It’s all they’ve got
September 10, 2022 in Investigation & Articles
It’s all they’ve got
It’s all they’ve got. Some binary digits in a bank computer mainframe. A stack of an inert metal. Illusions of grandeur. Vaulting pride. Inbred cruelty, selfishness, and myopia.
They have no soul, no vision, no heart, no feeling.
They have no poetry.
They have no quiet dreams.
They cannot soar.
Only scrabble, despairingly, in the caked blood and dirt, for yet another miserable shekel, extorted, milked, bilked, from the ever struggling, working man.
Their God, being self?
Is a small, unenviable, ugly, vicious beastie.
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Loading…White, and Proud
September 10, 2022 in European Civil War(s)
White, and proud
I am perfectly happy, content, at ease with being WHITE. Proud, if you like.
(Well, admittedly, with a Green-ish tinge. No, I don’t mean the dubious patee-foie.
Just the Gaelic, like)
I also believe the endless onslaught, the tsunami of recent bad news?
Has re-taught me, once again, an old truth. Namely that our White Race is capable of great, soaring goodness. We can climb the pinnacles of brilliant achievement, in innumerable fields. We did before, and we shall, again.
But how, at times, we have been fooled, misled. How many brave, courageous men, have been led into needless battle. David Irving (“The Struggle for Power”) led me to a bitter realization about the Cruel Masters that Winston Churchill so slavishly served.
Dr. Friedrich Stieve’s little book (“What the world rejected: Hitler’s Peace Offers 1939-1940”) confirmed it. My conclusion? WW2 was totally unnecessary. Just another Jew-stoked, cruel debacle for my poorly misled, poorly served people.
It led me to read many a book, follow many a lead, and finally, bitterly, admit to myself, that I had been totally wrong, on a great many issues.
There too, a certain poignancy. I remember sitting on the couch, as a young lad, with my father, watching Winston Churchill’s funeral on our black-and-white television. My father, tears in his eyes. And I, hushed in awe. ‘Twas a fine cathedral service, even the music stage managed, to the nth detail, by the dear departed, war-mongering b*st*rd himself.
I know my father and his comrades, in those dark days, blacked out, clustered around the radio, listened to that man’s voice, believing it to be the savior himself, riding in to rally the troops. But now we know better. How Churchill KNEW from the Bletchley code-breakers’ work, that Hitler positively, absolutely, did NOT want war with Britain and France.
It was Churchill, bought and paid for, (Focus Group, Focus Group), who, in essence, flat-out, kept all that invaluable information secret from even his cabinet colleagues.
He LIED to his Government, and LIED to the British people. About Hitler’s intentions, desires, and aims.
Ah, what could have been. What could have been prevented.
The real enemies of then, the same real despots TODAY, the real evil? That confront my people today? Occupy every seat of power they can keep their bloodied talons in. They control the laughably mis-named “Mainstream Media” (MSM), which they use to relentlessly serve up an alternative, FALSE, pseudo Reality. In which the White Race is blamed, scathingly, relentlessly, for all the demonic evil THEY themselves inflicted.
One of my retreats, when I need it, is ancient Buddhist poetry, which I love. Their harmony with the Universe, their peaceful intent. Or, at other times, my Harley, slamming around a sixty mph curve at ninety-five. But I was taught to shoot and fight. I am no stranger to lethal force. I understand what it is, to desire Peace. And to be sorely disappointed.
I shall not go quietly, into the night.
I refer to the above mentioned book of Dr Friedrich Stieve.
“Written by Germany’s foremost diplomatic historian of the early twentieth century, this work maps out all the numerous times that Adolf Hitler made unconditional offers of peace to all the nations of Europe – and how the major anti-German belligerents, France and Britain, turned down these offers, each and every time.
The author lists all of Hitler’s offers in detail, complete with quotes, starting with his first offer of May 17, 1933, his second offer of December 18, 1933, his third offer of May 21, 1935, his fourth offer of March 31, 1936, his fifth offer of September 30, 1938, his sixth offer of December 6, 1938, his seventh offer of late 1939 to Poland to settle the Danzig Corridor issue peacefully, and finally, his offer of world peace on October 6, 1939, just over a month after Britain and France had declared war on Germany for invading Poland on September 1 (but not on the Soviet Union, which had also invaded Poland on September 17)”
I understand what it is, to desire Peace. And to be sorely disappointed.
I shall not go quietly, into the night…
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Loading…The Divine Spark
September 10, 2022 in Great Cosmic Kindness
The divine spark
My dear old Mum was a traditional Irish Catholic.
Very soft-spoken lady, writer for Catholic magazines (she wrote as Angela Meyrick), and had a magnificent library. Not for show either. All her books were dog-eared, with extensive pencil notes written in the margins.
She expressly left the library to me, but… my estranged father gave it all away during my world-wandering absence. Life.
One of the many quiet admonitions she would direct at me (I was the deserving recipient of many) was that I should always nourish the ‘Divine Spark’. By which she meant that there was something placed in all of us, rich or poor, at birth.
A ‘Divine Spark’, that was ours to cherish, nurture, care for… or neglect. We little humans could either whip it into a roaring fire, visible for miles around, or…? Simply let the poor wee critter fizzle out, in a last, despairing, gasping puff of black, sooty, smoke.
She also, one day, quietly pointed out, that there was in me, at times, an astonishing, cold hardness. I remember that day, and the quiet, concerned, note in her voice.
I wonder what she would have thought, of some of my later pursuits.
Life roars on, and the express train, crashing along the tracks, stops for no one. We passengers, at times comfortable, at times shaken about, even forced to pick our teeth fillings up off the floor, often match our thoughts to the strange rhythm of life.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack
here we race, along the track
tickets please!, and how long before
we ride this rattling train no more.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack
here we race, along the track
In the fog, way up ahead
I wonder oft, no fear or dread
what station door awaits my rap
this pilgrim’s gentle, seeking, tap?
The ride… is magnificent.
The journey, mind blowing.
The Creation, breath taking.
But I am a simple pilgrim. Not very bright. Prone to opinions, rants and ravings.
I remind myself. All I really need is a warm cloak, a sturdy staff, and that amazing sense… that I have seen and know, nothing.
Then, perhaps, at last? The wind in my hair? That Divine spark?
Even I? Might learn…
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Loading…For a Moment
September 10, 2022 in Great Cosmic Kindness
“I’m sorry they treat you so wickedly”, whispered the Sky.
“It’s okay”, smiled Earth. From the depths of her seas. The tops of her mountains. And the quiet murmur of the patient breeze.
“Humans are small in spirit. They forget. It all only lasts? Their glory, vanity, pomp & strut? Their endless, warring, silliness?
For a moment.”
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Loading…A simple Question
September 10, 2022 in Investigation & Articles
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Loading…Your mouth runneth over, unwisely, Mister Giuliani
September 10, 2022 in Investigation & Articles
Your mouth runneth over, unwisely, Mister Giuliani
Unwise, indeed, the man who boasts, on the subject of 9-11:
“…it was the worst day of my life and in some ways, you know, the greatest day of my life, in terms of my city, my country, my family.”
(Your greatest day, eh? Is that how your tiny, vain, pompous, parading mind works?)
And I’m not surprised he has earned quite the smack-down for this egocentric musing. It comes across that he is in love with the tawdry distractor-image that the ever-lying JSMM has craftily painted of him. Namely that he was some kind of (sniff!) magnificent hero, staunchly and nobly ‘leading’ New York through its worst day. Standing on the barricades, as it were, unflinching, against the volleys of arrows all ah-incoming. Etc, etc. Three cheers! Monument to Rudy, please! Speech, speech, speech!
(Bah, humbug. You silly, little, pretentious man)
But something else he prattled on about, in his Narcissistic, crowing self-adulation, caught my attention. Look at this now:
‘It was the worst foreign attack on this country since the war of 1812. It was a complete surprise. It was an attack on completely innocent people and I watched it first hand,’ he added. (crowed)
(Wow. Look at me!) Meh.
But I have a question for you, dear ‘first hander’.
“WAS IT A FOREIGN ATTACK?”
“WAS IT A COMPLETE SURPRISE?”
And that, Rudi baby, are the questions millions of us have asked, ever more dryly, even cynically, as time has marched on, and sticky, smelly evidence has cascaded forth, pouring out of the skeleton cupboard.
WAS IT?
Or are you just another bought little bit-player, playing along with a false JSMM narrative, that you know full well, is sickeningly FALSE?
We know, for sure, that you know all about the Jew-call, warning thousands of Jews, (4,000??), to quietly (sneakily) stay-the-hell AWAY from the Twin Towers, on the morning of 9-11. Thus cruelly ABANDONING their unfortunate Goyim colleagues to their ghastly fates.
Lying in the rubble, wounded, in agony, crying out for help that tried so bravely and HEROICALLY to arrive, but never made it. Waving frantically out of those smashed windows. Or, in a last human act, thinking only of loved ones, thinking of Life, slipping by, temperatures soaring unbearably, the despairing leap to their Death.
“WAS IT A FOREIGN ATTACK?”
“WAS IT A COMPLETE SURPRISE?”
Or was it a demonic-vicious INSIDER job, a 5th column operation, the abysmal work of a tiny cabal of INSIDER traitor-enemies of America?
Oh, Rudy….
How did YOU get your cushy little jobs? What patronage, what sly nods, what approval, from which body, did YOU so slavishly seek? And humbly cow-tow to? With never the guts to EVER DARE ask one simple little question that went against the ‘approved’ JSMM, Hollywood film score?
Oh, Rudy…
Millions of us, more every day, simply don’t buy that story.
We don’t buy your oily, smug little “Amn’t I the hero?” narcissistic virtue flaunt.
We don’t BUY any of it, you son of a petty felon-thug, and muscle-man Mafia enforcer.
If you truly were a hero? You too, would join millions of your fellow citizens, loudly DEMANDING answers to common-sense questions, that legions of architects, demolition engineers, authors and researchers have steadily asked, for 21 YEARS now.
Grow a SPINE, Rudy. Speak the truth, ask the hard questions, for once.
And actually STAND on the barricades…
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Loading…Strange Calm
April 2, 2022 in article about writing
Strange calm
Disembodied, I nonetheless exist – still. Surveying the smoking wreckage of my explosively downed, MI-28N attack helicopter. Ammunition going off, in the heat. Somewhere in that blazing, unrecognizable wreck?
My mortal, human, pilot remains burn.
But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.
I saw it coming. The whistling blur, the fire, smoke. Seconds away. Then the sledgehammer. The G-forces nearly snapped my neck. Even then, I wrestled with the controls. Anti-torque pedals, cyclic, collective. Desperately, but my machine did not respond. Thrown around in my harness, I never quit fighting.
In those final, dizzying, pitiful seconds.
But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.
It saddens me. Not my violent, yet insignificant passing. What saddens me is that you, the world at large, have mostly have lost your judgment, and your compassion.
How many of you will cheer at my passing? Or, grimly satisfied, just scroll on down your I-phone? Looking for your next momentary titillation?
As if I was just a pixel, in one of those savage video games you so delight in playing. You cannot, you in the West, you in America, see that you are next. You are next to be casually shot out of existence, militarily or existentially, because you do not matter. You are manipulated, deceived, by the same forces who cause the wars, killing millions of us, brothers, and then have the gall to advocate as your saviors.
You have good people trying to point the truth out, trying to warn you. But their voices are drowned out. Lost, in the cruel Media-inflamed, pack baying of the mob. You are back in the Roman gladiatorial arena. The players, down below, fighting bloodily for survival. While you cheer lustily, and boo, jeer at their pain, and casually look forward to the next unfortunates, to be forced upon the stage. For your cynical, shallow amusement. You are being led, by the nose, and amazingly, after all this time? You still don’t see the slave ring, piercing your nostrils.
They are coming now. I hear the whooping, and the laughter. They will stand beside my last battle, and high five one another. They will pose for photos and selfies, beside the smoldering corpse of their brother.
But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.
The sun is setting. On the West.
I shall not wait for them, to mockingly poke my corpse with their bayonets. The frozen death mask upturned, eyes still open, staring at the sky.
I was a son. I was a father. I was a husband, and I was your brother.
I am walking away now, into the setting sun.
I grieve for me. My loved ones, who will miss me.
I grieve for you.
Those who I fought
I bear no hate.
If you will not mourn
your brother’s fate?
Instead, heap scorn
on all he sought?
Then know, you mock
so casually?
The Puppet Masters’ cherished goal
the focus of their cruel, dark soul
what they seek, the greatest prize
Your very own, abrupt, demise.
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Loading…Why the stupid Greed?
March 27, 2022 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), The Great Cosmic Kindness
Why the stupid greed?
In the autumn of my little life, I, a simple enough, not-terribly-bright, God-respecting man, marvel at the human race. I really do.
For decades now, I’ve regarded Life as a very interesting, albeit too brief, sojourn on a really cool little planet. A taster, kinda thing. Hopefully, I and others are correct, and Death’s just a door, on which we shall knock, timidly, (I imagine), at the appointed time.
With a few notable exceptions, to the ‘timid’, of course.
There was always this joke going around about the Reverend Ian Paisley. A Protestant Northern Irish politician, not famed for his reticence or quiet delivery. The joke was that you could be sitting in heaven, trying to string your stupid harp, and there would be this constant timid knocking at the door. Lots of humble little spirits, recently passed, all asking, humbly, to be let in.
Then, all of a sudden?
“Whallop! Bang! Crash!”
A terrible beating on the heavenly doors.
That… would be the Reverend Ian Paisley, himself.
“Open this door this very instant! And, Jesus, get the f**k outta my chair…!!”
And thus my fellow Man, reliably, seems to make a spectacle of himself, and me.
But given the admitted brevity of the human experience, the constant risk of accidental mishap, be it from crashing helicopters or a bad case of gout, what in the holy hell is the point of crudely, SO crudely, amassing vast fleeting worldly ‘wealth’? I just don’t get it. There’s ample evidence that Biden, Clinton, Romney, Pelosi, Kerry, etc, etc, are guilty of some astonishingly shady dealings, with epic conflicts of interest. Involving not just millions, but BILLIONS. And, seriously, to cover all that up, are you going to start a war???
You’re absolutely mad. Bonkers, woof-woof, howling-at-the-moon-time.
If you don’t have the basics, shelter, food, etc. Well, life is miserable. But quickly enough, beyond a certain point? You can’t spend it, you can’t take it with you, you’re worshiping it like it’s the Golden Calf and some Class Act Hooker rolled into one? Does that Calf also give lap dances? What!?
It’s nuts. Far better to see Life as a short-lived taster, and if you’re lucky and wise, you MIGHT, just might, be able to leave the poor planet a tad better, a tad happier, when you leave, hiding the Rum bottle, than when you arrived, yelling your lungs out.
Our ‘leaders’ (usurpers?) mostly set a truly terrible -and foolish- example.
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Loading…Interesting quote from the second trial (1988) against Ernst Zundel:
March 27, 2022 in Holocaust Stories, Investigation & Articles
Interesting quote from the second trial (1988) against Ernst Zundel:
No ‘Survivor’ Witnesses For The Prosecution
The judge asked the prosecutor if he would call any “survivors” to the witness stand. The prosecutor answered no. The experience of (the first trial, 1985 -Ed) 1985 had been too embarrassing. The cross examination had been devastating.
It is regrettable that at the trial of Klaus Barbie in France in 1987 and at the trial of John Demjanjuk in Israel in 1987-1988, no defense lawyer has followed Douglas Christie’s example in the first Zündel trial (1985): Christie had shown that by carefully questioning witnesses about the gassing process itself, one could destroy the very foundation of the “extermination camp” myth.
One could destroy the very foundation of the “extermination camp” myth…
The US Holocaust Museum cabal ignore all this, of course. They happily parade their “Holocaust survivors” on Jew-Tube, telling lurid anti-German stories & fables, with no fear of hostile cross examination. Only the #KhazarianMafia has the brass neck to simply ignore massively adverse legal verdicts (second Zundel trial, 1988) and shamelessly proceed to massively promote the same old lies, the same old tear-jerker way.
Confident that super gullible Americans? Will just swallow the warm, Holocaust pap.
Slobber it up.
“Please, Sir, I want some more.”
Source: page 31, “Did six million really die?”
archive.org/details/DidSixMillionReallyDieRep
See also my personal study notes, free to use:
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Loading…Charles Biedermann and the ICRC – an extraordinary betrayal
March 21, 2022 in article about writing, Holocaust Stories, Investigation & Articles
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