"To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is free...to a time when truth exists, and what is done cannot be undone...From the age of uniformity, from the age of solitude, from the age of Big Brother, from the age of doublethink--greetings!" - George Orwell, 1984
Monday, October 31, 2005
[I re-post this one most Halloweens. I just like it. - HAC] A TALE OF THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR by Ogden Nash - circa 1930 or so
The hands of the clock were reaching high In an old midtown hotel; I name no name, but its sordid fame Is table talk in Hell. I name no name, but Hell's own flame Illumes the lobby garish, A gilded snare just off Times Square For the virgins of the parish.
The revolving door swept the grimy floor Like a crinoline grotesque, And a lowly bum from an ancient slum Crept furtively past the desk. His footsteps sift into the lift As a knife in the sheath is slipped, Stealthy and swift into the lift As a vampire into a crypt.
Old Maxie, the elevator boy Was reading an ode by Shelley, But he dropped the ode as it were a toad When the gun jammed into his belly. There came a whisper soft as mud In the bed of an old canal: "Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete, The rat who betrayed my gal."
The lift doth rise with groans and sighs Like a duchess for the waltz, Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft, It changes its mind and halts. The bum bites lip as the landlocked ship Doth neither fall nor rise, But Maxie the elevator boy Regards him with burning eyes. "First to explore the thirteenth floor," Says Maxie, "Would be wise."
Quoth the bum, "There is moss on your double cross, I have been this way before, I have cased the joint at every point, And there IS no thirteenth floor! The architect he skipped direct From twelve unto fourteen, There is twelve below and fourteen above, And nothing in between, For the vermin who dwell in this hotel Could never abide thirteen."
Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene, Is hidden from human sight; But once a year it doth appear, On this All Hallows night. Ere you peril your soul in murderer's role, Heed those who sinned of yore; The path they trod led away from God, And onto the thirteenth floor, Where those they slew, a grisly crew, Reproach them forevermore.
"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen," Said Maxie to the bum, "And the sickening draft that taints the shaft Is a whiff of kingdom come. The sickening draft that taints the shaft Blows through the devil's door!" And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch, And revealed the thirteenth floor.
It was cheap cigars like lurid scars That glowed in the rancid gloom, The murk was a-boil with fusel oil And the reek of stale perfume. And round and round there dragged and wound A loathsome conga chain, The square and the hep in slow lock step, The slayer and the slain. (For the souls of the victims ascend on high, But their bodies below remain.)
The clean souls fly to their home in the sky, But their bodies remain below To pursue the Cains who emptied their veins And harry them to and fro. When life is extinct each corpse is linked To its gibbering murderer, As a chicken is bound with wire around The neck of a killer cur.
Handcuffed to hate comes Dr. Waite (HE tastes the poison now), And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood With horns upon its brow. Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan From Floradora bright; She never swung for Caesar Young, But she's dancing with him tonight.
Here's the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip Of the Mad Dog, Vincent Coll, And over there that ill-met pair, Becker and Rosenthal. Here's Legs and Dutch and a dozen such Of braggart bullies and brutes, And each one bends 'neath the weight of friends Who are wearing concrete suits.
Now the damned make way for the double damned Who emerge with shuffling pace From the nightmare zone of persons unknown, With neither name nor face. And poor Dot King to one doth cling, Joined in a ghastly jig, While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape And tickle it with his wig.
See Rothstein pass like a breath on glass, The original Black Sox kid; He riffles the pack, riding piggyback On the killer whose name he hid. And smeared like brine on a slavering swine, Starr Faithful, once so fair, Drawn from the sea to her debauchee, With the salt sand in her hair.
And still they come, and from the bum The icy sweat doth spray; His white lips scream as in a dream, "For God's sake, let's away! If ever I meet with Pinball Pete I will not seek his gore, Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him On the hideous thirteenth floor!"
"For you I rejoice," said Maxie's voice, "And I bid you go in peace, But I am late for a dancing date That nevermore will cease. So remember, friend, as your way you wend, That it would have happened to you. But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete; You see---I had a daughter, too."
The bum reached out and he tried to shout, But the door in his face was slammed, And silent as stone he rode down alone From the floor of the double damned.
Outstanding news on the new Homecomer, Harold! I keep looking at the beautiful Multnomah Falls on the Oregon postcard you sent me, and wonder why the hell I'm stuck here? There is real estate I own that needs to be liquidated. It will be awhile until I get there, and it sucks. At least others are making it. God bless you and The Homeland. Bob from Massachusetts ********** Dear Mr. Covington: Bob from Massachusetts gave me your e-mail address? Can you send me some information? -B. in Pennsylvania ********** Bob, thanks for the recommendation and your support. I especially appreciate your telling other people about the Northwest Pioneer Association and sending them my way. We have to use the multiplier effect. There aren't many of us right now, but all of us know someone else who knows someone else, etc. Eventually we're going to get those "wagon trains" heading Northwest. -HAC
Dear Mr. Covington: I would like to thank you for the time you have given me with including me in your e-mails.
I agree with you with my entire heart. I always say that if Net Nazis would just put a drop of time that they use sitting behind their computers and use it towards doing something productive to help our Race. We might actually have a bigger voice and be heard.
As in myself. Do I feel that I am a warrior? No. I am a mother and I play my role. I encourage my children to keep their education - work in our community - and have great pride in their heritage and skin. I am strong about education. Most think I am crazy because I allow my children to remain in public schools. But - I am hoping with the education I give them at home about their race and morals combined with the education they recieve in school - that one day we will have a voice in the justice system or in a political aspect. That is the only way I know I can help further our cause.
I do belong to an organization - I am the Womens Division Rep - I do pass out flyers - attend rallies - and have even participated in a television broadcast concerning racial beliefs. I am by far bragging or trying to score points. I am not arrogant by far. But I am proud to say that I AM NOT A NET NAZI!!! As I see you aren't one as well.
Once again I would like to thank you for your valuable time you have given me.
88 Maggie Flowers Womens' Division Rep American Thule Society
One of the main symptoms of this society's disease is the proliferation of weak, arrogant, incompetent and silly people in positions of petty power over people's lives--bureaucrats, supervisors, teachers, thugs from the badly misnamed Child Protective Services agencies, attorneys, judges, "administrators" of various kinds, the 101 little commissars of Political Correctness that White males and, increasingly, White females as well have to put up with in their day-to-day existence. Most White people probably don't bear any kind of personal grudge against, say, President Bush or Dick Cheney or Jesse Jackson, just a generalized and impersonal resentment. These are celebrity figures, far above their personal orbits, and in most minds there's a disconnect. Jug-Ears isn't really a real person, he's just someone you see on TV, if you get my meaning.
But the asshole "supervisor" at work, the stupid nigger clerk at the grocery store, Apu in the turban behind the counter at the DMV, the Mexicans who visibly take White people's jobs, the ex's vicious attorney and the judge who never listens--this puts a human face on the evil.
Use this in your grass-roots work. Let White people know that our victory means all those monkeys off their backs--and punished for what they've done. Always try to slip that in. Personal revenge is going to be a major motive in our initial recruiting. It's humanly understandable and it's a perfectly acceptable motive at first. Use personal wrongs as a hook to get people in and get them in a frame of mind so they'll listen to the ideological stuff, and educate them from there so they know why all this has happened.
Has anyone besides me noticed that "democracy" generally boils down to being a good sport and letting the rich people win all the time? And not wiring a bomb to their ignition when you catch them cheating?
National Socialism is a modern, evolving system of ethics and beliefs that you carry in your heart and live your daily life by, not a Halloween party or some queer Jew's S&M fantasy. Although Adolf Hitler and the NSDAP did resurrect some symbolism from our people's proud and glorious past and culture, German National Socialism was a dynamic movement with its eyes fixed firmly on the future, not a re-enacting society dressing in the costumes of the previous century. The goal of the National Socialist party was "Tomorrow the World", not "Yesterday the World". "Heute da hoert uns Deutschland, und Morgen die ganze Welt" (Today Germany Listens to us, tomorrow the whole world)
As both a fourth generation National Socialist whose great-grandfathers fought in the First Great Fratricidal War and marched in the streets of the post-war Weimar "Juden Republik" (Jewish Republic) and the fragments of Imperial Austria with Adolf Hitler and the original National Socialist Party, and a Second Generation American National Socialist whose parents were followers of Commander Rockwell, and myself became a dedicated National Socialist at 6 years old (a sudden and violent influx of savage ghetto niggers in one's first grade class will do that to anyone with an average or above intelligence), nobody loves the old uniforms, flags, symbols, and other remnants of past glory more than I do. I still have my grandfather's German uniform from 1939 hanging in the closet, and wore a brown shirt and swastika armband (hand sewed it myself) in the early 1970's, but my current Nazi uniform is my White skin, and depending on the occasion a suit and tie or jeans, work shirt, and work boots.
As a decent, intelligent, functional 48 year old White male single parent living in 2006 California, I really have no desire to keep reliving the mistakes of the past. Nor do I really want anything to do with those so stupid or delusional that they are unable to come to terms with reality and cut loose with the millstone of the past that is dragging them down. The future isn't made by clowns or targets.
National Socialism is a revolutionary movement, not a costume party. You can tell real National Socialists by how they live and act, not what they wear. Jesus' description of the Jewish forces of evil and darkness also holds true, in the opposite way, for the forces of good and light: "By their works shall ye know them".
Keep up the good work, old comrade, and never lose faith in yourself or the noble goals you have dedicated your life to. The Fuehrer and the Commander would be proud of you.
Good points, Harold. We need to keep them in mind. As the Fuhrer himself said in one of his famous speeches, the NSDAP (or in our case, the NPA), must be "supple and adaptable in its tactics." Rockwell even said, also in a speech, that he'd be "out there with a gun" if he though violent revolution would work. Well, if the Commander rose from the grave tomorrow and saw the current state of things, I'm sure he'd do just that. It's just a question of how. The Irish method did work. I still think Guevara's book Guerrilla Warfare is worth reading, even if he was a Commie and failed in Bolivia. 88! Terry P. S. My wife and I went on a bus tour of County Galway when we were in Ireland a few years ago. They drove us by the bridge from that John Wayne movie you mentioned.
As I mentioned earlier, in relation to the recent fracas in Toledo, I got a Bronx cheer from a Dutch uncle (how's that for mixed metaphors?) to the effect that I have lost my soul and am no longer my dear old Nazi self, having been corrupted by kosher nationalism or nationalist conservatism or whatever, and generally gone soft. This comrade wanted to know where was the good old Harold who stepped out on Daley Plaza in '78 proudly wearing the Swastika, etc.?
Oh, he's still around. Look, folks, let me make one thing crystal clear. I am a National Socialist, just as much so now as I was then, and that's not going to change. You may either believe this or not, as you choose.
I am not, however, quite so old a dog as to be completely unable to learn new tricks, and I have always been capable of re-thinking and re-assessing the strategic and tactical situation, and changing my views accordingly. Damned slowly, to be sure--one of the genuine arguments against me as a Fearless Leader, which needless to say none of the Goat Dancers have sufficient intelligence or depth of insight to make, is that I'm a slow learner in some areas.
The essence of what all too many people consider "true National Socialism" is a slavish imitation of the tactics, organization, and outward appearance of the NS Kampfzeit of 1920-1933 in Weimar Germany. That epic adventure is an incredibly heroic saga of our Folk, and I in fact revere it so much that my next REAL novel, if I ever get the time and resources to write one, would quite possibly be set during the Kampfzeit. I have always wanted to do a fictional tribute to the Germans; I am not quite sure why I've never gotten around to it. Inspiration is an odd thing. You can't just turn it on and off like a faucet.
In any event, this gets back to the idea that it is possible to base a revolution, any revolution, on a previously successful one. Wellllll...I don't completely rule this out, but it's only partially true. Che Guevara found out that the tactics that worked a treat in Cuba in 1958, laid a goose egg in Bolivia nine years later. The Shining Path learned the hard way that modern-day Peru is not China in the late 1940s. Going back even farther, the gallant, heroic and utterly incompetent Jacobites learned the hard way they were living in the eighteenth century, not the fifteenth century of the Wars of the Roses, and purely dynastic military adventurism was a non-starter. (Harold lapses muttering into esoteric historical digressions...)
The brutally inescapable fact is that the tactics of the 1930s are no longer relevant to much of anything in today's world. Not even so much any more in the field of propaganda; Hitler and Mussolini never had television and the internet. It has taken me way, way too long to learn this, but what can I tell you? We have to stop trying to reproduce what Hitler did down to the last brown shirt. His situation was sui generis to his time. That was seventy years ago, and the clock can't be turned back.
If for no other reason, the difference in the sheer size of territory rules out an NSDAP style mass movement. 1930s Germany was a small (by comparison) territory connected by a superb mass public transportation system. The SA moved mostly by train, and it was not uncommon for an SA troop to attend three or four events per weekend in several German cities. We have to try and get our people to drive 1500 miles to attend a single "rally." Ask Billy Roper how this is working out.
That having been said, I do believe that with intelligent study and analysis, it IS in fact possible to draw certain general parallels between the present American situation and a FEW--not all--revolutionary situations which have existed over the past 100 years.
Has anyone besides myself noticed that most modern, successful insurrectionary movements--including the coming insurgent victory in Iraq--have been colonial wars, the object of which is to remove an occupying power from a finite piece of geography by making, not the generals, but the accountants surrender?
Now, another thing. Believe it or not, I'm not a complete idiot. (Yes, really.) I understand that the situation regarding freedom of expression in America has deteriorated drastically since 9/11 and there are certain topics which are now off limits for public discussion because they will bring the crash of a kicked-in door in the pre-dawn hours. This means that the entire topic of how to bring about racial and social change in America cannot be seriously discussed, when any mention of what would have to be done is likely to bring a prison sentence. Those of you who have read my Northwest independence novels know how I have handled this problem. It has worked thus far, and kept me tapping away at this keyboard; how long it will continue to work is anyone's guess. I'm sure that "my attitude has been noted" in the bowels of power.
But I will say this. I believe that, within certain parameters and with a firm recognition of the historical and cultural differences involved, the model we need to be looking at is not Weimar Germany--but IRELAND. Especially the 1916-1923 period, as opposed to the 1968-1998 period. In addition to being very impolitic, it would require an essay of daunting length for me to explain in detail why I believe that this is a far more applicable and adaptable "business plan" than that used in Germany. I will say that this is a conclusion I have reached after many years of study and personal, first-hand observation.
And before I start getting e-mail after e-mail howling with outrage from the U. K., yes, I know the Provos are Communists! I lived there, remember? I lost my business in Dublin to the bastards. Believe me, I know. I am talking about a purely objective and disinterested study of a strategic political model for change.
I would, however, like to suggest the following resources. For those of you who still read books:
The Irish War of Independence by Michael Hopkinson The I.R.A. by Tim Pat Coogan Any one of half a dozen good bios of Eamon De Valera or Michael Collins My Fight for Irish Freedom by Dan Breen On Another Man's Wound by Ernie O'Malley
For those of you, mostly younger people who, through no fault of your own, have grown up in 20th century America and gone to public schools and who therefore have difficulty with attention span and reading a block of type for content, go to Blockbuster and rent the movie Michael Collins.
Other good movies about The Troubles are out there, but mostly in the U. K. and very hard to get over here. You'd probably have to buy the DVDs from obscure sources on line. If you have that kind of money for old rope, then Harry's Game, Cal, and The Price aren't bad. The Year of the French was good but it's about the 1798 rebellion, so it's not too applicable to 2005. There is an old version of The Informer from the 1940s with Victor McLaglen which was great; it's probably floating around on some DVD oldies collection.
Americans have a very simplistic view of Ireland and their movies on the subject aren't anywhere near as good, although I recently saw The Devil's Own and it wasn't too bad. Ryan's Daughter is nyeh, although it does star the youthful tits of Sarah Miles, and for sheer novelty, there's Robert Mitchum playing a mild-mannered Irish schoolteacher. Actually, my favorite of all American movies about Ireland is The Quiet Man, but that's not an Irish movie, it's a John Wayne movie.
Anyway, I'm lapsing into senile babble about movies, so I'll wind this up. Just to re-iterate: I'm just as much National Socialist as I always was. But the fact is that times have changed and we no longer have the luxury of not changing with them.
From the fascist poet and genius Ezra Pound -- who was sent to the insane asylum for broadcasting for Mussolini, and who was finally released thanks to the intervention of his acolytes including Robert Frost and T.S. Elliot. Let these stanzas comfort those of us who are in this struggle. - Ité
Go my songs, seek your praise from the young and from the intolerant. Move among the lovers of perfection alone. Seek ever to stand in the hard Sophoclean light And take your wounds from it gladly.
O helpless few in my country, O remnant enslaved! Artists broken against her, A-stray, lost in the villages, Mistrusted, spoken-against, Lovers of beauty, starved, Thwarted with systems, Helpless against the control; You who can not wear yourselves out By persisting to successes, You can only speak, Who can not steel yourselves into reiteration; You of the finer sense, Broken against false knowledge, You who know at first hand, Hated, shut in, mistrusted: Take thought: I have weathered the storm, I have beaten out my exile.
He managed to outlive about 97 young English soldiers, who died in Iraq. Last Australian WWI Veteran Dies at 106 By MIKE CORDER, Associated Press Writer Tue Oct 18,12:23 AM ET
SYDNEY, Australia - The last Australian veteran to see active service in World War I has died at age 106, government officials said Tuesday.
William Evan Allan enlisted in the Royal Australian Navy at the outbreak of the war when he was just 14. He served as a seaman on the HMAS Encounter from 1915 to 1918.
"With his passing, we have lost an entire generation who left Australia to defend our nation, the British Empire and other nations in the cause of freedom and democracy," Veteran Affairs Minister De-Anne Kelly said in a statement.
"Mr. Allan was just a boy when he went to war, much younger than most. His sacrifice is remembered and we honor him for his service," she said.
Allan, born in the southeastern town of Bega in July 1899 and a resident of Melbourne, also was Australia's sole surviving veteran of both world wars. In World War II, Allan served on an armed merchant cruiser and as pier master of a naval base.
He died Monday night, Kelly said. The cause of death was not disclosed.
Allan sailed in the Pacific and Indian oceans escorting troop ship convoys. His ship, the Encounter, also took part in the search for the German raider Wolf, which caused havoc with Allied shipping in the region, the statement said.
He served in the Royal Australian Navy for 34 years, retiring in 1947 with the rank of lieutenant, before becoming a farmer.
John Campbell Ross, 106, a wireless operator who enlisted in 1918 while Australia was still involved in the war but never left Australia is now considered Australia's only surviving World War I veteran, Kelly said.
Allan was survived by his daughter and two grandchildren. Authorities in Victoria state said he would be given a state funeral, but no date was immediately set.
When I was a young man I carried my pack And I lived the free life of the rover. From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in nineteen-fifteen my country said, "Son, It's time to stop ramblin' there's work to be done." So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun, And they sent me away to the war.
And the band played "Waltzing Matilda" As the ship pulled away from the quay. And amid all the cheers, flag wavin' and tears We sailed off for Gallipoli.
How I remember that terrible day When the blood stained the sand and the water. And how in that hell that they called Souvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was ready, oh he primed himself well. He rained us with bullets and he showered us with shell. And in five minutes flat we were all blown to Hell, Nearly blew us back home to Australia.
And the band played "Waltzing Maltilda" As we stopped to bury our slain. We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs, Then we started all over again.
Those who were living just tried to survive In that mad world of blood, death, and fire. And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive, While around be the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head, And when I awoke in my hospital bed, And saw what it had done, well I wished I was dead. Never knew there were worse things than dying.
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda, All around the green bush far and near. For to hump tent and pegs a man needs both legs... No more waltzing Matilda for me.
They collected the wounded, the crippled, the maimed, And they shipped us back home to Australia. The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane - Those proud, wounded heroes of Souvla.
And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay, I looked at the place where my legs used to be, And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me To grieve, and to mourn, and to pity.
And the band played "Waltzing Matilda" As they carried us down the gangway. But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared, Then they turned all their faces away.
Now every April I sit on my porch As I watch the parade pass before me. And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march, Reliving their dreams of past glory.
I see the old men, all tired, stiff and sore, The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war. And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?" And I ask myself the same question.
And the band plays "Waltzing Matilda" And the old men still answer the call. But year after year, the numbers get fewer - Someday no one will march there at all. "Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?" And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong, "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?"
I. COVINGTON'S PARADOX - The Cause is so right. The people in it are so wrong.
II. COVINGTON'S COROLLARY - Just because the people in it are so wrong, does not mean the Cause isn't right.
III. COVINGTON'S COMPLAINT - I can find a thousand men who would fight and die for the Northwest Republic. I can't find ten who will work for it.
IV. COVINGTON'S CODICIL - The revolution will be made by men who live with one half hour's drive of one another.
And the newest:
V. COVINGTON'S CONDITION - I can get more work done and accomplish more in six hours of sitting face to face, or side by side at a computer with someone, than I can accomplish in six months on the internet with that same person.
I notice that CNN's casualty counter is stuck on 1,974 American dead in Iraq, and their casualty site hasn't been updated for a week. Looks like they're waiting for some distraction so they can slip dead GI number 2,000 in under the wire with as little fanfare as possible. Speaking of stuck, I notice that Blogspot didn't post my article of yesterday on our newest Homeland migrant, although it shows on my edit screen here. Sometimes this Blogspot site does weird things. I'll see if I can get it visible for you.
Just about 2 weeks and we will be in Medford. I've wanted to move out of CA for about 10 years now. I have to give a lot of credit to Jenny, my wife. She actually was the logistical planner, the "mover and shaker" for this move. I tend to procrastinate. Medford is about 88% White(non-Hispanic) according to all the demographics I have seen, and from what I have perosnally seen while there, this is true. Actually every time I've been there, I have seen almost no nonwhites. This is much better than Fresno, which is only about 20% white.
Have you gotten many people to move up there yet? I'd like direction from you. What should I do when I get there?
-Ken [Ken - The Northwest Migration Handbook is coming, although I don't know when I'll get any money to print even a few copies. Yeah, I know, I've been saying it's been coming for months now. What can I tell you? Nothing can be done without money. - HAC]
I finally started a blog--I am going to use it to put up the tremendous amount of NS oriented essays that I've grabbed over the years, many from the old Folk and Fatherland site years ago. I'd also like to put your NS essays up there--let me know if that's OK.
Go check it out--you can pass on the link anywhere you want.
Okay, the NPA Supporter forms finally went into the mail today. If you have been able to summon the courage to give me a postal address, you've got one coming. If you're still hiding behind your computer screen and your MightyAryanWarrior@chickenshit.com e-mail address, you don't.
Look, whatever we may babble to one another on the internet or post to those lunatic Yahoo groups, I think we all know deep down that this Northwest Migration thing is pretty much our last chance. Yes, we do. If we don't make this work, 100 years from now every biped crawling around this continent is going to have skin the color of diarrhea.
The National Alliance is gone, and nothing comparable is on the horizon, nor will be. The Weenie isn't going to cut it and I don't know anyone who seriously thinks he will--I mean, the guy posts pictures of himself on his website in his underwear, for crying out loud.
VNN? Jesus Christ on a raft! How can you have a White Nationalist organization run by a self-admitted alcoholic, a miscegenator with non-White children, and an informer who publicly testified against our old leaders in two death penalty trials, and who then spent a dozen years in the Federal Witness Protection Program? The mind truly boggles!
Leaving aside the legion of character issues besetting David Duke, and the possibility that those videotapes aren't just internet bullshit and really do exist, the fact is that he's just running laps, and it's pretty obvious to everyone that's all he's ever going to do.
Northwest Migration is it. There isn't anything else. If this fails, then the next stop is Mad Max the Road Warrior, and frankly, given the present state of the White male character I don't think we'd even be able to do anything with a scenario like that. People who won't pass out a leaflet and who won't give up the price of a twelve-pack of cheap domestic beer once a month for a legal organization aren't going to suddenly rise up like Thor the Thunder God and smite the monkoid. You don't make Road Warriors out of Simpson-esque Comic Book Guys.
There are those among us who claim to believe that "the balloon has to go up" before any kind of serious movement for White survival is possible. Frankly, I think that's just an increasingly lame excuse for the fact that everybody is simply too damned terrified to come out from their computers and try again in the real world. Or too damned lazy. It is always easy to find some justification for doing NOTHING. If we're ever going to quit that shit we need to do it now, because the bell has rung, and we're out of time.
We shouldn't be starting over again from scratch in the year 2005, but we are. We have to play the cards we're dealt, and these are the cards we've been dealt. Let's see what we can do with them.
City education officials are investigating the claims of a pair of boys from Oklahoma who moved to Brooklyn to experience diversity, and instead say they got schooled in racism and violence.
Mom Lisa Brown, 33, told the Daily News she relocated her family from their small Oklahoma town so her husband, a Brooklyn native and social worker, could more easily find work and her sons could experience different people and ways of life.
Brown enrolled her sons, Sloan, 12, and J.T., 13, at Ebbets Field Middle School in Crown Heights. But when the boys, who are white, showed up, their mom said, they got a chilling indication of what was to come.
"Oh my gosh, we are going to have fun this year," a security guard muttered, according to Brown.
Things quickly got worse.
Sloan was beaten mercilessly, called "cracker" and "white boy," and chased into traffic by his new classmates, his family said.
The abuse got so bad that Sloan routinely bolted out of the building to find his brother and run to a nearby subway, dodging verbal and physical attacks, he said.
"It almost makes me cry," Sloan said. "I'm scared to go back."
The brothers skipped school all last week while their parents tried to sort out the mess.
"Do I have to send the National Guard in to get my children an education?" asked the distraught mom.
When Brown tried to alert Principal Marge Baker to the abuse, "the principal refused to take the calls," she charged.
Brown filed several police reports at the 71st Precinct stationhouse about the alleged abuse, but said she was ignored.
Police sources said precinct cops did take the incident seriously but believe school staff are in a better position to deal with what appeared to be a series of schoolyard fights and bullying.
The boys' stepfather, Ken Brown, requested a transfer for the boys on Sept. 28, but Education Department officials noted he can't seek the change because he is not a custodial parent.
Eventually, the fedup mom went to nearby Elijah Stroud Middle School to transfer her sons there, but said the principal told her: "They'll have the same problem here."
Education officials promised to help the Browns - after being contacted by The News.
"The principal was not sufficiently attentive to this situation," the Education Department said in a statement. "Upon learning of the situation, the region is taking immediate action to arrange a transfer for these children.
"We will fully investigate what happened, including whether racist statements, which are not tolerated, were made and take appropriate action."
Brown said the Education Department called her several times over the weekend, after The News made queries, pledging to get the kids into Elijah Stroud and chastising her for calling in the press.
Despite the principal's warning, Lisa agreed to send her boys to Elijah Stroud tomorrow.
"I'll make sure my kids are safe because it is the school system's job to make sure they are," she said.
For Sloan and J.T., escaping Ebbets Field Middle School will be a relief. The school opened in September as one of the city's many new small schools, with plans to "become the crown jewel" of Crown Heights, according to the Education Department Web site.
The Browns said their ethnically and racially diverse neighbors in Prospect Heights have embraced them, and they thought New York was "the greatest place on Earth" - until they started battling the school system.
"I was excited to expose my children to a complete variety of people," Lisa Brown said. "I thought it would be an advantage. I always told my children that children could be cruel - but not to this extent."
* * * * Northwest American Republic. An idea whose time has come.
"We live in an age of apologies. Apologies, False or true, are expected from the descendants of Empire builders, slave owners and persecutors of heretics, and from men who, in our eyes, just got it all wrong. So, with the age of 85 coming up shortly, I want to make an apology. It appears I must apologise for being male, white, and European."
Hi. Hope you're well. I just wanted to drop you a short letter that I received your latest mailing about Leaderless Resistance. Thank you.
We've been locked down for five days, and I had the time to finish "A Mighty Fortress." If I were alone and did not have a "cellie" I would have wept. There were several places in "A Mighty Fortress" that wrought such deep emotions in my heart that I had to put it down to keep from crying.
I know it's a thankless job you do, but I thank you for your tireless effort.
Serving Yahweh, Race, and Truth Bruce
Bruce Carroll Pierce #04181-085 U.S.P. Allenwood P. O. Box 3000 White Deer, PA. 17887
In one of my recent ravings, I made a snide remark about those "comrades" among us who constantly drop these portentous hints about how they're involved in all kinds of mysterious, deep, and of course oh-so-secret resistance activity against ZOG.
We've all run across this phenomenon on occasion, I'm sure. It's always imparted with a nudge and a wink, hint-hint, forefingers to lips, etc. The gist of this canard is that there is supposedly this big hidden White underground that is doing all kinds of neat stuff, including in some versions of the story waging full-scale guerrilla warfare, "but we never hear anything about it because the Jew media suppresses it."
Of course, participation in this big secret movement necessitates that these people must "keep a low profile." Like leaderless resistance, their participation in all this super-secret anti-ZOG activity that no one ever hears about justifies their reluctance to do anything which might involve even a modicum of risk or public identification as a racist, never mind paying ten dollars a month in dues on a regular basis to a dreary, pedestrian organized group conducting legal activity, or attending meetings, or passing out leaflets, or slowly educating and recruiting others, all that basic and boring stuff.
In my article I made it fairly clear that I take a rather skeptical view of this claim. Subsequently, a comrade posted to the Truth Commission Yahoo group and asked if I genuinely believed that no one at all was really engaged in secret resistance.
I was on the verge of sending him a snappy "No such animule! What we see is what we got, God help us!" But after some thought I realized the issue is a lot more complicated than that, and sufficiently important to merit a longer and serious examination.
I suppose in a sense this "secret resistance" thing is another manifestation of our longing to find some way to fast forward the tape and skip over the boring yet dangerous, hard parts where the hill seems to be too steep and the heavy lifting has to be done. The stage the NPA is in now. We do SO long to find that fast-forward button and skip to the fun parts with the long columns of Stormtroopers marching down the streets, or things going boom in the night. (By the by, if you do want to indulge in a little fast-forward or two, may I suggest my Northwest independence novel trilogy?)
First off, is there really any serious, real-world (i.e. non-internet) underground resistance against this tyranny going on that the Jewish media allegedly suppresses?
Well, I suppose it's possible. It's also theoretically possible that in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter there is a small planetoid comprised entirely of chocolate cake. The existence of either of these things cannot be DIS-proven, so there is always a remote chance that they might exist. But the probability is against it.
Leaving aside the high degree of unlikelihood that we as a community have the sheer necessary competence to conduct a serious, secret resistance movement, let's look first at this notion of "the Jew media suppresses the news" of this alleged movement's activities.
We have seen the hysteria with which the Jewish media has reacted to the most trivial cases of alleged "terrorism." Some sad little Apu convenience store owner in Oregon or Detroit goes back home to Pakistan or Oman or someplace for a visit to relatives, and this allegedly becomes "terrorist training in an Al Qaeda training camp." He and three or four of his brown buddies are dragged away in the middle of the night, and the FBI is always accompanied by Fox News. (Has anyone besides myself noticed that there have been NO actual Muslim attacks at all inside the United States since 9/11? Only alleged "conspiracies" which are conveniently infiltrated and broken up by the FBI before any damage to the System is actually done? Now, where have we seen this pattern before?)
Anyone with a White skin pops a single round at anyone with a dark skin, and CNN and Fox News have their flavor du jour. Never mind Morris Dees,who will have a fund-raising field day with it. (Do we really believe Morris Dees would agree to keep silent about any real, secret evil racist conspiracy he could use to get at those little old black ladies' life savings?) Back in cable news' infancy, we saw the massive publicity and twenty-four hour coverage in the weeks after Oklahoma City, whoever was behind that. We saw the sound and fury after that faggot Matthew Shepherd got strung up on the barbed wire in Wyoming in what appears actually to have been a drug deal gone bad. Ditto the Jasper, Texas nigger-dragging incident. At least one whole movie was made about that one. Buford Furrow and Ben Smith listening to the voices in their head still pop up to this day on the regular shows about "hate," the news media are so desperate to get air time off evil White supremacists. The incredible thing about the coverage of so-called "hatecrimes" is that there are so few of them, considering what we have to put up with.
I went through Greensboro, and I can tell you how the news media react if there is so much as a hint of armed White resistance. One White man fires a single round and you've got camera crews crawling up your ass looking for just this kind of so-called "secret underground." Ditto the cops and Feebs. To the very end of the three trials, after losing three in a row, the government and the Reds still kept trying to "prove" that Greensboro was the result of some deep, dark conspiracy. Do you think if there really was any such thing, the media wouldn't have uncovered it and splattered it all over the television screen by now?
Hell, I actually tried to start one such underground movement once. Remember the National Socialist Brotherhood and The Book? I still get requests for the printed version of The Book, since it has a Swastika on it and can take pride of place in those secret, concealed caches of literature so many middle-aged men keep hidden away in their basement rec rooms. But I have never seen any sign at all that anyone actually took the NSB concept seriously or tried to implement anything in The Book.
The slightest tinge of racial element or "hate" in the most squalid non-racial incident provides grist for the Jewish propaganda mill. At least once a year we see how the Jewsmedia react to any genuine act of violent or armed resistance to Political Correctness, no matter how spontaneous and drunken it may be. They can't stop screaming hatecrime for weeks. Do you really believe that if there were any organized White underground that was actually doing anything besides tapping on computer keyboards, the Jewish media would "suppress it?" The government would "suppress it?" No. In this climate today, if one of our people were to pop off a single bomb, the media would be all over it and Congress would be rushed back into session to pass more draconian laws taking away what little remains of our Constitutional rights.
Secondly--if any such thing existed, do any of us seriously believe that we have the ability to keep something like that a secret? The Movement was alive with rumors about the Order all throughout 1983 and 1984. If nothing else, the drunken Glenn Miller was babbling about it all over the show and "recruiting" (so he said) for this new secret underground army. I know because he wrote me a letter and asked me to come back from Ireland to join, as well as at least one other person of my acquaintance.
In the spring and summer of 1994 I was pestered with demands to join the "Aryan Revolutionary Army" (ARA) from this one Induhvidual who, of course, mysteriously disappeared when everybody got arrested. If this Induhvidual was babbling to me about the ARA on the phone and on paper, then you know he was babbling to others.
Finally, if any such secret underground does exist, my question is this: when are we going to see some kind of real-world results of all this secret activity? By results I don't mean articles posted to the internet, I mean some kind of actual, physical damage to the enemy? Some restraint on the United States government's ability to do harm? Regime change in Washington? Some kind of genuine re-empowerment of this country's White majority? (We forget, we are in fact still a majority, although not for long unless we get our act together.) When are we going to see fewer niggers in our streets and hear less Spanish and Third World gabblegabblegabble in our grocery stores? When are our soldiers coming home from Iraq? When will Israel be told, "You're on your own, Jew-boys!" and left to scimitar of Arab justice? When will we see faggots and nigger-screwing White sluts dangling from lamp posts and former FBI agents breaking rocks on a chain gang to atone for their crimes? When will there be any actual change resulting from all this "secret resistance?"
Next week? Next month? Next year? Five years from now? Ten? When?
Okay, all that having been said--I am quite willing to believe that some of us do occasionally engage in acts of what the environmentalists call "monkeywrenching," which in our context usually means playing pranks on niggers or Jews. Sometimes these pranks can go very bad. Ask Alex Curtis; he ended up doing three years for putting a dead snake in a Jew's mailbox. I myself have been known to monkeywrench. I will give you an example of what I mean.
When I was working in Raleigh, and I was young enough so that I could still be placed in white-collar employment, I used to do a lot of office work for temp agencies, basically correcting the screw-ups of the affirmative action negresses and women who have more or less taken over all the administrative and office jobs in this country. I was on several occasions offered what amounted to "permanent temp" work--I could stay as long as I wanted working for the temp agency and getting my little paper signed every week by some child young enough to be my daughter so I could get paid, but I would never be actually hired on by the company and get such things as medical insurance, retirement benefits, etc. Even then, affirmative action and "diversity" ruled with an iron hand.
In 1987 and 1988 I ended up doing about a six-month stint at a very large mortgage company in Raleigh, which was affiliated with a very large bank, which may or may not still exist if it hasn't been bought out by some huge international conglomerate like most banks have. As per usual, my job essentially consisted of checking the negresses' and the little White girls' work and correcting things like spelling errors, re-adding their figures, etc. This was for mortgage and lien documents, courthouse stuff, legal things that had to be right. The little White girls developed a habit of coming to me to help them with certain mathematical calculations that had to be done manually, because the word went out that I had gone to public school in the 1960s back when they still taught long division and how to multiply fractions, and I knew how to do these things. Most of these girls had two-year degrees at least from local tech and business schools, but they couldn't do long division.
There was one department manager there, a negress whom I will call Sheba, on the wild off chance that this story might come back to bite me after almost twenty years. You never know. Sheba was affirmative action personified, a very black-skinned monkoid, completely incompetent at her job, which I expected and could handle--one never expects genius in congoids--but she was as ugly as home-made sin and vicious with it. She bullied and hectored and harassed and insulted and lorded it over all the little White girls in the department. (Fortunately for me, I worked for another department, although on the same floor, so I got a first-hand look at how she operated.) She filled those girls' lives with stress and humiliation and bullying arrogance, in some cases making them quit because they were too frightened and upset to come in to work. Her favorite coup that always made her day was when she could send some White girl running into the bathroom crying.
I noticed that Sheba pointedly avoided having anyone in her department who wasn't 20 years younger; a White woman her own age, versed in the arcane world of office politics, with a few years of seniority under her belt would have known how to fight back. She was obviously one of those affirmative action negresses whose whole pride and joy in life is getting put into a position of power over Whites and taking out her own inferiority and bestial hatred on young girls who were what she could never be.
I saw all this, and I was of course completely powerless to fight back, which is one of the most frustrating and enraging things about life as a White male in this society--one's inability to protect White children and women from the ravages of the beasts of the field. I think it's this sense of helplessness, more than anything else, that drives White men to drink and madness of the kind we see on the internet. Sheba was of course the prime topic of discussion in the break room. Like most White males, I sat and listened and like the noble lord in Macbeth, I "said the less but thought the more."
I got fairly friendly with my own manager, a White woman, and I asked her about the situation once. She shrugged and said, "Yeah, she's a bad bitch and we get complaints every week, all of which go right into File 13. She's black and she's female, which makes her an affirmative action twofer, and if we lifted one finger against her we'd have the NAACP and the News and Observer all over our ass. About the best thing I can tell you is she's never getting promoted any higher, but unless she really, really fucks up bad on something she's staying where she is until the cows come home, and she's just smart enough and knows her job well enough so that she is not going to make the kind of really massive screw-up that would be required before we could deep-six her. Nothing we can do, Harold. Sorry."
Ah, but not always. Every now and then, I think the gods have just had enough. They decided that in this one case, I would be allowed a slight ration of justice and karmic balance. Attend.
About a year after that, I was back at that mortgage company--as a security guard, that last-ditch, most bottom rung of employment for White males who have failed to apply their lips in the prescribed manner to Jewish buttocks, or otherwise blotted their copybooks. On night duty, no less. It was just a temporary job replacing one guard who was out injured for a few weeks, so I knew I wasn't going to be there permanently. I saw Sheba coming in and out of the building, and I realized that she didn't recognize me. I guess all us White boys look alike. And at night, in the wee hours of the morning, I got to stroll around all the floors and all the offices and cubicles, guarding the sinews of capitalism from the forces of evil. All on my own. Including Ms. Sheba's office.
Now, remember, I had worked there for many months and I knew the paperwork system. I knew what documents in a mortgage loan file were absolutely essential, and I knew that Sheba's desk was the last stop before a mortgage on somebody's house could be closed, and closing dates had usually been set. Once they got there, Sheba was responsible for giving the final okay to the lender and real estate agent the next morning by fax. Put bluntly, I was in the unique position of knowing exactly how to fuck that bullying nigger bitch up right-wise. Sometimes, it all does come together.
Over a period of several weeks, certain documents disappeared from the files in Sheba's in-box. Not too many. Not every night. But enough to generate some very pissed-off home buyers and bankers. I think the gremlins ate them, or maybe they somehow fell into the shredding machine six floors below in the basement.
A few months later, I ran into one of the girls who worked there and we chatted. I asked casually about Sheba. "Oh, she got fired, finally!" the girl said enthusiastically. "We don't know what the story is, we just came in one morning and her office was empty. It's so much nicer a place to work now she's gone!"
Now, my point is--that kind of secret resistance, yes. I'm sure that goes on in a thousand different ways all across Amurrica.
But the thing is that it's time we moved beyond mere expressions of personal pique, merely playing pranks on niggers. The White man has to have a open, avowedly political goal and at least a few organizations which advocate and advance that goal.
The days when revolution could be brought about by a handful of conspirators whispering around a guttering candle in a deserted ruin at midnight are long gone. Today it takes organization, discipline, and enough money to choke an elephant. And that's just in the first, legal stage.
It's time we started seeing some change. It's time we started seeing thingshappen somewhere outside the flickering screen of a personal computer. We've been goofing off and half-stepping and hanging back for fifty years now, petrified with fear for our own safety. So long as our first concern is to protect ourselves and not our people, so long as our primary consideration is for our own identities to remain hidden and save our own skins, we are never going to take the kind of risks necessary to bring about change. Somehow or other, we have acquired this completely mistaken notion that there can be such a thing as risk-free revolution. That's ridiculous, and we have to dump this idea. Duty requires courage, and part of that courage is the willingness to stand up and make yourself a target for the enemy bullets. Not stupidly, not rashly, but with thought and planning.
Yes, it is perfectly acceptable to fire at the enemy from a prone position. That's just common sense. But firing also means that to at least some extent, you're going to draw fire. It is not acceptable to cower down in a foxhole and not even peep up long enough to get off a shot.
Guys, I'm sorry. There just isn't any alternative to standing up and being counted, to joining an org and paying dues, to taking risks, to letting the enemy and our friends as well see our faces. We've tried "leaderless resistance," and it turned out to be all leaderless and no resistance.
If you are of a conspiratorial bent, you may claim that the Illuminati et. al. carried out a secret revolution over centuries. Well, maybe so, but we're not Jews. Aryans don't have the financial resources or the moral character to behave in that manner; it's not in our racial genes.
Let's get on with it.
Northwest American Republic--An Idea Whose Time Has Come.
The bodies are piling up. The official count of American dead in Iraq is heading towards 2,000 GI corpses, and will most likely pass that point during the latest "offensive" in Al Anbar, the latest futile attempt to sweep back the ocean with a broom. Afghanistan is still contributing it's stream to the river of blood as well--five more dead over there in the Forgotten War this week. More important are the almost 20,000 wounded from Iraq. I'll give that Bakelite and kevlar body armor one thing: it does work, and it prevents the kind of torso wounds that are instantly fatal. But now we've got a massive amount of wounded men, many of whom are missing limbs. I remember my grandparents talking about the old men they used to see on the courthouse square in Reidsville with arms and legs missing from Chickamauga and Gettysburg. The future of America may be about the same, with masses of limbless veterans begging homeless on the streets after the VA collapses completely, which is in the cards.
Damn. Missed two whole days this time. Guys, I'm serious. I am starting to build up some kind of mental block about posting to this blog, because I feel so restrained. I am really, really getting sick of posting news commentary that simply states and restates the obvious. There are things that we urgently need to be talking about which I am forbidden to discuss, either out of fear of the Patriot Act and other post-9/11 government censorship laws, or else the pressure within the Movement to pretend that the thousand-pound elephant in our parlor doesn't exist. I am starting to wonder what would happen if I just plain let it all hang out and for once, said what I want to say. In today's world and today's Movement that is held to be suicidal. But would it be? I'm not that big a fish. Surely the Feds can afford to ignore me a while longer. And as for my so-called "comrades" in the Movement, they've been ignoring me for years, when they're not spitting on me. Why should I be so tender about their feelings? Like Oscar Wilde said, "I can resist anything but temptation..."
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I know, I'm starting to miss days and cuff the days I do post by re-posting old stuff on the blog. Yadda yadda yadda. It's just that I find it increasingly difficult to sustain this rite-wing pretense that I am somehow accomplishing something by commenting on the obvious. Have you ever noticed how much of the right wing consists of nothing but that? Constantly re-posting and re-hashing items from the System news media that tell us things we all already know, or damned well ought to? We call it "education," and use it as an excuse to do nothing and continue to hide behind our computers, but precisely who the hell are we "educating?" Anyone who is visiting one of our web sites doesn't need to be "educated." The fact that he's on our site indicates that he knows what's what. White people aren't idiots. They know the racial score, perfectly well. They're just too chickenshit to stand up and fight with weapons in their hands against a bestial enemy that literally wants to eat their children. Remember, news commentary is the pablum of the right wing. There are men among us now who have made a living, and in some cases not too shabby a living, for all their adult lives by doing nothing but commenting on the obvious. Good example: all this sound and fury and hanna-hanna about New Orleans. "See! See! This proves that blacks are savages!" Well, duuuuuuuuh! Like we didn't already know this? Yeah, blacks are savage beasts who will never, ever be fit for civilized society. We get it, already! When are we going to do something about it, like making our own country for White people only?