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“In the West the people have nothing to live for, and that is why they have nothing to die for. There is no other sacrifice than the prolonging of their lives, which is their reward. Like a terminal sick person, given more medical years of existence (the illusion of value)… The will to fight beyond current Moral conscience and restrictions (and thus the will to [self] sacrifice and even wage war through suicide [attacks], has been demoralized, neutralized and made misunderstood. If suicide is committed, in the West, it mostly correlates to existential problems; the meaninglessness of life, only fulfilled through the economic work ethos and fragile/superficial social relationships. While in other cultures, ‘suicide’ is committed in regards with honour after defeat, thus a lost fight, or as sacrifice for the sake of battle. And, as this still happens regularly in the Middle East, to take your enemies with you into death. A will and dedication the West has lost.” – Sjoerd Heeger
Kamerad Sjoerd Heeger was recently killed, in the Middle East, details of death currently unknown but a report from a friend states he died in a car bomb near the town of Deir ez-Zor, near Raqqa… I guess the real circumstances will never been known. He was fighting on the side of the YPG (People’s Protection Units) in Syria. The YPG is predominately made up of Kurdish recruits, but also includes Arabs and some foreign volunteers. The YPG is allied to the Syriac Military Council, and was formed from the Democratic Union Party after the Syrian Civil War. The group won a major victory over Islamic State in early 2015, and the group primarily fought against ISIL, sometimes with the assistance of American forces in the area.
Kamerad Sjoerd was the writer of the blog
I published his poems in “Songs Of The Reich”
One of his poems:
“Go I Must,
And leave behind my dear Northern Sea,
Always She spoke winged words to me,
Her soothing dark waters in the undeep,
And Her blanket cold in sight, go I must.
Seasons temper no other race,
Made by winter, in Her heart, rare they’ve become,
And appreciate and see visions of our own spirit,
Become reflected in You, beloved Sea, go I must;
Named after the North, go I must.”
Kamerad Sjoerd was a true Warrior-Poet, in the sense that he did not mind which “side” he was even on, he simply wanted to go to war, or try to find a real “war” and he searched everywhere for that, he went to the Ukrainian front, but could not find enough “action” as he put it, he wanted more danger and violence, so he went to the Middle East and practiced his “war” there, it was better he thought to die in a foreign place then die in his comfortable homely suburban surroundings in Northern Europe. I told him that he would not find a real war, not in the Ukraine and not in Syria, and that there were no real wars, not anymore, but he had to go, “Go I Must”, that is what he wrote… He had tattooed on his trigger finger “Who Are We” (Kine Em)….He did not know who he was fighting for or what he was fighting against, and so he wrote:
“I fear no one
Because I have sworn an oath
A path for no Shepherd of goat
No road to love’s struggle
And comfort of house and hearth
A wanderer with no land, no people
No Fate’s bridle
No dignity in your honour
The death of my heart is the birth
Of another loneliness in an endless hour
A wanderer with no faith
For home and bride
Another Strive as great
As the loss of all dreams
And Will’s promises shattered
Facing her smile in my sleepless slumber
The bells ringing my end
For Will and Strive to surrender
Sweet death, ending all lover’s tales
Rendering all tears of loss for story’s end.”
In the cellar underneath, where rats & vermin hide, scattered among the bones of your royal blood, flooding into the rushing chasms that fill your vanquished heart with ill fate & rending distress.
Bleak sadness in a dark solitude. Inside an invisible cave, dissolving the reticent corpse. No spot on the surface of this world globe to go to for comfort. Black walls of desolation covering the extreme antipodes of earthen eyes weeping egotistically and limited constraining visions on the horizon of a forgotten dusk spirit.
The soil of the soul is wet with untold tears of distraught despair ! Where can Hope deserve a dwelling but in your own sweet grave. All true friends and true brothers shall enter with you there. Within theirs.
It’s in a crypt one buries the cadavre. The Holy Cross above tunneling a passage way to the shiny stars. An Echo…
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On a distant, secluded and sullen soil unnamed,
On a space far removed from the sick and profane,
Weeping willows hang over the graves of our heroes,
To protect and give shelter to their now shadowed eyes.
For here glows the last golden glimmering rays of our Age,
Where the few chosen Germanic angels are gathered to lay,
Rest here in the Geist’s warm embrace, a peace eternal,
For there was not to be one place on this damnable earth,
For the bloodline of those Holy and Divine to reside.
the Jungian brain & its origins.
There is a real world where nothing is simulated, where all creatures of any kind are a unique conscience, seemingly incarnate. But they transcend time & even Eternity, ontologically. Each a unique presence, un-collective. Not issued from any kind of unconscious collective. Jung & his learned abstractions were but bait for the educated & ignorant elite, who were already themselves issued from the synthetic « artificial » intelligence of his & their « time », devised surreptitiously to lead astray all thinking & alert minds(divine sparks).
The real & un-illusory soul tricked into artificial existence, is like a « Christ sitting on a JACKASS entering IERU-SALEM.
It’s the great Machination of which Plato spoke, in any case the literary figure we call Plato, implanted in the real vital minds of men, which is simulated, i.e. is an artificial simulation ! But as Joseph Delgado said in a discourse along…
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