Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Chapter 3-14

This circling planet-ball is no naval-contemplating Nirvana, but rather a cast whirling star-lit Valhalla, where victorious battlers quaff the foaming heart’s-blood of their smashed-up adversaries, from the scooped out skull goblets of the slain in never-ending war.
And behold it is good! It is very good! It is very good!

“Blending in bloody strife,
Throat to throat, life for life;
Struggles the human still.”

And in that invigorating struggle strength is renewable. Fitness to reign, propagate and possess, can there alone be tested with mathematical precision (in nature’s majestic Judgement Hall), that is to say on the plains of Conquest where foeman looks into foeman’s eye and death lurks, like a ravenous leopard, in every bush.

They who claim Mastership upon any other basis than Conquest are Upstarts, Usurpers, and ought therefore to be deposed without mercy in accordance with the cosmic decree of ethnic displacement. Death I say! Death!

Life is a duel and only the Fittest can possibly hope to succeed. If you would Survive O reader (in the highest meaning of that word) go to, and put some splendor in your deeds. Beware of false prophecies that equalize you with slavelings and dastards! Beware of fattened priestlings and tax-collecting statesmen!

Beware the tongue that is smoothly hung, and never forget for one moment, that your greatest enemies upon earth, are those crafty courtiers who eloquently, cunningly, flatter you, that they may first win your heart, and then skin you alive. The modern Mephistopheles is the soft-toned preacher in his pulpit, the editorial sophist in his net-work of lies, the political crocodile on his ‘planks’ and his ‘platforms.’

A trinity of hell-hounds are they! Oh! Would that they had but one neck and I was, Judge Lynch!

America! America! In spite of all surreptitious bonds that in thy sleep have been laid upon thee yet pregnant thy womb is with men of Nerve, men of Valor, men of Might. Lo! The hour approacheth when in dire travail thou shalt give birth unto Thunderbolts, and Joves to handle them.

Behold that time cometh! Nay, it is at hand! But it will not be a period of pure delight. No! No! It will be a day of wrath, a dreadful day, a day of Judgement, Tribulation, and Triumph.

And Democracy! Democracy! Thou leprous thing! Thou loathsome disease! Thou plastic demon! Thou murderer of man! Many nations have bowed down to thy infection, and perish from off the earth, but America! America! Shall wipe thee out, thou blightsome malady, thou human rinderpest!

Verily! Verily! A new nobility shall be born unto thee O America! A breed of Terrible Commanders! Of Grim Destroyers! A nobility unpurchasable with the minted coins of money-changers, a nobility of Valor, of Power and of Might, a nobility honorable, clear-sighted, clean-skinned, UNCONQUERABLE.

Through the Future shines the sun of splendid struggle. Heroic Natures there lead on, as they led at Ilion. The Natural Man steps forth once more in all his daring grandeur, smashing unclean Idols, defying Gods and Laws and slave-made Morals.


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