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Thread: AGAINST ALL FORGETTING

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    Default AGAINST ALL FORGETTING

    AGAINST ALL FORGETTING

    .

    Why do you cry out thus, unless at some vision of horror?

    ...This land reeks of death and dripping gore!

    How so? 'Tis but the odor of sacrifice on the altar of progress!

    ...The stench is like that breath from a tomb, still exuding the watery gas of maggots on fleshly decay...

    ...Home cursed of God! Bear witness unto me,
    ...Woes seen and yet unseen within -
    ...The blood-stained hands of them that smite their kin -
    ...The strangling rope, and, spattered o'er
    ...With human blood, the reeking floor!

    ...For I am persuaded by testimony from those who,
    ...Lamenting, were sacrificed in the womb,
    ...Their flesh roasted and devoured by physicians, their fathers and mothers,
    ...that Henceforth, You are all meat"

    The Race's hundred thousand generations of Mother Honor and Father Glory sharpen their swords for your mouth.
    Heavenly Virtues and Powers combine against you.
    Earth and Heaven together cast you downward to just torture, rasped asunder by everlasting tongues of fire.
    Your animal plans will be brought to dust by the Creator's new offering to you and yours of the most refined and hidden cups of poison.

    Fear ye the righteous vengeance of the children of the righteous martyrs slain by your command; they, too, are victims crying out for the stench of your blood to be released once more.
    Everlasting rot awaits you and your abettors en abattoir.
    By all-saints, and by the authority residing in our holy ministry,
    we steadfastly proceed to combat the onslaught of the wily enemy.

    Lord, kindle Spirit-spark, to encompass the Enemy in flames.
    Tear, O Lord, at the devil's power, rip asunder his snares and traps,
    break the dark prison walls wide open and lead the souls forth to light,
    putting the unholy tempter to flight unto his black and brown holes.

    Keep watch over the inmost recesses of the heart;
    help rule over the emotions; strengthen the will that we no longer fear any evil.
    The Lord is with us who lives and reigns in the unity of Holy Race Spirit,
    the Eternity of Space and Time, and Godforever.

    Give us the courage of Awe in Nature's face...to kill them all -
    That we may, through Might's exercise, rediscover a new world's majesty,
    forever delivered of every influence by the accursed Jew,
    from their every evil stare and deception...
    and be warmed in Soul knowing we didst finally find Right in Might.
    All, all unto a white home in a white home-land!

    There are filthy brown clouds dimming the White-hot Sun God in the skies,
    brave Helios and his steeds must fear an end.
    Your beloved grandancestors, ancient, dreaming of the Forest and the Glade,
    are shocked no doubt to see you Otherside -
    now it is for you, my Dead Race, to grant the favor of stories tragic in their telling...

    "Deep within a frozen wasteland of shit
    filling the spirit of hoomanity,
    brownblack, redyelloworange and "chosen" murderers
    smashed and shat upon the souls of every white friend, peer, and fellow
    simply because they feared --
    our spirit, our being, and our love
    in Race eternal.

    We were, we are...and...will be (again?)
    The Universe's brilliant beams.
    Now we have precious little time and twilight is falling on our souls
    as Despair makes his calling.
    In darkness it creeps in on mist-y shades of niggerous night,
    casting horrid shadows over love's shining.

    We kept on walking into Non-existence.
    So many seem'd happy habitants of that ultimate loneliness,
    dying quietly in well-moneyed latter-day dreams.

    We stand on the brink of an abyss, a desert, the edge of never-ending pain.
    We don't even know enough to say our last farewells,
    Though we are sentenced to be shot,
    or buried alive to die.

    At the beginning of a "new" millenium,
    On the way from hell to hell,
    Some still carry the Love of centuries,
    Inside our hearts,
    Where the sunset still burns.
    Yet, can we remain white covered with our own ardent blood?
    How many times today will a white child be born,
    not knowing the life they'll face?

    Some will wonder o'er it, take long walks through the empty sands
    thinking they are held in God's protecting hands.
    Some will cry about it,
    awake at night bleakly watching the walls
    and die a bit remembering how you left us one beautiful Fall.
    Race, was your brightness
    too much for this world?
    Or goodness, too?

    That the powers of darkness in the creatures of the night did swell up red and black, bloated like weeks-old death,
    and with brutality unimaginable,
    seek to snuff out
    your brilliant light,
    And all for "equality".
    On the last day of sun in winter's depth,
    Suddenly I'd remember the Race
    and be moved to tears to raise Him from the dead,
    or die with Him.

    "No!", Grandfather shakes me awake!
    "Have only hate,
    for the monsters
    who do exactly what they must,
    in their eternal nature of suffocation!"
    But, what of the silent,
    who voice not at all,
    'cause the fear has them?
    "You must make them learn to scream again!"
    A defender's shout.
    Feed the Hate, whilst
    others breed the Lies.

    Oh, yes, Christ would weep,
    but that will NOT stop THEM from shitting you to Hell!
    You can ONLY spin the planet backwards, a mad thing!
    by blinding white passengers with Healthy Hatred.
    Look, there is still a royal blue sky!
    And warmth remaining in the year's life.
    Today above the last flower fields,
    a thousand voices sing raceworth;
    And you need NEVER travel alone again that road at night!
    Ask no mercy, grant none at all.

    At night hunt in small wild packs, befriended by the noble silvery frost moon.
    The yellowing year,
    the bitter constraint,
    skin-parching wind,
    even the remorseless coming of winter
    brings occasion
    in the woods and caves,
    for the hungry to look up, and
    scent out blood.
    Yes! We should have known it sooner.
    We should have cried, "Don't wait!"
    To all loved!

    NOW, do not stand at my grave and weep
    I am not there, I do not sleep
    I am the silent, soft winds that blow
    I am the gliss on new fallen snow
    I am the Eagle in a high Freedom Flight
    I am the star that lights up your wolf eyes.
    I want you to hate and be pure in its close embrace.
    It will warm you
    That, and fresh blood in the night.
    I will then laugh,
    dance with joy.
    my soul,
    re-filled, sated,
    caressed.
    Heal thyself and
    heal me.

    And for all
    who love
    cherish
    honor
    esteem
    men who
    love their own
    God's grace will be expressed
    in their every action.
    Yes, we've lost
    sons, daughters,
    brothers and sisters,
    fathers, even mothers!

    In racelove,
    We mourn,
    grieve,
    and come
    together
    in rage.
    lawlessness
    wild, intoxicated with blood in the snout!
    Interdependent on the others,
    no longer neurotically, necrotically isolated!
    Self-expressive with cruelty,
    and rugged of spirit with violence in intent!
    What subtle
    Morbidities will then be bulletblastblown
    Across the fields,
    everlasting in their own demondust.

    What stinking "divinities" will we
    plant with the new soil, to remain
    in winter a perennial whorefrost?
    What livid indignities
    were suffered upon
    our Racial body, echoing,
    like the cries of
    a slain eagle
    faded across
    the canyons in
    gasping whispers?

    But the slayerjew's
    rancid secrets,
    fetid truths can yet be expelled
    from consciousness,
    today imprinted underleaf
    on the drunken "culture", resting on its "laurels"
    on a bed of incestuous lies,
    a pile of shit,
    season by season,
    it "progresses" unto Death and self-sodomy.

    If necessary we must kill the seasons,
    and plant at all times, even through caustic ground,
    unyielding, thick or acrid,
    if only to bury the Things!
    Be generously hateful
    to the putrid.

    Savage sons
    you may yet win
    the day on a splitskull,
    and slaughter their
    foul winds back into oblivious vermin
    Whose feasts would otherwise be
    your mother's blood
    and your father's bone.
    Slay.

    We am not alone though
    many have turned and gone away,
    The golden trees have lifted up
    your sweet racesoul to the sun,
    And every power we possess
    needs simply be the re-discover'd land!
    To undo what's been done with Winter's grip
    which deeply holds
    the hearts of many men.
    The death dealt by the dead is powerless itself amidst
    the rise of Race's Spring again!
    And each time flowers bloom with
    white-all-color living brilliance on display,
    We will never be alone!
    Did the trees writhe for you, White Race,
    were not the stars ashamed?
    Sometimes it seems like the darkness will never turn.
    the struggle never be won.
    That's when you call upon your demons, and go mad with hatred.

    Sons and daughters
    In your time
    do not wait
    to be liberated
    on this land
    It is yours to reap
    and benefit
    And to bury
    your lowing "brethren".
    Then, only then,
    golden youth, may you
    rest beside the stillwater,
    knowing we will be
    Everlasting
    again.

    For years the battle
    will roaring render on,
    for us the darkness
    still encroaches.
    Pray that your light,
    God's light,
    might shine fierce over and
    until all the pitch and filth
    is finally banished
    and racelight eternal
    embraces us.
    Then with rejoicing
    we will be joined with you,
    Grandparents and all,
    and see once again
    the brightness of your smiles.

    I hear the mighty chorus of dear ones gone before:
    Light a match and burn the face off a devil, yid cherti!
    Mark the boundaries of the world with rivers of their blood
    And unite the race as one.
    Open the haters' eyes with steel
    And remember for our death they...lusted.
    Who has learned to truly love their race,
    knows both the shadows and the sunlight,
    And a song lost in the wind.
    yet keeps summer in their heart...

    Who grasps the gift of honor fought
    In some deserted, barren spot?
    Step forward, hero...survivor.
    carver of death
    bloodlord of war
    agent of God's destruction
    hear my shriek
    focus my rage
    purify my hatred
    narrow my passion
    point my spear
    'gainst all the brood
    of those who murder senselessly
    the only Race worth its weight in wisdom;
    those who destroy claiming "to create"!
    who tear the singers from the dance
    and the dancers from the play
    who wouldst spatter upon the ancient cycles
    ...yet who "create" only cancer.

    I call down the purified rage of my people
    and the backlash of torture
    to burn their eyes away
    from the psyche of real humankind.

    May my earth-black and fire-red emotions
    of rage and death
    blast away the stagnant undergrowth
    in which choking weeds take tangled root,
    and crack open the dormant seedlings
    of real Truth and Justice.
    We will make their skulls into communion chalices
    and use their bones for candlesticks,
    with executioners' eyes and garrote hands,
    and a smile knowing He is finally avenged.

    The rats scurry;
    watching with unlidded terrified eye,
    they know now what you are capable of, white monster!
    Today beautiful little creatures will come
    to sniff the decaying spongy mess of your societal rot.
    And I laugh at seeing them eat of you.

    HATE be the Sun that warms
    our souls, bring back the light
    to darkened rooms of indifference,
    pull back the shades and fling open the windows,
    freshen the air--let the light prevail--
    be the heat that ignites our hearts white hot.
    Stoke the flame
    of outrage.

    Consume that part of us lost, and
    Weld it anew.
    All of you, white men and women!
    The Race is forever your child, your son, your own!
    Let every fear be waning, lift up your eyes forlorn,
    the Hammer's strike is calling,
    as it sings the sky back to Godly blue.
    Eternal Hate reigning, and eternal life re-born!

    So listen to the sad songs and cry for ten seconds more.
    Then prepare to celebrate possible new revolutions
    emerging from the ashes of lost dreams
    burn with love and fury crushed terribly in one,
    breath sucked back into throat to cry that last cry,
    ...and kill.

    Think of them burning, and then...
    Bury them all where
    Vast and cold,
    Fields once flowerful, calmly lie,
    under our control again,
    ...seasonably White with snow.

    ...The Angel of the Camps took my hand, in a dream most faire.
    We passed 'neath the sign in which they had conquer'd.
    Sayeth it in my language: "Work makes for Freedom".

    He said: "Let us pass over to further glories."
    I, who looked again, beheld a banner,
    Which, seeming to whirl round, ran on so rapidly,
    That at any pause it seemed to me indignant;

    And below it there came so long a train
    Of creatures, that I ne'er would have believed
    Even Death so many had undone.
    When some among them I recognised from celebrity,

    I looked, and beheld shades of cowardice, and great recusal of God.
    Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain,
    That this sect was of the caitiff wretches,
    Without a clan at all, of bastard blood, adopted by outcast vampires,
    Pariah dogs hungry on offal,
    Hateful to God and to Him, enemies;
    Now welcom'd amongst the Damn'd.
    These foul miscreants, who ne'er were alive,

    Naked of soul, and stung exceedingly
    By any aphorisms, bee-stings then, of truth;

    These did their faces irrigate with blood,
    Which, with their tears commingled, at their feet
    By disgusting worms was gathered up...
    And I went on as if in a fragrant passion, coming to a ruin.

    Care-full I went; and the Angel Mengele2 said: "Thou art thinking."

    Perch'd upon this wall of brick, which is guarded
    By a brute anger which just now I quenched -

    "I will know how it was all done so well!"
    The Angel answered: "Here they descended to the nether Hell,
    Through a deep and loathing valley of grief,
    Down this hole,
    Ashes into a River of Blood,
    Within which their boiling is."

    Envision'd I from the flames this way and that,
    And the hot walls didst their empty souls run.

    When I turned mine eyes upon the faces
    Of some, on whom the dolorous fire was falling,
    With burned-out eyes from which gritty drivel drip't,
    Trickled their tear-drops...down three bloody chins;
    I perceived that, from the neck of each there hung a cloth,
    Which certain colour had, and certain blazon;

    As their teeth chattered in the hollow heat,
    the cloths I gazed round me...were yellow.
    Like the Gold of the Sun, it must be!
    Trembled so, that I thought the Universe

    Was thrilled with love,
    my Heart to burst with Soul-Joy!

    Imagined (?) I hands dissevered from their evil deeds,
    The stumps uplifting through bloodsmoky aire,
    That with horrible face doth protest too much I think
    Their in-ability to e'er do harm again!

    And yet, that concrete floor, once slickened well,
    O'er time more and more shallower grew their bloodflow,
    then staunched entirely and sadly so.

    Across the moat of their blood my dream passage was.
    He said: "Even as thou here upon this side beholdest
    The boiling stream, it the ages and passage of time doth diminish...
    Your own childrens' children will forget the glory of what was done here, and all for them."

    We went on quiet then, to the weeds of the spoilt earth.
    So many voices issued through these
    From creatures who seemed concealed;

    Then the Master said: "If thou breakest off
    Some little bit from any of these sprays,
    You will kill one of their thoughts."

    Stretched I forth my hand a little down,
    And plucked a great thorn;
    And the bush cried, "Why dost thou mangle me?"
    After it had become embrowned with blood,
    It recommenced its cry: "Why dost thou rend me?
    Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever?
    Does a dead Jew not feel pain?
    Men once we were, and now are changed to dregs;
    Thy hand should be more pitiful,
    Even if the sons of serpents we had been."

    "Blow out with blood thy dolorous speech!",
    I laughed, and thought of burning them again.
    Then, in dream distance, 'neath that Berghof,
    Rock of Ages, a ruin no more,
    I saw a lake of blood
    Recreated, along with Man.

    Noblest Vision! - for which I wouldst
    Fill their dead mouths with grass,
    Collect all blood springing
    Forth from the Earth,
    Encase it, congeal'd,
    With other pigmeat and eat it thus,
    ...And drink their eyes Home again.

    First, as a ganging youth)

    He broke his fists on his face and on his mirror in frustration at the painfulness of his smallness, youngness, powerlessness, and passion wildness, not yet ready for expansiveness, wholeness, godliness, holiness, glorified greatness, or powertruth, but neither yet broken hopeless, brittle with meanness, cold and old, under aloneness and deadliness of dread. He joined with others...

    Brake not your oath, sworne on father's hammer, or become filled with pigmess and rot, ewig wanderer of the waterless places. This is a hard and bitter time, anxious time, we are one, we are many, we are many being one, one being many, but yet unlearned.

    So let us go to their tombs together; we shall open, reach our hands into graves, having broken the seals, opened the scrolls, and pissed on them all, smear wet feces over dried faces, stuff shit in dead mouths, eyes, ears, noses, and fight with their dust.

    Second, growing in pain)

    In the dusk of dawn, I rest to think of how many agonies we can yet bring to their House, making some of them rage to die. What will come to me, at such a dawn, when my roots seek health, my branches green leaflife? That there is no safe place left on the face of this earth, beasts having o'ertaken, their un-natural wilderness invading mind and body, home and soul. This is the way they sacrifice their goats today, with houses and towers collapsed, bridges washed out, cities consumed in fires, cockroaches and rats forming armies; Most have forgotten how to speak, for a final hour has passed, and they remain grunting feral...

    See the half-real lives of the devils: how they wail, bite, venomous, with frothy lips...O bitter little JWorm, you imagine there is a whole universe in each of your rings of flesh, a universe in the manner you burrow to Earth to make unhealthy soil, and one great universe in each of your defecating actions, but we imagine many ways to end this blackblood and speechgas.

    I have wild eyes, seen on the edges of my teeth. I have smoke and eels in my heart and sharks in my fingers and toes, all great and curling. Of this tiny vision, buried beneath daily habit, encased in cultural cement, bound with chains, and thrown overboard...this the world now, but one day its power of insight may yet help we escape, arise from the depths, and coat the face of the earth in white lightning and black thunder.

    Third, in the struggle)

    Strangers, drifters, hiding in plain sight, dig deep into ugly things that stare up at you and squirm, now seeing that you are both tooth and claw...The power of the horns, great seeing creatures in the mind, stab hard at eyes that could not see, rip and tear Sarah and Torah that cannot speak, twist the flesh to dough and churn their blood to butter and the milk of "mercy" for lives no longer worth living.

    Break those hand bones, break those wing bones, break those arm bones, ribs, the tiny ear bones, the giant leg bones, you shall fly no more, I have cut your strings, broke your wings and singed your feathers with fire, have gutted you and baked your meat, I have cut off your head, I shall eat of it and become one with you, little self-made god. I have broken your hold forever.

    I am angel flesh, angel wing and bone and feather and gut and meat, I am angel eye, seeing all, I, angel voice, speaking truth with sonority...

    He had turned, he opened, he closed, he opened his heart to the wide mysteries, he opened his mind to the subtle and gentle mysteries, he closed his mouth, he was being opened, he was being closed, he stabbed, he sacrificed - see his chopped meat...

    He sunned himself in the heavens awhile, walked gardens beneath riverflow, and flowed with the rivers:

    "We shall be thunder-sons, seeing the unclean world in a new way, pelting the earth from the skies with viles of disease for their guts to jew and churn over.

    Plagues from angels.

    We've been here before, in these skies before; we've sent down lightning bolts before, this all happened a long, long time ago"...

    This is my testimony, where are your demons now? O glad moon, what are the depths of the void but that valley of Morlocks and Gehenna from which none can escape, where there is no light but the constant fires, that place we journey through in our sleep, where reason cannot prevail, but only heart.

    Let earth swell fat over their gaseous decay, with the weight of all truly living things pressing down. Their meat pours and blood gushes from the mouth, an endless spring, endless fountain of racelife. Drink the blood of majesty! The cup overfloweth. Water us with it.

    Finally)

    We are at the tombs, among the dust, as flower petals open with the blood of the dawn, Earth patiently awaits its healthy rain, this the glory of the morn, sunset so much more than the blink of an eye away.

    This is a sweet time, calm time, we are one, we are many, we are many being one, one being many, having learned this is great white atrocity, and mastery over atrocity, for the persecution of our future is worse than slaughter...

    We are made of urges through and through, wildness and lust, crudity and cruelty, passion, we are dreams of glory, having seen these clouds below us before; we are the waters passed from father to son through the mother, and we are the murdering angels...

    This place is a secret wilderness, I shall open it up to and for you, come with me to this place of our ancestors, remain in the shadows awhile and drink of the stilled waters of pools in caves that haven't had current or wave for centuries, yet are refreshed and new from deep springs, so deep in history.

    We may see many terrors there, but shall in the end know such loveliness.

    O, let us go...


    …Reflections of things to come, mirrored in the dead

    Stalking the night, pain shivering down my spine,
    a greybeard dappled in gore.
    I and my Flesh Hungry Dogs,
    Jackhammer, ClosedCircuit and RedFoam
    cursor and imperil
    the Villages of Integral Peace.

    I've seen it unfold before, terrible scenes of agony.
    Split eyes in the darkness
    echoing their madness.
    Headgush cuts starten with hook and saw,
    finished by both hands in the cuts,
    knuckle to knuckle, drawing out
    each thought process entirely.

    Sculpt flesh openings,
    then grout these massy windows
    shut against any objection,
    mounded somewhat in defenestration.

    Grind the rest to slop meat,
    (forget not the quiver liver!)
    and serve approved K-rations
    by tasty bits and great chunks
    to my furry friends.

    Tears of blood widespread o'er clothes,
    crying down untold unmark'd for no'ne to find,
    their saints and my demons
    thus fall from their sky to my dirt.

    Redangst begins to fade
    in a pool of sweat'd blood,
    a sign my life's coming to.
    I'm alive alone but they've gone dead
    piss'dupon unburied and,
    as yet, unburnt...

    Now I listen only to what is not spoken.
    I am feeding memories to
    pass on to the dead and the unborn,
    both of drunken reality
    and sober haunting fantasm.

    These seem to hold me together at the seams
    and tear others apart at the thickest sets,
    leaving me in stitches...

    Condemned to a soul of obscurity
    as the only way to persist,
    I suffer to survive,
    They to not.

    Life lived in the raw,
    temptations of the flesh,
    with death paid the same,
    but no cash, please!

    Barter only.

    …The White Rose and the Red

    HE an Ivory lad, with eyes sea-green and sea-blue,
    Fair in all limbs and adornment.

    With the end of day he heard a piper.
    Stood at his crag, let the wind
    Blow through his crisp curls unconsciously,
    Holding, peered 'cross the darkening
    and espied the beechwood temple
    Known with its statue of the goddess of milky foam,
    Brimming over in herself it seemed

    Before her altar set honey-combs dripp'ed with oozy gold
    And that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed
    Forever in the cella.

    He passed from rock to the roof above her silent place
    And heard rose-petals falling from the latest wreath
    As the breezes wandered through her shrine,
    He saw through the open roof under his blue-white moon
    the cool marble floor...

    When from his nook downleapt the venturous lad,
    And flinging wide the carven cedar door
    Saw the blinking owl between her feet that didst hoot in shrill amaze.

    Ready for death with parted lips he stood,
    And well content at such a price to see
    That calm wide brow, that mountain maidenhood,
    The marvel of Woman that could be,

    Ready for death he stood, but lo! the verry aire
    Grew calm, and from his limbs he threw the cloak away,
    And nigher came,

    and touched her throat,

    and with hands violate

    Undid the white gown trimmed in all gold,
    And bared the breasts of polished ivory,
    Till from the waist the whole falling down
    Left visible the secret mystery
    Which to no lover would this goddess show,
    The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.

    He caressed and entangled himself in the utter smoothness of white.
    And then his lips in hungering delight
    Fed upon her lips, and round the towered neck
    He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion's will to check.

    Never did loving Man hold such tryst,
    Long in night he murmured honeyed word,
    And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed
    Her pale and argent body undisturbed,
    And played upon the polished throat, and pressed
    His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.

    Her wide stair of orbèd marble then began to snow,
    ...And t'was as if arrows had
    Pierced his wild and whirling brain,
    And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins

    In exquisite pulsation and pain of
    Such sweet anguish, he never drew
    His lips away till his own tears fell over her.

    Then did that worshipped body seem to stir,
    As his had risen and fallen to rise again.
    How long his next kiss was, how fond and lingering.

    Then he thought he saw a wonder, across the pure white
    thin silken threads of azure spread.

    Against her drift of snow,
    The moon, girdled with a crystal rim,
    Worked a magic
    And soon the breath of its night came and fanned
    Her cool cheeks, and lifted ever so gently
    The curls from off her forehead, while
    He gazed with strange and secret smile.

    He laughed small, thinking on love's secret mysteries
    And when she saw a white and gleaming arm begin to move
    All his manhood, with longing eyes
    Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity
    Began to sing praises
    To her to make the sweetest serenade,
    Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen
    The come-to-life breasts and naked wonder of the Queen!

    He saw at close
    A seamless veil of blue threads
    Through her white porcelain.

    She suave breathed in, in-spired as never before
    And he, the profaner of great mysteries,
    Ardent amorous idolater,
    When he beheld grand relentless eyes
    Open prayed.

    The pale moon washes all, that bold ravisher
    and the New Woman.
    For very beautiful were both,
    with mouths made and re-made to kiss

    Of all the brightest star
    To be hidden deep within the goddess
    Through her stonewhite ripe red spread like new wine,
    Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood,
    and every deepest blue vein gave watch.

    He a gale, she felt but the gentle summer breeze, warming...

    But the wild winds of passion then shook her stem's maidenhood.
    She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair,
    Turned away, looked back, and fled no more from life's snare.

    To kiss those pallid limbs which with rising fire glowed,
    Even wet seas could not now quench that holocaust,
    That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,

    No-thing that night more would wither those lilies white and red
    Which each answered one another now in sweet antiphony

    By music of the heart,
    Together they, rose-red youth and rose-white innocence
    Passioned tangled web
    Danced without arising.

    Demanding lovers weave and are woven, twin and are entwined
    This Man-god's arms crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny,
    They moved to no subtle charms
    Limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss.

    Laughed loud for joy, and crying out "I come"
    Leapt into her churning foam
    With his galley's painted prow.

    Force a fortress, and steal back only to force the way in again,
    nor thought it sin, for the eyes of both were alive now with hunger

    To yield her treasure unto one so fair,
    And lay beside him, thirsty and ravenous
    Say no-thing
    But with hot lips make havoc of his red mouth

    She almost seemed to laugh then, and then
    Returned to her own fresh assault,
    Nor admitted what sacrilege his lips' deed had be-gun,

    He felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hotly fueled,
    Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,
    And all her hoarded sweets were his to have,
    And all in her was his to slay,

    And unseeing yet feeling the crimson sun and whitened moon,
    "somewhere here about"; See,
    They make our own orbs of great power!
    Out of snow drops and human blood.

    His hands buried into her throne of pearl
    And a blue wave of mist overcame.

    With flakes of crimson light, the great deep
    of her chamber began to unfold,
    From ivory and pearl her rose blossomed forth, its red petals parting
    To spread their glory and their bounty - wide to taste.

    Tremulous opal-hued to wave red ripe fringes
    That reflected upon the marbled floor, and argosies
    Of moist love threaded their own way through
    The drifting cordage of the blonde hairy wreck,
    Where beads of life fell out upon the holy floor

    It was for thee I kept my love,
    I knew that thou would'st bring
    Fairest flowers for the endless foam

    To the beating, back to the boisterous billow
    That huge vault behind watery portico,
    To watch the purple monster of the deep
    Arise from his lair and leap to play,

    A hot hard flame erupts from its lilywhite sheath,
    A pillar rising from the Plain,
    It whirls up and thrusts down the road of the earth
    Red Sword to spear-plant swollen life
    ...in that wild throb when all things seem narrowed to one.

    Slake my parchèd Being with the nectarous feast
    Which even Gods affect! O come Love come.

    This "murderous" paramour, this unbidden guest,
    Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering,
    and ploughed a bloody furrow with its dart,
    and dug a long red road, and cleft with wingèd little death
    her heart.

    And the bright drops of crimson youth
    crept down her quaking alabaster side.

    Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan,
    And very pitiful to see her "die"
    As she yielded up all her sweets, that dread mystery
    Which not to know is not to live at all,

    To catch the last notes of her cries,
    he mowed with careless scythe 'round her flower bed,
    And eve cut petals of the rose,
    And with the flower's loosened loveliness
    Laughed in wantonness, and pushed on.

    Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl
    Threaded with blue and red tapestry
    Had not yet ceased to shake, and her breasts
    Swayed like wind-stirred lilies in fearful unrest.

    Comes he Now with swift white-feathered snow,
    And blinding red-edged jags of lightning
    One great grand throb of life lives,
    Crowded into brief everlasting Time
    And deeply rolls the world over.

    Then spilled both the milky van,
    And it seemed the bright car of them soared into the dawning sky,
    Like a cloud the aerial caravan
    Passed over the seas silently.

    ...From the depths of snow comes fire.
    Their white flesh and red blood burned the snow
    And slowly, softly, now quenched the flame
    Taking it into their own good god glow

    But when white dove had reached her fluttering soul
    Having shook the trembling petals of all her lips
    And passed into the void, this Venus knew
    And would bid her servants carve a cedar chest
    With all the wonder of His Story,

    From he whose life had been a fiery pulse of sin,
    a splendid shame, a holy miracle was wrought.
    One scorching harvest from fields of flame
    Where passion walks with naked unshod feet
    And is not wounded.

    Praise the pale god who loosed her zone.
    Drink deeply of one another, children
    Draw an end to Drought.

    Young white innocence and red youth made one
    As are two, White Man and White Woman,
    touching and seeing,
    With Braveheart one.

    In End, they lie seeking forever that sweet delight without sin,
    Tired no more in soul, nor wearied of no guilt
    her warm soft body parted in the Garden,
    a brier rose much wetted by the mist,
    which would be white entire with those gossamer threads of blue,
    yet blushes so at her own pride and joy.

    See the Sacred City,
    The Holy Family White.

    …Strengthen our way
    Reconcile within the community
    Keep to the race-law, moderation and the good path
    Uphold and transmit our lore and culture
    Respect the ancient pact our ancestors made with mother Earth...

    As long as fire burns
    wind blows
    water flows to the sea
    the sun shines
    and the earth yields,

    So long as mothers nurture their child
    and men tend their fields
    fire flames
    ships sail
    and the sun melts the snow,

    So long as people live on their land,
    and the Heavens turn
    trees grow
    the fish swims
    the stag runs
    and the falcon flies in the long day of spring,
    as the winds bear up her wings.

    …Look I about this city, HIS city, and see I madmens' rage, an idlenesse of Drunkards,
    Womens' sighing, jesters fooling, all,
    "all is good" - which can be control'd, array'd as of a new-found army, and dispos'd of in volleys...
    May I think, and not be rack'd? What danger is it to dreame?
    Talke in one's sleepe? or cough? Who knoweth this day's Law?
    May I shake my head, without it noted by an authority;
    When and where ignorance is scarcely Innocence,
    and Knowledge made a Capital Offence?
    Nothing hath privilege 'gainst this forme of violence.
    No Place, no Day, no Hour is free...
    Still, I ask, dost thou suffer Lord? Wilt NO flame,
    no heat of sin make thy wrath to boil
    in distemp'r, and o'er-flow the pitchy blazes of impiety?
    ...Or does ordure prevail?

    Are we to then regard the Gods as Flies?
    Any one who thinks doth see a vicious farce.
    Any who feel hear only screams
    taste only soul-tearing tragedy.

    Pray the Genius of the Race
    should not be thus extinct, but That bright Flame
    be revived againe, afore we all sit like spent and patient fools
    puffing in the dark, at one poor coal.

    Yea, for in knowing what to make of death, we maketh life.
    To us, Temples and Statues, reared in Hearts and Minds,
    to honor Honor itself in all its costumed appearances,
    are the fairest in all imagining.
    For those of stone, or brass, if they become
    odious in judgement of the next history
    (or worst, forgotten, slighted as empty sepulchers),
    condemned as the work of demons and pulled down,
    or simply rust and wear away;
    All are unfit to Serve as Ever-Living monuments.

    We make here our suit, alike to Gods and men,
    That we've tried to be inspired with free, and quiet mind,
    discerning both divine, and humane laws;
    We ask only, after death,
    an honourable mention, and faire praise,
    to accompany our actions, and our name:
    This seems Greatnesse.

    [I would again nail your pride, at breadth, and length,
    and crack those sinewes, which are yet but stretch'd
    with your swollen Race's self-opinion.
    On the torture stake encross'd, married to pain and marr'd to plan.
    You may think fraud worse than violence, but I...am both.]

    These our Souls,
    This sparkling Forge, created we an Armor
    To encounter Chance, and thee.
    In place of laws, Soul rather follow'd; which
    would burn itself if couldst be wrapped with ye...
    In cases desperate, all Crime is Hope.

    And when to prosecute is but to persecute,
    Love of self in Race and Heritage be pronounc'd a sufficient charm
    against absolute power,
    and satisfy our need for honor.

    And thus begun redemption in our own eyes,
    We pray thee Lord, let stand
    our Axes, Roddes, and Ensignes raised o'er a ship of state,
    where nature, blood, and laws of kind do forbid
    policy and state to o'er-rule!...
    Our Empire, fo'ever stand!

    N'er again to see His dirt collected, and shap'd anew;
    to make Deform'd Chaos rise againe,
    and night destroy the Day.

    Take not ever again away our human Nature.
    WE looke up, and, fully aware, stand before the Gods.
    Asking again, nay, demanding!
    To be good, great and joyous, beautiful and free
    To seek again and anew, that same said Joy, Victory and Empire!

    .
    Stumble Inn Proudly Presents the Most Racist Screed of all Time Posying as a Novel by...Fips! - http://stumbleinn.net/fips/bloodlines.html

    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showpost...9&postcount=11

  2. #2
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    To quote immortal words of JimtheLizardKing: "Wut?"
    Lingolution: noun. Term that refers to the intentional misuse and destruction of language and grammar consequent to the use of computers -- because it's fun.
    Obamalution: noun. Term that refers to the irreversible Haitianization and descent of sivowyzasheeon consequent to accomodating blacks as equals in civil society.
    Evilution: n. term given to the phenomenon that most people are just more comfortable in Hell.

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