There’s an Algorhythm. No shock. Everyone but the dimmest of wits knows this. The Algorhythm, I tend to imagine, should not be defined in the singular but is commonly accepted as such. I suspect there are competing Algorhythms in the pseudo Web of Wyrd our masters have spun. At any rate, I won’t bother going into details. You have a grasp of what I mean, or you don’t.
What I do note, is a pattern. You can recognise it. I don’t know how it works – I don’t do inside trading. I have no sources, only observation.
So. You express a sufficiently potentially deleterious opinion which has an observable trail. Perhaps you leave a Faceberg comment that manages to escape censure. You meekly question a retarded narrative lynchpin. You Boomerpost. You enable those caps with the blessed assurety of a man hanged inna batchroom by his own bootstraps. You’re a goddamn saint. A hero. That’s how it starts. You get fawning interaction. Encouragement. Mysterious anons crawl out of the woodwork to get you hooked, they want you ‘high on your own supply’ as a former endeavour partner so often put it.
Eventually, the carpet is not pulled, but attention is waned. It is presumed you are hooked – the line and sinker await. You persist on in your path. And you are left alone if you do not possess the power to upset the system. If you are small enough, you may be ignored. But if you do have some inkling of sense, intellectual motility, you have a ‘handler.’
It’s easy to be a shapeshifter online. Change your handle, alter the flow of syntax errors. Handlers aren’t always the most cautious lot, or maybe they are. When you manage your own shit online there are hiccups. And maybe this is fuel to make you paranoid, to make you think you’re on the trail. Sometimes handlers recycle email addresses. You will get a flow of mail with extremely similar domains. Providers you’ve never heard of, etc, etc. No, not the popular emails nobody knows about that the Dissident Whomst shills HOURLY. Not Proton. Not the other one that nixed me. No, no.
We all know about entrapment and encouragement. You express frustration at immigration and some asshole from Texas wants to ask you if you’ve ever turned a Wetback into a lampshade. Why yes of course, my swarthy friend, and in fact, my boots are made of Guatemalan leather and sealed in Brazilian wax. But my hair shirt is made of prime Argentine scalp, from that new half-shekel Jew leading the country. I digress. They will accelerate your positions so you leave incriminating opinions. Some of us cloak our rhetoric in guises so absurd it defies notion. If I’m ever called to court for hatethink, some poor ass-wad is going to have to read every goddamn thing I’ve ever written. It may drive them mad. I hope it does.
We know this.
But I tried an experiment. Drop a little this, a little that. Between the lines at first. Blur a few lines between a reality and a premise, borrow some inklings from the unhinged internet. Why not take a sub-position inherently incompatible with your supposed “dominant” worldview? Or, perhaps, you make way to abandon it altogether and start a “new” enterprise. Then the algorithm remembers you. The clumsy email calls come back. The awkward (obvious) misunderstandings of your positions made over as pretence to understanding. All of a sudden, there you are, vibing with a flow that is neither fake nor real and therefore hard to truly define.
What I want to impress is the curiosity of going through the motion of collating disparate notions into a clumsy holistic centre, only to import these to a new endeavour with supposedly new online personae to find there an eagerness to see this disjointed singularity. It does not comport with observed common behaviour. Now granted, there is online both more and less toleration for spicy rhetoric (i.e. midweight Nationalist talking points that omit the intentionally obtuse and stick to basic observations of non-White behaviour, and systemic hypocrisy regarding race relations.) Still – should there naturally be a willingness to receive combinations of restrained White Identitarianism with, say, diasporic religious notions such as Gnosticism, Paganism or Luciferianism? No. Not really. Received experience should tell you that, online as off, real people are generally shallow. Something like half-emptied vessels to be filled.
I digress. The algorhythm seeks to lasso you, drag you into the extremities of it. The extremities being where your average, sensible person doesn’t want to go. They like it safe, and smooth, and boring. As do most edgelords, for that matter, who for all their bluster are still afraid of the dark at the end of the day and unwilling or able to peer far away from their cutesy, meme-riddled safe-spaces and open their minds up a little.
The algorhythms puts blocks in place for you to find. And they all serve a function, to recapture and corral your attention. You can try to feed the algorhythms that’s given to you, but you can only sway it so far to this way or that. It gets excited at the prospect of being given a bullet to shoot you with, but it knows when they’re getting rubbers. Rubbers never satisfy like skin on skin. It knows when you’re baiting it. My own fault, I’m not super tricky. But it is, for now, a fun little game we play. You play with the new blocks, but when the algorhythm doesn’t get its way, when it doesn’t mine you for whatever gold it thinks is in your head, it fabricates new blocks. Just as vapid and clumsy as the old blocks. They reduce your effectiveness, the range of your mind’s wandering. An entire society is in place to prevent your mind from wandering too far. These born-to-be-broken restrictions are exactly what allow the interesting characters of our race’s history to flourish. These could be you, or me, or anybody, but more often than not – nobody.
Anyway. Maybe you like fat girls. Maybe you put some fat girls in a smoke screen and throw yourself into a new scene in which you aren’t perhaps fully comfortable with extremes you find difficult. What wonders will you find, you ask? And maybe you find the algorithm is already there. Oh, you like fat girls? Well, have you ever thought of tieing them up and killing them? While hating Jews? And imbibing unpalatable memology? Noble effort, Agent Rick, but you can’t bring that gun to a dick measuring fight. Not a thoughtful crowd. But it remains, and remains obviously, that certain elements don’t interact. Not logically. But now the algorithm has a new arena it has to subvert, an arena it probably didn’t want to enter. Good. Now the algorithm has to pre-emptively discredit that scene, in case it gains some kind of traction. Now the algorhythm has to present the appearance of subverting and making fat girl loving racist, again. (If only.)
What a world.
I know it seems like a non-issue, but consider the consequentialism. Fat girl fetishes aren’t conducive to women pursuing infinite social credit as a mighty, mighty girlboss. Women at home in their pyjamas eating, I dunno, pork rinds, aren’t the kind of philosopher’s hammer the (((Capitalists))) are going to use to beat men into Stockholm Syndroming. No. They are, literally, a colossal entity in the culture war. I want you to consider this – in the sexual arena there are standard deviations like anywhere else. Some of those deviations take women in an Overtonian fashion away from the Grindset we have now. Proportionally speaking, you see examples of egregious, almost unfathomable levels of misogyny. Yes. Misogyny. Why? It makes it real easy for women to rationalise being a cuck to some shareholder when she’s afraid that every man wants to do horrible things to her. You can say things about the diet versions of paraphilia, if you have a bunch of tradwives running on their husband’s hamster wheel and not the C.E.O.’s… same idea.
Now before you get on your high-horse, allow me to be abjectly blunt & cynical – women will allow themselves to become the object of any fetish, if they feel there is social support in it. This is women’s history, in her whole. Women seek security, by and large. There are obvious outliers. And it is true, the algorhythm recommends to women they leave their comfort zones – and wouldn’t you know – the matriculated values of women’s mental health have never in recorded history been lower. Ever. This is not the fault of patriarchy, lack of matriarchy, it is solely and squarely the doing of oligarchy. Thus, you see a massive burnout of women who would rather sell themselves as goods on parapornographic or explicitly sexual outlets, than to continue being some office drone’s pet. Do you really think every single one is liberated? If these same e-celebs with their cadres of fawning men were given the choice between sexing themselves or staying at home and being paid for, you might be surprised to see how many “adventurous” women put on the sweatpants and retired permanently to their couches. It isn’t liberation, it is survival in a purposefully miserable economy with intolerable circumstances to most ladies.
Chesterton noted, that you can judge society on its women. Deep rabbithole, and he wasn’t the first to notice. But it remains. Who controls women, controls men. Because men will follow their sole biological primate drive – to reproduce – men will accept ridiculous premises – clearly – if that premise will guide their pecker to a warm hole. Used to be woman’s, but now? Nevermind. It is ironic that the depravity of the LTBBQ movement has almost castrated feminism, reinvented male-feminists in a literal way, and made the girlboss an early onset artefact. Which in turn makes “alternative lifestyles” more attractive, low-pressure environments. And so pressure is added. ‘Oh, you want to stop watching your figure and have a man to take care of you? He’ll probably chain you to a radiator and feed you to death. Haven’t you ever seen My 600lb Life, Goy? Everything will rape you.’
There is also the perpetration of very narrow selection standards. For many years now, for men to step outside the glossy pages of magazine inspired sexual preference meant social death. I will never forget when the Fatherland Podcast Guy got shoahed from being White. People were more concerned that his wife was fat than about whatever it was he did that sucked. I never even found out. All I could glean was she weighed 600lbs. Good. Wonderful. This well-endowed woman made more children than you. A fat woman made a better nationalist than you. You twat. That irony never escaped me, childless man-children commenting on the physiques of women who incubated the future of the White Race. Think about that. Concern-troll away, but then address my math.
It banks on shame; it presumes everyone operates on an easily dismantleable ideation of honour. Or whatever word our enemies use for presumed weakness – and make no mistake – they view honour as weakness as surely as they breed us to view compassion as weakness. After all – what is the biggest failure of White Nationalism (the most tragically necessary but paradoxically incompetent ideology of all time)? Is the weakness insufficient Jew wiseness? No. Because you have retarded factionalism of opposing camps of equal Jew wisdom calling eachother Jew-Fed-Faggots. Wow, that’s amazing. Is the problem insufficient National Socialism? No. 100% of WN’s failures cannot be attributed to 3R fetishism, but 100% of 3R fetish organisations end in embarrassing failure. Let that sink in. Name me a successful post-dead-Hortler organisation draped in Swazis? Successful here being defined as one capable of numerical supremacy and social integration, because, face it, insurgency by retards in costumes is a ship that’s sailed and sank. Iconography – however attractive – will not save us. The Third Reich is a wonderful, beautiful private inspiration and one that you can, and should, spend purely personal time disambiguating. But it is not an export, and therefore cannot be reproduced at the scale needed for domestic rehabilitation.
#facts
No. The biggest weakness of the White Nationalist Whateverosphere is manifold. Sheepthink – wolves in sheep’s thinking. You have the inconsiderate follow-gang that identifies a presumed position of power and blindly, uncritically defends an image rather than its defining substance. Cult of Personality. Point in case, people who pretend like Hitler himself was National Socialism. Or that Matthew Hamback was National Bolshevism. Nope. These are what should be called incidentals. Hitler was bogged down by his party and had to deal with insane infighting. Just like any other administration. Ever. Throughout all time. Heimbach? I have nothing to say.
That’s a big weakness, putting faces and symbols on everything. I know, Ironic coming from me. (Though it must be said: I myself, am not a movement – I am one man, easily disassimilable.) But it destroys your motility and reduces your ability to survive and thrive in variegated environments. For all my glaring social faults, I can go to and engage with a surprising number of unpleasant elements. Your average, low level, boots below the ground Nationalist – cannot. He becomes so married to a painfully narrow definition of what is even White that he becomes a pariah in every scene. Even his own. It becomes less about his family line, and what is neat, the nucleus to a great Oikos and Polis (Othala, Ethel, Odal-Land) and more about the salvation of a mere aesthetic preference. And, I think, the hollowness of this becomes an involute aggression. Lack of ability to strike the at times imaginary enemy becomes a very real desire to turn unspent aggression inward.
An overarching eagerness to punish. It’s plain psychology. Powerless men wield power clumsily. You have a gaggle of men incapable of ordering their own homes, managing their wives or commanding their children – which purport to understand on a mass scale the intricacies of human psychology. But their powerlessness creeps through and very often becomes selective vindictiveness. No. Not even vindictiveness – that comes later. But it is a form of partisinal thought where immediately the fetishisation of “aristocracy” comes into play. Now you have too many Chiefs and not enough Injuns. Everyone is going to be the vanguard, the revolutionary, the whatever the super-sexy-secret-safeword is these days.
Then you have the in-group and out-group. Every. Single. Time. The White Collar/Blue Collar non-debate isn’t the only place you find the flotsam of the SS Shipwreck. What remains is that White Nationalism is a salvage effort. Nobody wants to accept this. Everyone wants to live in the fantasyland that they’ve woken up with a band of übermensche readymade for TAV. No sir. You have a band of misfits. Rather than withering in shame on the vine, or equally worse, pretend-glorifying malfunction, it should be acknowledged as simple fact.,
Our Race has been born into no less than 3 Generations of descending mental illness. Generational Trauma has become an intense watchword in the crowd. Might as well own it – these fads always have a kernel of truth. Because, and I want you to think of this carefully, if you expect to build a parallel society – who is going to sign up to become an ideological cannibal? Who sane would want this? Because it is “right?” What sane man wants to engage with White Nationalism, a poisoned well that looks to destroy but not create? Even inside the gates you find it – the proclivity to despair, to dwell on the wrongs, to perseverate upon punishment fantasies. To obsess over correcting the lesser-thans while ignoring the I-beam in their socket. They worship their new ‘freedoms’ of speech and count the things they are at liberty to insult, rather than identify the weaknesses in their own house and prepare to rebuild.
I have been blessed to know exceptions to the rule. Men with heart enough to try and turn the tide. But even good men lack the courage to do what needs to be done. Or, maybe more, the will. Or maybe even they know when the cause is lost, and go with the flow – I have more times than I care to admit. But I know there is a fine line between addressing ills and emotionally sabotaging yourself and becoming a subversive. I know that.
The point is. The self-defeating of White Nationalism is an equation with too many variables for me to solve with a simple stroke. It is too big for most individuals, and the general emotional maturity of our Race is still stunted. We haven’t recovered from Boomer memes enough to realise that the bootstraps aren’t the problem, that it’s just the attitude – stupid. I joined the A.F.A., which I’m sure is a matter of public record. I know this because my algorithm followed me there, garbed in the same tells and tics that have followed me since 2016-17 when I reignited my foray into my favourite mistakes. The same bumbling dolt which so incompetently tries to disambiguate my interests – interests which I keep dichotomous enough so as to purposefully diffuse disambiguation. It makes it easy for me to sniff out rats, you see. The A.F.A. was in equal parts potential and despair. But I will tell you this, if it succeeds – good – but if it fails than it will be from this. Internal elitism. Our Race has resisted and resented Authority which separates itself from the Folk. Those who branch from and disagree with AFA leadership are unrepentedly and unceremoniously branded as ‘not friends,’ or in extremes, ‘enemies of faith.’ I don’t say this to muckrake, as it is a parlance of common knowledge. Its defenders are uncritical and actively ignore constructive criticism as the rumblings of the ill-informed. The presumption is that the ‘lesser-thans’ cannot peer up into, much less master the psychological patterns of their ‘betters.’
This is a highly toxic repetition amongst our people. The resentment it causes cannot ever be overestimated. It can lead man to do despicable things. Men you might be tempted to have thought of as potential lifelong comrades. It can lead them to do far worse than disengage before the poison sets in, cowardly as that may be understood, and to do what is outrightly evil. To take up – knowingly – the weapons of their ideological enemies and use them against former friends. It is unconscionable.
Al Gore Rhythm indeed. Make no mistake – I want White Nationalism to succeed, but as the braindead entity it has been, it simply cannot even. It is the Saint Camp equivalent of a barista being enriched by a Haitian barbecue. I might recommend Saul Alinsky be revisited, because his Jewish prophecies are just so goddamned good. I might ask what about our present situation really defies him or his antecedent in the Scrolls of the Learned Elders – my favourite well-meaning forgery and rooster’s comb. It might be wise to dispense with the sensationalist 200IQ wipipo versions of ‘wowjustwow.’ Seriously, that’s all half the movement is, inordinately convoluted content which are so intricate as to fully defy common assimilation with no practical application. But they’re more intriguing to the self-defeating Sperg. It is not enough to point out which politicians without small moustaches identified and dealt with problems above and beyond those with small hats. No. Not schizo enough. Needs more schizo. Can there be interdimensional Vril troopers in Pinterest jars?
But I won’t. People hate homework. They want to do what they want to do, and they want to be right, which is their right, I know.
Whatever. This chunk of wasted time is over. I’m off to my barbell breakfast.
The Sperg Box 