NAZI DIS-ILLUSION

Poems for the Man to Come…

Kristof von Kanwetzburg

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Copyright © 2018 Kristof von Kanwetzburg

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1984199225

ISBN-10: 1984199226

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 To Dad

(10 June 1945 – 25 Feb 2015)

A giant born amid the smouldering ruins of a Race,

The life he lived was fuller than most,

Just shy of the Golden Morn he died,

His Loyalty and Honor still in place.

To Death!

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 Acknowledgements

The Author wishes to thank all of the Kameraden who

contributed to this work, and also the enlightened
minority of readers who, on a spiritual level, already
possess – or are on their way to possessing – a deep
understanding of the words and sentiments contained
within these pages. To quote a friend, “We are the
Torch Bearers, we carry the Aryan Light forever
forward in the Spirit of the Führer, Sieg Heil!” (20/88)

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The gods, who know they cannot die, admire and
perhaps even envy the sublime courage of heroes who
don’t know they cannot die and who, nevertheless,
voluntarily give their lives for an ideal, for a dream. Is
there anything more beautiful?

– Miguel Serrano, The Golden Cord

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 Table of Contents

FOREWORD by Siddharreich……………….7

PART 1: VERSE……………………………..14

PART 2: WAR SONGS……………………...62

PART 3: KAMERADSCHAFT……………...75

PART 4: MUSINGS……………………….....95

“The Fall of Man” …………………………...110

PART 5: DIALOGUE………………………..112

NAZI DIS-ILLUSION……………………….137

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 FOREWORD

(On the Word ‘Nazi’)

“We are Nazis. Ig-nazis. From fiery. Nazi is an

initiation word, with a vocation always represented by
the Sieg Rune, We are also barbarians and pagans.”

– Miguel Serrano, Manu: ‘For The Man To Come’

There is something mysterious and

unintelligible about the word Nazi. One feels oneself
to be a Nazi deep within the blood of one’s fiery-hot
heart. Nazi is a magickal, ineffable word for the
reincarnated souls of the Third Reich, for those
scattered throughout the Germanic Diaspora who do
not speak German as their first language. To “be a
Nazi” is something that is therefore felt with the
beating heart and not reasoned by the intellect. This is
something that has developed most strongly after
1945, post Ragnarök (after the Apocalypse), when
Germany was reduced to a pile of smoking rubble and
ashes.

Unlike its National Socialist predecessor, Nazism

developed outside of Germany, underground, as the
Hitlerian movement became something spiritual,
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magickal. It was no longer dominated by the purely
exoteric or Party-driven political side of the National
Socialist Weltanschauung, but increasingly developed
along esoteric and spiritual lines, which were much
more in keeping with the traditions of the SS. Indeed,
after the War, Nazism transubstantiated itself into a
pure and uncompromising Kosmic Will, a total
Cosmogony. This is true even if the majority of post-
War “National Socialist” or “Nazi” parties didn’t yet
realize the metamorphosis taking shape. Regardless,
they undoubtedly must have noticed the sheer political
impotence of their endeavors, and yet also the fact that
there was a growing Hitlerian spiritual awareness
among the Kameraden.

Etymologically, the word “Nazi” stems, in part, from

the abbreviated pronunciation of “Nation,” derived
retrospectively from the first two syllables of
Nationalsozialistische – as in the
Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei
(National Socialist German Workers’ Party) which
was the German political party headed by Adolf Hitler
between 1920 and 1945. In Germany, during this
period, it was not common to abbreviate the name of a
political party. Only rarely were the names of parties
abbreviated, as was the case with the phrase “Nazi-
Sozi,” created by Dr. Joseph Goebbels. And when Dr.
Goebbels employed this phrase, he did so in order to
appeal to the non-German speaking Aryan peoples

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who were potentially sympathetic to the ideology of
National Socialism. He was not looking to
propagandize the German people by this term. This is
why his famous pamphlet The Nazi-Sozi was written in
a rather simplistic question-and-answer format; it was
directed toward foreigners. At that time, a member of
the NSDAP (the National Socialist German Workers’
Party) would obviously refer to all fellow Party-
members as Germans and not “Nazis.” Similarly, one
would not call another Party-member a “Sozi,”
because, first of all, that is not a properly defining term.
And secondly, one would not want to confuse any
Party-members with the far-left
Sozialdemokratische Partei, which was a bitter rival of
the NSDAP before the latter came to hegemonic power
in 1933.

In any case, the word Nazi is obviously the defining

part of the linguistic expression “Nazi-Sozi.” This
is why George Lincoln Rockwell decided to call his
party the American Nazi Party and why Colin Jordan
had used the phrase “Universal Nazism” – because
Nazi is the more Universal (less narrowly German)
term. In choosing to identify as Nazis, these great Men
of Destiny were spiritually charged or ignited, as Ig-
nazis. One can thus comprehend some of the other
etymological roots of the word Nazi, particularly those
which are spiritually infused with racial meaning. For
example, “Nation” is derived from the Latin word

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Natalis – “pertaining to birth or origin,” from natus,
the past participle of nasci, “to be born” in Latin.
Hence the English words: nat-ion, nat-ive, nat-ture.
Nation = Race of people, natio = race. Here, the
meaning of the word “Nation” must not be confused
with anything that is bourgeois in either the petty or
narrow (civic) “nationalist” sense. Our definition of
the word “Nation” is instead Racial and Spiritual. It is
to this latter NAZI conception of Nationhood that we
Hitlerians proudly, defiantly attribute all meaning to
life.

And indeed it is true – in a Spiritual, Kosmic, Universal

sense – that since the end of the exoteric Reich in 1945,
the term “nationalist” does not and cannot describe
those of us who proudly identify as Hitlerists, which is
to say, as disciples of Adolf Hitler. Not because we
have any deep-seated feelings of animosity to the terms
“nationalist” or “nationalism,” but because these terms
are dead, having been erased long ago by the all-
consuming tide of global corporatism. In this our
Hitlerian Era, the nations of old are dead, non-existent,
gone forever. In similar fashion, the term “socialist”
does not and cannot describe us either, since socialism
is as dead as nationalism. And yet in reality, in this
nightmarish postmodern age, we cannot be
described accurately as “National Socialists” either –
at least not in the traditional sense. Only in
acknowledging our fundamental roots, our German

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National Socialist Provenance, can we be described as
National Socialists.

In our present time, post Ragnarök (post 1945), we are

neither Nationalists nor Socialists, nor the sum total of
both. We are instead… NAZIS, and also neo-Nazis
because we are something new, a new Nazi as part of
a New Race. For we, post 1945, were born without a
race, without a people, without a nation, with neither a
fatherland nor motherland, without any land at all, and
therefore we have had no social life, and no common
good, nor common community from which a social life
can be developed. We are the dispossessed and
disinherited, deprived of our ancestral birthright by our
ancestors themselves! See Third Reich Pilgrim where
this post-existential philosophy is expostulated in
textual and graphical detail.

Above all, the reader should understand that politically

the National Socialist Party ended as a viable Force in
the year 1945. Thereafter, the remnants of the
Hitlerian movement, especially those tied to the SS,
went underground and National Socialism,
fundamentally German in origin, transformed into
something else, something more, and most of all,
something esoteric – meaning something not to be
shared by the vulgar and hopelessly democratized
masses, but only by the True (or rather Treu) Initiates
who already understood (and profoundly!) that

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National Socialism was never just a mere political
ideology. Thus, NAZISM was born!

Naturally then, a great many of the isolated Hitlerian

Kämpfer who, for the past 70 years, have held fast to
this “something” called Nazism are the first to refer to
themselves as Nazis (and proudly so!). They feel in
their beating heart of hearts that they are Nazi, even if
it is only secretly spoken to the glistening tears falling
from the gathering sphere, something unintelligible,
out of the polar zone, a natal mystery conceived within
the Green Thunderbolt beyond the Black Sun. Once a
Nazi, Eternal Nazi… this cannot be undone.

To conclude, the word “Nazi” is an esoteric word. And

the work of prose you are about to read, NAZI DIS-
ILLUSION, is indeed an esoteric Nazi work. Divided
into five main parts with a brief “Fall of Man” interlude
and a final poem from which this work receives its
title, NAZI DIS-ILLUSION by Kamerad Kristof von
Kanwetzburg is a fine addition to the growing list of
Esoteric Hitlerist works put out by such contemporary
Torch Bearing publishers as Hermitage Helm Corpus
and The 55 Club, among others. Indeed, the spiritually-
based writings contained within the pages of NAZI
DIS-ILLUSION comprise, in toto, a powerful literary
addition to the Weltanschauung of Nazism for all time
– past, present and future.

HEIL HITLER!
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Siddharreich
Neuschwabenland
In the year of our Lord, 129 H.E.

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 PT. 1
VERSE

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Hakenkreuz, Thou Sacred Cross

Hakenkreuz, thou sacred cross,

tell us your origin;
precosmogonic egg,
or single bead of sweat from Wotan’s brow?
We know you represent All-Father,
Avatar and Führer, All in One –
as such, you revolve both ways,
propelled by the carefully placed force
of your holiest emanations,
the grand-runes:
Ar, Tyr, Odal, Sig (Ger)
– “Artyros,” the way of clockwise expansion –
Ger, Odal, Tyr, Ar
– “Gota,” the way of counterclockwise return
–

In your midst, oh sacred Fylfot,

dwell your immediate offspring,
a Husband and Wife,
Total Man and Total Woman;
there they sit, in the Polar center,
the double Hagal Rune, entwined,
eternally fixed,
as the rocks of the Externsteine,
presiding in majesty like Poseidon on his
throne;
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resplendently defiant like sacred Helgoland,
jutting out of the deep… there they sit:
Rasse und Vaterrecht
(Anima et Animus),
jealously guarding their four children
– Ar, Tyr, Odal, SigGer (Reggis) –
and their twelve grandchildren:
Idee, Träger, Verbreiter (born of Ar-Kultur);
Volk, Führer, Staat (sired by Tyr-ein);
Blut, Boden, Erbe (the fruit of Odal’s loins);
Nicht-Wucher, Arbeit, Sozialismus (SigGer’s
pride and joy).

Intently the All-Father watches the dance of

his Blood,
from within the darkest depths of the Invisible
Light,
to the luciferous clarity of its casting shadow,
from below and beyond;
the Black Sun binding all in super Ehrean
Communion,
Invisible, Holy, visible, unholy…

We, the Elite, biding our time,

waiting our turn in unison,
for the days of Final Victory,
striving only to make Our Father proud.

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 The Necessary War

“Wotan is Hitler who, with the foreknowledge

obtained from the well of Mimir, knew that Germany
would lose the battle of Ragnarök, and that his
children would be consumed in fiery rivers of blood,
he knew of the doom that was to come, that has now
come, and that doom is called ‘Zion’.”

– Karl Young, Third Reich Pilgrim

Apologists, redactors,
grown men with little minds, automatons
mimicking the memes and methods of Liars
(whom they claim to despise),
repugnant shadows of the Enemy,
degraded jewbots extraordinaire –
some words for you now…
listen if you dare.

Was it a defensive War?

Yes.
Was it a righteous War?
Yes.
Did It need to be fought?
Yes.
(And it’s the latter which matters most.)

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So, even if the Lie was true –
that Germania “started” the War,
that she was to blame, the “sole aggressor,”
it really wouldn’t matter for this one simple
fact:
The Bride of Hermann was ready to Storm.
And nothing in Hell could’ve held her back.

If the Führer didn’t know it, his Avatar did.

If the Führer didn’t know it, his Avatar did!

Yes, the Bride-Spirit Teutonicus

needed a cleansing;
a great trial by fire Empyrean-
racial conflagration,
after centuries of blood pollution,
degradation,
instigated by the Enemy,
the Deutsches Volk demanded purification,
the blood screamed out for it…
consciously or not, the Minne was activated.

The alchemical transmutation

from “lead” to “gold” ensued;
the only way to achieve this:
by adding sulfur to the mix,
regenerating the Blood through fire,
purifying it
for future trials to come…

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Our Lord of Racial Alchemy – he understood
this well;
We recall his fateful promise from on high:
If the Fatherland lost the War,
the German Volk deserved to die.
And yet again the Valkyrie’s Blood is tested,
hardened, Battle Steeled,
to take the next leap backward,
to Purity, Parity,
back to the Ur-igin,
Entirety…
Alt-Ida’s Field.

Thus ever must we remain qualitative,

able to vanquish all ant-like nations
lined up like Asians against us,
from time immemorial –
those villainous all-lies,
with sweet vinegar on their lips
and stolen spear held to our backs;
the Devil’s own embrace.

And though this People, set aside by

Providence,
were and still remain superior to the rest,
the Avatar knew the majority, the masses,
would betray their birthright –
their Nation, their Leader,

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hence collective Destiny;
only the loyal few remain true.
Their Honor is Loyalty.

Such is the eternal nature of quality;

ever shall it be outnumbered,
and ever shall it reign supreme.

Those who died as Martyrs,

those who went to their graves, unrepentant,
totally convinced of the Mission and none of
the “shame” –
they attained, in spirit, a qualitative Win,
too great for any mere mortal to comprehend.
They sit among the ones the beast-men call
“divine.”

Others, still fewer in number,

physically resurrected, with the Führer,
in the phantom convoy, the Caleuche –
to the warm-water oases they sailed,
far away, beneath the ice…
there they rebuilt and regrouped
in the strictest of secrecy,
increasing their strength
for the future Battle to end all battles,
in the Great War which really never ended.

So you see,

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one shouldn’t obsess on who “started” the
War;
it needed to be waged like never before,
any way possible,
for Race and for Nation,
for basic survival…
The Struggle of Deutschland,
a righteous revival.

The Führer didn’t want war.

His Avatar knew…
He had no choice.

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Aesir, the Holy Name Stolen

Aesir, the holy name stolen,

raped and ravaged,
like so many Aryan women
by Red savage terror;
Aesir sanctity flipped inside out,
shuffled around,
into the unholy anagram, “Israe,”
upon the sinking of a once great land –
its orphaned Race expunged, expelled,
by a blood-thirsty brood of usurping swine,

the sons of Eber,

anti-Asen pawns of the Devil,
vipers,
assassinator slaves of Atlantis,
cannibalistic flesh-eating beast-men,
mischlinge miscreants,

those that sacrificed their prey

(an entire Volk named Hansel-and-Gretel)
before the accursed Krodo Altar,
the vile “Ark” of the Untermensch!
Only the strength of Siegfried could save
what was left of the Gral, the holy Remnant,
now scattered far and wide,
like the body of Osiris.
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Only in the Far North do some still retain
a vague memory of the truth…
Thievery and blood-lust,
the only things the beast-men know.

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 Lucifer and Lilith

Lucifer and Lilith

walking the sky, across the vast expanse,
two souls separated at birth,
ever striving to reunite in sacred A-mor,
Prince and Princess,
the Fallen, beloved of God –
we salute you!

Lucifer and Lilith,

Son and Daughter of Anakim –
Light Father of the Golden Age,
now Sat-turned prisoner of demiurgic
Darkness,
spellbound, still waiting to be freed
from the castle door of golden death.

Lucifer and Lilith

walking the sky, they long to cross paths
as only the Sun and Moon can
(actually two Suns, invisible and not,
ineffably joined in SS bliss),
twin consorts of Aldebaran
united in separation eternal,
pining for a chance occurrence
filled with meaningful victory
in their perpetual Kampf against Evil,
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the Setting sun,
that multiracial serpent called “Empire”
(poisoner of the Blood, plagiaristic machine).

O, Lucifer and Lilith, hear me I pray!

Most Blessed and Beautiful
walking the sky, across the vast expanse,
only “rebels” could love you –
and we, the chosen few, de-Light,
we revel in such a name.
By your side we stand ready for War,
432,000 strong,
around the flaming sword of Kalki,
ready to crush the animal-men to dust
beneath the noble hooves of Sleipnir –
symbol of Venus,
blinding in his silvery radiance,
pure as the driven snow, vicious as the fires of
hell.

HEIL, Lucifer and Lilith!

The New Dawn awaits.
Take now thy rightful place with child, Ra,
Falcon King of the new Millennium.
Lucifer and Lilith,
a Golden Age unknown awaits…

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 Occitania, Catalonia

“Occitania, Catalonia –
Holy Gralic Realm of Oses, Goths and
Alans,
your secrets far from known,
even to the wisest men…”

From thy magic peaks and dales

shall come a mounted Savior,
blue of blood with flaming lance
upon the sky he rides,
defiant as the Montsalvat,
his Emerald Stone in hand.
And there upon his breath –
Behold! The Judgment of the world.
So bitter are the spirits of Aquarius,
that water-bearing dove.

By your strength, O mighty Godan!

“The Salvation of a Race in Val d’Aran”
shan’t e’er be sever’d,
for ‘tis written ‘pon the Gral in auric thread
and is of Heaven;
firmly anchored is the cord
of olden Earth,
Other, Alterior.

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Accept now your Oath,
Knights Errant of the Golden Morn,
be strong and watchful,
and in battle never waver –
but stay true, my sons
and guard the holy Gral
within your keep.
Revere the names of Parsifal and Arthur,
blessed Eschenbach and Rahn!
Hear their voices on your journey, calling:

“Occitania, Catalonia –
Holy Gralic Realm of Oses, Goths and
Alans,
your secrets far from known…
even to the wisest men.”

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 War of Extermination

“Thousands of times these Children of Hell have

deserved a cruel death for the thousands of crimes that
they’ve committed against the German people. They
will soon force us to play our hand … we will thus
wage a war of extermination against them.”

– Hermann Wieland (1924)

War of Extermination, how good you feel!

Blood-eagle spread, to the heights I soar
with flaming blade in hand,
against the lone redoubt…
beyond the furthest shore.
The Drakkar mast unfurled,
hoisted high… higher, HEIL!
Back unto the Polaryan Tree, I sail.

Nothing left below but smoldering city streets,

merchants floating face down in pools of
blood,
a feast for rats and vultures.
The Herrenvolk disembarks,
now sails again…

War of Extermination, sacred death!

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“SS marschiert in Feindesland,”
ever shall your Legions bear your curse,
with smile and with joy;
“und singt ein Teufelslied,”
from Ingolstadt to Stalingrad,
batt’ling Jew-luminati foes at every turn!
What brutish knave dare look us in the eye?

Thor knows the atom bomb is but a cap gun

to the dreadful strength of Mjölnir!
Maria Orsic knows the rest.
O, holy War of wanton blood,
all Valhalla screams your Name;
the sacred bonfires burning bright
for the blood of boars we’ve yet to hunt –
the Aesir thirsting…
Ja!
Children of Hell will roast tonight.

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 Imbibel

“Inside every Christian is a Jew.” – Pope Francis

Imbibe in your bible,

ye Faustian slaves of the wine press;
drink deep of the wine of forgetfulness,
and be not!
Apollo disowned you eons ago,
as did the other Nobles of Himmelsberg,
upon seeing you surrender your heel,
shamefully, to the Serpent’s venom –
the sacred Laws of Manu spat upon!
O, rue the day you were born, “White men”!

In supine cowardice,
you let Leviathan poison your blood,
turn you Nagan, “pagan,” snake-like,
when in fact,
the Goten, Children of God,
are anything but.
Alas! another swindle of Chandala-folk,
another role-reversing hoax –
now with the help of papal lackeys
to the Devil’s kingdom.

By the Gods! What a disgrace!

For once you were sober, strong and pure,
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ne’er would you bow before others,
much less enemy idols –
mere desert demons!

I suppose it doesn’t matter now,

you’re human – all too human…
and this you cannot help.
But I bid you remember this:
To be a traitor is the only human trait there is,
and you traded your noble Blood for a bowl of
porridge,
your birthright for a few lousy pieces of coin.

Your master now is Yeastus,

an effeminate mongrel born in a Vat –
and there he reigns in a drunken stupor,
fornicating with whores,
fermenting the first-fruits of formerly healthy
minds,
the Remnants,
whose Folk died long ago for the sin
of questioning their oppression.

Will your pontiff tell you that? –

your ponzi-scheming pyramidal papa,
Levite-illuminatus toll collector,
Matthias,
levying his unleavened lambs at the bridge,
only to drown them and cannibalize their

31
 lifeless cadavers!
Consumer-commuters, paying the toll,
for crossing the bridge.

32
 Old Man Widder

They used to laugh at him,

not knowing his true fame in myth and deed,
that aged son of “Transylvania,” some said,
that peasant of “Carpathia” long dead,
transplanted in the rootless earth of New Jer-
USA-lem,
‘cross brooks and fields where once grazed
wild steeds,
this cursed earth! Now just a bank lot
where Jehovah’s fed on loans of greed.

They used to scoff as he passed by each day,

marching down the boulevard that led to town,
and to Moriches Bay,
his double barrel always close at hand
to guard against the wolves
(or so he said) –
oh, how the townsfolk howled!
Not knowing his insanity was nothing
of the sort,
but coded wisdom for the wisest,
and (God’s truth!) for no one living –
for the sinners, not the “pious,”
for Quixotes yet to come
who will have heard someday the stories sung
of wolves, an old man and his shotgun…
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And they shall not laugh,
they shall not jeer,
they’ll understand (alas!)
that wolves are not the problem –
all you parasites and scoffers are!
You dreamless orcs who never left the town,
you untermenschen,
soulless clowns.

34
Sweet Springtide Flower

Sweet springtide flower,

with kerchief red and smock of blue,
entombed beside Grandfather’s mouldy grave,
the verdant sweetgrass beneath your sallow
cheeks
I still can see and touch and smell –
O, Beatrice!
Your sister was the rosy one of fair July –
the blushing Valkyrie Wagner bride…
Not you, my darling Beatrice,
But no matter! …
For you share Barbarian-Alan blood,
and how I chased thee in our youth! –
Dear love, were you really that much older?
Was thy raven hair not golder?

Lo!
There within the deepest chasm of
Grandfather’s crypt
lie Gothic ripples of the Os and As,
the sacred auric thread ancestral,
vinculum betwixt the Self and blessed
Asgard,
from Elbrus to the Volga, I tracked the auric
scent.
Far west into the Apennines,
35
 yon bastion’d rocks of Bogomils,
there sits the astral Camp amidst the Pines
(waiting) –
the Elysian Fields, bless’d Paradise
(our Homeland that transcendeth Time).

In our youth, dear Beatrice,

we shared the open Manor air,
frolicking in fields where orange flowers flare
– how protective you were of them!
Then resting ‘neath the linden near the well,
our necks entwined,
or ‘neath the shaded row of evergreens –
a candied whiff of verdant apples ripening
beyond the corn and sunflowers,
the garden of our youth.
Inside the old brick hearth
of our festivities the fire blazed,
the warmth from such a hearth
has ne’er been matched, nor will it.

How I long for you, dear Beatrice! –

my faithful springtide flower.
Time was, you were so rosy-cheeked,
with tasseled locks of golden wheat and skin
so fair…
only a small purse of your sweet charm
remains,
(though ‘nough to bag three-hundred lives)

36
 yet still I pine for your embrace.

Born and died,

my darling springtide flower,
‘twas in the merry month of May,
you blossomed and you withered,
sweet rose-love, Beatrice…
I await your kiss beside Grandfather’s grave.

37
 They March

They march with the wind beneath their feet,

to the beat of a punctured drum,
over infertile, barren land –
to which no man can lay claim.
They march as One, that reviled Volk
of dauntless fame, cursed in Life
and Death’s re-Birth, the Hero’s lot,
bless’d by none, His Holy Name.
They march on television screens blank,
through the murky waters of old visions
with one arm raised and one arm lowered,
torch light and crazed…
They march under a dead bridge
which finally collapses,
past newspaper clippings disintegrate,
nothing left to see or hear
but unmarked graves.
They march…

38
 A Tale of Two Fathers

“As far back as I can recall, Father walked with a

limp, his trusted cane supporting him like St. James on
his way to Canis Major. That bad leg of his was only
good for the Other Earth, the Better One. Valhalla
knows the Gods of Fire have always been lame – their
pain worn as proud signs of transcendent battle.”

– The Author

Grandfather was water, cool,

to and fro he raced,
no stop signs for this Ar-man,
as city fires burned,
night after night, his steady hand remained,
through those chaotic years.
’39 to ’74 – his engine roared
up and down Briggs Avenue,
‘cross Bedford Park,
‘twixt Webster and the Concourse,
mongrel chaos creeping further, further north,
the South Bronx is the whole world now.
Poe Cottage on the triangle defiantly remains,
once high up in the woods of Jonas Bronck,
now sandwiched ‘twixt the projects of the
ghetto,

39
 a quirky little Alamo indeed.

“Wherever spics and niggers go,

they leave a trail of fire and broken glass.”

So said Grandpa Ralph on a subject he knew

well,
his mighty hose, ladder and axe
vanquishing all subhumans below…
a wink and a nod, then comes the dry
laughter.

Father was a fire, hot,

smoke billowing upon his mouth
full of jocularity;
internal struggles in Ralph Geoffrey (raging!)
– that chipper lad who earned his way
in Freedom’s Land,
his soul trapped within the Serpent’s temple
mount of tempting fame,
an owl’s battleground that comes
with laughter and with rage;
the arsenal of gift-bearing Faust
always near at hand,
first with booze and printing press,
then with telephone-switchboards and lines,
the Devil weaves a nest superb
with which to trap the son of Cossack blood.

40
Father in a trawler off Point Pleasant,
now skimming the waves of the seven seas,
not least of all the Red and Indian –
that naval destroyer cooled his fire…
for just a little while.
But lo! the stench of Third World ports and
Jews
would make him rage, and rage again.
Heroically he fought the hordes of
untermenschen swine.

Smoke billowing, and one leg lost,

with laughter and with rage,
like most – was finally consumed.
Behold! his epitaph, it simply reads:

“We’ll win yet.”

41
Wayward Children, Despicable Youths!

Wayward children, despicable youths,

scared of your own shadows!

From your own reflections you flinch,

from every last bit of nostalgia you manage
to escape
like smoke up the chimney,
afraid of getting burned by the red-hot
embers of Truth below;
your souls are too vaporous,
too weak to handle the fire.

So you follow the easy trail of lies,

to the beat of the drum and tambourine you
march,
ever southward in your quest for dissolution,
for materialistic suicide,
for inferior words written on palimpsest
parchments,
to temporarily quench your hidden thirst for a
better memory,
though a superior Tradition evades your
grasp;

So you seek your infernal “artifacts,” your

phony relics
42
 scattered along the disorienting cobblestone
paths of masonic deceit,
of “Egyptian” bunk and “Hindu” poppycock,
“Arab” humbug and “Chinese” junk –
Suez Canal Company flotsam and East India
Company jetsam –
Illusions all, the umbilical cord of Zion,
intended to distract the Higher Man from the
truth of his Polar origin,
to keep us from liberation, dignity… peace.

Wayward children, despicable youths –

how easily you’re led astray!

43
 A Führer Leads the Flock

Tell me, can flesh function without blood,

or blood flow within dead veins?
Is not a foot just as important as a hand;
Yet aren’t they both rendered useless without a body?

Truly, the nation without a Führer

is a wandering flock,
grazing vulnerably amidst the fields.
The words of sweet fruit and darkness
lure them into the Valley of the Arrant Pit,
whilst the surrounding hills hide an army of wolves.

Treu-ly, the Führer guides the flock to green pastures,

just as the Spirit directs the body to salvation.

44
Prayer of the Last Battalion

Our Führer, Adolf Hitler,

hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Eternal Reich come,
thy Will be done,
on earth as it is in Asgard.

Give us this day our daily Victory,

and let us never waver in battle,
but always remain Loyal and True.

For thine is the Reich,

and the Power, and the Glory forever.
HEIL HITLER!

45
 DISCLAIMER

The following poem is not to be confused with the

Semitic-derived “baptism” of the Christian masses.
Semitic baptism (also referred to as “christening”) is a
ritual performed with a hidden double meaning, which
actually has nothing to do with the fictitious exoteric
personages of either “Jesus” or “John the Baptist.”
First of all, Semitic baptism is performed in order to
usurp the esoteric Aryan concept of the “twice born,”
which originated with the ancient Aryans, and to
redirect the energy of this concept toward all who are
weak, degenerate, or in a word: subhuman. Secondly,
Semitic baptism is a ceremonial ritual mimicking the
ancient Atlantean deluge over the “baptized” victim –
a deluge that originally occurred due to widespread
race-mixing and anti-natural behavior. Semitic
baptism is thus a ritual intended to sap the Aryan of his
own power – to neutralize and destroy any signs of a
greater Aryan consciousness – and to “drown out” all
vestiges of Aryanism (which is to say, nobility) in the
baptized. This, then, is why you get baptized, goyim;
to better serve your Jewish masters. Like ritual
circumcision, the occult power of Semitic baptism
cannot be underestimated, and must be avoided at all
costs…

46
 Ur-iginal Baptism

Just as sure as Greatness does not stem from

degeneracy,
and Beauty is not the result of ugliness,
there is no such thing as evolution –
only devolution, involution, from the once
pure state.

There are no such things as positivism,

messianism,
eschatology, progress –
these are evil bits of candy
cooked in the chocolate-churning mills of the
Demiurge.

There is no future utopia,

only past glory now defunct –
more than degenerated,
dissolved, decomposed, dead.

We, ourselves, represent

the Dead of Germania.
What you refer to as the Aryan “end times”
actually occurred long, long ago.

Perhaps Wieland was the only one

who truly understood,
47
and Serrano of course…

To become the Total Man of Destiny,

greater than the Gods themselves,
one must go back to the ultimate Source of
one’s roots,
through the Venusian Gate,

dissolving into the terrifying abyss of the

Schwarze Sonne,
on one’s way to the highest Green Light,
the great Orphic Womb,
only to be broken, torn to shreds, and then
formed anew,
re-made, the model re-che of the coming
Reich,

King of the Ur-iginal Baptism –

that Ultimate Re-ality, Non-Existent Flower,
inconceivable in its beauty, indescribable,
beyond the articulation of even the greatest
poets.

Yes, to create anew is to re-generate the

preexisting Ur-igin,
to go beyond the constricting bounds of
Space-Time,
to transcend the serpentine cycle of cycles,
that cursed reptilian Return.

48
 12 – 12 – 12

Absorbing Evola in the yard,

his Men Among the Ruins,
my loyal hound, closed ranks,
beside me,
brown-coated, gold-woven threads
running down his spine like fine
electric needles,
connecting chakra to chakra…
‘Twas a brisk late autumn afternoon,
12 – 12 – 12,
the day when dying Zion came
knocking
desperately upon my door,
under the guise of that professional
acting troupe,
the “FBI.”
(You can fill in the initials however you
like.)

They came, these peddlers of the crooked Law,

to get me to sign their fraudulent “papers,”
to confess to a totally contrived “crime” of the
mind
which could only come from their own twisted,
syphilitic senses. AND I SAID NO!
And yet, as Odin lives, I know they came
49
for a more sinister reason:
to extinguish the Light of the Sonnenmensch,
the inner Hagal Rune glowing within.

12 – 12 – 12…
On this pivotal Kosmic date
the minions of Zion failed in their
mission of evil,
as they always will now.
How could I possibly hate such
bungling imbeciles?

Twenty years previous, to the day,

12 – 12 – 92, the floodwaters rolled in,
with that blessed nor’easter
that destroyed my shanty home.
Hail Gerda!
For she only made me stronger –
her gale-strength winds billowing deep
within me,
intensifying the power of my own
burgeoning will.
Some months before,
a swan maiden swam my way
and began pecking at the frail defenses
of my glass-plated door.
She decided to stay for an extended
time before disappearing.
Braun-schwau, is that you?

50
“I love you,” she said. “That’s why I
must warn you:
Like the coming tides,
Traitors rise from amidst the deep.
Like giant icebergs they come,
testing our Titanic faith.
Like prowling tomcats, small of stature,
yet high above cascading slopes,
they look for the slightest sign
of weakness in their prey,
then make ready to pounce.
Fear them not, but neither take them
lightly.”

But I didn’t listen. I didn’t know.

How could I? –
full of youthful ignorance
in the Golden Age of childhood,
in those bygone days of beautiful
Spring,
considered but the Iron Age to the Polar
ones;
those majestic and terrible ancestors
from whose loins I sprang…
that nostalgic Hyperborean well.

Again… I didn’t listen, I didn’t know.

Such is the nature of Youth

51
(or perhaps the youth of Nature).
And such is the essence of the many
obstacles in our path –
the necessary steps on the linear
pyramid to the Herrenrasse.
Whether we comprehend it or not.

Now the sun has blackened,

the power of the Irminsul
ascending once again.
For the sons of earth,
much worse is on the way.

52
 Runam!

Runam! Runam!
That truest image of the Hagal Rune,
inverted Ur atop inverted Man,
bent trident with two legs bind-rune.

Runam!
That Old Race of the Twice Born,
Legendary Folk of great renown
shall be created yet anew
when war drums sound,
and they shall journey through
the inexistence of the verdant mist,
back through the void of Black Abyss,
back through the blazing port, Venus,
back from idyllic Realms of innocence –
that Highest Holy Reich –
yes, when the war drums sound,

Runam! Runam! Upon the earth

the Legendary Legions’ Light abounds,
the mirror image of the Holy Runes,
the second and fifteenth,
shall journey to defiled earth, to reign,
torrents of Luci’s vengeance
from beneath the seas –
shall bring “humanity”
53
(that mixed race sudra foe)
down to its very knees…

trembling, trembling, trembling

at the very sight of that Old Race,
the Twice Born now returned…
Runam! Runam! Runam!

54
 To Kamerad Zundel (1939-2017)

Kamerad Zundel, mein Freund, mein Bruder, SIEG

HEIL!

There was just so much that that noble heart of yours

could take of this earthly den of vipers. The Enemy,
ever ready to pounce; the veritable hordes of Traitors
ready to sell you out for their 30 pieces…

And you, my Bruder: the noble army of One. The Voice

of the Wildes Heer, screaming ecstatic words of Truth
at pitchless tones to those of us who don’t need ears
with which to hear, nor eyes to see.

With none to protect you nor defend you from the base
aggregate, only our words could we offer in solidarity
– solid-Ar-ity. Perhaps mere words were not enough,
perhaps they were. Who cares!

For we are the sons of the Vanquished – the one with

the emerald lost and damaged voice, stripped of his
potency in this feckless age. Quality with no meaning
– this describes you well, lost as you were on the
masses.

For you I play “Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden” …

And bid you a hearty farewell,
55
‘til we meet again in Odin’s Lair.

HEIL HITLER!

56
 Fackelträger

“We are the Torch Bearers, we carry the Aryan

Light forever forward in the Spirit of the
Führer, Sieg Heil!” – Karl Young

Naked and unashamed He stands –

in control and without social class,

a Noble Soul, pure of mind and body,
with “nothing to cover, nothing to hide…
above reality, beyond time,” *
confident in His own destiny
and that of His Folk,
illumined by the rays of His own nobility
(which is to say Blood-Honor).

Yes, naked and unashamed He stands,

before the real tormentors of the Folk,
the Earls of Rot, of stolen land,
ancestral homes cut down like mighty oaks,
defiled by the corporate Banking Gods,
and there –

*
This quote was excerpted from page 275 of Third Reich Pilgrim
by Karl Young (2nd ed. Victoria, Australia: Hermitage Helm
Corpus, 2017).
57
High upon the heights of deep despair,
above the snow-capped mountain peaks,
He waits as like a spark of Uncreated sulfur –
the domed reflection of a billion bygone souls
heroic –
now burning, now extinguished,
and now lit again
with flaming Torch in hand…

He sets the earth ablaze to see

the error of its ways,
stacked high in yellow-coated bricks,
“hu-man-ity,” cursed word of rot!
And all around the putrid clouds
of arrogance and greed
plume high into the nighttime air,

and on the earth, my human drones,

your time has come, the jig is up –
O, how you danced it well…
but now the witches’ heap is calling
from that dragon’s den of sylvan dread –
“Your time is up”;

And the Torch Light marches on…

58
 AllFather-ism

“AllFather, High and Mighty,

All-Fath-Er, Great and Wise,
Ar – Fa – Eh, Who art Thou…
and We and She?”

For nine long years thus I prayed,

‘til in the tenth a thund’rous Voice from
Asgard came:

AR, the Sun shines on We brave Armanen

Who enthroned upon His right,
do wield His sword with might;

and to Our left He reigns,

the Primal Fire of all creation,
the First and Last of all sensation,
the He Himself eternal
Who’s beyond, above, within –

the Great Bind-Rune of AR and FA,

of We and He,
o’erlaid and married,
HE bears the EH Rune, carried,

that wond’rous Spirit just and swift,

Raw-Root of Race,
59
Who sitteth on Our left, EH!
The Offspring and the UR-igin,
OUR-igin, Virginal
UR-born sacred kin;
both blesser and the bless-ed, UR,
Thurd sacred triune member
‘side the AR and FA Godhead –

Who are We then, brave Hero?

Tell us! Do you still not know?
Have you still not found us?
Have you searched within?
Suffice to say some things you’ll never know
but only feel…
For now, I tell you this:

All – Fath – Er is
All – Fath – UR, the
AR – FA(th) – UR,
Arktic Bear atop the Pole,
the Wise One known as Arthur…

and We and He and She,

Our Faithful Ur-igin,
beyond, above, within
are all as One,
Ourselves pristine, eternal…

and We and He and She,

60
the Treu Armanen,
AllFather’s Rite of Life
for Man to come,
the EH-rean Nation.

61
 PT. 2
WAR SONGS

62
 The Flag on High

The Flag on high, above so proudly waving,

Flag of our Blood, our Spirit, and our Faith –
Comrades, close ranks, and leap into the
Battle headlong,
Forward, my lads! And never sound retreat!
Comrades, close ranks, and leap into the
Battle headlong,
Forward, my lads! And never sound retreat!

The Flag raised high, atop the mountain,

streaming,
Flag of one Reich, one Führer, and one Folk –
Against yon rising tide of Left and Right
destruction,
We stand our ground, as boulders on the
shore.
Against yon rising tide of Left and Right
destruction,
We stand our ground, as boulders on the
shore.

All hail the Flag, the Hakenkreuz of Glory!

Blutfahne, Ja! Black Sun of Destiny –
Blood-Flag of all the Martyrs, Heydrich, Hess
and Streicher,
And Heroes like Skorzeny and Degrelle.
63
 Blood-Flag of all the Martyrs, Heydrich,
Hess and Streicher,
And Heroes like Skorzeny and Degrelle.

Adolf Hitler, to you we pledge allegiance,

Th’ eternal oath: ‘Our Honor’s Loyalty’ –
For you we fight the dreaded Foe of all
Creation,
Your Wildes Heer stands poised before the
Storm.
For you we fight the dreaded Foe of all
Creation,
Your Wildes Heer stands poised before the
Storm.

The Flag on high, above so proudly waving,

Flag of our Blood, our Spirit, and our Faith –
Comrades, close ranks, and leap into the
Battle headlong,
Forward, my lads! And never sound retreat!
Comrades, close ranks, and leap into the
Battle headlong,
Forward, my lads! And never sound retreat!

64
 Comrades, to the Front!
(Dedicated to my friend in Malta)

Calling Kelt, Latin, Teuton and Slav,

Anglo-Saxon, Magyar, Balt and Finn!
From Atlantic to Bering we march,
For the sake of our Race, kith and kin.

To the front, Futurist of the Blood,

Take your rifle, and hammer and pen!
The IDEA of IMPERIUM calls,
Europeans will rise and rise again!

Comrades, to the Front!

The WAR has begun!
Either Vict’ry or death,
Our Racial Destiny is One!

Comrades, to the Front!

The WAR has begun!
March proud toward the Dawn,
The Valkyries wait for us above.

O, Comrades can you hear,

The ghostly echoes drawing near? –
Of fallen Heroes, the Aryan Heroes,
Whose memories we cherish dear.

65
The fallen Heroes, the Aryan Heroes,
“AVE VICTORIA!” we cheer!

* * *

Calling Kelt, Viking, Teuton and Slav,

Anglo-Saxon, Cos-sack, Balt and Finn!
Through the heavens, undaunted we fly,
Sowing seeds of the Race Ehrean.

O, Europa, your children are One,

All thine enemies fall at thy feet.
O’er the planets your banner is raised,
To the Cosmos we bring VICTORY.

Comrades, to the Front!

Thy BLOOD has been spilled!
Either Vict’ry or death,
We must avenge our kinsmen killed!

Comrades, to the Front!

The WAR has begun!
March proud toward the Dawn,
Our Strength shall slay the setting sun.

O, Comrades can you see,

The Hakenkreuz of Destiny? –
Of fallen Heroes, the Aryan Heroes,
Whose memories we cherish dear.

66
The fallen Heroes, the Aryan Heroes,
“SIEG HEIL! VIKTORIA!” we cheer!

67
We Are the Dispossessed

We are the Dispossessed,

We are the Dispossessed –
the hated native sons cut off,
the Poltergeist SS;

We are the Dispossessed,

We are the Dispossessed –
the Loyal Sentries of the Blood,
the Faithful Fallen of the Reich,
now ghosts, Our names are spat upon,
Our legacies are mud;

We are the Dispossessed,

We are the Dispossessed –
the last remaining Torch Lights
in this sunken Age of Lead;

We have no land, We have no Folk,

We have no clan, We have no friend,
no-where on earth remains for us
to even lay Our Dead;

But battle on We must,

Yes, battle on We must!

68
Farewell & Godspeed, You Brave SS Soldiers

Farewell and Godspeed to you brave SS Soldiers,

Farewell and Godspeed, my Waffen-SS.
For the battle has ended, the storm clouds have
parted,
And now in Valhalla forever to rest.

We’ll feast there and roar like true SS Warriors,

We’ll laugh and we’ll sing like never before.
But soon we’ll despise all the laughter and singing,
And pine to be back on the frontlines once more –

To drill and to march like true SS Warriors,

To raid and make war like Vikings of yore.
So let’s pick up our daggers, grenades and machine
guns,
And strengthen the ranks of the old Wild Horde.

Let’s tell Father Odin we’re ready for combat,

Let’s tell him we’ve had enough of a rest.
Though Berserkers and Vandals once held clout in
Asgard,
They’re nothing compared to the Schutzstaffel’s best.

Now the chariots of war descend on our enemies,

Who crumble in front of the SS barrage.
Though their numbers are great, our hell-fury’s
69
 greater,
And thus from the battlefield they are dislodged.

No glory on earth like the glory of comrades,

No honor on earth like those of the True;
No shame for the Heroes who die for their kinsmen –
For ridding the world of the poisonous Jew.

Long life and good days to you brave SS Soldiers,

Long life and good days to the Waffen-SS!
Many tales to be sung on the battlefield of glory,
To hell with Valhalla! For you there’s no rest…

70
‘Top the Mountain, There’s a Vision

‘Top the Mountain, there’s a Vision –

of the Man who will come
and will slay, slay, slay;
from the Mountain,
there comes a Vision –
of One who crushes steel like clay.

In the Bloodlands, of the Valley,

armies clash to the sound
of the Devil’s forge;
evil powers,
they try to rally…
now comes the Footstep in the gorge.

Giant jackboot, oh how lovely!

Squash the Foe to the sounds
of his dying hymn,
“Sta-mattina…”
buona notte!
An evil race ripped limb from limb.

Blood-soaked moonlight, ‘top the Mountain –

beating hearts filled with joy
‘cause He slayed, slayed, slayed;
‘top the Mountain,
with Dawn approaching –
71
comes the One who tread the clay.

Marching proudly, a Folk is forming,

singing “Raus! Juden Raus!
Juden Raus! Raus! Raus!”
Now the sunlight
shineth upon us,
so we could build our Volkssturmhaus.

‘Top the Mountain, there’s a Vision –

of the Man who will come
and will slay, slay, slay;
from the Mountain,
there comes a Vision –
of One for whom steel-men are prey.

72
 OsTyrReich SS

We are the Os-Tyr-Reich SS,

the Honor Guard of Thule,
the Austere Northern essence
of the snow-capped Tyrol peaks,
so white and cruel…
We who in the latter days
shall raise the Polar spear of Tiu,
the Pillar of the Righteous,
for to slay the shabbos goy and Jew…

And We’ll raise Ostara’s bridal band

of new beginnings, through and through,
exacting vengeance on the earth
until the fickle closed-ring cycle stretches
Treu,
and forge welds unto its Linear groom –

Treu as our Honor, Straight as the Runes,

OsTyrReich SS, our shared joy and pain,
to war We march and sing so merrily,
this errant Band of Brothers Bound…

Never to forsake each other

and ever shall We give our lives
to spit upon the stench of Death,
to save the Brotherhood of Blood and Honor,
73
our Loyalty We shan’t renounce –
and so, above our rotting bones, my boys,
the Totenkopf We raise!
Now on to storm the citadels of Hell!

And in the Kosmic wind resounds

the Legacy of Deeds untold…

Treu as our Honor, Straight as the Runes,

OsTyrReich SS, our shared joy and pain,
to war We march and sing so merrily,
this errant Band of Brothers Bound…

SIEG HEIL!

SIEG HEIL!

SIEG HEIL!

74
 PT. 3

KAMERADSCHAFT

75
 We Who Dared
by

Gregory Klanderud †

Did we ask for more than what the

world could give us?
Did we dream for much more than what
could be granted?
Did we dare for that which must never
be known?
And did we speak those words which
must never be spoken?

If we did, then so be it, and carve our

names into stone,

For it was the world that did so

wickedly betray us,
It was the world that turned its back on
glory,

†
Gregory Klanderud is a translator of esoteric Ario-Germanic
literature. His published works include the first English
translation of Atlantis, Edda & Bible, by Hermann Wieland,
published by Hermitage Helm Corpus in 2016, and as a poet and
translator in Songs of the Reich, by Hermitage Helm Corpus,
2016.
76
It was the world that killed everything
that was good,
All truth, honor, valor and the holiness
of Blood.

And did we then demand to die rather

than to live in its chains?

If we did, then so be it, and carve our

names into stone,

For it was we, the so very few, who

dared to push back against the tide,

It was we, the so very few, who stood

against the world and all its crimes,

And it was we, the so very few, who

dared to reach for these lofty peaks...

And it is we alone who shall not be

denied! Sieg Heil!

77
 SONG FOR THERESA
by

Ljubo Divljak Hosner ‡

“The Reich is a-rising, like a maid that's gathered the

dew-drops of morn unto her Lilly-white limbs, lithe
like Death herself.”

Have you seen the images?

There is haunting quality to them.
Have you seen their bodies?
They are naked, all covered in slime.
Their bodies are covered
with the yellow slime of death!
Their bodies, they all look like piles of wood,
battered, bulldozed into a mass grave.
Some of the women look especially horrendous,
their mouths open, or curved in a half-smile,
as if mocking in advance
both the living and the Worm,

‡
Ljubo Divljak Hosner (born 1971) is a student of Esoteric
Hitlerism and member of Ahnenerbe Germania. He presently
resides in Slovenia.
78
 he will climb and he will bore - all the way through.
Do not avert your gaze now!
Have you seen their bodies?
Is this dignity in death?
(The same screen is showing copulations.)
Her mysterious smile, so triumphant?
Will it haunt you?
So sickeningly sensuous?
Indeed, her head was thrown slightly aback,
her mouth wide open.
But her eyes, that fulminant look in her eyes!
If only they were closed.
Instead, they had the expression
of having found pleasure – something else too!
Oh, mother, is there no God?
Her body thrown on a truck,
wearing a gown of silvern bones.
One of many. Yet to me - she 'll ever be special,
will she not?
Or am I insane?
That particular moment her body was dropped
on the truck, I recall it well.
I recall the sensation in my bones,
that akward sensation.
As her corpse was dumped onto the truck,
I half expected her pelvis to break.
It didn't. How they'll wish the grim smile was erased,
brushed off her ashen, ashen face.
But you don't get to command a corpse.

79
 Have you seen her corpse, have you?
I got a distinct feeling she felt shame in that moment
–
because of the nakedness, the exposure,
the utter degradation.
It felt so strange,
a part of me feeling she was still aware,
furious, desacrated.

Jew! Listen to me, Jew! I am talking to you!

To the seventy satanic souls of the Sanhedrin,
of your tribe, your new temple,
the one you intend to erect in Jerusalem,
there to keep on butchering
for your Jahwe, slave of the Demiurge.
Know, Jew, your time is up,
you will be called to the stand!
A testimony true this time,
no double standards anymore,
sanctioned by your Baruch, Moloch and Rephan.
Do you think you can continue to do evil?
To twist and obscure truth forever?
You will be released
from your six-thousand-years oath.
But tell me, Jew, what was her name?
Of the emaciated woman
you've shown on the screen?

80
 Always ready with your cameras, are you not?
The lenses well polished by your satan de spinoza!
Your spin is soon over, Jew!
We will seek her name and her soul of you, Jew!
We will order you: confess!
Restoring the honor and peace of the German Reich,

we will finally open the books.

And I ask you now: do you want to live, Jew?

But you must! We say so!
Your children want to live, Jew.
What to do with you, Jew?
What to do unto you!

81
 4 Selections
by

Kevin Hill §

No Greater Love

With a willingness to sacrifice his all

he set the wheels in motion
to stop the Bolshevik deluge
this, his undying devotion

To give Northernkind
a better world in which to live
he turned arms towards the east,
that we may have more living space
to grow and to breathe
but more than that…
to fulfill our destiny

Truly he set the example

for all of us to follow
and gave us a new hope
in which to believe

§
Kevin Hill (born 1970) is a Norse Heathen poet and musician
from South Carolina.
82
This was a true Man of Honor,
a Lord to be entrusted with our every
energy
this grand cultivator of man
was a Man amongst men
yet to the commoner he was also a friend
but more so was he focused
on that which would bring
our inner beings ever-lasting meaning
so we could shed the shell of mediocrity
and propel to Übermensch
and greater heights yet dreamed
so that we may once again
stake our standard on and rightly claim
all that which is healthy and strong
and ultimately supreme

“It was your shining example of courage

that dared me to also stand.
You are my inspiration
and it is you and your name
that my children will come
to know and to love
the same way I do,
for you are our Sun –
a beacon in the darkness.
And there was never one
whose love was purer
than the one adored

83
who was called der Führer.

“Thank you for your fearless passion

and unrivaled loyalty…
Your memory shall ever remain!”

For Those Trú

‘Twas before time immemorial

That light was forged in the form of
souls for the Herrenvolk
and our hearts opened
as blinding portals
to find ourselves a flame
of striking Bolts

From worlds beyond

sang of in skaldic song
lives of Magik,
ways one and all
of ancestral enchantment,
the runes were whispered
without the first word
being spoken,
as we stood
like Men and broke
with the new traditions

84
Our paths, though distant,
will be well worn with travel
as one web is spun
yet another will unravel
before our eyes
yet deep inside
the things we share
will ne’er cede but bind
‘til the day we die
and even beyond
tying one to the other
as surely as this life will fade
may we always be equal to the task
and never fall short, for this I bade

Of myself as your friend,

oh, comrade in arms,
it’ll never need be wondered
for in stance and religion
you are my brother
of one blood and spirit
united in this struggle

Never will I falter or stray

not even a day,
for the Æsir and Vanir
provide me guidance and strength
through example, to light
my very way that I may

85
be one of The Trú
and your ally not in just words alone
that with my tongue I do oath and say

As the War-drum is pounded

Where Glory Grows

Whence He’s been

few will surge to go
and where He goes
fewer there will be
which dare themselves
to follow

As a man He leads
not by words but by deeds
and with a conviction
that’s volk stirring

Urged by a sense
of purpose and
rightness of mission
onward He treads
towards new oðal lands
to Awaken the birthright
of a Nation He strives
to endow the pack with

86
the gifts to advance

His spirit a ghost ship

‘risen from the depths
like a wraith
dreamt from the past
He guides with
a god’s fortitude and
a discipline unsurpassed

His instincts pull Him

toward stars Trú Norð
demanding the very best
from each that they may
require more of
themselves and the cubs
that they create
Nine deep set prints
found in the driven snow
symbolic of the marks
that he’s left on the lives of those
He’s known

To be counted a friend
one of the chosen few
is an honour of highest esteem
and proof of one’s own weorth
and potential to leave
one’s sacred mark on

87
the very wings of destiny

Long hath He trekked

this road less traveled
the path He’s worn yonder
straight to where We’ll go
with an understanding
He drives them harder and harder
pushed to their limits through ice and fire
to worlds they’ve yet to know
He leads Them to a higher ground
and place to call home,
this a place just for us
a place where glory grows

The Ring

There is a Ring…
but few there be
that can grasp It
for scarcely fitted
is It for few
reddened time and again
It bleeds a lustrous crimson
staining Their hands a rusty hue

Oathing They embrace

Its blood laden weight

88
that which duty alone can define
against the grain Their very legacies
staked
stabbing hearts to higher climb

Solemn in His undertaking

His essence clenched by whispered
formulas
but He is not alone
for Every One that heard before Him,
now through Him marches on…

(Unrestrained, He crosses His own

Rubicon)

Proud, His Ancestors cheer Him,

for Trú Norð, centuries have they
yearned…
those once invoked in due reverence
now towards Him in admiration turn

From such a mortal

more than Legends are spawned

And thus, fated was He

to take His oaken throne
amidst the Nordic Pantheons
ever refracting Their numinous glows
as Visionary Architect

89
of Our Golden Age’s dawn

Enthralled, young maidens worship

in the splendor of such masculine daring
swooning, their wombs ache to exhale the
flower
of a bluer blooded Nobility

For this is The Trú Man of Honour,

My Friend, My Blood, My Brother…
the Promethean who grabs
O.R.I.O.N.’s Ring

90
 A Sun Has Risen
(The 20th of April 129 H.E.)
by

L’Aryensoufi **

A sun has risen from another horizon,

in a land where dead heroes
of a single blood and mind unite.
They have without hesitation
made offerings of themselves,
quickening with their breaths the ambient aether
with words that would stir the souls
of those who, like them,
were reborn to die once again
for the noble and ultimate reason
of all Cosmic Creation:
the re-birth of the Aryan Soul,
through its recurring progenitor,
into ever deeper realms of Hell
where the beast-men migrate,

**
L’Aryensoufi is of Germano-Norwegian and Spanish descent.
He is a Philosopher-Poet on the Aryan-Sufi Path of Knowledge, a
practitioner in the Alchemical and Spagyrical Arts, a proud
disciple of Esoteric Hitlerism, and member of the Last Battalion.
He currently resides in the south of France.
91
 fleeing Light and Love
and the True Consciousness of Real Men,
the primordial angelic Will of Hyperborea.

They invoke.
Summoning the shadows
from the netherworld of fore
to come and assist in the Last Great Battle –
which of course never ended,
but must be fought again and again, eternally,
as the Great Wheel of Aryan Dharma
pro-creates the Universal Goal of everything,
to lose once more the awful battle
and thus be defeated again and again,
among cynical mockeries
and cowardly back-stabbing.

After all, we live in a Jewish made environment.

And its divinity is an invention
of that Satanic Demiurgic Brain.

And to feed the infernal machine

of life and death and love and hate,
it needs a Supernatural Spirit
to animate with our ghost the mechanical simulation,
replete with synthetic lying laws
and shiny nylon finishing.

Struck by a lightning blast

92
 issued from A-Mor’s radiant heart,
War is no less Sacred than Peace,
a necessary Holy commodity.
Hit by this thunder inside the pounding heart,
from the body’s own dark depths,
we are consumed without resolve.
Our strength depends on no constitutional right,
but on the black rotating void that never empties itself
resounding in our chests.
We incarnate thru our spiritual persistence,
the activity of the Green Thunderbolt
shredding the illusory sky and its material aberration.
We are the Gral.

Das Hakenkreuz ist das schöne Gesicht des Geistes

Gottes im Herzen seines Freundes.

93
 The Last Court
by

Karl Young ††

Little Deadman’s jig

In the quiet grove
Weeds and vines entangled grow
To them we play our silent gig.

We are the old Thinge of the Wald,

On mountain tops and valley holes,
Der Brüder Schweigen
Unseen and untold.

Des Toten Gesicht

Und sind Gericht;
Stein, Seil, Gras und Gruner Baum,
We are the Silent Court of old.

††
Karl Young is an architect, author, publisher, blogger and SS
Obergruppenführer in the Last Battalion.
94
 PT. 4
MUSINGS

95
 Musings of the Round Table

I. Do not “do what you will,” but rather Will what

you do. The former is what LaVeyan (oy vey!-an)
Satanism is based on, whereas the latter forms the
basis of all Higher Thought. Generate your own
Good Fortune and you will have it. And never
make the mistake of relying on others for that
which you can do yourself. As the Führer
instructed us (by way of the primal Feuer): One
“should never make the mistake of believing that
[anything] will fall from heaven. Everything is
rooted in one’s own will, in one’s own work.” In
other words: God helps those who help
themselves.

II. State your case, but do not attempt to win anyone

over to your cause. First, “win over” yourself…
and then you will win over All. Likewise, the sage
must first know himself, and then he will know
All. Those who seek to “win over” people
(sheeple, beast-men, etc.) will do anything for
quantity’s sake – they are nothing but liars,
tricksters, frauds, politicians (beast-men
96
 themselves). Likewise, those individuals
(sheeple) who need to be “won over” are not
worthy of any cause. The Strong Man is mightiest
alone. And the Wise Man acts like the Sun,
attracting others to orbit around Him only by
affirming His own superior force. Those that
follow Him are planetary powerhouses unto
themselves, with their own lesser moons orbiting
around them as well.

III. Rain torrents of never-ending fervid death down

upon thine enemies, and make dull their broad-
swords of Darkness! Preserve your-Self, the treu-
Self of Honor and Justice, Truth and Light! Make
sure your enemies not only fear you but take
possession of them; control them; manipulate
them as you would so many pawns on the
chessboard. And never forget the wise words of a
Torch Bearer who once said: “… if it is the nature
of a malign force to always destroy then the forces
of truth must completely annihilate without trace
that malign force, otherwise any true and just
society will only ever be temporary and only evil
will remain in the end.” ‡‡

IV. Do not confuse Logic with reason. Logic is

Instinct acting upon Wisdom, just as Virtue is Will

‡‡
This quote comes from page 61 of GERMANIA – Book I, by
Steve Hirst (Victoria, Australia: Hermitage Helm Corpus, 2017).
97
 acting upon Wisdom; two separate but
interconnected poles on the axis of Organic-
thought. Reason is mere emotion. Reason is the
death of Logic. Reason is Socratic decadence,
democracy, Semitism, sermonism, hypocrisy,
relativism, nihilism, ugliness, rot, the corpse that
emitted the putrid stench of “Enlightenment.”
Rationality is emotionality disguised as intellect.
But it is worse than that – it is Satanic! It is an
arch-weapon used by the Demiurge to enslave
you, and what’s more, to get you to enjoy your
enslavement! But take heed, Kinsmen: Only the
Force of your own Spirit, your own Logos (the
Word made flesh), makes you free!

V. If you Love, make sure you do so with a Barbarian

zeal of Honor and ecstasy, of ecstatic Honor,
which destroys all traces of evil. Yes, Love with
an intensity that destroys subhuman “civilization”
and transcends all hate. This can only be
accomplished if your path is straight and you
already know that you are indestructible for the
very reason that you are a Higher Life Form and
you are Right.

VI. It was once said: “… if a man hurts me with the

root of a strange tree; the ruin he threatened me

98
 with does not hurt me but consumes him.” §§ And
so, I tell you: Resist the roots of all strange trees!
Resist the evil roots of Deception; resist the
deceptive doctrines of Zion. Resist the roots of all
Evil! Destroy the Great Moloch’s nefarious rules
and regulations! Resist all unmanliness and self-
renunciation. Resist the idolatrous individualism
of the liberal state. Destroy! Destroy! And again…
DESTROY! For the sake of your Kith and Kin!
Remember, Kinsman: Your Blood is your highest
possession!

VII. Never mind the “White Nationalists.” In all their

endeavors they failed before they even started,
because they never harbored the All in
themselves. (As the Wise One once said: “Harbor
the All in yourself and you will control All.”)
Neither do they possess the most basic
understanding of the All or even themselves.
Hopelessly polarized, these “White Nationalists”
lack the Wisdom that the runes Eh and Not bring
when overlapped, hence they are never to
understand the great Kosmic balance of positive
and negative energies which comes as a result,
both within and without; they shall never be able
to attain the peaceful bliss of the Hagal. Hence
they could never put out the flames of their own

§§
The 55 Club. The Complete Armanen and the Untold Story.
N.p.: 55 Club, 2012, p. 39.
99
 misguided hatred, which burns with such a self-
destructive intensity that it could only consume
anything these people claim to “love.” Such ones
as these could only see Death and negativity when
the Life of Ehrean Truth is right there, nakedly
staring them in the eye. Indeed, “White
Nationalists” are nothing but New Age flagellants,
devoid of any creative genius; all of their self-
inflicted troubles and torments have been in vain.
And so “White Nationalism” is dead – nay, it was
never even alive. (Should this come as any great
surprise?) The loose assortment of beliefs
attributed to “White Nationalists” was always
more unter than Über, more gesellschaft than
Gemeinschaft, more bourgeois than Arbeiter –
never did it have the force of a true Ideology
behind it. “White Nationalism” is best described
as a simpleton’s “Disraeli-Land” distortion of a
legitimate Creed and is best exemplified in the
personage of one Frank Collins.

VIII. So I repeat: Never mind the “White Nationalists.”

Never mind the constant discord that crops up
between inferior beings and their equally inferior
belief systems; strife will always surround them as
beings of an inconsequential fate, which will
eventually swallow them. Meanwhile, your
superior Destiny awaits you. Learn to accept your
Destiny and use it to your advantage; do not strive

100
 against it. Turn your attention toward the
edification of Germanic Man, the Sonnenmensch
– He who was and ceases to be, and yet is still to
come; He who is within and beyond yet ceases to
tread the earth of this fallen world; the invisible
One who is too pure to be revealed by the
contaminated rays of a corrupted yellow sun, and
thus too pure to be seen by the eyes of an equally
corrupted humanity. Yes, turn your attention
toward the blond-haired, blue-eyed ghost who
haunts the mental caverns of all lesser men.

IX. It was once said by myself to myself: “Just as

there is a natural rhythm to domestic tranquility,
which is to say womanhood, there is a natural
masculine rhythm of penetration, war and
conquest – the way of the thrusting phallus. Man
is brought into the world to thrust, to expand his
power, to crush and subjugate the weak. Men who
fail to expand their influence are failed men.
Likewise, with races and cultures.” So reads the
epitaph on the tombstone of a bygone world –
where “womanhood” has been sapped of all true
meaning (hence value), and where masculinity
now means nothing, as it is impossible for Higher
Man to expand his influence in any actual way.
Now it is the failed men, races and cultures that
proliferate – it is this kind that expands its
influence like a thriving urban cemetery which

101
 finally consumes the wretched metropolis that
spawned it. In such a place as this, it is not the
epitaph but the tombstone that has triumphed.
Here, the epitaph means nothing. In a few hundred
years’ time it will be erased completely, due to the
unrelenting winds of aggression unleashed by the
fiendish Elementarwesen. For now, worms,
slithering on the table of Jehovah’s dirt-ridden
“natural” kingdom, feast on the rotted corpses of
all Higher Life – thus fulfilling the dilettante
“creator” god’s putrid master plan. Must we
Struggle against the degenerative physical and
spiritual realities of this corrupted world? Must we
wage War against the demiurgic System that has
us bound in iron fetters? YES! But we must do so
only in order to attain Victory for the Better World
(the Dis-Illusion, the Anti-Reality) to come.
Before then, one must first learn how to win
power over oneself.

X. It was once said by myself to myself: “The natural

world is androgynous; beautiful and wise,
benevolent and terrible, neither just nor unjust,
nor even amoral, but transcendentally wise
beyond the comprehension of base humanity. One
should therefore strive to become
transcendentally wise by living in accordance
with the hermaphroditic wisdom of Gaium, and by
harnessing the great Sage’s free and abundant

102
 powers.” This is all well and good, and it certainly
sounds “nice.” But, truth be told, Nature is rigged,
slanted toward the quantitative ideal of the
masses, toward the reproduction of redundant,
purposeless organisms, toward their proliferation,
excrement-production, death and rebirth. And so,
Nature itself – along with the unseen driving
“Force” behind the apparently feckless “natural”
process – cannot be the guide of Higher
(qualitative) Man. To quote the Third Reich
Pilgrim: “The Force of Nature dictates that the
stronger and better will subordinate the weaker
and inferior, but by stronger and better, Nature
appears to imply a sheer weight of numbers, in
the end the ant, and the termite, and the
cockroach out-competes the lion.” *** Clearly
then, this inferior realm of demiurgic plagiarism,
this low-frequency plane of dense matter, has no
promethean role to play, nothing to teach us. It is
naïve to think otherwise. What is referred to by the
beast-men as the “natural world” is nothing but a
horror-ground of feckless lust and carnage, of
demonic energy consumption and constant
vexation, where the weak are always guaranteed a
cowardly “win,” and the Strong and Honorable
are condemned to follow the path of the Loser –

***
See: Young, Karl. Third Reich Pilgrim: Part 1 – The Ruins of
Power. 2nd ed. Victoria, Australia: Hermitage Helm Corpus, 2017,
p. 73.
103
 of our Leader of Light, Lose-ifer – whose Divine
Mission it is to let loose his People from this
involuted, inferior world. His defeat is spelled: V-
I-C-T-O-R-Y. And in the higher Empyrean realm,
where Honor is Loyalty and all lies are destroyed,
He and We reign supreme. So, my fellow Torch
Bearers and Kameraden, we must respect and hail
the Primal Fire of Light!

XI. It was once said by myself to myself: “If Nature

is our guide, then the summit of Wisdom for man
is a mountain peak called Eugenics. Without
eugenics, man will remain a potential genius who
lacks a brain; an Adonis without form; a vast
Siberian wilderness of equally boundless natural
resources, untouched by the shamanistic
simpletons traversing its landscape. Without an
effective eugenics policy, man is useless – an
animal without a purpose, self-canceling (like
“White Nationalism”), pitiful in the truest sense.”
But alas! Eugenics died a horrible death in 1945,
and it will never be resurrected here in this rat-
infested sewer of a world, among subhuman
slaves that are both white and black, gentile and
Jew, heathen and Abrahamic. Eugenics is dead to
the masses who are already useless beasts that
serve no purpose, as retarded in their growth as
they are redundant. Only the Creative Spirit serves
a purpose in this world (as in others); only the

104
 Creative Spirit that conquers is worth anything.
SIEG HEIL!

XII. And so, Eugenics – that vanquished mountain

peak which has long since crumbled down into the
valley – could never be a final goal of ours. How
could it? The enhancement of crude matter (of the
masses themselves) could never be our greatest
concern. Likewise, the Riddle of the Holy Lance,
pointing ever upward, was never intended to be
grasped by the feral hand of base humanity. We
seek the One who is capable of climbing down
from the High Tree so that He is able to Rise once
again… the One who does not fear Mystic Death;
the One who knows that Death itself can never kill
Him. And so, our ultimate objective is the total
depersonalization of the human (“all too human”)
individual – the transmutation of this base
animalistic condition – and the creation of the
Absolute Personality of the Overman. This is to
say, we seek nothing less than the total
Communion of the highest, most excellent
segments of the Nordic Aryan Race – the few
remaining Elites of this realm and others. Hence,
the complete unity of consciousness – the
uniformity of Spirit, Mind, Will, and Body –
among all member-parts of the EHREAN to
come…

105
XIII. As it stands now, reality is an illusion and that
thing called “humanity” remains worthless, even
less than worthless: parasitical. Soon, that which
is considered by the broad masses to be “unreal”
– the great phantasmagoric Ideal of NAZI DIS-
ILLUSION – will become “real.” But first must
come the Ur-iginal Baptism, the regeneration of
the One whom no sword can slay, the Overman –
the Oval-man, well-rounded, Total, complete; the
Odal-German, the Noble-Germ, Seed of the Most
High, the Old-German primordial made anew –
He who will bask in the purifying Green Rays of
the Highest Reality and the Greatest Truth…

XIV. Another secret: The Gods want the Aryan, the

fallen divya, the semi-divine Hero (the vira) who
has been separated from his divinity to recover it.
They desire to guide the Hero on his way to
immortality, knowing full well that the Hero will
never become exactly as they are. Rather, the
Hero will become something greater than the
Gods, something unimaginably grand and
wonderful – beyond the belief of even the greatest
dreamers! The Gods, who cannot feel, know this.
Hence they desire – nay, demand! – the Aryan
Hero’s future overlordship so that, through him,
they will finally be able to experience and enjoy
their own existence to the fullest. But first the
Hero must learn the Names of all the Gods, which

106
 is to say, he must learn the Ways of all the Gods
and how to steadily walk the long Path in front of
him; only then shall it be possible for him to, one
day, Soar with the eagles, and thus claim his
rightful title as the New Man – the One who is yet
to come…

XV. And all shall recognize the Man to Come by his

victorious aura and steely gaze. But when he
arrives is still anyone’s guess. One thing is certain
however: He will Come in glory with the Host of
the Furious Horde and be seen, high above, urging
on the terrifying war-horses of his celestial chariot
to the divine sounds of Wagner – and not the
infernal cacophony of the Judaic jungle. Hence,
Wagner-rök shall be at hand! And what a spectral
orchestra of beauteous DEATH this time will be!
Finally, the few survivors who inhabit the earth
will see for themselves what it is like to… BE A
MAN!

XVI. And WO-MAN… yes, the divine feminine will

also fulfill its destiny as all the Valkyries of
Asgard scream out over the earth in unison:
“WOE to the enemies of the TotenReich!”
(Hence, woe to those who do not understand that
Death is the only bridge that connects one to – and
yes! brings about – Totality.) No longer is the
feminine heart fickle, no longer is the maiden’s

107
 heart a lair of wanton deceit – because now, MAN
and WOMAN are eternally united. Total-Man and
Total-Woman are now One, NOS, the double-
Triune-offspring of the Most High – the divine-
Six with yet a seventh unfathomable component
part to be shared, uniting the two halves together,
binding them as the Hagal Rune of sacred A-Mor,
united in mystic separation and separated in
blissful union for all eternity – the
incomprehensible empyrean state that Don
Miguel (an Ehrean amongst men!) could only
begin to fathom… because Don Miguel was one
of the only ones who Treu-ly contemplated the
End.

XVII. And the Wise Ones know that the “end” is never
truly The End, but only a new beginning; the
marriage of Total-Man and Total-Woman, their
merging (their Love, their Light) could never be
an “end” but only the start of a new and glorious
future – the continuance of the Law of Life, the
Divine Mission, re-rooted, raw, firm, unsullied
and ne’er to be spoiled… And now, the Six sacred
parts (the divine-Six) become Eight, the divine Ka
and Ar runes overlap and combine in marriage,
yielding the Sacred EH, as if Horse and Rider now
merge into One. Yes, the former Six sacred parts
(plus one) transmute into the High Holy Acht, the
Gral, raw root of the Aryans, beloved of the

108
 Morning Star. And through the Morning Star
these sacred parts must pass as One, on their
journey to another dimension, another realm,
another Reich, where the Black Sun, illumined by
the Green Ray, shines eternally majestic for all
Divine Parts (all Torch-Bearing-Kamerad-
Ehreans) to behold and experience for themselves
and each other. Behold! Something so GREAT
mere words cease to be written or spoken, as even
words themselves tremble in fear at the prospect
of offending the Most High – the Treu Almighty
Force beyond Space and Time… The Divine
Communion of the EHREAN.

XVIII. Some final words of wisdom: Neither

acknowledge nor trust in any “god” save the inner
voice that dwells within; be your own God. Listen
inwardly to the call of the Divine, to the sacred
memory of the Blood. Acknowledge that you are
an integral part of the All-Father – that you are
within Him, and He is within you. Thus become
conscious of your Higher Self. Gibur Arahari!
Man, be one with God!

109
 The Fall of Man (Interlude)

The freak show barker announced:

“Mass society perambulating madly across the

tightrope, ladies and gentlemen, I give you… the
Post-Western Error. Conceived during the time of
Cromwell, and birthed amid the gray, haunting ruins
of Gralstad in Altsgard – look at the Siamese twins go!
Since 1945, the twin beast has rapidly matured, both
halves becoming the quintessential grotesques of the
Common Era – their names indelibly branded into the
souls of men: Homo americanus and Homo
sovieticus… the latter pushing fiercely into the
former. Watch as they cross harum-scarum from one
edifice to the next!”

Good fortune was on the side of the twin beast that

day, and even well into the moonlit hours of the
night…

Thud.

110
An old ascetic emerged from the crowd of startled
villagers. He threw down his snake-coiled cane and
shouted out ecstatically for all the villagers to hear:

“Behold! There He is, perched over the ledge, now

rising with gladius in hand, soberly gazing up at the
stars. Can you see him? Look people, look! Behold,
the Ehrean Man!”

The old ascetic shouted at the top of his lungs, over

and over, and still the villagers paid him no mind.
Instead, they preferred to weep for the corpses of the
fallen twin beast.

Again the old one attempted to direct the crowd’s

collective sight to the distant rooftop, ever fading into
the backdrop. “Look there! Can you see him? Can you
hear his stoic voice bellowing through the weary
heavens?”

“PROGRESS IS DEAD.”

The crowd heard nothing.

The old man disappeared as quickly as he came, this

time with a smug little grin on his face. The villagers
didn’t notice. Doleful and oblivious, they wept at the
side of their fallen twin beast.

111
 PT. 5
DIALOGUE

112
 Dialogue with an Ascended Master

The rains subsided that night, not long ago, after 67

long years of deep despair. And though the people’s
smiles were far and few between, the Loyal ones gave
a collective sigh of relief. They, alone, knew that better
days were ahead. At daybreak a lonely master and his
pupil ascended the Mountain which the valley dwellers
call “Invisible.” They made their way up the steep
heights where none had dared to tread before. Every
step they took was perilous, every foothold could be
their last, yet they proceeded to climb undaunted and
unscathed. When at last they reached the Invisible’s
summit, they took rest under the shade of the tallest
white pine they had ever seen. There they sat down and
remained for the rest of the day, conversing and
meditating. The proceeding is but a partial record, a
fleeting remembrance, of what was said that day in the
open air, under the rays of a new rising sun…

Adept: Master, I must ask you some questions.

Master: Ask, my son.

Adept: Throughout the centuries, many sages have

expounded on the subject of Jew versus Gentile, listing
the differences between the two in great detail. Tell me
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now, O venerable Master of Masters: What are the
primary differences between Jew and Gentile?

Master: There are none.

Adept: None, my lord?

Master: That’s right. None. For you see, both are

slaves, both breed deception and ignorance. Hence
they are two complementary sides of the same coin;
where one side reads “Parasite,” the other reads
“Host”; one side is spelled T-R-A-D-E-R, and the other
is spelled T-R-A-I-T-O-R. Is there really a difference,
my young apprentice? Just look around you in this poor
excuse for a world. If it wasn’t for the gentile, there’d
be no Jew. Likewise, if there was no such thing as
gullibility, there would be no lies. And if there were no
such things as greed and vanity, there would be no
materialism. The gentile is a creature that loves – nay,
craves! – to be lied to; actually, he lives to consume
lies. He is not “dead in Christ” as the hypocritical
preachers say, but “dead in the Jews’ money” as a
wrongfully accused son of man once said.
And so, the “magical Jew” is there – or rather, was
created – to provide, to buy and sell, the great fetish of
lies and consumerism (illusory realities) of every kind
to the gullible gentile, the believer and consumer of
lies, the stupid white man par excellence. The Jew, the
natural-born trader, the great bearer and disseminator

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of lies – the “Great Master of Lies,” as Schopenhauer
famously remarked – is but a shadowy reflection of the
gentile. He is the Frankenstein monster or creature –
which is to say, creation – of a decadent white brain on
its way out. Here it must be understood that the Jew is
a creation or golem of the white brain… not the Aryan
brain. The Aryan brain is something much different,
much more significant and superior – it is not
entombed in the empty, rusted head of a tin-man beast,
but instead soars freely throughout the etheric soul of
the Sonnenmensch.
So it is that the Jew’s so-called “religion,” his Torah
and Talmud, are also creations of the diseased white
brain – a brain that, for many centuries now, is too far
gone to be saved. So it is that, regardless of what the
human sheep have been taught in their senseless
holding pens, Christianity’s “New Testament” actually
spawned the “Old” and not vice versa. Islam and its
Muslims were also created by the gentile
untermenschen, just as surely as pacifism is always
responsible for breeding war and hate.
And so, the three-tiered magnum opus of
Abrahamism – Christianity, Judaism and Islam – this
demonic monument to the Black Arts, this unholy
trinity, was constructed in the monasteries of the
gentiles during the so-called “Middle Ages,” which
were nothing of the sort, but only the beginning of the
End Times, which is to say, the Ragnarök. A time when
the ascending Roman-Christian priesthood brought the

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“Pagan” Germanic Era of History and Civilization –
the only actual History and Civilization on earth, as
there is no other – to an abrupt end by means of the
most murderous and deceptive methods.
It was Rome that created and then opened the door to
Jewry, as Wilhelm Marr reminds us in his 1879 work,
The Victory of Judaism over Germanism. It was the
Romans who first introduced the sons of Jacob into
Europe. Simply put: no Romans, no Jews. Indeed,
when Christian Rome ascended to power during the
“Middle Ages,” many lies were fabricated, and not
only regarding the Pagan Germanic past. For example,
nearly all of the “ancient” histories you were taught in
the profane schools were fabricated in the monasteries,
and then expounded upon by the Illuminists. In the
same way, the vast majority of the world’s
“archaeological sites” are modern forgeries, no older
than a mere two centuries or so; they are Disneyland
castles as it were, concocted and publicized by
Freemasons – those master-builders of complete and
total deception. This is also true of nearly all the
museums in the world, which are nothing more than
indoctrination centers for the increasingly brainwashed
and propagandized youth. Were the Futurists of F.T.
Marinetti right in wanting to destroy the museums?
Yes. But for the wrong reasons.

Adept: Master – describe for me, then, the origin of

our most ancient and glorious past, as was revealed to

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the noble Vrilerinnen. Tell me the secrets of
Aldebaran. Does our noble German Volk actually hail
from that distant star system?

Master: There are no “star systems,” as you call them.

So how could we hail from them?

Adept: Master… I am confused.

Master: Of course you are con-fused, as throughout

your entire uninitiated life you have been consistently
in-fused with lies, conned; systematically deceived so
as to maintain an overall state of blindness with no
chance of ever attaining true Sight. But I tell you that
your confusion and your questions together represent
the first great step on your journey towards total
Vision. So now I will answer your question and
attempt to cure your guiltless state of darkness:
I repeat, there are no “star systems.” The profane
astronomical tradition of the Semitic Arabs, which is
nothing but inverted Aryan cosmogony, is
fundamentally flawed. The stars and planets and moon
don’t exist in a “space” above the Earth, as such. Much
like the “moon landing,” the vacuum of space is a
fiction. These suspended bodies are merely nighttime
reflections of that which is projected from deep within
the Earth’s interior. Likewise, the golden sun you see
in the sky is but a daytime reflection of the inner-
Earth’s white sun – itself empowered by the

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transcendent, invisible Black Sun obscured behind it.
What you call the “sky” (above the clouds) is thus
nothing more than an optical illusion – a simulacrum,
a shadowy dome of what really exists below, or rather
within the Earth.
“As above, so below” is a profane statement, a
masonic statement – one of deliberate deception, as
what is above is actually an illusion, and what is
“below” doesn’t really exist either, since this is a
subjective concept entirely. Only what is within truly
exists. This is what your Kristos meant when he
directed you not to look to the heavens, like common
“heathens,” but instructed that the Kingdom of God is
already within you. Only the Demonic Power of the
Pharisees and Sadducees, only the corruptive Semitic
Power of the Euclidean black arts, only this
collaborative Great Evil Force of the Ages, this Grand
Hypnotic Fraud, wants you to believe that you live in
the vacuum of its vast Demiurgic “space” – in a
quantitative cosmos, a never-ending Gulag
Archipelago, where the Aryan Man is insignificant and
powerless before the total presence of the Great
Nothing… Do you see now, my son?

Adept: Yes, Master, I see. But forgive me – where

then comes the persistent belief, among our fellow
Seekers, that Aldebaran is the great Cradle of our
Kind?

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Master: There is no “belief,” my son; only Truth. And
it comes from within – within you, and within the
Earth. Not from “above” … and not from “below” …
but within. Deep within. In the same way, there is no
such thing as “legend,” only Myth-Os… Mitt-Uns…
the Word of God with Us… from within… NOS.
Now that you can finally begin to see, my son, you
must also unplug your ears so that you will be able to
hear as well. What you call “Aldebaran” is yet another
Semite-Arab trick or error, a mispronunciation and
misspelling of the Ario-Germanic Altgerdaran,
which, when divided into three parts – Alt (Old) /
Gerd(a) (Earth) / Aran (Aryan) – translates as “Old
Aryan Earth.” Hence, Altgerdaran – the “Asgard” and
“Agartha” of our Norse and esoteric myths.
The beloved name of our Heimatland, “Germanien”
or “Germania,” comes down to us from the
contraction of the words Gerda and Aran. The only
part left out is the foremost “Alt” (i.e. “Old”), thus
signifying a new Aryan homeland on the surface of the
Earth – which is less of a “surface” than it is the edge
of a fountain, or the bark of a tree. The “d” in Gerda
was also replaced with an “m” (hence the root “Germ”)
to emphasize the germination and Germanization of
the entire Earth’s surface with the purest Seed of the
Aryan Race.
You see, many eons ago, the
Hermetic/Irminic/Mercurial/alchemical
transmigration of the Blood was initiated in order to

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manifest itself on a denser plane so that the pre-Cosmic
Souls of Light would be able to defeat the Demiurge
on the plagiaristic material plane of the Evil One’s own
making. The Blood, as a whole, constituted the Army
of the Souls of Light, and thus it went forward to do
battle, it transmigrated from the Realm (or Reich) of
Pure Light and Spirit – it traveled from Interior to
exterior, Ethereal to skeleton, Astral-body to body.
This had all been initiated en masse, not individually
as atomized persons, but collectively as a Race. This
process was well on its way, despite numerous
devolutionary setbacks. Even so, nothing seemed to be
able to thwart the overarching Will of the Race – from
the time of the first Hyperborea, on down.
But then, before the process could complete itself,
before the Great Battle Against Evil could be won,
something occurred that was as disastrous as it was
seemingly irreversible: the beast-men were given
Knowledge.

Adept: Master, who are these “beast-men,” of whom

the Ascended speak so contemptuously, and what
“knowledge” were they given – and by whom?

Master: My son, the beast-men come from within as

well. Until the Time of the Great Cleansing they will
continue to be with us all, in varying degrees. You
would recognize them by their physical type and by
either of the terms “Sumerians” or “slaves of Atlantis”

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– since the first term is more accurate, we will continue
to use it.
The Sumerians were created as the primary slave
race for the Ario-Germanics, or “Altgerdaranites,”
who came to the new outer-Earth from deep within the
Old Earth. Whereas the Ario-Germans were the Earls
(or Lords) of the Earth, the Sumerians were the thralls,
the “black-headed ones,” the slave race. At this point
in time, there weren’t any intermediate “Carls” – they
came later. In return for their peaceful and productive
labor, the Sumerians were given everything by their
benevolent Masters – and the Sumerians knew it!, as
even they referred to their Masters as Gut männer
(“Good men”), which later contracted to Goten
(“Goths”) and finally, in more materialistic times, to
“Gods.”
Yes, the Ario-Germanics, which is to say: the
German Master Race (the Herrenvolk), gave the
Sumerians everything, including an entire culture and
even a pidgin language which was only loosely based
on the German speech of the Masters. This is why,
when Maria Orsic tapped into the intra-terrestrial Ario-
Germanic Power, she noticed immediately the striking
similarity between the Sumerian tongue – which the
inner-Earth Masters still use when communicating
with lesser “humans” – and her native German. (To
this day, and for all eternity to come, German remains
the sole official language of the intra-terrestrial
Masters when speaking amongst themselves, the

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magnificent and terrifying AESIR – the highest caste of
the Ario-Germans, the Ascended Masters, Asen-dead
to the material world of outer-Earth.)
Now then, when the Sumerian slaves, the beast-men,
increased their numbers too prolifically, due to the
inherent liberality – which is to say goodness – of the
Master Race Germans, the entire balance of Gerda was
negatively impacted. As such, the Sumerians –
imbalanced as they already were, but now even more
so! – began abducting (or rather “stealing”) pure Aryan
women to take for themselves. They ravished them and
knew them. This then is the “Knowledge” to which I
alluded earlier. The Knowledge of Sophia.
And so, a bastard race was born, along with all
inferior “Philosophy” – a word of dubious double
meaning: “the love of wisdom” (in Greek) and “the son
of Sophia” (in Latin). The impure son would now be
born from pure Woman (flesh born of Spirit); this is the
demonic reversal of the earlier godly state wherein the
Pure-son (Per-son) was born of impure man (Spirit
born of flesh), hence the “Son of man.”
The Masters strove to put an end to the flagrant and
diabolical miscegenation taking place, but their
numbers were rapidly depleting. What could be
described as the “Age of Gold” began to give way to
the sinister encroachment of the Eternal Return – the
Wolf started unhinging its jaws to swallow the Sun (the
Source of the Wolf’s own sustenance), and Saturn was

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taken hostage by his own subordinate creation, Jove-
Jehovah.
Then the Sumerians revolted militarily. They were
led by a contingent of Aryan renegades and traitors –
the weapon-“forging” (faking, lying) Carls, under the
command of one General Loki, the first rationalist, the
first one who specialized in using lies as weapons,
indeed the first Lockean. This rationalist-materialist
revolt would lead all the way into the heart of
Germania, to Asgard, the True Rome of the Aesir.
Thus started the Great War between the Brethren,
lining the Loyal Few up on one side, the Aesir-
Germans – a higher caste than even the rank-and-file
Ario-Germans – and on the other: the Traitor Masses
of Aryan-Mongrels.
These latter, composed of a mixture of pure Aryans,
Sumerians, and even a smattering from other inferior
races, would go on to form the great bulk of the
emerging (so-called) “Indo-Aryan” or “Indo-
European” nomads who restlessly traversed the
gargantuan Eurasian landmass, from the Gobi to
Lusitania. In so doing, they consciously rejected all
prior wisdom and chose to follow the involuted path of
the clockwise swastika. To the southernmost ends of
the Earth they journeyed, the dark cloud of Materialism
following ever closer on their heels, looming ever
larger – until, finally, that cloud overtook their
collective Spirit, atomizing them, cutting them off,
each man from his kinsman. The myth of the Tower of

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Babel has its origin here; and the self-destructive
people of Babel are the early Indo-Europeans. These,
then, represent the majority of your “White people” (as
they are now called) – hybrids only one rung up from
the beast-men.
As for the pure bloods, the Aesir Master Race, the
Ario-Germans (call them what you will!) – they were
forced to retreat ever northward as the Ages turned
from Gold to Iron… and even inward, back to their
polar Ur-igins in the sacred cradle of the hollow Earth.
And so, the Divine Race, the Defeated, had no choice
but to follow the pious way of the counterclockwise
swastika, the path of Nordic unity, in the supreme
Quest to piece together the scattered remains of
Lucifer’s broken Crown – which is to say, the
individual members of the Divine Race itself – whom
the Ascended refer to collectively as the Gral.
As for the beast-men, they had won for a while…
they were given free rein to rule and corrupt and
destroy the entire surface of the Earth – but only the
surface, as they were not granted access to the interior
Realm. This was the essence of the agreement, the
treaty, between the Aesir and mortal men (i.e. dead
men without honor, without love) after many
thousands of years of combat. So you see, my son, the
beast-men are still with us, dominating and corrupting,
profaning and perverting all life here on the surface of
this fallen Earth – dear, pitiful Gerda! Indeed, the
beast-men are even within our own Race, within the

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blood, in varying degrees, depending on both the
individual and nationality in question.

Adept: Master, does this mean that all of History is a

lie?

Master: I speak, and still you do not hear! It was

Napoleon who said: “History is a set of lies agreed
upon.” Yet even he was wrong. His-story is not a lie so
much as it is allegory – and all bloody hell it surely is!
It is not itself cyclical or recurring as much as it is
symbolically retold in cycles. As an event, his-story
can occur but once, and yet perpetually re-occur in any
number of symbolically meaningful ways. The story of
Rome is a good example.

Adept: Yes, Master! I think I am finally beginning to

understand what you mean.

Master: Do not think! Only do. Just as I do not “mean”

anything, but only say.

Adept: Yes, Master. Forgive my interruption… but

earlier in our discussion you had also mentioned Rome
– how it was once Asgard, the True Rome of the Aesir
located in the heart of Germania. Please tell me how
this could be, as when I think of Rome it is always the
one situated on the banks of the Tiber, in Italy, that
comes to mind.

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Master: The Tiber is not a river, but a man-made
stream that was constructed, as the region began to
swell in population, for the purpose of diverting waste
out of the Latin hills. This false “Rome” in Italy was
but one of many colonies of the True Rome on the
Rhine, Köln – a city many thousands of years (eons!)
older than so-called “classical Rome.” Likewise, the
mighty Rhine was the true river Tiber. Those who have
falsified our past with untold fictions favorable to the
papal knaves have reversed the true nature of things.
They have propagated the phony narrative that Colonia
Agrippina became the city of Köln, when in fact it was
the Italian city of “Rome” that was the colony!
Likewise, the patron goddess of “Rome,” Rhea Silvia,
was taken from Freya (Frhea, hence Rhea) the Queen
Mother of the Aesir and goddess of the Rhine.
It was one of Freya’s sons, Reinhold (known to the
Latins as “Remus”) who was the true founder of Köln,
and, according to his adoring subjects, he was the most
beloved of all the Aesir, second only to Baldur in
beauty and wisdom. And so Reinhold was truly
deserving of the title “Aesir.” Incidentally, this is
where the name “Caesar” comes from, which (many
centuries later) the Latins applied to their own rulers,
most of whom were total degenerates.
In any event, Reinhold (“Defender of the Rhein”)
was truly a great ruler, wise and benevolent, incredibly
well-balanced, as dedicated to peace as he was to war,

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the most gracious of hosts, yet as ruthless an adversary
as any. Reinhold was as beloved as the Festival of Yule
itself – the most sacred time of year for the Germanic
peoples. Hence, he was sometimes referred to as
“Blessed Yule.” This is also where the Roman family
name “Iulius” comes from. Hence “Julius Caesar”
actually translates as “Yule of the Aesir.” The Roman
poet-initiate Virgil was well aware of all this yet chose
to obfuscate the truth in his Aeneid. Anyhow, Reinhold
– the true Aeneas – was indeed one of a kind. But alas!
Reinhold’s reign was cut short when his evil and
deformed twin, Röhm, treacherously had him
murdered (just as in latter times one of Röhm’s
descendants would attempt to usurp the power of the
Führer). The state was thus thrown into a period of
great confusion, and among the people there was great
despair.
After Röhm had murdered his brother Reinhold, he
usurped the sacred name of the Aesir and instituted a
long and vicious reign of terror; his evil dynasty
eventually transferred power south to the ultramontane
region beyond the Alps, where the half-animal people
dwelled in teeming numbers. From among these
prolific people the traitorous Röhm dynasty could
easily replenish its army’s strength in the wars it was
constantly fighting against the last vestiges of Ario-
Germanic resistance, and thus against the very last
redoubts of Purity and Light. And so, as the last embers
of the Golden Age burned out, as its final remnants

127
slipped away, so too did the Germanic lands and its
People north of the snow-white Alps slip away into a
deep dark slumber, like Sleeping Beauty. Forcibly
removed from the his-storical record, the Ario-
Germans retreated ever deeper into the primeval
forests of their youth – deeper and deeper into the
Northern lands of their most ancient and venerable
Hyperborean ancestors.

Adept: Master, does this Great Retreat of the Germans

correspond to the time when the “classical Romans”
began their historical rise?

Master: No, that would come much later, in the Age

of Aires/Mars, the Ram, “Rama” – hence Roma. Long
before all this, however, the people – or rather, the half-
people – who would become the “classical Romans”
were still semi-human, with an incredibly barbaric
babble for a language; perhaps it was Basque or
Libyan, or some other indecipherable African dialect.
The majority of what would become the “Latin”
tongue came from the North, and it had a civilizing
effect on these southerners, who at this point were still
little more than apes. Many of today’s Sicilians
accurately embody the very first inhabitants of the
Italian peninsula.
When the Röhmish dynasty so shamefully
abandoned its own people, and permanently settled in
the South, the German Master Race (at least among the

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Röhmish ranks) was no more. For you see, that ignoble
segment of the Race (the Röhmish dynasty) had
committed an inexcusable and irreversible criminal
act: it had mixed with the half-animal men, thereby
polluting the Blood and its sacred Memory. Then of
course the German language was intermixed with the
barbaric speech of the locals.
The two peoples, along with their two languages and
cultures, were inorganically combined – and thus both
were irreversibly bastardized. For the southerners, this
mixing was a good thing, as their blood was now
enhanced with better qualities. The Germans, on the
other hand, were not as fortunate, as the invaluable
purity of their blood and its immeasurable qualities,
along with the powers it held, were no more. The blood
was now polluted, sullied, mongrelized beyond
redemption. At any rate, the products of this unholy
union were what we today call the Latin/Italic peoples
and the Latin language. Originally, these “Latins” were
called the Lassen – an old German word denoting a
class of people that were of an intrinsically lower
quality, a mixed race. As Meister von List informed his
disciples more than a century ago: “These Ladini
consisted of all sorts of mixed people (prisoners of war
of all countries), which gradually by its mass became
master over the first three privileged castes of the
[classical] Romans [which is to say the Röhmischen]

129
both politically and linguistically.” ††† The term
mischling (meaning “mixed race”) also stems from the
word Röhmisch, which in olden times was sometimes
pronounced (or mispronounced) as Röhmischling –
again denoting the mixed race origin of the Röhmish
masses.
Still today, the highest-ranking members of the
priesthood in Rome, alongside their pope, know all of
this – they know the true origin of their people, their
language and their harlot-city. This knowledge is kept
hidden deep within the forbidden vaults of their so-
called “Vatican library”; and access is granted only to
an elite few. Their papist rituals, and even their
language, are all intended to harness the energy of the
noble Germanic Race, but for evil intentions rather
than good – for essentially vampiric and cannibalistic
purposes. For example, the most popular Catholic
ritual, of drinking the blood and eating the flesh, has
nothing at all to do with the fictitious “Jesus” figure,
nor does this ritual trace its origin exclusively to the
cult of Mithras, as many assume – no, these two
traditions developed quite recently in the overall
progression (which is to say degeneration) of the Iron
Age. Rather, the “blood” and the “flesh” refer
originally to the blood and flesh of the Ario-Germanic
Race, and in particular to that which was so savagely
hacked out of the bodies of Baldur and Reinhold – two

†††
List, Guido von. The Rita of the Ario-Germanen. N.p.: The 55
Club, 2015, p. 89.
130
examples of beautiful, majestic Aryan God-men,
ignominiously betrayed and murdered by the
shameless villains Loki and Röhm.
The Latin language also plays a large role in
harnessing this occult energy, as the Vatican is well
aware. And even though so-called “church Latin” is
but a pidgin of a pidgin tongue (“classical Latin”), the
higher-ups in the Church hierarchy understand that the
Germanic structure of Latin – which is to say, Latin’s
aristocratic essence inherited from the purer German
language – played an inestimable role in transferring
the balance of power from North to South, Light to
Dark, Spirit to Religion, Quality to Quantity, or as the
Catholics say: Mass. So indeed, the Latin language is
crucial in fulfilling the dark deeds of the papists.
Another secret which many do not know, and which
the pre-programmed drones of Zion will never accept,
is that Latin is the original “Proto-Indo-European”
language, much older than Greek and even Sanskrit.
This is reflected in the striking similarity that exists
between Latin and the “reconstructed” – which is to
say, fictitious – Proto-Indo-European “mother tongue.”
From Latin, the next two languages to develop were
most certainly Sanskrit and “Proto-Baltic.” Latin and
its derivatives thus spread in all directions. All the
while, German remained in its North European cradle,
getting ever more marginalized by the now teeming
“Indo-Europeans” – and clearly, German is the least
“Indo-European” sounding of all the languages in this

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grouping. The reason for this is simple: German is the
sole, original Ur-language of the Ario-Germanic Race.
All other “Indo-European” languages are mere
bastardizations of the original Mother Tongue; just as
the speakers of these languages are racial bastards in
varying degrees. This is where your modern “white”
people come from: a mongrelized “Indo-European”
root; slavish and materialistic they are; robotic, just
like the infernal root from whence they came. In truth,
there is nothing really “white” about them – simply
look around you; observe their faces, their words and
their deeds. True Aryans, on the other hand, come
strictly from the Germanic Master Root. True Aryans
are indeed “pure as the driven snow,” and thus “White”
in the greatest sense of the term. Do you see the
difference, my young apprentice?

Adept: Yes, Master. I see.

Master: Good, then see and hear the rest of what I will
tell you. The German Master Race, the highest caste of
Aryans – known also as the Herrenvolk and
Heldenvolk (the term “Hellenes” is a bastardization of
these terms) – had been systematically hunted and
outbred by the inferior Indo-European masses as the
latter gained more and more ground through the
centuries. The Germans were continually being
encircled by a diverse assortment of peoples, each of
which possessed varying levels of Aryan (and thus

132
non-Aryan) blood. Closest to the Germans, with
respect to blood purity, were the noble Tuatha Dé
Danann – the highest caste of the Germanic descended
Kelts or Kelten. These people were also hunted down
by the beast-men.
Great wars ensued down to the common era – none
of them were as the his-story books report, as his-story
is always written and re-written by Liars, and only
seldom by true victors. In these wars, ever greater
numbers of Germans fell heroically or else were forced
to flee further northwards.
Then came Hermann/Arminius who reversed the
luckless German Fate for nearly 2,000 years. In terms
of human greatness, and even among the semi-divine,
Hermann the Cherusker was second only to One – yes,
Hermann/Arminius was in fact the reverse side of the
One who is the First and the Last, the Alpha and Hagal,
Total Man, the Sacred Eight…

Adept: But Master, when you spoke earlier of past

Germanic greatness, occurring long before the Great
Retreat of our People, before Sleeping Beauty fell
asleep – where are the material traces of this glorious
past within the borders of the German Heimatland?
Other than the mystical Externsteine, what visible
proof is there? Where are the brick and marble temples,
the triumphal arches and columns, the stone roads
leading to magnificent theaters – where are our
Pantheons and Colosseums?

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Master: You won’t find them, nor should you wish to.
For if it is “visible proof” you seek, become a lawyer –
and then you will have joined the demonic ranks of
Rome-Judea. But as for the Germans of that primordial
time you reference, when our Volk truly reigned
supreme, they were still semi-etheric beings totally at
one with Nature. True Supermen, they did not need so
much as thatched roofs to keep their heads dry, let
alone gigantic buildings made of such inferior
materials as concrete, brick, and marble. Today’s steel
and glass skyscrapers are even more an abomination to
our noble ancestors! The Germans of that bygone Age
were truly a Herrenvolk – a lone People among a wild
assortment of barnyard beasts. They did not require
many of the things we take for granted today: clothing
shelter, fire, sex… even food, water and air – all
trivialities! All unnecessary things for the Ascended.

Adept: Master, do such a People still exist?

Master: Yes, but not here. Only within the Earth,

inside the mountains, in hidden ashrams at the polar
extremities – the gateways to higher dimensions. They
are still there, and they wait. Our People used to know
and remember all of the things which I have now told
you. But alas! The Blood Memory, the Minne, has
nearly run dry… and fast does it fade.

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 The dastardly Charlemagne, another weapon-forging
Carl working on behalf of his Judeo-Papal masters,
with an arsenal of lies and deceit behind him,
singlehandedly dealt our Volk the most fatal blow. For
he ripped our People’s memories right out from the
roots of their souls, the very same way he ripped the
sacred trees out of our most hallowed groves, with axe
and spade, and not least of all with terms: The
Capitularies of Paderborn (false pride of the
Vatican!). This deadly document demanded the
physical destruction of a Race, the desecration of its
Culture, and the deletion of its Past. But for the
strength of Wotan, this well-planned genocidal scheme
would have triumphed. It almost did triumph…

Adept: Almost?

Master: …

Adept: Master?

Master: That is all for today, my son. The Man to

Come already knows these things, and yet so much
more will he be able to tell us one day. Perhaps you are
He… and I just an ignorant fool… Come, let us
meditate.

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 NAZI DIS-ILLUSION

NAZI Initiates, blessed Elect,

EHREANS disillusioned with false reality,
hear these, my parting words!
Only a ghost is real in a cybernetic realm,
where the Golem’s said not to exist;
and where the love of God is dead,
only a dog stays True – a dog!
The inverted god, duty-bound like Anubis,
seeking his household’s divinity
by the reciprocal scales of justice,
pining for that one loyal soul
filled with affection for all eternity –
mortal this soul could never be.

And yet We, the Dead of Germania,

honor-bound like the noble hound,
know a thing or two of Loyalty –
We, the Bearers of the sacred Totenkopf,
yet live because our spirits are long dead
to this wayward world.
And so we pledge our bodies in solemn fealty,
to grow the Race,
just as raindrops shed their form,
to grow the crops.

Our enemies below are all the rust;

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easily they break our watery shells,
but soon thy relentless Kampfgeist,
thy warrior spirit shall win the Day,
causing all foes to disintegrate,
to be blown away,
as so much dust in the wind.

Yes, thine enemies are but lost bits of scrap metal,

among the heaping ruins of modernity,
simulating life with no chance of transcendence,
self-replicating but already obsolete;
demonic biotechnic cadavers, evil to the core,
as to “live” in this world is “evil” spelt
backwards;
and so, their life is found only here
among cyborgs –
ziobotic drones of the mother-ship “Matrix.”

Yes, on this dense plane the robotic ones thrive,

(the nightmare of Ezra Pound!),
with fiat paper and plastic usury in hand,
dual marks of the Mammon Beast, JOVE,
Supreme Plagiarist of cosmos and sacred text,
feasting on the energy it’s given –
now vomiting a Tabernacle of plague
through combustion;
that kaftan-clad, par-Hasidic Force
of explosive destruction,
antithesis-foe of the Aryan God within…

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Now come ye Latter,
Who gains by implosion, ye
Centripetal force of All-Creation,
whirling at ever higher speeds,
defying false reality
like an anti-gravity dervish.
With flaming sword single-handed,
Kalki slays the illusory curse of Maya,
that Witch! –
revealing the only true state of existence:

NAZI DIS-ILLUSION

And so it is, all ye Watchers

and Walkers of the Dawn,
that such a horribly ended battle
is yet a successful spirit-quest –
Yes, Father! My bright Morning Star…

“We’ll win yet.”

138
139
“… a New Race of Man is coming, being
manifest, being born unto beings, but the New
Race is unlike humanity, it is unlike any race, it
is an Old Race from another place… the Old
Race has been awakened by the distress calls
of a distant star...”

– Karl Young, Third Reich Pilgrim

140