“Cattle die, kinsmen die, we ourselves shall die, but the good name of he who earned it never dies.
Cattle die, kismen die, we ourselves shall die, I know a thing that never dies, and that is the judgement on each man dead.”
– Odin, from the Havamal
If I say to myself, “it would be better if I were never born,” or “it makes no difference if I live or die,” someone might tell me I am wrong. In my community, I serve a purpose. I am a member of a family that loves me. So, assuming I do get depressed, and assuming there are days where I am so tired I wish death would come, I can remind myself that my life has merit. This is because I have made strides to apply myself. Make no mistake, unconditional love is a lie. And, before you disparage me for my cynicism as the women do, that unconditional love is false in truth improves the weight of true love as it exists. The love for my wife is real because love is a battlefield, we have earned our positions, and our love is strong because it is forged in constant effort. I observe couples who quit easy or roll over and their lives are pathetic, like country music songs. But. I am cut from a different cloth. So are you, if you put your head and heart into it. In equal measure.
Despite the fact that I become discouraged, that I feel I have little merit, I know it is not so. Belief, you might not *believe* is a choice. Pascal spoke of this, from him we get the ‘leap of faith.’ I choose to believe my actions have merit, that my choices have been wise, and my insight is helpful. I believe because I have been told, I believe because I have seen evidence. This belief is afforded me because I have a network of support. Peradventure this were not so. Peradventure I had no community. Allow us a simulacrum whereupon at every road I took the road of least resistance. Let us say that at every opportunity I served my baser needs and avoided challenges. For whatever reason, let’s say that there is no one to vouch for me.
In this case, as this is not a suicide prevention hotline, it is true. My cynical quotes would bear weight. It would make no difference if I lived or died. Your wellbeing, like it or not, is derived from collectivism. Think about it. Even those dingbats that tell you how much they don’t need your opinion… are still telling you off. The individualists who preach their retard gospel are still feeding off the psychic energy of their hosts like despicable parasites. If they were honest, they would go be individuals, alone. We would never hear from them and then I could proudly claim they were swallowed by Schrodinger’s cat and turned into a steaming pile of you have toxxo.
Your name is who you are, in a sense. Our ancestors (assuming you are Celtic or Germanic) believed the name had weight beyond flesh. Today, your name, the collective sum of your relatable activities, is ever the more important. Especially in an age of flux and tumult where nothing is certain. Given the uncertainty of metaphysical beliefs such as an afterlife as opposed to after life, your time becomes all the more limited and therefore the only guarantee you have to survive yourself is in making a good name for yourself that people are going to want to remember.
Of course. In this modern world there is a fugue. The Irish romantics referred to it as a paralysis. Ever read ‘Waiting for Godot?’ Put this down, go there, do that, come back when you do. Not until. Go on. I’ll wait. That’s a lie. I’m not actually real. This “I” you’re being presented with is a piece of information rendered in your brain. You are incapable of appreciating the ego that produced this. Not to insult you, it is simply psycho-semantically possible unless you’ve been in my head. And you’ve not.
The “I” is a very plastic thing. This without speculating on the Soul Complex, the prospects for surviving yourself or how utterly awful this gay German house music is I’m listening to as I write you. That wasn’t meant as nihilism. Just an observation. I personally feel the prospects for “life” after death are viable because we have not conclusively defined “life” on earth. That is not the point here. Beliefs are that. Belief. Unsubstantiable. If they were concretely provable than they would be facts.
So there it is. Life is measured in meaning. Meaning is socially defined. Your deeds are what people remember. They might remember your thoughts. But only if you shared them. Your internal landscape is intrinsically worthless unless you formulaically share it. The man who speaks to no one, smokes his weed and plays his vidya, is worthless. He is worthless because his deeds are naught, his words have no weight. He is, in fact, a drain. He is breathing my son’s air. And mine. And my wife’s. Screw that guy. Or better still, drag him out into the daylight by his long hairs and force him to live. If he has a dram of sense he’ll thank you. If not, and I (almost) hate myself for saying it, but shove that nerd in a locker and cut off the money train. No more free lunch, no more good humour for folks that don’t deserve it.
Leben unwerte leben.
I have spoken no lie. You cannot prove me wrong, because if you try, you will call upon the words of someone spoken or writ large enough for you to read. This person has sold you a lie that you believed. After all, when they die, the do-nothings are forgotten. If anyone remembers them it was because they did something. Cattle die, kinsmen die. You’re going to die. So am I. As I write this, I’m in good shape. I’m smart. I’m strong. You want my intellectual pedigree? Read my blog. You want more? Join our Männerbund and come up and see me some time. My overhead press is 146 for reps, my deadlift is 411 for reps. My strength training is not limited to the basic compounds, I swing a Kettlebell that weighs 60lbs. If I wished to wax brutish, I could hold my own in a fight. If my incessant use of Anglo diplomacy fails and I hit you, I will hurt you. That’s not nothing. I can hike with the lot of them, I have superior lung capacity to less conditioned men ten years my junior. And I’m going to die. Maybe in sixty years, maybe in sixty minutes. The cauldron is calling us all, and we’re all going to be swallowed by the earth. If I live, my blonde hair turns grey, my blue eyes get dull. My strong arms lose their strength, my proud back gets a bend. And, death. My short little body that had good strength is going to become ashes, or worm food. Ded.
So. What are you gonna do about it? I hammer this away endlessly. I am sure by now my brothers are sick to their guts of hearing old Saxo tell them to get proud, get loud and get involved. But, you know, DO IT. If people aren’t talking about you, you’re doing something wrong. If your community doesn’t know your name, you’ve failed. If you leave no material legacy, you never existed. If you’re reading this, it’s not too late.
If you need ask, how, I’ll apologise first and answer second.
If you’re a dissident and you’re reading this, find and join a Männerbund. This gives you access to good men who can carry your name. Whatever you call yourself. Having trouble finding us? Make your own Männerbund. Do it. And then tell us all about it. We can have a picnic, it’ll be swell. The more of us there are, the more likely it is our paths will cross. In your Männerbund, become an entity. You have thoughts? Share them. Manually remove them from your skull using an archaic form of necromantic dark power. It’s called writing. Don’t think anyone will ever read you? Bullshit. I will. And I’ll actually leave you feedback, since people today have immense trouble with follow-through. Do something. You have a talent. Use it. Don’t be a useless eater. Be a team player. The Männerbund is not a political party, we are a cultural idea, and a way of living. Said it before, I’ll say it till it sticks; we are a lifestyle, and unlike National Socialism we are available for export. Our idea wworks and will work because it is organic. That idea is to develop, increase and promote superior culture through embrace of classically European virtues, applied to a modern American landscape. We shall reel ourselves in from the detritus that globohomo has foisted upon us. We shall re-hem the frayed ends that our individual brothers inherited. In order to do this, personal flourishes are needed. When you are aware of problems address them, and appropriately. We are very much like a house church, so much of what Saint Paul preached applies. Address your brother in person, appeal to his honour, render your assistance. In failing this, appeal to the council. Just like in the early years. Brothers need to feel that trust factor. That means being able to have real talk, substance. Not fluff. Not just politics. Life, which the Männerbund seeks to improve, is not a mere ideological station. And it’s true, our Bund has a venue for pretty much every stripe. I believe the military has a slogan, “adapt and overcome.” We can adapt to nothing and overcome less if you are afraid of having the hard talks. The fears you developed in Normieland are unnecessary here. But you need an open mind.
If you’re a Normie, congratulations, you’ve entered forbidden territory and have forfeited your soul to evil Nazis. The government knows you’ve been here and you are now bad news bears. A squat woman with green hair named Karen is now writing private messages to your mother on Faceberg and you’ll probably appear on the evening news after the evil bastard caught putting a sticker on top of another sticker on top of a lost cat poster on a telephone pole in a town nobody but Uncle Meddybemps cares about. It won’t matter why you’ve read this. The whole ‘researching the psychology of evil bit’ won’t fool anyone. Might as well make the most of it. Become a dissident. Ask hard questions… and then answer them. Question the nature of reality. It’s fun. I do it all the time. You’ll realise reality is fake anyway, just like nukes, the moon and Alex Jones. Sure, it’s made me a little loopy and unpredictable… but nobody seems to have difficulty remembering who I am. You think anyone’s gonna give a good god damn about how much you loved the Sopranos? What craft beer you drank? (I might continue to call you gay long after you’re dead. So. You should quit drinking instead.) But… if you have an authentic set of beliefs and live by them? People remember. I watched my wife’s grandmother die. Old Irish Catholic girl, died telling jokes. You think you got that much gas in your tank, there Dude? Gobshite. Prove it. Show me.
You got a family? Gods bless you, and I’ll be proud to shake your hand. You look at your family and you thank your lucky God(s) for the power you wield. You got a baby boy with half your face and half your wife’s? Part of you has lived after you have died. That child is a universe that you’ve built. You have done what God talks about in Genesis, there is now an entire world that didn’t exist. How you speak to this child affects an entire future, because your son or daughter will go on to be involved in the lives of other. So watch your language, mind your manners. Forge your beliefs. Your son is going to watch you like a hawk. My baby boy is trying to watch me to learn how to smile and laugh. So I smile and laugh more. Simple. Don’t got kids? GTFO. Manually extricate your thumb from your posterior excretory gland and wash your hands, twice, and proceed to your bedroom where you will ensure your wife is safely positioned horizontally and prepared to become a missionary. Now pray, doesn’t matter if you chant or whimper. Engage the on switch and bump uglies. Hell. Do it anyway. The fruits of marriage are a great thing, especially if you waited a long time to eat them like I did. Dangerously delicious. Just don’t go pecking around in somebody else’s orchard, or you’re liable to lose an eye.
It doesn’t have to be complicated. Half the dramas people live are complicated, rooted in mismatched ego or the inability to maintain practised distance. You’re allowed to say that you’re better than this. Go ahead. Be an aristocrat. I won’t judge you. There’s something to be said about that.
And I know, this is a dead horse that I’m beating, and I’m beating the dead horse in front of God and Grandma so everyone can see… but start doing something. To every brother in the Bund reading. Do something. Start a project. If you know a brother dutifully engaged in a project, don’t be a consumerist jackass and CONSUME PRODUCT.WASTEOFSPACE, give said brother feedback, offer assistance or insight. If nothing else, if you appreciate something someone is doing, let them know. Don’t assume they know. A thought inside your head has no material reality unless you manually extrapolate it, using the ancient transubstantial and transmogrificative magicks known as *vocalisation.* Showcase your talents. Start a blog. (I can help, and so can we, generally.) Make a product and show it off. This isn’t Pinstagram, so you don’t need to be able to twerk to sell your ideas. The point is to use pride in your work to inspire progress. Community is inspiring. Never be the guy to let another guy flounder. See something, say something. Also, when you give someone the niceties it makes them feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and they’ll be more liable to remember you. I look forward to a day where I can collaborate with brothers on given projects, rather than provide my own gospel and hope it takes.
In our Männerbund, there are the proud members who show their projects and talk about their plans. In the beginning it was only a few of us, but steadily, a culture of competence is evolving around the few, the tired, the enterprising. In time, as more of us actualise our talents, our efficiency will increase as our output becomes more balanced. Presently, about half the Bund puts out and shows off, and the rest are fellows and initiates finding their place. However the time will come where they must prove their merit, best start now.
I realise this may have seemed harsh, callous and unforgiving. This is not my intent. I don’t necessarily enjoy couching terms this way, but it is the truth as I see it. This life is harsh, callous and unforgiving. Humans are soft, smooth and forgiving – sometimes. It is a fact of modern living that unlike the plants we grow, we have not been hardened off against our environment. Our culture is rooted in creature comfort, and unjustified sanitation. We polish corpses so they look alive. We lie to children so the future seems less bleak. We are weak, in many ways, and very susceptible. Add to this the truth that the world is a very hard place, and it is a perfect recipe for malaise, depression and despair. But. You, reader, have the power to give yourself permission. Only you can do it. It is like accepting Jesus, only the burden is all on you, dear. You will say “no more,” and you will mean it. You join a Männerbund, and by Odin, we can help. But you have to choose. You have to make that name. You lay the foundation, life gives you bricks, we pool our bricks and brick by brick the community grows.
You won’t get this kind of talk from a lot of modern Heathen writers who want fluff. And you’ll notice I didn’t talk about Valhalla. I don’t know as I’ll ever go there. Don’t know as I’ll see heaven. I’ll tell you something else though. Part of me doesn’t care anymore. I have no framework for that, fear of death is rooted in the fear of losing what you know. Not eagerness for something you can’t imagine. I have worked hard to make a life I want to save, it wasn’t always that way. I’ll be goddamned if I lose that work to the Aether as long as I can help it. Life or no life, heaven or no heaven, it doesn’t change anything. Here you are, now. If you read this, you are here. Simple. You can’t read this if you’re not “here.” Really, by the time this thought leaves my possession and enters yours, I might be gone, but not you. There comes a time where you must live for now, and root your choices in that. What rewards come, surely, will be justified on your merit. You can’t earn merit tomorrow, you have to start now. Past informs present, and the present is tomorrow’s past. You might as well make the best of the life you’ve got. It’s the only way to fix the future. You have the power to control your response to your environment. You can choose to stand and meet your ancestors in the eye. They had more than one life to live, they made you.
Your life is a tool. Or a weapon, if you like. But you are more than blood and gut and skin and bone, you are a symbol, and symbols must be applied to be useful. You have a limited number of years on earth to affect good things. Do something. Otherwise, you are nothing. Imagine, if you will, a thousand people come to this conclusion and take their lives back. Then ten thousand. Imagine if a million men put their feet to the ground and decided they want a better world. How many men are left in the world after a million? We didn’t get here by accident, and we won’t get somewhere better by accident. Single men are catalysts for global change, for all change is sourced to a prime mover. It might be you. And if it isn’t you, it might be someone you knew. If not them, than someone they met who by a third party removed, you influenced. Put your skin in the game, if you don’t, no one will.
Take the leap of faith, like Kirkegaard – make Pascal’s Wager. Even if you never drag your cursor to the ‘contact us’ form, even if you never lift a finger to join vetting, your life must have purpose. And that purpose requires community. There is a peace which comes from knowing your place. Your place can never have depth if you are your only measure. Everything you are, is a response to stimulus, from the atom, to the bone, gut and skin hung over the tabernacle. Every iota of your being seeks affirmation, there is no shame in the admission. This is our nature, to serve a greater good. We evolved, in the forests, in the tundra, and we developed that pathological altruism as a response to stimulus. Now without community we are incomplete beings. One need only look at “individualists.” To the T, they are either liars or unenviable specimens of dysgenics. Then of course you have *lone wolves* cut as diamonds in the rough who thrive in spite of circumstances because they strive for an ideal of a community, of a culture that could be. Which are you?
Goyim die, Bundsmen die, but I know a thing that doesn’t have to die, and that is the thing we are building. What we are building is and was and must always be. Our culture predates us and will outlast us, what we must do is burn the chaff and drain the poison, mend the wounds and sooth the burns. Now. Help me help you, help us. Strength upon strength will bring us honour, strength and honour will show us Nïke’s gifts.