Love In A Time Of Poz

Every man wants the wheat field virgin. They exist. In high school. Teenage boys right now, and even the boys who are still too young to pay attention to girls, know this: you must figure out what you want from life at a very young age.

If you want the kind of woman God intended for you to have, marry your slim, pretty high school girlfriend and start putting buns in her oven right away. Make your parents and hers help you financially and know the sixteen principles.

As to older single men, consider Plumpjack’s words. His long comment at Chateau Heartiste follows:

There’s fantasy and then there’s reality. The fantasy is that a bumper crop of fresh, malleable, submissive HB8-10 virgins with perfect hip:waist ratios and perfectly rounded elbows, is right around the corner, and that every shitlord will have his pick of the bunch to wife up and create an huge family with.

The reality is that the poz, which was specifically designed as a tool of biological and psychological warfare against the goyim, has permeated every last crack and crevice of white societies for at least the past thirty years.

It was a direct attack on one of the backbones of white societies: the virtue of our women. Both men and women have come to see each other as nothing more than fucktoys. This seems to have hurt women more than men, because men have more time on their biological clocks to run down, but on a long enough time scale, we’re all screwed. And not in a good way. But if you find yourself hating all women except nubile virgins, then guess what? It worked.

So here’s the thing: our women have been tainted. Men and women have been pitted against each other. Men hate women for giving themselves away freely, to men who weren’t investing in them. Women hate men because the quality men see them as nothing more than fucktoys, not worth investing in. So we’re stuck in a vicious cycle which, if not broken, will end in us disappearing from this universe. One side is going to have to start the reconciliation.

You have to use your judgement as to whether a woman in her thirties is worthy of being the mother of your kids. There’s a very good chance that she spent her late teens and twenties believing the poz mind poison that she’s an all-powerful fucktoy who can get whatever she wants from the world by manipulating men into doing her bidding, and that she would be forever free from the consequences. Does that make her a bad person? Does that mean she’s not worth investing in? If you can bring her in line and she becomes YOUR woman, can she be seen as redeemed? Only you can make that calculation for yourself.

Another way of looking at this is, imagine if in the past an invading army came and raped all of our women. Every last one. Would you choose to perish, because all your women had been tainted? Or would you work with what you had? My guess is that our ancestors worked with what they had.

Plenty of women screw multiple guys because it’s their only way of finding out who is really Alpha and who is not. Who can deliver the whole package, who’s a fraud. Birth control has given them that “freedom” to shop around. If you want to see it that way. That doesn’t mean they all use that “freedom” to pursue full-on degeneracy. Many of them choose long term relationships, trying to figure out if the guy they chose is worthy of cashing in her hypergamy chips and going all in for a family. How will she know whether he’s the best option if she doesn’t try at least a few different guys? The other option is arranged marriages to a patriarchy-approved Beta. And how well did that work out last time? Legions of sexually-frustrated women were the low hanging fruit that brought down civilization.

TL;DR. Fuck what everyone else says, especially guys on the internet. Pick a woman of good character who makes your dick rock-fucking-hard and then tell her in no uncertain terms that the two of you are creating a family together and that nothing she does will impress you until you see that first healthy kid’s head coming out of her pussy. Then follow through. Every. Step. Of. The. Way.

I guarantee you you will not have a problem with a woman if you approach the whole enterprise with this level of purpose and clarity. This is what they want. The powerful, clear-headed guy who makes them feel valued

You will have to decide what level of imperfection you are willing to accept in your woman. I’d say that at this particular time and place, you’re going to have to be flexible on the fact that she shared her pussy with some other guys, while she was searching for the you, guy who could actually deliver the whole package. The way you can feel better about this is to pick the absolutely finest, highest quality woman you can find. I’m talking, like, ridiculously fine. Then ride her hard, emotionally, physically, psychologically, early on, to see what she’s about. If she doesn’t crack, and you guys are hot for each other, you’ve probably got a good one. just make sure you have a plan to follow through. If she catches even a whiff of you wavering, you’ll lose her.

And, again, fuck what everyone else says. It’s your life.

Love Songs

A favorite game of mine is to ask: If you were to be stuck with one subgenre and period of popular music for a year / month / road trip, which would you choose? Also pick a chaser or a second category of music, given that you’ll inevitably tire of one style.

I’d go for early 1990s Rock, to include the Use Your Illusion double-album by Guns N’ Roses. “November Rain” is a great epic and “Don’t Cry” is a great ballad. The early-1990s era centers on Grunge, with Pearl Jam’s Ten being the album I’d keep if pressed to choose one. The rawest vocals, the rawest lead guitar of all time.

The period also has Mazzy Star, Black Crowes, and U2’s best album Achtung Baby with “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses.” “So Cruel” is for when you’re 22 and intoxicated with the wild mare that’s tangled in your sheets.

The taste:

Her skin is pale like God’s only dove
Screams like an angel for your love
Then she makes you watch her from above
And you need her like a drug

And the burn:

You don’t know if it’s fear or desire
Danger of the drug that takes you higher
Head of heaven, fingers in the mire
Her heart is racing, you can’t keep up
The night is bleeding like a cut

What’s with all the Beta lyrics, right? Love songs are for emotional self-indulgence. They echo those moments from adolescence when you had butterflies just from seeing her face. You might also idealize a woman that inspires the intensity of devotion in the lyrics. You want an Alpha love song? Here is my favorite Alpha song:

You lead me on with those innocent eyes
You know I love the element of surprise
In the garden I was playing the tart
I kissed your lips and broke your heart
You were acting like it was the end of the world

My chaser is mellow ’70s with its sideburns-crooners. ABBA, Little River Band, Christoper Cross, Lobo and his mellifluous sound …you get the idea. And Climax Blues Band:

If ever a man had it all
It would have to be me

Life is a funny thing, as young blood stakes the same claims you once did. For them it’s all new. For you, if you pay attention, it’s full of renewed faith in miracles. Generation Zyklon: know your type, grab your balls and go for it. I’m glad I did.

Idle Thoughts On Italian Pop Songs

Someone posted on Gab:

Look how fast the Italians went full Mussolini shortly after a nignog murdered a single Italian whore. The Italian Tommy Robinson just went on a shooting spree and was hailed as a hero.

Rispettiamo Luca Traini

And another surmised:

It always starts with Italy, from the Renaissance to Mussolini. I can’t wait for what they’ll start next!




The next step is a strafing run on the boats.

I did visit Italy once, in 1997. As part of my Western European tour with a couple of friends, we traveled along France’s Mediterranean coast and Monaco up into Italy through Turin, stopping at an Alpine town Ivrea for the night.

On to the pop songs.

The musical duo Albano Carrissi and Romina Power frames my idle thoughts. Carissi’s mother named him Albano (stage name Al Bano) because at the time of his birth his father was fighting in Albania for the Italian army during World War II. Romina Power is American. The two were married from 1970 to 1999 and had four children. One of their daughters went missing in New Orleans in 1994 and is declared dead, an unsolved case.

 “Tu, soltanto tu.” This 1982  live performance captures their chemistry. He strikes me as an earthy guy whose short stature keeps him humble. She’s a coquette, with those smoldering glances at the camera. (Yes, I am aware of her role in Justine)

“Felicita” is their biggest hit, which they perform here. A good pop song is a drug and I’m high on this one. As with the previous song, they’re young here. She’s in her twenties, he’s eight years older. She’s the minx, he’s coming into his own.

Young love. This is when they were much younger. They both look like teenagers. The song is “Ti Amo,” its most famous version being by Umberto Tocci. The song’s intro:

Ti amo / I love you
un soldo (ti amo) in aria (ti amo) / a coin in mid-air
se viene testa vuol dire che basta / if it’s heads it’s over
lasciamoci (ti amo) in sogno (ti amo) / let it all have been a dream
in fondo un uomo / deep down I am not
che non ha freddo nel cuore / a cold-hearted man
nel letto comando io / I take charge in bed

ma tremo davanti al tuo seno / but I tremble at your breast
ti odio e ti amo / I hate you and love you

Nationalism is setting the stage for this generation of White kids to know young love, which is the desire to find a wholesome age-mate to build a future with. They will be chastened by what we failed to safe-keep for them. Their destiny is to take back what’s theirs.

The Arc of Life. Though divorced, Al Bano and Romina Power reunited in this 2018 medley of their best-known songs. It’s an uncanny thing, to see someone at 25 in one video and then as a septuagenarian. They sound good, neither has an old-person voice. The gorgeous young fans in the audience, most of whom weren’t even born during the duo’s heyday, sing along to their hits.

Italy, the birthplace of beauty.

The Tarantella is a southern Italian dance. Nice stuff! Sometimes an amateur performance is more fun than watching professional dancers. Guarda queste ragazze. A bit stiff at first, then they really get into the dance:


A “formative” experience. In quotes because I was 23 and experienced. I didn’t get a girl I wanted after she and I messed around. I was an idiot because she was bad news. But young passion blinds, which is why boys off themselves over a piece of tail.

In my oneitis, I chatted up an older man I looked up to, my boss at work. Didn’t know what exactly to ask him, but it was the same question that nearly two decades later will have led ten million young men to google their way to Heartiste’s archives.

I didn’t expect the older man to solve my problem or to play Robin Williams to my Matt Damon, but… it would have lightened my load if he had at least said “That’s a damn good question.” A sympathetic pat on the back would have, maybe, made me forget the chick and pumped me up to charm the panties off another one.

Instead, his face took on a satisfied look as he said “Yeah, I married a good one.” That’s when I understood that there are no mentors. Nobody gives a shit about me, is what sunk in. It was a liberating epiphany because it forced me to accept two things: that I have to figure everything out for myself, and that I have to take what I want with nobody’s help.

I learned to walk on my own.

Boomers had severed every inter-generational link of accumulated wisdom and let GenXers and Millennials out into the world ignorant and deracinated. We’re fixing what’s broken.

Back to love: it’s incomprehensible to me, today, that someone can put a loaded gun to his temple and squeeze the trigger over a gash. It’s a matter of age. At 45’ish now, I can imagine having an affair with a lithe little college girl. It would be fun, laughs, rape-lust at first fuck. But having the kinds of feelings that would drive a man to reckon with his life? No way. There is someone I would die (and kill) for, and it’s not hypothetical-her.

I do feel love. It’s for a woman who is a beautiful mother. She believes that a boy needs his daddy and her every act, touch, and gesture follows that axiom.

A 23-year-old or a fifteen-year-old man today is somewhere else. Unlike me now, he’d kill himself over a fling. His prospects are also tougher than mine were. I didn’t have to work around obesity, Tinder, or zoophilia.

But he has the one thing that I didn’t: tradition.



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 Viivi 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.