“The combat of Heroes is not intended for the collective salvation of the Sudras, nor for the White Traitors, nor even the totality of imprisoned or sleeping Viras. Only those will be saved who fight unto Magic Death, making themselves worthy of triumph. The archetypal numbers, Orphic numbers, are already on the point of fulfillment. And the Einherier will come to rescue those few on the edge, at the limits of time, with the Wildes Heer and the Ultimate Battalion of the Wotan-Kalki. That sacred Number is enough for the transfiguration of Gerda, the redemption of Saturn-Kronos and their triumph over the strategic plans of the enemy. The Satanic Demiurge will be left with the dregs of the worlds, with a heap of machines destined for a cosmic garbage dump…… There are two shackles with which the Satanic Demiurge has bound the prisoner and from which the Vira must break free, to be free: sex, a suitable means for the reproduction of Demiurge food, and rational thought, as the illusory tool of the representations of his will to power, a mere reflection in the ‘brain’ of his Mechanical Universe, also illusory, and where men are allowed to contemplate the Satanic Demiurge, praise him and even identify himself with men who are made in his image and likeness. The agent of the first shackle are sexual organs, appearing late in the archetype form of earthly man. The second agent is the cerebral cortex, emerging with the sinking of the archaic brain, synchronistically with the disappearance of Hyperborea. Both of these shakles must be broken, overcome, reintegrated, because Love does not need sexual organs, nor do we reach the knowledge of oneself through reason, or rational thought. The Ego, as we have seen, is a result of the shock produced when the Divya mixes his blood on ‘falling in love with the daughters of men’ when the Great Aesir (the Great Ancestor) is crucified. And Individuation is the hypothetical result of his Transmutation and Resurrection.” – MANU: For The Man To Come
One of the best discourses on the women I have ever read is by Joris-Karl Huysmans in the book “Against Nature”. Here is someone who understands women very well. As I recently discussed with Torch Bearer Gregory, women are mere inert, amoral, indifferent, receptacles for the male spark of the Geist, and they are entirely gender fluid and malleable (male-able). Women are sequential hermaphrodites, they contain both male and female characteristics and can become either as we are now seeing more and more. With such the “illusion” of women is fast disappearing, and we are more able to see how there is no such thing as a woman…A woman is merely a soul that has been plasmically shaped into a form (usually ugly), the woman itself has no soul. A woman is a prostitute, but the way in which the woman conducts her prostitution has changed, and she is now more deceptive then she ever was before, and is still changing, but a woman is nothing other than a prostitute for all time, and usually an ugly one at that, the Demiuge always uses beauty with an extreme economy. A woman who practices openly as a prostitute is simply more true to her nature than one who is clandestine about her prostitution, all women are by nature – prostitutes, thereby representing an economic bargain which one enters into. Any man who disagrees with this is ignorant when it comes to the female of this human species. Also of note is the relationship between women and alcohol and tobacco… There is no doubt that women are the prime advertisement of these drugs. Other than procreation of human folly and advertising, women serve no other function. Women have progressed from licenced and open prostitution to off-licence or un-licensed prostitution, but their drugs of choice in illusionary persuasion are still the same, wherever you find women practicing their arts you will find drugs too, mostly alcohol. Women have learnt how to tailor and cater their illusions progressively, but the illusions are needed to cover for an inferior product of femininity, which is nothing more than a cheap trick reminiscent of a bill-of-goods sold by the Demiurge. The pimp of these women, has progressed also, once it was more individualized, but then, from the 19th Century onwards, it became nationalized, so the State Government became the Pimp, pimping out women and extorting money out of the unwary men who unfortunately fell into their traps of children or marriage. In exchange for the Pimp role played by national Governments the Government got the lion’s share of the alcohol tab (replacing the Madame of the House). The National Government is a Madame of a Whore house!!!! What is Nationalism then? LOL….
“He remembered having glimpsed, through half-open doors and windows inadequately screened by curtains or panes of coloured glass, women who walked with dragging gait and out-thrust head, the way geese do; others who lounged around on benches, roughening their elbows on the marble table-tops as they brooded, head in hands, humming softly; yet others who were wriggling about in front of mirrors, patting with their fingertips at their hair-pieces spruced up by coiffeur; and then there were still others who were extracting, from purses with broken catches, handfuls of coins and small change which they stacked methodically into small piles. Most of these women had coarse features, husky voices, flabby jowls and painted eyes, and every one of them, like automata who were all being wound up at the same time by the same key, proffered the same invitations in the same tone of voice and, smiling in the same way, uttered the same bizarre remarks, the same outlandish reflections.
Now that he was able to conjure up, in memory, a bird’s-eye view of that mass of bars and streets, Des Esseintes found that association of ideas were forming in his mind and that he was reaching a conclusion. He understood the significance of those cafes which reflected the mood of an entire generation, and from them he deduced the synthesis of that period. And Indeed the symptoms were clear and unmistakable; the brothels were disappearing, and as soon as one of them closed, a low-class bar would open. This diminution of licenced prostitution in favour of secret love affairs was obviously a consequence of the incomprehensible illusions of men in matters relating to carnal love. Monstrous though the idea might appear, the low-class bar satisfied an ideal.Although the utilitarian tendencies passed on by heredity, and fostered by the precocious disrespect and unremitting brutalities of the schools, had made present-day youth singularly ill-mannered as well as singularly matter-of-fact and cold, they had none the less preserved, deep in their hearts, a romantic blossom from earlier times, an ancient ideal of musty, vague attachment. But nowadays, when tormented by their physical urges, the young could not bring themselves to go in, enjoy, pay, and leave; they saw this as a kind of beastiality, like the rutting of a dog who without preamble covers a bitch; besides, vanity fled those brothels unsatisfied, finding in them no semblance of resistance, nor pretense of victory, nor hoped-for preference, nor even any liberality on the part of the vendor. The wooing of a barmaid, by contrast, spared every susceptibility of love, every delicacy of sentiment. There were competitors for a barmaid’s favours, and those to whom she consented to grant assignation (in return for generous payment) sincerely imagined they had triumphed over a rival, been granted a great honour, an exceptional favour. However, these girls working in bars were as stupid, as self-seeking, as base, and as self-indulgent as the women who worked in brothels. Like the prostitutes, they drank without being thirsty, laughed without being amused, went into raptures over the caresses of a common labourer, maligned one another, and scrapped with one another without the slightest provocation; in spite of that, the youth of Paris had never yet observed that, as regards beauty of form, skill of technique, and desirable attire, barmaids were chiefly inferior to women cooped up in the luxurious salons of brothels.
‘My God’, thought Des Esseintes, ‘what fools these fellows are who hang around bars!’
Quite apart from their idiotic illusions, they even manage to forget the risks associated with damaged or dubious merchandise, to no longer take into account the money spent on a lot of drinks the landlady charges for in advance, or the time wasted in waiting for goods whose delivery is deferred so as to enhance their value, or the endless shilly-shallying used to prompt and to promote the sport of tipping!
This inane sentimentalism, combined with fierce practicality, epitomized the dominant thinking of the century; those same individuals who would have blinded their neighbour for the sake of ten sous lost all rationality, all their shrewdness when confronted by those shifty tavern girls who harassed them without mercy and extorted money from them without remission. Business enterprises laboured and families swindled one another in the name of commerce, so that their money could be filched by their sons; they in turn let themselves be cheated by these women who, in the final analysis, were robbed of everything by their fancy men. Throughout the whole of Paris, from east to west, from north to south, there existed an uninterrupted sequence of frauds, a pile-up of organized thefts each of which occasioned the next; and all this because, instead of customers being satisfied on the spot, they were persuaded to exercise their patience, they were kept waiting. Essentially, the sum total of human wisdom consisted in dragging things out, in saying ‘no’ then, eventually ‘yes’ for the most effective way of controlling the younger generation was by putting them off.
‘Ah, if only that was true of one’s stomach’, sighed Des Esseintes, racked by a cramp which brought his straying thoughts sharply back to Fontenay.”
This is what WWIII looks like, on the WWW. It is so fake that I believe that it is real. I feel so sorry for these poor actors who have suffered so much, just like in Gaza, and Iraq, and Afghanistan, and Vietnam. It is so sad to watch these human actors pretending that they know what suffering is… They have no idea of what real suffering is, so they must pretend they know. And they are supported by the entire Zionistic Establishment of Gerda….. My heart bleeds for them, these poor, suffering, biological sacks of sewerage… What I don’t have sympathy for is the fools in the WWW audience… What is worse; the fool or the fool that follows?
This is what a controlled demolition looks like. In this Sarajevo scene one can see how the demolition contractors are focusing their work on just one side of the street, the other side the modernist building remains untouched and provides a nice view of operations in a comfortable air-conditioned office building… Apparently the burnt-out cars are still smoking as if the place was only bombed a few hours ago…. But as you can see there are amenities set up, fencing, brand new trucks, even an audience watching on… They all know it is not a war-zone, they are just pretending it is a war-zone.
Ahhh, the burning Twin Towers trick… Nice pyrotechnics work there. However on this occasion the Twin Towers of Sarajevo did not fall down.
Totally fake image…. Self-explanatory.
Here we have the “Cellist of Sarajevo” providing music score for the Bosnian Opera… It’s an old dramatic gesture but it is always effective and emotive, you know.
Before and after photo…. Do you get it? You got to clear away some of the old building before you bring in the new ones, like McDonalds and Hotels.
Before and after photo…. The redevelopment of Sarajevo’s central business and shopping district. Much more modern now, don’t you think?
Paracelsus In Excelsus,
By Ezra Pound
Being no longer human, why should I
Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?
Men have I known and men, but never one
Was grown so free an essence, or become
So simply element as what I am.
The mist goes from the mirror and I see.
Behold! The world of forms is swept beneath –
Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,
And we that are grown formless, rise above –
Fluids intangible that have been men,
We seem as statues round whose high-risen base
Some overflowing river is run mad,
In us alone the element of calm.