IMAGINE

I’ll be posting this for the first of February. Hopefully everyone reading had a good January, and hopefully our Pagans of an opportunistic streak took time to honour the God of that month, Ianvs. Anywho…

I forget why I started this post. The prime mover was swallowed by having more important things to do, like play excavators with Seaxling, or let Seaxwife sleep in. For all you with no children, this shouldn’t sound like it’s mind erasing, but all you with children should be quietly nodding along. Anywho… I remembered. I try not to get sucked up too much into the “culture” of the internet. I shouldn’t have quotation marked that, because there really does seem to be a parallel institution of normative values online.

If you’ve stumbled on this blog following a like or comment of mine, feel no obligation to like, comment or subscribe. In fact, it’s probably better you don’t. I don’t weigh content by political affiliation, that ship has sailed and sunk for me – it results in a very cloistered existence devoid of the kinds of external pressures which erode the intellect. If you are one that only frequents content associated with your viewpoint, fine, but that’s not for me. Besides. That isn’t why I patronised your site. I have a wide variety of interests which betray my theoretically narrow political gauge. Of course, it’s a free internet, I like to say. But my hope is that what I have to say is actually interesting to you, as opposed to a place to deposit your avatar in the hopes of attracting more traffick. Understandable if so, I wouldn’t even begrudge that. My point is, I am more than aware that my views do not represent… much of anything. Am I a nationalist? Yes. Do I fit a cookie cutter? Doubtful. I find as I grow older, that the more artificial impositions inorganically arise within the broad confines of Nationalist thinking, the less traction I have navigating within those ever widening stop-gaps. Ukraine? Russia? Vaxxx, Anti? It’s all so… trite. It’s also all so disembodied.

What impact does weighing in on the latest in Slavic affairs have on New England? Which philosemite wins makes no matter to me. I still inhabit a closed circuit within Southern Maine. My travel route has shrunk with the economy. My horizons are comfortably set. I don’t need to pretend my maverick hot takes are going to change the political discourse. Frankly, the reactionary impulse in nationalists revealed by the advent of every concurrent news cycle repels me. Why? Because it is like a neurological stimulant, whatever flow of progress you had is obliterated with each passing news cycle. And why? Sublimated escapism. Had this talk with a friend the other day. Well, really, it was more of a frustrated rant on my part. So I owe homeboy an apology.

Life is tiresome. There is little transcendental meaning to the present American, and I dare say European as well, but I expect the deleterious effects of deracination are presently more obviously observable here. But then, even if I still wanted to go to the Motherland and Fatherland – I couldn’t afford it, and thus my observations are culled from tainted sources. Expats, penpals, and so on. But these expats have all tended to indicate that the meaning of their Nation States has eroded, being a Bavarian doesn’t mean what it used to, being Swedish doesn’t mean as much as it should, being Dutch was never supposed to be about weed and hookers. And these were all proud nations.

So. People want off the ride. So badly and so deeply, I think, that they aren’t always fully aware of this on the surface level of their consciousness.’ Thus, we see, obsessions. Doomsday Fetishes. A prime example. Apocalyptic fiction accounts for a huge swath of popular entertainment. The News Cycle fulfils a similar need for people with a more businesslike mentality. Rather than pine for Fallout VI: New England with their prepper kitchens and their lifestyle changes in anticipation of uncertain variables, the pragmatist watches the news. Surely this News Cycle will release him from his torment. Each News Cycle has the same goddamn underlying feeling; ‘this is it guys, we’re getting off the ride. Hope you dried your beans.’ CoVid? Apocalypse forecasted at 5. Syria? Apocalypse forecasted at 9. Slavic War Dance? Tracksuits forecasted for 11, gopnik now. Hoo boi.

None of that addresses the real issue. You’re miserable where you are. Your life has little meaning where it is. But projection is easier. Normies project their insecurities and blame into the Nasty Nazi Bogeyman, even when the Nasty Nazi Bogeyman is busier doing food kitchen or nature preservation than most Funko Pop appreciators. Nationalists project their insecurities into obscure and often practically intangible pet causes that have no affectation towards their neighbourhood. It seems to me people think having these opinions about the latest increases their credit scores in uncertain outcomes. If I support Ukraine with my stupid gay emojis than maybe Azov Battalion will be cool and ZOG will let me keep pretending I’m going to put on pants and do Rahowa next Monday. If I support Putin with my stupid gay emojis and my retarded arguments than maybe Putin will read them and make me a commissar when Dugin washes Jordan’s Peterson.

ReEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEeEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEeeeeeeeeeeeeEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEeee

And he died.

So. Point is. None of this hypothetical crap does a damn thing for the real problem. The real problem is that when you leave your house, what you see is wrong. When I leave my house, drive to the end of my road and turn onto Rte. 202, I only have to drive 7 minutes away to realise; Something has gone dreadfully wrong. This isn’t the New England we wanted. We didn’t ask for this. Why is everyone pretending things are honky-dory when clearly, they are not? Everyone and their dead uncle will be all too ready to distract you. See the problem is that Ukrainians don’t have freedom. They’re being oppressed by a State. Problem? Projected. In New England, a Federal Government is turning our land into a parking lot, overbearing on individuated conscience irrespective of arbitrary political affiliation AND replacing the core demographics of the founding stock of this Land with irreconciliable differences. Believe it or not, that wasn’t a smol-brained anti-immigration argument which fails to address the nuanced issues.

Nationalism is a component of nature conservancy. When you flood biomes with disparate elements, an unnatural struggle for resources is engaged. If you flood a deer habitat with a surplus of wolves, deer have to change their evolutionary strategy. The reverse is true, if the wolf in his home is flooded with more prey animals than can be contained, he will find he has starved as the deer have consumed the natural resources and led to the imbalance of life among smaller prey animals. And so on. As people, I’m told, are animals, the same rule applies. If you have habitats of men coming from a background, than overwhelming that changes the foreground. He can no longer see himself in the fabric of his society. He becomes atomised.

It literally couldn’t be simpler. The miracle is how complicated midwits have made the issue. I refuse to pander to the double standard police, but it is true that this isn’t even a racial issue. The coloureds are affected as much as the natives. I used to tutor Moslems. They aren’t a unified block. And I don’t even mean Sunni v/ Shiite conflicts. I mean ethnic ones. A Somalian Moslem is almost unilaterally despised by a North African Moslem, or what-have-you. I heard many stories of intra-ethnic conflict that it did change my perspective and allow me to understand that, the problem has never been religious per say, but ethnic. Every ethnos has a marker of operation, which when at variance with another, becomes subconscious and eventually overt conflict.

By forcing these disparate elements into constant exposure, creates the seedbed of a problem aptly addressed by Hegel. It ends in synthesis. And the synthetic end is a means to which I haven’t the energy to discuss. The obvious issue is that the synthesis is the end of the dichotomies. And in that interim is the existential dissatisfaction of artificial rootlessness which occurs in which all parties feel disembodied. The problem isn’t Lebensraum, although it can become thus. The problem is variance. If auto-segregation were destigmatised, than you could have natural communities regardless of proximity or geographic location. This has occurred infinitesimally throughout history, and I believe they call it Balkanisation. This kind of allowance would allow for organic diversity to occur, the Nationalist could keep to his own, and the whatever you call the guy with the Funko Pops could hang out and talk about what’s new in Marvel with his buddies. Earth is Thikkk, she has room and isn’t as full as we’re told.

But I’ve launched myself into a tangent.

I am not quite sure how reasonably to elucidate what I’m thinking. I try very hard not to compartmentalise myself too much. What I mean by this, is that what you see in this blog more or less represents who and what I am in person. If, or when I am doxxxed competently, I am sure it would be shocking to some… but shouldn’t be. I’ve never bothered to hide all of my power level. I’ve become more cautious as I came to leave my 20s behind me. I have also, paradoxically, become open minded.

I don’t want to live in an echo chamber any more than I want life to be a neverending argument with people who want me to be their bogeyman. I don’t want yo be your bogeyman. Although there’s a great Rob Zombie song for that. My point is this. It is deleterious to live inside of too much of a bubble. It warps your perspective. When I was camp counsellor to some Zoomers, this became eminently clear to me.

The reality is, there is an incredibly small number of truly revolutionary spirits, the majority of souls you’ll meet aren’t even reactionary, but simply passive consumers of life. In my flesh and blood life, very few people gave too many damns. Another reality is, in a way, being a nationalist for me means understanding that I constitute one of the extremities I mentioned. When I write that, you should understand, there’s nothing revolutionary about me, nothing radical, or extreme. Not really. My opinions are autistic and unpalatable. But the reality is, I’m a short, slender, twitchy little man who like most Anglos, seemingly irrespective of continent, occasionally stammers because his brain moves far faster than his tongue. I don’t jaywalk unless I’m in company of someone who does and then it’s a suicide pact. I am a pathological law respecter. It’s a thing, and the butt of a few jokes I’ve learned to appreciate.

I’m really a sack of contradictions. Or, a brain-bag, as my favourite lumber deliveryman calls me.

You know, honestly, and maybe Agent Rick has done this – the inner lives of White “Supremacists” would make a hilarious sitcom. Watch your loveable domestic terrorist bumble through life, trying to be a good man without selling out. Watch as he gets roped into discussing CRT with an amicable Jamaican lady who wants to be his Uncle Aunt TomJemima. Watch as he takes his son to the park, or buys his wife icecream. Or as he volunteers at pantries and soup kitchens, or does park clean-up, or church missions… Like a human being. Watch as he rips a nail out of his kneecap and sends his friend a picture of the square shaped hole it left for the lolz. What. An. Ass.

No. I don’t purity spiral. Much. And I don’t care what you think. That isn’t a dismissive statement. I mean, it is, but the dismission is a byproduct of the action, not intention. The reality is, at this stage in y life, my beef is with the power structures that are ruining the world. You probably don’t have any more power than I do. If you’re an honest liberal coming into my blog-space, truly believing whatever causes you think are just – I actually respect that. If you’re convincing yourself they’re true because deep down you know Daddy Government is going to tea-bag you and R-Kelly you in the eyes (boy that didn’t age well given his apparent ineffectual antisemitism) than, well, you suck. You suck as much as the occasional disingenuous “Far” “Right” “Dissident” who hopped on the hate train because he’s too incompetent to pass for normal and wants to burn it down out of spite. You suck too. But if you’re an honest believer in your dissident flavour, great. We can be friends.

 I prefer to meet people in the middle, where I can, and make strides on what we can agree on. I don’t mind there being an elephant in the room, and, truth be told, I believe the elephant can be at least somewhat negotiated. There was a time in our Country’s history where people of radically divergent political and religious ideations could appropriately interact, without pretending any standard deviation was some kind of gross betrayal. In some ways, I have more in common with certain eclectic stripes of feminist than I do certain right wingers. Why? Brain, between ears. For sensible feminists, the Trans agenda is a much more prescient threat than it is to a guy who’s not necessarily married or rearing children. Feminists who have used their ovaries to produce children are, often, far more Hitlerian in their approach to this Trans madness than some MGTOW jackass who mocks Trans less as a grave existential threat than as a means to emotional masturbation. The caveat is with my politically uninitiated feminist, I leave the racial stuff alone, but otherwise – oh the talks we can have.

 Ultimately, and I know – unpopular opinion – more good comes from leaving solid impressions outside your sphere, at times, than colouring in between the lines. Because, after all, if I believe in Survival of the Fittest, than why should I be afraid of a little non-comformity? The reality is, my views are more akin to my grandfather’s – as they saying goes. And my grandfather’s generation was in power not long ago. If the artificial barriers of political pressure can be ameliorated, than in time, homeostasis will create something like a Retvrn to Nature. Nature produced my grandfather, if I am patient, recalling how Grønbechian incarnation works, than my grandfather’s soul will skip into my grandchild, or even my son as he is now.

 I do more to harm my beliefs by pretending I have so much to hide, lurking in special niches and refusing to acknowledge the outside. When or if I am efficiently or competently doxxxed, the positive impressions I have made in life will be weighed against peer pressure. I have been told in no uncertain terms how naïve this is, but I’m not wrong, my circumstances have borne it out before. I’ll tell you another thing. By trying to be frithful and approachable, inevitably, people become curious. You can have otherwise difficult discussions with less pressure than had you carried on like a shifty, paranoid jackass.

 The reality is, if you’re a dissident like me, yes, you’re on the list. But by internalising enemy propaganda, by acting like a criminal, you eventually, inevitably, come to resemble a criminal. By covering up all these tracks, you stink like a steak in the summer sun and the hounds will come for you. By acting spastic and erratic, you become tempting, because you must be hiding something. Otherwise, mostly, the powers that be will save their resources to destroy high profile targets. But here’s the kicker. By playing the spy, we make the profile of those targets higher. If the wealth were spread, so too would the efforts of the censors and the enforcers and all that ho-hum.

 I understand. Fear keeps everyone in line. Fear and conformity-cravings. But trust me, Dear – I’m an expert at sticking out like a sore thumb. T’ain’t that bad, Hon. You’d survive. Most folk like a character. And if you are a paranoid dissident, my old man advice comes from having been the same guy in education, self-employment, and shit jobs for the government where they couldn’t are less what you think as long as you show up – from the years 2009- till present.

 So, I guess, that’s about it. I am a peacenik, a nationalist, and one who thinks we can, despite all odds, actually get along. To a point. And even when the loggerheads come, frankly, I think there is a reasonable jurisprudence to seek amicable divorce. If the political correctness can be broken down, it is entirely within reason that left and right can agree to disagree, agree to autonomy and self-determination. That’s the difference. This politically engineered obsession with, what’s it called now, bipartisanship, has created an obvious means to bend disparate elements into a mono-party. Historically, emotionally mature adults could agree to disagree. It wasn’t long ago – even still in my short-ish lifetime, that this was the case.

 Of course, I could be wrong. But I don’t have to be. Whatever. You do you, Bubba. Wassail an such.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes. I named this after the John Lennon song, because I can have my own dreams. However far-fetched. Unlike the dream of the current paradigm, my dream isn’t about crushing dreams but simply being allowed to have them opposite others with theirs. Revolutionary? Shouldn’t be.

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We’re done here…:

For more retarded post and nonpost sketches go to my other blog and click here.

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