At 17

Men have biographies, women have grandchildren. But show me a man who had willingly forgone fatherhood but not sex, and I will show you a man with something queer about him.

At seventeen, you figure out the general direction you want your life to take and you start to make choices with regards to the type of education, work, and interests that are best for you. At seventeen, you know whether you want to go to college, vocational training, into the military, entry-level work, self-employment, or to cut loose for a while and you take steps toward those goals. At seventeen, life opens before you an exciting vista of possibilities. You walk through one door, which means that you forgo others. That is how you become a man.

But what about one significant decision you will make in life… women, sex, having your own family — do you have a plan? In earlier comments, Mendo shines the light at the modern sexual market:

What that one Brit hooker said about some of her clients being good looking fellas: that the price of ass is so high and the quality so low that men would rather rent it than buy. He’s not far off in saying that. It was the “quality so low” line that stood out, which is what many of the comments on here mention -– the unkempt, sloven nature of women nowadays.

Does that describe the sex market once you get out of high school? A thirty-something commenter over at Chateau Heartiste convincingly presents himself as an urbane Alpha. Back in the day, guys like him scored top-shelf poon. He describes his recent sexual encounter. The comment has to be read in full to appreciate what awaits you in an environment where quality women are locked-in young and much of what’s left is… the Wall of Fat.

You may often see a “curvy” or overweight girl and think, “hmm, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.” I’ve learned the hard way that there’s nothing pleasant about the (full)figurative “pleasantly plump” girl.

Take one example. One target, looks cute enough, well manicured, but, with the carefully cropped face pics, I knew something was up(sized).

I meet her at her hotel room (foreign city, there on business, which I’d gathered from our texting, an easy fuck I surmised). She opens the door and sure enough, nice looking girl, perfect hair and makeup, but a spare tire around the waist, thick thighs, big arse, and (the saving grace of tonight’s shew, massive rack). Of course, she’s wearing all black, more flattering, you see.

We stroll through the mall connected to the hotel, eat dinner (naturally), drink a bottle of grape, and stroll a bit more. She invites me up; it’s an ultra modern hotel with sweeping views of the city lit up at night, the desert beyond. Lots of stainless steel. The place is a disaster, shoes everywheres.

At this point, I really didn’t care any more and grabbed her huge bum and threw her on the unmade bed. Then she tells me her mother is staying with her and will be back soon and we need to hurry.

Now I get to the point of the story: I pull her top off, slide the pants off, take the heels and throw them across the room. Once the reinforced bra straps have been let go, the large, majestic empire of tits crashes and collapses to a sagging defeat. The butt, buttressed by leggings (aka exterior girdle) is suddenly no longer firm and perky, but a big, jumbled mess.

She flips on her stomach, presumably to hide the belly from sight, and tells me to pound her. Pound her I do, but it’s not as perfumey fresh as when the evening started.

Not my worse lay, but not great either, in fact it had many pratfalls. One of my more louche moments.

Sorry I had to do that, gentlemen, but it’s important that those of you in the studio audience know exactly what you’re up against (a wall of fat, if you must know), should you spot a “thick” girl and think, “oh, I’m sure it’ll be fun, just like on TV.”

She came back a few weeks later, and, having no other options living in a literal and figurative desert, did it again.

So, if an Alpha gets THAT^^^ . . .

What I’m telling you, is this: If you’re 18 or thereabouts and you have a slim, pleasant girlfriend of your own racial and cultural background in high school and you respect her family, then put buns in her oven right away. You two have the best it’s going to get. Have a plan, marry her, secure your and her parents’ commitment to help you financially.

Or re-read the Wall of Fat anecdote. It’s said that women are best-off cashing in their commitment chips at a young age because they are at peak beauty. What is never pointed out is that young men are at peak access to pretty girls with unspoiled personality. You’ll be more attractive at 35 and possibly even at 50 than you are now but you’re not gonna be swooping high schools at that age. There are trade-offs in life: you can have a healthy start on building your family as you enter adulthood. Or gamble with fortunes as you put off your search and commitment to a quality woman in an environment that corrupts girls as they enter adulthood. Choose one door or the other.

The biggest trade-off: vigor in youth, wisdom in older age. Traditionally, “young dumb & full of cum” newlywed men had fathers, dad’s friends, uncles and grandfathers around for guidance, help and correction. One of the overarching things I press on the importance of, is geographically coherent community and extended family.

I really like this comment by MGE:

I thank God my parents had me when they were very young, 22 I believe. They both came from large midwest Catholic families where that was just the norm. They didn’t have much money, but made it work. No fancy wedding, no engagement ring, no honeymoon. Mom worked at a Piggly Wiggly while my dad finished his education. We lived in cockroach infested apartments in the rust belt. Instead of daycare I was cared for by extended family and occasionally less than savory baby sitters.

I got to enjoy my parents when they were young and full of life and optimism. I have great memories of the wild parties they would throw. As me and my siblings grew older, they kept a “hands off” approach, which is just what they were used to growing up. Instead of keeping a tight leash on me, they trusted the church, which I was deeply involved with, to shape my moral development.

Plumpjack offers a sound second opinion:

It seems to me that women are very amenable to having children when relatively young, 16-20, but that once they hit early 20s they begin to believe the propaganda. I.e., “oh grow up from your fantasy, little girl. NO woman should be dependent on a man for survival!”, and from that point forward become increasingly difficult to lock down… until they hit 35, at which point they are almost all either damaged beyond repair or too old to inspire a solid man to invest everything into her.

So it seems that it would behoove a young man to lock down his high school or college GF with extreme prejudice. But there’s a catch.

We’ll get to what the catch is in a moment. For now, keep in mind that how you got her is how you’ll keep her — by choosing a good one and staying in the driver’s seat in the relationship. Plumpjack gets to what the catch is:

Young guys don’t understand unleashed hypergamy and all of its hideous permutations and implications. Without sufficient field experience he may not be able to handle his wife as she ages. She may mature faster than he does. What if they have daughters? Will he be able to keep THEM under control? Will he have a strong enough pimp hand, if he’s only ever been with the love of his life?

Remember how you got her? It wasn’t by being a sap. It was through your charm and the fact that you have a backbone. It’s a common male mistake to think that now that the relationship is “official” you can put firmness and Game aside and let her rule the roost. You were her first, you taught her everything, she needs you to stay the boss.

He continues:

I believe that having field experience over and above that of his woman is a necessary component for creating a stable family, particularly in these complicated, dark times. Perhaps the ideal pairing is a guy in his mid- to late 20s, with a woman not much older than 21.

Field experience has its up-sides but you strike the iron when it’s hot. Pussy paradise with bright-smiling leggy vixens ripe for picking was an accident of history, a 1970s hiccup made by a baby boom, homogeneity, and prosperity. Free love had its run but it could never last because demand outpaces supply. Mystery Method of the 2000s was its last gasp — and that was before tats, storied sexual history, and obesity disfigured just about every young single woman you’ll meet. I work in an office right next to a bar district, I see nightlife as it crawls out on a Friday evening when I happen to leave work late. Ungainly thighs and baggy tits, all wrapped in tight fabric and attitude like a turd-tiara. That’s pussy for the above-average man after you get out of high school, boys.

Mankind always returns to virgin marriage as the norm, both men and women. That’s what we’re back to. Unless you wish to play your odds against the Wall of Fat.

Men have biographies, women have grandchildren. And no man’s biography is complete until he plants his seed. Do it now and you have your whole life to live with a wife who matured in your image and children who will grow faster than you expect and in whose eyes you can be the greatest man that ever lived long after you’re gone. At seventeen, you may or may not understand that there is no truer pride than having a son. You certainly aren’t imagining doing fun stuff with him when he’s 21 years old and a young father like you once were, all of this while you’re still strong and energetic. Trust your gut, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Your great-great-grandfather was a better man than most of us alive today. Your great-great-grandmother was a better woman than most women alive today. You and your girlfriend can light that fire anew. Plant your first seed now and don’t ever stop being fruitful according to the gifts with which you are blessed.


Your great-great-grandfather cleared the soil
Your great-grandfather worked the soil…

Your great-great-grandmother had 14 children
Your great-grandmother had almost as many…

As for you, my friend
What are you doing with your night?
Turn off your TV
Don’t stay all cooped up
Thankfully some things in life will never change
Line up your nicest clothes
Because tonight we’re going dancing.


It Grew On Me

Last week I featured the 1969 hit “Kwiaty Ojczyste” (The Flowers of my Land) by Czeslaw Niemen and described that song as “trippy and jazzy, anachronistic and timeless.” That post also includes translated lyrics, which celebrate the beauty of flowers across Poland’s regions. Soaring vocals by female backup singers carry the song over the threshold of greatness.

The video above is a 2015 cover performance of that classic by young artist Natalia Przybysz. At first, I wasn’t sure how to take that performance but I had a feeling that it would grow on me… I played it again.

The cover follows the same structure as Niemen’s original: two verses, instrumental solo, repeat of second verse, choral outtro. Both versions include the “na na na” chorus at key moments, which then goes full-bloom in the outtro. The cover is well done, keeping the spirit of the original in a contemporary execution. I only wish the cover version outtro were as long as Niemen’s. It really is the heart of that song.

I was right, I couldn’t stop playing the above video several times over. “It grew on me” might be the best compliment that can be given to a musician. A lot of songs wow you at first hearing but then quickly play themselves out. This one is a better experience with each listen.

I also like her interpretation of those choral vocals. In Niemen’s version, his female backup singers do that part. Przybysz leads that chorus in her cover version, which makes sense because she has a female voice. The band’s male guitarists back her on it.

There are other videos of her covering “Flowers of my Land.” Those were performed at more humble settings — smaller stages, clubs. She’s severe and “feminist-looking” in the video at the top of this post, but in other performances she smiles and banters with the audience.

Also in 2015, she performs at a small stage in Lublin. Something the eye can’t ignore is the odd way in which her left hand hovers and moves around over her lower abdomen. Could be nothing, could be connected to her unwanted pregnancy of that same year.

She sports a casual look in track pants and a plain white t-shirt in that concert. Artsy Chick from this celebration of female beauty.

Not being familiar with Natalia Przybysz, I did a cursory web search. Her other songs are what you can call contemporary pop and she comes across as someone with feminist inclinations. You can see that in her appearance in the 2015 performances. She shows a softer edge three years later, in this 2018 performance at a club in Poznan. Friendly talk to the fans, longer hair.

Top search results bring up her revelation that she traveled abroad in 2015 to have an abortion. (She has two children and doesn’t rule out having a third one, as goes a magazine interview; it’s not clear if she’s married). Such a confession is big deal in Poland, where abortion is illegal and broadly condemned; another pop star’s career tanked after a similar revelation. As to what she had done, Przybysz said “I really didn’t want that child.”

I took that biographical tangent because I’m outside looking in, and the question of common national culture interests me. There is no lack of liberalism in Poland’s pop industry and like in any Western country, there is some amount of ideological polarization. By what I had checked out, Przybysz struck me as a Lillith Fair’esque artist.

Yet what compelled me to not outright ignore her is the fact that she puts so much heart into Niemen’s “Kwiaty Ojczyste.”

I found it remarkable that at least by superficial appearances, here is a Millennial pop singer whom you wouldn’t expect to be reverent of tradition, yet she pays such homage to a beloved classic, no less so that it’s an apolitical song that celebrates the beauty of her country.

Certain national memories unite people across ideological divides. Nation Wreckers seek to corrupt those bonds of common identity so that nothing holds a people together when mundane political disagreements divide them. You can’t build a globalist empire without breaking the natural and exclusionary bonds that connect people within nations. You can’t wreck a nation without (((exploiting))) the sinful but otherwise self-correcting impulses of its people, such female rebelliousness.

Music is sub rational, the performer and the listener transcend material reality when the song strikes their natural harmonic. For me, it’s in that long choral outtro in “Kwiaty Ojczyste,” both in Niemen’s original and Przybysz’ reinterpretation. In that meditative White Energy moment you wordlessly, in streams of something that merges with a higher reality, envision great possibilities in the name of eternal life.

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.

Hating Women

A compilation of quoted text from a “How much do you hate women?” thread on Reddit:

if almost all the women I needed to interact with had not treated me with disgust and disrespect, wanting to make sure I know my place as subhuman on the planet, I might not have hated them, but it would be necessary to remove all the bad memories of humiliations and aggregations, which were occasionally caused by them and by their social influence on their normies pets, all they had to do was say something and I was humiliated and beaten, there are too many memories to ignore and too much hate to be left behind, if I could I would put a bullet in the head of each one of them

Let’s see, for nearly two decades I’ve gone to sleep every night fantasizing about torturing women.

Just thinking about how much I hate women makes me hate them more. I hate them so much it gives me a headache.

I don’t know if I’d rather fuck or kill a girl. Both would be immensely pleasurable.

It’d be great if there was a girl in pain at my feet. And I could crush her head under my heel. Over and over, smashing her face into pulp. Unrecognizable as human.

It’s OK to hate racial and ethnic enemies. There are two kinds of such hateIn fact, if you don’t feel something icy and implacable toward them, something’s not right with you. Be assured that they hate you and they want you dead. It’s also OK to hate an individual woman such as a vicious ex-wife. But if you hate women as a category, pull yourself back from the abyss.

Liberal West is hell for us, paradise for entire categories of parasites. Is it a paradise for White women? SJ, Esquire’s comment gives a glimpse of what it’s like for a girl:

If you’re ever tempted to hate “women” as a class (God forbid one ever becomes as bitter as those incels, linked above), just think about how life unfolds for them, and you’ll probably find that hate melting away. Really imagine what it’s like for a woman: you go through life not understanding why everyone is nice to you all the time… you’re EXTRAORDINARILY susceptible to peer/media pressure, so that without even realizing it you put off the things that make you happy in favour of toxic behaviours that slowly poison your soul… and then one day, you notice that no one gives a fig for you anymore, and you’re invisible, and it was all a lie. That’s harsh, that is.

Confession: I like women. Girls were lied to just as badly as boys. Do you think that taking a hundred cocks, each new arousal dependent on a slightly higher degree of humiliation than the previous, and the deadening of every last bit of tenderness and ability to love made them happy?

We all could have lived differently. We could have lived in a world in which virgin marriage at a young age is the socially enforced norm. Women may well have felt a part of them contained by that custom, but I assure you that every last one of the ageing slags you see out there puking out her wine would have instead been healthy and calm and valued.

Many of us are angry. Had I known, had I not been lied to. Could have had so much more. Could have been so much more.

If you harbor homicidal feelings toward women as a whole, I’m not turning my back on you brother, just on the demon inside you. That thing is yours to kill.

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

The Swamp And The Buttocks

My comment on Gab:

Up through the 1980s, nobody praised “the ass.” The ideal woman was male-gazed holistically. Sure, we’d check out a cute tail since time began but it was an extension of good legs, and anything larger than a sweet tight rump on a slender chick was [considered] fat. That’s our nature. White women will ask “does this make my butt look big” until the end of time.

Another person replied with a screenshot from a forum. The text in that image was written by someone who claims to have worked with the U.S. government on developing propaganda to Africanize male preferences in women. Real or fake, it’s plausible:

I was a part of an effort by U.S. intelligence going back to the late 1980s to target Brazil for preliminary experimental efforts. Again, the goal was the commodification of identity to replace traditional identity constructs and the creation of a neo-homogeneous population. The racial integrationist aspect has been largely successful. The white-identifying Brazil of the mid-twentieth century was by the 2010s majority non-white, not due to demographic change but due to biological racial integration and identity reconstruction.

My work specifically had to do with commodifying “femininity” or “female beauty,” so as to undermine tradition, culturally specific, white-centric ideas of female beauty and to replace the with racially non-specific, commodified forms of female beauty. This would both fuel the process of racial integration, furthering the goals both of U.S. intelligence and the cosmetics industry, for whom I worked. The campaign involved reducing female beauty to a set of non-racial, easily definable characteristics: the breasts and the buttocks. The “big booty” trend in Brazil makes beauty an acquirable trait rather than something “natural.” Women of color who would have been excluded from social beauty can now acquire it by simply acquiring the right traits, for purchase through the cosmetics industry. Thus, women of color have a higher likelihood of being found attractive, and racial integration is also advanced.

Two things are covered in that disclosure, and one feeds onto the other:

1. “The Swamp,” or the long-running efforts of Western intelligence agencies to create a global monoculture centered on the consumption of commercial products.

2. “The Buttocks,” or an element of psychological warfare to commodify sex down to economically exploitable standards of erotic appeal.

The Swamp

I don’t know enough about Brazil to confirm or refute those claims of successful racial integration there. To my understanding, that country has different dynamics by class and geography than in the United States, but race isn’t trivial. But if in fact Brazilians have mixed freely in recent decades, there is a question: is that the default future of Europe, North America and Australia?

Well, national identities in the western hemisphere are less deeply rooted than European national identities. And there is something else in play: Latin American civilization is different than Western.

Brazil was founded by Portuguese adventurers who took Amerindian and Mulatta women as wives. For Latins, the conquistador history precludes any stigma of defeat associated with amalgamation. So if indeed a more fluid racial identity has evolved in Brazil, that continent’s tradition of White sexual imperialism is at the root of that transformation.

But in the West, racial intermarriage carries two stigmas: one, Americans’ disgust with Blacks that dates back to the colonial times and on through today’s racial tragedies and melodramas. And two: in the West, it’s the women who mix. Yes, statistically it’s a more complicated picture but in popular perception, White men are the losers in this game. When talk of mixing comes up, we’re not the conquistadores — it’s our women who are the mudsharks. And in Europe, mixing is a consequence of the Islamic invasion.

Western history makes for a different reproductive habitat than in Latin America. If the Swamp and its partners in the cosmetics industry had, as is claimed, successfully propagandized a more inclusive racial identity in Brazil, in the West that propaganda falls on rocky soil. Miscegenation has been pushed on Americans in thermonuclear media blasts since the end of the Cold War, and the observable return on that investment is paltry. Here and in Europe, miscegenation is the province of the defective and the abandoned.

(One exception is American men — especially military service members who had been stationed in the Pacific — marrying East Asian women, a dynamic that’s similar to the Portuguese and Spaniards in their colonies.)

Therefore, I expect Western nations to bend a bit more, and then either break under the load of neoliberalism — or vomit out the replacement populations. If you’re an American over the age of forty, you remember the genteel tolerance of the Reagan era. That was then. The air itself today feels like a compressed spring.

The Buttocks

As to the confession about the Swamp propagandizing steatopygia — the ass-centrism in pop (poop?) culture is obvious, and that stuff rubs off on the impressionable. We’ve all heard White guys claim to prefer big butts. Some do like ’em bigger, of course, though within healthy White norms. But for the most part, I doubt their sincerity. Here is what they’re doing:

  • Parroting the meme to display the correct attitude
  • Dumpster-divers rationalizing their limited options with women
  • “Ah can handle dat black booteh!” whigger muhdikking

They lack perspective. With so many females on the obesity-thottery spectrum, a lot of the younger men have never seen a real woman. I won’t post the images, so look up any nude photo of an attractive White actress in a film from before the 1990s. She doesn’t have to be a knockout, either. The harmonious whole of her naked frame, with a bush and natural breasts, her face bright with something beyond-physical you can connect with.

There is higher beauty after sex: the perpetuation of one’s blood and ways, which every White man sees in the faces of White children. That’s why the instincts of reproduction and protectiveness are stronger than individual self-preservation. But I suppose there’s also the “racially non-specific, commodified forms of female beauty.”


Stephen King wrote a short story in which a super-genius discovers a chemical that reduces aggression in all living things. He recognizes its potential for bringing about world peace, so he and his brother (the narrator) mass-produce and disperse that chemical over the entire planet, and at first, it works spectacularly — hostilities end worldwide. Too late, however, they figure out why the chemical works the way it does: it causes dementia. The story ends with accounts of a dying humanity, as the narrator’s prose devolves to babble.

“I longed to abolish the difference between what is high and what is low
to humanity disgustingly diverse I longed to give one shape
I ceased not in my efforts t
o level mankind.”



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.


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)