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An Age of Axe and Spear
Crackpot Mailbox: Teutonic Fist and James Discuss a Heathen View of the EndTimes
Tue, Nov 20, 3:20 PM (4 days ago)
The daily mail carried this headline
""Dramatic moment 'moped gang rammed a stolen car into luxury jewellery store Boodles before stabbing the brave builder who tried to stop them with samurai swords and slashing his knees with an axe'""
We enter the Age of Axe and Spear.
It could be the carthasis our culture needs to correct itself. No complex society in history ever de-complexified itself. Maybee an Age of savagery is necessary to remind the people of what is important and what is not. But, why do i even bother to mention a meybee in this scenario you know as well as I do that a rome of 100 ad can turn into a rome fo 410 ad rather quickly.
I thank the god of war for this "cirsis" every day.
-Teutonic Fist
Friend, I felt what you have described one day two years ago, I think, when, seething over indignities by the police and their ebony allies, the street thugs who hunted me, I heard a caw above and looked up to see a huge crow—I raven I hoped, but probably an overfed dumpster crow—as it declined to take wing when I came under it's telephone pole perch at the military crest of the ridge just below the top, where Caucasian Avenue described its narrow asphalt line before the old orchard house wherein I skulked by day.
It may have been wishful thinking when I felt a chill in my spine and a desire to avenge myself against my menacing stewards, to break the social chains that weighted my soul like lead and return to the old ways and live for at least a minute along one of those miserable lanes I have skulked as a slave for all those muffled years...
One of my readers, an older, wiser man, even chastised me by email when I wrote of these inner workings, of my awakening to the sense that War is a deity [or distinctive waking moment of a greater entity] and that there are only two choices in life, War or servitude and that my invisible slave collar had chaffed my soul to the quick.
I was nearly dead when this sense came to me and it changed me a great deal. I decided that morning, before the sun was up, that I would avenge myself on the slave cult that claimed to own me. That is why I write. However, had this come to me as a younger man, well that's not something I cannot discuss outside of fiction.
Better Destroy Your Own Statues
Fri, Nov 23, 5:13 PM (18 hours ago)
Photos of a bronze statue of a fallen German soldier being attended by an angel were sent with this email. The final photo shows various ebon oppressed texting on the smartphones that their ancestors invented in Senegal a thousand years ago as they drink beer and litter the monument with empty bottles.
Whats the point in having memorials and statues and parks if there are no people left who would value and honor them. The people who remain are simply not worthy of having these things. A few months ago a Poem by Kipling was overpainted in an british university by the demographic that keeps on culturaly enriching with some black liberation stuff or whatever it was and I personaly find this hilarious. Hahaha worked out great for your Boy Jack and your white mans burden you old cunt so that Brits don't speak German today. And who cares about Silent Sam when the people now living around the sculpture could just as good be from a totaly different civilization. The German tribes who overtook the roman Provinces cooked the Roman marble statues to make lime so why would the new barbarians care about Kipling. And lets be honest here, in that time when they errected these casted bronce statues it was already going down in regarts to artistic expresions. Now its full on planet of the apes shit. I would simply destroy it before these dirty apes get their hands on them. I would melt them down and make their brass into ammo cartridges.
TF, not having been born into a nation consisting of a people, but rather having been born a mongrelized scion of the slave races shipped here by the British and Dutch, I can only imagine your angst at seeing images of your heroic nation's past begrimed by hoodrat snot. But I cannot know how that feels, having been born a prisoner of my ancestral enemies and feeling no attachment to their monuments.
That said, I disagree with your combative sentiment. These statues are things that the young races of your desecrated land could never fashion, indeed probably lack the industry to destroy. Monuments in the U.S. have not been destroyed or removed by the lesser kind pets of the ghost elite, but by the ghost elite themselves, who have ordered their civic work force and their big yellow machines to remove the metal, and even they baulk at the massive stone platforms. Of course, your nation's new occupants do not know what lime is and lack the ability to even melt metal let alone liquefy stone. Don't defame your barbarian ancestors by crediting these feral savages with similar industry.
When I see the young ebon waif squatting in squalor behind the helmet of the fallen Aryan I am reminded of the giant bones that Pausanius wrote about in his Description of Hellas. These were probably dinosaur or mammoth bones. I am also reminded of the massive stone architecture of Egypt, Peru and Asia Minor, off the coast of Japan under water—monuments that even now our engineers claim could not be reproduced—and it occurs to me that those monuments should remain to litter the ruins of your nation as avatars of the past, to whisper to the tiny minds of such savages:
You are less even than our memory.
And one day, one of these degenerate creatures will shudder with the realization that the age of scavengers is passing and that War is returning. These creatures are limited to scrawling brief egotaphs with spray paint, a substance they are incapable of producing, and just as their crude paintings wash away before the years and the sick civilization they drag down with their dead weight fails to produce the means for self expression, they will vanish into nothingness and the monuments of their predecessors will remain. There is nothing these meat-puppets can ever produce that will outlast their own miserable lives. Like the flu passing into miserable memory in spring, they will scatter into nothingness.
A statue has a purpose, if only to witness the passing of the lesser races who pick the bones of his makers.
Thought Crimes: Capital
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c7November 28, 2018 12:15 AM UTC

"You are less even than our memory."

You are a fucking National Treasure, James. The last outpost of sanity in Pozzworld.