[written 12/26/19]
Once again, I have proofed another article answering a young man’s curiosity concerning our past and our nature, in terms of what books I think, of the thousands I have read, might serve him best in crafting a perspective which will not facilitate him spending 48 years reading thousands of books as I did.
There is a certain value to quantity. I recall how my view of the world was so much more deeply textured and less confused after I had read 1,152 books between 1998 and 2000, largely at the Peabody Conservatory.
That said, this young man is out of time.
The gig is up.
He and his kind have been slated for extinction, marked for dearth, wrapped in the cloak of the Holy Lie Everlasting, and cast adrift in a vast, crowded coracle its anchor cables cut, on a sea of uncertainty.
I think that I have written about 10 articles in attempts to arrive at A Reading List for young men. It now occurs that something far more important is required to achieve maximum illumination in our minimal light world. For we live in a world where Light-Bringer means the Devil and any attempt to perceive the world for what it is and conceive of oneself within it as an actionist is heresy.
So below I paint you a picture of the world of man, of the past roughly 5,000 years from whence Civilization was a walled town on the edge of lush forest or verdant wetland, and this dying year, 2019, when Civilization constitutes an agreement that those who hate us are angelic beings and those who control us are benevolent stewards of our unappreciative souls.
A marble stage of blue streaked with white stands as the field of Time, bathed in light filtered down from the unblinking array above.
Across the front of this stage is hung a curtain of stygian black streaked with crimson and blotted with bleached skulls, looking ominously down upon our age like an Aztec pyramid festooned with grinning skulls, stained black with voiceless sorrow.
Before that oppressive curtain are scattered the various, plastic, paper and gossamer props of a children’s playhouse stage production. The players are dressed in finery, scatter and wrestle for their props and strut with importance. The infantile players squabble endlessly about their roles and their storylines, which are forever rewritten, as the shadowed dead look on voicelessly from the wings and the empty seats of the unborn, yawn rank upon empty rank in the darkened theater.
The play makes increasingly less sense to the players. For, unseen to them, is the expanse of the backstage, the hundreds of yards deep of history that might have dazzled, enriched, informed, or perhaps crushed their little, self-important minds, all of it unknown to them, separated from them by the curtain of black, red and bone dead.
That curtain is World War Two, the postscript to the suicide of the Arуan races, an act which is largely reported as lies, makes up the majority of historical literature, and which has no real importance of its own as a causal mechanism in human affairs. WWII is a bomb crater endlessly investigated by forensic experts who excavate down to the earlier crater of WWI and stop there, scratching their simian brows, wondering what possibly could have gone wrong, until the priesthood reminds them that the final detonation of the second crater holds all the keys to the cause of the first.
If I have one suggestion for a young reader, it is this:
Read nothing about WWII.
Believe nothing about WWII.
It is a curtain hung before the human experience to deny our humanity.
Only read behind the curtain, not before it, and do not waste your time inspecting the fuligin fabric of the barrier to all knowledge that is World War Two.
I say this because you would have to read thousands of books just on that war to begin getting at its truth, and in the end, its truth was just that, The End.
Don’t read the graffiti on the curtain. Slide behind it and walk as far back as you can to try and get a glimpse at what it was once like to be men.
PS: Laugh, scoff and shake your head. But for the vast majority of keen minds, spending decades reading about that which serves only to stifle all knowledge of what went before, will simply result in anger, contempt and pity for you and yours, all emotions which serve only the system dedicated to your extinction.
This is great, sir.
Ron Unz has put up a lot of great stuff at his site. His 'American Pravda' stuff would be an easy way of leap-frogging the Barnes&Nobles-full piles of mendacious propaganda and cutting to the chase. The following link starts with a cogent discussion of some now-samizdat histories written by men who used to be leading historians until dropped into the blackness of the ruling lizard's memory hole, AJP Taylor, Harry Elmer Barnes, John Flynn, and Charles Beard, amongst others ('Lucky' Lindy's congressman father, for one).
unz.com/runz/american-pravda-understanding-world-war-ii
This piece directly discusses the 'Great Purge' of Truth from what passes for our national discourse, and illuminates the mechanisms of memory-holing utilized by our American version of Minitrue:
unz.com/runz/american-pravda-our-great-purge-of-the-1940s
Below is linked one of the more remarkable essays I've seen published in English. It's a wonder that Unz is still amongst the living, after publishing this one.
unz.com/runz/american-pravda-oddities-of-the-jewish-religion
Unz seems to be in the mold of Uri Avnery, Gilad Atzmon, Henry Makow, and a (very) few others who are willing to search for Truth despite being immersed in a witches' cauldron of greasy lies.
I'm currently reading a book by former NY Times writer Stephen Kinzer, whose 'Overthrow' is second only to Smedley Butler's 'War is a Racket' at opening one's eyes to US imperial policy in the Western hemisphere. His latest, 'Poisoner in Chief,' about Sidney Gottlieb's MK Ultra work with the CIA, is, in a word, sickening. Gottlieb hired such 'patriots' as Harold Abramson, a NY psychiatrist, who did such monstrous acts as dosing children as young as 9 with LSD not once but for weeks at a time. The litany of horror is staggering, and that's what we can glean after Gottlieb destroyed almost the entirely of his MK Ultra research records. They poisoned an entire town in France, released bacteria into the San Francisco fog and NY subway systems, performed electroshock and radiation experiments on children, on and on. Quite literally the conjurings of Hell.
So there is available a body of work that permits glimpses of the machinery of evil that masquerades as patriotism in the Land of the Free (Gore Vidal's sarcastic term, deployed to effect in many of his 1970s-era political essays collected in 'United States.')
Here's a treasure trove of samizdat, again put online by Unz—
This links to 1,788 books that are now forbidden ground for the errant wanderer. Happy hunting!
unz.com/book
Thanks, thanks and thank you.
This might make a very worthwhile Lenten fast: to not read anything written before... say 1936 just to be sure.