Autobiography – A Dream

 A dream as fodder for midlife musings:

 What would the teen me say were he to see 
 me now? Writing reactionary, nay, 
 fascist, poetry and imbibing the 
 best poets of the last Century. 
 would the teen me say were I to tell him 
 that, yes, your grug-brained skinhead buddies were 
 probably right all along: Perhaps the 
 only way we will ever get along 
 with the others in our midst is if we 
 separate from them?
                     I dreamt that last night
 that we were all together again, our 
 loose-knit tribe of skins, mods, punks and what I
 was at the time (a mulletted nerd in 
 heavy metal tee-shirts). But all growed up
 Or as grown up as we will ever be.

 And I dreamt that they remembered me with 
 the same epic fondness I remember 
 them with, each of them larger than life as 
 they were to me when we were that age: in 
 bomber jackets, jeans, and DMs.  
                                 But the 
 DMs and bombers were traded in for  
 the more middle-aged look of Hawaiian 
 shirts and cargo shorts. Drinking cheap beer and
 telling our sea stories. 
                          But other than 
 a few snapshot moments, I can’t recall 
 much else of that dream, nor of our times past.
 And maybe I was just peripheral or
 perhaps we were all just peripheral to
 each other’s central stories, a stillborn
 Proto-Mannerbund, but never knowing.
Posted in Navel-gazing, Poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

James LaFond Will Blow Your Mind…

I stumbled across James LaFond whilst listening to one of the many thousands of podcasts hosted by Borzoi Boskovic. Upon first hearing him speak I immediately had to find out more.

James LaFond writes on a massive variety of subjects, most notably street fighting and the general decline of the modern American empire, but the one thing that hooked me, besides his engaging erudite prose and sardonic wit, was the amazing historical research he has done in compiling his Plantation America series.

I had become partly interested in the question of white slavery in America ever since reading Howard Zinn’s proctologist’s eye view of America, A People’s History of America when I was about 20. Although mentioning that anti-miscegenation laws came about because white slaves were joining up with black slaves and leading revolts, he never really goes into just how the hell white slaves were actually there. It was always a little niggle of mine to try to find out more.

My interest was renewed when I ended up reading Jim Goad’s Redneck Manifesto, which, in turn, referenced Michael Hoffman’s They Were White and They Were Slaves, which I went on to read, as well.

James LaFond picked up where Hoffman left off, and has built up a massive project looking into what exactly happened during the early years of British America. Using primary and secondary sources, he uncovers – sometimes directly, sometimes deductively – the unsavoury history of white slavery in what was to become the United States.

Each of the books in the series tends to focus on a different theme, and he changes up the manner in which he delivers his subject matter. For instance, one volume consists of reprinting the first-hand account of someone who had been kidnapped in Aberdeen and sold into slavery interspersed with his own commentary. Other parts of the series are comprised of essays and blog entries where he has documented his research around the theme of each book.

One particularly disturbing pair of volumes are the ones based upon adverts for runaways from a local Maryland newspaper offering descriptions and rewards (So Her Master May Have Her Again / So His Master May Have Him Again). LaFond’s accompanying commentary provides a real eye-opening account of the plight of so-called indentured servants. This leads one to conclude that perhaps it wasn’t all we’ve been told.

Additionally, his astute reading of the sad series of events [beginning with Magna Carta – although I firmly believe (and I suspect LaFond does, too) the rot would not have been possible without William the Bastard – and continuing through to the Vagabond and Enclosure Acts of the 16th Century] which led the English elite to enslave their once relatively free yeomanry really hits home about how little we common people hold in common with our so-called betters. This, in turn, leads one to contemplate our current plight as wage slaves. Plus ça change, etc.

Due to his research, I’ve been able to apply a few coups de grace in debating so-called indentured servitude versus its African cousin, so it will help with interweb libtard ownership points. For example…

From 1600-ish to the late 18th Century, c. 4 million whites were brought over as ‘indentured’ servants. In 1865, they had c. 2 million descendants.

Over a similar time period but ending c. 1820, c. 500 thousand Africans were brought over as ‘negroes’ and subsequently ‘slaves’. In 1865, they had c. 4 million descendants.

Think about what that might imply regarding the relative treatment of each of those populations.*

I highly recommend dipping into his work if you have any interest in white slavery, the decline of civilisation, Aryan folkways, the classics, tabletop gaming, masculinity, street fighting, and more. He is an autodidactic specialist on many subjects. And if you have a polite question around anything he writes, he is often good for a well thought out response to your query, as well.

You can find a lot of his work on Amazon, but I would recommend checking to see if you can pick it up at one of the following two sites first:

Enjoy the journey…It’s a helluva ride…

* EDIT: Mr. LaFond has since posted two information-filled responses to the above blog post. They can be found

Here (where he corrects and breaks down some of the population numbers and provides a whole hell of a lot more context)


Here (where he provides an extensive timeline that demonstrates the difficulty of establishing population numbers throughout the period of early-ish American history)

Posted in History, Politics | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Yet, They Call Me Fragile

Attached by voluntary (so they say) chains
To the desk provided to me
In this open plan office

Compromised from birth
Wage slave
Unable to speak up
For fear of master’s minions
Taking the food out of my children’s mouths

They call me fragile

There are those that do their jobs
Because they can 
(not because they must)
Smiling as they say things about 
Me that are not remotely true
As I am cornered in the re-education
Session of the HR seminar
And I take it with a well-disciplined
Shit-eating grin…

Yet, They call me fragile

On social meeja
I see some members of a certain tribe
Wishing to eradicate me and mine
‘Dear fellow whites…It’s only a joke…well kinda…
get over it’

Yet, They call me FRAGILE

I see the tribute on the 
Company’s web site
To Black Lives Matter
And the concern for ‘BAME’ colleagues
Through these ‘challenging times’

Yet, They call ME fragile

As the future baristas 
In sociology and journalism departments
Deconstruct my life, my history, and my culture with
A singular sociopathic misandry

Yet, THEY call me fragile

They demand to see my face
And know my real name
On the social meeja
When I show the slightest resistance
To this, the greatest control system
Ever devised
‘I’m sure your employer would love to know your 
Real feelings about this, wouldn’t they?’
Being the catch-all retort
When neither their rhetoric nor dialectic 
Has lived up to its supposed
inherent superiority
And we do not respond in kind

Yet, they call me fragile

They have declared war on me and mine
Just for existing
Heaping calumny upon calumny
And accuse me of holding the deepest hate
For the Other
Attacking us in 
Weakly justified pre-emptive attacks
And I and mine
Have not responded in kind

Yet, They call me fragile

They attack our women
Calling them Karen
For expecting the same treatment
They would give to others
They threaten them 
Then video - 
Only registering the fear
Of cancellation and the ultimate white curse of ostracism
And we have not yet responded in kind

Yet, They call me fragile

But one day we will respond in kind
And it won't be because we are fragile
Posted in Globalism, Poetry, Police State, Politics | Leave a comment

Old Don Henley Tunes


It was the sort of day

That would bring to mind

The lyrics from an old Don Henley song


Wind blowing off the Channel

Providing the only air conditioning we’ll feel all summer

Sun going down, orange in the hazy distance

Shingled beach empties out


The signature drum, guitar and synth hooks kick in

On the stereo in my mind


And I’m brought back to summers more than

half a lifetime

And half a world



For us, it was deadhead stickers on Camaros and old Volvos


Both sad and grateful

That it was more than half a lifetime and

Half a world


Posted in Navel-gazing, Poetry | Leave a comment

Pipers and Drummers

Losing an hour or so

Watching pipes and drums on YouTube

A child of NeoLiberal Empire

Disconnected from ‘home’

Those pipes go straight to your gut

And tell you where you are ‘from’

The lump appears in your throat

Thinking about what could have been

Posted in Globalism, Music, Poetry | 2 Comments

There Are Worse Things to be Called

There are worse things to be called

than to be called a racist:

Coward and Poltroon

Degenerate, Deserter

A follower…in a self-righteous cocoon


There are worse things to be called

Than to be called a racist:

One not knowing value, Only cost

A small man,

frightened and lost


There are worse things to be called

Than to be called a racist:

Turncoat, Traitor

And enemy collaborator


There are worse things to be called

Than to be called a racist:

Hater of one’s kith and kin

Loving the other side

A lickspittle to the elite

enacting fratricide


There are worse things to be called

Than to be called a racist:

Watermelon green on

outside, inside red,

And finally,

extinct or


Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Adventures in Diversity: Mugging No. 2

(a poem what I wrote)

I guess he needed my wallet more than I did
As I walked away from the cashpoint 
On Boulevard de Magenta
Down the street from the fleabag joint
We were staying in
He came up behind me
right arm coming over my shoulder, 
knife held to my throat
his left arm clenching my chest
to hold me back like a boulder

Whispering ‘Doucement, doucement…’
Not quite the French sweet nothings one likes to hear
Whilst strolling through Paris in winter
With a lusty buzz from a couple of beers

Again, but grunting through clenched teeth
‘Doucement, doucement…’ 
Il n’avait pas de l’argent
I guess

I kept his knifehand at bay
By pushing it the other way
with my own two hands
Never quite removing it as a threat to my immediate wellbeing
(truth be told, I’ve made stronger stands)

The traffic lights had just turned red
As my girlfriend began hitting him on the head 
with her bag
And I shuffled with him clinging to me
Like a limpet
As I emerged from the sea
Into the middle of the emptied street
Whilst thirty or so 
Onlookers took in the show

As the Parisian drivers realised that 
I had just created a roadblock 
To the freedom provided by the impending green light
They began beeping their horns and yelling
Giving the Algerian a bit of a fright
As I refused to move from the middle of the road
Green gets flashed from the light
He relents and runs to the opposite side
I stand in place between the lanes
Waiting for the gap 
in the cars so I could return to my side of the river
But wallet still in tact

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Thinking out loud about the Coof

I remember saying when this whole coronavirus thing kicked off that the outcome of coronavirus will be more devastating than the actual virus itself. I was thinking through the next steps when I believed the immediate general danger from CV-19 was greater than it appears to be now.

If everyone who caught it were dropping like flies, that means the world’s economy would come to an end and a great reset would have to happen.

I think we are seeing that reset now, as a result of the reaction to coronavirus, and not from the disease itself. It appears Peter Hitchens is in agreement with me. But I don’t think my own personal musings are particularly original.

One of my constant mantras for the past few years has been that the mainstream media is set up to either get you to be afraid of something or to buy something. Thus one should always ask when reading an article or watching the news: ‘What are they trying to get me to be afraid of? What are they trying to get me to buy?’

And the tinfoil hat in me is always on the lookout for how the Narrative is being shaped.

I have gone through so many permutations of thinking on this:

  1. Is all I’m seeing for real? If so, what does it mean?
  2. Are the symptoms of CV-19 a mass reaction to the crap cycling through the air – pollution, EMR, geo-engineering etc.
  3. If this is not for real, what does that mean?
  4. Is it all a psy op to bring about the technocratic New World Order of totalitarian mind control?
  5. Etc.

I think the one thing one shouldn’t be is afraid. Sceptical, though, always be sceptical. Not afraid. If it is option 4 above, then just accept the fact that I will end up in whatever gulag is currently being set up. My autistic tendencies keep me from falling for mass hallucinations long enough to be assimilated into shared reality, so when the trucks come around to collect the dissidents, I have no doubt they will be knocking on my door.

I am, however, gradually coming to the conclusion that although there is a massive wealth transfer taking place, and that many unsavoury players are trying to implement their own agendas, whatever is happening isn’t coordinated, or, if it is coordinated, it is being coordinated poorly.

Yes, there are mind games being played by the media, the politicians, and their Globalist puppet masters. But I don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing.

Globalists and their minions are really good at promoting messages and getting people full of fear to demand that something, anything must be done to deal with whatever it is that we are to become fearful of.

Where they fall down, however, is that the minions they choose to implement their plans are also drinking the Kool-Aid. With very few exceptions, they suffer from the hubris of always thinking they are right and/or effective. The Globalists have been so effective at messaging, we now have a public sector and media stuffed with university-educated people who have learned what to think, not how to think. Add this to the constant quest for diversity, and we have a recipe for ineptitude on a scale previously unimaginable.

They can maintain their illusion of control when everything is ‘normal’, when people are going about their day-to-day lives being cogs in a relatively well-oiled machine, doing the keep-busy activities we call work. But when a crisis becomes real, their solutions are the same ones they would apply in normal times.

I originally thought that the various reactions to CV-19 were country-by-country A/B tests to see how effectively people could be made to fear and get in line. If that was the case, I now believe that they underestimated the human factor. Their biggest weakness is their inability to perceive the rest of us as anything but automata that only require the ‘proper’ programming.

Oh, don’t get me wrong: there is a whole lot of fuckery going on during this current crisis, and no doubt more freedoms (and wealth) will be taken away. But in the midst of all this fuckery, more people will become aware of just how much they’re being fucked with.

Where do I stand on the virus itself? I’m making Pascal’s Wager on this one. I take precautions – I wear a mask when I’m at the supermarket, I wash my hands, I keep social distancing, etc. We have someone in the household who could be vulnerable to it, and I don’t want them to catch this shit because I chose to disregard warnings no matter how overblown.

But other than going less to the supermarket and missing my fortnightly-ish trips to the pub with my wife, I haven’t had to adjust too much. Social distancing and self-isolation are my default settings anyway. And I prefer working from home to going into an office. I love being around my family more. And I have never been under the illusion that most of the things we call work are actually truly productive or have any intrinsic meaning.

And this is where I think the whole thing backfires for those who would control us. Many other people may be coming to the realisation that the way we work and the way we treat our children and families as a result of the way we work is dehumanising. And that maybe keeping up with the Joneses wasn’t ever all it was cut out to be.

I should hope this leads to a true Apocalypse (an unveiling, in the Greek sense of the word) for many when we are on the other side of this.

A man can dream, can’t he?

Posted in Globalism | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Resisting the System

I often read things that get me thinking about my own life and how it has panned out.

A little over a month ago, Dr. Bruce Charlton wrote on The benefits of creeping totalitarianism (in My life). I found much of his thoughts mirroring my own. Except he is so much better at expressing these things than I am.

What really stuck out to me was this bit:

What I will do here is simply to explain ways in which the creeping totalitarianism of the modern West has had a positive and educational role in my own life. This can be summarised briefly: the fact that totalitarianism has been increasing throughout my life has prevented me from living-out a worldly life; has prevented me from living a life dedicated to mortal life.

In different words; the ratchet of totalitarianism disrupted every accommodation and adjustment I made with The World, continually preventing me ‘settling’ into contentment; and thereby it pointed me in the direction of realising that my life was ultimately not ‘about’ my happiness in this world.

My consciousness goes through stages of awakening. This is usually due to incidents or changing circumstances. Often I have thought the solutions to these problems could be solved by political means. Now I am sure there are no political solutions. And no, I don’t think there are revolutionary solutions either.

Oh, how I wish this were not the case.

In my own external circumstances (not including my immediate family), things just appear to be getting shittier. And this shittiness seems to be emanating from the System. The anarchist bit of me would think, hey, let’s just eliminate the System or reduce the System to something more manageable.

I’ve come to the conclusion that this is not going to happen. And the shittiness is built into it, designed by its architects and perpetuated by its civil servants with love for the shittiness.

I’ve been reading Dr. Charlton’s blog for about a year or so now, and he has contributed to the intellectual framework from which I am now beginning to perceive the world. The ideas of Ahrimanic and Luciferic evil (as borrowed from Rudolf Steiner) are good ways of viewing the shittiness perpetuated by the system and by individuals.

My current conclusions are the following:

  1. This System is not going to last forever…It will collapse through its own materialistic self-contradictions and lack of spirituality.
  2. Most problems within the System appear to be political but they are really spiritual: The System wants my (and your) willing participation. It wants our minds as willing believers. It wants us to say that 2+2=5.
  3. Successful resistance lies in not letting it take my (and your) mind. We can never vanquish it in direct political or martial confrontation, although when the time comes, we may be called upon to stand up to tell the system that 2+2=4.

Am I recommending withdrawing from the world? No. That would be nice, but the System always finds a way to insinuate itself with its ‘creeping totalitarianism’. I’ve felt that ratcheting in my own material working world.

I have tried on many different ideologies and belief systems. I keep coming back to Christianity, as it is the only one that seems to have an explanation for what is going on. And by the way the System attacks Christianity but subsidises other religions such as Islam and Judaism, I’m pretty sure that’s where proper resistance to the System resides.

In the meantime, though, what does one do about that ratcheting of ‘creeping totalitarianism’?

For now, I just accept that it is happening and keep my spirit from growing despondent or becoming to inured to material comforts.

And I shall not be afraid to state that 2+2=4 whenever I can.

Posted in Christianity, Police State, Politics, Religion | Leave a comment

A Return to Basics

I have just finished reading Lord of the Rings to my youngest daughter. We began with The Hobbit sometime early last year and worked our way through the subsequent books. I had not read them myself since I was a teen.

I am amazed at what a gap of three and a half decades can do to one’s perception of a book.

I barely remembered a lot of the detail, save the bits that were in Peter Jackson’s films. But one gets something out of the book that the films can’t quite seem to capture – which is true for almost all film adaptations of great literature.

For instance, I can’t really recollect the films conveying the very obvious Christian allegory of the book. But maybe that is because I am a different person now than the one who saw Peter Jackson’s films.

Knowing now, as well, that the Shire and the Hobbits are meant to represent England and the English, I come to a new appreciation of just how much Tolkien felt for his country and his fellow countrymen. And just how well he captured the countryside.

I did not grow up in England. I moved here in my late-20s. Thanks to a friend who introduced me to the pleasure of walking in the South Downs in my mid-30s, I fell in love with the English countryside. Quite often I would find the sights I would see bring me back to my teenage impressions of Tolkien’s landscapes. The English landscape sculpted and cared for, as it has been, by humans for over five millennia.

I can think of no other place that has such a variety of landscapes and beauty in such a small space as one finds in England. Tolkien managed to work quite a bit of it into the geography of Middle Earth.

Tolkien challenges us, as well, to look to the past, to the glories of a time when honour and duty were more than just words. With Strider/Aragorn as the returning king and the bravery of the Dunedain, the Men of Gondor, and the Riders of Rohan evoking a yearning for that time when there were great warriors astride the world.

Alas, we can’t all be great warriors by trade. And in the four Hobbit friends, he shows us that we don’t have to be in order to be noble. Just stand up and be counted when called upon. I seem to recall reading somewhere that the Hobbits were meant to represent the men he went off to serve with in the trenches of the First World War. Grounded, not given to pretension, practical, English.

I didn’t catch it before, but in The Scouring of the Shire one also sees Tolkien’s disdain for modernism, managerialism, and socialism. A world made completely of rules and fear of the powers that be, and no time for life. I believe Tolkien would have liked to have the Tommies returning from the Great War (and the next one) to have done to the managerial class what the four returning travellers did to ‘Sharkey’s’ men who were running the Shire when they returned.

Unfortunately for us, that never happened. And Sauron’s minions seem bent on leading us closer and closer to Mordor.

And one final thing: I found myself bawling when I read out loud the scene where Sam twigs that Frodo is going away to the Havens:

‘Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too. for years and years, after all you have done.’

‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them. But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I leave to you. And also you have Rose, and Elanor; and Frodo-lad will come, and Rosie-lass, and Merry, and Goldilocks, and Pippin; and perhaps more that I cannot see. Your hands and your wits will be needed everywhere. You will be the Mayor, of course, as long as you want to be, and the most famous gardener in history; and you will read things out of the Red Book, and keep alive the memory of the age that is gone. so that people will remember the Great Danger and so love their beloved land all the more. And that will keep you as busy and as happy as anyone can be, as long as your part of the Story goes on.

‘Come now, ride with me!’

[Emphasis mine]

Now…I am forlorn: I have engaged again in midlife something I never fully appreciated as a child. This particular literary journey is over.

Posted in Patriotism, Police State, Politics, Religion | Tagged | 3 Comments