Jared Taylor’s organization sponsored their annual confab, and I must say this was one of the worst ones yet. Wait, it was the worst one yet. The NPI has now gone full Nazi. I wonder what Mr. Taylor’s wife thinks about that? Jared watered these strange little plants for years no doubt knowing full well what sort of a nasty garden he was cultivating, and now that the crop is ready to harvest, is he surprised at what bloomed? Right what it said on the seed package, right?
The white sheets are coming off these guys in a big way. I recognized a few of the people there. Harlem Venison was there. I know why he went there, but I say he made a big mistake. Sometimes you just walk in the wrong party, you know? In that case, you say, sorry, wrong address. Do you stay for a drink? Maybe you do, and maybe you don’t. But with some accidental parties, you’re glad you wrote the address down once you take a good look a the revelers. Parties are usually good fun, but some folks are so seedy you don’t even want to have a beer with them, you know? And some parties are not all good fun. Some wild parties are downright dangerous, and it’s smarter to just stay home alone. Case in point.
Harlem says he’s not a White nationalist, and I agree with that. So what’s he doing here? Bad choice. He only wants to take down antiracism as a dogma. Which sort of makes sense considering what sort of weeds have sprung up in that once well-tended community garden. But really, in life you have to choose your enemies. Either antiracist dogma is the enemy that needs to be fought, and doing so by making alliance with these jugend is the right thing to do in terms of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, or it’s the other way around. And yeah, that’s a moral question all right. Not such a simple one either.
The antis hate me as much as they ever did, but that’s too bad because much as the feelings are mutual on my end, I would very much prefer to ally with the Cultural Left against this NPI malignancy than the other way around.
You pick your “enemies” in life. And so with your “friends.” Half of your enemies are really frenemies, and it’s even worse than that with your friends. First you brutally sort them into two calculatingly amoral piles. If you have any sense, you do so strategically. Sometimes allying with the bad guys against the worst guys is not only cynical realpolitik and situation ethics but also moral high reason if not moral righteousness of the highest order.
If you sit around waiting for the good guys versus bad guys war, you’ll sit out every fight because there are no good guys in war. And in so doing, you will allow your world to be potentially overrun by the worst Orcs of your nightmares all because the good guys couldn’t pass your petty purity test.
Virginity tests went out a long time ago in the West. In a world where we all sullied, they never made sense anyway. There are crystalline whores singing in the lofty crags and black-eyes virgins grunting in the boiling mud. A hymen’s a piece of flesh, not an honor badge. It’s about as meaningful as a hangnail. There’s a reason prigs are so hated. They demand purity and chastity in in a world where few humans measure up, not that anyone should anyway. Priggism is a con, a lie, a scam, a shield for projecting sinners with weighted hearts.
In real life, you get your hands dirty, you don’t always get to wash up right away, and the stains don’t always wash out. Cloisters are for nuns, and they have earned the privilege of residence. The rest of us don’t have that luxury. We have to wrestle in the mud like everyone else. A man chooses his battles wisely, and almost almost no one wears black or white in war anymore. Every army is a shade of one or the other or both or neither, and that’s when the colors are discernible at all. Roll them unfiltered, drink it straight, and die with your boots on. Dead is dead, but at least you went down fighting.
Pick your poison and head to the front. Some wars can’t be sat out.