Friday, 29 March 2013

My Unconquerable Soul

"Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be, 
For my unconquerable soul."

-Invictus, W.E Henley

Invictus is a favourite poem of mine, it is certainly one of few poems I know that has really inspired my own work. Today, after the realisation that in order to keep this blog going, I am going to have to pay more than lip service to it, I have decided to start posting regardless. What brought me to this conclusion is the subject of today's article.

I was born prematurely, in the cold month of Aquarius, allied to the element of air through classical astrology and tied to the suit of Swords (conflict, physical, mental and spiritual) in the standard Tarot deck. I was born to a poor family in a rough area, weaker than your average, skinny, pale and sickly, but with gifts that took years for me to discover.

The gifts I was given allowed me to learn all I could about the world I was born into, what had brought it to this point and why obsessed my young mind and continue to do so. I was gifted at playing with words, making jokes and became popular with my school mates regardless of my advanced intelligence and weakly build. I strived constantly to become better, to learn more for myself and to overcome what the gods had allotted me.
By the time I had grown into an adult I had become a loner, a deep-thinker, an ideological rebel who retained few of his friends from childhood. I discovered the truth behind Adolf Hitler's warnings of a dreadful force threatening to envelop the world, a twist in the tale of time that had so engulfed my mind. I drifted, in an attempt to find purpose and belonging, comrades with whom I could resist what the world had become. I had hoped to find people with the same insatiable fire for overcoming the odds that I always had, I hoped to find the same spirit encapsulated within the poem, to find men and women driven by the pull of adversity.

But find them I did not, and I grew disillusioned with the self-proclaimed standard-bearers of National Socialism. They lacked any true sense of vision or any strong plan or means to put their will into effect, they were not prepared the mammoth task they felt was their job to do.

Feeling that all was lost in politics I instead embarked upon an attempt to join the Army, to turn myself into the warrior I felt I needed to become. It was a sincere effort spurred by a lack of anything to fill the void in my life. It was not to be, my self improvement had never taken the form of physical exercise and though my training made me fitter and stronger, I was attempting to join at a time of peak interest in the forces, and places were limited, standards were raised to a point that this once wimpy nerd felt that he faced a mountain. I resigned my efforts.

Then a twist of fate happened, at some point I must have sent a text message detailing my interest in a patriotic political party, because sometime after the European elections I found my door knocked upon by two of it's activists. I became heavily involved, convinced that this party would chase the moneylenders from the temple. The people contained within it were less distanced from society than the other groups I had aligned myself to but they seemed to know what they were doing. It was an honour to stand in that metaphorical shieldwall with them.

By this point I had resigned myself to the idea that I was on my own in my outlook, that men who grapple with fate and forge their own destiny through the power of their own will were long since a memory. I believed that I must bend that party to my own will, over many years and eventually lead it against the forces of Globalism, with the British people marching proudly behind me.

But, revelations abound, as that party sunk I grew closer to a party-comrade who had always fascinated me. A man of mystery, of few words but with a profound understanding of everything he spoke. A man loyal to the ideas of National Socialism, who revered Hitler every bit as I did. He was intelligent, well spoken, but never one to seek the limelight. I always felt like this man was watching me for something, some quality he was desperate to find there.

This man last year, borrowed me a book. It's name was "The Forgotten Soldier", in this book I saw untold horrors and hardship, my mind hardened. I saw proud men ravaged by war, for four years standing proud against a materially and numerically superior enemy on their home turf. I accepted that I myself, despite being working class and unemployed, was living a life of luxury, a life of scarce meaning.

At the end of last year this same comrade arranged for me to be present on a trip to the war graves of Ypres as part of a delegation to the European parliament. The first night I spent in the pleasant and very European market town of Ostend, chatting up lovely women and becoming insanely drunk to the point of sickness, the next morning could not have been more sobering. Having had little sleep, the overcast day I spent staring at multitudes of graves of brave British and German soldiers, lost to the inhumanity of war, felt like a dream. Drifting around the endless stones marking the boys and men slain in the muddy flat plains of Belgium (all too obvious on that rainy day) I was filled with an empty feeling.

I felt like the hardship I had previously known paled in comparison to the suffering of these men and men like them in Europe's other bloody wars and massacres of the twentieth century. That night was far less exuberant than the last, I spent it under the bridge at Ypres town centre, under the arches marked with the names of those whose bodies were lost to the mud of Flanders, watching with hundreds of others as the nightly remembrance ceremony took place before me.

This experience changed me more than any other experience had ever managed. I became more sombre, outwardly I was still the same witty and silly character but much more serious in my outlook of the world. My school friends who I had retained due to close bonds began to seem ever more distant, more alien, as if they had not grown and yet they were tied down by the trappings of adult life in a Globalised world. I grew apart from them more and more as the months grew on and my mind hardened more and more.

Atop Bleaklow Moor
This year something interesting happened, the prior mentioned comrade who I shall refer to as 'Kenobi' for the remainder of this article, invited me for a hike in the Peak District. My first hike, to Black Hill, was on my 23rd Birthday, there I experienced my first true taste of wilderness and the possibility of a simpler living, seeing the abandoned quarry in the hills made me think of Edoras, and the other towns of Rohan from the Lord of the Rings. My Pagan soul burned bright with the idea of living apart from civilisation.

My next trip took me up the cliff face of Bleaklow Moor, with lingering ice. That day I truly conquered the elements, stared death in the face and resolved to carry on. I had thought Kenobi to have gone mad, to have lost control of his senses, my mind narrowed by the impossible rock face of ice and loose rock that I had not expected to be climbing that day, in fact it was a test of my resolve.
I faced a sheer cliff, hundreds of feet from the ground, covered in ice and terror gripped me.
It took all my resolve to keep calm and slowly find the slivers of solidrock that I could hold onto.
After we reached the top, we walked for miles through dense moor covered in deep peat and animal traps. We crossed icy streams and hopped from hill to hill. I had invoked the gods that day, specificly might Thunor, to keep me strong.

Some time later, the All-Father came to me, not in a dream but in person, in the dark hours I saw his face, fatherly watching over me as I had slept and disappearing in the seconds after waking. I began to understand fully what had been guiding me, and to what purpose Kenobi guided me. Coincidentally, not many days after this I was asked back to Black hill by Kenobi, even snowier than before and deliberately taking the harder and steeper path to the top. I found myself cat crawling at fast pace up snowy hills and deliberately sliding hundreds of feet on my frozen arse for the pure joy of it!

During this trip something finally 'clicked' inside me, as I marched down hill, feet sodden and legs aching in the afternoon sun I finally felt like a warrior. What about this walk compared to, say Bleaklow, that changed me I do not know. Perhaps the bus ride home, reading poetry and exchanging smiles with a long-legged chestnut-haired goddess in a mini skirt also had an effect but ever since I seem less hesitant, more confident. In the past I had been wary of water on my face, squeemish about heights and generally a wimp, I had shirked my writing and found other things to do, I had found excuses not to exercise, where there was no good reason not to.

These past two days since I have found myself able to write at will, to the highest of my standards and with no fear of writer's block spoiling my efforts, I had found myself able to do things, hard things, with barely a protest in my mind against them.
I even wrote a ten page guide to writing poetry that I will further expand upon and perhaps eventually publish!

I feel that have truly become a man, that the disparate and conflicting threads of my mind have found common cause and created a greater being. I have many to thank for this, most of all myself, the gods and 'Kenobi', who I would like to give my thanks to especially.

I hope this article inspires you all to embark on a quest to conquer yourself, mine continues still, one can never fully delve into the reserves of your own self.

To conquer our foe, we must first become ourselves unconquerable. As our souls are the only permanent part of us, that remains consistent throughout our lives we must exercise it first and foremost.

Until all our souls are unconquerable.


Saturday, 23 March 2013

Light in the darkness

The following I believe is a first for my blog. One of my many hobbies is writing poetry, this piece called 'Light in the Darkness' is one such effort that I would like to share with you all:
Light in the Darkness.
In darkest night, the strongest light,
Shines the most, to show us all,
The fearful host, amongst our kin,
Under the skin, the rot set in,
The source of woe, our evil foe,
Pulling the strings, evil things,
Fed by gold, and enmity old,
We cannot let them win.

Friday, 22 March 2013

An Evil Empire

The Banner of the Evil Empire.

The flag above is recognisable to most who read this, it is the flag of the European Union, a superstate that purports to be merely some kind of innocent forum for European Political and Cultural cooperation but in actuality is more concerned with gaining more and more political, economic and legal control over the states that it devours. The flag itself is said to symbolise the twelve Olympian gods of classical antiquity, shared by both the Grecian and Roman spheres of influence in the ancient world and with whom we are well acquainted, with such memorable figures as Zeus, the lightening bolt-throwing king of the gods, Ares, the quick to anger god of war and Aphrodite, the embodiment of feminine beauty and youthfulness. With this in mind I cannot help but wonder at the fury that has been invoked by the shameless EU plunderers who have seen Greece and Grecian Cyprus bankrupted under this banner.

This week Cyprus, a small nation whose economy relies primarily on agriculture and tourism, a country that never should have been bound to a single currency with industrial giants like Germany and France, was given an ultimatum. Cyprus in the wake of the much larger Global and European Economic collapses has found itself the victim of the EU's bullying and with unspoken threats as to the consequences of leaving the Evil Empire has submitted to a bloodletting so as it can temporarily keep it's head above the financial waters.
In exchange for a multi-billion Euro 'bailout' from the Rothschildian International Monetary fund, ordinary Cypriots are to have their bank accounts pilfered from in a disgraceful attempt to appease the monstrous beast that the EU has become.

To most of us Pagan 'Wolf-Heads' who stalk the perimeters of the dying 'Western' civilisation, licking our lips and waiting for our moment to lunge, this is just the latest in a catalogue of outrages that the EU and it's collective governments have perpetrated upon the European people (and that is not to forget the incessant warmongering of it's constituent states in the Middle East and Africa!). I have long-watched as the spineless traitors in Westminster try and conceal their grins as they tell us that the demands of the people cannot be met due to directives from Brussels and it has been apparent for sometime that our parliament is completely subservient to foreign powers, the EU is but one more servant of the Rothschildian Empire of influence, as with Israel and the USA.

As such I feel compelled to warn all who read this blog (the two of you and your dog, that is) that the European Union is but a single tentacle of a much greater beast, the world-serpent alluded to in my pen-name here. In the coming decade we shall see Europe slide ever more into turmoil and unrest, "Blood, Fire and Death" to quote the name of a Bathory record.

We shall see the tyrants push further and take more from the beleaguered and ever less numerous Europeans, we will see Islamists make capitol from the ensuing disorder, poised as they are by decades of preparation for the furtherment of Islam in our lands and near the end we shall see White Europe revived, surrounded by enemies and without established leadership.

Only time shall tell if the peoples of the 'West' will survive the coming turmoil but I encourage all here to prepare themselves for the darkest of times, the grimmest of sagas, the end of ages. If you are not versed in the arts of crawling, carrying heavy weight, using warrior's weapons and of wilderness living, then I suggest you get training yourself. I worry not about those who will ignore my words for in this crucible we are to be pitted, only the most worthy Europeans will survive (and plenty of those who are worthy will not survive either) and those who still naively believe that our leaders or who we replace them with a in a few years will eventually 'come through' for us, are not worth saving.

The Evil Empire grows ever stronger, their demands will be met with rioting and chaos, they will send their mercenaries far and wide to quash rebellion, they will expect to scatter sheep, instead they will feel the crush of Wolves jaws.

Keep strong all of you,


Saturday, 9 March 2013

A Hero In Memoriam

Hugo Rafael Chavez Frias, 1954-2013, the Hero of Venezuela.
This week was not a good one. On Tuesday, Venezuela lost it's president and the free world lost one of it's champions. Hugo Chavez may not be a man with whom I shared a great deal of political ideals but I always find it better to judge a man by his deeds and not just by his words.
He drew his ideals from the left, flirted with the international ideology of Communism, but this man was never an internationalist and he tirelessly fought the corner of the poor and disenfranchised of his nation and expressed solidarity for his kinsmen in other parts of South America.

Venezuela under Chavez was never a utopia, as some may try and claim (similar claims are made of Communist Cuba) but under his rule the working class, which Chavez himself was born into, fared much better than they had previously, poverty dropped from 50% to less than 30% during his 14 years in office.

Chavez stood side by side with Mahmoud Ahmedinejad of Iran and Fidel Castro of Cuba amongst other 'pariah states' (nations opposed to Rothschildian 'Martian' Hegemony) and in doing so he took a brave stand for his people in the face of world consuming greed and all consuming finance. Venezuela being an oil rich state, the man could all too easily have enriched himself at his people's expenses and been a major 'world player' of the Cameron/Obama model. Instead he chose resistance and know Venezuela has lost it's champion. His deputy, while a good man has not the strength of character that his predecessor had and Venezuala, as an oil rich state, could well be on track for American-style Democracy, I just hope that in such an event, South America will stand united in it's defiance.

I apologise for the sparsity of my posts recently, I have been spending most of my time reading these two wonderful blogs, written by two heroes of the English and Norwegian peoples respectively:

Eye of Woden

Thulean Perspective

SerpentSlayer out.