There
we were, having a good time, making money, making love and good music, bringing
beauty into the world, building new things and Bang! we awakened to find totalitarian
assholes in charge via some back door we were too busy, too happy and too
satisfied to keep an eye on. The bill for those good times has now been
delivered to our table and via some arcane calculus it appears we are presently
held to account for all the bad in the world. It is time to pay up and pay up
and pay up again until the parasites at last kill off their host and then I
expect we will be blamed for desertion as well.
I was fined Ten
Thousand Pounds Sterling for three essays I wrote last year. I like to think
they may have been the most expensive essays anyone has ever paid to
publish—cold comfort but I am willing to settle for it. All this left me in a
bit of a strop so I flounced off for Points More Free, though so far my quest
has proved fruitless; simply stated, for my kind—white and
English-speaking—there appears to be nowhere left to run.
Because of my
government’s fiddling while Brexit burns it is clear anyone nurturing hopes of
relocation and not in the billionaire club will ultimately be forced to return
due to having no automatic right to reside in any country other than the UK.
The branch many currently roost upon could also be sawn off by the Visegrád
just up and declaring themselves out of the EU—quick as you like—and chucking
out every non-citizen overnight.
This is how they
seek to pen us all in.
As a last act
before I leave I wrote this post but I am compelled to be clear: I am not
entirely convinced anymore that words are worth a damn except as stress relief.
People’s opinions appear cast in concrete by now so the time for remedy via
handcrafted persuasion may be done, though the time for war has not yet begun.
We breathe in and breathe out in the lull between two worlds and everyone knows
it cannot last. The rest—to paraphrase Hamlet—is mere bitching to pass the
time.
The EU claims it
wants to let in at
least one billion more North Africans, sub-Saharan
Africans, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Turks, you name it—the upshot is if you
have an IQ below 85 and enjoy raping and killing native Europeans, you’re in. I
have little-to-no hope those countries resisting the EU—currently Austria,
Italy, Poland, Denmark and Hungary—can defend themselves against those odds.
The shapers of policy and the big money backing them have simply decided to
replace an entire native population and that, as they say, is that.
Can you imagine
a world where Saudi didn’t find a vast lake of oil under their
feet? Everything would be different—or maybe not. Perhaps Western
civilisation was destined to collapse anyway. ‘The West’ is the only
multi-culture in history in which rugged individuality, self-determination,
religious flexibility and tolerance, and a studied skepticism of automatic
hierarchy is ingrained at what amounts to a chromosomal level. In those terms
I’m actually surprised we lasted as long as we did.
The very
definition of hubris? Growing up in an opalescent bubble of peace and
prosperity and thinking it was normal, that ours was a world without end. We
knew bad things happened in other countries but they happened far away or long
ago to people we would likely never meet or even read about. Living like that
tends to make a culture think the bubble isn’t some anomaly, that their culture
really has its shit together and will keep it together forever, turning and
turning and turning in the widening gyre.
I was born in
what amounts to The Heart of Elvendom on Earth to quote cinematic Haldir via literary
Tolkien, a land where white, English-speaking peoples originated then set forth
to colonise and ultimately improve every land we ever administered. We
convinced ourselves that it was our duty to teach, heal, make more prosperous
and thereby transform the lives of minorities when the truth
is we—English-speaking white people—are the ultimate minority on earth.
Don’t believe it? Here are straightforward numbers: women of classic
Caucasian/European/Anglo-Saxon descent in their prime childbearing years—counting prime as
between the ages of fifteen to thirty-five—currently number 2.1% of total world
population.
Places the
term minority in
an entirely new light.
These days
wherever we are not being explicitly wiped out we are being implicitly bred out
by invading orcs. We are the biggest fools in history. The bubble has
popped and The God of Hubris laughs at the splatter.
Did someone
say, Colonising Bad and
we deserve everything that is currently unfolding? Tell it to the Chippewa,
they might return the lands they stole from the Sioux. Or perhaps the Chinese
might finally relinquish Tibet. The Turks may vacate the conquered Byzantine
lands and return Constantinople to the Christians. From one quarter to one
third of my family were taken into slavery by Barbary Coast Moslem pirates,
snatched from their beds in darkened villages of Wales and Cornwall. You’d
think my people would have moved from the coasts but since this took place over
centuries, centuries ago, I suppose things settled down between raids and—as
people do—the ones who remained became complacent, each time thinking—hoping,
praying—it was over for good.
None of the
taken were ever heard from again, and I doubt their captors were at any point
aiming to teach, heal or make them more prosperous.
Who proposes their reparations?
Who proposes their reparations?
I envy
Americans’ right to bear arms and I will happily tell anyone how hotly that
feeling runs in my veins. Brits have missed the starting gun that patriotic
Americans are presently poised on the blocks to hear. Even if they were
prepared, any honest soul must ask what exactly would we be fighting to
preserve? The Great
British Bake Off? Strictly
Come Dancing? My nation is a dead dog on the side of the
Progressive Highway, and government-sanctioned invaders are the maggots busily
feasting upon the carcass.
What happened to
us? I speak to the point here: We sold our soul
for secular socialism and a dole cheque.
At the very
heart of the matter we are guilty of a wholesale abandonment of a sense of The
Divine. The Church of England flounders as it drowns, waving its arms in
left-wing signalling as the waters close over its head. Our traditional
representative of The Divine on Earth, Her Majesty the Queen, has
become—in the best of Marxist tradition—a steadily diminished, belittled and
anachronistic diorama of times past for simply continuing to draw breath. It is
not such a stretch to picture in the very near future the entire Royal
Family—much like their cousins the Romanovs—marched down into a basement and
shot. Then the communist takeover will be complete.
Before anyone
says good riddance consider
this, what will replace a sense of The Divine? Yoga?
Many do not want
to hear this but the human heart yearns to exalt a living, breathing, corporeal
representation of The Divine. Whether this is a football team, a writer, a rock
star, film star or monarch—even if it’s just cradling another human in your
arms and naming them your angel—when any of these things are removed from the
human experience it creates a vacuum, and what rushes into the void is
usually Statism.
When Bolsheviks
marched Tsar Nicholas II, his wife, his daughters and his only son into a
freezing basement in Yekaterinberg, lined them up, shot them and dumped their
bodies in a trench, the way was cleared for the iron-fisted expansionism of the
Soviet State.
When the Emperor
of China was forced to abdicate, emerged in Manchukuo as a puppet ruler,
deposed a second time and imprisoned in a re-education camp for ten years, he
was freed as a private citizen in the People’s Republic of China dominated by
the secular emperor and personality cultist Chairman Mao.
France wiped out
its monarchy, most of its nobility, tortured and banished their Protestants,
packed off Bonaparte to the middle of the Atlantic and declared religion out of
style. They then settled upon a stultifyingly secular bureaucracy driven by a
leftist agenda, and in one of the classic turns of irony presently face an
invasion by the world’s most poisonous totalitarian ideology posing as a religion.
Machiavelli
wrote that a man must pick his prince, but the more pertinent command may be
that we must pick our Deity—along with a seemingly necessary corporeal
Representative—and if you do not, one will certainly be chosen for you by the
state.
I would never
presume to promote any constitutional monarchy as the best form of government
but for Britain it was a vast improvement upon what came before. After seventy
years of Frankfurt School indoctrination and poisonous, insustainable socialism
our system of government—formed over a thousand years and reformed for the past
three hundred—is now on life support.
Since some of
you asked, I sought refuge in Hungary. It’s clean. It’s safe. The women are so
astonishingly, radiantly, effortlessly beautiful it makes my blood run cold.
Few outside Budapest know English and I have only enough of the language to avoid
giving offence or getting stabbed so making friends who would vouch for me
would be a near impossibility.
Hungarians have
a love of life unparalleled in my experience of sad-old, jaded-old Western
Europe. They cook like people who have known great hunger—nothing goes to
waste. Every transaction is make-or-break, negotiated to the nth degree,
the hallmark of people who have survived great deprivation. They have responded
so snappily to the current demographic threat because they are gun-shy from
being invaded by hostile cultures over the past thousand years. This has made
them adept at spotting oppressive totalitarians on the warpath. Above all, they
have the moral courage and self-belief to call a spade a spade and not The
Spade of Peace.
I do believe the
EU’s dominance ambitions took them completely by surprise—we all thought we
were merely entering a trade agreement when we opted in—though Hungary’s
politicians are not bound by hoops of gold the way British ones are. In this
sense they are truly The Mouse That Roared. Still, I am convinced that someday
soon doughty little Hungary, along with Poland and Czech Republic will
eventually have to appeal to Vlad for protection, hence the most ironic
about-face in recent history since they left the Russian Soviet frying pan only
to leap into the EU fire, all within the span of a few decades.
There’s no job
opportunities to speak of for outsiders and they are currently changing the
laws to avoid the inevitable white flight headed their way, such as demanding
substantial investment from prospective residents. Good on them, it’s exactly
what I would do if I ran a country where the citizens had self-esteem.
In short, they
don’t need me. Not one whit. And so I will return to the carcass I call home.
My Welsh village
is quiet for now. My vet lives fifty feet away, my builder one hundred feet
away, my postman three hundred feet away, my solicitor five hundred feet away—I
have known everyone for years yet none of us speak to any issues that are now
deemed prosecutable by law. My closer friends are further away geographically
yet all within a half hour’s drive.
None of us have
retained even one quarter of the friends and family we could claim as recently
as three years ago, the country is that divided on issues now. We have spoken
openly and plainly in person—never on email, never on social media—regarding
matters we find troubling and hopeless but after the first few years we now
discuss it all less and less frequently. We know we can never change government
policy on anything, we know there’s a freight train bearing down upon us and we
know nobody can vote our country off the tracks. We also know we are disallowed
to defend ourselves against attack without risking prison where we will be
carved up anyway. We are all fossils now, you see, and outnumbered by people
who are younger and have no clue
what this country was like before the perversion.
Our Enemy claims
they want diversity but that’s not strictly true. They will not be satisfied
until they have altered all the heights and depths and contour and texture and
variety of this world from Everest to the Mariana Trench, smoothing it like a
billiard ball on the socialist lathe of hell, just levelling everything so that
every human on earth is left standing in lukewarm water up to their nostrils,
‘equal’ at last.
What the Enemy
will never understand is true diversity is organic, it’s a man and a woman falling in love
and committing to bring children into the world, then devoting themselves to
raising those children to know the difference between vanity and self-esteem,
responsibility and culpability, justice and revenge. To my mind that is the Enemy’s
core problem: they have never accepted that they are unable to enact,
legislate, codify and enforce love itself.
So my friends
and I keep our heads down, we garden and exchange produce. We are family. We
have Thanksgiving together and Bonfire Night, Easter, Michaelmas, Lammas and
Boxing Day; we keep the old traditions alive. Half of us follow the teachings
of Christ and the other half consistently maintain that axial tilt is the
reason for the season, though none of us attend services since the church has
relinquished righteousness for self-righteousness and the rainbow flag. People
like us are simply not at home there. Or anywhere, for that matter, except with
each other. By staying in Blighty I may only be passing the time in Death’s
Waiting Room but at least all the magazines on the coffee table are in English.
I have strange
dreams of past dimensions when people laughed freely.
Thank you for
listening. It was enough to have touched your heart with my past efforts, and
hopefully captured and held your attention to the end of this one.
This essay
is dedicated to Robert Gore.
