The Ballad of Caucasian Rage Boy !

I was informed today via anonymous Yokki Mail that the EDL are good and wholesome, and I am a sooper sekrit commie leftist bigmouth bitch who should STFU & die immediately if not sooner for daring to dispute that! They politely held back JEW, of course.... for now....

Common sense should tell a person that these guys are shitheads just from LOOKING at them, never mind who they actually are or the crap that comes out of their mouths. What is ironic to me is that most people go off railing against some behavior or another, whether it is virtual as in LGF or in the real word as in the Jihad - only to fucking EMULATE the very behavior they claim to despise, to a tee, in their own team costumes. Brilliant. Caucasian Rage Boy Akbar! Our Jihood is Whiter than Yours! It's not fascism when WEEEEE do it! WE CAN DO THIS SATANIC MOLOCH SHIT EVEN BETTER THAN YOU CAN! Well mazel freakin' tov to you geniuses!

No matter how many times I explain to people that I understand that they feel lost and helpless and betrayed by their leaders in the face of the Jihad, that I understand deeply that these are the only people that you perceive to be "standing up to jihad" - no matter how much irrefutable information I give you that many of these so called anti jihadists are just as bad as the jihad itself - You will turn the blind eye out of expedience, out of fear, out of laziness, out of shallowness of moral character, out of stupidity, out of tribal affiliation, out of complacency, out of ignorance, out of vanity, out of hatred.... take your pick. In any event you will chose to stay blind. Let those who have eyes, see:

HEY! Big Nicky started out as a jihoodie too!


So did DeWinter .... they all do


With friends like him who needs enemas?

Quote: Originally Posted by British_Preservation

"And by harping on about Jews you are playing into their hands. Nobody listens to this "blame the Jews" crap, regardless of whether or not it's true. The cunning Jews have set it up in such a way that anyone who dislikes them looks like a raving, neo-nazi psychopath. That's not what I think, but it's what Joe Public thinks, unfortunately. It's like beating a dead horse."

But seriously, if Islam takes over you won't have to worry about Jews, I assure you...
Eradicating the Jews just isn't on my list of priorities. (FOR NOW -bz) Eradicating Islam from this land, is.

Female Division!
Fat angry chicks for killing people! It's not fascism when she does it!

Female Division in action!

Somehow your rageboyz do not make me feel any fookin' SAFER than their rageboyz...

Once there are no more Muslims to kill and they are done hiding their Jew hate and appropriating Israel as an excuse for their own fascist nationalism who the fuck you think they gonna turn all that jihoodie rage onto?

EDL supporters when they think no one is looking:

"Israelis are the most vindictive nation on earth. It stems from their religion of course. A quick glance through the rules of the Talmud will show you what makes them tick."

Here they burn a Nazi flag in hoods..... to prove they are not Nazis:

Stormfront on the Nazi Flag Burning EDL:

"Unfortunately we have to cover our faces" - "No doubt to hide your big hook noses."

STORMFRONT ~ Re: The Israeli Flag adopted by the English Defense League

Wolf, the nu-nationalists had their day here on SF. They used it, abused it, they tried to control it and us, and so it was taken away from them.

Here's what our Chief of Staff, Jack Boot, has to say on the jewish question:

Two concerns are salient on Stormfront these days.

The first holds that we are not radical enough about the Jewish danger, the other that we are too radical about it.

Some say we should permit no reservations or debate about the danger to be expressed here; and again, some say that naming the Jew is no way to win friends and influence people.

My friends, Stormfront was never primarily a recruiting tool, nor were we ever focused on getting out the vote. These are valid but secondary goals.

Stormfront is about the truth. Stormfront is first and foremost a place to forge stronger ties among those of us who have already formed a consensus, a means by which we keep this consensus vital, and a medium for our far-flung kinsmen to communicate most effectively. Stormfront is many other things, yes, but principally we are the global meeting hall, the virtual Committee of Correspondence, for one particular, singular tribe of the Aryan nations.

What defines this tribe? We are the keepers of the flame. We are the speakers of the truth. We can't tell what the future holds, or by what means our people will regain their resolve, their courage, their Faustian spirit - but we will be there. We, our tribe, may be the only reason our people survive the gathering storm. We may hold up the only light left in the rapidly darkening gloom of the New World Order.

David Duke is our leader. His strategy is clear: tell the truth. Does he concern himself overmuch with the tactics of telling the truth? No; your tactics are for you to decide. He says this: don't tell our activists to minimize the threat of Jewish Supremacism.

Tell the truth. Don Black, ironically the Quiet Man, our leader in his own right, has given us the means: Stormfront.

Stormfront is primarily for and about those of us who realize the preponderance of evidence and the verdict of history illuminate the Jewish Problem. Focus on this truth will justify itself in the end.

We don't speak of cults and temples. Many kinsmen are welcome here, despite that they may not agree with our core conviction. The British National Party are friends and allies. Other organizations like them are friends and allies - people we gladly welcome here. But all kinsmen should know who we are and what Stormfront is about. All kinsmen should know that we will quiet the noise here from time to time as we see fit, when that noise may become distracting. We welcome discussion - of course! - but we will not be overwhelmed by debate or discord.

Re: English Defence League counter protests at London Pro Palestinian rally

Quote: Originally Posted by GratefulFred
At this point the neo-nazis are the best we can hope for. There are millions of muslims and not millions of neo-nazis. Plus the neo-mazis aren't having 8 babies per family. Perhaps an anti all immigration group will spring up that will look to curb all non-productive immigrants from entering the country.
__________________________________________
How do you think the already small Jewish community in the UK would cope if the neo-Nazis gained more influence? Do you you think the Hitler lovers now will respect Jews if they have a common enemy? No. Neo-nazis are stupid thuggish and villainous; they are not the answer to this probem or any problem. They are despised the world over by all decent people and have no credibility amongst anyone other than crude racists. I'm amazed that you would say anything in their defense.

The problem is this wet pathetic Labour government, who have allowed this invasion to happen. A leader needs to come into power who is not afraid of addressing these problems; the UK needs a strong leader, like a Churchill who will put their foot down and say no to Muslim demands. ~ Formally known on Israel Forum as Aviva.

Well.... they will stone her ass too I suppose. But it's not fascism when they do it.

Our Jihood is better than yours.

WFRL: Amazing Grace

Grace and peace to you
from him who is, and who was,
and who is to come,
and from the seven spirits before his throne,
and from Jesus Christ,
who is the faithful witness,
the firstborn from the dead,
and the ruler of the kings of the earth.
~Revelation 1:5

WFRL: RIP Grayce

Beloved friend and charter member of La Kosher Nostra Grayce passed away peacefully in her sleep October 3rd. She spent her last days immersed in the Word of GOD. She was a woman of valor, she was holy, she was beautiful. We will always remember her name. Rest in peace, mama, keep my seat warm.

Yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba (Cong: Amein). May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified (`Cong: Amen.)

b'al'ma di v'ra khir'utei in the world that He created as He willed.

v'yam'likh mal'khutei b'chayeikhon uv'yomeikhon May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days,

uv'chayei d'khol beit yis'ra'eil and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel,

ba'agala uviz'man kariv v'im'ru: swiftly and soon. Now say:

(Mourners and Congregation:) Amein. Y'hei sh'mei raba m'varakh l'alam ul'al'mei al'maya (Amen. May His great Name be blessed forever and ever.)

Yit'barakh v'yish'tabach v'yit'pa'ar v'yit'romam v'yit'nasei Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled,

v'yit'hadar v'yit'aleh v'yit'halal sh'mei d'kud'sha mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One

(Mourners and Congregation:) B'rikh hu. Blessed is He.

l'eila min kol bir'khata v'shirara beyond any blessing and song,

toosh'b'chatah v'nechematah, da'ameeran b'al'mah, v'eemru: praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. Now say:

(Mourners and Congregation:) Amein Amen

Y'hei sh'lama raba min sh'maya May there be abundant peace from Heaven

v'chayim aleinu v'al kol yis'ra'eil v'im'ru and life upon us and upon all Israel. Now say:

(Mourners and Congregation:) Amein Amen

Oseh shalom bim'romav hu ya'aseh shalom He Who makes peace in His heights, may He make peace,

aleinu v'al kol Yis'ra'eil v'im'ru upon us and upon all Israel. Now say:

(Mourners and Congregation:) Amein Amen

WFRL: Bad Reputation

Thin Lizzy ~ Bad Reputation

Should GOD then reward you on your terms,
when you refuse to repent?
You must decide, not I;
so... tell me what you know.
~Job 34:33

WFRL: The Monks ~

The Monks ~ 1966

Capuchin Monk ~ Spain ~ 1949
Please note the books...

WFRL: Blue Morning

Ion Birladeanu: Nightwatchman, Gravedigger, Artist ~

Hat Tip: StrulZ

Bîrladeanu is a rare model of the absolute refusal to make any compromise with a corrupt, totalitarian regime. He preferred a marginal existence, taking the lowliest possible jobs - gravedigger, nightwatchman etc. - in order to preserve his own existential liberty untainted by any contact with the regime: at the lowest possible level, where one no longer has anything to lose, even the tiniest comfort or advantage, it is no longer possible for oppressive authority to apply any form of blackmail. And all the while, through his art - an art that was clandestine in the fullest sense, an art that was "unschooled", and thus wholly free of the corrupting influences of the communist education system and the mechanisms of censorship - he developed an unrelentingly honest and authentic critique of totalitarian Romania.

Come to think of it, I am reminded of the Russian film "Tema", directed by Gleb Panfilov , in which the main character is a playwright who has prostituted and ruined his talent through grovelling conformity with the communist regime, which has showered him with awards and other material advantages.

The film is about his existential crisis, in which he realises, in spite of the official praise heaped on him, that he is worthless as a writer. At one point in the film he meets a gravedigger, in fact an intellectual who has chosen this "profession" in disgust at the demands made on him as a writer by the regime.

~ StrulZ

ROMANIA, 2008:

SNIP

They are people who either refuse to play by the canonical rules of their time and live contrary to that set of believes, either question the status quo. Ion Bîrlădeanu had such an existence. He was born in 1946 and for more than 30 years he refused to become an “honorable citizen”. During communism he had had several jobs. In his 20s he left his native village (Zăpoteni, in Vaslui county) to work on the reed fields in Tulcea and then as a docker in Constanţa.

Arriving in Bucharest he worked as grave digger, as frame saw worker, security person, or unqualified worker at the House of the People. Starting with 1989 he lives a marginal life, working as a freelance selector of garbage from a block of flats on Moşilor Street and doing little favours for the people living there. He does not raise a family; he is not employed to this day.

SNIP

Throughout his existence Ion Bîrlădeanu selected magazine images and made a series of unique collages. All of them had a cinematographic intention. He started with a native talent in drawing and, with his passion for movie making, he created an imaginary, proto-pop world which came 20 years before the possibility of reception from the Romanian public. In Romania, the pop aesthetics is a post-communist reality and it is a direct consequence of the consumerist society.

With little or no resources, Bîrlădeanu creates a cinematic photogram that tells a complete story. All his collages are a very special hybrid between pop art, with a
surrealist touch and dada. Add a little flavor of communist gulag in which films and brands symbolized possibilities of freedom.

SNIP

Through out his life, Ion Bîrlădeanu chose liberty and despised all types of conventional authority. In his collages he built an imaginary arena where he was always victorious, where hypocrisy stood defeated in the cheers of the crowds, and where the humanist-ironical scenario was played over and over again.

A week before the opening, M. Ion showed me some things that he considers some sort of "imitation” art, but which, for me, is the missing link in his artistic project. In the 70s, during his commute to the ship yard, he used to carve in wood, all sorts of logos. Through all this fascinating objects, I found a wooden communist medal. It is a replica of the “hero of socialist labor”. It was made by M. Ion at the beginning of his career but he will now wear it proudly like a gladiator showing his wooden gladius as a sign of the freedom he earned in the arena.
~ May, 2008

Other source links:

INCEPEM BLOG

Galleria de arta Hart

Romanian govt toppled in no-confidence motion

1 hour ago

BUCHAREST 10/13/09 — The Romanian government fell Tuesday after losing a no-confidence motion despite Prime Minister Emil Boc's pleas that the collapse of his administration could put an IMF-led economic bailout at risk.

WFRL: Prophet Zimmytime

Hard Rain ~ 1976

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Herta Müller on the legacy of the Romanian Securitate

Hat Tip: StrulZ

The winner of the Nobel prize for literature 2009 recalls her treatment by the Romanian Securitate:

Herta Müller on the legacy of the Ceausescu regime

For me each journey to Romania is also a journey into another time, in which I never knew which events in my life were coincidence and which were staged. This is why I have, in every public statement I have made, demanded access to the secret files kept on me which, under various pretexts, have invariably been denied me. Instead there is evidence that I am still under observation.

In spring earlier this year I visited Bucharest, invited by the NEC (New European College). On the evening of the second day I had arranged to have dinner with a friend who, as we had agreed over the phone, came to pick me up from the hotel at six o'clock. As he turned into the street in which the hotel was situated, he noticed a man following him. When he asked for me at reception, the receptionist said he would first have to fill in a visitor's form. This frightened him because no such thing had ever existed, not even under Ceausescu.

In order to know that a shadow was needed at six o'clock, they would have had to tap the phone in my room. Ceausescu's secret police, the Securitate, has not disbanded, merely been given another name: the SRI (Romanian Information Service). And according to their own figures, 40% of the staff was taken from the Securitate. The real percentage is probably higher still.

This spring a group of researchers came upon the files kept on the Romanian-German authors of the "Aktionsgruppe Banat". I found my file, under the name Cristina. Three volumes, 914 pages. It is alleged to have been opened on 8 March 1983 – though it contains documents from earlier years. The reason for the opening of the file: "Tendentious distortions of realities in the country, particularly in the village environment" in my book Nadirs. Textual analyses by spies underpin this. And the fact that I belong to a "circle of German-language poets", which is "renowned for its hostile works".

The three years at the tractor factory Tehnometal where I was a translator are missing. I translated the manuals for machines imported from the GDR, Austria and Switzerland. In the third year a "protocol office" was established. I had to be made suitable for the office by means of two recruitment tests carried out by the secret service officer Stana. After the second refusal, his goodbye was: "You'll be sorry; we'll drown you in the river." One morning when I turned up for work, my dictionaries were lying on the floor outside the office door. My place now belonged to an engineer, I was no longer allowed in the office. I couldn't go home, they would have sacked me there and then. Now I had no table, no chair. For two days, defiant, I sat my eight hours with the dictionaries on a concrete staircase between the ground and first floors, trying to translate so that no one could say I didn't work. The office staff walked past me, silent. My friend Jenny, an engineer, knew how things had come to this. Every day on our way home I had told her everything that had happened. She came to me in the lunch break and sat down on the stairs. We ate together as we had before in my office. Over the loudspeaker in the yard we would always sing the workers' choruses about the happiness of the people. On the third day I installed myself at Jenny's desk, she cleared a corner for me. On the fifth morning she was waiting for me outside the door. "I am no longer allowed to let you in the office. Just think, my colleagues say you are a spy." The slander was meant to force me to resign. At the beginning of these turbulent times my father died. I no longer had a grip on myself, had to reassure myself of my existence in the world, and began to write down my life so far – from these writings sprang the short tales in Nadirs.

The fact that I was now considered a spy because I had refused to become one was worse than the attempt at recruitment and the death threat. That I was libelled by precisely those whom I protected by refusing to spy on them. Even death threats you get used to. They are part and parcel of this one life one has. But the libelling robbed one of one's soul.

How long this state of being lasted, I no longer know. It seemed endless to me. It was probably just weeks. Finally, I was sacked. Of all this there are two words in the files, a handwritten note in the margin of an interrogation protocol. Years later, at home, I related the attempt in the factory to enlist me as a spy. In the margin Lieutenant Padurariu wrote: "That's correct."

Now came the interrogations. The reproaches: that I wasn't looking for a job, that I was living from prostitution, black-market dealings, as a "parasitical element". Names were mentioned that I had never heard in my life. And espionage for the BND (the German Federal Intelligence Service) because I was friendly with a librarian at the Goethe-Institut and an interpreter at the German embassy. Hours and hours of fictitious reproaches. But not only that. They needed no summons, simply plucked me off the street. I was on my way to the hairdresser's when a policeman brought me through a narrow metal door into the basement of a hall of residence. Three men in plain clothes were sitting at a table. A small bony one was the boss. He demanded to see my identity card and said: "Well, you whore, here we meet again." I had never seen him before. According to him I had sex with eight Arab students and was being paid in tights and cosmetics. I did not know a single Arab student. When I said so, he replied: "If we want to, we'll find 20 Arabs as witnesses. You'll see, it'll make for a splendid trial." Again and again he would throw my identity card on the floor, and I had to bend down and pick it up. Thirty or forty times maybe; when I got slower, he kicked me in the small of my back. And from behind the door at the end of the table a woman's voice was screaming. Torture and rape, just a tape recording, I hoped. Then I had to eat eight hardboiled eggs and green onions with coarse salt. I forced the stuff down. Whereupon the bony man opened the metal door, threw my identity card outside and kicked my behind. I fell with my face in the grass beside some bushes. I vomited without raising my head. Without hurrying I took the identity card and went home. Being pulled in from the street caused more fear than a summons. No one knew where you were. You could have disappeared, never to turn up, or, as they had threatened earlier, been pulled out of the river as a drowned body. The verdict would have been: suicide. No interrogation is mentioned in the files, no summons, and nothing about being pulled in from the street.

Secret service people came and went as they pleased when we weren't at home. Often they would deliberately leave signs, cigarette butts, pictures from the wall lying on the bed, chairs moved. Each time you ate you would be thinking that the food might be poisoned. Of this psychological terror there is not a word in the files. The visit of the journalist Rolf Michaelis from Die Zeit is also missing. After the publication of Nadirs he wanted to conduct an interview with me. He had announced his arrival by telegram and trusted that he would find me at home. But the telegram was intercepted by the secret service, and my then husband Richard Wagner and I, knowing nothing, had gone to see his parents in the country for a couple of days. Two days in a row he rang our doorbell in vain. On the second day three men lay in hiding in the little room where the rubbish chute was and brutally beat him up. The toes on both his feet were broken. We were living on the fifth floor, the lift wasn't working due to a power shortage. Michaelis had to crawl on all fours down the pitch-dark stairwell and on to the street. The telegram from Michaelis is missing from the file, although there is quite a collection of intercepted letters from the west. According to the file this visit never took place. This lacuna shows, too, that the secret service has deleted the acts of their full-time staff, so that no one can be held responsible as a result of file access – they have seen to it that the post-Ceausescu Securitate has become an abstract monster without culprits.

Michaelis wanted to "protect" us and didn't write about these attacks until we had left Romania. From the files I know that this was a mistake. Not silence, only publicity could protect us in the west. My file also reveals that surreal criminal proceedings were prepared against me for "espionage for the BND". I owe it to the resonance of my books and the literary prizes in Germany that this plan was never realised and I was not arrested.

Michaelis could not call us prior to his visit as we had no telephone. In Romania you had to wait years for a connection. We, however, were offered one without having applied. We refused, as we all knew that a telephone would be the most practical listening post in our small flat. When you visited friends who had a telephone, it was immediately put in the fridge and a gramophone record put on. Refusing the phone was of no use, for half of the file material I was handed consists of protocols of bugging in our flat.

One of our closest friends was Roland Kirsch. He was living round the corner from us and came to see us almost daily. He was an engineer in a slaughterhouse, took photographs of everyday dreariness, and wrote prose miniatures. In 1996 his volume The Dream of the Moon Cat was published in Germany. It was published posthumously, because in May 1989 he was found hanged in his flat. The neighbours now say that several loud voices could be heard in his flat on the night of his death. I do not believe it was suicide. In Romania you would run back and forth for days to sort out all the formalities before a funeral. In suicide cases a post mortem was a given. But Roland's parents were handed all relevant papers within a day. He was buried quickly and without a post mortem. And in the fat envelope containing the bugging protocols there is not one visit from Roland Kirsch. His name is deleted, this person is supposed never to have existed.

One painful question was at least answered by my file. A year after my departure from Romania in 1987, Jenny came to visit in Berlin. Since the time of the harassments in the factory she had been my closest friend. Even after I had been sacked we saw each other almost daily. But when I saw her passport in our Berlin kitchen, and in it additional visas for France and Greece, I said to her face: "You don't get a passport like that for nothing, what have you done to get it." Her answer: "The secret service has sent me, and I absolutely wanted to see you again." Jenny had cancer – she is long dead. She told me that her task was to investigate our flat and our daily habits. When we get up and go to bed, where we do our shopping and what we buy. On her return, she promised, she would only pass on what had been agreed between us. She lived with us, wanted to stay for a month. With each day my distrust grew. After just a couple of days I rummaged through her suitcase and found the telephone number of the Romanian consulate and a copy of our door key. After that I lived with the suspicion that in all probability she had been spying on me from the beginning, her friendship being a task. Today I am glad, for the file shows that our intimacy had grown out of ourselves and had not been arranged by the secret service, that Jenny didn't spy on me until after my emigration. You become grateful for small mercies, search in all the poisoning for a part that isn't contaminated, be it ever so small. The fact that my file proves the real feelings between us, now almost makes me happy.

After the publication of Nadirs in Germany, and as the first invitations came, I was not allowed to travel. But when these were followed by invitations for literary award ceremonies, the Securitate changed its strategy. In October 1984 I really was allowed to travel. The intention, however, was malicious: I was to be seen as profiteering from the regime and, in the west, to be suspected of being an agent. The secret service worked intensely on both, but in particular on the "agent" persona. Spying staff were sent to Germany with the task of smearing. The plan of action of 1 July 1985, states with satisfaction: "As a result of several journeys abroad, the idea was launched among some actors at the German State Theatre in Timisoara that Cristina is an agent for the Romanian Securitate."

After my emigration, the measures to "compromise and isolate" were intensified. A "Nota de analiza" from March 1989 reads: "In the action to compromise her, we will work with Branch D (Disinformation), publishing articles abroad or sending memoranda – as if issued by German emigration – to several circles and authorities wielding influence in Germany."

In my file I am two different persons. One is called Cristina, who is an enemy of the state and is being fought. To compromise this Cristina a dummy is produced in the falsification workshop of Branch "D" (Disinformation), with all the ingredients that harm me the most – party faithful communist, unscrupulous agent. Wherever I went, I had to live with this dummy. It wasn't just sent after me, it hurried ahead of me. Even though I have, from the beginning and always, written only against the dictatorship, the dummy goes its own way to this day. It has become independent of me. Even though the dictatorship has been dead for 20 years, the dummy leads its ghostly life. For how long yet?

© Herta Müller. Translated by Karsten and Christopher Sand Iversen. First published in Die Zeit. Read the complete text on signandsight.com

See Also:

Romania, Romania!

Between Sacrifice and Suicide

The Anti-Humans

WFRL: Books Of Moses

And so they sang the song of Moses, the servant of God,
and the song of the Lamb:
"Great and marvelous are your deeds,
Lord God Almighty.
Just and true are your ways,
King of the ages. "
~ Revelation 15:3

WFRL: Whiplash ~

You snakes!
You brood of vipers!
How will you ever escape being condemned to hell?
~Matthew 23:33

WFRL: DJ Mikael Spins ~

The Monks
I Hate You

Do not be like Cain,
who belonged to the evil one
and murdered his brother.
And why did he murder him?
Because his own actions were evil
and his brother's were righteous.
Do not be surprised, my brothers,
if the world hates you.
~ 1 John 3