There are precious few opportunities for White Men in The Atrophied West, to find “glory.” We’ve long suppressed the Berserker Spirits, striving instead to be good little cogs, in some merciless gears, that grind us down like Tophet’s Tool. Can any of you imagine donning your armor, meeting on a cold battlefield, with an opposing army equally matched, knowing the odds were the best you could do was lose only one eye, one hand, and one leg?
The little 4 year old boy seemed to be more pained by my short illness than me (lasted about 36 hours, the Oil of Oregano worked wonders! Bottle said take 6 drops, I doubled it. My lips went completely numb, and my throat felt like I had drank lit kerosene!”). “Uncle AC, when can we go run again?” “Soon little man, meanwhile, go hit your heavy bag. Aunt Christine is going to take you running soon.” As the two ladies in my life fussed over me, gave me homeopathic cures, I thought of my Thuringian Ancestors, the battles, over 1000+ years. In the city of Lucka, over land squabbles between neighboring Kings. I keep thinking, “this is where I should have died, not here, with all the luxuries and pussy a man could want.
Have VERY consciously tried to deprecate the civilized man I was reared. Highly educated. Well born, with resources from generations of my Father’s side of the family, having done well economically in their enterprises. I thought about my life in executive roles in the Silicon Valley, working for companies whose politics were anathema to me, but I remained (mostly!) silent. Thought about the depredations committed against White Men, in my lifetime. And, still, I never sounded nor answered the Call to Arms.
Always wanted to die a “good death.” Not quite sure why. My Mother was strong as my Father disappeared somewhere over SE Asia, in the 1960’s and early ‘70’s. Often asked her, “what if they come and hand you a note, saying, Dad is dead?” “I would be proud of him. That’s why I married a real man. And you will not cry, boys don’t cry.” A true SheildMaiden, Mom sometimes watched me and my friends, as we set up targets, and knocked them down with our Winchester single shots. A few times, my friend’s Dads were out there to make sure we practiced good marksmanship, and tactical skills. But, Mom knew how to fire a gun, and if any nagger entered our house while Dad was off at war, he was going to get hit by us both.
Most of my life I was an inveterate “Capitalist.” Until realizing a decade ago, this was the flip side trick of the deceitful jew. Capitalism = Communism = Judaism. Sure, as a Man the competition of Capitalism won me over, but I think now of all the nights I was working at Dell until 10 PM, with a one hour drive home from Round Rock to Lakeway. All the cold dinners, Christine had spent hours preparing.
Have a lot of anger, now that I have both the time, and the means to gather up the trajectory of my life. Wearing suits to Dean’s Seminar at Rice University. As that fat fuck, Dean Benjamin Bailor, The Harvard educated, disgusting cretin telling us all about how we should work until we fell asleep, so that we could “get great jobs in this tough recession.” All faggotry. So, my language grows ever courser. My primordial and atavistic Berserker takes over. And this Creature inside of me is pure. I’m glad our mortal enemy, the jew, has no such creature. They are just rats, who plan ignoble events, poison wells, and despise Beauty.
I hope to die well. I hope there are other men like me, disgusted with “Civility.” Who place a good death, above a slow burn in the machine.
Once raced for the San Diego Bike Club. I missed the start of a Saturday ride, because my daughter was born the night prior! We got her home, unjabbed, untainted by modern “medicine.” Christine was so happy! So was I. “Go ride honey, we will be fine. See you soon! We did it!” I rode from Poway to Carlsbad, think I made it to Oceanside. Climbed the Poway Grade, and Mother Torrey, in Del Mar/La Jolla. I was in the greatest physical shape of my life, and I stopped to look at the Pacific Ocean. Tried to imagine our species gestating somehow, in this primordial and womb-like ocean. Felt small, and large.
Let’s go out like Berserkers. As my flesh rots, or my ashes float. I care not how they bury me, only that they say, “one tough motherfucker.”
Hail Victory. \o
👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 Beautifully written. Thank you!