The Northern Hemisphere of this now decadent planet of the apes, is in the first stages of a climate cycle of the likes that crashed previous empires. The Bronze Age Collapse in 1151B.C., the coming of the Cimmerians and Scythians in 750 B.C., the Plague of Justinian in A.D. 524, the Little Ice Age from 1315 thru 1816 that saw the political world reshaped and the rise of an empire upon which the sun never set, were all periods in which a slight global cooling was attended by unusually high levels of volcanism, hurricane, flood, drought, blizzard and dearth.
Currently, as I write, I wonder if my friends in Tennessee are alright. The Creep State has prevented private aid from out of state, has sent the national guard overseas, and is killing as many indigenous Americans through hurricane exploitation as possible, even as millions of Machete Americans are being flown and bussed in to replace legacy Americans.
This may all be forgotten by the time this article posts. I do not have the courage to post these comments in a timely fashion. I would like to make two observations concerning the history of the future.
The thugs who used to be called Basketball Americans based on their adoption of an indoor university sport friendly to paved urban areas, are rapidly evolving into effeminate twerps, creatures of leisure and sloth. Less rude, less violent, less masculine, less athletic, even physically smaller, the 16 to 20 year old gro of today, is a mere shadow of his opaque forefather who was captured and robbed of his vital seed by the Mudshark that spawned him. He is atomized, less likely to pack up with other hyenadon manhunters, and is only recognizable as a legacy conqueror, the scion of the savage hordes that drove fifty million victors of WWII into suburbia, by his lack of trust.
As autumn dawns in Baltimore, I have noted this to two of my sparring partners who live here year round. As motorists, they had not taken note. Finally, today, after beating me with a stick for 40 minutes, Vaxx Zombie drove me from the Brickmouse House to Georgia’s place. I now sit upon her porch, smiling at something my driver said, “You’re right—you never saw that before!”
He nodded to a young man of gawdly hue, a slight fellow of 18 years, walking along carrying a skateboard, alone. As late as 2019, the only time one ever saw a buck of heavenly ebony carrying a skateboard, he was a 300 pound bull of surly demeanor, accompanied by two lesser lights, who had recently knocked some sissy cracker off his skateboard and bore this trophy as a makeshift war club, window breaker and door ram. These brutes never were seen riding a skateboard. Now, I routinely see young, willowy fellows of high yellow, off loading from buses and doing curb tricks, also skating away from larger exemplars of kingly Murkhan virtue. I have seen such Tony Hawk aspirants zoom away from groups of low browed indignitaries and otherwise locomote as the gods of old surely did upon their heavenly chariots. This is huge. The general herd of gawdly thugdom do not even run down prey but call it to them like rednecks luring in ducks with a carved whistle.
Three hundred years ago the Sons of Yakub were brought to these shores to replace us, as we had been to replace others, for population replacement is the best way for the Third Party to make money at the expense of the First Party, at the hands of the Second Party, who will be cycled out in his turn. Yes, more hordes are being brought to replace the 50 million who will die from the vaxx by 2040, to extinguish the most hated genetic line. But, most of us will be left behind as the conquered. For my entire life there has been no greater symbol of the submissive host race than the ghostly skateboarder, scooting along in imitation of his suburban bound daddy, who soon lost mommy’s approval in the wake of his urban removal. Now, as the dark steam has been spent from the raging urban hate vent and the sons of the warriors have been crossbred with the rabbit race, watered down to a sissy trace, machete kind have been called to these shores to cleans we the filth from mammy Murkha’s clogged pores.
For five years, many a prepper fellow has been telling me to hideout in East Tennessee or West North Carolina, the promised land. This was once the bulk of the State of Franklin, an all Appalachian runaway zone that wished to be recognized by Murkha as a sate to the extent that they adopted for its name that of the key signer of the Constitution, Benjamin Franklin, who hated their “runagate” kind with a passion. The United States would not tolerate an upstream, head-water state, that could not be invaded by sea, which controlled the headwaters of eastward and westward flowing rivers. These people would be chased down the Cumberland, Ohio and Mississippi to Arkansas, Northern California and Summit County Utah, where they are being rubbed out to this day, displaced by Mexican drug cartels, billionaire coastal Americans and the great leviathan, USG. The value of mountain springs, the hard rock and precious metal and rare earth to be found in mountains, along with the difficulty of rooting out hated hillbilly kind, once moved the English to persecute the Cornish, Welsh and Scottish for 500 years to get the ore and coal to be found there and then export the combative sons of the highlanders to fight overseas wars. Those sons are being exported again as their parents are rubbed out, just like the Nez Perce and Apache of the high deserts who were sent to moist lowlands to die of disease.
The Common Enemy of All Mankind knows what it is, even as we deny it exists. We are its crooked moral timber, its tasty melting pot of misery—we are HER food.
Tiamat is back, dressed appropriately, in black.
