Modern Love

Gentlemen, words of wisdom on love in a time of poz, for those who seek their fortune?

Boomer: “Be confident and have a good job. Pretty girls will line up to marry you.”

Omniscient narrator: Thank you sir, that was helpful. 

GenX’er: “Things have changed. When I hit 20, there was no lack of pretty girls but they wanted to party more than I did. A decade later, it all derailed. Today, if a girl is under thirty and of less than porcine dimensions, her venereal options are limitless. Such power makes monsters of women. I hear that you have to be a criminal these days, to excite her dulled pistils. We weren’t willing to be criminals. Instead, in the twilight of our youth, we discovered Game.

Omniscient narrator: In 1990, cute girls were everywhere and obesity was rare. Mudsharking had just come on the scene but it hadn’t yet lowered the buying price of male companionship for marginal girls, so those girls still did their best to be attractive, maintaining dating market equilibrium. Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

Millennial: “When’s the last time I even saw a pretty girl? They’re all sea slugs who think they’re vamps, with the worst qualities of both. Anyhow, young men have dropped out, so having a scintilla of confidence puts you ahead of the soy-boys because the starved females crave masculine edge. Hey, knock yourself out and game a slag.”

When you seek pessimism, you will always find it. I know that nation-wreckers have ruined the world. They will pay for it, I promise. You are stuck on Fembot Fallacy, a fantasy that nothing keeps any woman from thotting and whoring it up while calling the cops on you. You’re wrong. Something does hold her hand back from pressing on all those levers of power arrayed before her. That something is soul. Some women have it. 

You know, in the dark they wonder the same about you: “Why won’t he just cut my throat, burn down the house, and go out in glory? Don’t men like glory?” 

There are diamonds in the rough. If you find one that’s better than her girlfriends and if you practice Game — it’s been dropped on your lap for free — you will laugh about how natural it feels to inspire her to take pride in looking nice, in being a good mother, in embracing all those things that terrify your enemies.

Generation Zyklon: “I’m nine years old and I don’t know what any of that means. My dad says that we will know the truth. I will make my own fortune.”

This letter is sealed. Read it when you are a bit older:

“My heart bursts like a thousand sunrises when I look at you. Every generation has its part to play, you have yours. You might not know what it is until after you’ve fulfilled it. You will do fine because you fear God, therefore you’re not afraid of anything else. Two tips: Don’t take advice from someone whose experience had left him embittered; he doesn’t want you to win. In love — now more than ever before — a man must decide early what he want from life and take it.”

———–

It’s not really work
It’s just the power to charm
I’m still standing in the wind
But I never wave bye bye
But I try, I try

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An American Nationalist Visits Warsaw

Occidental Observer contributor Adam Komiaga attends this past November’s Independence Day rally in Warsaw and describes his experience.

The 60,000-strong march, known for its participants’ aggressively patriotic posture and its umbrella slogan “We Want God” was attended by nationalists from all over Europe. The author of the article stayed in an apartment with Swedes who, like him, flew to Warsaw to join the march. He makes a number of street-level observations, starting with an encounter with a belligerent Pole:

But we’re almost forehead to forehead now. I lock eyes, my deep-blue squared against his ice-blue. It gets tense.

Our group keeps moving around him though, and like white water flowing around a jutting stone in the river we slide around him on both sides. As I side-step him, I lower my eyes because eye-contact that lasts a millisecond too long usually leads to a fight. Anglos and other Western Europeans rarely experience this sort of thing. Growing up in the comfortable and loving leafy embrace of Suburbia makes you soft. But spend some time in Eastern Europe and you learn the rules about eye-contact etiquette quick enough.

The guy is a good writer. That description of the anatomy of eye contact was well done. You can relate to this in the United States. With our diversity and police-secured general order, most of our public space outside of non-White enclaves is no-man’s-land. When I pass a homie or a cholo, my posture and eyes communicate a message. I look at him, sort of through him. A blank fearless face. Mastery, not aggression. “No disrespect but it’ll cost you if you try something.” They always drop their eyes. Fights can result in organ damage or death (yours or his) so the point is neither to bait nor to submit, the latter serving to embolden them tomorrow, but to claim absolute dominion over your personal space and leave the question of public space ownership, at minimum, open for the time being.

The American visitor comments on various fights he saw break out:

… we participated in the massive, 60 thousand strong nationalist march through Warsaw. Just like the night before, there were sporadic fights breaking out all along the route among rival football clubs and rival nationalist organizations.

Poles against Poles. Whites against Whites.

There are different levels of identity. Right wing factions and football fans brawling, ethnic and national rivalry, on up to our ideal of racial solidarity against the mudworld. There is racial solidarity. It happens in emergencies, such as at the Superdome in 2005 when local Whites and stranded European tourists created a security perimeter in an arena full of blacks. Or Vienna in 1683. There are also long-standing friendships, such as between Poland and Hungary. The mere fact of Polish national holiday celebrants welcoming fellow-European nationalists and chanting Christian, pro-White and anti-Islamic slogans means a great deal. There is your racial solidarity.

(A long aside: Europeans are a war-race. But we temper our violence with Christian honor, which we extend to and expect of our fellow-Whites and which is why unlike savages, we develop codes such as the Geneva Convention, mercy with submission, distinction between combatant and civilian, and recognizing the enemy’s individual gallantry. Raping girls is not something we brag about. Waffen SS was the world’s most fearsome military corps but the reason naahzees have a radioactive reputation isn’t just post-war Jewish propaganda, though that is a big part of it. German Ostplan campaigns in WWII broke with civilized norms through their brutal behavior in Eastern Europe. Oskar Dirlewanger’s counterinsurgency units, as one example, are responsible for murdering up to 120,000 civilians in 200 villages throughout Belarus alone, his favorite method being to herd people into a barn, then setting the barn on fire.

Likewise, Allies’ barbarity toward German civilians in 1945 is a stain on our honor. My grandfather was a brilliant, severe-faced man of aristocratic Kresy tradition. He served as a lieutenant with First Polish Army under Soviet command and told me about his infantry unit entering a village in Pomerania. He saw a Russian soldier grappling with a German girl and ordered him to let her go. There were discipline problems on the front, with Russian soldiers disobeying Polish officers. My grandfather put a gun to the Russian’s head and the girl ran away. End aside.)

Men are small-group tribal. We’re supposed to be territorial and ready to fight. That’s freedom. That’s what keeps us sharp. It teaches us to be polite. It keeps women loyal. How many of us had spent our youth in middle class comfort, never having a redneck square up to us at a mall? Or if you’re a redneck, a locking of horns with a cocky frat dude or a loudmouth off-duty soldier from the local Army base. Racial solidarity entails collective effort in an emergency. “No more brother wars” doesn’t mean kumbaya.

Someone once commented ruefully that Europeans have culturally blended into an undifferentiated pop monoculture, so national distinctions are anachronistic. I disagree with that, countering with my own observation that if I’m talking with a Norwegian, it’s just two guys having a conversation. But if it’s five Norwegians and me, or five of my countrymen and him, the odd-man-out quickly notices that one is not like the others. If you are American but not a Southerner or a Mormon, get together with them and discover that culture is real.

An illustration of European diversity comes when the author got separated his from his Swedish companions and joined up with a Dutch group, observing a change in vibe:

I lost track of the Swedish Nationalists I had come with and ended up marching with the Dutch Identitarians instead. To be honest, it was a welcome change of pace. All of a sudden, I was around a different kind of European. They could crack jokes, include me in the conversation and seemed to actually want to practice some of that pan-European solidarity I had heard so much about.

Turning his attention to the landscape: Warsaw is an ugly city, he reports. Indeed, anybody who is not from there will enthusiastically agree with that sentiment. Not me, though. I’m a true Warszawiak, it seems, as either because of childhood nostalgia or for some other reason, I find the city to be quite lovely. My indelible feeling of home is Warsaw in any given December, where it’s dark at 4:00 PM and snow is falling, the smell of bus exhaust in the icy air bringing back memories. Perhaps Warsaw is meant to be grim, a reminder of history’s bloody relapses. That’s her burden still, as Europe heads into a war.

Yet, that’s the city where globalism is considered dead, the only city in the world where Christendom’s nationalists are free to march. That’s Warsaw’s terrible beauty:

The sky was overcast and it got dark quick, but the harsh red glare from the flares lit up everyone and everything with a kind of sepulchral glow. The smell of the burning chemicals washed over me and I breathed it all in, like the mystical smoke from some pagan witch ceremony or something. The flares seemed to have a powerful, almost reverent effect on everybody in the march.

The article segues to its most interesting part, a meditation on a new generation of Europeans. A seventeen-year-old Polish skinhead joins his group. He’s part of a disciplined paramilitary unit:

I saw them at the march the other day. They came in like a war-machine, ranked up in a Roman-style Testudo formation, with their banners wrapped all the way around the group like a shield wall. Black suns and Celtic crosses were flying proudly behind the first ranks — these guys were the real deal. Protecting the flanks of the column were black-clad young men with their faces totally covered in black ski masks. Turns out our young friend was one of them.

Older Poles would run up, yell out abuse and some even tried to start fights. But the Black Bloc just kept marching in perfect discipline. Even the soccer hooligans didn’t dare touch them.

As the American visitor learns, the teenager lives in Sweden where he goes to school as the sole White kid in his class, having been previously expelled from a majority-White private school. In the young man’s words:

“You know, before I was even a nationalist, I had problems at the private school. The Swedes are worse than the Arabs and Blacks. They would complain about me and report me all the time. Always behind my back, never to my face. Poles are naturally too nationalistic for them, I guess. I like it better in my new school.”

Turns out that the Arabs and Blacks respect him ever since he became a Neo-Nazi.

“Every time I do this…” he throws up the roman salute, “they fear me.”

The author gets to Nazi iconography, dispensing with dead history. Again, he has a way with graphic description:

Nazi imagery may not be good at convincing shy huWhytes to join the Identitarian cause, but its ability to strike fear into the hearts of non-Whites is second to none. To them, we’re all just a blend of Crusader-Nazi-White Devils who’ve gone soft. They stiffen with fear when they see that black spider on a field of red and white and see the gangs of young White hooligans that fly it.

As the age-heavy racial demographics shift in parts of Europe with the passing of Boomers (good riddance, anti-racist dead weight), it’s the White teenagers and kids who are inheriting their countries in their infested condition and who will have to reconquer Europe to have a chance to live in peace — to extend Western Civilization’s life, if you want to use such lofty words. Maybe they’ll wait for winter and cut off invaders’ heat. If they are merciful, they’ll let them go back to their ancestral shitholes but either way, nurseries will be reclaimed.

But [the young skinhead] is a good enough kid. Normal, sane and if I’m honest, he’s probably the future of the Post-First World. Generation “Zyklon” isn’t a meme. These kids are pissed. They are the first to feel what it is like to be in the White minority… and many of them don’t like it.

They will also have brothers and sisters, as White births are rebounding.

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A Comment On GenZ

Anglo nations don’t have much experience with losing at home, American Southerners being a notable exception. Winning and winning and winning makes you morally soft and sets you up for guilt complexes. It makes you ashamed of your ugly, Pyrrhic victories such as the Boer War.

Losing fosters a sense of togetherness and paradoxically, pride. What doesn’t break your spirit or genocide you makes you more fanatical. Eastern European nations have a sense of righteous identity because they know both loss and victory. The Polish national anthem begins with “Poland has not perished yet so long as we live.” Hardly a cocky winning attitude. But boys (and girls) who listen to stories of national against-all-odds going down fighting myths stick together.

There is a reason why the American GenZyklon — White teenage boys and girls — is farther to the Right than probably any adult American generation in modern history — they are literally born losers; in other words, born as a dispossessed, despised minority on their own land. The young know who the enemy is.

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Women Are Choosing

There is a youngish married woman who, contrary to all of her apolitical or Trump-supporting girlfriends, is an armchair social justice warrior who makes a daily habit of squirting anti-White posts on Facebook. Her friends roll their eyes when her name comes up and some have unfollowed her because they find her posts irritating.

She is an anachronism. On matters of identity, there is nothing left to debate. What’s left is signalling. In other words, informing your peers on where your loyalty belongs.

NFL’s Take a Knee campaign is a prominent example of such signalling. It was never a debate on “freedom of expression” — it is an affirmation of identity. White GenZ kids are getting red-pilled younger and younger as events pull them onto history’s stage.

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Generations

PA, whom is your article intended to address? Boomer men, like me, who are already reading your blog regularly? Is your objective to incite yet more hatred among younger White men who already hate Boomers? Do articles like yours, which seem to be increasing in popularity in WN circles, serve to awaken and unify Whites?

It’s intended to address anyone who wants to read it. That’s not a glib reply, it’s my attitude toward blogging. By the aggregate reader data available to me, 80% of this blog’s visitors are in the United States and by my hunch, readership overlaps with that of the blogs listed on my sidebar. In other words, a broad age-range of mostly Alt-Right aligned Whites worldwide.

It is not my intention to incite hatred toward anyone who is one of us. My parents are Boomers (technically late Silents, born during WWII and raised in a different country but as I discovered, these generational “horoscopes” know no borders). They are good people who raised me well, both are highly intelligent and have been anti-Communist all their lives. Upon arriving in the U.S., they recognized American liberalism as an extension of the same Communism they had left behind, except more insidious and more mind-enslaving.

One of my early-teenage educational moments was during the 1984 election campaign. I parroted something I must have heard at school: “Mondale is for the people and Reagan is for big business.” My dad told me that to decide whom to support in politics, you have to write out an honest list of each side’s pluses and minuses. We did that together, and from then on I understood the Democrats to be the party of centralized bureaucracy (socialism) and Republicans, prior to the neocon infiltration, as an imperfect champion of decentralization (liberty). We had Ronald Reagan’s portrait hanging in the kitchen of our first home in America. My parents supported Donald Trump from the moment he declared his candidacy.

Yet every generation has its faults. Highly-educated, faithful Roman Catholic, upper-middle-class Polish emigrants are not immune to adopting their host-country’s quirks. If there is one way to nail the Baby Boomers down as a generation, I’d put it as follows: they believe that the world begins and ends with them.

No GenX’er or Millennial in this universe will cry “Stop saying that about us!” when criticized on their collective shortcomings. Yet every Boomer-thread at Vox Popoli generates squeals of “NABALT” on behalf of an entire cohort. You can see how that invites scorn.

That characterization above, “Boomers believe that the world begins and ends with them,” applies to selfish retirees who don’t give one squirt of piss about their grandchildren. That’s a common accusation made by the younger generations; for starters, see the comments under the above-linked post. It also applies to Boomers who have sacrificed a lot for their kids and are loving, devoted grandparents. Boomers’ virtues (they are sociable and civic-minded, for one) as well as their aggregate faults, are a function of their inability or unwillingness to understand that the conditions of life today are not the same ones that they had inherited.

This isn’t an incitement to hatred. It’s a criticism. When I point out someone’s error, it’s up to him to consider the validity of my judgment and if deemed valid, to correct his behavior.


The Secular Horoscope

I am left to wonder whether Boomers have some irreparable genetic or character flaw that no other generation of White men has.

Rhetorical, I know, but there is something unique about every generation. In his autobiography’s opening chapter, Arthur Koestler mused about the “secular horoscope,” meaning that the era of one’s birth determines a person’s life-trajectory and fundamental worldview. Let’s see how each generation’s accident of birth has shaped them.


Baby Boomers

Boomers were imprinted with an optimism that never faded, in spite how much the world has changed since their youthful years. Their psychological substrate is a bright, sunny summer day in 1962. They always lived, and they will die, in that one year. In their eyes, the rest of us fall short of their esteem due to our failure to capitalize on the social and material cornucopia that they had been born into.

I can judge your generation as a whole. My judgment is that — as a whole — you are a selfish people who don’t give a damn about your posterity. But I can’t judge you as an individual Boomer man because I don’t know you. That’s your children’s and grandchildren’s prerogative. If you’re doing allright by them, you’re OK. Greginaurora commented about his Greatest Generation grandparents: 

I remember my grandparents. I spent a weekend with them once a month. Their house was small but their hearts were big. My own children wouldn’t understand that. Grandparents who helped raise them?

If “big heart” is something your grandkids will also one day say about you, then you have no reason to be upset with what I wrote because my critique of your generation does not apply to you personally in the one area over which you have full control: your own conduct.

The Baby Boomer generation in a snapshot:

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Generation X

For us GenX’ers, it’s always about the lost paradise of 1985. For me, that year conjures up community parties in my White working-class neighborhood. Good-natured men organizing youth kickball games and lawn-cutting co-ops. When people dream about peace, that’s what they imagine. We saw it for a moment and it was gone.

As we reached legal drinking age, U.S. federal government murdered Vicki and Sammy Weaver and then incinerated 22 kids at Waco. Only one man did something about it. We are a failed generation, robbed of its future, and this is why we belatedly created the Alt-Right, and also the reason why we are better parents than our own parents were. We saw evil, we flinched, we never forgave ourselves for that.

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Millennials

For this kiked-out generation, it’s always 9/11/2001 and submission to the police-state that the shock-and-awe ushered in. They were kicked in the teeth by the anti-White system, brainwashed in school, and cut down to sub-equality with weaponized niggers and race-replacement immigrants. While Boomers cashed-in and GenX froze up, Millennials embraced Stockholm Syndrome.

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UPDATE – Ikacer adds in the comments:

I’d say that Millennials are the generation of escapism. Stockholm Syndrome is just a subset of that. Our generation was presented with a world that was entirely a lie (and was apparent to us as such), but with no alternative leading to the truth. So as a generation we avoided reality. Many did this by embracing the lie, such as the Stockholm Syndrome group you mentioned. Others escaped into video gaming. Others obsessed over their childhood such as Harry Potter, and many live with their parents.

The strength of conviction of the Millennial progs is not because they truly believe, but is born of their desperate fear of reality. For Millennials, reality is too terrible to face.


Generation Zyklon

Face the sun, young blood. As I concluded in Shots of Wisdom, Part 7:

The Will To Live. Like trees that adjust their angle of growth to stay upright when soil underneath them shifts, so do we create homogeneous micro-habitats in own own lives. Sometimes I am in awe of ordinary people’s effortless securing of clean space, no matter the vector of the new assault. With open eyes you see it everywhere and the wellsprings of life therein. “Children should always be better-off than their parents,” hiss the blind through their perfect fake teeth. Yeah, but what if the very existence of those who follow is a victory dance in its own right?

This longest night is our trial. Some lose their minds and throw themselves into the abyss. Others trust the invisible laws that guide us toward the sun, with or without the forebrain’s consent. It’s not morning yet, whispers the boy who woke up from a nightmare.

For this generation’s sake, no Boomer, Xer, or Millennial should allow himself to become a burden and a drain on resources. In famines, old people voluntarily starve so that toddlers may eat. If you get old and sick, take pain killers. If you are diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, act fast while you still have your faculties… suicide is punished by an eternity in Hell, so rather than offing yourself, go out into the wilderness and when past the point-of-no-return, pray.

With the duality of good and evil, one has an amplifying effect on the other. Goodness and purity catch the merchant’s eye. Evil and corruption set off a holy war to right the wrongs. Today the best among us become better men and women. God’s gifts shouldn’t be taken for granted — that’s the multi-generational lesson we are being taught.

GenZ will be a generation of fighters. Our job is to help fix the world they inherited where we can, to support pro-White statesmen like Orbán and Trump, and to help our activists or at least get out of their way. The White kids and teenagers everywhere are who we live and die for.

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