Comment of the Week- Radix

This one goes out to Patriamania, on the nature of PC anarchy- commenting over at Radix Journal.

PC has gotten away with its neo-control-freakism by offering limitless freedom for those who choose the ‘correct’ path. It offers blinkered anarchy for those who play by the rules. So, if you choose anti-white-male rhetoric, you can be as wild and crazy as you want to be, even making up rape hoaxes to smear college fraternities.

If you choose the way of Slut Pride, you can skank yourself out totally as an imitation Miley Cyrus.

If you choose the way of tattoos and body-piercing, you can turn yourself into a completely hideous-looking freak.

If you choose homo ‘pride’, you can act in ways that trample all over rules of decency and propriety. You can also work with the Globalists to push for WWIII against Russia because it won’t cave to homo poo-ride parades.

If you choose gender-fluidity, you can come up with new nano-gender-identities against ‘heteronormativity’.

If you choose black rage, you can fume all you want against the white gentile devil.

If you choose the mantra of Diversity or the bogeyman of ‘white privilege’, you can howl all you want to the moon until the cows come home. So, if you choose the correct cause or agenda, there is no limit to your freedom to hate, berate, throw tantrums, and act crazy.

This creates the impression that freedom is everywhere in our so-called ‘liberal democracy’.

Freedom becomes problematic ONLY IF you question, critique, and counter the holy writ of PC. Indeed, the globo-elites who control PC say that ‘hate speech’ isn’t free speech. If you practice free speech to counter the PC agenda, you are said to be ‘threatening’ the freedom of the PC crowd by making them feel ‘unsafe’. So, if you practice free speech against PC and if the PC crowd attacks you, YOU are to blame for aggressing against them because you made them feel ‘threatened’ even though they are the ones who attacked you physically.

Indeed. Well put. But I would add a caveat. There is less and less incentive for white men, even of a blue-pilled variety to play along. The carrot gets smaller and smaller every passing week now it seems.

The Nerve of These (((Elites)))

Foreign Policy published a piece by a non-goy, (((James Traub))).

It’s a breath-taking piece, one that may go down in history because of its hubris and open mockery of the white masses, on par with the bold claim made by NR’s Kevin Williamson. Good analysis here.

Its worth reading over in the morning. You know, to get your day off to a rage-filled start.

Here’s a choice quote from the article:

The issue, at bottom, is globalization. Brexit, Trump, the National Front, and so on show that political elites have misjudged the depth of the anger at global forces and thus the demand that someone, somehow, restore the status quo ante. It may seem strange that the reaction has come today rather than immediately after the economic crisis of 2008, but the ebbing of the crisis has led to a new sense of stagnation. With prospects of flat growth in Europe and minimal income growth in the United States, voters are rebelling against their dismal long-term prospects. And globalization means culture as well as economics: Older people whose familiar world is vanishing beneath a welter of foreign tongues and multicultural celebrations are waving their fists at cosmopolitan elites. I was recently in Poland, where a far-right party appealing to nationalism and tradition has gained power despite years of undeniable prosperity under a centrist regime. Supporters use the same words again and again to explain their vote: “values and tradition.” They voted for Polishness against the modernity of Western Europe.

The best part is how this (((analyst))) very accurately describes the current political situation and what actions and sentiments caused it to come about. It’s frighteningly accurate, showing that the author is well aware of WHY these things are occurring…

The voice of G-d's chosen
The voice of G-d’s chosen

But he still managest to throw it all away in the last two paragraphs claiming that despite the problems he listed earlier, the popular discontent, the erosion of an entire way of life and an entire peoples… it’s all just racists who are evil and should be stopped no matter what.

The schism we see opening before us is not just about policies, but about reality. The Brexit forces won because cynical leaders were prepared to cater to voters’ paranoia, lying to them about the dangers of immigration and the costs of membership in the EU. Some of those leaders have already begun to admit that they were lying. Donald Trump has, of course, set a new standard for disingenuousness and catering to voters’ fears, whether over immigration or foreign trade or anything else he can think of. The Republican Party, already rife with science-deniers and economic reality-deniers, has thrown itself into the embrace of a man who fabricates realities that ignorant people like to inhabit.

He is able to discern that the populace is unhappy with the changes globalism has brought into their countries and why older voters are unhappy at seeing everything they’ve ever known being destroyed, but then just throws that out the window and says they’re denying reality. He abandons his own point to inject ideological poison into the piece.

 Did I say “ignorant”? Yes, I did. It is necessary to say that people are deluded and that the task of leadership is to un-delude them. Is that “elitist”? Maybe it is; maybe we have become so inclined to celebrate the authenticity of all personal conviction that it is now elitist to believe in reason, expertise, and the lessons of history. If so, the party of accepting reality must be prepared to take on the party of denying reality, and its enablers among those who know better. If that is the coming realignment, we should embrace it.

It’s amazing. In the alt-right, there are those of us out there who still think that many of (((them))) are idiots, or perhaps less than rational actors, destroying us out of a genetic predisposition to always subvert the interests of the in-group- K-Mac’s explanation as I understand it. Its an interesting theory, but more than anything, articles like this show that these people are not blind, and understand what they are wreaking on European civilization. I always thought there were (((elites))) who genuinely thought 2+2=5, because of sheltered upbringing and bobo sensibilities… But it turns out they know that 2+2=4, they just want it to be 5 so hard that they say it is anyway.

Chosen hypocricy in a nutshell
Chosen hypocricy in a nutshell

And remember goys… you’re literally Hitler if you see through the Newspeak.

HuffPo Lies, Palermo Dies

The aspiring sophists over at Huffington Post regurgitated a Quartz article about how much refugees are doing to revitalize the economy in here in Sicily, specifically in the western city of Palermo.

Since I am at Catania on the island’s East coast, I decided to hop on a train and see this miracle myself. I am sorry to say, that Palermo’s Wirtschaftswunder isn’t quite what the reporter, Annalisa Merelli, says it is.

But before I get into dissecting the whole page-worth of talmudic libtard namastes, I’d like to point out one BIG thing.

The migrants/refugees/afro-zombies are PREDOMINANTLY  SWOLL DUDES. How this escapes everyone’s notice is beyond me. Even the statisticians at the UN admit so much. Check out these photos from my two hours of walking around Palermo:

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Part of Greg Ritter’s series “Black Beefcakes in Europe, Escaping War and Oppression, brah”
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The migrants are starting some businesses–albeit, predominantly hair-themed.
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Rockin Bundeswehr pants. Wonder where he wants to go.
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Gold watch with Dindu. How did he get past all the greedy human-traffickers with that bad boy?

I don’t want to give you the wrong impression though. I don’t know that any of these people were migrant-refugees. Perhaps they were tourists. And to be fair, I saw a few women here and there. I even saw a kid.

But the majority of the presumed refugees were healthy, fit men. If the West had any compassion, we would put them in camps, train them into an army, and send them back to their homelands to stop all the “war and oppression” and set up democracies. heh. I’m sure that would work out.

With that caveat, let’s get to the heart of the matter.

Continue reading HuffPo Lies, Palermo Dies

RED DAWN 19: Epicenter of Fash

RED DAWN 19: Epicenter of Fash

Greg takes us on a tour of the Eternal City and Calabria–the Alabama of Italy. The bros compare Italian and Nordic character and habits, and discuss the Afro-Muzziepocalypse. The signs are everywhere. But is there enough awareness of the problem for anything to get done? AI brings you this report from the Front.

Featured Future Fash song: Far Cry 3: Blood Dragon (Soundtrack) 02

Fortune Magazine article on the Mayor of Riace, Calabria’s biggest Muzzie-Dindu collaborationist.

Some fascist agitprop in rich neighborhood just NE of the Vatican:

fashyagitprop

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Some other fashy ads in Rome:

fashyagitprop3

 

Granville Thorndyke

I came across a new channel on Youtube. This guy is red-pilled and his work is inspired. 

Frankly, I think it’s criminal that he has gotten so few views, as all of his videos are worth promoting and have the potential to go viral.

…Even if they are a bit too high-brow to become the new With Open Gates, because of the way the ideas are woven together with little explanation…unless you already know what he’s talking about.

(Hint: its basically the jews)

Here’s a couple of my favorites:

Its context seems fitting given that Brexit just happened.

And a very timely one given the San Jose Happening.

I wouldn’t say that these videos are good agitprop, because they presuppose that the viewee is already initiated. But they make for great contemplative rainy evening viewing

Granville Thorndyke

On Far-Right Bitching

Girls love to complain. Its a deeply cathartic experience for them. They snuggle up to you real close so you can feel their body pressed up against yours, their scent washes up unnoticed at first, but pleasant, familiar and laced with estrogen… Just when you’re relaxed and ready to doze off, she starts breathing irregularly, and shaking. She looks up, her eyes shrink-wrapped in tears and unleash a torrent of doubt and deep-seated insecurity that rocks you to the core.

“Where did this come from?”

Its hard to make any logical sense of the situation, so you just start asking questions. “What is wrong? Why this sudden burst of emotion? Why can’t we logically address your concerns and fix the situation?”  In response, you of course get more tears and hysterics about how you are supposed to be on her side, and how you are a bad boyfriend.

Girls don’t want to hear you offer well-thought out solutions. They just want you to be there for them. They need a vessel to emotionally offload onto. The more unstable the girl, the more vitriol is unleashed when the floodgates are opened. You gotta talk with them too, give helpful prompts here and there, but mostly just soak it all in. At the end of couples therapy, nothing is solved, but nothing matters. She sniffles up and feels better after awhile and all is well…Until next week when the exact same biblical flood wells up and threatens to wash away your last buttresses of sanity…

I’ve noticed some parallels between weepy women and the Dissident Right. Baby steps towards moving to our goals are met with shrill cries of complaint, and accusations of being one of (((them))). “Its just a FBI honey-pot, a kike scam, or a gay gangbang.” That’s what the shills will say regardless of the organization trying to make even the slightest effort to going beyond posting Pepe Memes.

These Radical Defeatists even tried to shit on Trump in the early days. Thankfully, Generation Trump put them in their place.

The Left is similar in this sense, it is worth pointing out that many radicals on the far left are constantly pushing their agenda down the throats of moderate liberals who lack the testicular fortitude and philosophical grounding to stand up to the fringe. So they get co-opted and used by the Radical Left.

If they just kept quiet and let the liberal creep continue unabated they would have all their anti-white goals achieved within 30 to 40 years anyway. Now instead of boiling the frog softly with little complaint, they have started to cajole Corn-fed, Comfy and Complacent Middle America into making a wobbly stand against the liberal agenda.

There are elements on the Right that just want to rage, rage, rage at the jewish nightmare of a world that we live in BUT also to rage at anyone offering a semblance of a plan to dig our way out of the mess. The scorched-earth “just wait for Hitler” mentality, and its counter part, “let it all burn” brother ideology are mentalities that the Alt-Right should actively oppose.

Complaining is the first step and deeply cathartic for many Westerners. I don’t mean to knock it. It takes guts to start bitching in the West, because your whole life, you have been told that everything is fine and that anyone who isn’t ecstatic 24/7 deserves to be put on medication until they can show them pearly whites for the camera again.

I wish I was exaggerating, but travelling around and seeing different European cultures has shown me just how weird the Anglo-sphere is. In places like Russia, bitching about shit is a way of life.  You meet a friend, have some drinks and gripe a bit. There’s no psychiatrist, no mind-altering pills, just some vodka and a nice bitch session.

And you know what? It works!

Americans are the only people I know that habitually cry when they are drunk. Men and women. I thought this was normal for awhile, until I realized it’s not. And it may not necessarily be a macho thing between feminized America vs rough Russia, but a mental health thing instead. Basically, repressed emotion breaking out in the only way it knows how.

So thats fine, I get it, start bitching. Its a good first step. Say that you’re pissed, and that you know why. Not self-destructive whining, or helpless nihilism, but constructive bitching. Go for it, man.

But very soon, shit is going to have to get done, and get done fast. So get your shit together quick.

The Alt-Right’s Class Problem

The Alt-Right has a bit of a problem.

I am struck by the problems that the White Army had in the Russian Civil War. They were an army consisting almost entirely of officers. It was a bloody war, and there are stories of  entire battalions consisting of junior officers.

Despite the heroism (and brutality) of the White Army, they ended up losing the Civil War, mostly because they couldn’t get any of the various peasant uprising to join their cause. They had a problem reaching across class lines and rallying the masses against the deeply unpopular Bolsheviks. This was despite the marauding requisitions battalions of Red soldiers, the perceived foreigness of the Bolsheviks, and deep lingering loyalty to the Tsar…

And in the Alt-Right we have a cocktail bar problem. A class divide. Most of the people that I have met through NPI have been upper-middle class or outright upper class folks. They know the red-pill talking points, but they are often knee-deep in Bobo, SWPL society, and are divorced from the grass-roots, coarser, salt of the earth natural conservatives that they share an ideological similiarity with.

In my less sympathetic appraisal of the NPI crowd, I can broadly cast the net and proclaim that these are the types that stress the importance of “hiding your power level” and sniff at the people openly flying Confederate flags or “revealing their power level” in other ways. And it makes sense from their point of view, sheltered in their middle-class apparachtik job, and surrounded by SWPL society- to do otherwise would be social suicide.

They also tend to be the more autistic, hyper-intelligent and bow-tie wearing members of our movement. White nationalism seems to be more of an intellectual exercise for them, and not borne out of a deep feeling of love for their people. Most of these Dissidenti types are also the most concerned with PR- a legitimate concern- but one that coincides with the needs of their socio-economic position in society. Their attitude can be a bit too convenient.

Which is why I suggest a “hoodlum/hooligan/prole” outreach program.

Richard Spencer- our lord and fuhrer- may believe that 5000 dollar membership fees to elite Phalanx sekrit klubs might be the way to propel the Alt-Right into the institutions through Gramscian inflitration, but it may be the path to circle-jerking and just recreating an Alt-Right WASP-like microcosm.

loose memes sink triremes
loose memes sink triremes

But lest it be said that we here at AI are all complaint and no action, here are some suggestions that we’ve cooked up. 

The last couple of NPI conferences have been picketed by Antifa protesters, so heres a suggestion: we roll in together.

We all meet up ahead of time in a designated location and form up. We bring flags…Or not, it doesn’t really matter. We come well-dressed, in suits and we hold our heads high. We don’t slink in one by one through an Antifa gauntlet. 

Marching like this gives us the benefit of showing our strength and fostering a spirit of martial unity. We roll in like an army, and we roll out like a band of brothers. Speaking from experience, it can be intimidating going in blind to a conference of fashy goys, and knowing that, we should work to emulate the methods of our European brothers.

Just on my way to NPI.
Just on my way to NPI.

The prospect of a “march,” however small, informal and impromptu gives the younger members a feeling of “doing something.” It attracts a youthful vigor and gives us that edginess that Spencer always waxes poetically about with his Ivy league thespian lisp.

Second suggestion:

No organizations within the greater organization. 

People naturally coalesce with other people of a similar socio-economic postition, thats simply human nature.  But having neo-pagan types waltz around with their noses up and complain about “Storm-proles” is a disconcerting aspect of the experience.

But hey, who am I to judge. I’m just a Slav that was catapulted into Anglo-Jew society from an early age and came out feeling jaded. If I see some worrying elitist tendencies within NPI, then its not my place to judge. Only I worry about the viability of the model. Whether the NRx LARPers like it or not, we live in a mass democracy, and if the Alt-Right focuses on strutting around acting like the officers of a non-existent army, they may end up like the White Russians in the civil war.

Alone, detested, and ultimately defeated.

Old Town Stockholm

I was going to initially just write a post about what I saw in Stockholm’s old town. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that a story about another quaint European little town with cobblestones and narrow alleys wasn’t really what I wanted to write.

It was hard to enjoy the old town because it was incredibly overpriced, was quiet as a graveyard and it was populated almost entirely by Boomers.

I call them Boomers, but I have no idea what they are called in Sweden. They are just these middle-aged Swedes with BMW’s that love to cruise up at 30 km per hour to Old Town, get the velvet rope rolled back by the Arab security and toss back some overpriced wine while decked out in blazers, pearls and artsy scarves.

They don’t pay attention to you…at all, (keeping with the old Swedish tradition of ignoring waves of foreigners descending upon your country) and just go about their business of wining and dining. At some of the more popular posh restaurants in old town, the setting is absolutely picturesque. Cobblestone streets, cherub-decorated fountains and little cafes with sprawling verandas and the latest gas lamps flickering with artful tongues of dancing flame. It takes your breath away how beautiful it all is. And in the middle of it all are these tall Swedish men with their swept back hair and shuffling little old man steps and slightly hunched shoulders. The women are these social X-rays, thin and artfully decked out in the most expensive non-descript clothing. They are a race of super WASPs.

I was struck by how differently Swedes treated us in downtown Stockholm vs the suburbs and the southern city of Malmo. Stockholm felt like prep school all over again.  But in the suburbs, people were different. Less well-dressed and…coarser. They weren’t these super thin, super coiffed aliens that we had come to expect. Rather they were…normal.

There were fat white Swedes interspersed among the hordes of Hajis. The men didn’t speak English- an abnormality in a 90% English speaking country. The women were coarser, fatter, and dressed like Russians- leather jackets, boots and ripped jeans.

But back to old town.

Occasionally Greg and I would put our feet up on a bench and soak it all in. Through the windows of some 18th century french windows we could see a group of beautiful women in gorgeous dresses and jewelry dining all together in some posh restaurant. They were young, still in their twenties and absolutely radiant. Greg snapped a pic and we both grinned at each other guiltily. We felt like voyeurs getting a first row seat to something that commoners like us weren’t supposed to be seeing.

Greg, feeling more attuned to the subtle social pressure of not being seen as gawking tourists kept us moving, whereas I would have been content to slav squat a little longer. I couldn’t help but notice how there weren’t any police there, and how there was absolutely no diversity to be seen. I could have squatted as long as I damn well pleased…

I used to think that this gated community phenomenon was something confined to anglo-sphere countries where even before the teeming masses of the third world were invited in, upper-crust ruffle-collar wearing Calvinist types would self-segregate into communities of Elect and proceed to burn each other at the stake for perceived sins against the long-necked values of the community. But we saw a lot of the same phenomenon in Sweden.

This, coupled with their Preventative Politeness ™- a strategy used by goodwhytes whereby they keep distance between you and them by dialing the politeness up to 110%. You feel like you can’t breach the shield of politeness because to do so would be impolite. Its a vicious cycle and a deadly defense against pesky tourist innocently asking where the nearest pet shop is.  I’ve only really ever seen it used in anglo-sphere countries, which coupled with perfect rows of gleaming white teeth makes meaningful conversation nigh-impossible.

But back to Old Town, again.

The Swedes have a tradition of getting really really really drunk. I saw more drunkeness there in my short week-long trip than in my entire time in Russia. Let that sink in. They just do it in an oh so Swedish way. They drink until they can barely walk, but they don’t make a sound. The busses are filled with bottles and bobbing heads and the stink of liquor. But they are silent as well. A group of English chav tourists broke the monotony as they ambled down the streets chatting amonst each other, looking for a place to piss. I never thought I’d be so happy to see drunken British tourists in my life.

Even they couldn’t break the eery quiet for long, however. We kept walking, turning down alleys and mainstreets, soaking it all in. I was struck by how insulated this place was. It was like a retirement community for the Swedish race. Established Boomers with property and net value probably in the low millions wining and dining amidst the disintegration of their nation.

When we moved to Malmo, we lived with a similar Swede. Like all the older Swedes, he seemed to know the country was sunk, but didn’t seem to care much about it. “Invest in property,” he advised us, “make sure to put your first million in property and wait 5 years.”

I nodded.

“You really can’t go wrong with property,” his girlfriend chimed in.

I nodded again with a grin on my face and said, “I wish I had invested my first million in property! What a mistake!”

“Its never too late.” He intoned seriously at me.

But what about Old Town?

I thought to myself: “What a waste.” I imagined families there, with little kids playing in the fountains and climbing the statues of heroes slaying dragons. I imagined some bottles and cigarette butts on the ground from teens out for a night of fun and danger. I imagined car horns and church bells peeling. In short, I imagined Russia, or rather I imagined what Russians would have done with a place like Stockholm’s old town. It would be dirtier, more crowded and the immaculately restored building would be cracked and peeling from neglect. But there would be life where there is now a pretty graveyard.

The Boomers, like everywhere in the West, don’t seem to care. They’ve got theirs, in Old Town, Stockholm. Its the scrap heap for the rest of us though.

Embracing the Apollonian

Leaving Rome was another clusterfuck. I knew it would be, so I went to “Termini” central station three days ahead of time to put everything in order. Despite my efforts, the genius of Italy saw to it that there would be a last-minute fiasco.

At first, everything seemed to be working. I arrived 50 minutes early, found my train on the big board, and saw the platform number. Ah, time for a coffee. Fortunately the line was too long or did not exist, so I decided to skip the espresso and board. I went to the gate to enter the platform and showed my EURail pass to the guy, along with my reservation; of course I had my passport handy too. He scanned my papers and said calmly, “No, no no no, you need a stampa, to validate.” Are you serious? I had already traveled 5 times on this document in anal-retentive Scandinavia without anyone saying anything about a validation stamp.

The officer-guy directed me “al centro, i alla sinestra.” He meant I had to go to the biglietteria–the ticket gallery, which I had tried to use the other day. The biglietteria is a mini-DMV, except the employees aren’t black, just inefficient and insouciant. I took a number. There were at least 10 Americans in front of me and probably some Germans, and my train was leaving in 35 minutes. The women at the counter were taking their sweet time answering every moronic inquiry in Italianglish and typing. And there might be a cigarette break any moment now. I knew it was hopeless.

As I learned my first day in Rome, act like it’s a crisis and people will help you. But I could not simply push to the counter and demand a stamp before my number was called. That would cause an incident–operating in Italy takes more subtlety. So I stopped thinking like a Nord and embraced my inner I-tie. Processes here are not linear, but fluid. I dropped my pack and sprawl-prawled onto the station floor, amidst a crowd of panicked and frustrated non-Italians, pulled out my papers, and wrote my own goddamn validation. I antedated it 26.05.16 and signed my father’s initials. If some guy asked “eeeyy! La stampa! Dove e?” I would just say I got it validated in a shit-tier country like Greece. They would understand.

This time I decided to play it right. I strode up to the usher and passed him my papers hurriedly. He didn’t even ask about the stamp this time. Okayed, I gave everyone around me an earful of my unmelodic, manly American accent, “Haha, so goddamn American!”

A Lost World

Rome was just the beginning. As my train went south, I descended into the husk of the Classical world. Oswald Spengler–my God and prophet–theorized that European cultures were of two types: Apollonian and Faustian. The ancient Greeks and Romans were Apollonians–their imaginations were obsessed with static form, rootedness to the earth, the present moment and the noonday sun. Thus they were the complete antithesis of our, post-Roman, Faustian Culture, with its emphasis on thrusting motion, boundless space, and and a strong sense of time–all symbolized by the dawn. All very mystical and unprovable, but astute.

Rome is the frontier of the Faustian world. built atop the ruins of an Apollonian metropolis. On the other hand, Naples, Salerno, Sapri. with their white, yellow, pinkish-beige houses inset into hillsides might as well be Ancient Greece. My train-ride was, spiritually speaking, time-travel, now that I knew what to look for. The train (a Faustian imposition) raced by derelict houses and crumbling public buildings, often with exposed brown and grey blocks, including the well-preserved ruins of a medieval town-wall. Everywhere, the locals had built under, around and atop these as if they were part of the landscape. Even the highway bridges, despite their great height, were more notable for their connection to the earth at their bases than the air under their tresses.

Classical civilization grew and bloomed, then shriveled. Many of its former lands were subsumed by the new Faustian, Germanic Culture. But not all. According to Spengler, the Apollonian spirit clung on in some of its country backwaters, places like Southern Italy, Greece and Sicily. Fittingly, the fossils of Greece and Rome are now Europe’s bulwark against the black and brown menace. Since the last surge of hostilities during the early centuries of Islam, the front has remained virtually unchanged. It runs from Lesbos through Greece, across to Calabria, Sicily and on to Gibraltar.

As the train descended, the seats were thinned of Faustian, cosmopolitan Romans and filled with people who resembled my Calabrian grandfather. Not a one of them was speaking English. This was, after all, a people who had only recently (in the last 4 centuries) made the change-over from Greek to Romance dialects. In a few towns, in fact, there are still people who speak Greek, remnants of ancient and Byzantine colonization.

At Paola, I rendezvoused with two relatives who had been sent to retrieve me. They did not speak English either, which made conversation awkward grammatically. As we drove up into the hills, I felt a mixture of ease and a sensation like terror. Despite the language barrier, we managed to communicate–socially this was all very normal. But spiritually I knew myself to be intensely out of place. The permanence of it all shocked me–the stone farm-houses, the olive trees with their gnarled trunks, the all-absorbing landscape.

CalabrianLandscape2

RED DAWN 18: Heart of Darkness, Malmogadishu Edition

RED DAWN 18: Heart of Darkness, Malmogadishu Edition

The bros recap their joyride through Malmo. What will the Swedes do once the Muzzies take over? Greg and Vince then press on to Copenhagen, where they are pleasantly surprised. Maybe not all Nords will share Sweden’s fate. 

And, Greg brings you a special report from Berlin. He checks out the Reichstag, the Fuhrerbunker and Germany’s National Shrine to the Holohoax.

Greg’s two articles on Copenhagen and Berlin, with photos.

Vince’s point about the famous Reichstag flag photo: The Ruskies fake everything, screw up, and then doctor it just to make sure.

Reichstagflagwithoutwatches
He had a lot more watches

Note on Music: Featured song at 25:11 “Your Sex is a Dream” by Trevor Something. The bros have been getting into the Synthwave. It’s Fashy…

The opening and closing tracks are our usual: “Folk i Gevär” by the Fyrdung and the “March of the Soviet Tankists.”