Ramblings Pt2

23:08 by Editor · 0 Post a comment on AAWR

Ah, another ramble, another trek through life and life is so hard to live, in this place now, I live in the world they have created, I breathe the same air as those that hate me and my type are scarce, rare and becoming more so. I left work today, tired, weary; somewhat despondent it is not a great job, not a job to envy, low paid, hard work streamlined exploitation. Yet amongst the fretting bankers, the alarmed politicians and the predictors, a small but I should imagine growing event is occurring, since perhaps August of last year jobs are falling, knocked over as pins by the calamitous ball of fate. It picks up speed you know, at least here, families now worry and it etches lines on men’s faces, how they ask me “will I pay the mortgage?”, “how will we survive”. “Pay the bills” and I look away distressed. 

Do I want to look, to see, to bear witness as to what the behaviour of the elites can cause, do I want to hear the tremor in a mans voice, the sudden pause in conversations flow, as he gathers himself, summons strength, to not crumble in the company of another man. No, I do not, yet I know the fear, know the distress and I cannot help, cannot make better and the misery grows, in this place, poverty is a constant caller, a constant shadow, whilst predators eye-up your possessions, criminals profit and the newcomer gains. “What about us?”, “what about the people”, who will listen and who will care, we are so far gone now that we have no community, we hide inside scared of the wolf ,they have broken us and now finally they kill us and the chattering classes clap. 

Such a utopia, such a heaven, pity they never live it, never exist with the reality instead of the dream, how dare they push their vision onto us, force us to succumb and murder us for it, have we no rights, no value or were we a threat, a challenge, a foe. So many have died for you, you and your damn dream, your ideal and yet we are wrong, we the lab-rat, the experiment, the collateral damage. We stand powerless before you, are you happy now, does it please you to see us so or do you still fear the latent rage, the underlying power, the power to break another wall and set the people free. They don’t know do they, you blind them so, you befuddle their minds and play tricks with their senses, you twist and you lie, until the people become their own worst enemy, dig their own grave and you measure them up, undertaker you. 

So I left work my mood low and my mind working feverishly, this I will come to, ah, I thought I need to do some shopping, pick up a few things, so in I went, a smallish shop-come-supermarket, I picked up a few things and headed to the till, she stood there I noticed her at once, hair dyed green, perhaps eighteen, perhaps not, her body was hunched, she chewed her lower lip and her eyes constantly scanned, before me a small elderly gentlemen hurried to pay his bill, trouble I thought. I saw it then, the source of her distress, the reason for her fear, to the right a very tall Negro male, attired in a grey duffle coat, a black base-ball cap perched upon his head, to the left a dreadlocked male, white tracksuit top, smoking drugs quite blatantly. In the other queue a middle-aged women too hurried, whilst her cashier looked down at the ground, my nervous green-haired cashier looked at me her eyes screamed in panic. 

I looked to my right smiled a defiant smile, whilst I prepared for the worst, the Rastafarian, vanished down an aisle as I looked his acquaintance in the eye, the old-man hurried out and the cashier looked around nervously, the smoker returned, I recognised him at once, banned from another supermarket after attacking the security-guard, whilst mouthing anti-white epithets. They were not buying, they hovered each side of the shop, waiting for… My cashier nervously scanned my few items, slowly, her eyes begging me to stay and so stay I did, I turned round hoping it looked as if I was talking to a friend, yet viewing the game. 

I sensed it then, the end of evils dream, I almost saw their faces fall, felt their disappointment and that’s all it takes, for each of us to turn around, to face things head-on, he looked at me and that old unspoken, “I’m not going anywhere” message conveyed, he looked to his acquaintance then gave me an evil look and left the shop. Her shoulders sagged, she should of let out a gasp, so relaxed she became, she began talking animatedly, almost a torrent, a rush, a release, again as it always now seems to, it worried me. Bodies grow old and one day who will turn round, certainly we thugs will not, perhaps I thought, I will be that older man , hurriedly completing my business, anxious to be on my way. 

The true thugs win, oh not us, we that refuse to let them win, that for good or bad stand but the true predator, the true scourge, today would’ve been a bad day for them, a nasty moment, a mistake, at least I hope. I was low in any case, despondent, morose, I learned today of another victim, another loss, another uncared about, their death unreported, there is scum on our pond and the park-keepers do not clean it ,they are too busy chasing people for talking, for thinking, too busy to clean up the pond. So with each successive generation criminality grows, it augments, it magnifies, prisons can no longer hold the mass and little the flood and so the good suffer, the good endure and crime now pays. 

I suppose he was a simple man, a non-remarkable person , he went to work until ill-health prevented it, he had been a butcher, an amiable man, quiet-natured, yet of good humour, he was well liked and by his wife of some years well loved, yet evil as it does, creeps in. Small in stature but to use a cliché, big in heart, always helpful, old-school polite, we would see them, many knew them and she could talk for England, they lived in a maisonette, the council refusing them a house, yet it was well-looked after, on the balcony they created Eden and behind their window a home. No-one cared, “do they ever?”, when evil came, when selfish, uncaring, malevolence paid a visit, some time ago now, just after he’d left work ,so perhaps three ,three and a half years ago now. 

The council don’t care, they place whoever adjacent to whomever and that is that, soon she told many, her figurines jumped, doors were slammed and bass pounded, we saw them more, out and about, in fact they hardly stayed in, would you. “I don’t want no trouble he would say”, when offers were made to quell the noise, his wife looked to him with a worried face and he held her hand tapping it gently. “All colours they are”, she said, “her visitors”, “beeping their horns at all hours”, there was I hear constant advice, write a diary, record it, move, all to no avail. They had been out they tell me, a few drinks, chance to relax, he was in a personal war, verbally abused, threatened and under constant stress, he needed a good night out, they returned to mayhem, loud thumping music, revving engines and names. 

To get to their flat they navigated between hostiles, in enemy territory now, she said she’d put the kettle on, he said he was having a bath, his been in there a while, she must’ve thought, slight unease perhaps creeping in, he’d killed himself, an overdose they say. He’d taken too much, been helped too little, so evil triumphed it destroyed and now moves on, she’s gone to live with her sister, perhaps she cannot bear to be alone, trapped in that place, whilst bass pumps and they, the council, do nothing. Perhaps now they will, perhaps now they care, then again perhaps not, after all do people matter, have we ever, I heard this today, highlighted by sobs, a grey-haired lady torn up by grief, she’s ill herself, usually she laughs as she shows me her bag of medicine, newly collected from the chemist, today no laugh and I do not know what to do. 

Beneath the weeping, underneath the grief I sense anger, I hear it in her voice, as she condemns the council, the police and finally “that women and her half cast kids”, so I left work feeling low today, again I realise, that we, those left here in this place, have no worth, that we must pay our taxes, support them all, grow old and expire and they really don’t care in what way. I left that shop, passed a young couple, she white he mixed race, passed later a bus-stop, four youths stood around it three black one white, the white lad ,bedecked by a large chain, dressed as a rapper, no doubt a huge fan of a culture not his own. What has become of us, that we let them do this, that we let evil prevail at our own expense, have they destroyed so much, that there is now nothing to fight for, in this place, I see our death, I walk amongst the inheritors and I fear for those to come. 

I don’t know what to do, I see no light, no hope, just certain death, yet we are the haters, we striving for survival, clinging to life, to culture and to land, the haters, such a twisted world, we filled with awe at who we are, where we came from and what we did. The very same sentiments that sent Tommy over the top, his ancestor against cannon and honed an empire out of nothing, sentiments perfectly usable in their diabolical interests, yes its fine to be patriotic when under orders but god forbid those not from same, die for us Tommy whilst we live off your kind, kill for us Tommy, whilst we prepare a new order. Is it wrong to fight them, as they say, to love us as we are meant to be and not as they would like, is preservation an evil and genocide a good thing, is hatred and prejudice against whites okay but white advocacy not. 

If their world is better, why enforce it, if their vision is utopia why dictatorship, the world we fight for has always been, theirs is an ideology, a dream, a wish, a dream to one man is a nightmare for another, who is to say who is right, if as they underhandedly tell us, we live in a democracy, then lets have the debate. Place your cards upon the table, mention it all, the phrasing out of the white race, the instigation of a new order, all of it , place your dream before the people and let them decide, We will give our argument and you yours ,lets have this democracy you talk of or is the true case that we have “no platform”. That we are “denied the oxygen of publicity”, which in reality is merely dictatorship, if our ideology, our thoughts and our ideas are so abhorrent as you say ,then let the people decide, settle the debate for good. 

If negroes do not show a marked deficit intellectually then prove it, if street crime is not mainly a negro endeavour then statistics ,if whites are not more likely to be burglars or interracial rape committed against whites rather than by ,if non-white immigration leading to genocide is advantageous then tell us why ,do not keep us in the dark. Yet it will never happen, they will throw the same old stones, restrict free thought and impose their agenda regardless, the people will be force-fed injurious concepts and whites will die. Genocide will be carried on against a people, painted wrongly as aggressors and people like me will be condemned as haters, so the war carries on, we endeavouring to speak the truth and you endeavouring to contain it.

The pity is that non-whites believe it, they believe that our wishing to maintain a Caucasian continent is akin to a desire for non-white genocide, yet nothing could be further from the truth, there is no bigger lie. However, non-whites show a marked hypocrisy, they use the empire and its purported evils against us, they beat us remorselessly with the guilt stick yet do quite the same, if we should not have colonised their countries, albeit in small numbers, then they should not, if their culture was undermined is not ours. It doesn’t matter of course because it’s an excuse, a reason for unfairness, it matters little that elites desired the Dark Continent, not the British, most of us were too busy serving below stairs or slaving in the workhouses and factories of this land. 

Yet we are to suffer ,we are to die and gleeful non-whites shall party and then what, who will create, pay taxes and protect the vulnerable, who will place their own welfare below that of others or is that it ,the goal, no whites. So we are all to skip happily towards genocide, to kneel to our murders and even as we deplete year on year, to express guilt as we are slaughtered ,no thank you, any evils committed were not in my name, nor indeed in my races, look to mammon, to the money-houses, perhaps there you will find the guilty. In my last ramble I stated that I would “elaborate upon weblog direction and the reasoning behind it”, so I must elaborate, although I have rambled enough so will keep it as short as I am able. 

As a child they put boxing gloves on me, they should of given me a pen or at least some have said that, however, I am not humorous, witty, able to press home a point entertainingly, nor am I a writer of facts, an author of details, instead I use words in a strange way, I find it hard to write as others, I am indeed a rambler, I wander across a field of words, plucking any I have need of and then, I place them together, forming a field anew. For this reason I tend to merely write, sometimes I write extensive articles, only to leave them half written, unpublished, saving them for later publication, only to begin anew another time. So direction upon this weblog will veer in this direction, I shall every so often, tell a story, I shall pick a true event and bring it to notice, I shall bring to life for others to see, those they are killing. 

You see we have the right to life, the right to exist, yet we neither know each other nor sometimes ourselves, the above depiction is wholly true, a man could take no more, perhaps as has been said to me, it was a cry for help, because no-one was listening, a cry for help that went wrong, yet in reading this wherever you are, you know of him. You do not know his name, nor shall you but you know a little of his story, within the sorry tale you see the lack of concern shown, the abject failure of local government and the tragic end to a good man. There are many stories like this, many victims of a corrupt selfish society, ruled by evil in a land gone mad, in this place, some stories are worth telling, in whichever manner one is able. So I shall endeavour to relate some, also I shall as always, write about this immoral experiment, what I believe to be its causes and its many effects, more often I shall post news stories of interest, most without comment. It would be nice to get reader input, what direction they would like to see and what they would find of interest am I too strong in my approach, is blog direction wrong, et cetera, et cetera, thank you for reading and for your time. 14

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