Baltimore

A friend of mine, Mister Grey, operates in the inquisitive realm or reviled Thought according to a split European racial construct. I find this construct quite interesting and considering the subject under discussion, being late stage Modernity, useful in that the Anglo-Elite and their crypto-allies and their neo-Wakandan mind slaves, address the world of reality according to a strictly false dualistic polarity:

-Elves: ideally tall, Nordic, Anglo, academic and government oriented. He finds that the British and their American scions most represent in celebrity and media values as well as power politics, what he calls the Elvish view of the world. This perspective which is the view of the Titan, the world-shaper, the class of person driven by some cosmic hubris to insist on shaping reality either by force or delusion, naturally brings the idea of the sacred and divine into temporal, public life.

-Garlic eaters: lower stature, but generally more robust “Med and Alpine” types, the peoples that fought back the savages of Asia, Africa and the Levant for ages while the Nordics schemed behind their broad backs in their ice castles, merchant shops and managerial conclaves. Tending to the criminal, hated by Lovecraft, Madison, Stoddard and other Nordic Eugenicists, and personified by Howard as the Picts in his Kull, Conan and Mark Morn cycles, these people tend to a ruthless to languid, though generally practical, relationship with reality—keeping the sacred and the divine in the timeless sphere of heavenly consciete [1], not insisting on a Great Temple of Man.

So, this has always interested me, this social construct of Mister Grey's, to the point where I applied it to my fantasy novel Haft in which the elves are evil vampires and the orks redemptive savages.

Last week, while we were looking at our second book store and continuing to find that the most common theme of the Anglo-dominated publishers, continued to be constant worship of mixed race Anglo-Africans this image stuck with me as a borrowing. Do the Anglos [since John Hawkins was granted a knighlty crest by Queen Elizabeth in 1577 with a negress on it] engage in cognitively colonizing and steeling the physical forms of Africans, as a way of using that race's fecund virility against their lesser and more rooted European underraces?

Is this Anglo, Crypto, or symptomatic of late stage civilized moral decline—or is all of these?

Then, while speaking with a young right wing fellow, who among many young right wing fellows of Anglo make sought cerebral knowledge about women from a certain YouTube image consultant of Gawdly Hue, I discovered that this fellow, this titan of mortal realization, was dead of a heart attack at a mere 53.

Speaking with Mister Grey on the phone last night, he demonstrated his disgust in the leading light of white nationalist dissident thought carrying the story of this death as tragic news and possibly deep state conspiracy to keep white men down by depriving them of their favorite magic negro. He did so in crudely comic terms:

“What is it about the Who-white, elite, the British and Anglo-Americans, that you have to rule everything, to include fire bombing nations back to the stone age for a hundred years. And that the moment in history when this absolute rule over mankind begins to slip, you have to immediately bracket down to sucking a black dick?”

His observation seems accurate to me, as a pale man who has seen my kind constantly compete for the affection of darker men. Interestingly, the most popular Crackpot Podcast, is, much to Lynn Lockhart's disgust, The Carbon Mike episode, not any of the ghost themed episodes. This in light of the fact that most of the listeners are ethno-nationalist men of European descent!

It is a fact that the most overreaching culture in human history has been the Anglo-Protestant, the only empire upon which the sun never set. Perhaps the very abject emasculation of this group stemmed from their one unique development: industry. Was the steam engine the first step in transhumanism, perhaps causing the global premature ejaculation of a Norman rape culture?

I'm putting this out here for readers like Don Quotays, Devil Dick and Marius who think deeply on such things, having thought it a shame a few times, that you fellows have not had the pleasure of touring a book store or a ghetto with Mister Grey.

Well, I do declare, that we have on this earth, a New God, and that he is of ebony hue. But some better ghost man is going to have to polish his nether-obsessed statue.

Note

-1. Retardation study. How can one yeti without predictive spell check spell a word he's read thousands of times and correctly spelled [apparently by accident] hundred of times, never getting within one letter so that this spell check might correct it.

-1. Consciet

-2. Consciete

-3. Conscete

-4. Consceat

-5. Consceate

-6. Concsiet

-7. Concsiete

-8. Concsete

-9. Concseat

-10. Concseate

-11. Concete

-12. Consiete, that is not it, no way

-13. Conseate...this is one of a few dozen words which I chose not to use over hundreds of books because I could not spell them in 5 or more tries. I have grown weary of limiting my word usage because I am unable to spell the words. I recall spending two entire years at Pleasant Plains elementary school learning how to spell “because,” and then forgetting it the next year. I do tenaciously relearn that word every day sometimes—a point of pride. But I'm not consceited [and I thought that using that more common derivation would free me from this hole in my wee head—but no! Cruel Norn!]

Henceforth, as this writing career winds down, I will use the words I want and place a [can't spell] notice next to it.

My head now throbs, actually hurts. That is interesting, as one of the few parts of me I put into my most prolific fictional character Jay Bracken was his stupidity that was so deep that his head hurt when he tried to think. This was a complaint of one of the very few readers, that this was a cartoonish characteristic that is made up for humor's sake, when it was merely my own plight, as a moron. So to the reader who thought I was using unrealistic humor, when Jay thought to himself, “Stop trying to figure it out dummy—it hurts!” well, it was autobiographical.