Jew World Order

As Marine Le Pen flops in the French election, again I am reminded of the magnitude of our struggle. This is not because I believed Le Pen to be anything more than a puppet, but the state of my kin. Le Pen, with strings clearly on show, still somehow demanded the attention of my fellow nationalists. Even those aware of the strings still made her a talking point, trying to second guess the puppet masters next move.

Modern politics is just an illusion, designed to get your attention. With your attention, they have your power. Instead of acting, they make you react, even without strings up your back you march to their tune.

With the hopes, dreams and ideals of the masses being shaped by big media, democracy has always been a case of flogging the proverbial dead horse. As the demographics of the western world get darker, the horse is turning to dust.

The reason most people, even those aware put faith into the puppets is despair. The magnitude of our struggle is so great, it grips them with something resembling the herfjottur of old. Paralyzed and desperate they reach out for the only thing they know, convenience. They choose to believe, because they have forgotten the fundamental laws of nature; life is struggle. Nothing in nature asks for permission and the value of what you want is measured only by what you’re willing to gamble against it.

Our ancestors knew what the struggle was and the price to be paid for “freedom”. Who could forget the Cimbri? Who along with their Teutone brothers caused the Roman legions some of their biggest defeats. When the Cimbri finally succumb to the scrambled might of Rome, they fought to the last man. As the battle came to a close, the women, to avoid the indignity of slaver,y put premature end to not only their lives but also the lives of their children. Although much could be debated on the tactics and even motives of the Cimbri, what cannot be debated is their vitality for life and understandings of its consequences. It may not seem it, but we are embroiled in a battle for life, that shares the very same consequences – life, death or slavery.

The Cimbri on that day wrote with their blood an epitaph to their people that will demand attention for as long as heroic hearts beat. As much as I admire the Cimbri for their bravery, as they snatched from defeat the Roman’s prize and secured eternal freedom, I do not wish their fate. As glorious and tragic as their final action was, it was final. Do we, though, posses that vital essence of life – a demand for self determination so great that even complete defeat cannot subdue it?

Before we measure ourselves against that question, what is it we are fighting for?

Land

Without land, we have nothing, for land is the life blood of a people. The land shaped you and you it. The inner essence of each is merged and reflected in the other. Under tutelage of the long winters, the northern European became brilliant. What at first seemed harsh and cruel, taught him to be practical and plan ahead. In the vastness of the forest he learned to reflect in solitude. He danced around great pyres in reverence to its majesty. As he stared into the deep dark woods, they stared back. From architecture to ancient groves, he carved his inner beauty into the land. The land provides us with nourishment for both body and soul. Like a babe torn from its mother, a man without land lacks the essentials of life.

In modern times, land has lost all spiritual value, whilst going up in monetary value. Borders once marked with our dead are being over run with foreign hordes. With claims “no man can be illegal”, borders themselves are being contested. Not by standing armies but by intellectuals who question their very concept. As the invaders gather in number, our grip on our sacred homelands loosens, and in turn our grip on existence.

Children

None are as precious to us as our children, a simple smile upon their face puts the world into perspective. The culmination of the efforts and struggles of not only us, but all who came before, they are the literal embodiment of our future. Through our ancestors we stretch back to the world’s beginnings, and through our children we extend into eternity. As a sacred link in this unbroken chain, we are duty-bound to secure their future. Failure to do so means all ancestral effort was ultimately in vain.

Not only symbolic of our future hopes, but also of Aryan ideal. With boundless energy and limitless imagination they represent the Aryan soul in its purest form. With shameless joy they express themselves, always giving full attention to every action, no matter how small. To observe children at play is to observe the magic of the universe in full creative form.

With the human experience becoming a “condition” the noble nature and energetic enthusiasm of the child are reduced to disorders. Nothing is sacred – under guise of protection, poison is injected; under guise of freedom, pure minds polluted. For those with none to care, Weimar Berlin is relived. As they strip our children of their purity, they strip us of our nobility, for only a wretched bastard would allow such indignity.

Community

Community is what we build upon the land and bring our children up within. Through community man can achieve a truly genuine life. Within a sound community a man has value, he belongs. Belonging is crucial for healthy development and with it the man gains purpose. Purpose gives meaning to action, through it even death is conquered. A man with such self worth becomes impenetrable to lies, for he knows life’s value and his duty to it.

As local community is replaced by a global one, man loses value. He shops in international corporations, in the news he hears of far off floods and tragedy. The local becomes mundane; it begins to shrink till he himself shrinks. He loses touch with his surroundings and eventually himself. Lacking in all self worth he feels powerless and becomes apathetic to even his own destruction. Without community man is reduced to mere existence without context. He becomes the walking dead.

With our lands over run, it is not enough to just stop immigration, all alien must go! The doctor, the family man, even your childhood friend that sympathises with your views. Can you look him in the eye and tell him so? Or will you suddenly shrink before your words, as you appease your fears? Do your words suddenly change tone, to those of compromise?

How about your children? How many indignities will you allow, just to avoid consequence? They have the whole power of state at their hands, to force your hand and bend your knee. Can you withstand their threats and be true, when all around you think you mad? What are you willing to gamble for their future? Everything? Or again will your language change to diplomatic tone?

What of your community? Do you comfort yourself with reason to avoid getting involved in clear injustice? Do your words of love for your people end when you meet them?

I do not enjoy asking these questions, but they must be asked. Even I wince as the full implication of their answers rush through my head. Insecurity mounts within – can I live up to my words? Or do I secretly beg for compromise?

The darkness of our task, although forced upon us, is no excuse to fade before its power. The harsh reality’s of life’s struggles are not spared on those who find them distasteful. With most of what we fight for already lost, we must remove the idea that this is a war of conservation; it is a war of creation. If we are to live then we must live well, for what is the value of a struggle if in its final analysis, it is reduced to a struggle for compromise?

We must begin to create, we must demand attention, by force of will and sound ideal, we must not settle for something close – some eternal hope. Hope is a pitiless whore, which has bound many a man’s hands with eternal promises. Our ancestors did not live in hope, they made no compromise with their enemies, they seized life.

We cannot afford to be bystanders to our own demise any longer. We cannot wait for the enemy to hand us the perfect opportunity, we must force our own. Like the Cimbri we must demand self determination with unflinching compromise. Men must not only be willing to die, but dream of it.

One day our mortal bodies will turn to dust, but before blood returns to soil we must secure the immortal. The Aryan soul must live.