I have been in a dark mood over the last number of weeks. The elation of the Trump victory has run its natural course to disappointment. Not just regular disappointment but a deep sense of discouragement at an unexpected hero’s promise and failure to deliver. For though I resisted believing rationally, at some level I bought into the idea that we were wining suddenly, and surprisingly easily. At least I felt that we were going to gain some ground. Real ground. The idea that we were played for votes seemed too unpalatable to entertain. Shameful really. I know the cool kids on the Right never really bought into it. Verbally at least, I was cautious. But I did find myself, deep down, hoping against the continuing stream of losses we have endured over all the decades of my life. I hoped for a reversal of the memetic warfare on our people and heritage.
I am sure I hoped for too much from Papa Trump. He has now learned the arts of compromise and deception that all politicians must learn. I am sure he already knew these arts well. But the honest good will of his rally speeches has given way to Zionist pressures to defend the prophetic state of Israel. The Church is insufficient proof of the majesty of Christ. We need the old State of Israel in situ to confirm the validity of the Scriptures. “Israel in the Land” is the contemporary Ontological Argument for the existence of God. Or so it goes for a horde of American Evangelicals who worship this Golden Calf of their own making.
The Jews in our own countries tell us conversely that we must welcome unlimited numbers of Moslems within our borders while defending the ethnic State of Israel. It is a cliche old and tired and boring in these parts, but just the same, it goes nowhere. This contradiction between Israel in the ME and Jews in Western countries is at the heart of American politics R and D. And since the Europeans, the ethnic ones, will not be outdone by the uncouth in the New World, they do their best to out-pious the Yanks in this moral>social>political flagellation. Something to do with the Holocaust, and pogroms, and every lack on the part of White Westerners to properly bend the knee at the vocalization of Jewish grievance. But there ain’t no valley low enough for us to tread to appease Jewish offence once triggered. A perpetual whole burnt offering is the only rite of atonement for their ‘Never forgive; never forget’.
Conversely our broken souls forgive Moslem terror within hours. Our keepers of the public conversation are quick to make the possible (and understandable) Western Muzz Fatigue more threatening than actual bombs which have obliterated the bodies of our children. A smug madness occupies the highest seat of our social>spiritual thinking. Our very destruction has been transformed into a a virtue. A transcendent cowardice rules the hearts of our men.
Israelis do not forgive Muzzies in their own land, nor do they forgive us for sins committed against them 70, 700, or even mythical ones from 7000 years ago. We must be just so as to not offend Jews. And though #NotAllJews I have not met any who are not jumpy and easily offended. They might be offended in a variety of ways, from several political motivations, but those who are offended are inconsolable apart from total submission to their will. We must never make them afraid, or hold them responsible for their situation in any way. We must remember they are the one ubervirtuous people with thoughtful, artistic souls; a veritable nation of Mahlers who just want to play violin or theorize politically or manage our finances or entertain us.
We must defer because of our past sins. Well, for the sins of our fore-bearers, and our tendency to forget just how monstrous we are if left to our own cognizance. Though in truth we are not to understand ourselves as a people at all. We are not to have a sense of history, except when it comes to our crimes against Jews and the other victim classes they welcome into the ante room of their community of the suffering.
We know this. It bores. Yet persists.
There is nothing new or insightful in this gray rant. That is why it is so black. Yet from time to time I must articulate the mad little half formed ideas that compete for the privileged seat of consciousness in my mind. For however dull these insights may be in our realm on the Right, they are ghastly offensive, even criminal observations in some Western civil societies. For this reason I am tired. Tired of being afraid to speak truth against the madding wall of moronic consensus I have bashed up against all my days. But there it is, if I want to be successful, want to keep my family and career safe, I should bow, cower, shut up, and hide; even in these the lands my ancestors conquered for me, their progeny.
Maybe I no longer care. Maybe the inevitable loss of all that I might scrounge from the carcass of the West no longer motivates. Maybe the hope for something I will never see, never touch, never fully be, inspires me to prepare its foundation. Something for future generations. Yet something that will not be unless I and others chance its becoming. The risk is enormous of course. But the gains otherwise are pathetic, meaningless. I save my ass and maybe another generation enjoys a modicum of prosperity, and then we disappear under a vortex of the confused nameless ‘Other’. We disappear not because we had too strong or worthy an enemy. No, we disappear because we were too big of pussies to make it otherwise; we were too weak to stand and endure the shame and pain of countering the idiocy of this age. So in truth we only loose if we allow the shameful to shame us.
The blackness of the pill is not form without then, but from within. Any good Reactionary knew Trump would not save us. The real question was always how far would he clear the path. The answer has been returned; “Not very far”. Still, things are better than they could have been. We must make good use of the time we have been given. We must act boldly. Even if we are full-blown Monarchists or NRx futurists, that ethos isn’t gunna just manifest itself. We are the agents of this change, and so must continue to project our will for change into the world with all courage and humility.
As Jesus promised, “The meek will posses the world.” This characteristic, meekness, underwhelms, yet is misunderstood. It seems that Jesus makes a deceptive promise here, that the weak will somehow gain the upper hand. Meekness is not analogous to weakness though; not in any way. Rather, meekness is strength under control. Focused, sober strength animated by vision and hope. Humble courage; quiet strength; controlled tenacity: meekness is paradoxical like a glacier; gradual, yet directed and indefatigable.
My dark mood is subsiding, and I am ready to participate again more actively in the counterrevolution. I think I’ve changed somewhat, but my resolve to defend my traditional Christian faith, revive my ethnic family, and promote our traditional teachings (sometimes called paganism) is more sure and focused than before the dark night of the past few weeks. I suppose we must sometimes shed false hopes so that the true form of our intentions can emerge.
For those who got this far, thank you for indulging me these words of self reflection.