Readers usually want biographical information about the author, so as to add some “human interest”. Thus, amidst the twilight of a New Dark Age, I hereby formally introduce myself to a world gone mad.
By historical mandate, and by Destiny, this is become my family:
I am become what I am, from my striving objectively to detach myself from my own life experiences, to cross seemingly impassible chasms in space and time and culture, and then subjectively to immerse myself in the worldviews of worlds that have been lost and destroyed. They are so alien to the modern democratic world, and are so commonly distorted through the lens of its mentality, that I despair of finding anyone with whom I can discuss such matters intelligently.
I must first ruthlessly dispel the illusion—the delusion that modern times be superior to the past. We, the damned, live now as maggots eating the bloated corpse of a dead civilization. We cover its stench with the perfume of gadgets, gizmos, and cheap entertainments: High-tech panem et circenses, distractions, and substitutes for the quality of human beings.
’Tis an age when people who are ever sicker, weaker, and stupider have the conceit to fancy themselves ever healthier, stronger, and smarter. Black is made white, and white, black—lies are called truth, and truth, lies—health is diagnosed as sickness, and sickness is praised as health—freedom is slavery, and slavery, freedom—crime is the law—looters brag not only of looting, but of stealing superior achievements from their betters—malice wears the mask of virtue, love is called hate, and hate is worshipped as love. ’Tis an age when the best are persecuted for being good, when the worst are praised for being bad, when treason to lords is ennobled and enthroned as king, when treason to ancestors is apotheosized as the sacrilegious faith of sacred degeneracy.
Modernity is nihilism: The Modern Age is the epochal Utopia of Hell on Earth. In such an age, those who are properly the most humanistic must, humanitatis, appear inhuman: For even “humanism” has come to mean hatred of humanity, as manifest in the Christian and “liberal” do-gooders who most loudly preach about “love for all humanity”.
Wherefore I am become Raches: My name is born of revenge.
When even the Wheel of Fortune has been shattered, I must pray for retributive justice. My hymns and my odes are the arms of an intellectual guerrilla. I do Gain-of-Function research on memetic viruses in my clandestine mindlab, to make philological weapons. I live by the Spenglerian aphorism, “Optimism is cowardice,” to cure myself of the malignancy of hope: Hope, that most poisonous ill from the bottom of Pandora’s Box. I must live for justice—for the justice of the Furies!—for the honor of the dead, and for to protect whatever beauty and goodness may remain in this world.
And in a world of psychotics who first denied the most basic and obvious facts of race and heredity, who then logically continued by “scientifically” repudiating the theory of sexual dimorphism, and who denounce any orderly grouping of related human beings in their own societies, what identity can I claim but that of a lost soul, perforce the offspring of Revenge? Insofar as you, dear reader, are concerned, I have no race, no sex, no nation, no clan—no identity but what is wrought by the writ of my words. And I am not whatever “people” may commonly assume me to be.
I am not an advocate of the notion of Aryan racial superiority: To the contrary, I am that race’s harshest critic. For whatever reason, I seek to salvage some remnant of the race which murdered and enslaved the best of its own kind, abdicated its empires, and, to the detriment of all others, gave away its global supremacy to the Jews. The Jews would have nothing today, if Aryans had not anointed them as the masters of the Earth; and for that, Aryans cannot escape responsibility. Moreover, Aryans are the only race so low, so submissive, so despicable as eagerly to invite others to eat and excrete on themselves and their children. Aryans are proud to be prey animals: Domesticated anthropoid livestock who exist for the benefit of nobler beings, such as rhymes with triggers. When I say that I wish to conserve my Aryans as Dr. Dian Fossey cared to conserve her gorillas, the only problem with the analogy is that, by the empirical evidence of what they are today, Aryans are racially inferior to gorillas. I apologize to gorillas for the racist insult.
I am not an advocate of “majority rights”, but to the contrary. As of today, as almost everywhere throughout history, the so-called “majority” consists of natural born slaves: Mass-men who, if granted any rights in their own governance, not only will vote themselves into chains, but will force the same chains onto others who do not share their innate inferiority. By the aristocratic principle, majorities must obey: They must never rule; and they must never have any “rights”, except the right obediently to embrace the rule of a Caesar. Caesarism is the cure for the democratic disease, and it is the antidote to populism: It is the wise leadership of an aristocrat who uses the power of the mob, to break the power of the mob.
I am not a National Socialist—just as I am not a Bonapartist and not a Caesarist. I admire Adolf Hitler similarly as I admire Caesar and Napoleon, albeit in greater degree. Hitler was the leader of the free world—the last leader of the lost world.
I am of the forsaken, and I speak for the betrayed. I am a ghost of a stolen past, and of a forbidden future that was murdered in the womb. My spiritual mother is Nemesis: Divine Vengeance herself hath rebirthed me and taken me to her fearsome breast, and nursed me with the wrath that knows no mercy.
Only as such is there any possibility at all that past wrongs, which can never be undone, may nevertheless be overcome. These, my Proems, are my postscripts in blessed memory of a superior past—Never Forget!—and thus, perhaps, my prologue for a better future, unto those few who may deserve it: They who would come nigh at history’s end, to rebirth it in a fiery new beginning.
To the heiligen Helga, Hilde, Helmut, Holde, Hedda, and Heide: Blessed forever be your memories.
Image credit: Statue by an unidentified Roman artist. Photograph by “Dave & Margie Hill / Kleerup” (CC-BY-SA), via Wikimedia Commons; modified by Raches.