Tuesday, August 22, 2017

ATTACK OF THE SUGAR PLUM FAIRIES







An old word-picture has been brought up to date. Now, instead of rats leaving a sinking ship, the rats are trying to board the sinking ship. Why now, when marriage, like so many other millenia-old pillars of Western civilization, has been left a hollowed-out log by the forces that won't rest until a smouldering ruin has been left in place of that civilization, are those whom nature herself has barred from reproducing, squealing to be let into an institution whose raison d'etre is the propagation of the species?  Would impatience be behind the need to accelerate the process of degeneration - petrol on the fire, as it were.

Sydney, Australia - March 2, 2013. Jesus is Gay. Mardi Gras is an annual event for gay/lesbian acceptance. LGBT pride parade and festival.
WILL CHURCH WEDDINGS BE DEMANDED?

It would be churlish not to accept that homosexuals were hard done by in the past. There is no doubt they were getting the shitty end of the stick. Like women before Feminism 1, some well-founded nagging needed to be accepted by men of reasonable mind. Poofter-bashing, for example, although a time-honoured sport was admittedly going to far. And all those tags, really not much more than gentle needling, even terms of endearment, such as windjammer, shirt-lifter, pillow-biter, carpet-muncher, freckle-puncher were apparently offensive to the more sensitive donkey-tail-pinner-onner. But of course, once the prized status of societal victim is achieved, the pendulum speeds to the other extreme. Now poofters not only object to being called poofters, they don't even like being called homosexuals. A hole exists in our language where the once delightful adjective, 'gay', once lived, but has long ago been stolen and perverted into a sweet euphemism and de rigeur term for homosexual. But in recompense, where one word has been lost, another has been found and that is, 'homophobia'. We've been short-changed though because this isn't a real word. If it were, it would mean fear of sameness. But never mind; propagandists don't pretend to be professional etymologists. Homosexual propagandists had been no doubt mightily impressed by what powerful,weapons words such as 'racist' - a term said to have been coined by Lev Bronstein (aka Leon Trotsky) - and 'anti-Semite' - used as a linguistic flame-thrower by a people, over ninety per cent of whom weren't Semites - were in crushing any argument no matter how well reasoned. Absolute master-strokes. Let's climb aboard.



But also like feminists, homosexuals, after their early heady victories which most people would agree were eminently fair adjustments, they were incapable of stopping there. Wasting momentum would be a criminal act. And for homosexual activists, to not keep the momentum rolling would effectively evaporate their raison d'etre. They'd be psychiatrists without crazy people - lawyers with crims all deciding to go straight. And dare it be said, would it be possible that people existing in the darkness behind the screen with their own agenda and fully aware of the societal destructiveness of what was being unleashed, with money and power, be only too determined to see sickness accepted as health pumped into a healthy society beginning to be seen as homophobic and therefore sick. But no, that's silly. That would be some kind of conspiracy theory. And I never mentioned the Protocols. But you've got to wonder. Even though freckle-punching is highly fashionable these days, why are the media and cinema so enthusiastically causing us to gag on it? How about those two lovable queers who are part of TV's 'Modern Family'? That's progress. It's modern. You'd have to be a bit of an old fuddy duddy to look askance at that. More cutting edge is the part-time tranny brother of Louis the fourteenth in the sleek British TV series, 'Versailes'. He spends an inordinate amount of time in bed locking lips with his flaming, sans vagina paramour. Get used to it. Just as you may have finally gotten used to the huge number of TV and cinema productions loaded with gratuitous and graphically portrayed heterosexual sex, brace yourself for the just as graphic homosexual stomach-churners coming down the pipe.

A dancing reveller at the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras festival

Why would that be, you may well ask. It's because the activists, their backers, leftists to whom homosexual marriage is an article of faith as well as know-nothing do-gooders will not rest until homosexuality is accepted as perfectly normal - as normal as being left handed which was once seen as sinister. This won't quite work until the intellectual descendants of Bernays, nephew of Freud and father of modern mind-twisting, have succeeded in training the bunnies to think about homosexuality with the most salient part of the mental picture blacked out. The redaction carefully obliterates what homosexuals get up to. As long as the Modern Family homosexuals aren't actually seen getting up to anything - being in fact almost platonic, all is well with the world. But if one were to think about one of them actually sticking his dick into the other's anus, well then, perhaps it wouldn't seem quite so normal. Lesbians playing stink-finger and tongue-in-groove just doesn't seem anywhere near as disgusting - especially to men, probably millions of whom get off on girl-on-girl porno. This could be the reason for generous servings of television and cinema lesbian sex: it's being used to soften us up for the stomach-churners coming down the pipe.

gay eye

Oddly, in the all-consuming, government-paralysing soap-opera that the quest for homosexual marriage has become, the cart has been placed before the horse, or perhaps it's simply an illustration of how meaningless marriage has already become. In all Australian states except the Northern Territory, adoption of children by homosexual couples is already legal. Surely here, the 'normality' that homosexuals crave was already being bestowed on them by a society bending over backwards to please them, and in so doing, caving in to supreme selfishness. Before this, with adoption already being a minefield of major complexity, the best interests of the child were considered paramount. But this in fact was what was being sacrificed with homosexual adoption. The interests of homosexuals would come first. Contrary to the bland assertions one  one might find on politicised faux information sites such as Wikipedia, a mountain of data exists showing outcomes for children lacking either a mother or father, not even necessarily in homosexual families, are markedly less successful than those for children raised in conventional, two parent families. Quadrant Online has done a bang-up job of garnering the facts  relating to the less than promising futures of children raised by homosexual parents. http://quadrant.org.au/opinion/qed/2017/08/children's-welfare-sex-families/ A shocker given here is that, contrary to what has already been asserted here in regard to homosexuals not being able to reproduce, perhaps they have in fact found a way to trick mother nature. The jury's in and the verdict is that children who are raised by homosexuals have a far greater chance of becoming homosexual themselves than children raised by heterosexuals.

So with child-sacrifice being already made at the alter of homosexual worship, one could not be blamed for thinking perhaps that that would be just about the ultimate in giving homosexuals what they want. It probably was. How could you go past trusting homosexuals with what was most valuable and vulnerable to show that they were perfectly normal? That you can't is the eye-opener needed to show that normality can't be provided to those who will themselves never feel or believe in their own normality. Psychiatrists call this projection - the projecting of one's own beliefs onto others.  This occurs when the neurotic assumes that others share the same negative beliefs about him as he does himself, resulting in hostility toward those he assumes harbour ill will toward him. Of course homosexuals, if they're not completely stupid, know they have been dealt a lousy hand, that homosexuality is in no way normal, and trying to convince everyone else, including children that it is normal will never make it so. (There's always that haunting image of a dick in a man's arse.)

So on it goes. By gaining 'marriage equality', a ridiculous misnomer if ever there was one, marriage being by definition between a man and a woman, the final measure in acquiring normality: having homosexuality  socially accepted - an expectation fraught with potential disappointment - and proving that society really loves them after all will still fall just short of that shimmering mirage. That will mean regrouping, new strategy and a new chase in achieving that elusive goal. Where will it end? Where can it end? Perhaps like feminism in rectifying what was patently wrong but then soaring far past that to a world where it was men who were inferior and to be despised, it will be the 'breeders', as homosexuals refer to their opposites as, who will be expected to take on the role of the sick and unnatural. In a world that becomes more ridiculous every day, that's not outside of the realms of possibility.

But if the institution of marriage seems to be on its last legs anyway, why worry. Probably because if homosexual marriage becomes law, it will be the coup de grace; marriage will be meaningless. But this is probably what the real agenda demands, family being one of the four pillars that need to be taken out before a society collapses, the other three being RACE (being taken care of by mass immigration and miscegenation), NATION (check your watch for the arrival time of world government) and RELIGION (Christianity under attack from all quarters while Islam penetrates more deeply and widely while molly-coddled and apologised for by self-hating useful idiots).

However, if against all odds, western societies can recover from the usually fatal sickness of liberalism, and the institution of marriage hasn't been completely destroyed, perhaps future generations will have at least a foot-hold from which to begin the long climb back to health and sanity.


Friday, August 18, 2017

CHARLOTTESVILLE - THE FIRST SHOTS IN CIVIL WAR 2?



 The Left just doesn't get it - never has, never will. The media as usual is clueless, a lone rare exception being our own Miranda Devine who observs correctly in the Sydney Telegraph of Wednesday 8/17 that the plan of Charlottesville's Mayor to remove a stature of General Robert E Lee is 'an attempt to delete history'. Earlier in her collumn she noted 'The rise of the far Right  ... in the US is a predictable consequence of the Left's pursuit of radical identity politics over the past decade. They made race an issue, along with gender, sexuality, religion and whatever else they could find to divide us. They set out to divide, with violence and intimidation, and have unleashed the forces of reaction.' [Ommitted here is her use of the term 'white supremacists'. Exactly how is trying to defend your heritage white supremacy? The defenders were saying  in their chant what it was really all about: 'we will not be replaced'. Obviously their gaze into reality penetrates far more acutely than does the slanted view of members of the fourth estate. However because she's otherwise shown such good sense she's forgiven for this blemish on her analysis.]
 

When I was a kid in the heyday of the drive-in cinema, a big night out for my family was a visit to a nearby 'twin' - screens at both ends of a massive parking area with the two halves aimed in opposite directions. With both myself and my little brother in the back seat and my brother too short to be able to see the movie through the windscreen, he solved the problem by kneeling on the seat, and watching the other movie through the rear window. Almost en masse  the world's media appear to be doing something almost identical - watching the wrong picture because (for them) it is easier to see. Anybody with eyes in his head and a TV set to point them at could see clearly who was initiating the violence and it wasn't the Unite the Right people who'd obtained a permit to stage a peaceful rally. It was screamingly obvious to this person with two functioning eyes and a TV set that the violence was being instigated by the lunatic left, attacking those who had rallied to protest the removal of the stature of Robert E Lee, hero of the South. That they'd come armed-up with clubs and the missiles, and the pepper spray being so liberally sprayed was obvious. As someone who was there reported, (https://steemit.com/altright/@mattparrott/catcher-in-the-reich-my-account-of-my-experience-in-charlottesville-by-matt-parrott) when ammo began to run low the ratbags began hurling exrement and urine bombs. Also, please try to make time to watch the burst of inspirational passion included here from someone else who was there: http://nationalvanguard.org/2017/08/the-medias-niagara-of-lies-about-charlottesville/



Also apparently visible through the wrong window, was a heavily reported 'race riot'. How the battle could be seen as such will have to be included amongst the great mysteries of life. The necessary and sufficient ingredients for a race riot are at least two different races. Apart from a few of the brothers on the attacking side, this was predominantly a white-on-white struggle (exactly what Civil War 1 was, albeit with a sprinkling of the brothers on both sides). Characterising what happened as a 'race riot' is cousin to the same trick of claiming that exploding African American anger periodically resulting in burnt out and looted cities are race riots. No, this plain and simple, was an ideological riot the dynamics of which may come to appear similar to two tectonic plates driving at each other. The hegemony of the Left, up to now an irresistable force, has finally met an immovable object, a perennially under siege nationalist Right that has resolved to take not one more back step.



The Left knows this, the ruling class knows this, the media know this but to admit it is to acknowledge a dangerous turning point. Smell the fear. Listen to the pig-squealling - almost deafening when President Trump stated the obvious, that violence was on all sides. So loud and seemingly omnipresent that it apparently spooked him. However, credit where credit is due, he showed strength by returning to his original position: 'nobody will say it, but I'll say it ...'

Torment an animal, any animal, long enough and it will strike back. This is what has happened in Charlottesville. I can do no other, is what this particular animal might have thought. Strikingly unlike the millions hypnotised by television screens and fake news the American Alt Right has a laser-like perception of the state of play and what is at stake. Its members accurately perceive that the hubris of the left have deluded its membes into thinking that their victory is so complete they can confidently move into the endgame, essentially mopping up, which is exactly what the removing of statues and the effective erasure of history and pride which this egregious, almighty slap in the face represents.



If there is any justice left in the good ole USA, a large part of the blame for the tragic death of the young woman killed by the speeding car driven by James Felds, a hapless and panicked nationalist, will be taken off his shoulders and placed where it squarely belongs: with Charlotteville officials and police, either treacherous or hopelessly incompetent or both. The death of Heather Heyer occurred at the end of a long chain-reaction. Hopefully, an argument like this will be used in Felds's defence:  http://nationalvanguard.org/2017/08/charlottesville-and-the-car-crash-policing-of-a-demonstration/  After all, with a highly agitated Trump already declaring Felds to be a murderer, and the entire American Left baying for blood, the poor bastard's going to need all the help he can get.

 It is difficult to counter the argument by nationalists who were there that they were set up.  Firstly, as one would have to be living in an abandoned copper mine in Botswana to not know by now, Unite the Right organisers had been issued with a completely kosher, above board permit to hold a rally in what had been known as Lee park to protest a statue of Lee being about to follow the park's name into oblivion. To say that the action of the police, knowing full well an Antifa crowd with a well deserved reputation for violence would be present and have something more than vocal to say about the rally was slothful would be blackening the character of sloths everywhere. Unlike our own cops who've become extremely good at this sort of thing, no real attempt seems to have been made to protect the lawful rally from Leftist/Antifa violence or indeed to even keep antagonists apart. Police can be seen in all uploaded videos idling well away from the action as even early in the piece skirmishes were breaking out under one way traffic of missiles launched from those who were there to - laughingly - protest 'hate'. Exhibit A:   http://truthuncensored.net/charlottesville-police-come-forward-told-stand-ignite-race-war-video/

 

As the attack grew in violence and self-defence increased accordingly to what was finally deemed unacceptable, the police, instead of attempting to restore peace and wading in and arresting the worst ofenders, astonishingly reacted by revoking the Right's permit to rally. Talk about taking the easy way out. The nationalist were then ordered out of a relative safe-space, if you omit clubs, hurtling rocks and chemical weapons, to run the gauntlet of outnumbering, blood-crazed savages. How was this not a set-up? A left-leaning city, with left-leaning police on the leash who clearly didn't want no evil Nazis, KKK, or White Supremacists in their fair town were happy to let the lunatic left deal with the problem.

Now does any of this have anything to do with us all the way over here in sleepy Australia? You can bet your bottom bitcoin that it does. The same process coming to its inevitable denouement in the US has been underway here for decades. Remember when Ayers Rock suddenly became Uluru? Naturally, all fair-go, she'll-be-right-mate Aussies couldn't object to that - poor buggers, the least we could do after making their lives perfectly miserable for 200 years. Who would have known that the official name had actually become Ayers Rock/Uluru, soon to switch to Uluru/Ayers Rock? Even if anyone did, who would now dare use the name Ayers Rock in polite company?

Problem is, once Aboriginal activism had been ignited by the all white Communist Party of Australia and the pawns in the game had been moved into the hallowed halls of victimhood, no amount of appeasement would dislodge them. After a long process similar to offering a constant supply of sardines to a shark, the 'only' thing that will satisfy now will be the abolition of our national day, or at least moving it to a different date, throw in a name change and voila! you have the same thing.

As the  percentage of the white population shrinks and still fails to learn anything about ethnic loyalty and group survival that current minorities have a deeply embedded, instinctive understanding of, Aborigines, although the now defunct CPA is no playing the marching songs, will continue to be used by others as weapons of  mass demonisation against dispirited whites.

Although at an advanced stage of white-anting, most of us are still incapable of being aware of the imminent collapse of the house. Almost on a daily basis we read such newspaper reports as those detailing the production of primary school plays portraying Aborigines in chains being ill treated by brutish white men and gnarled, wicked, white nuns flogging cowering Aboriginal school children, that is of course when they're taking a break from being taught how normal and wonderful homosexuality is. Being forced into productions like this isn't child abuse itself  - oh no, we're just trying to give the children a graphic portrayal of our true history. Give us a child for the first seven years ... These children may be older than seven but are still as absorbent as sponges.

So, at some point in the possibly not too distant future, when the bulldozers come for statues of Cook, Parkes, Macquarie, Phillip - genocidal invaders all -  urged on by howling Orientals and their  useful white idiots, will those comprising the despised white minority try to defend the statues or lie down like mongrel dogs and be themselves also shovelled into the black hole of history?


Tuesday, August 15, 2017

YOU'VE HEARD IT'S BAD IN EUROPE, BUT IT'S NOWHERE NEAR AS BAD AS IN AUSTRALIA

Hong Kong
GEORGE STREET SYDNEY. JUST KIDDING. IT'S HONG KONG BUT THE FACT THAT MOST SYDNEY INHABITANTS WOULD'VE BELIEVED ME SHOWS HOW CLOSE IT IS TO BECOMING THE HK OF THE SOUTH


Recently while preparing for a trip to Germany and being bombarded with TV images of the refugee crisis in Germany - an invasion of a million plus - and of course the inevitable social breakdown such as the continuing mass sexual assaults of German women, and a skyrocketing crime rate, I was braced for a multicultural catastrophe equal to or even greater than our own. I expected to find a European  Gulliver roped to the ground and danced on by a myriad of tiny little people comprising its own tiny little traitors and the hordes of tiny little invaders who are far more adept at destroying a civilization than ever creating one.

Imagine my surprise when walking the Strassen of Germany, from the biggest cities to the smallest towns, I found myself feeling I was in a country almost as white as White Australia had been, that is, before our 'enrichment'. The overwhelming preponderance of faces I was seeing belonged to real Germans. Of course the whiteness wasn't complete - dashes of colour were still inescapable. Naturally, after the refugee invasion unleashed by Frau Merkel kneeling at the altar of eternal atonement, Muslims, black and Arabic - the women recognisable, or unrecognisable by their trend-setting, all purpose black curtains with slots, and the men recognisable by their begging bowls (in spite of being well looked after by the German government) - were a common sight but seemingly, in contrast to our tsunami of Asians, not about to roll over the country changing it irreversibly. Asians are visible in Germany but more as a spicy sprinkling, reminding more of the thin edge of the wedge represented by our early days of non-European immigration when multiculturalism had been not exactly threatening - just discomforting and ominous. It came as something of a shock to realise how acclimatised I'd become to extreme multiculturalism, just going to show how true it is that you can get used to anything.

But how could it be?  How could a country as hammered as Germany was by liberalism just as suicidal as Australia's and which had been inundated with one million plus forever-aliens in one year alone not be anywhere near as colourfully fragmented as Australia? The answer of course was in relative population figures. Compared to Australia's population of 25 Million, admittedly fast rising, Germany towers with a population of over 81 million. Although the country contains a significant population of Turkish Gustarbeiters, about whom everyone apparently forgot the Gust, or guest, part of the deal, to counter this, only about 75 per cent of the Australian population is of truly old stock. (Apologies here to the old, old stock but realistically the trifling percentage here makes little difference.)

So naturally, Germany, at least for the moment, is about three and a quarter times more  capable of at least absorbing if not digesting the indigestible. (Agonising heartburn is though inevitable at some point.)  Also, Germany does not suffer the great city/country divide that is perhaps unique in Australia, nor does it contain a great, bloody desert taking up most of the country. In contrast, Germany is evenly arable and with a population almost as evenly spread, very unlike Australia where 70 percent of the population hugs the coast, its major cities budding megalopolises and its already sparse rural population being drained because of land being essentially appropriated by giant agribusiness concerns, often overseas based, more often than not Chinese. And as in China where the peasants, excluded from the latest Asian economic miracle, gravitate to the cities where the wealth is heavily concentrated, country people in Australia who have seen their futures evaporate, likewise likewise head for the cities where they find not much there for them either.

Arriving back in Australia I experience mild reverse culture shock. After spending time immersed in all that German whiteness I'm surprised at my surprise in being reacquainted with the kaleidoscope of colour in my own home-town.  As I stroll through Sydney's CBD I find myself searching for white faces much as I might do in Manila or Bangkok. I guess it's some kind of atavistic impulse, this need for the comfort of racial familiarity. However, the comfort is almost as sorely lacking as it would be had I actually been in either of those cities. I'm now searching frantically for white faces. Here and there I spot them, but vacant, unconcerned they they drift like pieces of flotsam  in alien streams. It's a towering tribute to the efficacy of gradualism. These frogs still don't seem to notice that the water is well and truly bubbling. Another wave rolls toward me containing not one white. Who are these people? They're predominately Asian, ranging from the lightness of skin of the Chinese to Tamil blackness and every hue in between but where they actually might have come from, Christ only knows. I'm feeling the anger I've promised myself to suppress because giving it the free reign it demands I know will either send my blood pressure into the death zone or turn me into someone crazy and bitter and not and not wanted around those less bothered. But damn it! This is my fucking country! How dare I be made to feel a stranger in my own country- the country created from nothing by my people ?

Several days later, being a world-class glutton for punishment, I take a stroll through my old Alma Mater, the University of NSW, the biggest university in the country and a city in miniature . I'm on my way to see an exhibition of the great Nicola Tesla's work. It's situated at the western, Anzac Parade end of the campus. I could've ducked in through a gate at this end but I insist on walking through the length of the campus from east to west. When I studied here there was already a significant representation of Malaysian Chinese here,  kept out of Malaysian universities by Malaysia's New Economic Policy which favours Malays in all important aspects. A type of apartheid ruled at the university because the Chinese students preferred to stick to themselves but of course the white students were tacitly blamed for ostracising them.

So I'm braced for what I might find now, but not braced enough. At the eastern end where the Arts faculties are situated, a reasonable number of white students can still be spotted, happily oblivious to the bitter disappointment their useless Arts degrees will lead them to. However the more one penetrates the territory of students studying for degrees that will actually lead to something, the sciences, engineering. medicine etc, white faces are conspicuously absent. Again, they've been replaced by Asians of whatever actual background, but eastern Asians predominate.

I've a little time up my sleeve so I explore a little, checking to see how much old haunts have changed. I find myself in a little cafe - staffed by Asians - looking through a glass wall at the pool where I used to swim. It has now been completely taken over by Asians. I continue to scan but if there are any whites here they've drowned and sunk to the bottom - of course highly symbolic if so. How was this allowed to have happened? I'm not enjoying my coffee one little bit. No punishment too harsh exists for the bastards responsible for this. The white-hot, burning question is of course where are all the white kids who would have been studying here if this transformation hadn't occurred? Are they now destine to join Lee Kwan Yew's 'white trash of Asia'?

The UNSW has done a bang-up job of creating a microcosm of a muticultural Utopia with an overlaying of Asianisation that could possibly to warm the cockles of any deluded leftist's heart: a smallish minority of whites, a white rump if you will, tamed and in no doubt of its true place in society, a generous serving of Islam, a swirling mix of miscellaneous races and an Asian majority taking the place once held by whites. It would be unfair to protest at the Asian slice of the pie being much bigger than all the other slices because after all, we are now 'part of Asia' as our traitorous politicians have been telling us for decades, notwithstanding that the country has not moved as much as one millimetre north, its flora and fauna have nothing in common with that of Asia, the founding race had nothing to do with Asia and Melanesia still stubbornly refuses to move out from between Australia and Asia.

However microcosms can't always be extrapolated from to provide faithful macrocosms;a case in point is Darwin's use of microevolution (true) as a springboard from which to take a flying leap of faith to macroevolution (ridiculous) Similarly, the smooth journey from micromulticulturalism to macromulticulturalism presupposes that the dozing giant will never awake, that the football on television won't be turned off and the empty beer cans disposed of. And naturally, it's easy with kids who've been softened up by twelve years of PC education, and now in the maw of a smoothly operating brain-washing enterprise, and their tender brains still not even fully functional. In this environment, not being with the programme invites ostracism and being perceived as something worse than part orphanage burner and part grandmother molester. To cap it, they have no conception of what being a white minority in a real multicultural, predominantly Asian zoo would look like. The stars in their eyes prevent them from seeing that, far from being a minority such as those fauned upon today, they would be despised as the genocide committing invaders who have no real business in being in this part of the world - much like the whites in South Africa.

Thankfully however this demographic is not  spread over the entire country and a restlessness can be discerned amongst the natives. National politics is extremely shaky with at least one party on the brink of implosion with already a small chunk of it flying off in roughly the right direction.

If only the two examples given here - the Sydney CBD and the UNSW - are considered, one could not be blamed for thinking the game was over, that we'd already reached the tipping point where Australians have become a minority in their own country instead of around forty years hence about which demographers and futurists predict, even though these eggheads have probably gotten it hopelessly wrong. And obviously the university and the CBD and the ethnic patchwork of greater Sydney aren't Australia. As an aside, it is amusing though that whenever trouble strikes the city it is usually in the Western Suburbs where invariably dusky witnesses marshalled by TV crews struggle mightily with the English language. Onomatapoeia serves royally as a linga franca: 'he go bang, bang, bang. It go boom!'

 In spite of our traitorous elite's attempts to spead diversity evenly like manure over a garden, to the non-city dweller much of Australia still looks like, well, Australia. But for how long? Time is definitely not on our side.  With the largest immigration programme in the world per capita, the traitor class is stampeding us to the brink of extinction. Between 2003 and 2015 alone immigration increased 21.5%.. Immigration brings with it a secondary poison. With young men in flight from feminism, the very feminine and apparently submissive Asian women - women who know how to be women - provide an alluring alternative. And with the media constantly promoting the coolness of miscegenation, there's every chance we'll suffer the same fate as the Tasmanian Aborigines, that is, we'll be bred out of existence.


 





 

 

Friday, August 4, 2017

DRESDEN



https://www.thevintagenews.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/After-the-bombing.jpg

A visit to Dresden provides proof positive that Germans, staggering under a monumental weight of white guilt, lead the way in the suicide of the west.


On a recent visit to Germany I was quickly disabused of my notion that atonement for the sins of the fathers would be perhaps subject to some kind of statute of limitations. Surely, generations after the cataclysm of the Second World War, Germans would be entitled to feel at least some diminution of the guilt attached to their country’s supposed single-handed initiation of a world war (no, make that total blame for two world wars) and the alleged attempted genocide of a charmingly innocent racial/religious group.

 
But no, this peculiar brand of evil appears to have leached into the very DNA of the Germans. It is as though babies born in Germany of white mothers arrive with indelibly blood-stained hands. Like children born into religions, they are born into guilt.  Ironically, the efforts of Hitler and the entire apparatus of the Third Reich in tirelessly identifying who were Germans and who were not has made it ridiculously easy to determine who to pin the everlasting blame on – those who are unable to identify as anyone other than a German. Proliferating non-German citizens of Germany need not be concerned.
What has led me to so unshakable a conviction? In a word, Dresden – more specifically, the murder of Dresden over two apocalyptic days in February 1945. This is a subject which has fascinated and appalled me since long ago reading The Destruction of Dresden by David Irving. It is this book from which most of the facts and figures relating to the atrocity given here come, as well as from Thomas Goodrich’s Hellstorm: The Death of Nazi Germany, 1944 – 1947. One cannot read these two books without being forced to conclude that the holocaust that consumed Dresden was a war crime reaching a level of evil on a par with those committed against Hiroshima, Nagasaki and Tokyo. But guilt in these atrocities has never been expressed, let alone admitted, nor will ever be admitted. Platitudes and rationalizations are offered instead.
Minutes after arriving in the city a garrulous receptionist informs me of a not-to-be-missed tourist attraction. It’s an exhibition purported to be a memorial to the city’s destruction over seventy years ago. My interest is immediately piqued. I naively presume, that if guilt is not actually being shelved home to where it belongs, at least a finger – even the tiniest pinky – of blame,  may be pointing in the right direction. 
I hire a bicycle and pedal out to where the receptionist has directed me. The exhibition, truly on a giant scale, is housed within perfectly suited accommodation. It is a converted gas storage unit, located unsurprisingly on Gasanstaltstrasse. If the type of hulking water reservoirs that sit astride hilltops can be imagined, this provides a good facsimile of the housing of the Panometer, the exhibition I’ve come to see. It is thirty meters high.  On entering the gloom and resounding funereal music of the exhibition, one is struck by the cathedral-like inner space. In the center is a winding steel staircase leading to three platforms spaced evenly apart. Each platform naturally provides a different perspective of what makes the exhibition so phenomenal – a gigantic, seamless 360-degree photographic montage of Dresden not long after the attack. One becomes effectively wrapped around in a scene of total devastation. This in fact would have been the perspective of the photographer snapping the originals from what obviously must have been an exceedingly precarious vantage point. He evidently revolved while photographing to achieve the circular panorama that lead one into into the present illusion of being at his side while he worked. Adding to this eerie, alternate reality is the alternatively dimming and brightening lighting as well as flashes of light and synchronized musical percussion to approximate exploding bombs. This is a uniquely moving experience.
However, I was expecting more: some kind of homage – or at least even a mention – of the multitude who met such horrible deaths. But no, not even a mention even of the absurdly low official estimate of 25,000.
But that’s not to say there were no victims. As I explored further, I found them – small photographic portraits with accompanying accounts of tormented lives. Of course! Like everything else about the war, especially in Germany, it was all about the Jews. The sad faces frozen by photography were all Jewish faces – the true victims of the Dresden atrocity. That they weren’t there at the time is a fact not allowed to spoil a good story. They had been removed prior to the attack and who knows how many may have popped up again in Israel in the following years, quite unlike the Dresdeners whose numbers would have overflowed a major sports stadium. They would not be popping up again anywhere. But ‘Oh voi how ve’ve suffered!’.
 The unremitting tale of woe remarkably avoids any mention of the tens of thousands of Germans incinerated, atomised, crushed like bugs or simply driven insane on the 13th and 14th of February 1945 when the war was all but lost and largely only continuing because of the demand for unconditional surrender. This had been adroitly exploited by Goebbels to convey the not unfounded impression that Germany would be erased either way. The infamous Morganthau Plan, the implementation of which would have resulted in millions of German deaths, and Kaufman’s book Germany Must Perish advocating genocide through sterilization, did nothing to allay those fears. So, better to die on your feet.
In line with the assertion that the Jews had been the true victims of Dresden, comes the astonishing opinion that ‘[t]he destruction of the cultural metropolis of Dresden had long since begun with the assumption of power of the National Socialists.’ It is an accepted fact that history is written by the winners, but it beggars belief that the losers could be acquiescing so enthusiastically.
The methodology of the attack on Dresden had been honed to perfection by Arthur “Bomber” Harris, Commander-in-Chief of RAF Bomber Command, who’d been charged by Churchill with the total destruction of German cities and its concomitant maximum death toll. It was a given that this could be achieved by targeting densely populated working-class areas. The bonus here was the attendant disruption of war production because of dead or homeless workers. Inexhaustibly energetic, he’d gone about his task with the dedication and efficiency of an evil genius. He’d, for example, had typically amoral scientists working out formulas showing deaths to be caused per ton of explosive.  

 Before Dresden, the destruction of Hamburg the previous year in which more people were killed in one night than the number of deaths caused during the entire London blitz was a triumph that needed to be studied. An evidently unintended or even foreseen consequence of the Hamburg attack was the firestorm. This was a hurricane of flame engendered by a myriad of incendiaries causing winds violent enough to roll locomotives. They rushed into the vacuum left by a volcanic up-draught of super-heated air. The city was effectively converted into a blast furnace. This must have come to the perpetrators as the type of surprise one might experience on discovering an extra present under a Christmas tree. All the while, the fiction was being maintained that the infernal destruction of Germany was merely the surgical elimination of military/strategic targets. 
Through more than four years of the most savage war ever fought, Dresden had led something of a charmed life. Barely damaged by the violence swirling about them, Dresdeners had slipped into a comfortable sense of indeed false security. After all, apart from an east-west rail-line along which soldiers were transported, the city was devoid of military value. In their naivety, the inhabitants also reasoned that a kind of tacit agreement had been established whereby if the cultural equivalent of Oxford was left alone, the architectural treasure-house of the Dresden Altstadt, the old city, that had earned the city the reputation of being the ‘Florence of the North’, would be spared. It was after all a cultural heirloom, not just to Germany, but to the civilized world. It was inconceivable that it would be specifically targeted, and by racial kinsmen, but that is exactly what it was.  Consequently considered a safe haven, it was packed with those fleeing the primitive barbarity of the Red Army. The Dresden population of 650,000 had become swollen by another 400,000 refugees, wounded soldiers and POWs. 
How could they possibly have suspected they were about to become pawns in a game played with the devil? They would be destroyed not because of a military rational that may have shortened the war by even an hour, but simply for political reasons. Because of Stalin’s unquestionable assertion that the Soviet Union was bearing the brunt of the European war and his complaint that his allies weren’t doing enough to help (notwithstanding the torrential flow of arms and equipment from the US), it was decided that some of the wind needed to be taken out of his sails. What better, more impressive way to do it than to remove an entire city from his path. (Somewhat ironically however, when towards the end of the war and spreading knowledge of the atrocity had incensed people world-wide, Stalin was adamant that he’d never asked for this. Likewise, Churchill was beginning to try to distance himself from the obscenity, leaving Harris out to dry, as the saying goes.) Harris in turn pleaded the Nuremburg defence: 'I was only following orders.' Works for some.

As efficiently and as scientifically as ever, Bomber Harris, in conjunction with US Army Air Force, prepared for his latest assignment. The attack would comprise a triple blow, the first two at night, and closely spaced – the better to catch rescuers and fire brigades out in the open with the second – and a daylight attack the following day by US Flying Fortresses capable of carrying even greater bombloads than the British Lancasters. It would be a stroll in the park. With Luftwaffe pilots fighting desperately elsewhere, or kept on an airfield nearby because destroyed communications meant permission for take-off could not be obtained from Flight HQ. And with the feared 88 mm flak cannon removed  elsewhere because considered unneeded at Dresden, the city was as defenseless as a man without limbs. 

The three swarms of attackers would comprise the staggering numbers of bombers that had become the norm. The amount of explosives dropped on Dresden would total almost 35 thousand tons. Bombs as various as clubs in a golf-bag would be used including the two and four ton ‘blockbusters’, so named because they could take out entire city blocks, time-bombs to catch the unwary after the bombers had turned homewards, and deep-burrowing bombs to find those hard to reach spots where victims would have been trembling uncontrollably underground. Of primary importance though were the thousands of incendiaries that would be used to deliberately replicate the firestorm of Hamburg. The phosphorous of the incendiaries, had a way of sticking to people, turning them into human torches. 
 And so it began. With sirens blaring and  the cities inhabitants descending into makeshift, cellar shelters that would prove to be eventual death traps, what had become known the length and breadth of Germany as ‘Christmas tree lights’ began falling from the sky. These were the magnesium marker flares dropped by a squadron of Pathfinder Lancasters.  Then the hellish incendiaries began falling. With fires lighting up the city, it was then a simple matter to follow up with earth-quaking explosions.  A short time later a bomber crew member reported what he estimated to be ‘forty square miles of fire’. Another wondered what it must have been like for ‘the poor sods below’.
Down below, the most fearful artistic imaginings of hell did not come close to what was actually happening. The lucky ones were being asphyxiated because of oxygen being consumed by fire or the buildup of carbon monoxide in basement shelters. The not so lucky caught out in the open were being picked up like rag dolls and flung into the flames by cyclonic winds or having clothes, then skin, then flesh burnt from them as they ran before dropping. Others became bogged in melted bitumen where their bodies would be later found face down and have to be pried away from the once again solidified blackness. Many women still clutching babies or infants would be found like this. The melting point of glass is around 1,600 degrees centigrade.           Shattered window panes began to melt. Sandstone melted and ran like lava.
The main railway station had become a city within a city with refugees, wounded soldiers and POWs constantly arriving by train and being crowded also with people having nowhere else to go. Because of its large underground area forming a de facto shelter - no proper public air-raid shelters existed in the city - it acted as a magnet for the panic stricken as soon as the first bombs began falling. It proved however to be of little protection against the many direct hits that peppered it. The first to die of course were those still huddled in crowded train carriages and then death pried more determinedly to find those so desperately trying to escape it.  From this location alone, many thousands of bodies were recovered in the following days. As across the entire city, many more would never be found. However, the rail line running through the station, arguably a genuine military target, would be repaired, allowing trains to be running again within days.
As bombers of the second wave finally headed for home, fire reaching high into the atmosphere could still be seen 100 miles behind. The more sensitive of the bomber crewmen were beginning to feel shame that would haunt them the rest of their days.
But for the Dresdeners who had escaped the inferno and were now shivering in the frigid cold, it wasn’t over yet. The new day brought a new attack. It was now time for the US force – of similar magnitude to the preceding British waves – to launch its daring daylight attack, daring that is if those who could see it coming could have done anything about it. But they could only watch. The still roiling clouds of smoke did though present a degree of difficulty. But no need to be too finicky about where the bombs landed; they would more than likely be only smashing rubble anyway. For mopping up, P51s streaked down low from the sky to strafe burnt and bleeding survivors huddled in the parks and on the banks of the Elbe with cannon and machine gun fire. One American pilot, possibly annoyed with a low score swept over what remained of the zoo. Most of the animals had been killed or had escaped but a lone giraffe remained wandering and dazed.  A burst of machine gun fire from the Mustang riddled the giraffe and dropped it to the ground. Such was the heroism displayed on that day.
Irving gives the figure for the dead left lying in and under the smoking rubble of Dresden of 135,000. To do this he simply followed his modus operandi of researching primary sources. In this case, it was the record compiled by Hans Voigt, a teacher unemployed since Dresden schools had been recently converted into military hospitals. By order of the Vermissten-Nachweis-Zentrale (Central Bureau of Missing Persons) he was tasked with setting up and organizing an Arbteilung Tote (Dead Persons Department). This would ultimately be the be the most enormous enterprise of its kind in history. With typical Teutonic efficiency he assembled a crew of seventy. This was backed up by a further 300 from the VNZ. The system worked out was a kind of complex double entry ledger whereby bodies were head counted by one team and tagged by another, the two totals then being cross-checked.
The first major accomplishment was the identification of around 40,000 bodies via identifying documents and valuables. But that was where the total of identified bodies remained.  From there on, the teams were often counting three feet long, charcoal human effigies. All the while the counters were interrupted by the bereaved wanting to take either identified bodies or bodies thought to be relatives in order save them from the mass graves. They were forbidden to do so. Time was not on the side of the counters. Working in a miasma of reeking death, the outbreak of disease was becoming an increasing dangerous probability. When it became too great, burial was abandoned and soon as bodies were counted they were stacked on grills of iron girders in the streets and set on fire . 

A scene in the film Slaughterhouse-Five, based on the book by Kurt Vonnegut who was one of the many POWs assisting in rescue operations, shows a POW being shot for picking up from the rubble a Dresden doll. Summary execution was in fact the fate of anyone even suspected of looting. 
Where no actual bodies could be identified as such, such as when a cellar was opened and what had been the people cowering inside had become layers of fine ash, educated guessing and inductive reasoning was the only recourse.   A similar problem attached to scene described by Voigt and related by Irving: ‘The bottom steps were slippery. The cellar floor was covered by an eleven or twelve-inch deep liquid mixture of blood flesh and bone; a small high explosive bomb had penetrated four floors of the building and exploded in the basement.’ The number of bodies contributing to the nightmarish mixture was easily ascertainable however; it was discovered that at every previous air raid alert, although not followed by an air raid, the cellar usually contained around 300 people. 
Not a word of all this however is contained within the Panometer. I exit the building so distracted I hardly notice the chemtrails painted across a cloudless sky. Back at my hotel I obtain a city map and begin to take note of the suggestions of places of interest crowded in its fringes. Curiously, the Panometer isn’t included but in a small section entitled ‘5 min of history’ I notice this: ‘13th February 1945 – the Old Town was almost completely destroyed [almost? The city had become a charred apple with the core removed, ten square miles being totally destroyed] and thousands of people died [at least here is an acknowledgement that people actually died] … However, we should also not forget that many Dresdeners … participated willingly in the Nazi regime. [italics mine] …’ I go over this part again to check that I haven’t misread it. But no, that’s what it says. So those tens of thousands of souls that were destroyed so terribly were simply getting what they deserved. They had been infected with Nazism so it was only right that they were burnt out like a cancer. But these are the writer’s own people he’s speaking of – ancestors, who in many cultures are worthy of respect and reverence, even worship. How can they be disowned so simply, so brutally? On further reflection, the answer -one of desperate but futile psychological processing – crystallizes. If the blood-line can be severed, so can the blood guilt.  If that doesn’t work, which it doesn’t, there’s a fallback, and that is a common German sentiment expressed as ‘we’re proud of not being proud.’
This lack of pride is truly astounding. While all over Germany little brass plaques set into foot-paths outside the homes once inhabited by Jews reminds Germans of their guilt, the most common word in the details of their fate being ‘emordet’ (murdered) and a lavish Holocaust museum stands accusingly in the center of their capital city, not one stone exists in memoriam of the millions of Germans who perished – and in the case of Dresden and every other city that was carpet-bombed, emordet – in the Second World War and for several years afterwards. (For the full horror, Goodrich is required reading.) Because of suppressed knowledge, it’s unlikely that the millions of German POWs, robbed of that status, and perishing in Eisenhower’s death camps are even mentioned. 

While the landscapes of the victors are dotted with war memorials you will find no such tribute to the vast number of German men, and in the end, boys, who fought with superhuman bravery and gave their lives for their people and nation. It doesn’t matter that, in the end, ragged and starving, they fought to the last bullet simply for each other and to protect their people fleeing an unimaginably bestial horde being urged on by Comrade Ehrenburg: ‘…  break the racial pride of these German women’ and ‘kill, kill, kill!’ There is however a war memorial in the Harz Mountains town of Bad Harzburg. It commemorates the soldiers who fought and died in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 – 71. This is the last war about which Germans have a right to express pride.   
The sad irony is that however much Germans try to dissociate themselves from their ancestors, it is all to no avail. Even the cartoon renditions of a blood-dripping Adolph Hitler with which the German left likes to amuse themselves will not save them. This is evidenced by the ongoing need to atone, most graphically illustrated by Frau Merkel’s invitation of the refugee crisis and the deadly virus of Islam. To certain others, German guilt is far too valuable to ever let expire. Germans will forever remain ‘Hitler’s willing executioners’. Forever, or until Zionist Satanism is finally excised from humanity – more than likely an exact same time frame. The miracle is that, through some kind of mental alchemy, what should have been venomous, undying hatred because of what was done to them, has been turned into everlasting guilt.