In a stiff manner, with his back turned on him, Fabrice murmured: “The act of veiled violence is more terrible than open violence.” He coughed and continued: “Slavery can be substantially aggravated when it assumes the appearance of freedom. It is beyond doubt that the Saturn threat appears more redoubtable precisely because it is hardly detectable. The classical Bolshoi tyrannies in Town had at least the advantage of being able to trigger our resistance. Their main adversary was their own duration; the more they lingered on the more there was a chance that we the Titans would perceive them as intolerable. By contrast, modern imports from the Wild West and their Saturn auxiliaries create the illusions inherent in their own principles. They represent themselves as liberty loving systems at the moment they oppress most. They resort to subtle terror. The dictatorship of the media and the spiral of silence appear to be far more effective than living on rats or residing in Gulag camps. Remember those who once ran the show in Town before the first bombs went off. Now you have the same scenario developing in the Wild West. There, in the Wild West, there is no need to kill; it suffices to cut off someone’s mick. To kill somebody by silence is a very elegant kind of death which in practice yields the same dividends as Saturnine beheadings of Townspeople; assassinations which, in addition, always provide good consciousness to Nobilos and his consorts and their Saturns beyond the hill. Moreover, one should not forget the importance of such a type of killing. Indeed, rare are those who kill for fun.”
Held listened and then continued on the same verbal register. “Town’s purpose is to demonstrate that collective liberty, the liberty to become themselves and to continue enjoying the privilege of having a separate destiny, does not result from the simple addition of individual pleasures. Liberties granted by the Wild West are nonexistent; they represent simulacra of what liberties should be. For me, Fabrice, it’s not enough to be free to do something. Rather, what I need is the will to impact the course of events in Town. Saturn societies claim to be permissive only insofar as their general stability strips the real decision making process of true Titans in Town. The extension of Saturnine liberties must therefore be interpreted as a corollary of the ever-growing extension of their ineffectiveness. The sphere in which a true Titan like me is permitted to do everything becomes bigger and bigger, insofar as whatever I do for the benefit of my free Town’s community serves our common purpose.”
“You are pulling my leg,” said Fabrice, “you must be joking with your theosophical escapades. Look how many people here have ended up in this sewage called the underworld. There is no hope, there is no future. Liberty cannot be reduced to the sentiment that one has about it. For that matter, both the mischling and the Titan can perceive themselves as free. Shit, I am free, but free to die; neither can I neutralize the half-wittedness of Townspeople. Probably even these new Titans dancing anew on the minefields now prevent me from climbing the wall of time outside Town’s parameters. I am a prisoner of my own freedom.”
The meaning of liberty for all three of them was inseparable from their own heredity. All three prided themselves on good genes and lineage, despite all of them having already hit the age of 60-something. Held knew his heredity well; he was his own man, a master of his own destiny, an author of his own liberty, and an architect of his own individualism and Township’s being. The former Town Saturns had once afflicted his body and that of many other Titans, but it did not kill his and their souls. By contrast, Saturn decadence he experienced in the Wild West vaporized all their values. This was the reason why Held fled and joined the destiny of his still contaminated and toxic Townspeople.
After a brief lull in Town, the ancient beliefs had begun to unravel their viral and schizoid character. The Wild West preaching to Townspeople rested on simultaneously creating and rejecting vibrant diversity in Town, especially with the arrival of new contingents of mischlings and their subsequent assignment to the imprisoned underworld. Back then Town’s politicians had nothing at their disposal to counter their critics except forever extending a welcoming culture to more and more incoming wogs. Held could see in the Wild West the same suicidal procedure, which far from revealing itself as the opposite of the muscled Bolshoi system constituted only its reenactment, albeit in a different guise. The mimicked Double always turned into the Same. His present sojourn in Town was like going back to his previous life by reenacting something that he thought he had abandoned a long time ago. But it did not work.
The horrid reenactment of all things he remembered from his previous lives only made him believe that all was in vain, including his talk with Fabrice, with the old man Benn, and with his Heroine — all futile verbal escapades. Even if his wishful thinking ever became true and his verity of his white civitas was ever to become a new conventional wisdom of Town, he knew that after a generation or two another social delirium would start, with forever reoccurring Saturns popping up on the hill. The more Held tried to distance himself from Town’s reenacted reality, the more he realized that behind Town’s apparent new agitation there always thrived a general self-deception. By contrast, behind their apparent savagery of the previous Bolshoi System in Town, he could always detect in hindsight that the atmosphere was pregnant with windows of political opportunities. The old Saturn System functioned in accordance with its own mendacious principles. By contrast, the new body of beliefs, imported to Town from the Wild West, always led to disaster, given that those beliefs assumed to be the last ones of the brave new Towns. Once the old Bolshoi system had been put into action it soon lapsed into its opposite. The new game in Town continued to play out by resorting to the opposite verbiage albeit by covering its static savagery with a more attractive palaver. Merchants and tycoons who had once invested in Town inevitably morphed into the Same Saturns. Held could envision the evolution of the ancient Saturn system which Townsfolks called Bolshoi, or Turks, or wogs. An in-depth evolution of the would be present Saturn-run System in Town, a system he once lived through in the Wild West, always proved to be the carbon copy of itself. Any change in Town now appeared to be out of the question. If anything other than Town’s multiracial system ever surfaces on the map it will most definitely occur in the armed underground. It will never surface in Town.
Chapter XII: Much Blood, No Soil
Much blood has already been spilled over Town’s sidewalks; the best genes had gone astray in the gutter, the braves had vanished and the lousy clones had remained in Town with no brains left. No need to fabricate them as they had already been there for a long portion of time. Poor demography had done more damage to Town than all the Saturnine computer rays coming from beyond the hill. How important was Town’s biological makeup in directing its social and political conduct? Hardly a month passed by without some further confirmation that Held had learned from his ex-comrade Konrad, reminding him about the preponderant role of heredity in Town’s process of staving off Chaos.
Held did understand the meaning of Chaos. It did not make sense to him at all. It was a conventional wisdom to envision the incoming Saturns as the future rulers of Town, although for Held their putative arrival fell short of the eternal return of the Same. Held always brooded over the meaning of words, especially over the semantic and legal manipulations of words such as “the rule of law,” “totality,” “total state,” “absolutism” — words and concepts that have acquired a radically different meaning in his besieged Town of yesterday and today.
“Education, my ass,” said Held as he walked up the nearby hill. “Furthermore, palavers on equality, on global democracy often smack of unrepentant fanaticism and gulags. Pretending that something does not exist does not mean that it will not appear in the future and frequently in the least expectable fashion. Despite all efforts to minimize the fact of mischlings in Town the race problem has not disappeared.”
The Townspeople had once upon a time made bold steps in removing racial exclusion only to realize soon after that their desegregation laws lead to new Chaos. Various attempts to legislate total equality a
nd remove racial resentments yielded only more savage results. Now, however, everybody realized that some global Town won’t appear on the horizon any time soon. After the desegregating changes in Town, it became clear that Town was to be marked by increased racial and ethnic consciousness whose ultimate results were to relegate the mischlings to the underground below, while facing off the Saturns above. The common alliance between the Saturns and mischlings became by now pretty obvious to all, as they both had the common goal of removing the Titans from Town. One thing consoled Held. Being a Titan himself he knew that he was immortal despite his serial deaths. Despite the increasing pressure from the Wild West to alter Town into a multikulti paradise the problem kept arising anew, over and over again, regarding the Town’s identity referent. It was not possible to expect the mischlings to identify with the lives of the Titans whose founding fathers were of different astral ancestry.
Held convoked the final assembly. The remnants came: Mad Max, Snake, Kevin, Joe and his true Self. They had new guns, Heckler und Koch g11 and obsolete rusty M114 155 howitzers. These were just about the only luxuries in Town which Held took care in providing. Veli Jože, Baba Roga, and Heroine also showed up. Veli Jože was a burly fellow who never spoke much, but echoed everybody’s words twice. He was an old guy of Held’s age, of modest IQ, who had surfaced from down below. He was a nervous person of dubious racial background and nobody knew where he came from. He could easily sling behind his shoulders his ageing Gatling gun. Parsifal also came with his mini bow and arrows. Pčelica Maya, a small Titaness also joined the crowds, holding in her little hands a giant crossbow. She was a distant bee of whom Heroine was in charge. She was a dainty figure who did everything Held asked of her. Heroine treated her with some distance and like all women was a bit jealous of her. Pčelica Maya, when Heroine was not around, would sing to Held some old Lili Marlene refrains. Held liked her much but loved her very little...
The problem with Town, now on fire, was that it had lost all past time sequences. Desperately Held wanted to put himself into some action, into some plot, into some perspective but everything appeared unusually static. He mused about the Static poems of the now deceased Benn, wondering whether his morgue poems were really for real. Held was a fast-forward man in a temporal parenthesis where every action and decision of his was constantly in need of a replacement by an always new non-decision. Every day of his was basically a photocopy of his previous day. Charred bodies in the minefields, carcasses nearby, toxic water gushing from the subterranean creeks — these were the scenes that kept repeating themselves endlessly so that Held forgot when and how it had all begun. And this time again he had to engage his fighting Titans with another long period of waiting and not awaiting the enemy beyond the hill who was nowhere, yet everywhere to be seen.
Thunders, thunders everywhere. Huge cataracts of large proportions hit Town and the skies above. Sorrow lost its meaning, survival lost its purpose. Town microhistory has now turned into the world macrohistory. The Third World Chaos has just begun. Storms of new people had already arrived in the moribund Town, no longer mischlings but people mostly of white characteristics. Finally, they were looking for a hideout. Held was wondering how his Titanic father Prometheus had managed to open up a new chapter of fire burning techniques. He was now again engaged in his authentic career, where he had the blazing opportunity to use his old skill of divination and eradicate as many incoming Saturns as he wished.
Weird scenes started occurring after Town’s aerial projections radar was put into action, causing precautionary boomerang type acrobatics among Town’s newcomers who began now ducking for cover, no longer running for fame. A large Townspeople marathon survival was in process. Obscure heavy-weight residents who had once tried to outrun Held and his Titans tried to excel now at their new civic duties. For big-mouth heavyweight Townspeople, desperately in search of Titans’s protection, the talent of survival became unusually enhanced. Getting a certificate of civility was now worth all tricks and piles of Bayer and Tylenol kicks. All started singing Honky-Tonk-Tom, while in the back of their minds already having ready the rhymes for the incoming Sultans of Swing and Ayatollahs of Rocken’ Rolla’ as ordained by their former distant Wild Western master blasters. Held, however, was now ready to exit the scene, and enter his sleeping career of sub-subsistence, albeit fighting now for his Town and doing his best to ensure that his progeny would remain on the world map. Heroine, too, stopped wondering about her decades spent levitating in her cabaret nothingness as she knew now that an eon later she would be again reunited with her precious Held. They exchanged their sequential good-byes, feeling at ease with the smell of their approaching death. In fact, both Held and Heroine had always despised those who had outlived their forties and who had relied on a fiction of anti-ageing herbs. Their timeless thoughts had already drifted elsewhere: Where to emigrate, where to immigrate next?
Held realized that the worst crime he could commit was losing Town to the Saturns. Town’s white newcomers, as a rule were opportunistic; give them some dope and some flesh and they will venerate Held. Tell them the truth and they will hate Held’s guts. There might have been an intrinsic common character trait about Heroine and her distant Cathar and Bogomil ancestors; her refusal of the will to live among humans. Both she and Held were victors of their deeply ingrained wisdom which transpired in an archaic ancient song: “nigdar ni bilo da nekak ni bilo” (...it has never been that it somehow hasn’t been...).
The astral circumstance, on the one hand and the Saturn onslaught on the other, has now begun to bring new joy for some and new despair for some, new death and old life for most. Held knew that Town would henceforth be studied as a laboratory of the extremes which kept merging and converging. For a Titanic man like Held, apt at complete self-detachment, Town was now a hovercraft beyond good and evil, well suited for spatial and spiritual navigations. From a political perspective, Town offered a role model to study the end of the world; from the anthropological point of view a case study for a hundred-year-long experiment with psycho-genetic misfits; from the medical point of view Town was a prime case to study political upstarts suffering from arrhythmic beef hearts. Town was a mixture of a Titanesque and grotesque ship on the edge of the Time fault.
Part II
Essays
Chapter I: How to Read?
It is far easier to reflect on the art of dating than on the art of reading. For a student in humanities the main concern must not be which author he needs to read and which one he needs to discard, but rather how to read and how to interpret the text. Before he flips open a book he must ask himself a question: Who will interpret this text? Over the last several decades the focus in the humanities has not been so much the substance of the author’s work, but rather the biased interpretation of his work. The egalitarian-multicultural “paradigm” in higher education still determines how an author is studied — and hence how he is being interpreted. Here is an example: Johann W. Goethe, the German classic writer of the late 18th and early 19th centuries had a glowing reception in literary circles in National Socialist Germany, a glowing reception in the postwar Allied-occupied West Germany, and a glowing one during the same period of time in the Soviet-occupied East Germany. Each political regime interpreted Goethe’s texts in accordance with the dominant political ideas of the time. The same rule of (re)interpretation applies to all authors, regardless whether they are novelists, social scientists or legal scholars.
For many White activists, or would-be college students in the humanities, it is still hard to comprehend that since the fateful 1945 the academic program in the West has been subject to a drastic methodological overhaul, which in turn resulted in a gigantic brainwashing of students. The steady removal of hundreds of politically incorrect titles from library shelves on the one hand and a radically new interpretation of the classics on the other, only added insult to injury. The notion of just vs. unjust, of beauty vs. ugliness, of crook vs. hero, of truth vs. lie, has been reversed, or rather
, the meaning of those words changed in accordance with the dominant leftist-liberal aka “multicultural” teaching philosophy. Very early on, largely as a result of the Frankfurt School Program in Applied Brainwashing, the System managed to conflate the notion of academic integrity with the notion of “humanism.” Any attempt by critically minded professors to examine authors lying beyond the pale of the standard curriculum, was immediately branded as a criminal, fascist enterprise, worthy of penal sanctions, loss of tenure, and academic ostracism.
Today, the choice of appropriate literature by a humanities student, or for that matter by any White activist wishing to learn more about his cultural and racial heritage, is further aggravated by his often clumsy choice of methods. Yes, Titans are in town — we know that — and there are only a few honest teachers left to teach the right ropes. Without teachers to guide them, many White nationalists are inclined to start gobbling up heavy literature on race, or they may immerse themselves in academic texts on Judaism, while neglecting the simple prose of their homegrown classics. For a young White student or an activist, the unguided plowing through difficult texts on race, without prior knowledge of some of the classics, will not produce sound results. Also, there may be a strong temptation to focus on racial differences, or even show anger at lower-IQ racial groups, or make tallies of WWII body counts. Sooner, rather than later, such an approach will get a White student into trouble.
Titans are in Town Page 9