Sun - This Majestic Ruler

"Not even the most recent scientific discoveries…which teach us how we live, and move, and have our being in the sun, how we burn it, how we breathe it, how we feed on it - give us any idea of what this source of light and life, this silent traveller, this majestic ruler, this departing friend or dying hero, in his daily or yearly course, was to the awakening consciousness of mankind. People wonder why so much of the old mythology, the daily talk, of the Aryans, was solar: - what else could it have been?"

— Friedrich Max Müller

If the Italians revolt they will have Forza Nuova on their side

"We are living in a dictatorship because of a health issue and if the Italians revolt they will have Forza Nuova on their side".

"In an atmosphere of terror from the Internet police, Facebook, and with Zuckerberg warning us, his kindness, that he is going to shut down social networks, the deep state wants to impose fear on the Italians through the official media, preparing for the coming of the Draghi banker government, a so-called national unity government. "

"For us, this is certainly not the country 's government of salvation, but the doctor who can only sign Italy' s death certificate. Hunger is already a reality and protests are beginning. Conte or Draghi are sides of the same coin, of a dictatorship on the occasion of the epidemic that must be denounced and to fight against it with all our might ... "

Roberto Fiore to «Financial Times»

Friends of The Gods... Enemies to the World

"Take one step towards the Gods and they will take ten steps towards you."

— Mythologist Joseph Campbell

25 March 1821: the Fight against the Ottoman threat Goes on!

The English correspondant of "London Times", James Emerson, wrote about the Greeks of 1821:

"You come upon many examples of ancient folkways. In every step you seesome something that reminds you that you are in Greece. The language, the customs, the character of the Greeks, are all the same as they were in the times of Demosthenes. Even their clothing seems to not have changed at all. They have the same brown wavy long hair as the brown-haired( καρηκομοωντες) heroes of Homeros. The long skirt, the blade and the fully embroidered legging protectors, show that today's Greeks are the same as the "good-legging" Acheans(ευκνημιδες Αχαιοι).

Source: "The Miracle of 21"

Albert Uderzo (1927-2020) - Rest in Peace

Asterix co-creator Albert Uderzo dies at 92. Asterix was a very important part of my childhood, a part of my life that never ended inside me. René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo, fathers of the indomitable Gauls, thank you for everything. The small village will never surrender... 

Jew says Asterix is not multi-culti enough (even if René Goscinny was a Jew):

The Gaul of it! Asterix too French, says watchdog

He is the moustached crusader bravely defending the customs of ancient Gaul from stereotyped foreigners - from Brits who drink hot water with a dash of milk to the militaristic Germans and the short Portuguese.

He has ribbed the Corsicans for being work-shy, violent and producing explosively smelly cheese, and Normandy villagers for lathering their food with cream. But now it seems that Asterix the Gaul is just too much of a "Gaul" for modern, multicultural France.

The belligerent hero is in a scrape over a new project illustrating the text of the UN charter for children's rights. When the illustrator, Albert Uderzo, celebrated his 80th birthday by offering Asterix's services to promote children's rights, France's children's ombudsman was delighted. The adventures of the magic potion-fuelled patriot have been read by three-quarters of French people.

The UN charter was duly illustrated with Asterix and his sidekick, Obelix, informing the children of Gaul of their rights in cartoons, including a bunch of children with black eyes patiently listening while they are told not to fight each other like barbarians.

But Jean-Pierre Rozenczveig, of Defence for Children International, complained that Asterix and his "Gaulish vision" were not representative of a modern, multicultural society. He said the hero "resisting the invaders" was a bad choice to defend a France "aspiring to a happy and peaceful coexistence of all its diverse groups".

The Gauls show no sign of surrender. The ombudsman, Dominique Versini, dismissed the row as a "storm in a tea-cup".

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2007/may/31/france.angeliquechrisafis

I ought to have died at Waterloo

Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo by Howard David Johnson.

“I ought to have died at Waterloo; perhaps a little earlier. Had I died at Moscow I should probably have had the reputation of the greatest conqueror the world has ever known. I ought to have died at Waterloo; but the misfortune is, that when a man seeks the most for death he cannot find it. Men were killed around me, before, behind, everywhere, but no bullet for me."

—Napoleon Bonaparte

Northen ~ Napoleon's retreat from Moscow

A Soundtrack to Thulê

"Thulêan Mysteries was made passively, in the sense that I never intended to make a new album; I just made music every now and then and at one point realized that I actually had enough to release it all on an album. When asked to do so I figured: why not? It was a good idea. The music is a little bit of this and a little bit of that, transcending any genre, and perhaps belonging to many different genres. The intention with it was always to create a certain atmosphere, often related to an idea or a situation. Since my true passion has never been music, but actually tabletop role-playing games, I figured I should make this an album intended for that use; as background music for my own MYFAROG (Mythic Fantasy Role-playing Game). Hopefully you will get a sense of Thulê when you listen to this, like always with Burzum, ideally when on your own. I hope you will enjoy this soundtrack to Thulê, to Mother Nature and life itself" 

– Varg Vikernes

Nemesis

Nemesis By H. P. Lovecraft

   I have whirl’d with the earth at the dawning,

          When the sky was a vaporous flame;

     I have seen the dark universe yawning,

          Where the black planets roll without aim;

Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.

     I had drifted o’er seas without ending,

          Under sinister grey-clouded skies

     That the many-fork’d lightning is rending,

          That resound with hysterical cries;

With the moans of invisible daemons that out of the green waters rise.

     I have plung’d like a deer thro’ the arches

          Of the hoary primordial grove,

     Where the oaks feel the presence that marches

          And stalks on where no spirit dares rove;

And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers thro’ dead branches above.

     I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains

          That rise barren and bleak from the plain,

     I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains

          That ooze down to the marsh and the main;

And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not to gaze on again.

     I have scann’d the vast ivy-clad palace,

          I have trod its untenanted hall,

     Where the moon writhing up from the valleys

          Shews the tapestried things on the wall;

Strange figures discordantly woven, which I cannot endure to recall.

     I have peer’d from the casement in wonder

          At the mouldering meadows around,

     At the many-roof’d village laid under

          The curse of a grave-girdled ground;

And from rows of white urn-carven marble I listen intently for sound.

     I have haunted the tombs of the ages,

          I have flown on the pinions of fear

     Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages,

          Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:

And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.

     I was old when the Pharaohs first mounted

          The jewel-deck’d throne by the Nile;

     I was old in those epochs uncounted

          When I, and I only, was vile;

And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.

     Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,

          And great is the reach of its doom;

     Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,

          Nor can respite be found in the tomb:

Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.

     Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,

          Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,

     I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,

          I have sounded all things with my sight;

And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

Dripping Papal Blood

Departure Chandelier plays their self described ‘Napoleonic War Black Metal’.

Dripping Papal Blood is the secret unreleased second demo recorded a decade ago in 2010, in the band’s now shuttered ‘the prisoner’s chant…’ studio which rested at ground level across from the oldest cemetery in New York and rumored to be haunted.

This demo brings to life the complex and fierce rivalry between Emperor Napoleon and the Pope Pius VII. Napoleon went as far as to have Pope Pius VII placed in confinement.

Despite the Antichrist’s repugnancy of the papacy, Napoleon knew he still needed the symbolic authority of the church during his unprecedented self coronation (referred to by the band as ‘ascension to accipitridae!’ - the classification of predatory birds of prey).

With the appointment of the cruel Cardinal Fesch (a relative of the Emperor) after the Antichrist’s coup d’etat of 18 brumaire, Napoleon gave Fesch with orders to persuade the pope to attend Napoleon’s coronation, only later to be stripped of religious power and cast out of the diocese upon defiance of Napoleons inflexible attitude toward the church. Fesch later died in Rome surrounded by his masterpiece art collection rumored to be pillaged and later bequeathed in his will.

Always through the lens of Black Metal and Nostradamus’ prediction of the arrival of the Antichrist, ‘Dripping Papal Blood’ intrudes into the interplay and triple-crossing corruption between Napoleon, the church and his own art plundering family members appointed through nepotism to the diocese. 

Intimidation of Death

“Man's experience tells him that wherever there are signs of life, death is in the offing. The more alive this life becomes, the nearer death draws, until the supreme moment - the enchanted moment when something new is created - when death and life meet in an embrace of mad ecstasy. The rapture and terror of life are so profound because they are intoxicated with death. As often as life engenders itself anew, the wall which separates it from death is momentarily destroyed. Death comes to the old and the sick from the outside, bringing fear or comfort. They think of it because they feel that life is waning. But for the young the intimidation of death rises up out of the full maturity of each individual life and intoxicates them so that their ecstasy becomes infinite. Life which has become sterile totters to meet its end, but love and death have welcomed and clung to one another passionately from the beginning.”

― Walter Friedrich Otto, Dionysus: Myth and Cult

Christ doesn’t live within us

“Look at this stone, it has been lying in the water for a very long time, but the water has not penetrated it. Look, perfectly dry. The glistening water on the outside had not seeped in.The same thing has happened to men in Europe. For centuries they have been surrounded by Christianity, but Christ has not penetrated. Christ doesn’t live within them.”

- Cardinal Lamberto, Godfather III

Awaken the Ancient Monsters!

“Ancient ideals, in their inexorable hardness and brutality, ought to be awakened, as the mightiest of monsters that they are.”

— Nietzsche, The Will to Power

Confession to Death

Antonius Block, The Seventh Seal (1957)

Defend Europe

"With you it rests! Either to bring us to slavery, or, by securing our freedom, to be remembered by all future generations. For never since the time when we became a people have we faced so great a danger as now. If we bow our necks beneath the yokes of the enemy, the woes that we will have to suffer are already determined. If, on the other hand, we fight and overcome, the future is ours."

~ Miltiades ~

Arthur Fischer (1872-1948)

Berlin court painter Arthur Fischer doing the painting "Der 5. Maerz 1933" (March 5th 1933). Photography around 1933.

Arthur Fischer, posing next to his paintings of Benito Mussolini, and Adolf Hitler in 1934.

Arthur Fischer - Benito Mussolini, Berlin 1934 (Imperial War Museum London)

Art and Religion are Inseparable.

Electra 1962

"The high culture of Athens centred on the theatre, and in particular on tragedy. But tragedy was a dramatisation and deepening of the religious experience. Tragedies were religious festivals and in many of them we see enacted, in a varied and agonised form, the central drama of the cult — the drama of the individual, who falls from grace by some sacred fault, and is thereby sundered from his congregation. The catharsis (as Aristotle described it) that is brought about by the hero’s death is itself a religious feeling — a sense of the restored community, into which, through death and transfiguration, the erring hero is re-absorbed. The movement of many Greek tragedies can best be understood in terms of the religious archetype of the cult — for this makes sense of the strange experience of peace that emerges from these obligatory murders.

In no genuinely religious epoch is the high culture separate from the religious rite. Religious art, religious music and religious literature form the central strand of high culture in all societies where a common religious culture holds sway. Moreover, when art and religion begin to diverge — as they have done in Europe since the Renaissance — it is usually because religion is in turmoil or declining. When art and religion are healthy, they are also inseparable."

— Roger Scruton, Modern Culture

Joseph De Maistre on the Divinity of War

Portrait of de Maistre by von Vogelstein, c. 1810

The Senator: In short, gentlemen, the functions of the soldier are terrible, but they must result from a great law of the spiritual world, and no one should be astonished that every nation in the world is united in seeing in this scourge something still more peculiarly divine than in others. You can well believe that there is a good and profound reason for the title LORD OF HOSTS being found on every page of the Holy Scriptures. Guilty, and unhappy because we are guilty, we ourselves make necessary all physical evils, but above all war. Usually and very naturally, men lay the blame on their rulers: Horace wrote playfully, "By the madness of kings nations are punished." But J.B. Rousseau said more seriously and philosophically:
"The wrath of kings brings the earth to arms,
The wrath of Heaven brings kings to arms."

Notice, moreover, that this law of war, terrible in itself, is yet only a clause in the general law that hangs over the world.

In the immense sphere of living things, the obvious rule is violence, a kind of inevitable frenzy which arms all things in mutua funera. Once you leave the world of insensible substances, you find the decree of violent death written on the very frontiers of life. Even in the vegetable kingdom, this law can be perceived: from the huge catalpa to the smallest grasses, how many plants die and how many are killed! But once you enter the animal kingdom, the law suddenly becomes frighteningly obvious. A power at once hidden and palpable appears constantly occupied in bringing to light the principle of life by violent means. In each great division of the animal world, it has chosen a certain number of animals charged with devouring the others; so there are insects of prey, reptiles of prey, birds of prey, fish of prey, and quadrupeds of prey. There is not an instant of time when some living creature is not devoured by another

Above all these numerous animal species is placed man, whose destructive hand spares no living thing; he kills to eat, he kills for clothing, he kills for adornment, he kills to attack, he kills to defend himself, he kills for instruction, he kills for amusement, he kills for killing's sake: a proud and terrible king, he needs everything, and nothing can withstand him. He knows how many barrels of oil he can get from the shark or a whale; in his museums, he mounts with his sharp pins elegant butterflies he has caught in flight on the top of Mount Blanc or Chimborazo; he stuffs the crocodile and embalms the hummingbird; on his command, the rattlesnake dies in preserving fluids to keep it intact for a long line of observers. The horse carrying its master to the tiger hunt struts about covered by the skins of this same animal. At one and the same time, man takes from the lamb its entrails for harp strings, from the whale its bones to stiffen the corsets of the young girl, from the wolf its most murderous tooth to polish frivolous manufactures, from the elephant its tusks to make a child's toy: his dining table is covered with corpses. The philosopher can even discern how this permanent carnage is provided for and ordained in the whole scheme of things. But without doubt this law will not stop at man. Yet what being is to destroy him who destroys all else? Man! It is man himself who is charged with butchering man.

But how is he to accomplish this law who is a moral and merciful being, who is born to love, who cries for others as for himself, who finds pleasure in weeping to the extent of creating fictions to make himself weep, to whom finally it has been said that whoever sheds blood unjustly will redeem it with the last drop of his own? It is war that accomplishes this decree. Do you not hear the earth itself demanding and crying out for blood? The blood of animals does not satisfy it, nor even that of criminals spilled by the sword of the law. If human justice struck them all, there would be no war; but it can catch up with only a small number of them, and often it even spares them without suspecting that this cruel humanity contributes to the necessity for war, especially if at the same time another no less stupid and dangerous blindness works to diminish atonement among men. The earth did not cry in vain: war breaks out. Man, seized suddenly by a divine fury foreign to both hatred and anger, goes to the battlefield without knowing what he intends or even what he is doing. How can this dreadful enigma be explained? Nothing could be more contrary to his nature, yet nothing is less repugnant to him: he undertakes with enthusiasm what he holds in horror. Have you ever noticed that no one ever disobeys on the field of death? They might well slaughter a Nerva or a Henry IV, but they will never say, even to the most abominable tyrant or the most flagrant butcher of human flesh, We no longer want to follow you. A revolt on the battlefield, an agreement to unite to repudiate a tyrant is something I cannot remember. Nothing resists, nothing can resist the force that drags man into conflict; an innocent murderer, a passive instrument in a formidable hand, he plunges unseeing into the abyss he himself has dug; he dies without suspecting that it is is he himself who has brought about his death.

Thus is worked out, form maggots up to man, the universal law of the violent destruction of living beings. The whole earth, continually steeped in blood, is nothing but an immense altar on which every living thing must be sacrificed without end, without restraint, without respite until the consummation of the world, the extinction of evil, the death of death.

But the curse must be aimed most directly and obviously at man: the avenging angle circles like the sun around this unhappy globe and lets one nation breathe only to strike at others. But when crimes, especially those of a particular kind, accumulate to a certain point, the angel relentlessly quickens his tireless flight. Like a rapidly turned torch, his immense speed allows him to be present at all points on his huge orbit at the same time. He strikes every nation on earth at the same moment. At other times, minister of an unerring and infallible vengeance, he turns against particular nations and bathes them in blood. Do not expect them to make any effort to escape or abridge their sentence. It is as if these sinful nations, enlightened by conscience, were asking for punishment and accepting it in order to find expiation in it. So long as they have blood left, they will come forward to offer it, and soon golden youth will grow used to telling of devastating wars caused by their fathers' crimes.

Battle of Salamis - Wilhelm von Kaulbach

War is thus divine in itself, since it is a law of the world.

War is divine through its consequences of a supernatural nature which are as much general as particular, consequences little known because they are little sought but which are nonetheless indisputable. Who could doubt the benefits that death in war brings? And who could believe that the victims of this dreadful judgment have shed their blood in vain? But this is not the time to insist on this kind of question; our age is not yet ready to concern itself with it. Let us leave it to its physics and for our own part keep our eyes fixed firmly to that invisible world which will explain everything.

War is divine in the mysterious glory that surrounds it and in the no less inexplicable attraction that draws us to it.

War is divine in the protection granted to the great leaders, even the most daring, who are rarely struck down in battle, and only when their renown can no longer be increased and when their mission is completed.

War is divine by the manner in which it breaks out. I do not want to excuse anyone inopportunely, but how many of those who are regarded as the immediate authors of wars are themselves carried along by circumstances! At the exact moment brought about by men and prescribed by justice, God comes forward to exact vengeance for the iniquity committed by the inhabitants of this world against him...

War is divine in its results which cannot be predicted by human reason, for they can be quite different for two different nations, although the war seems to have affected both equally. There are wars that degrade nations, and degrade them for centuries; others exalt them, improve them in all kinds of ways and, what is more extraordinary, very quickly replace momentary losses by a rapid increase in population. History often shows us the sight of a population growing in wealth and numbers during the most murderous conflicts; but there are vicious wars, accursed wars, more easily recognized by conscience than by reason: nations are mortally wounded by them, both in their power and in their character; then you can see the victor himself degraded, impoverished, and miserable among his victory laurels, whereas you will find that in the vanquished land, in a very short time, there is not an unused workshop or plow.

War is divine through the indefinable power that determines success in it...

...When an overdominant power frightens the world, men are angry that no means have been found of checking it, and bitter reproaches are leveled against the selfishness and immorality of the rulers who are preventing an alliance to ward off the common danger. This was the cry heard at the height of Louis XIV's power. But at bottom these complaints are not valid. A coalition between several powers, based on a pure and disinterested morality, would be a miracle. God, who is not obliged to do miracles and never does one needlessly, uses two very simple means to restore the balance: sometimes the giant kills itself; sometimes a much weaker power throws in its path some small obstacle, which yet then grows in some unaccountable way and becomes insurmountable, just as a small branch, stuck in the current of a river, can in the end cause a blockage which diverts its course.

Napoléon on the Battlefield of Eylau - Antoine-Jean Gros

Starting, then, from this hypothesis of a balance, ever present at least in a rough form either because the belligerent powers are equal or because the weakest have allies, how many unforeseen circumstances can disrupt the balance and bring frustration or success to the greatest plans in spite of every prudential calculation!...Moreover, if you take a more general look at the role played by moral power in war, you will agree that nowhere does the divine hand make itself felt more acutely to man. It might be said that this is a department, if you will allow me the phrase, whose direction providence has reserved to itself and in which it has left to man the ability to act only in a well-nigh mechanical manner, since success here depends almost entirely on something he can least control. At no time other than in war is he warned more often and more sharply of his own feebleness and of the inexorable power ruling all things. It is opinion that loses and wins battles. The fearless Spartan used to sacrifice from fear (Rousseau somewhere expresses astonishment at this, I don't know why); Alexander also sacrificed from fear before the Battle of Arbela. Certainly these people were quite right and, to correct this sensible devotion, it is enough to pray to God that he deigns not to send fear to us...Let us then pray, Knight, for it is to you that I should like to address this discourse, since you have called up these reflections; let us pray to God that he keeps us and our friends from fear, which is within his power and which can ruin in an instant the most splendid military ventures...

...But there is another much more terrible fear that descends on the most masculine heart, freezes it, and persuades it that it is beaten. This is the appalling scourge constantly hanging over armies. I put this question one day to a soldier of the highest rank whom you both know. Tell me, General, what is a lost battle? I have never been able to understand this. After a moment's silence, he answered, I do not know. After another pause he added, It is a battle one thinks one has lost.

I can very well imagine one of these frightful scenes. On a vast field covered with all the apparatus of carnage and seeming to shudder beneath the feet of men and horses, amid the fire and whirling smoke, dazed and befuddled by the din of firearms and cannons, by voices that command, howl, or die away, surrounded by dead, dying, and mutilated corpses, possessed in turn by fear, hope, anger, by five or six different passions, what happens to a man? What does he see? What does he know after a few hours? What can he know about himself and others? Among this host of fighting men who have battled the whole day, there is often not a single one, not even the general, who knows who the victor is. I need only cite modern battles to you, famous battles whose memory will never fade, battles which have changed the face of Europe, and which have been lost only because such and such a man has believed they were lost; whereas, in the same circumstances and with the same losses, another general would have had the Te Deum sung in his country and forced history to say quite the opposite of what it will say. But, I ask you, what age has seen moral power play a more astonishing role in war than our own? Is not what we have seen for the last twenty years truly magical? Without doubt it behooves men of this epoch to cry out: “And what age has ever been more fertile in miracles?”...