one, and wanted to jam (musically). I told him I didn’t play an instrument. He said, and kept saying, that that was no problem, we could still jam. He gave off no gay vibes, though, had a genuine West Coast surfer accent, and just seemed wasted. He might have been Nikki Sixx. Thankfully he never showed up for work again after that night.

  25. Hotel lounges. What are they like in your city? In this suburban city they are for the most part, not nice places. I was in a hotel lounge just recently, for legitimate if sorry reasons. It was Super 8 which is a big chain. Being there just briefly, was a reminder to not go back hopefully ever.

    Two nogs were smoking a cigarette, probably sharing it, on the bench outside. One of them was “sagging”. Inside the lobby was a well dressed and dignified African woman. She was young and maybe Kenyan. There are a number of African nationalities set up around here, and they have distinct looks. I don’t “go there” but Kenyans can have mixed-in Euro skull shapes and the women sometimes are striking. They often carry themselves with pride and dignity, in contrast to the locals who are more beat down.

    Of course also drug users and dealers and prostitutes, end up in hotels. It’s a well known trope that pretty much most hotel lobbies will have prostitutes.

  26. @Nozdryov I don’t know how much I agree with your “wholesome” conclusion. The main singing dude is very androgynous, and the wide-eyed choir seems more alarming than alluring. I’m not on board at all. Perhaps others will correct me.

    I thought the video specifically was, in a word, not well conceived, and in spite of a good song. The drummer had a cool face and blah blah blah.

    But most of the female singers had the crazed look in their eyes, which crazed look is very particular and has been discussed in the manosphere at length. The cock carousel.

    I once heard a woman refer to herself as having been rode hard and put away wet. This was in front of hundreds of people. She wasn’t specifically, consciously and deliberately, referring to sex. Or maybe she was.

  27. I can recall three incidents of being explicitly propositioned by a ghey. (three different incidents, three different gheys)

    25 years ago out on the West Coast. I was in a park in the middle of the night. Sounds suspicious, but i was living out of my vehicle, and that’s where I was parked. Some guy approached, and I don’t even know where he came from. He was white and maybe 10 years older. He asked, and I recall his exact words “Would you be interested in spending the night w/ someone?”

    Tactful phrasing; credit where due. I answered no and he left me alone.

  28. He might have been Nikki Sixx.

    He asked, and I recall his exact words “Would you be interested in spending the night w/ someone?”

    Haha, I am really enjoying today’s thread.

  29. Stopped at this one freeway rest stop (this was before Ben Stiller or whichever comedy Jew made fun of rest areas as ghey hookup sites). I was weirded the f out by this serial-killer looking guy who was lurking near the restrooms. I walked the long way around him to enter the one piss-pot building, but I decided to walk out before using the facilities. Creep dude walked in just as I was leaving.

    I went back to my vehicle and called the police. I still remember him staring at me as I described him to the highway patrol. He had the thousand cock stare, only it was more the thousand victim stare.

    I was 25. I wonder how I would react today.

  30. I enjoyed the songs/videos.

    I’ve never been to Toronto. This song makes me want to go. But then I remember “Trona” has been overrun by the hordes of Mordor (Jaded Jurist)

    I visited Toronto with two friends in 1991. We drove there from the Washington DC area on a whim one afternoon, drove all night, got there in the morning. The only nonwhite I saw was some off-white girls in a strip club.

    There was also a memorable moment. We’re in morning traffic downtown and a very attractive girl in a skirt is struggling with holding her bicycle upright as she fumbles with her bags. Just the way she looked so fresh and helpless… one of my two pals, who also watched her, said “there is something so erotic about her.” Yes, a certain je ne sais quoi.

    Whenever I hear people lament that “white people” have no culture, I always want to point them at a rather large volume of folk music that I grew up with! (S.J., Esquire)

    White people have more culture than… I won’t even bother with a quippy comparison. There simply is nothing more rich that European folkways, along with their western hemisphere offshoots, which are just younger.

    As for Stan Rogers, my favourite song is this one; my son asks me to play this (on the guitar) quite regularly: (S.J., Esquire)

    Nice! lifelong memories for him.

    I always knew Irish kitsch and nostalgia was a “safe” way for white people to have cultural pride. (Nozdryov)

    There is a strange PC-pass that comes with the word “Irish.” Predictably, a Diversity Seminar we had in the Army (mid 1990s) blew up into an airing of ridiculous grievances by the louder blacks and exasperated appeals to reason by Whites. One of the dumber but louder blacks cried out: “Why do y’all have to have White Pride. Why not just Irish Pride?!”

    A nice wholesome looking group of Irish kids keeping their musical tradition going: (Nozdryov)

    Good stuff! My classical music station plays eclectic stuff on Saturdays. Today I enjoyed a long Gaelic choral performance.

    A striking/recent example (Each Pond Gone)

    One definition of “kitsch” was Milan Kundera’s: “The absence of shit.” What’s the opposite of Kitsch? I say, Pornography.

    It’s the music the people identify with innately, rather than what “music” is forced upon the populace. (Jaded Jurist)

    “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
    Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” – J. Keats

    He said, and kept saying, that that was no problem, we could still jam. (Mach)

    With your anecdote, I relived my strange Helsinki encounter. The exact same “dude, we aren’t communicating!”

    which crazed look is very particular and has been discussed in the manosphere at length. The cock carousel. (Suburban_elk)

    There was a girl in high school who had the hots for then-inexperienced me. She was good looking but made me ill at ease. We casually made-out a couple of times but I didn’t want to take that further. It was something about her eyes and the sexual aggressiveness that I was not used to with girls my age. Looking back and at the yearbook photo, it was the eyes.

    He had the thousand cock stare, only it was more the thousand victim stare. (Jaded Jurist)

    Chilling. There were some good discussions at the late Auster’s blog about metaphysical evil being materially real, and how it creeps normal people out.

    I was curious enough to search for that hotel from my two-decades-old Helsinki anecdote. I had forgotten its name but… Found it.


  31. I have to confess, I’ve been bingeing for the last few weeks on “The Forensic Files” on youtube. It seems that every death was precipitated by one of the following: (1) having sex outside of marriage; (2) overindulging in drink or drugs; (3) talking to strangers, especially blacks.

    If only our children would listen.

  32. “The only nonwhite I saw [in Toronto] was some off-white girls in a strip club.” (PA)

    That was Canada back in the day. The rate with which the ‘cuntry’ has been cucked since then is, to quote myself, much more alarming than alluring.

  33. Murder Mountain is on netflix. It is goyish in its credits and characters, and done up in high production value style. It’s a six part documentary about the “pot” growing trade in Humboldt County, Northern California. A bunch of young people go missing there. Outlaw culture abounds. Drug money. It’s really happening, right now.

    “Pot” is in quotation marks because that’s what it is called by the boomers to this day. I don’t know what the younger people call it.

    The show opens up with this father lamenting his missing son. The father is a White-ish castizo and his son was a even more White-ish talented surfer dude afflete who needed quick bucks and fell in w/ the bad people. Apparently you go up there as a “trimmigrant” and but then bad things happen. That exact area used to be famous bigfoot country.

  34. That’s THE hot show, on netflix. Which goes to the point that there is still a demand for intelligent screen time documentaries that aren’t about jews. In fact there’s more of a demand than ever, for exactly that.

    That’s the story about Murder Mountain, is that it’s White culture. The missing castizo would pass. This woman from Australia is looking for her daughter and is up there talking to locals passing around missing person poster pics, and the missing person in question is Sasquatch. A she beast as it were, half black. It’s sad, losing a child like that. Who that regular Aussie woman mated with to have that child. Going by looks some Caribbean Islander.

    I was on netflix because Nick ‘based AF’ Fuentes was off the air. He takes weekends off from his show. By his own words on Friday’s show, he himself is castizo. With his name and looks, it’s fairly self-evident. Otoh the line w/ those people becomes pretty much impossible to distinguish. Which is why, on the serious, I think that real politics for America has to include some reality based castizo nationalism.

    America can be compromised. England and Sweden and Germany and France and the rest of them, should not. Nick does a lot of jokes about Med supremacy. He is wrong of course. He tries and takes credit for Italians discovering the New World but Columbus is just one freak data point. It was the English and Britons who did the work.

    In reality, it’s only a best case scenario, that the world can be reasonably divided up. Things aren’t going to go according to a reasonable plan. Or maybe they will.

  35. The other netflix from last night is an awful jewish shit-in-your-face time waster called The Dirt and it’s about Motley Crue, a have fun fictional recreation.

    Now here’s the thing. It’s a great effing story — or could be!

    We have talked a lot about, maybe not exactly Motley Crue, but metal culture and the 80s and its last gasps out in LA and on the West Coast. About the symbolic last gasps of something gone something wrong, something White something strong.

    The opening scene was a LA party that showcased a gushing “squirt” and by the quart-load from some groupie. Nice! Can’t get enough vagina squirts coming out your tv? well we got just the thing for ya, goy

    But Motley Crue and the 80s wants a story. It’s to the real Motley Crue’s eternal discredit that they allowed this. They sold their souls.

  36. If I were in a better place — I ask you here to consider the author — what I would really like is a lengthy and heartfelt comment about what Motley Crue and Ozzy Osborne meant to growing up in the 80s.

    Calling Chris Dangerfield. Oh except that he was in England and doesn’t know what tf I am talking about. Because those things meant something particularly here, in the land of the wasted landscape fka purple mountains majesty.

    But I can’t summon the perspective for that effort comment, alas. Those metalheads were a subculture that were variously called Dirtballs and stoners and druggies. I have made this post before. But their appeal, at least in retrospect, is that their life energy status was more deployed than in reserve, and also that they seemingly had some form of identity. In reality that identity was predicated in dysfunction, but it was better than none at all. And the chicks were easy, or at least they were if you had big enough swinger going on.

  37. You’re on to something with Ozzy and SoCal metal. This is a stretch, but part of Ozzy’s appeal is as a frontier character like Davy Crockett or Mike Fink, the riverboat fighter proto pro wrestler. Biting the head off a bat or pigeon, sniffing a line of tiny red grease ants off a motel poolside as if they were a line of coke, those are things that Crockett or Fink would do. Eating bugs as elementary school students to get a rep among both boys and girls. Motley Crue was supposedly present when Ozzy supposedly did the ant sniffing stunt.

  38. “He tries and takes credit for Italians discovering the New World but Columbus is just one freak data point. It was the English and Britons who did the work.”

    It was actually my great great great grandfathers the Norwegians who discovered and subjugated the New World. Shame they didn’t have the Roman Catholic church to blow their horn, and they were half a century early for Martin Luther to blow it.

  39. Well, plus, they did give up and move away. There’s that. Makes me wonder if that’s why I have both wanderlust and the extreme ability to say goodbye.

  40. Yep, SJ, that’s the spot. I know “subjugated” is a bit of an overstatement, but I mean, it’s more than Columbus built. Why does he get credit? From boyhood I felt this was unfair.

  41. Murder Mountain, Episode 2: Paradise Lost

    Watched this episode and wanted to amend my upthread comments on this series. I had said it was goyish in its credits, but then saw it was directed by a Joshua Zeman, who also gets a producer credit. Sounded suspicious so did an image search on him, and yes! he looks not-semitic White. So then what’s w/ the name, Joshua?

    The second amend was in saying that the Castizo father, of the principle storyline, was “lamenting” his missing son. An unfortunate word choice. Now I’m not going all Aristarchus and pretending these my comments are that closely read, but still. Someone losing a son like that is not lamenting his being dead and gone. He is in profound grief — at least if he is a member of the higher races. And credit where due, the higher castes of castizos are of higher race, are they not?

    The other comment about this episode was the sheriff of Humboldt, who is of good looking White stock. After legalization in California sometime whenever tf it was, the 90s I think, occurred the “Green Rush” wherein moved in a bunch of criminal operations. When describing said tough luck transition, the sheriff mentioned specifically Eastern Euro gangs, and Harley gangs, and Russian gangs. What he didn’t mention was Mexican gangs, in spite of them brownskins being pictured in near to every last one of the documentary shots. What a lily liver sap. The sheriff can’t even bring himself to accurately describe the matter a hand, because “racism”.

    The other comment is more of its own effort post. It’s about the deleterious effects of long term drug use and specifically marijuana use. Some of the main characters are OG’s which is a play on original gangster but instead stands for Original Growers. They are a type.

  42. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is a castiza. That’s Iberian with one-quarter Indio blood. Give or take, the look is recognizable.

    The paradoxical thing about off-whites is that one such individual fits-in in America among Whites when it’s just that one slightly exotic looking person, but when any such look and background becomes common, they become alien to us.

  43. To add, sometimes the sympathetic musing about a racial slightly-alien peoples falls into a fallacy. I’ll call it, inelegantly, “The fallacy of ‘human, therefore to be embraced’.”

    This might stem from the uniquely anglophone North American experience of “White is Right.” With this continent’s blurred ethnic background among Whites, and the defining of ourselves against the land’s very alien racial minorities during the American nation’s formative years, we tend to draw a large conceptual circle within which we embrace all Whites as our fellow man, and relegate all of the racial aliens to the outside of that circle. That’d be all blacks on account the downright specie-scale differences between us. And then the American Indians before the continent was tamed, due to the settlers’ experience with their savagery in warfare.

    That circle of fellow-man, by necessity of reality being complex, has slightly fuzzy boundaries. The dark-eyed Spaniard from Pensacola? He’s White, he’s in. The Tejano castizo? Maybe. The Mulatto? No, say the three centuries of American laws and customs when this was a free country. Octoroons and other Passing individuals? There’s room for quibbling.

    The point is, that once Americans in concept accept someone as White, he’s one of us in fullest. Conversely, if he can’t be accepted as one of us, then it follows by definition that he is a nonWhite, therefore he must be excluded, with extreme prejudice, from common human relations with us that involve trust and expectations of honorable behavior, much less intermarriage and other privileges of equal citizenship.

    That’s my summary of the American tendency toward an all-or-none inclusion/exclusion of us vs. them: the person’s in question fellow-citizenship fully overlaps with his humanity.

    This is why it’s difficult, from the standpoint of a normal American’s sense of decency, to exclude by fiat any subset of an “almost White” race from the privileges of living among us as an equal.

    In big contrast, you have the European conceptual model of us vs. them, in which “us” is a small circle within the larger “human” circle. (Unlike the American one, where the two almost perfectly overlap). A Latvian can, for example, profoundly respect and have much affection for the English but be “no fucking way” on them moving to Latvia. And I’m against intra-european cross-ethnic marriage not for the eugenic reasons that Americans reject miscegenation, but for cultural reasons. And of course reciprocally, it wouldn’t even occur to me to feel offended when a Western European person is opposed to Eastern European immigration. That’s just him being a normal, reasonable person. In fact, I question the good faith of WE’s who profess to support EE’s settling in their country.

    Anyhow, that’s what’s behind the many examples, on the American dissident Right, of some difficulty in professing respect for an off-White subrace or individual while being firm on “no, they can’t stay here.”

  44. I travel several times a year for business and I have noticed over the last few years that the gheys seem to be running these hotels now. All of the front desk staff are homos as well as the management. Also, many, many black males are in public places and obviously ghey. In Dallas recently, I arrived the night before for a conference so I was one of very few in the place, I can’t tell you the number of obvious fagalas walking around trying to chat me up and I was just trying to get to the gym or restaurant. This a similar observation I have made with retail establishments, they seem to be flocking to these occupations that expose them to as many men as possible. They also seem less inhibited to show you their true colors and are more forward with eye contact and flirting. It is a revolting experience as you are talking to a gent and then he proceeds to size you up like a woman would, it just isn’t right. It will not be long when we see men kissing and holding hands in a Sheraton in Wichita certainly in my lifetime.

Comments are closed.