Archive for January, 2007

Women are Different From Men

OK, that’s not a profound statement.

But as I tell people, “I don’t know anything about sex. I was MARRIED.” So I have little to tell you about women as a sex. But there is something about women as WRITERS that fascinates me.

Women writers tend to fall in love with the male characters they create. Agatha Christie was very upset with the fact that Hercule Poirot became so popular. I quote her word for word, “I wouldn’t have minded if I had made him HANDSOMER.”

Anne Rice admitted that she fell in love with her character The Vampire LeStat. If you read Inglis Fletcher’s books, you will see that she was in love with Duke Roger. Colleen McCollough was so in love with her version of Julius Caesar that it is almost embarrassing to read it.

Which probably explains why a really good female writer is the best possible read in these genre. No man can throw his whole being into fiction the way a woman can.

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Welcome to the Aristocracy, Dave, You Poor Bastard!

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I used to stand at the freeway overpass watching 16 lanes of traffic while asking myself what allows this enormous similitude of behavior, this sincerity, so wholly unexamined?
It is not a lightweight question for the wholesale absence of personal autonomy in the general public is fraught with many issues not the least of which are those rare souls who for whatever reason lift themselves from their immersion to the competences of power.
My practice is to ask who is it that pulls to side of the freeway, abandons his car and job, leaps the freeway fence, never to be seen again floating in the cataract?
But I also demand that he repair the damage to his abandoned spouse and orphaned children for this sincerity, this unexamined sincerity that undergirds the behavior of entire societies is not something lightweight and trivial, it is profound, having to do with the most basic issues of human obligations, existence, and spines of decency.
Sociopaths leverage this truth actually glorying in their cynicism as though there was something clever in taking advantage of the most fundamental goodness in ordinary people. Accordingly, the sociopath knows nothing of the whole of the truth of what it means to knuckle under to the party line.
Nevertheless, I say either things are true or they are not, and either whites are superior or they are not, party lines notwithstanding.
I also say we whites are superior. And that is why I to am an optimist.

ME:

Lord, Dave, that is the sort of statement I dream about.

EXPAND on what you have said here.

Don’t EXPAND, EXTEND on your logic, on your points.

“It is not a lightweight question for the wholesale absence of personal autonomy in the general public is fraught with many issues not the least of which are those rare souls who for whatever reason lift themselves from their immersion to the competences of power. “

OK. Your mind moves VERY fast. You want the reader to do the work. Me, too. I keep begging for people like you, but it ain’t gonna happen.

Dave, you THINK you know what you meant in that paragraph, but you don’t until you have explained it slowly, which is WORK.

Lord, it is wonderful to deal with a REAL student, someone on MY level!

That jammed-up statement is the way I used to write. Fast minds do that, and we HATE details. Why can’t other people just figure out what we are saying?

They don’t. Live with it.

You will have to explain what you are saying in detail. Others can’t do it. Period.

Other people can’t do it because they aren’t US. It’s called aristocracy. The burdens are massive. My reward for doing this is knowing that only I can do this for the only REAL people on earth.

Neither you nor I could have invented the wheel, developed the calculus or made the computer code we are using right now. Dave, you and I are not ABOVE our fellow whites only in that we are their leaders, the only ones who can explain WHO we are. Among the only real humans on this planet, we have a particular calling, to explain to whites who we whites are.

Whites are not just the BEST among competitors. That is white supremacy. White supremacy means we won some sort of competition with other races.

No way. My position is that Whites are the ONLY.

Without whites, “humans” are a high form of insect. They go nowhere.

FOREVER.

“Nevertheless, I say either things are true or they are not, and either whites are superior or they are not, party lines notwithstanding.”

“I also say we whites are superior. And that is why I to am an optimist.”

Poetic, but incomplete.

Everybody goes with the flow of traffic, but you say that if someone pulls to the side that choice is not justified by his defiance. He must explain the COST of that decision to his own family, to others.

So when you and I see a bumper stickers that say “Defy Authority,” we know very well that what it means is, “Defy all authority that is not Politically Correct.” It is the old 1960s hippie crap, “Professors should rule the world NOW.”

You can’t just leave all that to a couple of enigmatic sentence at the end. I’ll call you on it.

While others groan and bitch about policies or whatever, our job is the one only you and I can do:

I am not a white supremacist. I am a white ONLY.

THAT is what you must speak for. A quick, crowded statement won’t do it.

Nothing is easier than EXTENDING opinions. You just add more opinions. You just say that you are right and Franklin Roosevelt was a meanie. Respectable conservative make a living that way. But the Buckleys and the O’Reillys have already cornered that market.

You must do an entirely different thing. You must extend your logic, you must make it work as a world view.

What you say here makes me very, very happy. It needs WORK. You could write several books expanding on what you said, but all I want you to do is to do the mental WORK you are right now dreading.

Expand, specify.

Dave, you and I have a vocation. Welcome to the club, you poor bastard.

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Shari, Welcome to Valley Forge!

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Well, I’m not pessimistic. But after feeling dull as dishwater for so many years I just want to feel absolutely YIPPIE! before I die. To laugh out loud! I would like to see some things happen very very quickly, not filter down.
Comment by shari

ME:

Shari has put her finger on the most important weapon in the enemy arsenal. No one DARES come out openly on our side. That was the main obstacle to the obvious coalition f Wallace voters and conservative Republicans who got 57% of the vote in 1968. Republicans ignored this chance for victory, staying middle of the road, until the Reagan landslide of 1980.

I spent YEARS convincing Republicans to abandon their pursuit of the “Negro” vote, which sounds as insane today as it sounded to me then. But at every Republican get-together, they always had to say they’d get the “Negroes/blacks/minorities.”

Why did they do this? Because everybody, from the news media to their local paper to political experts to those who screamed “racist” at them, insisted that they were not naziwhowatnedtokillsixmillionjews, and they were interested in minorities.

They said, as Bush does today, that minorities were basically conservative, but every time they talked about their “big tent” platform, everything they put in to appeal to minorities was straight leftism.

I am going all the way around my elbow to get to my thumb here, but you must understand HOW they did this. Remember, Wallace and Nixon got 57% of the vote in 1968. At one time the ruling Democrats were down to 29% in the polls! Almost every single one of the voters who came back from Wallace went to the Democrats at the last minute.

So if you could do simple arithmetic, it was obvious that the Wallace Democrats, since 1980 labeled the Reagan Democrats, were the key to victory. So how in heaven’s name did they keep Republicans on this stupid course of moderation and always losing?

Shari put her finger on it. The media and the yuppies simply did not ALLOW any arithmetic in the equation. They kept the Jerry Fords up there drooling, “The votes are in the middle of the road.” And “We need an INCLUSIVE party.” “Inclusion” meant excluding white workers, b but we were never ALLOWED to say that.

Shari, this is MORAL warfare. I was as silenced about this as I am about race. They control the MORALE. That is why I finger respectable conservatives as our worst enemies. That is why I want DEFEATISTS to go commit Seppuku.

Yes, defeatists, you are the best friend our enemies have, you are part of their weapon.

KILL YOURSELF before you spread your anthrax-like disease.

Shari is NOT a defeatist, so I forbid her to send me a note saying I am talking about her. I am sure Shari will obey me just as faithfully as other women do.

But what Shari has done here is what commenters do: She has drawn our attention to a very important point. We will ALWAYS feel isolated. In fact, our special value is in this period when others ARE demoralized. Anybody can join the torchlight parade or get out in the streets with tens of thousands of others when we smell victory.

My life has been worthwhile because I have always marched to the words someone wrote a long time ago:

“These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.”

My life has been one long Valley Forge. And if that is not a brag that makes one’s life worth while, I do not know what is.

Make or break is Valley Forge, Shari. And you are here.

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Shari, Don’t Wait for Gabriel’s Trumpet

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Well, I’m not pessimistic. But after feeling dull as dishwater for so many years I just want to feel absolutely YIPPIE! before I die. To laugh out loud! I would like to see some things happen very very quickly, not filter down.

Comment by shari

ME:

Shari, the joyful feeling you describe is restricted to people like Old Bob. That YIPPIE! is not for you. You would have to learn how to celebrate from me, and no one seems to have that willingness or that ability.

No one here understood when I said what one of the high points of my life was standing on the bridge over the Moscow Canal, looking straight at the Kremlin, fully lighted on a December night. Standing there in minus twenty, I gave the Kremlin the finger, and said, “I GOT you bastards!”

That was a moment I have described here often. But no one here understands what it meant. I ENJOYED that moment. I will never forget that moment. But nobody here could see how that was a moment of YIPPIE! a moment of victory.

Yes, Pain and all the rest who TREAT me said it was nice. But they were handling me, not learning from what I said.

I had spent thirty years being instrumental in forming the coalition, down in the Deep South and in the ethnic areas of Northern cities, none of which the Kremlin had any inkling of, that destroyed the Kremlin power.

Pain says he thinks that’s nice. He’s handling me, not learning from me.

Meanwhile, on Planet Earth, you don’t get many chances to finger an Empire that owns half the world. If you can’t YIPEE over that, what will you YIPEE over?

When the world is perfect? I am surrounded by victories that were unimaginable in the 1950s, as I keep saying.

ABSOLUTELY no one else understood WHY I enjoyed that moment so much.

I, alone, know where I am going. I know and celebrate each victory on the way there.

Shari, it hurts me to say so, but you will NEVER know that feeling. I know when I have scored a victory in the REAL fight. I keep winning, and you keep feeling the final victory has not been won.

I keep winning, and you keep waiting for Gabriel’s Trumpet.

You have a courage I admire. You have a courage I am very happy that that I do not NEED.

You will never have a Final Victory. I can teach you why you don’t NEED a Final Victory.

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Readable Stuff

Attention Deficit and a fast mind is an awful combination, but it has its benefits. People who have gotten my castoff books LOVE it. My books are a delight to demanding people. You see, with my really crippling attention deficit, I have no patience at all. As the Brits say, “Get ON with it!”

So MY books fall into two general categories, 1) Those I get bored with fast and never pick up again, and 2) Those that literally, I mean literally, fall apart from my reading and re-reading them. Mind you, I like to read in the tub, so my books suffer a little more than usual wear. But when I go through twenty books and find one, I read that one numerous times. Slowly, thinking all the way. Things jump out at me that never occur to people who consume vast numbers of books.

I am always a bit surprised when I find someone, like my former prof Gordon Tullock, who has read several books a week, but can’t REMEMBER them. I have a lot of information, not because I go to a lot of places, but because I have absorbed a thousand or so books into my pores. But the books I read over and over are not to inform me, they are to entertain me. Since I have a lot of brain, that requires some depth. So I have read Eric Hoffer the way he wanted to be read. I have read CS Lewis beyond the limits of the way he wanted to be read, and so forth.

What is important to others is that it has to be one hell of a recipe to get me to put a book on my read-to-death list. If I read it, you will enjoy the hell out of it. I did not conclude this, I am quoting people who discover my book hoard.

Probably the best two historical writers I can think of are forgotten by the rest of the world. Elizabeth will wonder why I say Inglis Fletcher is forgotten. I say so because she is. But her historical novels about the settlement, and the PRE-settlement, of North Carolina are history at its best. She ties the English families who preceded the Lost Colony to the ones who did eventually settle the Old North State, and she know all the history in incredible detail and she makes it a fascinating story. Her histories were all written by the early 1950s, so she missed Political Correctness.

Today Inglis Fletcher would not be published at all.

W.E. Woodward is a name you will know even less than the forgotten Inglis. He was a big writer in his day, when history books were bet-sellers among Americans in general, not a specialty aimed at NYC and academia. First, let me level with you. Woodward was born in Lexington County, which begins about two miles from where I am sitting now. He was raised in a South Carolina mill town about twelve miles from August, Georgia.

But, as he said, that twelve miles may as well have been a hundred. He goes into detail as to why. You see, a mill town operates twelve hours a day six days a week. On Sunday people are tired. They don’t go wait for a train and go to August on a Sunday and then wait for another train and come right back. And this is the kind of thing that fascinates me about Woodward. He explains the SIMPLE stuff. You feel like he is sitting there leveling with you.

Woodward, like me, was a very smart kid and a test got him into the big world. You know the Citadel, which is in the middle of aristocratic Charleston? They held a statewide competitive examination for a cadet, and cadets got full expenses and got paid like West Point. It was competitive, which meant it didn’t matter if your name was Beauregard Wade Hampton Strom Thurmond, all you had to do was be the best. Woodward, down in his mill village, was the best.

I read his biography. He went to New York and became a big advertising man and made a fortune. THEN he began to write history. He wrote “Bunk” which made the word popular in the 1920′s. He knew all the literary big names.

The best historical book you will probably ever read is “How Our People Lived.” It is about OUR people, white people, from early colonial days to the Chicago ire of 1906 (?). It is a series of sketches of people, and each goes into details like what stage the umbrella was in a particular time. AND Woodward sneaks in “Life in a South Carolina Mill Village,” his own autobiographical bit, as one of the parts. It is one of those short books you wish would go on a lot longer.

Or at least wouldn’t fall apart so quickly when it gets wet.

Woodward’s biography of Washington makes you feel you know the man personally. Washington was NOT bright; he was something better. He was a man who awed the Big Brains. He was not afraid to HIRE the best brains of a time when genius towered any other age. After reading Woodward, I will never get over the fact that President Washington’s first cabinet of four men included Jefferson, Hamilton, and Franklin! Just how could you find intellectual giants like that anywhere else or at any other time?

But when Jefferson, Hamilton and Franklin showed up, there was no competition with Washington. George Washington was, well, George Washington. There was no competition. WHY was there no competition? In every other time, a man with a big image and an average IQ would be terrified by smarter people, much less these three absolute mental mountains.

That never occurred to Washington. That never occurred to Jefferson. That never occurred to the one man who DID look down on the common man, Hamilton. It never occurred to Franklin. It never occurred to you. It never occurred to me.

I have a feeling it DID occur to Washington. But Washington WAS what the Greatest Generation says it was. Washington was an aristocrat. He would never consider letting his self-doubts make him consider lesser men when his country’s future was at stake.

Which brings us back to that COMPETITIVE examination W.E. Woodward took for the Citadel. You see, those Charleston aristocrats had said it was a COMPETITIVE examination. It is a totally out-of-date sentiment, but they MEANT it. They had given their word. Sloppy sentimentality, but hard fact.

Woodward made all his successes in New York City. But he never forgot the kind of totally forgotten mentality that goes with aristocracy.

Not naciocracy. Aristocracy.

Anyway, go to Amazon.com and buy a used Inglis Fletcher and a used WE Woodward. Nobody will EVER reprint them.

They’re good reads.

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Explaining My Optimism

Thinking over “The Good Old Days” below, a revelation occurred to me:

I now realize why I am so optimistic and others aren’t.

It goes back to an old saying of mine:

“All things come to him who waits…..”

“Provided that he worketh like hell while he waiteth.”

You see, all the other old-timers have been pushing the same tomes about Jews for the last forty years. They have seen nothing but things getting worse.

The group that calls itself The Greatest Generation left me a world in which Nazism had been destroyed and Communism ruled a third of mankind. There was no pressure to the right, no fascist power, but there was enormous pressure for movement to the left. Everything was aimed at a compromise between Communism and capitalism. All was Wordism. “Modern” Christianity accepted Marxism. Any argument for the survival of my race was out of the question.

Now the Soviet Empire is GONE. I helped dig its grave, and the bitter old men are still trying to sell the same old tomes. They shriek that all is lost, and they will fight for all is lost more than they ever fought for anything useful.

I won one.

Secondly, even the New York Times admits that the hopeless cause I spent so much time on, getting rid of “Modern anthropologists have proven that all races are equal in inherited abilities” is as dead as the USSR. I fought it when it was ABSOLUTE.

I won TWO.

After the group that calls itself The Greatest Generation got through giving a third of humanity to the Reds, all the sides that were left (both ways) had one thing in common, they all worshipped the Middle East. Marxism depends on the old Ex Oriente Lux history, Marx knew no other. “Christianity,” Old Timey and Modernist, trace the former call The Holy Land, good solid idolatry, and the latter see as the basis of Marxist-Bible agreement.

But I inherited a world in which the group that calls itself The Greatest Generation had made the Middle East the Holy Land of all “intellectual” faiths and the “Judeo-Christian” faith. My race was just a bunch of jumped-up Africans.

In this case I was not instrumental. Carbon dating and serious study are tearing the Ex Oriente Lux crap to pieces.

But in a sense, I may have been instrumental. When I was coming up, there was absolutely NO fight against “Modern anthropologists have proven that all races are equal in inherited abilities.” ALL opposition was fringe opposition, printed in cheap little pamphlets. Now Jensen and others write cover articles for mainline, THE mainline, psychology journals.

When the liberals, with their escort of shrieking respectable conservatives, started yelling that “Race does not exist!” there was a major difference only I noticed. The “racial realists” are already a major force in academia. They are not confined to ragged little private publications the way we were back when I got into this fight.

I do not know how much my fight for heresy helped the frontal assault on Ex Oriente Lux.

But if I didn’t win THREE, I SAW three victories, while the bitter young men became bitter old men.

The bitter old men say things are getting worse. OF COURSE they are! If you get into my way of thinking, you will look for the obvious explanation. It’s called filter down.

Stable societies do not change overnight. It took over a century for Franz Boas and his whole group of anthropologists to move society into his way of thinking. He died in 1942 as an old man when his ideas were just beginning to take hold.

And history simply does not repeat itself exactly. In the new age, ideas will not become policy through the old political system. If you obsess over print media, you will find it has not changed a bit politically. You will also find it is dying. If you look at CBS, NBC ABC and PBS you will see they are the same or worse.

But the only people who LOOK at them are people who can’t afford cable.

I have seen many victories and I know what they mean. So the real choice is between my kind of thinking and becoming a bitter old man, even if you are young.

7 Comments

I Remember Approving a Comment on This One

After starting the Reformation Luther gave up the priesthood and got married. Later on, he said, “I am in awe of God’s miracle of human reproduction. I only wish he had given us a less ridiculous way to go about it.”

Men like female breasts but they deny it fanatically. Every male I talk to says he doesn’t “like big breasts.” You see, PEASANTS like what Al Bundy called “big ‘uns.” I remember one guy who kept insisting he like “artistic breasts.” I got on the subway with him once and a girl with huge ‘uns got on. I did my usual stare, and then turned to him. He was standing there, hypnotized. I had to practically slap him to get him back to earth.

He spent a good deal of time the next couple of days giving various reasons for that hypnotic state. He was NOT a peasant!

In fact, the only two names I associate with openly liking big ‘uns are my idol and hero Al Bundy and Lewis Grizzard. Grizzard was wondering at the fact that a woman can take a quick look at a guy she thinks is the sexiest thing in the world and look away. They seem to have a photographic ability that way. Men, said Grizzard, see a well-built woman and just stand there transfixed.

But that is why Bundy and Grizzard were funny. They just said what it is absolutely required that one deny.

I really hate self-righteousness of the “Greatest Generation” kind, because it really hurt people. But rationalizing sex this way is just hilarious to me. Sex is irrational, sex is, as Luther pointed out, just plain ridiculous. Then we have all these people trying to prove they are not gauche, they are not lowah claas about it.

Every male you talk to will say he does NOT favor 1) blue eyes, 2) blond hair, 3) big breasts. Big boobed blonds are for the peasants. When Baywatch hit the screen, it became the world’s most popular TV show of any kind in weeks, and it was one solid mass of blue-eyed, big breasted blonds led by Pamela Anderson. But if you asked 99% of the males who watched it, they would swear they did not like any of the three above criteria.

“I don’t really go for blonds, blue eyes, big hooters.” That is one of a hundred standard retorts I have heard so many times I can say, “The first hundred times it was interesting. After the thousandth repetition, the novelty wore off. The last ten thousand times it has become positively tiresome.”

There are many, many standard responses that the novelty wore off of long, long ago. But when it comes to repeating them, nobody has any shame because nobody has any memory.

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The Good Old Days

People like to say it was easier to talk about race in the last generation or in the 1950s.

No way, Jose.

1) In the 1950s anybody who said anything about race had the usual screams of anaziwhowantstokillsixmillionjews, but the screams were shouted by The Greatest Generation, which then went on to tell you how THEY suffered. They would instantly start screaming in your face.

2) It is hard to realize today how Americans back then simply could not deal with shrieking New York Jews. The great days of shrieking Jews came in the 1960s with the Abbie Hoffmann’s and the Susan Sonntags. They had total immunity. You do not realize today how much stronger Americans have become in that sense. I haven’t seen anybody put up with a shrieking New York Jews since the 1970s. But back then all they had to do was shriek and al the brave World War II heroes would turn on you.

3) Like everything else important, the absolute conviction on every college campus that everything including the opposable thumb came from Egypt, with Mesopotamia as a far-back second, has been totally forgotten. It was absolutely laughed at to say that Europe was any different from American Indians or sub-Saharan Africa before the Middle East stepped in. All of us were totally equal before Ex Oriente Lux.

4) Today even the New York Times admits that the hereditarian concept of race is now mainline thought. We fought for over thirty years, hard, to bring that about. I knew Putnam, Schuey, WC George, I was in contact with Jensen, I was in contact with Herrnstein, I knew Shockley, I knew Carleton Coon, I knew a list of heroes whose names are forever forgotten. It was long, hard struggle. And anybody who did not know that “Modern anthropology has proven that all races are equal in inherited abilities” was laughed at and declared a hick.

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