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WHITE RACE & CATS IN PRISONWHITE RACE & CATS IN PRISON by Constantin von Hoffmeister
Kim Jong Il sat in prison all alone. A cat walked along, passing out worn books. Cats staged a riot in prison. The white race will not survive if it casts a forlorn look behind its back where the ships have sailed a long time ago to distant shores where nobody has ever heard of or even seen a white man. Not in ages, not ever. Arthur the king was lonely and sad in his castle on top of the mountain. All around him in moats built centuries ago crocodiles roamed and had a veritable party in the water, eating drinking and generally just gambling the night away. The white race was not happy with the parcel that was delivered to his home in the ghetto. Signed by all the cats not yet caught by the cat police, the letter stated in no uncertain terms that the white race was scheduled to attend a hearing at the police station the next day. Police constable Butler was sure to grill the white race! The white race would have to sweat it out, answering all the questions that police constable Butler would ask it. Question one: Where did you grow up? Answer: All over the world. The white race would ask for a coffee and a cigarette. Smoking the cigarette and drinking the coffee, the white race would sing a song of praise to the eternal ones while acknowledging the condition it was in at the moment, disheveled tired and coughing in a seedy police station on the other side of the tracks. Police constable Butler continued the grilling. Question: What happened on the night of October 10th? Answer: I lost my marbles and puked out my guts all over the carpet. There was blood and some meat in soy sauce. At night the white race lay awake staring at the peeling wallpaper and the stains on the ceiling. Holding a can in its hands, it took long sips watching TV and scratching its fat belly. The cat was sleeping at its feet, feeling content and sometimes like a prisoner when looking out the window and seeing the wide world outside moving along without the cat. The cat was fed by the white race twice a day and in the evening it was brushed with a blue brush. II. Blue snow surrounds the cat prison. It is blueberry winter weather. The cats are in prison because they insulted the dog king. The cats are trying to escape, full of adventure and danger and escaping through manholes into the lower depths of the complex world of dog eat dog and sometimes cat. Who called the dog catcher? The man with the whistle or the woman with the bow? Bow and arrows, a green suit, a perfect archer, Robin Hood type, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. The white race remembers when it took from the poor to give to the rich. Now it has relegated itself to lurking in the dark shadows of reflective dismissal. The white race opens a can of cat food and feeds the cat. The cat eats greedily. Rabbit. The cat eats rabbit greedily. Twice a week the TV announces that a fresh gator has been caught on the outskirts of the City. Nobody knows where the City actually ends. The outskirts always seem a few miles off to the north or the south. Somehow the middle is always caught off guard. Guffaws and laughter. The white race bows, its shame hidden in a sardonic smile cut from ear to ear. The smile is crimson, cut with a thousand spears and brushed with long black eyelashes belonging to a nymph of one of the nameless tribes from the dark valley in the dark country on the dark continent. Browbeaten and shaved, the white race succumbs to another sudden rush of hysteria and laughs off the ennui it feels when watching its fellow races wallow in delight at its slow and decaying demise. III. The white race went to the movies. A DARK DAY IN DOOMTOWN was playing. Frogs crowded the theater and the white race had problems finding a seat to jerk off in in peace. The theater was not dark enough either, so the white race left disappointedly. The white race bought a pack of fags in London and ate some rice and noodles in Chinatown. They were all out of Peking ducks. Batman and Superman finally clashed, but then they made up and, holding hands like a newlywed couple in love, they walked through Central Park looking at the fountains and the niggers selling crack. Superman suddenly had a craving for duck. So he flew to Beijing to get some Peking duck. Batman meanwhile played with the ducks at a pond in Central Park. Within minutes Superman was back with the Peking duck. Superman and Batman sat on a bench overlooking the pond and ate the Peking duck together while observing the ducks swimming in the pond. The Peking duck was tasty but lacked some zest. At eleven o’ clock in the morning Mr. Dada and Mr. Blabla met in the street and shook hands. Mr. Dada reminded Mr. Blabla of the latter’s dentist appointment. Mr. Blabla reminded Mr. Dada of the latter’s eye doctor appointment. Both parted and went their separate ways. Mr. Blabla had a wisdom tooth pulled and Mr. Dada had his left eye taken out. Mr. Blabla was left with a hole among his teeth and Mr. Dada had to wear an eye patch like a pirate. Sometimes the white race wakes up in the middle of the night to take a shot of vodka. IV. One cat smoked a water pipe, the other cat drank mouse juice with a shot of vodka. “Hey, did you hear the story of Bill?” the smoking cat asked. “No, who’s Bill?” the drinking cat replied. “Bill is the cat that got run over while hunting two squirrels on the freeway last night,” the smoking cat said. “A damn shame, another cat lost to the wheels of a metal monster,” the drinking cat said. “Lost and gone forever,” the smoking cat said. “What’s bothering you?” The white race in an Inferno car speeding along the freeway. All of a sudden two frightened squirrels chased by an angry cat appear in front of the car. Screech! Too late! Thump! Thump! Thump! Two small and a slightly larger smear on the asphalt stink to heaven but are ignored by the higher being in charge of the animal kingdom. The white race stops at a diner five miles down the freeway to have a nice long lunch, including two cheeseburgers and a large coke. The white race orders the cheeseburgers medium rare and the coke large. The waitress’ name is Kimberly and she smiles an innocent but not so innocent smile while taking the order. Her day could be better but so could the white race’s. V. It was a fine morning indeed! The maid washed the sheets and swept the remains under the carpet. The motel was empty. All guests had left in a hurry. The owner had a beer on the porch in front of his office and was contemplating the risk involved in buying a used car dealership. Bobby Long, his old friend from high school, was offering one on the internet. The owner was lighting a cigarette when a lazy cat sat down underneath the motel’s vacancy sign. The owner sighed and thought about the night when he and Bobby Long robbed the convenient store and did the chicken dance with the gook owner’s wife while whistling tunes of glory of glories past. The white race could not find a place to crash anywhere. WHITE BLACK GREY CATS RACE DOOM DEATH DESTRUCTION SLEEP AWAKE HOURS SLEEP NO SLEEP WHITE RACE SHOOTS KILLS WHACKS MAFIA CATS CAT DON SPAGHETTI SICILY CORRUPTION STEPPE CATS HORSES RIDE WHITE RACE CHASE DREAM DEATH Everybody dreams of ice-cream. The cats licked the vanilla ice-cream off the hands of the white race. The white race was purring and the cats were reading a newspaper. The cats shot a dog and the white race went for a walk. The cats booked a passage on the Titanic and the Titanic did not sink. It arrived in New York safely and the cats went off board and started a new life in the promised land. The white race dreamed of an iceberg. VI. And after a while the white race fell in love with another race. They got married and on their wedding night they made sweet love on the kitchen table in the house of the white race’s ancient mother. The babies of the white race’s union with the other race roamed the house where once the white race’s ancestors had resided. In those happy days, the white race’s ancestors had smoked the pipe in front of the hearth, relating stories of their wanderings all over this once fair earth of ours. Then the babies of the white race’s union with the other race grew up, but still they soiled themselves and sometimes defecated on the living room floor. As young adults, they screamed for the attention of their mother while the white race ignored them, shut itself in the study and learned to deal with abstract problems only. The dawn came too quickly one fine morning in the prison. The guards were shoveling snow outside the cells and the cats observed the process mournfully. How much they wanted to dip their furry paws into the cold white mass outside the cold steel bars! But alas! Christmas came and went and the cats were not allowed once to dip their furry paws into the cold white mass outside the cold steel bars. They had to sit in silence in their cells and pray that in the future, maybe next Christmas, they would be allowed to dip their furry paws into the cold white mass outside the cold steel bars. VII. Lovecraft in Moscow. He slithers through ethereal tunnels. Red place, black place, white place… Which one is free? Cats eating dogs in South Korean posh restaurants on the Upper East Side. Cats eating dogs in sleazy expat cafes in Southeast Asia. The expats do not know they are also eating dogs. The cats are laughing at the expats behind their backs. The doctor is in the house! The doctor is in the house! He is now 82 and used to send people who wanted to die to their deaths. In a mobile gas van, mind you. The white race watched a movie about it once and cried itself to sleep afterwards. At two or three or five, the doorbell rang twice. The white race answered the door in its pyjamas. There was a big green stain on the collar. The white race was sick and had drooled through its nose again in its sleep. Ectoplasm. The longing for its righteous place in the sun was strong again. An overcast sky and a power cut kept it in the dark again, however. The man handed the white race a package, made the white race sign a sheet of paper and said thank you and then left. The white race closed the door and looked at the package. It was a grey package. Finally the weapon/device with which to seal its fate! Hurriedly, the white race ripped open the package and took out a simple gun. But it was not a gun at all! The white race aimed the gun (which was not a gun at all!) at itself, pulled the trigger (which also was not a trigger at all!) and passed right out, green drool dripping from its nose onto its collar. VIII. We have to be very careful. Every corner of the church. An open mind. Delighted with the work. Something else next time. It’s quiet, you know. Perhaps I’ve been unlucky. Enquire into the last hours. The most merciful thing that could have happened. Right out on the cliff’s edge. Right on the razor’s edge, the white race seemed to be pondering. Looking up and down. The white race shook its head. Shall I come and help you, then? I could have cut my tongue out. The white race decided upon direct tactics. Feeling a bit strange? Which species would go for this particular job. The white race flushed and bit its lips, ashamed. Where’s your bride? Your pride? The white race believed in keeping an open mind. Trained to evasion. It would be offensive to complain. I’m rather tired. I’d like to sleep. Being jostled by a crowd of pushing, feverish people. A little bit of smoke will clear away the smell of stale cat shit. It was really pathetic to hear the white race talk, it was so sure of itself. The tears were still running on its cheeks. The discovery of a word long lost to it. The cat climbed up the chair, curled itself up and fell asleep almost instantly, purring the purr of the wicked and the just. It was well fed and content. And the clock struck midnight. And the door opened and… IX. The cats are asleep. The white race is stroking its erect cock. The juice left a stain on the sheet. The bed is too soft. The white race is wondering where it can get its next dirty fix. The white race wasn’t flexible enough to lick its own balls. Pleasuring itself with a finger instead, the white race groaned softly as it flicked the cigarette butt into a corner of the dirty room. Outside police sirens drowned out the wailing sorrow of the masses in anguish. Overhead the rotor blades were cutting slices out of the smog encasing the city like a dome of dust. The cats drank milk and were happy for a minute or two. Then the warden switched off the light. The cats went to sleep and dreamed of blueberries. Tasty juicy blueberries. Like suckling on their mother’s mammary gland. Twice a day. This is how the doctor was kept away. In the morning an injection into their furry butts and in the evening a newspaper and an apple. Educated and well-nourished, the cats still craved meat. The butcher’s around the corner always threw out sausage that had slightly gone bad. The cats relished the times when the butcher threw out sausage that had slightly gone bad. They waited in front of the door for the butcher to come out. When he came out, they watched him throw the sausage into a big black bin. After he had gone back inside, the cats fished the sausage out of the big black bin with their furry paws. They ate the sausage and were happy. At that time, the cats felt, it was the best of all possible worlds. Posted by Constantin von Hoffmeister on Wednesday, October 5, 2011 at 04:13 AM in Comments:2
Posted by anon / uh on October 05, 2011, 11:28 AM | # What? Shut up. lolzozlzz This is a good piece. At last CvH’s odd perspective bears worthy fruit. 4
Posted by Alaric on October 05, 2011, 01:28 PM | # Why do you let this charlatan post? Do the asinine rants of this peasant amuse you, GW? 5
Posted by anon / uh on October 05, 2011, 02:11 PM | # Alaric, Are you the Alaric of those trenchant Amazon reviews? You ought to consider lending your hand to my inexpert defense of Nietzsche on the other thread. If you’re the same guy, I know you are very familiar with the old academic tug-of-war over Nietzsche between Jews and real scholars like Hollingdale. As to Constantin ... try to see this piece for what it is: a union of impressionist fiction and white nationalist weltschmerz. As such it is really an advance beyond much of his older stuff, much subtler than his old pseudo-poetry and russomaniacal speechifying. I was like you once. I mocked Constantin for being so dadatastic. It turns out that he isn’t in love with himself at all, and has occasionally turned out really good imaginative writing if you can get over yourself for a moment and read it without unflattering prejudices. If you are the Amazon Alaric, I know that you love impressionistic Spanish poetry, so what prevents you from accepting a piece in a similar vein from one of our own camp, as it were? You are no stranger to this style. Don’t you find his use of a collective noun (“the white race”) in place of the expected singular datum (“a white man”) a novel and clever device? There is a subtle didactic intent at work with the purpose, perhaps, of drawing people into our perspective with a familiar modern style, carrying them along to VI., where the white race’s tragedy is blatantly figured as an actual domestic union that produces unruly bastard offspring. The phrasing is clumsy at parts and the sexual imagery at the end is perhaps too crass; but the point is to illustrate as starkly as possible the sordidness, the lowliness of the white race’s present circumstances. In this respect it reminds me of Gaspar Noé‘s Seul contre tous, in which the protag lives much as “the white race” does here — in the “decolonialized landscape” of the academics, alone, impoverished, vice-ridden, shiftless. I have no idea what the cats are supposed to mean. lolzozlzz There’s much William Burroughs in it as well, obviously, no doubt a legacy of Constantin’s time in NoLa. Anyway, I dig it. It’s on the order of the Bismuth series. If there were more pieces like this, MR could cobble up a neat little volume to blow that pile of shit Mister out of the water. 6
Posted by Dasein on October 05, 2011, 03:46 PM | # Uh, I take it you’ve read Mister? I’m even less likely to order it now after that ‘steaming’ review. It sounded kind of boring when I heard him discussing it in an interview with Sunic. 7
Posted by Jimmy Marr on October 05, 2011, 04:10 PM | # This piece hit me like a wrecking ball, but it’s not like I wasn’t in need. Constantin is like an electro-shock therapist that makes impromptu house calls on the white race to keep its mentation fluid. I feel much freer now. While inherently unstable, fluidity has a racial upside: Much to his bewilderment, the Jew can never attack the same white race twice. 8
Posted by anon / uh on October 05, 2011, 04:24 PM | # A friend made some excerpts for me a while ago. I can’t say it was the worst writing I’ve ever skimmed, because Kurtagic is technically very competent and I do try to read most of his articles, but what I saw was just all the common fare of the blogs dressed up as a novel. I would almost guess that there is some R. Bolaño in all the tiresomely self-aware references and so on. Now I find that style is quite exhausting. Again, having seen only some long excerpts, which I have since trashed, I came away thinking: “Ok ... some Kafka, some Bolaño, some old Illuminatus! influence, with all the shit Kurtagic writes about and everyone already knows is going on.” — Nearly six-hundred pages of it. I mean if he puts out an e-book for $10, I wouldn’t hesitate to purchase it for the sake of reference and kooky notions to amuse people. But I feel what Hoffmeister has done here is more valuable. Everything Kurtagic does seems to refer to Kurtagic, even in the seemingly inexhaustible wealth of prosaic talent. When Hoffmeister writes in this vein, you may sense some autobiographical content lurking in the shadows, but you aren’t exasperated by the author’s full-on presence. The star of this piece is “the white race”, not a nameless protag as stand-in for Kurtagic-the-observer. Let me recommend a far more accessible book of the “dystopian” genre: http://www.amazon.com/Men·Art·War-Mikulas-Kolya/dp/0595382169 It’s light but extremely pointed writing and accomplishes what Kurtagic hoped to do, but in 400 pages fewer. Completely overshadows in artistic finesse and maturity of outlook every work discussed here. All for $12.95. 9
Posted by Leon Haller on October 05, 2011, 08:17 PM | # anon/uh, Where the hell do you find this stuff?! And how? Do you have a regular job? 10
Posted by Je le vois, mais je ne crois pas on October 05, 2011, 09:13 PM | # Consummate, original, stunning from start to finish in performance and execution.
A statement that does not apply in this case. 11
Posted by anon / uh on October 05, 2011, 10:05 PM | #
dafux a job? lolzozzozlzozlzz is this more of yer libtrerarianist catho-bernankifaction haller?? dont even try 2 butthex me w yr free racket err market hoodoo reaganomionix lolzozlzozz i am on2 u !!! grahmywammy & queen MOB are on the scene 2 enforce bri’ish schjool morality u know !,zozozllzz 12
Posted by danielj on October 06, 2011, 12:24 AM | # Are you the Alaric of those trenchant Amazon reviews? You ought to consider lending your hand to my inexpert defense of Nietzsche on the other thread. If you’re the same guy, I know you are very familiar with the old academic tug-of-war over Nietzsche between Jews and real scholars like Hollingdale. And how the fuck did this guy end up as the preeminent translator of the ol’ windbag?! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Kaufmann_(philosopher) I also knew there was something fishy about Nietzsche and his corpus. Too many howling Jews wailing over his body. 13
Posted by anon / uh on October 06, 2011, 12:46 AM | #
LOLZOZLZZZ;LZLZZOZOZLZ priceless image an all-too-typical contrast: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Kaufmann_(philosopher)
blah blah blah blah jew interpreting everything under the sun for the goyim blah blah lozlzozlzzz, “for every jew a book”, i’m a christian, no i’m a jew, no a christian, oh well i’ll just write fifty f*cking books on the matter, olzozlzlz elisabeth foerster was an antj0semite!!! eraherrah now this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._J._Hollingdale
aryan everyman drops out of school, serves in the armed forces, learns himself german, translates the greats, becomes a renowned scholar and journalist purely by dint of his own native talents 14
Posted by Graham_Lister on October 06, 2011, 08:01 AM | # This is all rather tiresome and quite pointless isn’t it? To quote a few insights from the aptly and charmingly entitled ‘Why Bother?’ the wonderful memoirs of the Anglo-Norwegian scientist and British WWII hero Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling: “One hates to Los Angeles go up in flames unless one has a camera running.” “I feel nothing but pride. That’s all I do feel. A empty pride, a hopeless vanity, a dreadful arrogance, a stupefyingly futile conceit – but at least it’s something to hang on to.” “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve been distorted. I’ve been misrepresented. And I’ve been quoted accurately which is perhaps the most appalling.” “I willing to own up to the errors I have made. To any young people for goodness sake don’t spend one thousand pounds a day on crack because you can get it a lot cheaper in Leicester Square…I think we are in the business of honesty here.” 15
Posted by FB on October 06, 2011, 08:50 AM | # J Richards, Soren Renner, Hoffmeister…first class contributors that make this blog a serious and thoughtful project. :/ Maybe GW is tired of MR and doesn’t know how to pull the plug, so he made retards contributors in an effort to self-sabotage. 16
Posted by Thorn on October 06, 2011, 10:01 AM | # Je le vois, mais je ne crois pas LOL! That sign in name/sentence reminds me of that GREAT scene from the Sopranos: “Hasidim, but I don’t beleive ‘em.” 18
Posted by Metal Gear / Iceman on October 06, 2011, 12:24 PM | # That post is so unorthodox that I can’t even bring myself to read it fully.
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Posted by Graham_Lister on October 06, 2011, 12:51 PM | #
@FB Well FB thanks for the constructive criticism there big guy. Now if MR and GW have embraced ‘retards’ as you say then it should be extremely easy for you to step up to the plate, yes? GW is very open to new contributors. Now remember the world and human affairs are quite complex, often subtle and nuanced phenomena. I’m convinced you will do much better than just produce hysterical talk about how all the world’s ills are exclusively the fault of everyone’s favourite minority, or how a regime of less than 15 years longevity and which has millions of dead Europeans on its hands is the way forward, nor indeed would you ever be caught indulging in an adolescent fantasy about willing yourself into full Übermensch status. Such intellectually risible and politically moribund formulations, I am sure, have no place in your world-view FB. Now, seriously, please write something for GW and the MR audience. I think I’m going to be more or less silent for a good length of time. This will probably be to everyone’s relief (certainly mine as I have many other things to do) but I’ll lurk and might pop up from time to time. Carry on. Let’s hope that in a more authentic age Nature’s miracle, once more, will light the world and we can be real human beings again, truly at home in it. 20
Posted by Eric Gerstenberg on October 06, 2011, 12:56 PM | # “When Hoffmeister writes in this vein, you may sense some autobiographical content lurking in the shadows..” This is what like about CvH’s writting as well. Is it free association impressions with a vague underlying theme which can be taken at face value, so to speak ??..I haven’t read much poetry of any genre so I can’t offer much to this conversation. Good shit .. 21
Posted by Guessedworker on October 06, 2011, 07:18 PM | # Graham, Friedrich Braun ran a blog named Civic Platform for a three or four years years, the function of which was to promote a rather high octane Nationalsozialistische worldview. There was a period during which it produced some pretty good stuff. But the content became increasingly reverential, so to speak. Then one day Friedrich underwent an unexplained metamorphosis into a Judeophile, from which position he continues to offer us advice today. He is, nevertheless, an old soldier of the cause, and I have no real objection to being told off by him from time to time. 22
Posted by Gladiator on October 07, 2011, 07:44 AM | # Rome will never fall, still what is left of it will live forever in our hearts and minds..thus the white Race will survive. Even its enemies hate it so much and loathe its successes; they still make sure that the white race survives, because theirs also hinges on the balance. 23
Posted by Alaric on October 07, 2011, 07:48 AM | # FB probably found out he himself has shitskin or jew ancestry. That’s my guess as to his magical transformation into a jew butt sucker. 24
Posted by Goswinus on October 08, 2011, 09:28 AM | # A landslide hallucinate parable of what’s wrong with the White race! ‘The white race will not survive if it casts a forlorn look behind its back where the ships have sailed a long time ago to distant shores where nobody has ever heard of or even seen a white man. Not in ages, not ever.’ Indeed, it lost its virtues, its guts, devours itself out with a discomfort born from guilt, self-loath and a lack of orientation, falling into a slough, crashlanding in front of the Reaper, in shackles, imbued with false martyrdom, vanquished. 25
Posted by Dasein on October 10, 2011, 03:04 PM | # Uh, Thanks for the book recommendation. I don’t read as much fiction now as I used to. Hard to know, especially with modern stuff, whether it’s crap before you buy it. At least with non-fiction, you know whether the topic is interesting and can guess from reviews or previous work whether the author is competent. I noticed, by the way, that the Amazon (and MR?) Alaric said the book was ‘vomit’. 26
Posted by Jimmy Marr on October 10, 2011, 04:01 PM | #
Yep. The Postal Service has cut back on rural deliveries around here, so I had to drive all the way to Boone in a heavy downpour to pick up Men, Art and War, but its proving to have been well worth the trouble. 27
Posted by anon / uh on October 10, 2011, 04:26 PM | # Glad you’re enjoying it, Jimmy. I may be wrong but I believe it was written in Portland. Dasein, a review on Counter-Currents by the redoubtable F. Roger Devlin. 28
Posted by Jimmy Marr on October 10, 2011, 05:53 PM | #
I see. So, you know I was bullshitin’ about going into Boone for the book. I do, however, feel a strong kinship with the characters in Movie Star. I feel like I grew up in that bar. I’m actually from a place that started out as rural Virginia and was gradually circumscribed by the Capital Beltway. It constantly felt like Appalachia was being swallowed by Gotham City. Every day was a struggle between the advancement of the movie stars and the retreat of the rednecks. Sheeit, no wonder we took to livin’ in trailers. We ain’t dumb. 29
Posted by Jimmy Marr on October 10, 2011, 06:10 PM | # ... and them movie stars ain’t near as smart as they think they are. You’d think after all the trouble they went to in the building that road around the nation’s capitol, they’d have better sense than to name it Capital Beltway 30
Posted by anon / uh on October 10, 2011, 06:28 PM | #
Interesting. I’m from upstate New York, but passed my childhood in that area. Prince William County to be exact. So I am familiar with that very experience though it wasn’t rural in the least. The last time I was there it was all burqas and turbans. At least that’s how I’ve allowed myself to remember it. A special chamber of my heart shall ever be reserved for the hatred I feel for that state. 31
Posted by Jimmy Marr on October 10, 2011, 07:56 PM | #
Yeah, but I recently discovered that things are a lot cleaner over on the Maryland side 32
Posted by danielj on October 10, 2011, 11:58 PM | # You’d think after all the trouble they went to in the building that road around the nation’s capitol, they’d have better sense than to name it Capital Beltway Maybe it was just a Randian slip?! 33
Posted by danielj on October 11, 2011, 12:01 AM | # After all, nations are born and die consumed by money love. 34
Posted by anon / uh on October 11, 2011, 01:13 AM | # lzolzzolzzzozzozozozzz the city is killing the nation/world “THUPER-EXPONENTIATING UNBOUNDED GROWTH” zozlzozlozzlzzzz muffin-munching fiatmenschen assocked swpl bitches & thrie pasty butthxed patsies coffee for blooododod china importing south aznz to meet girlie shortfall ,lozlzozlzlzlzzzzzzzzzzzzz more rice now it sdfoesnt matter who lovess wot bc populations are in this “super-exponent” pohasze suc king more n more fiatmenschen into cities whole peoples cud go monk tomrrw it wdnt matetr the cities will not fiail will only stimrulate more innovation = more fiatmenschen = bigger cities etc etc etc INTERNAL BUTTHEXING / ,IGRATION FROM AFFREAK CAUSES ALGERINAS 2 GO 2 FRANCE 35
Posted by danielj on October 11, 2011, 01:38 AM | # “THUPER-EXPONENTIATING UNBOUNDED GROWTH” The philosophy of the cancer cell. 37
Posted by Leon Haller on October 11, 2011, 08:30 AM | # Thanks for the book recommendation. I don’t read as much fiction now as I used to. Hard to know, especially with modern stuff, whether it’s crap before you buy it. At least with non-fiction, you know whether the topic is interesting and can guess from reviews or previous work whether the author is competent. I noticed, by the way, that the Amazon (and MR?) Alaric said the book was ‘vomit’. (DASEIN)
I would spend the bulk of your fiction time on the appropriately immortalized classics of our race. What contemporary writer produces Heart of Darkness or Nostromo, Bleak House or Little Dorrit, The Devils or The Brothers Karamazov, The Magic Mountain or Doctor Faustus, etc ad infinitum? We are close to living in a literary dark age, where ‘intellectuals’ seriously consider Philip Roth to be the greatest living writer! I like Graham Greene, Iris Murdoch, and Cormac McCarthy among contemporaries or near-contemporaries. I’d like to read more Raspail besides his ingenious Camp of the Saints. 38
Posted by danielj on October 11, 2011, 11:16 AM | # 40
Posted by Graham_Lister on October 11, 2011, 02:57 PM | # Cormac McCarthy is a wonderful contemporary writer - “Blood Meridian” is a true masterpiece - it is perhaps the great American novel. Michel Houellebecq is also worth reading. 41
Posted by ANONYMOUS on October 11, 2011, 05:36 PM | # MR always take the piss. First, something has to have pretence to be pretentious - form not following function and all that, eg people going to length making very weak insipid and poorly formed political statements. I don’t see how that is relevant to this; It is crude, but it really does straightforwardly speak for itself. Despite being what might be too long an article of this type, it doesn’t labour the same analogy, it is imaginative and parts of it are memorable. You might think the way it is written is bollocks, in which case rewrite this shit as a novel. Lord. Not always a big fan of these poems, but I thought this was entertaining and decent satire. I hope more things like this without political trappings bring people together. 7/10 42
Posted by Marwinsing on October 18, 2011, 03:34 PM | # Phewwww… (in the poet’s corner I hide in shame) but and I say BUT - but this is a big fucking BUT - Gentlemen: I apologise for my expletives the other week but these memes live in me and I don’t mean it that way for after all are we not all MEN? I mean FFS don’t we all VLOEK? Serious, Lurker & GW I SAHLOET you all for stringing me onto Saffer links; I shall endeavour from now onwards to BE - and HAVE. (PS: the memories of bitterness from last time’s attempted defection to the West still linger… what about… okay; I shall propose the details of my thinking in a forthcoming letter to the White West - M) 43
Posted by C. Marcus Ideus on October 30, 2011, 09:16 PM | # An amazing literary ride of free verse and allegory, sometimes subtle and sometimes blunt. My favorite excerpt: “The white race is stroking its erect cock. The juice left a stain on the sheet. The bed is too soft. The white race is wondering where it can get its next dirty fix. The white race wasn’t flexible enough to lick its own balls.” How true! Bravo, Constantin! Well done. Next entry: Occupying a turning economic world Previous entry: Political economy and the nation |
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Existential IssuesWhite Genocide ProjectOf note
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Posted by ANONYMOUS on October 05, 2011, 10:08 AM | #
We are ANONYMOUS
We are Legion. We are pervasive.
Everyone is trying to solve a “race problem” by flooding ALL White countries and ONLY White countries with tens of millions of non-Whites, integrating and assimilating White people into oblivion.
Multi-racial integration and assimilation is extermination: It’s GENOCIDE
Anti-racism is just a code word for anti-White.
We never forget. We never forgive.
Expect us.