The AI bros intended to cover India, but got side-tracked by the Jews. Ritter, Singh and Storminnorman break down the ethnogenesis of this unique people. How did their evolutionary strategy develop? How did they spread throughout Europe? What is the secret of their… uh… (((success)))?
Natt joins the AI bros to discuss the coming Purge. The alt-right is not big-tent. We are little-bunker. We have to kick out the degenerates and the intellectuals. Stop thinking and start acting.
Vince and Greg defend European super-nationalism, and Singh stands up for Thought, but Natt’s having none of it.
On this historic day, as Shillary, the puppet of Globalist tyranny, denounces the Altright, AI brings you this glimpse of the coming battles. We are the Resistance, we are right, we will triumph!
Featuring Mr. Bond’s latest single “Blood & Soil,” a parody of Mase’s 1997 “Lookin’ at Me” at 49.50.
Greg mentions the book “Three Faces of Fascism” by Ernst Nolte, which defines fascism negatively. “Fascism is anti-marxism which seeks to destroy the enemy by the evolvement of a radically opposed and yet related ideology…within the unyielding framework of national self-assertion and autonomy.”
I love Munich. This is my third time here. Munich is a cozy metropolis, full of cafes, traditional restaurants, old book-stores, gardens–all preserved more or less in their pre-war state. In the cathedrals, one can feel a definite connection with his Faustian soul, his past, his people. And in these streets, our heroic SA forebearers went toe-to-toe with international Bolshevism. Hitler, Rohm, Goering, Himmler–The Dream began here, in Munich. Her beer-halls were the stage for countless sessions of fashy broing (a tradition which AI has continued).
There is only one problem.
In a way, I owe this city my awakening. The first time I came here, as a college student, I noticed the Arabs. Having studied Arabic and German, I was at first excited at the chance to practice both. But something felt off. In this idyllic Bavarian city, there were packs of fat Arab women black niqabs carrying on in their filthy Gulf dialect. I was all for experiencing foreign cultures… but Munich was for Germans, wasnâ€™t it? If I wanted to see the traditional Arab womanâ€™s costume, complete with BDSM-style nose-piece, I could go to Dubai. You certainly would not seeÂ Bavarians or lederhosen there. Even then, before my racial awakening, I sensed the significance of this disparity.
The second time I came was three years ago–the eve of the Storm. Not much had changed. The barbarians still blotted the aesthetic, but Munich remained essentially German. The old-timers wore elements of the traditional costume (â€œTrachtenâ€) the same way Texans wear cowboy stuff–with a tint of archaism, but still naturally. Munich seemed ready to putter on as a quaint, second-tier city for a few centuries, before it sank back into its landscape.
Now itâ€™s over. Munich reeks of cosmopolitan death. Perhaps her buildings will endure, but only as fossils to befuddle her inheritors. The Arabs have won. They are everywhere and they are rich. The blocks directly south of the Hauptbahnhoff are infested, but you see them in droves in the nice parts of town too. Especially in the nice parts. They seem to have nothing to do but shop and be seen. It is ironic. For a people so concerned with modesty, they certainly go all out on the clothes, the jewlery and the make-up. Form over content. No wonder the Quran is so beautiful.
You do not need to be reminded that you are paying for this, in one way or another. The safe, trusting societies that your ancestors built through centuries of struggle and hardship for youÂ cannot survive what these people bring. Inter-ethnic economic competition is the least of it. There will be blood. There already is.
I have only spent 10 days of my life in Munich. But it really does feel like my European home-city. Every time I have come, I visit my old haunts, buy a couple books, get a new shirt. I have a ritual. My three visits, being spaced out over the years, have had an outsized effect. Itâ€™s like the PUA â€œvenue change” move, go to a couple bars with a girl and sheâ€™s more likely to sleep with you. And each visit has marked a different stage in my personal development–first as an innocent boy, then as a purposeless youth, now as a man–all too filled with purpose.
Miscegenation is the worst. These days in Munich have made me understand the Swedesâ€™ predicament better. They are suffering from abject demoralization. I did not really understand that when I visited Sweden. Yes, it was deeply unsettling to see your race being cucked, but I have no particular attachment to Sweden.
In Munich, I started to get it. Seeing it in your home is a thousand times worse than seeing it in a strange environment. It ruins all the good memories you have of the place. You feel you are losing a piece of your own past. It is like watching a friend let himself go–one more obnoxious tattoo, a few more ripples of Pillsbury spilling over the belt, a newfound penchant for Scientology–in the end, the good memories are pushed out by the ballooning disgust.
There are three possible reactions: fight, give in, or go Chateau Heartiste. Now, go ahead. I hear the unwashed voices of a thousand manosphere spergs advising the CH option. Get degenerate, approach, be an insouciant douche, save the white girl from his barbarism and subject her to yours. I admit I used to be of this mind.
The option is tactically sound, but strategically counter-productive. If you suppress your disgust and wreck miscegenation by legally acceptable means, you have to poison your own mind. You have to convince yourself that sexual promiscuity is all in good fun. You have to not care. But, this is one thing we should care about profoundly–racial hygiene. There is a huge difference between reveling in butt-hurt when another guy gets the girl, and getting righteously pissed to see a kebab polluting your gene-pool. That is not an emotion you should try to suppress, even tactically. It is the healthiest, sanest and purest emotion you can ever have.
And even if you out-alpha the brownie, your are only subjecting a female of your race to a different (albeit lesser) form of social pollution. Hooking up is masturbation with a partner. It will not propagate our race. It may make you more confident with the next woman, but it will certainly make her less fit to be a wife and a mother. If we want to WIN, we need to annihilate this cancer. It seems that the alt-right, including many of the most fervent PUAs, is starting to see that.
But fighting is not yet an option. The legal and social repercussions for the individual are utterly debilitating. So, in the meantime, each of us is forced to give in. Even the deftest player cannot CH-the-fuck-out every mudsharking or kebab-basting pair he sees. Even he must, more often than not,Â endure the humiliation. And, in an environment like Munich or Stockholm, you are forced to see it again and again and again. Most will faze it out, but the healthier your mind is, the more it screams for a shot at revenge that never seems to come. Enduring this mental cycle over and over, it is no wonder so many have given up.
The only healthy option is to fight, together. And we will, very soon. We will fight the way white men always have, as a group, totally committed to, and willing to die, for each other. That is the one force that no one can defeat.
AI is deploying to Swemolia. Is it as bad as the Daily Mail would have us believe? Greg and Vince are in country, bringing you this SITREP from the epicenter of Afro-Islamic POZ. Maybe the US has it worse… or maybe the AI bros are suffering a case of Stockistan Syndrome.
The New Observer has some awesome articles. I spent an hour this afternoon chain-reading their backlog on the refugee crisis. From their coverage, youâ€™d think Europe was going the way of Yugoslavia. Muslims thieving and raping, patriots retaliating with firebombings. Iâ€™m sure it happens, and I hope to document it. But these episodes are not representative or the general situation. While the rarity of such incidents is good, it is only so in the short term. Kant forgive me, but it would be better for a spectacularly barbaric incident to awake whites than for the last of our strength to bleed away through decades more of hollow peace. But should the â€œSarajevo momentâ€ not occur, we must look to other means.
The last few days in Scandinavia have led me to this conclusion. Two days ago, I returned to Orebro, which I had originally assessed as teetering on the brink. First impressions are often wrong. Perhaps mine was overly colored by the grim weather last week. Or maybe the Muslims emerge in force when it rains. Whatever the case, my recent two-night stay has revealed a much less depressing situation. In fact, in the sunlight, Orebro is a liberal multikultopia:
While the races usually keep to themselves, there are plenty of instances, both sexual and not, of mixing. There are indeed packs of Afro-Islamic youth, but they seem–from my limited observations–restrained. Thankfully, mischling children are as yet a rare sight. I can think of many reasons to explain the lack of obvious ethnic conflict.Â Multikulti here is as it is everywhere–awkward and unnatural.
AI is pleased to announce that we will be traveling around Europe for the next two months. Our goal is to provide first-hand reporting on the ‘refugee’ crisis. As the summer heats up, the vapors are sure to infuse the animal spirits of our third-worlder nemeses. With any luck, we will be able to document it all for you. If, on the other hand, there is nothing wrong, Europe is fine, and no caliphate is imminent, we will be sure to inform you alt-righters to calm the fuck down and go back to your maturbatoria. We’re not holding our breath (even if you guys are). So it is with great excitement that we inaugurateÂ The 2016 Pan-European Summer Race-Tour.
Think of it as a postmodern crusade. In Chaucer’s day, a young aristocrat would lay out his steel-plate panoply, line up a couple barrels of bordeaux, and board the next boat to Lithuania to smash some Christianity into those proto-Indo-European linguistic bumpkins. But today, your typical warrior of God packs a go-ruck with a stack of underwear, a wad of charging cables and caffeine pills. He then sets out to smash the red-pill into the cuddly natives before they catch AIDS from theÂ Skinnies. Continue reading The 2016 Pan-European Summer Race-Tour→
Ritter and Singh tackle the most difficult question in Western thought: Metaphysical Jewdaism. Why are some people, who appear to be Aryan, so goddamn Jewish in spirit? SJWs and academics, SWPLs and hipsters, is there something in the water?
Conversely, there are a fewÂ Jews who seem pretty Aryan–Jesus, Spinoza, Weininger, von Mises, Popper, Unz. How do you explain that?
Plus: Hitler reads Mein Kampf and and Shakh M. abdul R. A. ibn abi Sufyan gets autistic.
11:12 The Weekly Reading of the Noble Quran: The Shaykh harnesses his Jew-hate to unleash the autism on Arabic linguistics.Â Surah 62, Ayat 6.
15:06 Metaphysical Jewdaism introduced. Jews as Mercurians–this idea comes from Stanford University professor Yuri Slezkine’s bookÂ The Jewish Century. And yes, he is a Jew. English Wikipedia calls him ‘Russian-American,’ Russian Wikipedia calls him ‘amerikansky,’ but German and French WikipediasÂ refreshinglyÂ note that his family is Juden/juifs.
Gregory Ritter interviews Robert Johnson on the life and work of Carleton Putnam, American author and businessman. He is best known for his books Race and Reason (1961) and Race and Reality (1967), which give a prescient analysis of desegregated, multicultural America.
The Russians have first hand experience with feminist and multiculturalist lunacy. In the early decades of the USSR, the Bolshevik government concoctedÂ an artistic style called “Socialist Realism.” And no, they weren’t trying to be ironic. “Socialist Realism” depicted things the way Stalin and his fuck-puppets in the politburo thought theyÂ should be. This resulted in all sorts of absurdities, absurdities that you know well, because they have resurfaces asÂ some of the commonest tropes in current entertainment.
If there is one rule in art, it is that you cannot regularly violate the principles of psychological normality.Â In certain genres, you are free to mess with the laws of nature –animals can talk, it can rain jelly-beans, creatures that are half-man, half horseÂ can frolic in meadowsÂ of candy canes and corndogs, whatever. ButÂ even then,Â the characters must generally behave according to known psychological principles (the occasional wack-jobÂ notwithstanding). No one could tolerate a novelÂ where all the male characters were happy to let some dipshit boff all the women, asking for nothing in return but 18-hour days toiling in the uranium mines. It’s too great a stretch of the imagination. People just don’t act that way.
One of the most blatantly absurd tropes is the bad-ass girl who beats up or kills dozens of men. You’ll find her in bothÂ Socialist Realism and current US entertainment. Â This trope (goddamnit, I sound like Anita Sarkeesian)Â has madeÂ cop-dramas and Hollywood action flicks not just predictable, but unwatchable. Â Now, you might object that the bad-ass girl isÂ only an abuse of physical reality, not psychological normalcy. But you’d be wrong. Of course a girl can hold down the trigger and mow down dozens of studs. What is so irksome about the bad-ass girl is that she is a psychological abnormality. When it comes to fighting quality, the typical woman does notÂ compare to the average man. Even Homo Americanus, betweenÂ marathon red-tube sessions and IPA hangovers,Â wouldn’t lose a fight to a girl 999 times out of 1,000.
So of course Socialist Realism got off to chicks racking up rediculous K2D ratios. InÂ Chapaev (1934), bad-ass babe Anka mows down rows of Tsarist soldiers (the sexy dudes in the screen-shot below,Â note that the officer looks like he’s chomping on a stogie, but it’s probably a whistle). But even before Anka goes all Audey Murphey, a bunch of her male comrades loose their nerve and flee, only to be rallied by their commissar.
But Chapaev is pretty mild compared to other Soviet films. Even thoughÂ Anka holdsÂ off the reactionary hordes, she runs out of ammo (seems to be a Russian thing) and gets saved by the male protagonist, Chapaev.
If you want the full monty, you have to watch Tsirk (1936). Â Tsirk “Circus” hits all the commies’ favorite talking points–feminism, miscegenation, multiculturalism–and rams them down your throat. It’s the story of Marion, an American actress who gets run out of the US for having aÂ child with aÂ black man. The scene of her expulsion is especiallyÂ piquant. A mob of rasiss Americans chases her out of town, shouting “lynch her” and “nigger lover.”Â So naturallyÂ she seeks refuge in the freedom-loving Soviet Union, where she joins the circus, irony not intended. She gets into a one-sided relationship with a beta-boy German showman, but she only has eyes for her Slavic-superman fellow performer Ivan. Ivan is happy to oblige. He must have gotten bored with nice, sane Russian girls.
The movie climaxes in aÂ multicultural lovefest. Marion’sÂ GermanÂ beta-boy ex exposes her for the miscegenetrix she is. The circus crowd is nonplussed at the revelation, and passes the adorableÂ mulatto around to prevent the German from getting a hold of him. He retreats in shame, and the audience passes the boy around some more, singing a lullaby, with solos by representatives of the USSR’s various minority groups. Â They wrap it up with some parading on red-square, featuring Marion side-by-side with her alpha-cuck boyfriend.
Then there’s Gladkov’sÂ Cement,Â almost a book version ofÂ Tsirk.Â The hero, Gleb Chumalov (more like Chumalot), returns from three years of fighting capitalists and monarchists only to find his wife is a cold,Â Communist new-woman.Â AndÂ she’s been shacking up with another man. To top it off, everyone blames him for her infidelity because he was away at war. A woman tells him, “You left Dasha to torture and death and now you cannot expect to get a hold of her.” I bet a lot of our Iraq and Afghanistan veterans can relate.Â I’m sure plenty more lunacy happens inÂ Cement, but I wouldn’t know, because I can never get through more than a page before I give up.
These are just three examples of Soviet lunacy. The message-films like Tsirk are largely forgotten. RussianÂ literature from the 1920s and 30s is virtually unreadable today. It has largely disappeared from Russian memory. Russians know the 19th century classics, they often know Pushkin poems by heart. But Socialist Realist works, despite decades in the official curriculum, are rightly neglected. Tolstoy and Dostoevsky are timeless, Gladkov is absurd.
Throughout history, feminism and miscegenation have appeared from time to time, but are invariably subsumed. That should give us hope. We’ve tried this before, and it failed.