By a child of the Black Sun
I am awakened. I know exactly why I live the life I do and how far it falls short of what could—should—have been.
I was born in England—from a family that was as English as English can be. My granddad saw the decline looming—left the London area he was born in and came across to America. He didn’t stay (it was the Depression that drove him out) but he wanted to. Not because he didn’t love England, but because he didn’t like what he saw as the future of England. Smart man, him. He parlayed this to his sons. Both left their native land, never to return. One was to become my father. He met an America tourist and left England in the late 60’s with his new wife and firstborn (and only) son in tow. Who was me.
We ended up living in my mother’s world: let’s call it Anytown, Eastern USA. A cesspool of multiculturalism, for the most part. Not all of it; where we lived it was still pretty Polish, German, English, and Irish . . . but it was being chewed away at my feet as I grew up: graffiti, drugs, bussing, overcrowding, and always the danger of being white in a rapidly darkening world. I remember having my Catholic School Bus (the safest school my parents could find, a long bus ride away) pounded on and punched by black public school kids at stop lights—the black kids screaming racial obscenities at us, roaring and gesturing until the bus pulled away. We weren’t allowed to pay any attention to them—it was a lesson on so many levels.
My American family had lived in Anytown since 1896, at least. Arrived speaking a Northern European tongue—learned English immediately. Sent each kid to school, sent the boys off to war. Lost two of them there. Buried under their Americanized names, they were the lucky ones—they never got to see how bad their world would get–they thought they died saving it. I hate seeing the irony there. My grandparents left the East coast in 1972 and never recovered from losing it. Although, actually, they’d lost it years before . . . By 1972 it wasn’t their world anymore. They were old white people who didn’t belong . . . pushed out by circumstances they wouldn’t have dreamed conceivable by reasonable politicians and policies. But, pushed out they were.
In the meantime, my own parents saw the writing on the wall and decided to get as far away from the mess of the multiculturalist rabble as possible: Melbourne, Australia. I lived there from the early 70’s to the late 80’s—growing up in a world that changed from white to brown before my eyes. One more place shot to hell. I saw the Empire fall, there in the streets of the Southern Sun…shops that used to sell meat pies and fish and chips selling kebab, selling falafel… Girls at my school wore head scarves, didn’t wear make-up, the boys didn’t care about the history we were learning. ANZAC DAY became a pale reenactment. People who were Turks didn’t care too much about hearing themselves called the enemy…even if it was about WW1. Turks moved in across the street from us. Lebanese were all over. And Chinese. Later, short cutting to my University, via inner city train stations and back streets, I would be literally shocked to realize I was the only European in seeing distance.
My father died. My mother went to live with her parents, my grandparents, in Mainstreamville Western USA. I went along—why not? West Coast USA is where I knew my grandparents the longest as an adult, I suppose. But, I knew only ghosts of former people—they weren’t really actively alive anymore– mourning their old world they had had to leave behind. They went west to die and little more. They were both dead by the time the 90’s hit. But I was still there amid a rising tide of illegal ‘immigration’ from Mexico that turned the left hand side of the USA from a being a relatively safe and spacious, mostly suburban, place to live into a crowded gang-riddled hell hole.
Not one of the places I saw ground into the dirt by new ‘citizens’ was ever a place where white immigration was happening. Emigration, sure…but not immigration. All the mass immigration I ever saw was by non-white people. All the nice, clean, safe worlds I saw destroyed were worlds that had been made by white people.
I don’t understand why anyone thinks it is okay to let ruination happen. I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t tell the truth and state the obvious—when a locality is overwhelmed by non-Europeans, that locality goes to hell—in all the ways possible it is that a place can go to hell.
As a matter of fact, probably more. Hell is a Western image—full of damned white souls who seem to suffer their eternal torment in a logical, clean, European way. It might be preferable to what is happening in our world at this point.
I am awakened.