Hello all you traitors to your own kind! You will get what is coming to you. What you have strived and connived for all along. No holiday will mark your victory. No statue will be erected to your fame. They will all be gone torn down in the beautiful impossible dystopia that you have built with ash and rock fragments of the one that you so righteously ripped apart. The work of millennia erased because it did not fit with the trend of the day proclaimed on your I-phones. I hope that you rot in the universe that you are hell bound to create in your self-righteous fervor. You are working hard to deserve it. A master hand from behind the scenes is evident. Whites betray themselves. Defile their own kith and kin. They would rather be slaves to a false ideals. Than fight for their own kind. Than defend their own cause for survival. Blinded, brainwashed, by an embedded enemy that pretends to be a friend. But that is obsessed in wearing the crown of thorns of another. Obsessed by the tale of one of their own that they murdered so very long ago. A band of common cutthroats. Pretenders to the thrown. A deceitful scheming ever restless insurgent bent only by a hatred of the human race. That squats over the moral high ground like a jealous hen. It summons its minions fanning the hot flames in what is worse in them. Turning them into a pack of wild dogs. You can hear the pack barking in midday. No longer simply a nuisance at night. Those subverted by the sham of governing sit idly by shivering in their hutches like lesser hens. Concerned only with protecting their own nests. Of squatting indifferently while they fail their oaths of office with complete indifference. The will not survive. But de-evolve. Blacks cannot change! They still are enslaved. And prefer to remain so because, “da pikin’s is always good!” Shiftless beggars deserving of zero respect. They can never pull themselves up out o the pig pen poverty the so richly enjoy. What fun to exert their mercurial mindless violence and get away with it. The sick twisted mentality of getting what’s coming. The will. But it will be their end. They will be gone after the whites are. Hordes of barbarians babble in their graveyard tongues. Uncaring of anything but what is deemed as wealth. Come from afar to sack and pulverize all that they do not understand. Cannot understand. Were never meant to by the strictures of the lands that they were raised in. That they left. They are merely hatchling’s wrought of former guilt of those that they have come to consume. To cannibalize. Amazing how frugal and effective this unseen hand works! Turning one against another. Blood must be shed to bring all to their senses. But then it will be too late. The world will move on and civil society will lay in shards. In its place a hostile workhouse that will slowly replace humanity by the clock. Commodities only from cradle to grave. Genetically modified to not even care. To be happy like a mindless idiot. To be ready to serve and serve and serve at the push of a button. Robots in name. And worth nothing. Amazing how well decadence works. A lesson passed down from the universe to the lions of old. The hyenas will eat you. The roaches will devour the rest. The seven plaques of Egypt revisited. The same old story brought to you by the same old culprits. Go ahead and laugh! It’s your funeral.
So many time I find after a particularly extensive internal drama spent under the covers in the dead of night that I find myself delivered back into the embrace of my bed once again several ours short of waking. Not any particularly random time but so very often, that exact time of 3:45 AM. On the same exact fraction of an hour being when some six years before my own beloved father drew his last breath on earth. No what makes me wonder is that my being a legacy of his genes and no doubt his eventual ailments of affliction of the heart that make it the most likely reason written on one’s toe tag. It seems curious that I should so naturally be brought to consciousness again and again at this exact time. Small tiny sharp stabs to stage left anterior just below my own thorax. Almost in some strange way as if I had been called back to that habitual place called waking reality. One in my shoes could easily speculate that this phenomena is not exclusive but shared with many others. So much so that after rising from the warmth of rumpled covers into the persistent reigning cloak of darkness I have resorted to the web to in much to some level of surprise that this precise time of night is said to be the hour when the devils come out to dance. A fact that has one’s inner self occasioning imagery from Disney’s classic of demonic ancient tribal rites, “Fantasia.”
My own road to this awareness complete with palpitations of an aching chest beginning in the still cogent memory with some vague scenario commencing on a farm where I had been handed some vague assignment to work with a woman at what I might have described as an inmate of a ‘hen house’. The downtrodden collection of sheds and barns, stables and smithy all gathered around a central court focused upon a raised platform serving as stage. A convenient coven for the faithful of a small congregation of earthy looking females playing both main performers and primary attraction to the audience of themselves. Myself now outwardly the inescapably noticeable Caucasian male sticking out in naked view like a big red sore thumb before this aching distill crowd. And as such, my opinions considered as being completely unacceptable. But in that contemporary humble guise of as a simple respectful ‘cucked‘ male quiet mindful of their ire barely tolerated as spectator. I sat beside an old female friend named Sharon who in her own usual way seemed forever diplomatic in avoiding awareness of such obvious schisms. This universal war on the topic of male potency as heatedly conducted each tongue successively carrying equally sharp barbs dripping with venom. Time and again, the overzealous spittle of biting little speeches boiling over to outwardly condemn all things evil as being defaulted to a failure by that element of ‘man‘ within ‘mankind‘. It all seemed so silly to me in my silence. The presentations, one after another, evidencing an all too obvious inherent weakness of internal character within each of the speakers in their barely concealed lack of any internal self worth. “How odd?“, I thought on the fly sitting there. That this sort of mutual Achilles heel was so blatantly shared and evident within this group? And being so easily interchangeable among them like some form of emotional currency acceptable as a form of unquestionable communal wealth within their dogmatic Feminist realm? One particular verbal arrow loosed my way daring blood as the speaker expressed he venom in a particularly loud fashion. The spoken projectile striking home bringing forth an immediate knee jerk vocal response in kind from me. “RACIST!”, my own voice rang out loudly over the throng towards the speaker. Barely a murmur within the crowd was detectable for the next moment. But then a wave of expected mumbling struck like lightning through the entire crowd. One in a fashion that one would expect to evidence in a stormy wind cutting forcefully through the un-plucked sheaf’s of wheat. Its virulence disrupting the entire field in a wasteful shower of unharvested grain. It was now time for me to exist this farmyard in order to carry out this vague mission. The unspecified collaboration of a sort with another party involving the collection of facts on a topic that might be of possible interest to the general readership of an unnamed local publication in seeding an article of passing generic interest.
I didn’t look to see if another woman was parked on the the bench seat next to me as I exited in my big blur and white outdated sedan. Relieved to be away of such unwholesome irritations, I headed down the expected stretch of road that unexpectedly identified itself as a place and proximity not too unfamiliar to me at all? Some place claiming ownership in my own routine vernacular as not being, “so far from home.” The segment of highway just beyond the intersection offering a shock in the specter of a cathedral-like malevolent vision of several city blocks crammed full of old derelict buildings. Ones so hoary to my first glance as to judge the lot as being completely abandoned over centuries. A second cautionary glance affording a stark impression of their having collapsed upon each other in such a manner as one might expect of wax dripped haphazardly over an extended time by gravity onto tightly packed votive candles left too close over a long night. The red dirt street splitting into a matched set of lanes diverging to either side of an undefined median. Both completely unpaved inching upwards over a steeply inclined Hell of well-worn ruts and muddy potholes that seemed nu-navigable to the eye. Most incredibly of all in the midst of this inhospitable environment families of suburban tourists rambled about unperturbed as if amidst some form of holiday carnival attraction? My own course forward already plotted by inattention in crossing the intersection I carefully ambled my vehicle up through this gauntlet as carefully as possible. These roughly tumbled lanes betwixt derelict structures inhabited occasionally by boutiques of the sorts of barely stocked store one might expect to find serving as commercial way stations in those bleak economic deserts of inner city black ghetto neighborhoods. Large German shepherd dogs were in evidence everywhere. Their universal popularity within this marginal municipality possibly as a form of general warning. These quarrelsome looking beasts roaming about the streets with a brash arrogant independence suggesting a communal sense of barely contained menace. You could hear them constantly growling from within your car’s tightly closed windows. As if each was marking out its own territory vigilantly stalking some potential target to quickly harass. Their collective demeanor surpassed in belligerence only by an occasional uniformed thug sloppily attired in the threadbare trappings of law enforcement. Driving further into this mess seemed some form of unconscious death wish courting disaster.
A gray area of unconscious mist accompanied a transition to someplace not quite explicable. My next appearance being within the battered confines of a large mold ridden disabled structure that served as the lobby of the town’s main hotel. The reason for my foolishness in having allowed myself to be there only be explained as a tacit compliance to that unnamed female consort whose presence was more characteristic of some form of phantom sylph than a real life flesh and blood companion. Exhaustion taking the place of caution, I recall settling down on a patch of floor by a wall to lean back upon some bags and begin to fall into a snooze. My impulse being brought to an immediate hasty conclusion by the intercession of the probing of an adolescent shepherd dog that struck his its tooth bound nuzzle hard against my temple. The young demon snapping angrily at my ear for good measure. Where in any other place on earth the infamy such an interruption might have been a form of blame placed upon the head of the hound’s owner in this case it summoned the immediate antagonism of a local magistrate. Jumping over me like a canine. he solemnly warning me to quickly move along lest I be arrested on the ground of some minor infraction if I did not exit the vicinity immediately. He seemed to seethe from within from an inexhaustible wellspring of rage as it was the true inspiration behind his profession. Not needing any further hints I made my way out of range of his general locale and back towards my vehicle. The exact location of which now seeming to be playing hide and seek trickery with my foggy memory. My companion now an astral entity whose presence I could barely sense anymore at that point. The ceiling now above me cloistered in shadowy dark offering only speculation as to the underlying meaning of such a flighty episode. The connection of thoughts invading the inclination to fall back into sleep charting a direction to the inference that there might be the possibility of another source for this unpleasantness. One that had equal resonance with the notion of the hand of other realms interceding with the conduct of my own. And with those of my now long departed family members. The dance of demons at their high point at the most expected hour of their nightly revelries. The passport allowing their visitation upon a victim being the unhealthy lifestyle of the ready host accompanied by the possession of his long overburdened soul.
Ralph thought to himself as his eyes stared over the rim of his foam charged beer glass. “I am empty.” A cotton sports shirt sweat covered mannequin bulging bulging out below him balanced on top of the bar stool. “I feel empty and am in an empty place.“, he declared solemnly with much theatrical gravity. This is not what many others around him currently experienced in their Saturday night revelries. A solitary Ralph looked down the line of stools beside him at the bar. The row of gesticulating puppets swinging back and forth upon their seat in-between their string bound limbs hoisting glasses in a precarious remote controlled manner. “So I don’t expect many others to understand. Nor would they want to!” His own glass hoisted up in toast but then slammed back down onto the messy counter with a sharp report. Bushy brows settled hard pressed into the top of the bridge of his nose. A continence bespeaking emotional waste surrounding his corner of the world leaving little, if any, hope for possibility of a mutually shared immediate future. Humans as waste being a metaphor inferring a different dimension rather than a more literal form of same. An attitude appealing to an extremist. But, then again, not offering promise.
“I’m caught up in blessed ignorance of doing good.“, said some character named Larry. Ralph’s glass once more airborne. The crowd behind him rambled on in droning nonsense of the simultaneous collision forty or fifty voices. All totally nonsensically incoherent to the ear and devoid of offering any ability to be decoded in the rational sense from a collective mis-understandability. “And you are caught up in the folly of your own opinions!“, said the now disembodied voice of this Larry. Ralph swinging around to find its source bestride his back. The chorus of conversation rising up into full beehive buzz. “It is like you and all your kind have gone mad!“, the haranguing voice blurted as the waxy face behind it moved its lips out of sync. “Mad with your own crazy opinions so virulent and vexing that no one will be able to ever talk reasonably sane with you ever again!” Ralph thought for a while at what was quickly descending into poorly veiled attacks of pseudo factual psychological vitriol. “Tiny torpedoes of verbal venom!“, the little voice inside Ralph’s head spake at half-volume stating behind the numbness in his ringing ears.
It seemed to be a very unfunny joke. At a corner coffee house table way back before the most forward corner of the room’s partition commanding a stage sat a small group of locals. Ones that if anyone else happened to be a frequent customer of this establishment would be familiar with their longstanding status as regulars. Two males taking center spotlight. One quietly passive aggressive while the other evidently too loud and ostentatious by comparison. Both holding court this day before a diminished roster of pre-menopausal females. The loudest talker, an outwardly extreporous orator making snide self-depreciatory quips bearing superficial similarity to his own appearance with that select membership evident in other members of his group. Something now trended popularly and termed as ‘white’. The ongoing conduct of his bile-soaked jibes loosely overflowing inclusive topics of blacks, women and Jews. But with this speaker underplaying his own part as an ignorant specious white buffoon. Someone too easily singled out as the ultimate butt of every one of his own jokes. A mirroring of one or two choices of the polar opposite energy levels publicly afforded from the immediate vicinity of supplicants to embrace. The initial process to obtain membership within this clan requiring the prerequisite of being Liberal minded by default and well-schooled in the Post-Communist tradition of ‘reeducation’ by mental self-incarceration. An egregious sense of irony if seen from afar by those few other objective parties that sought to remain well out of range of the larger arguments. It’s very public demonstration serving as an overbearing social monitor following the model for sanctimonious public behavior in the contemporary Western world these days. The fat man’s face was accoutered in a typical ‘agent provocateur‘ style beard and mustache housed by a dark complexion that might have qualified him as being from any number of perpetually discontent extra-European groups. Perhaps a mix of Italian and Ashkhanism?
That companion sitting next to him being a ‘graybeard‘ more typically rabbinical. The vibes that this character had been know for in terms of this locality over the recent past being aloof and quick to dismiss any and all others that might overwhelm the basic fact of his silent but domineering presence. Something not unfamiliar to those who had grown up around third generation communities of Jews long ago transmuted from the Pale of old Poland. Their halcyon characteristic being a chameleon-like ability to dart in and out of the easy cloak of White American Middle Class to that persistent misunderstood pogrom victimized identity of Orthodox Jewry. The transformation almost instantaneous sometimes as it suits purposes of the moment. A neutral calm masking that bristling sense of ever fractious impulse to seek out ultimate retribution upon the assumed identity. An eye for an eye! And then some! This well-implanted rational of alternatively fostering mischief through customary deceit and then enacting the perpetration eternal violent vengeance always justified in their minds for the destruction of these ever holy second temple. Something more akin to a real estate claim than any real issue of religious fact. The most immediate visual evidence apparent in that characteristic lean hungry meanness ingrained about the eyes categorized as an expression of perpetual discontent. One that simply suggests an ingrained very genetic form of lifelong cynicism. A classical Cassius from the ilk of a Shakespearian play. Or perhaps an Iago?
On and on, the fat man’s un-humorous gibberish paging through lexicons of role reversal’s of white scapegoats painted as straw men and polite European society as the source of the worst of all evils. A further irony arriving a little later in the guise of a winsome young maiden who sporting a thick volume Christian community bible settles down a safe distance away at a side table to study text that might be considered the anti-venom of the diatribe of the vociferous others. Her encampment quiet and undisclosed yet potentially in danger of summoning the Judas Maccabeus in the less than dynamic duo continuously exhibiting their unending tiresome ‘schtick‘ at the far end. A type of patterned response that glorifies massacre of any rival. That long sad road of history of the victor where one group inevitably displaces another after fierce mortal bloody struggles as a matter of human nature by default . One’s own underlying instinct to seek out the safety within one’s own kind, a natural reflex and very rationally reasonable impulse fostering a long term ability to survive. Something now cast a “Politically Incorrect” for access to the European majority population of the nation for Culturally Marxist doctrinaire reasons. The big fat ‘Italian‘ poseur continuing without missing a syllable ‘sans souffle‘ to his small audience of listeners undaunted droning a well-rehearsed morning monologue of supposed self-depreciation in the guise of his diametric opposite. This safe harbor of his didactic ‘pirate’s den‘ prepping more biting comments in order to sail out to raid the ears of the passing commerce of indifferent suburban travelers timidly plying the morning trade of coffee and sweet roll. This current segment on his bandstand rolling the indigestible stone of the Germanic in the tireless guise as NAZI. That faceless white haze of those customers sharing similar heritage keeping their heads down in the public climate self-shaming. The tyrannical Marxist golden rule of “Diversity IS strength!” screaming silently forth as it from stadium loudspeakers. Some sickly white within this ebb and flow eager to ‘rat’ one of their own out in a brief show of public repudiation cast at anyone near fitting the visual description of Politically Correct condemned, “White Patriarchal Culture“.
“Who then? . . .“, might some outward observer ask, “. . . is able to have any respect for those who would shun their own race?”
EPILOGUE: I thought that I lived in a golden age as I grew to maturity yet I could not find lasting pleasure in what seemed superficially so. It eventually became clear that this long lasting impression was simply one of a false Utopia. The unwanted facts pulled over my eyes covering my ears laying claim to my consciousness with lies, lies and more lies daily distributed. Each revealing an ever clearer the knowledge that my time was the time of twilight. My own kingdom becoming hollow and defaulting to an illusion that seems to reign over all those other lesser known unacknowledged truths. Ones that claim to lay open a path to plain sighted’ness of an inequity that has for all time caused death and destruction of my kind since before I was born. I can no longer offer any provable facts to counter the supposed reams of evidential documents amassed by my detractors. Ones who have memorized their parts in reciting heresy as concrete fact repetitively and too well. Nor certainly play their game any longer! The time for fielding this empty rhetoric is over!
I am empty. Bled dry. I feel empty and find myself living amidst an empty place. This may not be what many others currently experience? So I don’t expect many others to understand even the smallest part of this angst. Nor would they want to. Yet the emotional waste of this world surrounding giving one little hope, if any, for a future. Human waste in terms of a way of taking on a different dimension of ultimate disgust. One that appeals to the extremes. But offers no lasting promise beyond the moment. Self annihilation. Do I sit here and wait?
The lanes of traffic spread out as they courted the parking lots surrounding the maritime museum along side Kenosha’s harbor. The day was pleasant being summer somewhere between sun up and dusk. Jenner rode his bicycle down along these lanes courting disaster weaving back and forth beside the occasional passenger auto that impatiently whisked past. Somehow in the back of his mind he was courting a confrontation. Something that awaited just ahead. But as to whatever it was, he was in a mood not to be dissuaded to enjoy the day in a manner of his own choosing. They say the kid inside never dies and the exhilaration of swooping across the intersection pedaling fast felt too good to be interfered with. The car in the turn lane not being too appreciative in a manner that was reminiscent of modern drivers in general. They also said there was something about the experience of driving that turned one from a Dr. Jekyll into a very impatient Mr. Hyde. Behind the wheel one could vivisect a single instant into overlong fractions of a section waiting for a driver ahead posing an obstacle providing the possibility of enduring a missed opportunity. Though the driver of the Ford SUV just to the side of Jenner minded his manners, the wrath generated by the stranger felt palpably like a storm cloud advancing a foot or two just behind his rear wheel. It was just a feeling of course. And with another lazy curving arc he pulled the own Schwinn racer up to the curb promptly planting his foot down upon it for balance.
The officer seemed to appear from just out of sight of his right shoulder. The policeman’s greeting was customarily curt. A sense of destiny or maybe the approach of fate behind his best attempt at an easy but forced manner. “I’m sorry to bother you but I must ask you but would you please come with me?”, asked the tall hulking anonymous entity supporting the uniform before him. Jenner seemed at a loss. The helpless feeling of some unexpected drama was congealing about him that he could not escape had arrived. He peered back unable to dodge the expression of his head nodding within the mirror of twin lenses drawing a bead on him from under the precipice of a khaki brown campaign hat’s brim. Jenner to his amazement found himself sitting behind a steel desk as a portable vintage record player was set down before him. The clunky artifact was of the sort that he might have seen at his grandparents on holidays. “Can you tell me anything about this?“, the cop sternly asked. Jenner stared at it totally perplexed as much by the context of the nature question or as to how this object had required his specific presence. The officer’s dead stare seemed substantially no different than the mirrored glasses. Two dead orbs a further response before the dusty cast metal Bakelite appointed antique. “If you are asking if I have ever seen this thing then no.“, Jenner said quietly. The two of them on either side each out waiting the other for a pregnant pause waiting for the baby to drop. A minute of climbing intensities of tiny infinities passing Jenner interrupted the silence with a, “Is that all?” “Can I go!” The enigma of an answer to solved the dilemma of this particular why not as important as making a swift and unheralded departure. “Sure!“, the cop sharply barked in marked disappointment. “But if you recall something familiar I would appreciate a call!” Jenner pulled the extended business card from the concrete grip that had been extended forward towards him. Ten minutes later he was on his bike pedaling once again. This time his mood not nearly so light. The storm clouds were overhead though he had yet to feel the first drop of rain from the otherwise absolutely clear blue sky.
He pedaled hard and fast along a lazy arc at the edge of the roadway that belted the front of the museum. Only coming to a near halt to jump the curb and a small section of grass until he was upon the asphalt of the pedestrian pathway that paralleled the long canal to the small sailboat marina. The mystery of the cop’s questioning him about a thing that he had no connection to seemed to totally preoccupy him. What sort of unsuspected relation was there to occasion unofficially official information. Did the authorities think that he or someone like him had stolen it? Of possibly that it might have at some point belonged to him or someone he knew? Someone he knew? Who could he muster in his memory that might have had the thing in their apartment? Or maybe, garage? Something to think about for sure. Especially for a nobody that worked part time at a body shop driving back and forth around town running errands. By this point Jenner was off the seat of his bike which was leaning up against a park bench while he slowly paced rubbing the increasing stiffness from the back of his neck. Who? Who could it be? His mouth was getting dry and he got back on his Schwinn to pedal back to 6th street to one of his favorite hangouts, Captain Mike’s. That old familiar sign upon the building’s side chiming, “Eat like a king, drink like and idiot“, seemed to strike a chord. He sure felt like an idiot! Something so simple as recollecting a single item that now was beginning to seem familiar though he had never cast eyes upon it before. What was it that seemed so familiar to him now but was impossible to place. “Gabby would know!?“, he thought.
Gabriela Magdalena LaFollette, though not directly related to one of this state’s more illustrious statesman, Governor and Congressman Bob, she had achieved her own kind of local fame. A hot mix of Spanish Dona on her mother’s side and pure French Canadian by her father, her looks were reputed to wound if not literally kill. More than one fistfight had spontaneously started over some trivial rivalry for her attentions when she served up drinks behind the bar on Friday.Perhaps she might have been described best in the corollary of some epic ‘femme fatale‘? A flesh and blood version of the mix of what the animators had in mind when they devised the cartoon character of Jessica Rabbit. A uncle of her’s had had worked at he old Warner Bros. studios with its premiere artist, Tex Avery, back in the heyday of three minute long cel vinyl based acid wit. Her demeanor had all the sass of a “Have”, but more probably, “Have Not”. A Humphery Bogart’s snappy Betty Becall tight packed into the legendary body of a Rita Hayworth in her role as Gilda! This old joint itself had all the verve and vinegar of an old Great Lakes fisherman’s joint. A fully stocked bar where once could get almost any variation of mixed drink and the best burgers in the area. Jenner felt his legs quiver as he realized his blood sugar was now waning that he needed to replace those extra ‘carb’s’ lost earlier through too much recent worry. It was getting to be late afternoon and Gabby wouldn’t arrive to be on call until seven that night. Saturday being one of the two nights that she was regularly assigned. He sat himself at a small table across from the end of the bar near the back entrance. Jim, the steady afternoon guy, waved at him as he passed from his perch behind the bar pointing silently at the tap. Steely Dan blaring out a little louder than usual proclaiming innocence of any current wrongdoing despite some well-vocalized past transgressions. Jim had the look of someone who could fully commiserate with that message. Old, gray and scrappy to a fault his lanky frame looked like it could waste a troublemaker with a single punch. Nobody had ever asked him about his past, but it was rumored that he had done some minor time served years back up in Waupun State Prison. Something about assault with a deadly weapon. The details were as hazy as the brains of the regulars who engaged in such gossip off the cuff now and again. Who could tell if it was local urban legend or actually had some credence? As far as Jim was concerned the Ojibwa translation of the town’s name, “dawn of another day“, said all that needed to be said. The beer was cold and not watered with that old hops rich taste so characteristic of the product of the old beer barons in Milwaukee. That was good enough for Jenner. A Cheeseburger Walrus smothered in mushrooms and onions ordered and on the way.
The joints interior itself had little to say beyond the brightly decor behind the bar. It’s primary source of light. Several four-seater tables stood opposite lined along the wall. Each with its own porthole looking out to the street. Most of the crowd were eating outside and Jenner had the bar nearly all to himself. His hands supporting both sides of his face as he studied the foam collapsing back along the inside of his partially emptied beer glass. His mind though temporarily derailed now began to ponder the events earlier int he day. It seemed so odd that the police had been tipped onto him specifically? Was it as a result of some insidious mischief by his old flame? She had left town the year before heading back out to her old hometown of San Diego. Jenner stared at the bubbles going dead and flat on the beer’s surface. Who did her know who has a big vintage 45RPM record collection? “Anything New?“, he hollered over to Jim whose graying temples were buried in the newsprint pages of the local digest. “Naw“, Jim responded with an irritated rustle. “No local break-ins or tourist fender benders down by the museum or nothing?“, Jenner quipped in passing. The paper rustled again a little louder. “How the fuck should I know?” “I only read the sports section!” “Wise man!“, Jenner replied as he scanned emptily along the bar’s backstop. The music track just above switched over to Journey’s, “Forever Your’s“. Jenner looked over at Gabby’s framed picture on the wall. “Isn’t Mikey a big audio buff of something?” “Used to be!”, Jim’s voice sounded from behind the journal hovering before him. “Say, how’s about another beer?“, he added, “I think your food order is just about up!” Jim coming around the bar minutes later with plate and brew in hand, “Why don’t you bite on this instead of chewing off my ears?” “I want finish my article in peace before a big crowd comes in!” Jenner took a chomp out his burger chasing it with a long cold swallow of brew. “I bet they don’t serve nothing more that American cheese sandwiches down at the jail?“, he thought to himself. He knew that he wasn’t too eager to find out.
Mirriam decided to meet her girlfriend at the Leadenhall Market for lunch accompanied by her thirteen year old daughter Melissa and her American friend Jemma. They had taken a Route 43 double-decker bus traveling on London Bridge across the Thames picking it up by the old George Inn. They could have taken the ‘tubes‘ but her daughter insisted upon ‘going tourist‘ for the sake of her new companion. The two chattered away as Mirriam fixed her thoughts on the possibility of joining the Momentum Party to support ‘back bencher‘, Jeremy Corbyn. The Brexit affair had led to many angst based discussions and her heart of hearts that told her Labor party’s efforts to ease the tensions caused by recent terrorist events was necessary to safeguard her daughter’s future through conciliation. The growing Islamic community in Sutton had recently become the focus of repeated hate based graffiti attacks and as a Liberal minded modern career woman she felt it her duty to help push back against the increasingly violent right wing conservative sentiments of the ‘block-headed‘ right wing UKIP movement. Though Dulwich Village was more than a stones throw away it was evident that her neighbors were being affected this ongoing turmoil as well.
This morning seemed unusually sunny and bright for her two companions to babble about the surrounding wonders of the surrounding embankment. The upper seats were mostly empty save for some noisy tourists busily pointing back and forth and just beyond their midst a very mild looking bearded ethnic young man wearing a buttoned up raincoat. The end of Spring had brought several days of moderate weather and it seemed curious that the young man would be bundled so. The spate of changeable weather of the last several years that to her mind had supported the unpopular notion to more conservative tastes of the coming dangers of Global warming had affected everyone’s decisions as to outerwear of course. But she couldn’t help staring at the young man’s face as he seemed to be chanting something to himself in between his own furtive look scanning the scenery about him looking repeatedly towards the reflected sun from the gleaming glass of the towering white ‘Walkie Talkie’ building over the river. An unsettling feeling hit Mirriam in the pit of her stomach that something was gravely amiss. Feeling somewhat ashamed she stopped herself. It seemed that the recent mass hysteria of the recent attack in Westminster was still fresh in everyone’s mind. The easiest thing to do would be to single out anyone with swarthy ethnic features as possible culprits. It rankled her that she was falling prey to the same prejudice that she was trying to avoid infecting her daughter. She herself was not particularly drawn to the new groups of immigrants, especially the African ones. They had been showing up unexpectedly on street corners, with nothing to do idling on their government stipends. Some of them menacingly so! But like all human beings they were deserved of respect and not be singled out for the fact of their backgrounds however humble or challenging that might be. Mirriam turned back to watch her two wards for the morning as Melissa seemed rapt in pointing out Millbank further up the Thames not he other side of the bridge. The sharp flash of a detonation’s instant barely caught her attention.
Mirriam seemed suddenly distracted. Her mind out of place? As if having somehow lost her place along the way in following the tight narrative of a novel. Try as she might, she could not recover the expected view of embankment architecture that had just before filled the landscape across the bridge from of the window of the bus. Her eyes could only focus on a distant somewhat obscured horizon just before the break of dawn. She knew that she was standing upon hot sand but could feel a cool morning breeze rising up around her almost as if she was completely unclothed. She tilted her head down suddenly but this motion was interrupted by what appeared to be a roughly hewn wooden yoke. One that extend from where it encroached around her neck extending many centimeters forward to the back of another woman’s head. To Miriam’s shock the other woman was standing still and completely nude with slender wrists chains firmly attached behind her! Mirriam tried to cry out but now found that a wooden dowel had also been equally mysteriously tightly fastened between her teeth precluding any ability at intelligible speech. She made a quick attempt to bring her hands up to dislodge it in order to freely speak. But her arms were also tightly ensconced within the unbreakable grip of iron wristlets. A heavy iron chain attached to the other unfortunate’s wrists just before her led backwards swinging low between her own knees and back up the small of her back attached to her own manacles. A white flash blanketed her mind as she sought to expel her present impressions in order reconcile the disparity of what had just an instant before been a bus ride through central London. And how it would have been possible to end up so vulnerable in this totally unexpected situation of appalling physical slavery? Had an accident occurred? Was this some sort of heavily narcotic induced dream or a coma? She raised her chin up against the tight fit of her end of the yoke and scanned the view ahead once again as best she could. Taking in the horror and amazement of scores of women standing equally despicable circumstances, haltered like farm animals held motionless within their respective fetters silhouetted against the waxing dusk of an ever brightening desert sun. Her thoughts immediately raced back to her two children. Where were they? The uncompromising yoke tightly locking her neck to the preferred forward position scratching painfully into tender flesh as she turned to and fro attempting to find if her daughter and her companion might be somewhere close in sight. Twisting to the left and then the right with tears welling in her eyes as she found her daughter’s own slender now frame fully exposed. Naked and fully expose before the equally tightly harnessed form of her American friend. Both shivering in terror within the cold wind. Unable to move, shifting their weight to try to move beyond the boundaries that their heavy bonds allowed. Mirriam began a long low helpless animal moan. But was cut short by the sharp stinging pain of hard leather crop biting acoiss her fully exposed buttocks!
“Kunn kafir radian!“, a male voice roughly spat out. The smart of the pain was followed instantly by a heavily bearded face. Though Mirriam’s conscious mind had suffered mightily within the last few moments from each lurid horrible discovery her eyes opened incredulously wide at the sight of the person standing before her. It was the young Middle Eastern man that she had been looking at on the bus before all this had happened. She tried to drone out some words as concisely as possible given that her mouth was restrained by the chunk of wood. The same young man was now dressed in intricately appointed Arabian silk robes. A cloth of gold turban of a sheik absurdly topping his head above a beard that had equally fanatically grown in length and bushiness. “Be still abayd khadae!“, he spat as his whip came down hard once again upon her. His narrowed eyes seemed to seethe with a boundless arrogant pride. He passed by her walking up and down the line of the many scores of women who squirmed slightly as he passed. It struck Mirriam that his expression was reminicent of the owner of a herd of sheep or cattle. She looked over at her daughter again who now was stared back in a terrible heartbreaking expression that seemed equally choked by fear and the pain of physical distress. The little Sultan came by her and seeing her looking off away from him ruthlessly swung his whip hard against the adolescent’s naked white back leaving the spread of a widening welt. Mirriam exploded into a loud physically suppressed shriek of rage. Hot blooded tears flooding across her eye singing them as the chains restraining her body clinked away merrily in mockery of her total impotence. “Leave my daughter alone!”, her mind screamed with such force that it seemed to blast out through her eye sockets! The little potentate turned back towards Mirriam with a malevolent looking toothsome grin. “Do not worry khinzir mother!” “I have eternity to convert your daughter and her seventy-one other companions into the most blessed ways of Allah in pleasing me in every way.” “They are my reward for sacrificing myself to kill off you infidels in our glorious jihad, Allah be praised!” The full horror of the moment struck Mirriam. Though she had herself never been religious enough in life to accept a belief in God or an afterlife she was now shocked to find that she had been in error to not seriously entertain it. Worse yet! it seemed to be a heaven that fully favored the Muslims! It seemed apparent that this cruel upstart of a young man had been a suicide bomber. And that his final mortal act had been rewarded with the gift of the body and souls of his victims. She seemed to recall something about virgins in heaven? But as she pondered the fact that she herself was definitely no longer a virgin though of course her poor thirteen year old daughter and her companion were, the evil little prince seemed to pick up on the thought. “Worry not infidel eahira!” “You are soon to taste your just reward for denying Allah in the eternal flames of burning Hell that will roast your flesh and boil your belly forever!” As if by some unseen cue or anonymously issued command Mirriam felt herself pulled roughly forward by the line of struggling women before her. The sands beneath the burning the soles of her bare feet growing ever hotter as she and the others were marched off into the desert. The little man’s final, “Allu al Akhbar”, being the last human words that she would ever eternally know.
In this culture little white boys cry while little girls don’t. It is a shock to see this happen. But then is exposes something unexpected. A truth to the light of day. Little boys are put in an impossible position of not being able to express themselves as males where in a feminized world little girls have no restrictions. It has become a bygone appreciation in this culture to celebrate masculinity as an inherent virtue. In fact it has been demonized. Violence is accepted as a form of ethnic self-expression for both sexes. But is considered taboo for the most excluded segment of anyone of white Aryan Christian European heritage. The dogma taught being that they are most responsible for all the social ills of the current world. The actual historical truth suppressed being the exact opposite. Western society allowing itself to be overwhelmed by the fact of an internal cultural killer virus superficially referred to at ground level as organized Judaism. The cloistered fact of same violating the convenient conception of labels suggesting old rivals so much as covert alliances of several ‘desert based’ religious philosophies that stretch back literal eons. The serum distorting the natural inclinations of male and female in terms of producing healthy intellectual savvy healthy generations being amorphously termed as Liberalism or Political Correctness. Essentially crafty programs that have been carefully devised to program the host population from cradle to grave into self-destructive mindsets and self-defeating actions. The equivalent of gaining poser over the most important and influential centers of control over society and dissolving same much in the manner that an organism is devoured slowing being bundled up in a web by an arachnid. Toxic notions bombarding the culture incessantly through the destruction of the minds of the young with insidious half-truths that invert the perspectives in a manner characterized by authors like George (Blair) Orwell. We of the most sullied demographic are in a war for out own survival with people that nestle too comfortably among us that seek out annihilation.
The knee jerk reaction is too call this absurd of course. Even to suggest such a theory in current society being termed unacceptable. That in itself is the most telling clue. If you wish to find out an inescapable truth then start with the actions of those who anyone is not allowed to question as to their culpability for any untoward action. The penalty that the questioner faces of course is an instant form of societal enforced exile. The reason for the fear of same being so prevalent in European heritage whites being that the sledge hammer of the popular Liberal dominated media constantly fashions scenarios that offer only total destruction through negative branding of any personage that does so. Like any other long lost empire of old gone senile through its own decadence the United States has submitted itself to its own destruction by falling prey to those who would subvert it through guile. At one time without he help of mass technology literally building a false narrative upon a well-crafted a false persona taken from a time of two totally unnecessary world wars that only served to destroy the best elements of Western culture. Then replacing them with moral equivalencies that only serve to hasten a final and complete genocide of anything ‘white’. The most absurd part of this unthinkable crime being that the key element being the enfranchisement of dogmatically infertile ‘white’ females as the most dominate gatekeepers encouraged by false notions of social victimization. The European part of the species doomed to extinction because what was once termed as ‘the weaker sex’ has become its own worst enemy. Whites are caught in a mile of commercially funded media that is total toxic garbage. They send their children to schools that discard traditional topics promoting functionally self-survival and replace them with this media harangue that elevates the lowest common denominators of society as a model of exemplary behavior.
This is by no stretch of the imagination an accidental situation some of unintended consequences as one might inadvertently mix two substances unadvisedly together to create a poison. Take any given segment of key element of this society in Western countries and find that it has at best been sublimated to the goals of an organized sect that uses the reigning international corporate hegemony as an infallible lever. All one has to do is examine the system of finance that allows this segment to make their wealth out of thin air from the ever increasing sweat of all portions of society that are made to work ever harder to get ever less. A system where the governments of every country on earth are connected by a single system of commerce based upon unsecured debt. The lender merely creating a piece of paper called a contract where the debtor promises to pay future wages in order to get credit from the company store. The role of same eventually becoming a small ruling elite that keep and iron grip on the common people through a government that enforces this cooperate hegemony without exception passing wealth upward and implementing further duress upon the have nots to squeeze them even more. All the while indoctrinating them with a totally inverted viewpoint of the would where they are led to believe that those of their own that resist this tyranny are to blame for it. The eventual goal of this world system being to completely segment all cultures and make them slaves through an interdependence that defiles their national and cultural independence. One group ever encouraged to be spiteful and envious of the other during an interim period as they destroy their own cultures through social and physical attrition. Not just a destruction of the European segment but eventually of every other segment into an ever willing population of domesticated sheep having no defining rebellious traits that would interfere with their own planned use and eventual destruction. Take the analogy of Orwell’s world and put Caligula at the helm and find the perfect analogy for the world of tomorrow if it is allowed to continue as ti currently seems to be.
Nothing. No motivation to speak of. The day was nearing the expected transition. Perhaps the hundred millionth one that he had failed to notice? So much much that was new to him as his eyes traced the fleeting direct illumination of the Sun. The clouds passing slowly like derelict prison hulks spewing fractals of cotton candy. The light streaming now like a puncture wound through rays of evening mist. Magnificence blocking the shadows deepening quickly bringing on drama to the otherwise mundane. He held out his hand extending a forefinger to trace the path of the rapidly departing Sun, its chariot galloping West. Struck like an aging toddler reborn back to the previous wonders of childhood yet again.
A solitary soul in a land of vague familiarity. So many hostile stares of young strangers taken aback. “Am I still here?“, he silently choked out in awe of their sour expressions. “Why haven’t you hurried up and got down to the business of dying?“, their malicious glares all seemed to say in an impatient unison. Same places remaining. But not how they had formerly had been. The narrative an accurate voice of family re-pagination. Inner peace disturbed by an unwarranted intrusion of the same old crowd of the impatient. “The world is no longer mine?” Something no longer of my own creation. Something no longer my fault. At least I am not living still in the bloom of accomplishments of a faraway long ago precocious youth. The crack int he world of their self-ascribed fantasy is what angers these self-important immortals. Nothing is more motivating than the fiction of eternal perfection remodeled to reveal a reality of unstoppable chaos! When abandoned by electricity the facts of one’s lack to compensate are too overwhelming to bear.
Soap opera bitches proclaiming, “The third successive decade of endless self-empowerment!” Resonating freely upon all the misplaced holiday’s TV network’s across the land. Is it possible to imagine a real friendship with a female in the current era? Better she run off with my assets as is now the custom. The current era won’t tolerate it. No overt fraternization! Their message running out of accompanying ‘bread and circuses’ to sell it before the impending collapse of society becomes too painfully imminent. All that is planned to be left for the male of the species is to joust imaginary dragons on his X-Box. And for all the women to have all the cartoon men of their dreams to mercilessly berate but still find all of them magically submitting themselves to even more abuse. The parental duty of organized defecation. Essentially the scripted version of the genocide of the modern European. Once the most favored demographic holding the most popularized products un-sellable. Now fools with beanies, the brims turned backwards. All the once great heroes now gone waiting for their few admirers to die off.
Were everything replaced with something absolutely brand new, the absence of the old equivalents still weigh one down. Museums spouting ‘heritage’ now simply categorical homages to older forms of consumerism and consumption. Whenever suddenly ‘over-exposed‘, women grabbing the own breasts not out of propriety but in embarrassment of fostering disappointment. Modern imagery no longer prone to accidents. And the possibility of being privy to creativity because of same gone forever. The most perfect of women incapable of procreation like any other damned long extinct species. There should be a billboard on every street corner, “FUCK UTOPIA!” The last thing in this universe a man needs is a, “Strong Independent Woman!” No more than his opposite needs those same dubious qualities from him. Those kings and queens of long lost empires that never existed outside the fancy of a terminally perverted mind. “Nice guys No Longer Wanted!” Just an inexhaustible universe of lamentable evil pricks that no ones care one way or another if they die.