Die waldgeister

Chapter 10

In the near future the template for the regime sycophant is the Mark Cunanan experiment…. ice cold homosexual assasins, automatons of a future Pete Buttigieg type ruler.

The political class of the gyno-technocracy is that of narcissistic psychopathy with dominatrix characteristics. Their identification with various kinks and peripheral sexualities belies the fact that they are mostly asexual, distanced from natural polarities, and exist with a joylessness that leads them to seek sublimated pleasures through cartoonish displays of the grotesque and the rush from the raw power of punishing the subjects of their pay masters.

Their future charges will be genetically edited, perhaps even wholly created in some Israeli splicer lab in Odessa, and they will try to quell the impulses found in the echoes of their alien genetic legacies. They are people who will be edited, more each generation, and a great stranger to the ancestor. There is no analogy in the human language to compare against. The closest is that they are like composite pictures of people who don’t exist becoming animated. This is why people are being taught to accept hybrids, the dysgenic and mutilated, bearded women lactating…they must become indifferent to and accepting of true filth, so they can be annihilated by the NWO spectres advancing through the uncanny valley.

Theirs will be an order very different from the one that makes the Great White the king of the oceans. Imagine a series of constantly surveying algorithms and low tech drones, robotics controlled by New Delhi call centers but assembled by gape faced nerds, that are perfected into the beast masters and the regulators of all facets of human life. Their only purpose enforcing the diktats of an arrogant and hateful regime of transhumans. As the infrastructure of tech autists degrades, and the need to rachet up hard, forceful control proves too tempting, the full weight of the robotnik Praetorians is shown. Man is now completely teathered by systems of technological control so layered, so atomizing that he literally can’t move, eat or even think without system interfaces and system mediators.

The idea of a man even being capable of the freedom to identify, much less strike against his foes would be so anachronistic and impossible that it could not be even conceived of by the cowering and completely broken slaves of the technological plantations.

Hugo towers above you on a horse with ancient blood and tells you that they are messengers, sent by the Father and they are here to do his work. They believed the lore of ancients that when a man takes the life of a great predator, he takes it’s power…and it’s responsibility. So it is he must wear the skin of the animal, to absorb his powers and live as he would live for a period of time, in doing this he fulfills his function.

This was once considered a matter of grave importance and today it is again.

He tells you they aren’t men who wear the skin of the predator, but predators who wear the skin of man.

They honor the Tigress of Champawa, the Leopard of Rudraprayag and the messengers who brought the fires of the Sun to the unholy. The Tsavo brothers who were believed to be demons were in fact great messengers…brothers who returned as lions for the purpose of protection of the husk and the fang…theirs was reaction to prophecy, they heard the voice of ancient Baobab near the Cango cave…he warned of of endless Bantu fires and wanton destruction…

Hugo tells you that when the will of the FATHER, the will of natural destinies is thwarted by cleverness and wickedness it is not for long. There will be a correction. Some call it a terror but all great creatures, all higher life know instinctively that this is a great Landhreisun.

The wolf is a steward of nature, he does the Lord’s work. He tends flocks and removes the sick, the weak, and the lame. It is through him that the herd not only survives but improves. Man fancies himself a steward but he is a poor substitute and a glutton!

He can only manage animal and human populations through domestication and deconstruction of natural biomes. Among humans, the sick and the ugly, the sociopathic and the unfit not only survive but are celebrated at every turn. At the helm is not a sage and seasoned progenitor of high blood, but a vicious creature unmoored from the laws that perfect life itself. It seethes at the very prospect of natural life. It is not content with small human enclaves but must advance into all corners until the many wild kingdoms of God are reduced to piles of debris…pulsating with the groans of an expanding gaseous rubble of human ruins.

These men before you…with hunter’s eyes and triskelions of blood on their cheeks are wolves who have outwitted the snare, who know their collars will lead to their total annihilation.

They asked questions about nature of life…about meaning and purpose…about the feeling of being outside themselves so often that they were no longer men but disembodied spirits roaming the modern world scape, never truly living.

They asked these questionas and many like them while staring at low ceiling tiles and in small office spaces.

Like you they once processed reality through primitive word prisons but free life lives unseparated from the wind which is the breath of life…a deep intuition that processes the mysteries…imagine a level of semiotics that that makes quantum computing seem like a village abicus.

Until you can hear it, everything is confusing and seems like a riddle. It’s like trying to hear a Bruckner symphony solely by reading about it.

The answers you came for don’t come from men. They come whispered in these winds that blow over the the beached carcasses of God’s creatures, the emotionally complex and advanced…wrapped in plastics, hacked into pieces by subsistence scavengers sourcing Chinese medicines.

It tells you it is a great disgrace that nebbish WEF men can boast of the end of human freedom, that weak chinned skinny fat men guided by GPS can decimate a great wolf or lion and pose it into position like a necrophiliac fetishist, then offer a smile for photos next to a vessel of a great slain spirit, grinning like some kind of retarded person or embarrassed Chinaman.

It demands that men who have experienced the religious nature of the natural world, and who know the greed of the expanding state and the deformations that it requires, wrestle this apparatus from the men that line their fish farms with exploding “seal crackers” that kill and maim sea lions, seals, walruses and other sea life. The clearcutters, the soy fields, the dams, the mountain covered in solar panels and wind turbines, they can have none of it.

The wind says this is is a great demonic display…and those who submit to it will not be recognized by the ancestor.

The wind reaches deep into caves and high above mountains. It animates the blood of men and the becomes the breath of beasts. The ancients showed it came from the lips of Wotan. They understood something that you couldn’t see through the miasmic fog of the big dirtworld drag show.

Now, you can begin to hear it…

Your friends walk along side many animals who one by one disappear into the forests, perhaps bound to look over great cities nightime skylines.

As you walk into the smoky and chaotic debris of Smart City, you see the crystalline brilliance of the rising sun…the burning power of it’s peak… and of course it’s setting…how even in it’s demise, its dying rays set the entire sky ablaze with fire…every cloud, every object in the horizon bathed in the flaming embers of it’s exit.

Today, though barely morning, the Sun, orange as Prince’s fur, has begun to set on Smart City, and the smart cities across the horizons…and it is beautiful.