Listening to an episode of New England Legends, and being forewarned of a big storm coming, I got to thinking about things. The story of the Tarboxes is proverbially and literally close to home, taking pride of place in Standish, ME. Growing up, you’d hear stories like this. Really, you’d hear about how the world is out to kill you. Go swimming? Tide pools, look I knew a guy… Go walking in the woods? Y’evah heeah ’bout old Billy? He died. Go to Portland? Sold to Gypsies. Dirty, stinking gypsies.
The young scoff. For now. Life is safe, well, kind-of. The Age of Coofarius aside, which is bar none the most sophisticated practical joke I ever seen, life is safe. Nobody needs to die in a real Tahboxah. Being sold to Gypsies is actually a real problem, ironically. Bit of a reversal of fortunes, really.
But it wasn’t always. The pursuit of infinite safety wasn’t always a thing. My father’s brother – my uncle – watched a kid get sucked up into a tidepool that never let go. Looking back it’s remotely possible that’s why he drank more heavily than most in my family. They made the kids swim from Chebeague Island to the mainland. If you know the Island, the sandbars create pockets of suction as the waters change. It’s why the Islanders had to know how to swim – now? I wouldn’t know. I’ll assume swimming is strictly voluntary. Probably discouraged.
Further back – my Grandparents saw The Great Depression. Think about what that means. It meant that unlimited progress was a lie. It meant that the invincible march of the institution through the people could, theoretically, be stopped. There was a mountain too tall for Columbia to walk over. And here was a time when we thought the institutions marching through us we’re doing it for us – so the loss of progress was horrifying. Our grandparents would have seen themselves as having struggled past the starvation times of their grandparents, where the Consumption was a disease and not just something that happens to kids with the munchies. And those starving grandparents might have thought back to the Mayflower descendents who were more immediately accessible, or the settlers who survived and became Puritans out of Pilgrim Stock. They remembered disease, starvation AND the very real and now hideously underrepresented threat of hostile tribes of Indians. Indians who, I have it on good authority, were very spiritual and used all of the animals and would have totally saved the whales and other embarrassingly modern concerns I was raised with. Whales are cool. We should probably save them. But it’s not the point. White priorities and their discontents is not my aim. In full.
I told you that story to tell you another. Kevin McDonald writes about Group Evolutionary Strategy. In short, it’s the idea that groups share a kind of sublimated actuation of progress and affect changes almost by group consensus which further their posterity. It reflects in racial stereotypes. White People: need to be right, justified and have cohesion – we evolved in harsh and brutal landscapes and required planning to survive, it’s why Whites can be obsessive and so forth. Blacks run real fast because there’s a cop in every genepool. The Asians share similar traits with Whites and thus measure out similarly but there are moral discrepancies. Jews subvert because they have always had a host nation but never enough “pure” numbers to enact hard power in the way a coloured host does. That explains a difference between coloured and White tyranny: ours is almost always clothed in moral rhetoric, the coloureds are not ashamed of hard, naked power. Their environment dictated this: not as much cohesion was needed for survival where the lands were often more arable and the stores of food more readily apparent.
Fast forward. The unlimited progress of the march of the institutions through the people has brought us to 2022. Ish. Who knows if anyone will read this in 2023, I doubt much will change. The populations of all the world over is mixed. Their group evolutionary strategies at odds. You have White people going along to get along. You have coloureds coasting in the wake of our coattails soaking up gibs, paying the bare minimum lip service and causing as much trouble as their permission slips allow. (((Somehow))) the idea of White Countries became insufferable to the highly cooperative White Hosts to the seven Gorillion Nation Army – an Army whose presence is largely encouraged by schools of thought pioneered by men like Saul Alinsky, who, incidentally, fits the bill of a subversive quite nicely. Indeed you can see that most subversives have early life buttons, or use proxies whom they’ve buttered up with promises of power and the image of righteousness- an image they need to keep convincing Whites to sign unlimited permission slips to be euthanised at whim by the infiltrators who wear our skin.
On every strata of life you see it. Which brings me to what I originally wanted to talk about. Which is Folkish versus Universalist. The battle originated in the “Occult” scene, is popularly associated with the Religion of Asatru and/or Odinism but plays out in most other sectors too. Terminology varies. Christians too, whether you care to believe it or not, share this struggle. I’ll offer a quick aside before letting the Christians fight their own battles in whose race I have only one horse, the White one. Christians occasionally quibble scripturally over whether Biblical ethics permit any Nationalism, Racialism or Exclusivism. The Bible can say anything you want it too. However, I have no gripes, no real ones anyway, with the Christian who can share my pursuit of a heritage worthy of our children. Call it an Ethnostate, an Odal-Land or a Nice White Country- I don’t care. Freedom of association, self-determination, whatevah. If the Christian can overlook my religious disparities I can overlook his.
And that, right there, is my genetic destiny showing herself.
Cooperation. The great blessing and curse of our people . The curse is that Whites don’t always reflect on the hermeneutics of cooperation because it is such a holy grail. That makes us easy targets. Look at the history of “Neopaganism” in a nutshell. We went from an implicitly racial ideation to a popular monstrosity with television airtime and shitty comic book film adaptations and a score of books inspired by these and not source documents. Remind me, more often than not, who signs the publishing rights? What kind of people create favourable publishing criteria? I’m willing to bet the kind that don’t have enough numbers to enact hard power, but still want to learn in secret with elders from Zion.
Anyway. The debate as it occurs in Neopaganism is: “is ‘our’ religion definable as a heritage and to that end can it be considered exclusive?” It isn’t often worded like that, but I think you’ll know what I mean. If, admitting our religion is Ancestral which implies cultural and ethnic connotation, do we have the right to define what our posterity is? We cannot choose our Ancestry, but do we have the right to choose our progeny? It brings up valuable questions which ought to be addressed.
Nobody (((yet))) wants to argue that there’s a quota for what kinds of kids I have to raise, or what kind of woman I chose to marry. Yet somehow we lose steam and pretend that ethnic enclaves aren’t themselves organisms with parameters. We live in a timeline where corporations get legal personhood to dick with taxes. Yet somehow the ethnic enclave is a false impressario? Oh, indeed.
I’ll begin making this brief. I cannot stop anyone from doing Asatru. But I don’t have to accept anyone simply because they say they do it. There’s no moral reason for me to accept Tyrone Watermelonsson as a brother, nor Oyvehr Shekelberg either. Any more than I have a moral right to raise someone else’s kid, or house another man’s brother in my bed where I sleep.
The premise is ridiculous.
There’s a bit of whiplash in the Pagan communities in which folk mumble about finding the roots of your own tree, peeing in your own bushes. That’s nice. A bit mealy mouthed. But they don’t want to get kicked out of the wider world and they know if they dance too close to the volcano that one of Wieland’s Negroes will kick them into it and they will receive the same uppity vindictive moral posturing the unvaccinated do.
“They got what they deserved.”
Post your dankest Joker memes in the comments below. Or don’t. Boats and dinghies.
There’s a consequentialism here. A mechanistic inevitably. If all of this multiculturalism were about understanding than no coercion or guiltmongering would be needed. Enlightened Whites who love coloureds so much would realise that by attempting to turn everything under the sun into a shame/right dichotomy that the opposite to the intended effect shall be met. Hatred of the Other waxes, not wanes. Why? We have no refuge. We are being turned into caricatures of our understanding of Rootless Cosmopolitans. Red Sea Pedestrians. Merchants who are so happy. So happy together. By all means, force people into corners that are blunt double standards. Then shame them for non-compliance. Then play dumb when they grow teeth.
But conversely, look at unashamed Folkish Heathens. I’ve learned more about Amerindians from Stephen McNallen than the entirety of my childhood where I had to read a lot about Chief Makes U Feel Bad and the cursed medzin chocolate. You cannot have mutual respect for The Other unless you control your own narrative. A comparative approach of this is us, that is them fosters curiosity. The approach of “dumb Goy say HAU NOW BROWN COW -look at how ONE with nature they were, soooo much better than you, ALL THE ANIMAL, SO MUCH VISION QUEST… Whales!” does not foster respect. Only hatred, loathing and, well, I guess that’s it. being left to explore the parallels of our mutual trajectories which share a potential hardpoint of evolutionary convergence before the Pleistocene, does foster respect. Because there’s a controllable factor of comfortable distance. So it goes with me and forced diversity: until weaponised meme-Karens stop preaching BLM straight from their airy, pampered posteriors, all blacks will always be nothing more than Tyronius Watermelonius of Wakanda to me. And Wakanda, is not real, just Israel.
But, y’know, folk that, man… we don’t have to live this way.