I hold the newborn chick in my hands,
It is weak and dying, it has watery lungs,
And I see the rooster roosting on the rungs,
Of a great ancestral tree, overlooking the land.

I caress the newborn pup, wet behind ears,
It does not feed, refused blessed mother's milk,
Admirable heart still beating, admire fur like silk,
It will never experience the joy of many happy years.

I see the newborn foal, born to be proud,
Mother grazing, father roaming, many sibling,
Mighty herd grows yet again with a new yearling,
Who has heard the screams of a dying horse? It is loud.

The aged bull lays down for his final rest,
Gargantuan heart beating slower and slower,
His son takes his place in herd, king of the bower,
He will not last, soon to pass the threshold of death.

I grew up on a farm, and after long years of fruitless wandering, I returned to the farm. It is a good life, but boring, doesn’t pay very well, and comes with the issues of working alongside family members who generally despise my views. Trust me, I despise theirs as well. I am assured of a family trust/inheritance where I will inherit a share in the family business that I help sustain, but I share this trust with siblings who hate my guts, and sometimes I hate theirs. Hours of toil and labor do not secure me a greater share, and at any point, the inheritance can whither away if we do not produce any fortune. Any extra fortune that I attain must come from my own ingenuity and ability to leverage the family fortune to my own benefit. I am the last of the children to be tied to this farm, and I work mismanaged hours tending to different needs. Sometimes, I get the chance to sleep in past 8 o’clock, other times I am awake before the sun rises and out long after the sun sets. However, I find that peaceful days and long hours present themselves with moments for contemplation.

We raise horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, chickens, quail, and dogs (along with some barn cats). I have seen many animals born, assisting their mothers through labor, and cleaning the newborns when they pass the threshold of the womb into a new world. I have buried them when they die. Most people would not have the stomach to deal with the harsh reality of farm life. I am right there, a guardian of the threshold between life and death. I am literally the hand that feeds, and the hand that will cast dirt over the fresh corpse. Modern people tend to be so far away from this harsh reality. People come to buy our dogs, horses, and sheep, and all they see are fluffy pets. I see meat, bones, and simple souls worth loving and cherishing even if their moments on this Earth are brief. Every time I bury an animal, I place a bouquet of wildflowers on their grave and say a little prayer, usually to Lugh or Freyr. My dad thought I was strange for this behavior, but he now joins me and prays to his own god for the succor of the departing soul.

I’ve seen animals born with deformities, or with mysterious internal issues which are life-threatening. I’ve driven animals to the vet in the middle of the night, sometimes many miles away to specialty vets located on college campuses in distant cities. I’ve personally nursed dying animals back to life. I’ve personally buried many puppies who could not find the strength to suckle milk. When I was ten years old, my childhood dog was kicked by my dad’s horse — I came home from school expecting her to meet me at the end of the driveway like always, but she was not there. My father buried her under my treehouse, which I promptly named after her. I had that dog since I was a wee little tyke, she was my best friend and I’ve never loved another dog like her since (RIP Shelbie the Sheltie).

We once had a mini horse foal who broke her leg and got kicked by one of the larger horses, she was all sorts of messed up when we took her to the vet (RIP Bonnie). We had a horse colic right after she gave birth, it’s where their stomach basically gets clogged and a part of it bursts. I walked her in circles for hours and days trying to get her stomach passage to clear while her son, the Flying Dutchman, ran after us thinking it was a fun game. Her son grew up an orphan (RIP Sassy). When I was very little, one of our horses stepped on a nail and his foot got infected. We did everything we could to keep him alive, but it was impossible once his blood took the infection (RIP Guinness). We kept his dead body on the driveway under a tarp while we waited for the animal service to come get his body. His corpse stained the concrete with grease and left a spot for weeks that a pressure washer couldn’t remove. Not long after, our neighbor’s horse tried to jump over his fence and broke his leg. You could hear his screams for a mile at least, and it was terrible. I will never forget that sound. It was worse than the mewling whines of a dying puppy. It was worse than the bellowing gasps of a dying cow. It was worse than the sucking chest wound of a racoon or possum. His shrieking pain has been burned into my mind.

A dying horse is indeed quite loud.

I've buried a great highland bull who died of old age, and buried his son when he mysteriously died some months later and was found bloated in the field beneath the same tree that his father laid down for his final rest under (RIP Angus and Chieftain). I’ve carried a water-logged and mud-drowned calf 100 yards in the sleeting rain, wrapped him in blankets, and bottle fed him only for him to die on me. We once had a pot-belly pig who was old, sick, and dying. I shot him and put him out of his misery (RIP Corky). We had a blind and retarded lamb who I shot after she suffered a devastating brain injury running headlong into a fencepost (RIP Lucy). I’ve shot a rooster who was terrorizing his own hens, I cannot say that I miss him very much. I’ve shot a hawk who was terrorizing those same hens, and that bothered me because I love hawks. One of those hens had a broken wing and tear going right into her stomach due to that hawk, so I chopped her head off. I’ve shot countless raccoons and possums for terrorizing our barn cats, that happens at least four times a year, if not more.

Most people don’t understand what it is like to care for animals, and that is a great shame. I’ve learned that the continuity of a lineage is not guaranteed to every individual born into it. Still, a lineage may persist even though every individual within it is mortal. Ancestry offers a place within the world, but it cannot ensure that every descendant survives. Dying animals deserve admiration despite their weakness; not because they are likely to survive, but because their souls are simple and lovely. Their deaths often feel undeserved. The dying pup possesses qualities which demand affection, yet those qualities offer no protection against death. Newborn animals are destined to become creatures of strength and dignity. Their birth carries the promise of maturity, and eventual death. However, birth, growth, and familial bonds do not abolish suffering. Indeed, the greater the apparent promise of life, the more disturbing its destruction becomes. The babe will become the elder, and eventually another animal will occupy its place. Continuity is achieved not by defeating death, but by succeeding it.

We also grow flowers. I like the flowers.

https://www.youtube.com/@RadioAgartha

Wandervogel

Publishing high-quality essays and radiocasts on nature, philosophy, and religion.

By Gildhelm

Welcome, fellow travelers. This will be the first broadcast where we will be discussing topics with various Substack pagans who I personally find interesting and insightful. For this discussion, we will be speaking with who writes about Vitalism, pagan revivalists, politics, and philosophy. These discussions will be uploaded to Radio Agartha on Youtube, please consider supporting the broadcast over there as well as here on Substack. Thank you for tuning in! Agartha is calling…

https://www.youtube.com/@RadioAgartha

As some of you may know, my direct male forefathers were Texan settlers. I have hosted a guest article on The Enchiridion about my father’s hometown. Some of my relatives were present during the brief Republic of Texas, and there were even some who were present at the Free State of Van Zandt County. I have spent many childhood summers visiting Texas, and somewhat recently attempted to move down there to assist my grandmother and try to settle my roots in that red soil. Suffice to say, I did not like the Mexicans and weak conservatives who pretended that they carried the Texan spirit forward. Regardless of this, I have always loved Texas. It remains one of my favorite pieces of American history, and some of the best people I know are Texans. I am not Texan, but I carry love for that land and those people even though they have been sullied and thrown down.

Recently, Bo French, the Railroad Commissioner, posted this on X and it created an uproar among non-Whites, liberals and conservatives. He is kind of milquetoast, and the post wasn’t even that spicy, but it garnered the ire of thousands of traitorous Whites and foreign invaders. This post has been talked about endlessly, and all that I will add pertains to the anger of young White men. Nothing else really matters. Conservatives won’t speak for us, and we are losing ground on every field of battle except for a select few. I told everyone we needed to hit the center when Trump won the most recent time, but noooo, everyone wanted to do a victory lap.

It’s obvious that we are facing a dark future. Perhaps… perbraps…. a very poopy Indian future… It really is Wyrd that Texans fought Amerindians and now they are flooded with Dravidian Indians. It really is ironic and funny that the Railroad Commissioner is calling out the Indians, since Indians have some deathly attraction to trains and can’t help but get brained by those massive machines. I am not going to mince my words. My forefathers killed Amerindian savages and Mexican dogs to help settle this land. This land is our land, simple as.

Sam Houston says it best:

As surely as to-morrow’s sun will rise and pursue its bright course along the firmament of heaven, so certain, it appears to my mind, must the Anglo-Saxon race pervade the whole southern extremity of this vast continent, and the people whom God has placed here in this land, spread, prevail, and pervade throughout the whole rich empire of this great hemisphere. The manner of the consummation of this grand result, I cannot predict; but there is an instinct in the American people which impels them onward, which will lead them to pervade this continent, to develop its resources, to civilize its people, and receive the rich bounties of the creating power of divine Providence. There is another consideration in this respect, which is conclusive to my mind. The Americans regard this continent as their birth-right. The seed of all their settlements has been sown in blood and watered in blood. The pioneers who went forth into the wilderness poured out their heart’s blood to prepare the country for their posterity; their scalps were taken by the Indians; they sacrificed their life’s blood to acquire the possession which we enjoy. If all these difficulties and sacrifices did not terrify the bold pioneers, the success of centuries only tends to confirm what they began, and nothing can prevent our mighty march. There is another consideration: You, here, fellow-citizens, are living in cities, in the enjoyment of all the blessings and comforts of civilization; but if you undertake to go to the wilderness, into the domain of the wild beast, and begin to pursue the game, to plant plantations-when you see the farm, the field, the garden, springing up around you, your feelings will become attached to the land; it will imbue your hearts; you will catch the contagion of the frontier settler; you will not be able to escape it. You may escape the small pox, but you can never escape the contagion of land loving. As sure as you live, it will become a part of your nature. There is not an American upon earth but who loves land. It is the fact, though I say so only in my coarse and vulgar way. Your ancestors, when they landed in Plymouth upon that famous rock, were not long contented with that barren spot, but proceeded in their might, and went on progressing at Jamestown, as well as at Plymouth, till all the country was possessed by them. From the first moment they landed, they went on trading with the Indians, and cheating them out of their lands.

Now the Mexicans are no better than Indians, and I see no reason why we should not go on in the same course now, and take their land. But these countries will be benefited by our occupation.

We are asleep at the wheel, and have forgotten the Alamo.

If pro-White people do not get behind a singular mission and goal, then we will continue to lose ground. I could tell people to join Patriot Front, assist Return to the Land, and find religious organizations like the Asatru Folk Assembly, but many of you will simply not do this. You will work your job, pay your taxes, flirt with your girl, jerk off in your bathroom, and complain online with morbid jokes while staring at Sydney Sweeney’s rack. This is the reality, even if we want something more for our people.

Communist agitators are going to keep pressing on the Democrats. We will see if Republicans can hold onto their majority through the midterms. Maybe they will, I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good. If Democrats win again, they will be out for blood. They will come for our jugulars.

We have to be ready. Join the shield wall. Tribe up, and train. Stop sitting on the sidelines.

once wrote an article called “Yet Known Gods Await” and although it may seem somewhat provocative to excessively purist traditionalists, it points to an underlying issue that seems pervasive in our modern times.

We have lost our fascination with the natural world.

We are no longer enchanted.

Many writers have touched upon this in the past, it’s been a serious concern since the Romantic era. My mutual made a recent note where he touched upon this issue. He pointed out that the artificial lights of our cities have drowned out the magnificence of our heavenly skies, obscuring the fiery white and yellow stars, the divine constellations which once enchanted our people. It was a well-received note, and I think it is obvious why such sentiments are well-received these days. We are living a period of time where the worst elements of the Enlightenment seems born anew, but it is Post-Modern, largely atheistic, and aggressively materialist. The few elements of spirituality which exist are all New Age, fickle, and exceedingly homosexual or racially traitorous. I think that it is important for me to address this issue and make some key observations which I discern can assist people who are interesting in rectifying this issue.

Firstly, it is important to stop denying divinity. Do not be like the early Christians and deny the reality of the Gods, thereby becoming godless and impious atheists. The Gods are real. They require identification, observation, sacrifice, and supplication. How can we even begin to identify new Gods if we cannot at least respect and worship the “old” Gods? They never died. They never went away. They are real, and they demand ritual practice. Imagine thinking that we can identify new Gods when we don’t even affirm the Gods we’ve already identified. Bologna! Baloney! Poppycock! As the Roman proconsul said concerning Polycarp:

Swear by the fortune of Caesar; repent, and say, ‘Away with the Atheists.’“

Secondly, it is important to reconnect with ancestry and nature. Take a page from the materialists and rationalists, accept that bio-determinism is a real thing and that our genetics and biology shape most of our lives. However, it is crucial that people also adopt more Vitalistic views and acknowledge that the biological and the spiritual are basically one-and-the-same. Whether it’s metagenetics, ancestral memory, genetic memory, whatever you want to call it. The reality is that nature is filled to the brim with spirit, and there really isn’t an easy delineation between the material and spiritual. Through this understanding, we can more fully embrace folkism and come to align with both the living and the dead. Not only do we have a duty to our ancestors, but we also have a duty to the living, specifically we have a duty to our own spirits, our minds, our bodies. These things are atrophied, like the muscles of a once-great champion wrestler who now drinks soyboy estrogenic beer. Affirm life in all of its beauty and terror — do not negate the natural world. How can we identify the divine if we do not first identify the cosmos and its functions?

If we do these things, then perhaps new divine powers can be identified. This is not an act of human creation, but rather spiritual identification. We’ve done this before — whether it’s Sol Invictus or Mithras. We even have reason to believe that Lithuanians, the last pagans of Europe, conceived of there being a god of tobacco, or at least a governing spirit that filled the plant with its power. The modern man can barely fathom that our Gods might indeed govern domains which are actively at play in our world, let alone acknowledge that yet unknown gods might be governing new and unforeseen elements of reality. What did ancient Europeans possess that we are now missing? Piety? Loyalty? Noble virtue? Certainly all of these things and more, but more importantly, they acknowledged the divine, they interacted with nature, and they affirmed life in its entirety (so far as they could with their limited science).

If we do these things, then perhaps we will be enchanted once more. One cannot pretend to be connected with nature unless they affirm the reality of the divine. One cannot reconnect with the divine unless they spend time in nature. None of these things mean anything if you are stuck in some aesthetic transcendent mode of living where you have no community or family, and just exist online and in your mom’s basement. You have to engage with reality. You have engage with the good order of the cosmos, the eutaxy. We must engage with the Weave of Wyrd and follow the ørlǫg set down for us.

Do not sit on the spiritual sidelines waiting for some spiritual transcendence like the Christians. Do not reject the spiritual realm like some materialist atheist. No new power will be identified if you do that — rather, the world will be dead, and you will die along with it without ever reaching into your inner depths to discover something that waits like a dormant seed planted thousands upon thousands of years ago. The chains that bind us are ancestral. The ancestral spirit that resides within your beating heart and pulsing brain is filled with a vital energy that demands recognition — it is the source of consciousness, and the active agent of your willpower. Do these things, and perhaps nature will come alive with spirits. Do these things, and perhaps you will no longer exist in a state of cerebral contemplation, but will instead find yourself engaged with reality just as our honored and most noble ancestors once were, long ago.

Join your household in the worship of the divine. Take your place in the hierarchy, the Spheres of Power. Affirm life!

Perhaps you have heard the story before, it sometimes gets shared around on Xitter. Well, the story goes that in the ancient city of Miletus, a rich young noblewoman committed suicide and the event was so shocking and jarring that the whole city mourned for her. Other young women saw the attention that she received, and for one reason or another, they started to kill themselves in a new fad, hoping to receive the same lavish treatment of their names and memory by the city-folk. The city officials did everything they could to remedy the rash of suicides by placing guards around women and placating their wishes. Nothing could stop the insane behavior of the young women until it was finally decreed that the next suicide would be paraded naked through the streets until receiving an ignoble burial. The suicides stopped after that. This is how Plutarch tells the story, it is probably not a real historical event, rather serving as a moral lesson on social shame and the behavior of women:

One time the young women of Miletus were afflicted by a dreadful and irrational trouble, of uncertain origin. It was suggested that the atmosphere had become polluted with an ecstatic concoction and poisonous character and so caused them to lose control of their senses. For suddenly all of them were seized with a desire to commit suicide, and there was an insane rush to hang themselves, and many managed to hang themselves before they could be stopped.[1] Neither their parents’ arguments nor tears nor their friends’ advice got through to them, but the got round every plot and trick their watchers could devise in order to destroy themselves. The affliction appeared to have been sent by some god, and to be more than human ability could handle, until the time when a sensible man proposed an ordinance that the women who hung themselves must be carried naked through the market-place in their funeral procession. This ordinance, once approved, not only prevented, but completely stopped the young women from hanging themselves. Precaution against ill repute is a clear indication of goodness and virtue, and the women who were not afraid of the most dreadful of all possibilities, death and suffering, could not bring themselves to bear the thought of the disgrace that would come to them after their deaths.

~ Plutarch, The Bravery of Women, Moralia

It may be that sensitive young men are overreacting to our current issues, leading to excessive doomerism and blackpilling. It is certain that practical men are taking advantage of the opportunities which do currently exist to increase their social standing and status. However, it is the sensible man who offers the solution. Where is our sensible man? Ah, sidelined and maligned, perhaps mass-murdered in the womb. Who can say?

We are all aware of the media madhouse that surrounds the Lindsay Clancy Case. She murdered her three kids and failed to kill herself. The trial isn’t about whether or not she murdered her kids, it was about whether or not she should be admitted into a mental institution or if she should be sent to jail. Either way, it is obvious to everyone that she is in the wrong… well, not everyone, because countless scores of Internet sleuths, feminists, and simpy cucks have decided to rally around Lindsay to either blame the husband, or defend her actions because of post-partum depression. Many average Americans are unaware of how this is impacting young women who spend most of their time on Tiktok. A sister-in-law of mine is a stay-at home mother, a very good mother, and even she briefly fell into the malaise of defending Lindsay before my brother was able to pull her out of the craze and back to reality. Not only have women supported crazy things like no-fault divorce, mass immigration, and abortion, but they are now covering for and defending a literal child murderer. We cannot be too surprised, because women are prone to finding criminals attractive, and book sales are largely upheld by them reading rape fantasies, bestiality, and other various forms of smut. Unlike all of these other unsavory things, the Lindsay Clancy Case has moved beyond small niches of women and has impacted many relationships. Marriages, couples, and friendships have ended over this child murderer, and hopefully young men remember to use her as a litmus test for future partners. This is a real watershed moment for feminism.

However, we’ve seen things like this before, so I doubt this will be the final crack in the dam before the water breaks. When Renée Good was shot by ICE for obstructing the arrest of a criminal, women rallied around her as well. Some of them were shaving their heads and posting their mental illness online. Hoemath, who is literally retarded about 90% of things outside of simple relationship advice, has a good short covering this1. This really isn’t so different from the many instances of women siding with Muslims and other non-Whites, oftentimes with their tits out (which doesn’t even make sense). It’s really quite odd that women screech about women’s rights, then invite in Somalians who carve up their women’s clitorises, or support jewish doctors who slice off breasts and sew up vaginas. It’s wild that they complained about marital abuse and their status as sex objects, but then supported no-fault divorce and the sexual revolution. It’s crazy that they first claimed abortion wasn’t murder, and are now defending the murder of full grown children. Of course, White women have far far less abortions than the majority of other races, so I am not that concerned about abortion even if the practice is utterly heinous. Still, too many White women support abortion. Too many are supporting ICE protestors or child murderers. They have NO accountability.

A part of me thinks that White women are doing one giant shit test to see how far they can push their men before we just snap and put our foot down. But, there is something much more psychological and evolutionary at play here. There are a lot of studies that look into how women behave online and what the effects of their social media usage entails. Most of these studies dance around the obvious, largely because the researchers start from a left-leaning position and are trying to find data that shows women suffer from sexism, body dismorphia, and social shaming from men concerning political opinions. However, what the studies actually show is that women are far more likely to change their opinions based on social pressure, and that they are more prone to comparing themselves to other women. So, when we take a look at places like X, Bluesky, Reddit, Tiktok, Pintrest, and other sites frequented by women, we see them adopting the liberal worldview out of social pressure. I have seen this happen in my own life, where my sisters who were raised to be conservative Christians went away to college only to become social media addicted liberals. The process goes like this:

1. A woman holds a political opinion.

2. She observes other women expressing similar opinions.

3. Those women receive ridicule, hostility, and social exclusion.

4. The woman changes her perception of what is socially acceptable, “Women who say this are punished.”

5. Entrenchment of the new social norm, “If I say this, I’ll probably be treated the same way.”

8. Apparent consensus increases, “Nobody seems to disagree.”

9. Pressure increases, “If I police other women, I will be more accepted.”

10. Further self-censorship, abandonment of earlier opinion altogether.

This process certainly happens among men too, but to a lesser amount. Men are more likely to be political dissidents, act on their violent thoughts, and be generally disagreeable. Even in the most altruistic societies in Europe, it still tends to be men who mostly engage in politics. All of this behavior makes sense though because men and women evolved and developed following different strategies which befitted our nature. Men are supposed to be leaders, guardians, protectors, producers, organizers, and fathers — women are supposed to be caretakers, hostesses, helpers, assistants, teachers, and mothers. We evolved this way over the long course of history.

I’ve written about this topic many times before23. The Ancestral Household Cult honored our women, and women had a strong place in ancient society. However, they had to affirm this place out of safety and necessity. Foreign tribes would steal them, kill their children, and rape them. Nature was too cruel to brave it alone as a woman. Physically speaking, she needed her men — psychologically speaking, she needed her women. The gossip of the village women, the social strengthening of norms, the passing down of ancestral stories, all of these things and more were attained by ancient women from their own ethnic clique. These cliques have been replaced, but the underlying psychological trends have not changed whatsoever. They are still the harem of the herd, but the herd has become a foreign horde rather than a homogeneous collective of related families and households. No longer do women affirm the house father, but instead they seek to usurp his role and outsource it to an increasingly hostile state.

I really don’t want to end this with a blackpill. There are plenty of good women out there who care about our nations and families. Ranging from Folkmother Else Christensen to modern day activists like Thaïs d’Escufon or Isabel Medina Peralta, or the brave women who pushed back against suffrage and even the World War drafts (this article on the subject is very interesting, I highly suggest that you save it for later4). I know many good women from the who are aligned to traditional hierarchy, virtuous social norms, ancestral veneration, and national pride. Sure, these women might be minorities among other women, but I am not so certain. It’s been shown that moderates and centrists are the quietest with their opinions, and that the ideological extremes are far louder — and currently, feminist extremes are given full media attention and academic/political support, so we should not be surprised that we rarely hear about these good White women.

This election map below has always interested me. I don’t know how accurate the map is, but just think about it for a second. Women get into feedback loops and will censor each other, or the fear of social shaming shapes their opinions. Here we see that the majority of White women vote conservative, but the majority of women vote liberal. This will impact our women, first silencing their voices, then influencing them to change their opinions. Eventually, this will lead to a snowball effect, and we may see a rash of new suicides, this time the societal suicide that comes when White women start associating themselves with foreign women.

I don’t know how to end this article (it was kind of a shitpost). Recently, I got blocked by FranzettaGirls on Xitter, so enjoy a Frank Franzetta classic.

2

Seòl nan Sinnsearan

The Role of Women in the Celtic World, Part One

Personally, I don’t like weak women — I prefer beautiful women who are aligned to blood and soil, who understand the purpose of tradition, who desire to carry strong children for an honorable man, and who can help defend the household if the need arises. I don’t like weak women with no morals who demand attention and resources but who refuse to provide …

Read more

6 months ago · 44 likes · 9 comments · Aodhan MacMhaolain

I heard the crooning woman,
Hearkened to plucked chords,
Ranging from depths of man,
Long drawn out words.

The horse's soft whinny, 
The crow will rattle,
The loud braying donkey,
Our men will battle.

I heard sounds on Freyfaxi,
The blue dun and wheat,
The world set into eutaxy,
I offer sacrificed meat.

Hail to the Lord and Lady,
Twins everlasting.

"He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how."

(Twilight of the Idols, Friedrich Nietzsche)

I remember writing about life-affirmation for the first time on Gab around five years ago. At the time, I was speaking with a French Canadian esotericist about the teachings of Bernard de Montréal and I was deeply engrossed in a study of Tolkien and his created works. It was from Bernard that I became interested in evolution vs involution, and the supramental vs the mental, the spiritual vs the astral, the Odic Force vs the Actinic Force. Through my studies, I came to the conclusion that you cannot have one without the other, much like how you cannot have order without chaos, or life without death, or the spirit without the material. While discussing the highest mythopoetic function of fairy-story, eucatastrophe (good-destruction), I observed that life wants to live, and that the purpose of life is to affirm life. This means affirming all aspects of life, embracing the cosmic and material struggle, and finding one’s place within the Spheres of Power. Read this article below to learn more about these Spheres and how to find your place within them.

The Enchiridion

The Philosophy of Golf - the Spheres of Power

This long essay is not just about golf, but also my personal philosophy of spheres, circles, and angles, and how these concepts relate to reality, even to golf or other sports. I released an audio essay that explains this philosophy, though in different words and context…

Read more

2 years ago · 11 likes · 4 comments · Aodhan MacMhaolain

Bernard de Montréal, for all of his faults, was an interesting thinker. He focused on what he termed “Evolutionary Psychology” and he was once asked during an interview just what the end goal of his study truly was. He quipped that “one day, humans will evolve beyond our current conception of what it means to be human, we will fuse our internal and external parts into a unified whole, and we will become supra-human,” and the interviewer asked with incredulity “doesn’t that mean we will one day become non-human?” and Bernard angrily said “That’s exactly right!” — Now, I cannot say that I fully agree with Bernard’s ideas, but the idea that we will one day experience a sort of fusion between the vital and rational parts of our existence and undergo an evolutionary experience has stuck with me for years now (my space-fantasy is based around this idea). This is the ascension of the hero, the creation of eucatastrophe, the divine mandate of our species given to us by Odin himself. We are meant to rise above.

When our race crawled out of the hominoidal-soup of the primordial past, we did not know exactly where it would take us. Cast onto the icy plains of the far north, we struggled to survive in mean environments, set against megafauna and wild beasts. We hunted mammoths, aurochs, and horses. We fought against lions, wolves, and neanderthals. We hunted some to extinction, exiled others, and tamed the rest. We turned ourselves against ourselves like blacksmiths turning iron against iron in a great fiery forge. Our skin changed, our eyes changed, our hair changed, our very minds changed, and we differentiated ourselves from other species of hominids. One might even feel confident to say that our spirits changed, rising above the lower involutionary modes of living into something nearing arête. Slowly, we became heryos, kinsmen, and aryan, aristocrats. Slowly, we became what we are today. In those ancient days, we did not know how we would survive, or what survival would look like. Now, with the 20/20 vision of future eyes, we can look back and see where our ancestral journey has taken us. It took us to victory — the highest virtue.

The spiritual and the mundane, the immaterial and material, the transcendent and the immanent… These words are almost meaningless because you cannot have one without the other, they are interconnected and interdependent, laced together to the point of near homogeneity. However, philosophers have long identified the difference between pneuma and logos. Our wisemen know the difference between ǫnd and orð, between breath and word. Foolishly, the transcendental and materialist thinkers agree that logos is the preeminent concept. They seem blind to the vital spirit that underpins the entire system. There would be no logos without pneuma, no word without breath, and no homogeneity without differentiation. There would be no evolution without Óðr, the frenzy and passion of the mystery, the wandering desire of the vital force, the magnetic pull of the breath that binds us to life itself.

Constant biological and spiritual differentiation is what sets the internal parts of this system into unique pathways of evolution and lived experience. This is true no matter how microscopic or grand one looks. From the smallest sphere that holds the cell, to the largest domain that holds the galaxies, we find constant differentiation created through vital willpower. Life is constantly affirming itself. It can do nothing else lest it fall back on itself in involution and regress into a mutative decay. As Henri Bergson says in Creative Evolution:

"The vital impetus [élan vital], that passes from germ to germ through the medium of a developed organism, is the motive force of all evolution... Life is of the essence of progress."

The Cosmos, the unified order, the hierarchical system is made up of differentiated forms drawing upon unique vital forces. The breath of the African and the European might be coming from the same oxygen and the same atmosphere, but the bellows are different, and the fire produced is different. They do not speak nor understand the same words. The same can be said of all humans, even those within the same racial groups. Our individual wills set us down different paths, and our racial folkgeists set our civilizations onto different highways. There is nothing but the affirmation of our internal and external beings. We cannot escape from this reality. The metempsychosis of our souls is constant. Our habits become the instincts of our children, our faces become their faces, our wills become their wills, and our breath fills them so that they may speak in our tongues. May Ogmios grant us the blessing of good speech and the wisdom of the Gods — from his tongue to our ears!

We would do well to remember what Julius Caesar said of the Celts in De Bello Gallico:

“They wish to inculcate this as one of their leading tenets, that souls do not become extinct, but pass after death from one body to another, and they think that men by this tenet are in a great degree excited to valour, the fear of death being disregarded. They likewise discuss and impart to the youth many things respecting the stars and their motion, respecting the extent of the world and of our earth, respecting the nature of things, respecting the power and the majesty of the immortal gods.”

Perhaps now the words of the madman Nietzsche make more sense?

"No greater affirmation of life is possible than to wish every part of it to return to you forever."

There is no group representing conservative resistance to this in our state house except for Save Heritage Indiana1. They are basically an anti-immigration lobby with strong traditionalist and Christian foundations, but with a sensible bent towards race realism and nationalism. They have done good work in my state already, lobbying for laws to help curtail some of the issues with mass immigration. When I first heard of Save Heritage Indiana, they had just released an interview with our Lt. Gov. Micah Beckwith. Although I am not a personal fan of Micah, I liked what I was hearing from the Save Heritage guys, so I followed them on X and sniped at them for a little while, picking at what I thought was a more Civic Nationalist and Christian Nationalist lukewarm milquetoast message. However, I came into contact with some of their members and leaders which changed my mind on them, mollifying my views and deciding to support them. They have garnered attention from good nationalists abroad2, and therefore they have garnered my attention.

Gregory Bovino, former Commander-at-Large of Border Patrol, is not actually running for President (I was mistaken about this website, it was made to encourage him to run and to gauge interest3). Still, he has plans to do 100 pro-deportation rallies in America and he kick started his rallies here in Indiana with Save Heritage Indiana (SHI) hosting the event. This article will cover my experience at the event. Enjoy!

VIP Dinner

I won’t go into too much detail here, but I will say that the venue was very nice, the food was great, and the atmosphere was electric. The people who attended were various bigwigs from different nationalist organizations, ranging from podcasters, muckrakers, the , , Patriot Front, Active Clubs, along with representatives from local politics and more normal conservative organizations such as the Young Republicans. It was interesting watching Greg Bovino interact with the local leader for Patriot Front, along with the interactions between older generations of conservatives with more identarian youth activists. I was definitely the only pagan in attendance, and probably one of the younger men in the group. Everyone was very friendly to me despite some differences of belief and approach, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that many conservatives are grappling with the very questions we nationalists have already answered. It felt edifying to realize that our issues aren’t being ignored, and that we haven’t been closed off to these sorts of events. Liberals make it their entire life’s effort to shut down nationalists and pagans, and here were conservatives and Christians letting little ol’ Aodhan into their midst.

Save Heritage Indiana has created a solid platform that is ultimately a single-issue lobby, but they appeal to more than just anti-migration pro-deportation activists. They have a platform that can appeal to regular conservatives, Christians, and libertarians — but they have enough room in their coalition to appeal to nationalists, identarians, and more stalwart activists from the youth scene. Israel, globalism, communism, and other such tawdry things were a topic of conversation, but the main point of conversation was heritage. What does it mean to be an American? What can Hoosiers do to save our state from mass migration? How can Americans approach our situation with more tact and skill than previous generations? These questions were answered in a number of ways, and each answer I received was astute. MAGA may have failed, and America First may have no wind in its sails, but the mass-deportation coalition that is growing has the capacity to gather disparate groups and individuals towards a common cause.

I should note: Greg Bovino commands respect. He is a short man, but his character overshadows the character of the attendees. He has a certain level of drive and confidence that lacks the sort of ego that usually comes with such confidence. Whether this comes from his time in the political world as an outsider, or from his time leading veritable armies of law enforcement, I do not know — but I should make special note that he lacks the sort of ego that one would expect from a guy with his reach and experience. He made a great leader in law enforcement, and would make a great leader in the political realm if he chose to continue down that path. We will have to see what he does in the future. I wish him nothing but the best. The man was quite humble and erudite.

The Event

The event was originally going to be held in Fishers, Indiana. Fishers used to be farming country, but in my lifetime it has become a cesspit of development and foreign migrants. When the local liberals heard that the dreaded Bovino was going to be coming to Fishers, they organized a counter-protest that netted around 1.5k people. However, the venue that was going to host the rally cancelled on SHI at the last minute, and they were forced to make changes. Hilariously, the guys at SHI tricked the liberals into thinking that the event was going to be held at a public library in Greenfield, when it was actually held in a totally different part of the state. Regardless of this cunning move by SHI, the protestors succeeded in being a nuisance and forcing some last minute changes. Watch the video I’ve linked from X, it is hilarious. Some dude(?) showed up in a skull mask to counter-protest them, and Patriot Front put pro-deportation stickers up along their marching route. The protest was filled with what one should expect: fat boomers, White liberals, the odd brown person, and, I’m not even joking, a guy wearing a Spiderman costume.

So, the event got moved to an undisclosed location while the protestors were sent on a wild goose hunt. The new venue was in a tent outside, and it was raining pretty bad that day, so it was quite muddy. There was food and wine, along with various banners holding pro-White nationalistic quotes from various Founding Fathers and American politicians such as Pat Buchanan. Despite the wet and miserable conditions, everyone possessed a friendly and high energy attitude, and there was much networking and encouraging connections made between various individuals. The event was definitely a success, despite local liberals sperging about it online. The event only sold 150 tickets as per its policy, and the vast majority of those 150 people were in attendance. The event may have been smaller than the protest, but the quality of the people involved, along with the decorum and courage of the attendees, showed vast differences between the two — the protest was filled with fat suburban moms, while the event was a carefully selected group of farmers, businessmen, activists, journalists, and politicians. There were also far more young men at the event than at the protest, which just underscores the divide between the modern left and right.

There will be a documentary released about the event sometime in the future. I will likely make a Note and share to you all when it comes out. The first order of business was a prayer to supplicate to the Christian god and seek his assistance in our national struggle. I did not join with them in this prayer. The first speaker was our host, who gave a very rousing but odd speech about Christian virtue and how that relates to our struggle against immigration. I did not particularly enjoy this speech, but my younger brother who attended the event with me is a devout Christian, and I could tell that this greatly appealed to his sensibilities. Regardless of the strong Christian and civnat overtones, the overall attitude of the attendees was obvious — America is a White nation, founded on European and Christian values and virtues, and foreigners rarely assimilate and should therefore be removed from our country. Victory is not given; it is taken with force.

They played a video showing old pictures and footage from Indiana prior to mass liberalization and migration, and it was a very moving piece of film. Then, they cycled between a few SHI speakers. After this, they had their pre-recorded video messages from various politicians and activists. This ranged from Lt. Gov. Micah Beckwith and Attorney General Todd Rikita. I won’t lie, even though I am glad they lent their support this this event, their words were not particularly encouraging. They are sitting politicians who could make this issue their entire platform and rally many young men to their cause, but they don’t actually do this. They have done some good things, but they mostly sit on their asses and don’t create the very coalition that this event represented. It took SHI to create that coalition. Regardless of my personal ire at their milquetoast words, they spoke well and were well-received by the audience. Lastly, and gave words of encouragement and support from their respective movements. I cannot describe to you how awesome it was to have them mention my state and our struggle in their European accents. Hoosier supremacy truly knows no bounds.

Next came a muckraker journalist who talked about his experiences crossing the border with migrant trains and investigating liberal NGOs who support mass migration. Finally, Greg Bovino got up and gave his speech about his experiences in Border Patrol, his experience in the nationalist movement, what he saw in Europe, and the differences in the struggle between the older conservatives and the younger nationalists. He also spoke at length about what this struggle means and what sort of virtues we will need to find victory when facing our enemies. It was obvious that everyone knew work needed to be done, and that we are in a state of war, even if most people still think that war is one of ideas — it is not just one of ideas, but one of people groups, races, tribes, and nations. As Bovino said: “Our backs are against the wall,” and he couldn’t be more correct. We can only hope that our race will go down swinging, if we must go down at all.

The final order of business was a rousing call to action by Daniel Poynter, the founder of SHI. I also attended the after-party where I got to know Daniel Poynter a little better, and I was impressed by his approach to our issues. He is incredibly level-headed and approachable, appealing to both the civnat and the true nationalist, to Christian and pagan, to businessman and activist alike. He said nothing at all that bothered me, despite some of the words from others who attended the event. Daniel is a solid man who does his due diligence when it comes to studying the movement and how he best fits into our populist big-tent. I also got into a bit of religious debate with some Presbyterians about whether or not paganism is demonic, and whether or not Europeans are Japhethites. This just cemented into my mind the reality that our folk should not bother ourselves with too many religious debates — they rarely bring forth harvest-able fruit. Our folk should not be bogged down with religious squabbles. We have bigger fish to fry!

Final Thoughts

I am going to continue supporting Save Heritage Indiana. Their founder Daniel Poynter is a compassionate and brave man who rectified his liberal worldview so that he might help our nation resist mass migration. He is a prime example of a guy who went through the red-pill gauntlet and came out on the other side stronger and better than before. He has my support because he is a good leader. The board of Save Heritage Indiana is made up of solid men, even if I may have some religious and political disagreements with them. They have a solid approach as it pertains to lobbying for our shared interests.

Greg Bovino may not be running for President, but he should seriously consider running on a pro-White platform. This man is courageous, stalwart, and calm in the face of adversity. The event was fun and enjoyable. I highly suggest that when Greg Bovino comes to your state, that you lend him your support. I know that he will be joining as a speaker at this years AmRen conference held by .

I hope to see you there!

When I was on the threshold of manhood and adulthood, I partook of that time-honored Midwestern tradition of traveling out West to play music in an erstwhile attempt to fulfill my artistic desires. It is safe to say that I never amounted to much in terms of musical achievement, although I did enjoy my pursuits out there and greatly appreciated the glorious landscapes of the West Coast. Amidst the degenerate usage of marijuana, mushrooms, cocaine, LSD, MDMA, and alcohol, I met many beautiful women with sensual bodies, drugged minds, and lukewarm spirits. During this time, I became increasingly interested in conspiracies, esotericsm, and eroticism, leading towards my liberalization since no one in my environment could provide me with a healthy and wholesome traditional view of these things. I had rejected Christianity, but without a proper historical narrative tying me to my folk, I fell into anarchistic hippy-dom tainted by the liberal malaise of Portland, Los Angeles, and Seattle.

Rising from this malaise as though she were the shining jewel of it all was a red-haired woman of Irish and Iranian descent. You couldn’t tell she had Iranian blood whatsoever, although her mother and brother were both obviously Persians. She was naturally pale like snow with dark auburn hair treated with red henna hair dye to make the fiery sheen more visible, and her facial features were like those of an Irish bird, carven into soft stone and tightly woven with dimples made from constant smiling. I had actually already matched with her on some dating app before moving West, and again matched with her on a different app once there. Within the first month of me being in Oregon, I was going on dates with this young woman. I remember when I first met her: it was outside of a sandwich shop and I was wearing my signature Boston t-shirt and reading the Silmarillion. She drove up in a Mini Cooper and walked up to me wearing a sundress. When I saw her, I immediately realized that I had dreams of this young woman while I was in my childhood — there were a few different dreams which later came true over the course of my short time with her, and at the time, I tried to bury them and ignore them. In hindsight, it is obvious that my childhood mind was trying to warn me of this dangerous woman, but at the time, I really wanted to ignore these childish dreams and instead fancy her as some sort of magical happenstance.

I barely ate my sandwich and was simply enthralled by her beauty. After lunch, she pulled out her Nintendo Switch and we played Shovel Knight, a two player game where you play as a shovel-wielding Knight who is seeking to free his cursed lover, Shield Knight, who has become an evil enchantress. During the opening scrawl of the game, there was a pixelated pine forest and strangely enough, I had seen this pixelated pine forest on my one and only DMT trip which I had some years prior to this event. For those of you who have not taken DMT, I must confess that you are not missing anything. The experience was terrible and frightening and when I saw that my visions in that psychedelic trip had been manifested in real life, I found myself enchanted as though bewitched by a wicked spell. I was taken aback — here was a woman who I had dreams about in my childhood, and here was a game that I had visions of while on a powerful psychedelic. We later got chased out of a park for staying well beyond its closing hours — you can imagine why we were lingering in her car so late at night.

While visiting her in Seattle, I became incensed against corporate capitalism and industrialization, and I experienced a true existential crisis of identity and purpose. I remember walking down the streets of some suburban town looking at the liberals and Mexicans mingling in the shadows of the concrete jungle with some wondrous fairy-tale forested mountain in the background. I remember hating modern society without having a clear route to something better, and I began thinking about what I should do to rectify this. This is also the time period when my childhood dreams of her came true — in one dream, she was sitting on a bench with her brother and I thought that he was an evil influence on her, and that scene happened in real life (I will not mention the others). Suffice to say, I was very anxious to fix the problems that were mounting in my life. So, I kissed my lover goodbye and told her wait for me, and I left my musical pursuits for a time, returning East to work on the family farm with plans purchase a travel trailer. My goal was not certain, but I wanted to travel America and escape from the modern world as much as possible and I foolishly saw a travel trailer as that escape. I was very naive and lost.

Suffice to say, this did not help my situation whatsoever. About a month after my departure from the drug-addled world of the West Coast, my red-haired lover began to see someone new and she dumped me. My goal of getting a travel trailer would not be realized for another four years as I kept getting distracted and depressed, seeking to go back West for more music, and perhaps the chance to see this woman again. I dated a few girls here and there, but I was never as entranced as I was with her. During this depressing period, I learned that she posted lewd pictures online, and my desire for her turned to resentment, and I came to the conclusion that I must exorcise this wood-witch, this water-nymph, this utterly lost woman from my heart and soul.

What does this have to do with past-life dreams?

Well, I became very depressed after her removal from my life, coupled with the grim reality that she was not some “parfaite et petit” princess, but was instead a salope, a slut, a drag on my manhood. I am actually incredibly thankful for this experience since that existential identity crisis that pushed me towards hierarchy, patriarchy, folkism, and paganism, and her behavior taught me much about the nature of women. But, I still struggled, and five years passed by while I lived in a melancholy stupor about the state of the world and the state of my soul. So, one night, I reached out to the Void and asked for a dream that might help me come to terms with everything — the childhood dreams, the DMT trip, the wild synchronicities — and the Void answered. Like many of these other experiences, the dream was miserable. It was incredibly vivid and realistic, to this day I have only had a couple dreams so vivid, and I am completely adamant that this dream depicted a part of my soul-complex coming from some German ancestor of mine.

In the dream, I was a blonde-haired German-American who traveled to Europe to fight for fatherland Germany in WW1. At the Battle of the Somme, I ended up shot through the right calve (right where I have a birthmark, it faded after I had this dream and is barely visible) and took refuge in a bomb crater. There was another German soldier there with a sucking chest wound, and he was crying out for his mother. My dream consciousness recognized this as a close friend of mine from this life who was born without a chest muscle right where he had been shot in the dream. I ended up captured by British troops and taken to a POW field hospital. It was in this field hospital that I was tended to by a red-haired Irish-American nurse who I recognized as my past lover from this life. I became enamored with her, and upon my release from imprisonment, I tracked her down to New York City where she was working as a botanist (the girl from this life was very interested in plants and bio-chemistry). I lived as a homeless vagabond and let my leg wound fester while I slept in culverts near to where she worked. One day, I found myself in a German clock shop and I spoke to an elderly German man who I recognized as a close friend of mine from this life. His family is tied to clock-makers and he has a grandfather clock tattooed on his arm for this. Well, this old German man tried to comfort me but I stole a pistol from him and clubbed him to death, then went to confront the red-haired woman. I raped her, then shot myself in the temple. I was born shock blonde in this life but all my hair faded to brown except for one patch on the side of my head, right where I shot myself in the dream. After the dream, it has since faded and is no longer visible. Quite a grim story, I know.

What does this have to do with astral-projection?

Well, when I woke up from this terrible dream, I found myself locked in sleep paralysis. This used to happen to me often as a child but hadn’t happened in years. I found myself calmer than usual and I thought to myself “I will just gather all of my energy together and leap out of bed in one powerful motion” and so I did, but when my bare feet touched the cold concrete floor of my bedroom, I knew something was wrong even though I was fully conscious — the first sign was that my blankets weren’t thrown to the ground when I made my tremendous leap. I looked down at my naked body (I sleep in the buff) and saw that my body was incredibly pale, almost translucent and glowing soft white light. I looked up at my bed and saw my sleeping body still struggling against the sleep paralysis. I looked around my room and saw the morning light coming beneath the doorway. This was no dream, I was literally outside of my body. Something in the back of my mind knew that I could walk around and explore this side of reality, but I became incredibly fearful for my body and immediately wanted to return to its safety. Suddenly, whatever part of my soul that had leapt out of bed was sucked right back into my body, and I awoke from my sleep paralysis with a deep gasp of air and terror.

I never tried to astral project again, and I have never had such a vivid dream as that one since. Sometimes I dream of future events, but it is always hard to tell which vivid dream is denoting something real or not until it happens. This is a constant occurrence in my life now, and I get cryptic messages in my dreams warning me about things to come, just like the meme. This might all sound fantastical to the reader, yet all of this really happened. I don’t know why I decided to write this, but I guess that some part of me felt that it was important to write this stuff down. It’s been ten years since I saw that woman, five years since the dream and astral projection, and now I am nearing thirty. I’ve known and loved other women, and I have had many other spiritual experiences which far outweigh the ones described here.

My life has been filled with adventure, excitement, and wanderlust, so I consider myself incredibly fortunate and blessed. That is all coming to a close, and I feel my roots growing deep into the soil of the Midwest and Appalachia, the lands of my family. I am now fully realized as a man, and I am looking forward to the next decade of my life, proud and pro-White, and a devout pagan and political dissident.

A couple months back, wrote a well-written but factually incorrect article called “The Patriotard Delusion” about how Patriot Front is “slop nationalism”. This guys follows me, and yet he blocked me for 1000 years from commenting on his article. He also blocked who is an incredibly calm and easy guy to disagree with. Not only is this incredibly gay and cowardly, but it really goes to show the problem with many of the detractors of Patriot Front — none of them want to engage with their ideological opponents on this matter without falling into third-worldism or utter anti-American spergery. This is something I’ve noticed across the board, whether it be a normal GOP conservative, some bona fide National Socialist, liberal extremist, or even the King of the Groypers, Nick Fuentes. For some reason, people who hate Patriot Front have no interest in changing their views, and it is important for those of us who are willing to engage with patriotic ideas to understand where they are coming from, and how we can disarm them.

Before I get into the above linked article, I want to address some common complaints by people who don’t like Patriot Front. These range from normie takes to some better critiques.

1. Aren’t they just petty nationalists?

   This is the most interesting critique I sometimes hear. Petty nationalism is in reference to the type of nationalism that we have experienced since time immemorial. It is in reference to the nationalism of the Germans, Greeks, Scots, Irish, and many others, where the members of a nation puts their nation over all others and is willing to fight even brother nations to secure their dominance. We see this in the British Isles quite often, with Scots, Northern Irish, Welsh, and even some Cornish and English nationalists seeking to dismantle the British Union in favor of a more unabashed version of ethno-nationalism. We see this historically with the fall of the Roman or Holy Roman Empires, wherein many constituent and conquered states break away to engage in centuries long warfare with each other over the ruins of the empire. This is usually compared then to the National Socialists, who were ultra-nationalists, and somehow also White internationalists who sought to unite all White people into one ultra-nation. The problem here is that Patriot Front are simply nationalists, and they work with nationalists in other European nations. Thomas Sewell of Australia has praised PF, Rob Rundo who is closely allied with PF is a known actvist for European active clubs, and some other smaller nationalist organizations from Europe have close friendships with PF — and this should show that Patriot Front doesn’t seek to return to a violent competition between Europeans.

2. Why do they march?

   Patriot Front leaders and members are often banned from social media. Any time they try to make an organizationally run account, the account gets banned. Even friendly podcasts, such as FroJax, had their account nuked from X in the middle of a recent livestream with Thomas Rousseau. So, how does a pro-White, nationalistic, and identarian organization get around these bans? Marches. It is a tactic called spectacle politics, and it works. Patriot Front recently held the largest nationalist march this country has seen in decades, and they did it in D.C. of all places. It was orderly, well-planned, and received viral support. The organization has gotten over 2k applications after their event. FYI, they do these marches to build organizational integrity, comradery between the men, and most importantly to get their message out of containment. People who complain about their marches tend to be spergs.

   

   

3. Why do they wear masks?

   Anonymity is a right enshrined in the founding of America, and we have many laws protecting our identity. The Founding Fathers wrote anonymous revolutionary documents, the Boston Tea Party was done in costume to hide identities, and even the famous Regulators wore masks or blackened their faces for public demonstrations and for guerrilla action. Anonymity is an American right that techno-globalists seek to dismantle through their surveillance networks powered by AI and the new Flock cameras. Furthermore, we all know that practicing op-sec online is important. Most of you write and comment under pseudonyms. This is normal, healthy, and protective behavior. It defends against liberal and Zionist doxxing, and allows for dissidents to spread their views more easily, and without the stress of having your personal life damaged. I genuinely wish that we could one day go “mask off” but that day has not yet come.

   

4. Aren’t they feds?

   This is a common normie take, but you also find it with conspiratorial terminally online users. The fact that they get banned from places such as X and Youtube should make it obvious that they are not feds, but let’s just examine this claim for a moment. Feds have infiltrated many organizations in the past, and their main purpose of doing so is information gathering. The other thing they do is strategic control, where they push the strategy of the leaders away from things which work towards things that can get members jailed. A great example of this happening would be the militias (such as the Base) which were coerced into breaking the law without a clear purpose as to why they were doing so. A rogue militia or extremist militant group that seeks to kill or assassinate enemies sounds like a good idea to many revolutionaries, but when these things get attempted, there is no over-arching plan for revolution. Killing your local jewish reporter or kidnapping your governor isn’t going to change anything unless groups across the nation are united in a common revolutionary cause. Why would Mossad, or the American federal agencies, waste their time with an organization that strictly bans all weapons training and focuses more on community building and White advocacy? Patriot Front is not able to be coerced into breaking federal law, therefore, feds can only watch and seethe.

   

5. What do they even accomplish?

   They have organized hundreds of men to a common cause, instilling noble virtues and the value of comradery and hierarchical organization. They have established countless active clubs. They assist with disaster relief. They assist with local political campaigns. They influence heritage and anti-immigration orgs. They help give young White men a purpose in this dark anti-White world. These things should be enough for anyone to support them, even if you dislike some of their tactics or views.

   

Problems With “The Patriotard Delusion”

It is a well-written article, I must give credit where it is due. However, the author gets many things wrong and clearly doesn’t actually know what Patriot Front does or believes. This could be forgiven because the media does hamper their message, and most people will not do their due diligence and learn more about their actions and beliefs. Still, it behooves anyone who is seeking to denigrate Patriot Front to actually understand what Patriot Front does before they go about denigrating them. Here are some erroneous claims from the article, with my rebuttals:

1. Patriot Front doesn’t outline their enemies.

   Thus, in order to do politics one must first define a political enemy against whom to fight in order to advance the interests of one’s political in-group. No enemy, no politics.

   Patriot Front is a White identarian, nationalist, and heritage organization. It should be obvious to anyone who their enemies are, but let’s just address this one. In many podcast interviews, Thomas goes into the globalist bankers of Israel, the Zionists in power, the conservatives who back this power up, and the liberals who were created by this power to dismantle our nations. Patriot Front is anti-immigration, anti-foreign lobbies, and anti-foreign wars. Their enemies are Mexican cartels, Chinese moguls, leftist agitators, conservative Zionists, and the Israeli-lobby that seeks to make America into a melting pot for the whole world. This is obvious to anyone who listens to their speeches or knows their members. They are nationalists, therefore the enemies are those who are opposed to the American nation and people. This includes both foreign powers, and domestic ones.

2. Patriot Front doesn’t want to partake in politics.

   Oddly, Patriot Front — an organisation clearly seeking some form of political change in America — claims it isn’t actually doing politics after all.

   The manifesto says that politics will not save us, not that they aren’t actually doing politics. Patriot Front has involved itself in local campaigns across the country, canvassing and supporting local anti-immigration politicians. They have members who are embedded in lower levels of the Republican Party, and members who have cemented themselves in the Young Republicans, and I assume they have members involved with other organizations because they have influence over various heritage and anti-immigration organizations across the country. Their goal isn’t to become a political party, but to influence those parties and organizations through advocacy and activism. It works, by the way. However, this isn’t going to be broadcasted because it hampers the influence that they have acquired through careful labor and planning.

3. Patriot Front doesn’t outline who is an American well enough.

   The status of other White Americans whose ancestors came to the US after its founding is uncertain.

   This part is especially annoying. The author is basically trying to say that since Patriot Front affirms the Founding Stock Heritage Americans along with the ethnogenesis of the American nation, then they are leaving out later immigrant populations from Europe. This is ridiculous. There are members in Patriot Front who are recent immigrants from Europe themselves. Many members are either directly or indirectly connected to immigrant European populations. Patriot Front affirms the national identity of Americans, and that includes later immigrant Europeans.

4. Patriot Front ignores that blacks are also Americans.

   Sitting next to the giant Jewish elephant in Patriot Front’s Americana-bedecked room is a slightly less giant but still dangerous Black elephant. For all the problems that American Blacks present, it is difficult to argue against their status as heritage Americans.

   It’s really easy to argue against their status as Heritage Americans. The answer is simply: America is a nation of Europeans, and since blacks aren’t Europeans, they cannot become Americans. It is that simple. The Founding Fathers all affirmed this, and so too do many other prominent politicians and thinkers in American history. The very idea that blacks, or other non-Whites, can become Americans is a jewish idea that nationalists have been opposing in this nation for centuries now. I go into the Founder’s views at the end of this article1.

5. Patriot Front doesn’t want mass deportations or remigration.

   Those hoping for mass deportations are left disappointed. Patriot Front’s vision for the new America is in essence the old America but administered by a Platonic elite class of virtuous guardians who have traced their genetic lineage back to the founding stock. In this ambitious vision, the novi homines of America — paragons of pioneer spirit — might still get killed by an Indian truck driver or have their throats cut by a schizophrenic Black on the subway. The spirit of America might have changed but not the potential for random violence.

   The part of the manifesto that the author quoted before saying this was not talking about the goals of Patriot Front, but instead the current situation. Blacks and other non-Whites may have citizenship status, and might even be good citizens, but they are not and can never be Americans. Patriot Front supports total remigration, mass deportations, and denaturalization of all foreigners, no matter when they were brought here. This part by the author was incredibly duplicitous.

6. Patriot Front clings to dead ideas.

   If the promises of “an era of rebirth” and “the beginning of a new chapter” are to be realised then what is required is a novel and clearly articulated vision for the future which captures the collective imagination. This is one of the reasons why the Jewish rebranding of America as a nation of immigrants eventually won the day.

   If this is the case, then Europe should likewise throw away all of her past symbols and myths, because the same arguments used against Americans are now working on Europeans. However, when nationalists gathered at Charlottesville to protest the removal of a statue of Robert E. Lee, a failed general from a failed war of independence, we saw Americans of many backgrounds and walks of life to gather in an ill-fated attempt to defend a piece of American history. That American history was attacked because it represented European civilization and White pride. During the BLM riots, statues of Americans from all sides of the political aisle were torn down and desecrated, and they were attacked because they were representative of White people. The symbols and myths of America aren’t worthless and dead, but they are under attack. Similarly, European myths and symbols are being attacked — should English nationalists drop St. George’s Cross? Should Germans drop the eagle? Should we all drop the fasces? No, instead we should stand by our myths and symbols because they are ours.

7. Patriot Front avoids the term “White”.

   Hence, the pretzel logic of avoiding the term White to describe European Americans in order to placate conservatives to whom they appeal for help in realising their pro-White-in-all-but-name national renewal.

   Firstly, Americans are Europeans. Amending that to say “European Americans” insinuates that there are other types of Americans, and there aren’t — to be an American is to be a European, just like how Australian clearly denotes a European dwelling in Australia. Secondly, Patriot Front members are unabashedly White Nationalists and White advocates. Ranging from lukewarm people like Jared Taylor, to hardcore activists like Rob Rundo, other White Nationalist and White advocates support Patriot Front. In Thomas’s interviews and speeches, he often speaks about the White race in explicit terms. The author is again being duplicitous.

Final Thoughts

The author did write a good article in terms of technical quality, but he misrepresented many things, and clearly doesn’t know what Patriot Front actually does. It is also obvious that he is a third-worldist and has strange ideas about our struggle. He end his article with this:

Securing a future for European nations cannot be, and should not be, achieved unless and until Jewish power has been defeated. National victories can only follow from a global victory — the ultimate victory — against international Zionism. A just European state cannot be built on the bodies of Palestinians who are abandoned to their fate by the so-called new virtuous Americans. Patriot Front would do well to remember that Aryan denotes honour.

Securing a future for Europeans nations should be secured in any way possible, and defeating jewish power is definitely a part of that, but we have many other enemies who are now golems — created by the jew, but not fully controlled by the jew. Muslims extremists, immigrant voting blocks, and liberal radicals are all funded and supported by global jewry, but they are like golems, running amuck and no longer following every command of their erstwhile masters. Also, White Nationalists have been calling out jewish crimes against the Palestinians for decades, but we affirm the fact that Palestinians are not allies. Palestinians in Western nations still commit crimes at a higher rate than native populations. Arabs and Muslims who hate jews are not allies against jews — they are a golem, no more and no less.

The author says that Patriot Front is regressing backwards, not moving forwards, however I would argue that the myopic view many NS people have towards America is regressive. They seek to convince us to abandon the national symbols and myths of our fathers, to embrace Palestinians as brothers in our great racial struggle, and to admit that blacks are just as American as we are — these people are not serious nationalists. They are internationalists of a White variety. They claim to be National Socialists, but they forget the national part in its entirety. Ultimately, they just hate America for our actions in WW2, and would seek to weaken our national resolve because they see it as being tied inextricably to jewish power. Ironic, seeing as how nationalists like Patriot Front have the largest organizations and have real on-the-ground influence.

Lastly, Aryan denotes nobility, kinship, and status as freemen2. Honor is a part of that, certainly, but Aryan comes from the PIE word *heryos and has descendant words in every European language. We colloquially call ourselves Aryans because of the propaganda of the NSDAP, but it would be more accurate to call ourselves aristocrats. We are the aristocratic race descended from freedom loving patriarchs. This is partly why we have concepts such as “the Founding Fathers” in the first place.

At the core of the complaints against Patriot Front, we find a strong anti-Americanism. Many people who hate Patriot Front simply hate them because Patriot Front is unabashedly American, and this is true for both detractors on the left and right. Of course, some paranoid people think Patriot Front are feds, or some sort of pat-con to control the rightwing and get young men arrested, but those people tend to be terminally online folks, or those with little to no experience in dissident politics.

Patriot Front affirms the ethnogenesis that many Europeans went through to create the American nation. They affirm the Founding Stock, the western expansion, and the later European immigrants. They are opposed to Zionism and all the things that entails. They organize large numbers of activists towards common causes, such as working out, job networking, or community service in the face of natural disasters. They influence anti-immigration and pro-heritage organizations. They are doing good work, whether you agree with them or not. The only complaints and criticisms that I think are worthwhile come from the more accelerationist side of our sphere, but their critiques ultimately fall flat because they are not capable of organizing a revolution any better than Patriot Front. They also fall into the same anti-Americanism that plagues the terminally online NS sphere.

Stop hating the American nation just because of WW2. It is gay and childish. Patriot Front represents a side of our movement that every European nation needs to replicate. If every single European nation had a martial, well-organized, peaceful national organization that marched on their capitals every year, and who infiltrated and influenced local right-wing organizations, we might actually get somewhere. If every single White identarian stopped acting like their way is the only way and just got on board with the largest activist groups in their nations, perhaps we might win.

As it stands, too many people are opposed to the idea of a nation. They would rather be perpetual victims in an international struggle against jews than to organize with men of their own nations to oppose mass migration. They would rather LARP as 1940’s Germans than accept that they are modern day Americans, Britons, Australians, etc..

Instead of sniping at the sidelines over the URL, get out and march with your brethren IRL. If you can’t do that, then support your brethren in any way possible.

I have written extensive amounts of poetry about Columbia123456, and have done a number of rituals in her name and honor. She is one of the most interesting figures to me, and I often relate her to Indo-European goddesses of the Norse and Gaels. This past 4th of July saw Patriot Front marching through downtown District of Columbia, and as they marched they chanted “Hail Columbia!” which speaks directly to my folkish sensibilities. More than anything else, I desire for this goddess to be better understood, so I will provide a brief history of the historical cult, of Columbia herself, and then dive into the direct comparisons I often employ when doing ritual to the goddess of the land and folk of America.

A Brief History

In the ancient Proto-Indo-European world we find that gods of the tribe, gods of kings and priests, mother goddesses, land goddesses, and divinities of boundaries, thresholds, and hearth-cults all played vital roles in the tribal political schema of our most ancient ancestors. It was common for descendant Indo-Europeans to utilize these deities as away to cement a tribe’s or household’s blood-and-soil claim to a piece of land. This eventually became so commonplace that some tribes named themselves after their own personified goddess. According to mythology, the Greek city of Athens was named for the goddess of wisdom, Athena, after she beat Poseidon in a contest to see who could provide the Athenians with a better gift, and she won after providing them with the first cultivated olive tree. Even in ancient times, some scholars thought that the goddess actually received her name from the city itself, and this theory is now the main theory concerning the naming of Athens. However, this practice developed and was employed again and again in other places, such as the Brigantes of Britain and Ireland being named after the goddess Brigantia (Bridget), the bright goddess of privileged, honorable, and renowned highlanders.

It was also employed by the Romans with the goddess Roma, who was the personification of the Roman state itself, and was especially useful for those who lived far from the imperial center out in the boonies. Roma was a deified abstraction of the state itself who was robed, armed, seated on a throne or trophy, and was first worshiped in cult in the eastern provinces as a way of personalizing loyalty to an otherwise abstract republic/imperium. It has been proposed that her cult started as a form of political diplomacy melding religious priors together into alliance, which changed the traditional Greek divine monarchic honors to the Republican and Imperial system. Conquered/allied tribes and city-states of the Roman state acknowledged the authority of Roman offices, but they did not forgo their local, Greek cults. Most importantly for our purposes, it is significant that democratic city-states such as Athens accepted Roma as analogous to their traditional cult personifications of the folk. This means that the personification of the land was seen as similar regardless of origin or location in the world. The cult goddess was an extension of the land and folk, a spirit who dominated the domain of the of the tribe, city, or nation.

Therefore, Columbia belongs to this genre of national goddesses that starts with the Roman goddess Roma, although the roots of this tradition extend to far older mother, hearth, and land goddesses. Out of that template came all of the early modern national maidens: Britannia for Britain (helmeted, shield-and-trident, shown as a maritime protector of the British Isles., first minted under Hadrian and revived by the Stuarts), Marianne for the French (Phrygian cap, born of the Revolution, embodying the goddess Liberté rather than French territory), Germania for the Germans (blue-eyed with long, flowing, reddish-blonde hair, wielding the imperial sword, and possessing a medieval-style shield that bears the image of a black eagle on a gold field, sometimes carrying or wearing the Imperial Crown of the Holy Roman Empire), and many others not named here. This genre of national goddess is so popular that many non-European nations have adopted the practice.

Ultimately, these later national personifications are political inventions, being little more than a rhetorical personification of a political entity, not a survival of an actual ancient pagan cult like Roma, Athena, or Brigantia. Nevertheless, these national personifications, such as Columbia, sit squarely in this family. Columbia’s name is a Latinate coinage of Christopher Columbus, and Columbus just means “dove” which, in a mythological sense, denotes domestic love, familial peace, fertile beauty, and good faith. Slightly unrelated but still important to bring up here, pigeons and doves were once staples of human civilization and were greatly honored for their roles in mythology, along with their important functions as messenger birds. has a great article about how doves went from symbols of love to little more than scorned city rats with wings7. When America split from Great Britain and cast down the rule of the British monarch, we began to name things after Columbus and quasi-deified him. In 1791, we built the District of Columbia to serve as the capital for Washington, our capital which was named after George Washington who was basically deified in the same fashion as Augustus. I was introduced to this idea by , who has pondered about writing an article on the “Gods of America” and perhaps if he gets prodded, he will write that article for our benefit (we are retards).

Originally, the lands of America were seen as wild places and the domains of the red race, and so early Spanish thinkers viewed the personification of this land as a wild “Indian Queen” who was feathered and exotic, often astride an alligator and holding foreign fruits. As colonization continued, especially after the United States of America formulated itself as an independent nation, Columbia appears in 18th-century verse and engravings, and she was depicted like a Roman matron, and for a long stretch she ran in parallel with (and partly displaced) the earlier "Indian Queen" personification of the colonies. By the early 20th century Columbia herself was partially eclipsed by Liberty, who's really an offshoot of the same genre (Libertas is one of Roma's standard attributes, and has been broken into her own figure, with Marianne of France being another personification of her, and the Statue of Liberty is directly hearkening to the “enlightenment of liberty” as the French saw her).

In a very simple sense, Columbia represents our Manifest Destiny here in the New World. She is the white mother goddess of our shining new city on the hill. She is the personification of our New Atlantis. She represents the cornucopia that is the American landscape, the will-to-power that is the American spirit, and the civilizing force that originates in the East and travels West to tame wild lands. We have named many rivers, cities, and buildings in her honor, thereby making her a goddess of threshold boundaries owing to her relation to rivers and doorways, especially making her a goddess of law and justice since these doorways are always those which enter into halls and theaters of government. In the womb of Columbia, America was born, and from her breasts we draw our sustenance; from her cornucopia, we draw our wealth and willpower. She is our claim to this wild land, and upon her mantle rests our natural aristocracy; upon her shoulders, she upholds our rightful heritage as Americans. In the rural places of America, Columbia resides as a maker of civilization, and yet in the cities she resides the ruler of civilization. On the borders of America, Columbia’s power wanes, and she must call upon her cherished children to defend her. She sets the boundaries and calls for expansion, and we follow like soldiers in serried array.

Comparisons to other Goddesses

I have already mentioned that Athens had Athena, the Brigantes had Brigantia, and Rome had Roma, but let’s dive into some other comparisons and see what fruit we can harvest from this cornucopic tree. These are the three goddesses I most often compare to Columbia, and since I am a Norse-Gael and Anglo-Celt, it makes sense that the Gaelic and Norse conceptions are first and foremost present in my mind when thinking about Columbia. These would be the Irish Ériu and Danu/Anu, and the Norse Gefjon. Just to make a note, the three goddesses I will mention here are all somewhat connected to the Three Matronae, for each of them exist either as direct matrons (Gefjon), or are members of a triumvirate of three goddesses (Ériu).

Ériu (Irish)

The clearest comparison to Columbia from Irish mythology would be Ériu and her sisters, Banba and Fódla. The naming of the land is vital in Irish cosmology, and it really is the only source we have for creation and the beginning of the world (it is probable that we are missing elements of the cosmology here, and all that is leftover relates to marriage and name-giving). Thus, it is from Ériu who we get the name for Ireland from, Eire, and this is connected to a myth where the three sisters ask the Milesians (Gaels) to name Ireland after them, and Eire becomes the main name while the others are used for poetry. It is from her we get the name Hibernia, another poetic name for Ireland. It is often suggested that the three aspects of the Morrigna (Badb, Macha, and the Morrigan) are directly related to the three sisters, therefore representing a reflective triumvirate of sovereign goddesses with Ériu and her sisters holding the land and heavens, and the Morrigna holding the otherworld. This is contested territory, but it is worth mentioning.

Ériu becomes a lover to a prince of the Fomorians, Elatha, and together they create Bres, who goes on to become the King of Ireland when Nuada Airgetlam loses his hand (imperfect beings cannot be kings). Bres is made king and he marries Bridget (possibly in reference to the king marrying a land goddess to cement his claim, but Bridget is less of a land goddess and more of a hearth goddess). Bres is a tyrant and enslaves the Tuatha de Danann, favoring his Fomorian kin. He is later exiled when Nuada returns with a silver hand (hence, Airgetlam) and he is eventually killed by Lugh after he teaches Lugh the secrets of agriculture.

The etymology of Ériu is fascinating. Ériu comes from reconstructed Archaic Irish *Īweriū, which is related to the ethnic name of the Iverni, one of the ancient Gaelic tribes. It comes from the Proto-Indo-European *piHwerjon- meaning "fertile land" or "land of abundance", and is related to the adjective *piHwer- "fat" meaning fat with abundance.

Danu/Anu (Irish)

Danu is the mother of the Gods of Ireland, and it is from her that we get the name of their pantheon, the Tuatha de Danann, or the tribe of the goddess Danu/Anu. Danu’s true name is Danand, and it is possible her name is just a contraction of “dia Anu” meaning “goddess Anu”, however that is debated because “Anand” is applied to many goddesses in different contexts, including the Morrigan, the Phantom Queen and goddess of sovereignty, magic, and warfare. In Scotland, she is known as Gentle Annie. She is a mother goddess, yes, but she is also a goddess of wealth, riches, prosperity, good fortune, and nobility. The Proto-Indo-European root of her name comes from *dʰenh₂- "to run, to flow" and this is where we get the name for the Danube River, which was likely a loanword from Celtic into Scythian. The naming of the land was a major aspect of Irish lore, as was explained above with Eriu, and thus, it is no surprise that there are rivers and mountains named after this goddess, such as the “Paps of Anu” meaning the “breasts of Anu”.

Danu is a cornucopic-goddess who provides sustenance and life to her divine and mortal offspring. From the 9th century Sanas Cormaic (Cormac’s Glossary):

Ana – mother of the gods of Ireland; well did she feed the gods.

She is a little different as compared to Eriu, who is a more apt comparison to Columbia, but Danu is related to the naming of rivers, she is related to the female authority, she is related to the naming of the land and to thresholds of life-giving sustenance, and to prosperity and nobility, all of which are related to Columbia. Now, let’s look away from the Irish to the Norse.

Gefjon (Norse)

Gefjon’s name might mean “the giving one” or “she who gives prosperity or happiness” but it is contested and regardless of how it is read, it always relates to ploughing and prosperity. The suffix of her name might mean “the joined” meaning lovers in a household, or the crew of a ship. There is a Finnish borrowing from this which means a “bride’s outfit” and here we find all of the elements of Gefjon’s mythopoetics wrapped up neatly in the etymology of her name. Gefjon is related to waters, virginity, fertility, the setting down of boundaries, and the marriage between the king and the land (and the prosperity from that union). There are a number of legends connecting her to the marriage of kings, such as King Skjöldr and King Gyfli. A 9th century skald Bragi Boddason said this about Gefjon and Gyfli:

Gefjun dragged from Gylfi, gladly the land beyond value. Denmark’s increase, steam rising from the swift-footed bulls. The oxen bore eight moons of the forehead and four heads, hauling as they went in front of the grassy isle’s wide fissure.

There are many myths and references to her about how she ploughs the land with her oxen and sets down new boundaries for kingdoms and settlements. She is also reminiscent of the Lady of the Lake from the Matter of Britain, for there are references which seem to speak about Gefjon as arising from lakes, rivers, and the ocean itself with her cattle to bring prosperity to the land. There is something to be said about the waters of life and its relation to wombs, something that is connected to bogs, swamps, and marshes as well. Therefore, it makes sense that Gefjon (like Danu) have a relation to waters. It is said that Gefjon “rushes up in waves” and she is described as “Gefjon gushing, the race of giants” which again draws comparisons to Danu, to waves of settlement, to watery pathways and thresholds where civilization and prosperity crosses over when mortal kings marry the goddess of the land.

Gefjon is often related to Freya/Frigg by some, and that does make sense, but they do hold different places in the divine tribe. Gefjon is said to have all maidens who die virgin gather to her as her attendants. Her virginity is not in question even though she has sexual relations with different figures, and this directly relates to the Welsh myth of Arianrhod who is likewise described as a virgin maiden who then gives birth to the Welsh Lleu (Lugh). This is all connected to the many complex Indo-European rituals wherein the king marries the land to secure noble privilege, sovereignty, and prosperity for his kingdom. That topic is too complex for me to go into here, but it is something worth mentioning. Maybe one day I will write about the practice of kings marrying the land, it is a very interesting topic with many strange rites.

To answer the question that is the title of this article: Yes, Columbia is a Goddess, and she is from the same traditional vein as Gefjon, Eriu, Roma, Vesta, Athena, and many others. Therefore, we as folkish pagans should honor Columbia and supplicate to her in these dark and trying times where our nation is flooded with immigrants, our borders are non-existent, and our lands are plundered. She will assist us.

Hail Columbia!

7

The Lanius Shrubstack

Pigeonholed

Commensalism (a relationship that differs from symbiosis in that one of the partners derives no clear benefits from the situation) seems to be a common mode of association between birds and humans. For example, I’ve spoken before of the humble house sparrow …

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2 years ago · 17 likes · 3 comments · Lanius

The recent Supreme Court decision on birthright citizenship wasn’t surprising. We all know Trump is a Judas goat1 (or, at least, we should know that by now) and we all know the Republican Party has no balls. I was wrong about some of my claims in that earlier article about Trump, but I believe that I have been vindicated at the least. He lacks the willpower to follow through on the momentum that we gained during Biden, especially the mass appeal for retribution that came after the assassination of Charlie Kirk. Here we find ourselves faced with a party of Zionist war-hawks on one side, and a party of literal foreign immigrants on the other. What can we even do when faced with seemingly infinite hordes of foreign immigrants and maddened globalists who seek a future of genetic tampering and AI-surveillance? I recently watched a CNN interview with an American surrogate mom who was paid by a Chinese couple to give birth to their genetic monstrosity in America so that the little mutant can become an American. This is obviously so far removed from what the Founders wanted, and it really shows that the erstwhile comedian Sam Hyde was right: the Constitution is nothing but a rag for globalists to wipe their asses with. My patience is running thin. I hope yours is, too.

But, this is not the time to blackpill. I expected this to come about, all of the signs pointed to Trump being nothing more than a foolish child game-playing at dictator. We will have to rely on ourselves. No one is coming to save us. I used to do a Militancy in History series2, but I ended up distracted and haven’t done one of those in a while. If I were to do one again, I would probably do one on Francis “the Swamp Fox” Marion, or perhaps Thomas “the Gamecock” Sumter, for these were men who raised militias and fought a losing battle until victory was gang-pressed from the hands of a mighty maritime kingdom. It’s simply true that the American people were once a proud and noble stock of Europeans who well understood the meaning of warfare and colonization. We arrived on this continent by force, first navigating the wild waters of the Atlantic before any other, then by navigating the wilderness of America while battling a savage Stone Age group of red men. Throwing the yoke of distant British rule away from our sordid necks, we entered into the long march of Manifest Destiny, conquering what was left of the wilderness, and eventually turning our blades on ourselves in a great seppuku to “free” the black man.

Now, our southern states are inundated with Indians, Muslims, Mexicans, and Africans, shipped to every major city under the auspices of jewish financiers, given tacit approval by Zionist politicians, and assisted by liberal activists and progressive Christians. Here, at the end of the things, we find that the wilderness has returned, encroaching on our concrete and steel jungles like uncouth weeds. The Democratic Socialists of America are claiming seats, much to the chagrin of the tired ghosts of Patton, MacArthur, and Nixon.

The DSA have won around 35 seats in various levels of American politics. The chickens have come home to roost, and we find that General Patton was right: we killed the best of Europe’s sons only for our enemies to come to our home like mud tracked on our boots. Thomas Jefferson was right, too: the presence of the black man in America has created a moral conundrum that is killing the folk soul of our people.

We need a dark-horse candidate. He will not win in 2028. He will split the right-wing vote and help the Democrats win office, likely allowing the DSA to secure even more seats as a far-left coalition chomps at the bit to race towards the destruction of the American people. We will go through four years of hell-on-Earth — some of us will probably go to jail, just like the last time. Data centers will be built in every major state, the GOP will not stop them. Immigrants will swarm our cities and small towns, the Democrats are demanding this eventuality. However, our efforts and actions to organize behind our dark-horse candidate will teach us some vital lessons about real politik. We will emerge stronger after his loss in 2028, better equipped to handle the next campaign season, better networked and more energetic than we were under Trump’s alt-right fury. In the meantime, the oppression of a younger and more capable version of Biden will harden our hearts and touch the souls of many moderates and conservatives (and maybe a few liberals). Our numbers will swell in silence just as they did under COVID, and the patriotic core will grow, and the far-right radicals will learn new tactics much needed for the future struggle. Accelerationists on the left will have their way, and accelerationists on the right will be proven to be correct.

I suggest that we throw our chips in with Gregory Bovino, who is running for President. He led the charge against illegal immigrants and leftist protestors, and better yet, he led from the front-lines. The Minnesota Democrats demanded that he be removed from power before they would come to terms with President Trump, and Trump caved in like the pussy that he’s always been. Upon being removed from power, Bovino promptly went on a circuit of podcasts and meetings with far-right influences, activists, and organizers. He turned towards the only base that ever showed him respect and support, and by doing so, he has gained the trust of certain key players in identarian politics. Perhaps here is our short dictator, our little Napolean, our diminutive Caesar who will cross the Mississippi? A gnome can hope.

I really don’t think Bovino has a chance, and even if he did win office, he would not do everything we require. He would really only do the things Trump promised us concerning immigration and lawfare against our enemies. Bovino cannot save America from our future. That can only come from generations of nationalists putting our hearts and minds towards a single goal: ultimate victory, the establishment of our own nation free from foreign influence and control. I will end this pointless article with an excerpt from my poem3, “The West is Falling” to highlight what I mean here:

Writings by Wolliver

The Fallen Continent: Indiana

Population: 360,000…

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2 years ago · 17 likes · 9 comments · Wolliver

“Dad, do you really think this is worth it?”

“I know this is worth it.”

Sheriff Daniel MacRay of Rush County glanced at his son, James, and nodded with grim assurance. He was a tall man with broad shoulders who wore the same torn uniform that had been issued to him before the bombs fell. James looked much like his father, but instead of wearing a close-cut military hairstyle, his hair hung down in wavy locks that fell onto his shoulders. He was tall, lanky, adorned with a leather vest and a deputy’s badge, and shod with leather riding boots and armed with a .357 Ruger SP 101 that hung low on his hip.

“Why do you think they will listen?” James asked.

Danny only shrugged. “You don’t understand, boy. You were born after the bombs fell, during the Starving Times. You don’t have any memories of the pre-war days, when Commies threatened to steal our state from us. It’s time for us to stop focusing on merely surviving, and instead focus on the future. That means we have to make some changes. The corn is ripe; it’s time for change.”

“I’m no boy,” James murmured beneath the sounds of loud X-Ray music.

They were standing outside of an old hay barn that had been converted into a country bar, and blaring atomic music mingled with the shouts and howls of drunk men as the cacophony wafted through the cornfields. Sheriff Danny MacRay arranged for a special meeting to occur in the backroom of this fine establishment, and James was there as his backup. The boy was right — he was finally full-grown and could hold his own. Danny shook his head with the same grim assurance that kept them alive all these years.

“Listen, son. Keep an eye on the crowd. There could be Red bastards from Bloomington spying on our folk. Stay close to the Highwaymen, and make sure you are watching for any outsiders. This won’t take long.”

The duo entered the barn and found themselves facing a ramshackle assortment of farmers, outlaw bikers, and off-duty soldiers who drank from jars of moonshine around tables made from wooden pallets and barrels. A long bar stood on one end of the building and an old man was stationed there, dishing out jars of homemade moonshine and bowls of Hoosier Stew. A beaten-up radio had been hot wired to an outdated PA system and wasteland tunes were loudly playing over the bustle of the drunken crowd. Sheriff MacRay walked up to the bar while his son sauntered over to a crew of bikers wearing leather.

The old bartender grimaced at the Sheriff. “They are waitin’ in the back, like you ordered. I’ll be back there in a minute with some food and drink.”

Danny nodded at the old man. “Thanks, Jacob. Keep an eye on my son, if you could, and don’t let him drink too much. Those Highwaymen drink too much.”

“Whatever you say, Sheriff,” the old man said with a slack jaw and a grin plastered on his haggard face. “I don’t think they drink enough.”

James moved through the crowd towards a group of hardened bikers. As he waded through tobacco smoke, unkempt farmers, and surly off-duty soldiers, his eyes scanned for unwelcome visitors and unknown faces. Most of the men were regulars at this establishment, and James could recall their faces quite well, but a few were out-of-towners or newcomers. He stood aloof from the bikers for a moment as his gaze fell upon an out-of-towner punk wearing a very clean leather jacket, but the bikers noticed him and pulled the young man into their midst. A jar of moonshine was thrust into his hand and laughter ensued as jokes fell ripe from the stalk — James didn’t notice the punk leaving the barn with his hand rummaging for something in his jacket’s pocket.

Meanwhile, Sheriff MacRay moved around the bar and walked into the back room. It was dark, illuminated only by a single light bulb glowing in a rusted chandelier made of antler and horn. Sitting around a large poker table were two men who looked like they were from two different eras — one of them wore the finery of a Continental general from the Revolutionary War, while the other was decked out in riot gear from the pre-war era. Danny MacRay felt his hand drop to his pistol out of instinct, but he kept himself from making a mistake. Perhaps in times past they might’ve drawn pistols on each other, but now they were drinking corn moonshine from dirty mason jars as if they were old friends. In some ways, they were old friends, through combat and struggle, rather than hospitality and good deeds.

“Howdy, gentlemen,” Sheriff Danny said in greeting. “Sorry to be late, but the recent raids on our farms made me nervous and I had to take some precautions.”

Danny took a seat at the poker table. Old Jacob came in with three bowls of steaming soup and said: “Hoosier Stew, a crowd favorite. I put cabbage in it.”

“Cabbage is a strange addition for Hoosier Stew,” Danny said, as he tipped his wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat and plucked on his vest that carried his golden badge. “Thanks, Jacob.”

Captain John Winters of the Greensburg Neighborhood Watch, nodded with approval. He was the warrior of the group, dressed in full swat gear besides the helmet. “I’ll take a bowl. Sounds nice and German.”

“I’ll pass.” This came from the third man, Alex Cornworthy, the Commanding General of the Minutemen of Columbus, a rather enigmatic gentleman who wore the dress uniform of a Continental-era officer. “I’ve already eaten.”

Old Jacob lived outside of the ruined town of Fortville, just up the road from all three hometowns of the big dogs of east-central Indiana, so the location was the perfect neutral meeting ground for the feuding parties. The old farmer left behind homemade moonshine which he called “Pawpaw’s Moonshine” and as he served the three men, he smiled at them with no teeth and said: “I hope you enjoy this, the boys ain’t shut up about it since I churned ‘er out.”

The substance tasted almost like peaches, and although it went down smooth, it sat in the gut like fiery oil lingering in the spacious wastes of the intestines. The three mason jars sat untouched for some time before anyone felt comfortable to drink in earnest. While they spoke, they simply took careful sips and controlled themselves from getting drunk.

The young wastelanders were getting rowdy in the barn, drowning out their conversation, which was good since they didn’t want to be bothered. It was nighttime in Indiana with the crickets and bugs filling the outer reaches of their hearing, and the Midwestern summer air swarmed the enclosed space until the entire place seemed to hum to the sound of drunken boys and girls. Loud country music played on electric banjos and synth-drums, a sound that could only be described as atomic.

Danny opened the peace talks. He was the last official left in a ghost town filled with old Christian farmers and pagan survivalists descended from old biker gangs. He drank from his mason jar and slapped the table loudly, grabbing the attention of his companions. “Gentlemen, we have been feuding since the Starving Times. I can’t take it anymore, so let’s just settle things once and for all, and be peaceable about the whole thing. Old Farmer Jacob won’t allow any fighting in his barn, unless it’s over a woman.”

Captain Jacob Winters of Greensburg agreed. “That’s sensible wisdom from Old Jacob. I’ll abide by that. My boys are tired of the fighting, anyways. We might not see eye-to-eye, but we all stand on the right-wing, at least on paper. The Commies will march from Bloomington any day now, and we can’t afford to be infighting when that happens.”

The General Cornworthy of Columbus leaned forward and took command of the conversation. “I’m glad to hear you say that because we have bigger fish to fry than each other. Haven’t you noticed the Commies of the SPRA are growing larger each year? Clay County is going to fall to them without a serious fight. Don’t you see that the New American Alliance is going to defeat the Wabash Republic and begin incorporating the rest of us into Muncie’s little military government? We are swamped on either side, and the left-wing elements seem to be the bigger danger in my eyes. Joining forces is the only logical conclusion.”

“We have more in common than we realize,” MacRay said, dropping his first bomb into the peace talks. “All of the Highwaymen hate the Commies, and support the Watch and the Minutemen over the NAA. You are both true Hoosiers, the rest are traitors and tyrants.”

“That’s true, as far as it goes,” General Cornworthy said, surprising the table with his congenial demeanor. “You are a Sheriff of a nothing-town, but I know you to be a hard man who keeps his people safe. Many of your farmers have expressed a desire to join my project since they are all Nicene Christians, but whenever my men press them on the issue, they balk and claim they wouldn’t turn from your protection. I wanted to know if this was because you threatened them, and they said nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, you protected them from the pagan bikers. You are a good man, even if your deputies have killed some of my Minutemen over the years.”

Danny smiled and nodded. “I appreciate that, General. You have to understand, I’ve strung up more out-of-staters than anyone else. At the end of the day, the pagans have been providing protection to the Christian farmers for some time now, and the arrangement has gone moderately well without much of my own involvement. Hoosiers tend to govern themselves.”

“Pagans protecting Christians. That’s how I know we are in a new world,” Captain Winters muttered.

Danny chuckled, tending to agree with the Captain on this subject. The pagans seemed like funny relics from a lost time. “They call themselves the Highwaymen, and most of them are descendants from old biker gangs like the Outlaws, who were the original cause for the heavy militarization of the pre-war police of Greensburg, which is why your regime was so successful in the first place, Captain.”

Captain Winters laughed heartily at the old memory. “That’s true! Before the war, we were chasing far-right biker thugs. Good times.”

Cornworthy frowned and grumbled: “Pagan LARPers.”

“Would they join the Greensburg Watch?” Captain Winters asked. “I’ve had many survivalists answer my summons in recent months.”

Danny grimaced, since they were entering the hairy part of the negotiations. “I know for a fact that some of those survivalists were from the Highwaymen, but they are seen as oathbreakers who need to face justice for past crimes. I also know that some of the survivalists who answered your call were runaways from the Minutemen who were seen as too far-right. So, you are sitting in a unique position here, Winters.”

Winters sighed, realizing the tough position he was in. “I would be willing to work with both of you concerning these rogue survivalists. I am interested in bringing law and order to the countryside and the towns.”

“The Highwaymen will want those new recruits back. Vigilante justice, and all…” MacRay explained with a sour look on his face. The oathbreakers of these pagan survivalists always ended up murdered, a policy they enforced long ago and they have yet to stop following it. Children of the corn enacted their dues and tithes to the Divine, according to oath and honored word, and this was a common practice among all Hoosiers no matter their religion.

“Yeah, I’m no stranger to that,” Winters said. “We have our laws.”

The Commanding General only shook his head. Cornworthy was a renowned man for his violence to out-of-staters and pillagers. “None of us are perfect men, that’s why we are here in the first place. As for my far-right deserters, keep them. I don’t want them, and I won’t pass judgment on them. Let the survivalists survive. We have bigger fish to fry, as I’ve said.”

“Yes, we do,” MacRay said, and he took control of the conversation once more, seeing that an opening was forming. “The Bloomington SPRA is retaliating more and more, and they are beginning to send out parties to cajole and enforce commie law on our farmers. We have to do something. Rushville won’t join the NAA because they are too alike to the America that brought us into this mess, and my folk are opposed to the centralized government of Muncie. They do like both of your people, though, and the roads have been left open to your farmers, pastors, and policemen.”

Captain Winters nodded. “I understand the survivalists more and more. They just want Indiana to be safe-guarded from all outsiders, no matter what, and they are all right-wingers to some degree or another. I can provide them with a proper legal impetus through a policing organization that descends from the pre-war government.”

The Commanding General of the Minutemen laughed. “I see how this can work. My fledgling city-state can provide legitimacy to the police-state of Greensburg and the survivalists of Rushville. This can allow us to hold against both parties, and if the NAA comes knocking, we can bargain from a position of strength, and when the Bloomington Commies come for a fight, we will be ready to respond with a united force. A True Hoosier Nation.”

MacRay smiled, seeing that his ploy worked. He continued controlling the conversation, like the sly old dog that everyone knew him to be. “We have to defeat the SPRA in armed conflict before any position of strength can be claimed to exist. The SPRA is battling a multi-front war. Can we reach Clay County for an alliance?”

Cornworthy shook his head and sighed. “We considered working with them, but they are fools. They have no real military outlook, and they don’t understand the wasteland. They are lost. Edgar County over in Illinois will most likely form a neo-feudal regime, or something like that, and they will split Clay County with the Commies.”

“What about the Maestro and his bomber?” MacRay asked.

Cornworthy laughed, and Winters joined in heartily. “The Orchestra is a joke,” Cornworthy said, “We can’t rely on that crazy Irishman.”

“I like him, he’s helped the Highwaymen pass into Danville over in Illinois on more than a few occasions to smooth things over with the 110 boys.” MacRay stated boldly, ignoring any conflict it might cause. He knew that he had already gained their trust.

“We can’t rely on anyone out West, or out East,” Cornworthy stated, putting a stop to any further talks on other communities. “This is between us, and us alone. We are the only players in our neck of the woods.”

MacRay made his final suggestion. “What if the Highwaymen become a mobile militia for the Minutemen, and my deputies supplement the Watch? I could talk them into that.”

Winters followed the Sheriff’s example. “With MacRay’s help I think my Watch could be expanded enough to cover your cities, General.”

General Cornworthy sat back and thought about it for a moment. “I have to consider the political side of things. So far, I am hearing that I will get a small company of pagans on motorcycles and some police to guard my cities. I am aware that Rushville is influenced by far-right pagans, and I know that Greensburg has been a little loose with their admissions into the Watch. Survivalists like the ones you two lead are dangerous. Can they accept hierarchy? Can you?”

MacRay threw his Hail Mary. “Listen, General. I am the last Sheriff from a small town lost to plague, famine, and storms of raiders and out-of-staters. My people are ready for change, and they would follow me into Hell if I asked them. If I say we are going to become Minutemen, they would become Minutemen. I am not saying that should happen, but I am suggesting we make a military alliance that can lead to full-statehood once our peoples are sufficiently united under a True Hoosier mentality.”

Captain Winters seemed convinced. “This works for Greensburg. I enforce my law, and the Watch keeps precedence. If we make alliance with Columbus, then the alliance will become law.”

General Cornworthy sat there for a while longer until he pulled out a corncob pipe and started to smoke some tobacco. “Let me consider this a while longer, then we can discuss complete battle-plans. I am amicable towards your suggestions. Perhaps we might have a Hoosier Nation in the works here.”

Danny MacRay laughed, knowing that his liaison worked and his folk were saved. He stood up and said: “Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to find a gnome in the bushes.”

This was a new euphemism that meant “take a leak” which was common with Hoosier kids these days. The other leaders chuckled at the gnomenclature and watched the Sheriff saunter off through the crowd of country teenagers until he exited from the barn. They did not notice that a lone stranger followed the Sheriff as he went to find his proverbial gnome. Neither did James MacRay, who was too drunk on bootleg moonshine to keep an eye on his father’s movements, a mistake that would come to haunt him.

The night was thick with moisture and dew, insects were chirping in the trees and fields, and a few drunken teenagers were slumped outside, talking quietly to themselves as they nursed their aching stomachs. Danny walked out to the edge of the nearby treeline and stepped into the cornfield to relieve himself of peach moonshine. He did not notice the dark shadowy figure that followed him out of the barn, past the drunk teenagers, and into the tree line. Before he could finish his business, two muffled shots thumped in the night air and Danny MacRay fell over dead. The peace talks ended with blood and piss.