RADIX posted a new essay I wrote about the recently renewed interest in the death penalty debate and perversity of proxy bloodlust.

Who Will Swing the Blade? -Read it at RADIX

http://www.radixjournal.com/journal/2014/8/19/who-will-swing-the-blade

 

Heathen Harvest

I spent several weeks working on a back-and-forth email interview with Nathan Leonard for Heathen Harvest. I like doing interviews like this with men who are familiar with my work, because the answers become mini-essays with their own standout quotes and ideas. This one covers a lot of ground.

Action is Key; an Interview with Jack Donovan

http://heathenharvest.org/2014/08/10/action-is-key-an-interview-with-jack-donovan/

 

Red Ice Creations

Lana Lokteff interviewed me for her Radio 3Fourteen program on the Swedish Red Ice Radio podcast network. I discussed all of the usual topics, but with a woman. Check it out.

Hangover Radio

For something completely different, Mark Zolo, the Naughty Nomad, and fellow blogger interviewed my for their zany new podcast, Hangover Radio.

Hangover Radio Ep 5: An Interview with Jack Donovan – Listen Here

http://naughtynomad.com/2014/08/08/hangover-radio-ep-5-an-interview-with-jack-donovan/

Smug, Snobby Urban Elves in their True Form. WAKE UP AMERICA!

 

Now is the time for plain speaking.

It’s time to call a spade a spade.

Or, in this case, it’s time to call an Elf an Elf.

Oh, we’ve danced around the issue and called them by many names.

In the 1960s, our people called them “hippies.”

People today sometimes call them hipsters, but hipster-ism is a pose affected by rude, youthful elves who mock us with Pabst Blue Ribbon and vintage cigarettes because they know that when you live for an average of 700 years, you don’t have to take anything very seriously.

“SWPL,” or “Stuff White People Like” was also a cute euphemism, but we all knew we weren’t talking about “stuff white people like” in general. Lots of white people like Coors Light and know how to fix cars and listen to mainstream country music unironically.

We weren’t talking about those white people, and everyone knew it.

We were talking about creatures with white skin who AREN’T REALLY PEOPLE.

I’ve mentioned them in passing, but it’s time to identify the enemy. We must NAME THE ELF.

Elves are often mistaken for humans, because they have similar features and white skin, but they tend to be slender and slightly more delicate than the race of men.

I live in Portland, and that’s where I first noticed the obvious differences between humans who live in the suburbs and in the country, and urban elves, who live downtown, shop at Whole Foods, pretend to read UTNE, and see themselves as “stewards of the Earth.” They’re always saying queer, condescending things to humans, like, “why don’t you just evolve?”

The show Portlandia is actually complicated tongue-in-cheek Elvish humor. It’s self-deprecating and neurotic but somehow also celebratory and awkwardly amusing, like Seinfeld or Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Elves can breed with humans, but they are embarrassed of their attractions to brutish and short-lived humans so they prefer to murder the children before their Elders find out. This is why elves tend to be feminist and vote Democrat. Elves also tend to be outspoken feminists because the elvish race, which has much in common with the Dwarves (but we’re not going to get into the whole gold-mongering Dwarf thing here), is almost completely androgynous and elvish communities have been matriarchal since their Age of Vulvar began in 33 AD. Elves will often say that “gender is just a construct” because they like to tease “unevolved” humans, who they know full well have more fully differentiated sexes.

Hen-pecked Elvish males are secretly jealous of human men, though, so they work with the Dwarves to market birth control pills, human pornography, soy products, plastics and other products with dysgenic, emasculating effects. They don’t actually consume these products themselves, which is why they can often be spotted at “health food” stores. “Health food” and “organic” are both shortened versions of unpronounceable Elvish words that translate roughly to “not the poison slop we feed stupid humans.” Sadly, wealthy and high-born humans often collude with Elves to push these products on the lower human castes, to keep them weak, compliant and easy to control.

However, it was the courage of an Alabama congressman that inspired me to finally “come out of the closet” as an elf hater.

Congressman Mo Brooks came out and said what I’ve known for some time.

The thoroughly Elf and Dwarf-controlled Democratic Party has long been waging a “War on White People” by conducting a massive university-based re-education campaign to get white people to “reject their whiteness” which is code for rejecting their basic human nature, and act more like white Elves. Elves see white humans as a nuisance, and know that if white humans hate themselves and adopt Elvish breeding habits and matriarchal lifeways, they will die out in an Elvish decade or two because of their shorter life spans. Elvish Democrats have also moved to import non-white peoples, orcs and goblins into white human areas as part of their ethnic cleansing campaign. Their secret slogan, which sounds far more sinister in Elvish, is “no white people, no white people problems.” After the extinction of white people, the elves will quickly move to enslave the unsuspecting non-whites, orcs and goblins, and rule planet Earth in alliance with the clever gold-hoarding Dwarves.

Most white people laugh at ideas like a “War on White People,” because they have been glamoured by Elvish magic, so they cannot see the Elves’ pointy ears or creepy high cheekbones. Also, it seems like the people in prominent positions on both sides of this “war” are white. Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton, for instance, are not Elvish, but Elvish yes-people who have been promised immortality by Elves in exchange for their treachery. The joke will be on them, because the Elves lost the secret of passing immortality to humans in 1323 BC, during the Tutankhamen debacle, and this was well known to human scholars until the destruction of the Library of Alexandria in 642 by the Goblin Caliph Omar.

I do not mean for this to sound partisan, because the Republican Party in America, for the most part, simply wolf-whistles about the “War on White People” to create confusion and advance the interests of moneyed white humans, who hope to bargain with Elves after the majority of their white human rubes have been exterminated. They are sneaky backroom dealers and cannot be trusted.

That’s why I’m reaching out to you, common white human.

Let the scales fall from your eyes, my brothers and sisters.

The Elves are not your friends.

Stop taking their “diversity” and “women’s studies” misinformation classes. Stop supporting their puppet “parties.” There is only one political party. THE ELVISH PARTY.

Stop listening to their Elvish “Hollywood” folklore.

These are not your people.

They aren’t even people!

They’re elves, and it’s “us” or “them”

DEATH TO URBAN ELVES!

RUN TO THEIR DOWNTOWN BOUTIQUE STORES AND RIP THEIR ANCIENT HEARTS OUT OF THEIR SKINNY, SUNKEN CHESTS BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!

Jack Donovan at NPI

 

Translated by Sebastián Vera for Fuerza Nacional-Identitaria.

Volviéndonos los nuevos bárbaros

Discurso pronunciado por Jack Donovan en la segunda conferencia del National Policy Institute, realizada en el Ronald Reagan Building en Washington DC el 26 de octubre del año 2013. Publicado y transcrito originalmente como “Becoming The New Barbarians”, en RadixJournal.com. Traducción por Sebastián Vera.

Puede que haya un colapso. Puede ocurrir. Puede que sea mañana. Dioses vengativos pueden arrojar peñascos desde los cielos, purificando la tierra con incendios e inundaciones. Podría haber sangre en las calles y rechinar de dientes. Una plaga de langostas o abejas asesinas, una gripe china o el apocalipsis zombie. Tus tarjetas de crédito pueden quedarse sin fondos y tus smartphones pueden volverse muy tontos. Podemos ser forzados a agruparnos en pandillas primitivas y luchar por nuestra supervivencia. Podríamos estar obligados por circunstancias más allá de nuestro control a redescubrir formas de vida más familiares a nuestra especie (a nuestros cerebros ancestrales) que este interminable y banal revolcón de parques corporativos y centros comerciales.

O quizás sólo puedes ponerte un día como león, para morir como naciste: pateando, gritando y cubierto en la sangre de otra persona.
Tiene un cierto atractivo.

Pero mientras nada o todo esto pueda ocurrir (y puede ocurrir mañana), también es posible que este acabado y corrupto sistema cojee por un largo tiempo.
Sí, debería fallar catastróficamente. Merece fallar. Pero no importa cuanto el mundo necesite un botón de reseteo, es mucho más fácil en el día a día de gente en todos los niveles de la sociedad seguir remendando el Sistema y hacerlo lo mejor posible hasta que se les acabe el hilo.

Entonces… hasta que ese día llegue… hasta que a todos se les acabe el hilo… hasta entonces, casi todos, incluso los líderes norteamericanos, parecen estar de acuerdo en que Estados Unidos está en decadencia.
Y durante aquella decadencia, podemos esperar ver más de lo que ya hemos visto. Para la mayoría de la gente, eso significará una disminución progresiva de la calidad de vida y una baja en las expectativas.
Lo que no veremos es algún tipo de gran despertar o un cambio dramático en el liderazgo o dirección. La gente que conduce EEUU no van a volver a sus cabales.
Mientras EEUU declina y se vuelve un Estado fallido o deficiente, las corporaciones, hombres de negocios y burócratas que lo manejan continuarán predicando la globalización, el multiculturalismo y el feminismo.

Continuarán condenando todo lo que pueda ser considerado racismo o tribalismo, especialmente entre los blancos, hasta que estos estén seguramente en minoría.  Continuarán condenando el “sexismo machista” y seguirán promoviendo cualquier clase de sexismo femenino que debilite o devalúe a los hombres. Continuarán haciendo reverencia a su propia clase sacerdotal académica mientras que condenan como “extrema” cualquier creencia religiosa que desafíe la autoridad moral de las creencias progresistas. Continuarán promoviendo dependencia en el Estado por razones de seguridad, ingreso y servicios de salud, por la vida en si.

Y, sin importar cuantos conflictos intensifiquen o cuantas personas maten o metan en prisión o cuan militarizados se vuelvan los matones del Estado policial, continuarán condenando la “violencia”.
Seguirán haciendo todo esto porque para ellos tiene sentido.
Si ustedes fuesen los gobernantes de una nación en decadencia, cuya gente estuviera condenada a perder riqueza y status, mientras que ustedes quisieran proteger sus propios intereses junto con conservar sus cabezas, ¿por qué no querer mantener a esta gente separada, debilitada, dependiente, sin esperanza, temerosa y no violenta?
Caudillos pueden ir y venir, pero no veo ninguna razón para que el mensaje cambie.

Muchos de ustedes pueden verse a si mismos como hombres civilizados. Hombres cuerdos en un mundo cada vez más loco, vulgar y bárbaro.

¡Pero se equivocan! Ustedes son los nuevos bárbaros.

-Si creen que no todos los hombres son iguales.

-Si creen que los hombres libres deben tener derecho a tener armas de fuego.

-Si creen que al gobierno no se le puede confiar la regulación de todos los aspectos de tu vida.

-Si creen que la raza significa sangre y herencia, no sólo “color de piel”.

-Si creen que hombres y mujeres son diferentes y crees que deberían tener diferentes roles.

-Si creen que los hombres debieran comportarse como hombres.

-Si creen que los desfiles del orgullo gay y el matrimonio homosexual son ridículos.

-Si creen en alguna religión ancestral.

Si creen en algunas o todas aquellas cosas entonces, de acuerdo al Estado y las corporaciones, la academia y los medios de comunicación, son unos estúpidos, psicópatas, campesinos, neo-nazis, misóginos, golpeadores de mujeres, homofóbicos, anticuados y neandertales reaccionarios. Ya lo saben. Disfrútenlo. Hagan una canción con ello. Porque no hay equivocación: ustedes son peligrosos, traidores y posiblemente sediciosos.

Esto me recuerda a las palabras del rapero Eminem: “Soy todo lo que digas que soy. Si no lo fuera, ¿por qué diría que lo soy? En el periódico, en las noticias, todos los días lo soy. La radio ni siquiera tocará mi canción”[1]

No importa lo que ustedes crean que ustedes son. Son todo lo que ellos digan. Ellos controlan el mensaje. No importa cuán razonable sea su mensaje, la radio no lo va a publicitar. No importa lo que ustedes crean que ustedes son, para ellos ustedes son unos bárbaros. Así que aduéñense de ello, sean unos bárbaros. Y, si van a ser bárbaros, entonces piensen como bárbaros.

¿Qué quiere decir esto? ¿Qué significa ser un bárbaro? Hablando clásicamente, un bárbaro es alguien que no es del Estado, de la polis. El bárbaro no es debidamente civilizado, de acuerdo al standard prevaleciente del Estado. Sus hábitos son extraños y tribales. El bárbaro es un extraño, un foráneo.

¿Cómo puede el pensamiento de un hombre cambiar cuando está alienado por el Estado donde nació?

¿Cómo puede un hombre pasar de ser un hombre de la polis a ser un forastero, un bárbaro, en su propio país?
Estas son preguntas importantes porque si no ves ninguna solución viable a la necia e inhumana trayectoria del progresismo (yo no lo hago), entonces cualquier cambio significativo va a requerir mucho más que recolectar firmas o apelar al sentido común del público o a elegir el candidato correcto.
Lo que se necesita es crear un cambio fundamental en la manera en que los hombres se ven a si mismos y a su relación con el Estado. No se preocupen de cambiar el Estado. Cambien a las personas. Corten el cordón y déjenlos nacer en un nuevo sistema de pensamiento más allá del Estado.

Muéstrenles como volverse bárbaros y separarse del Estado. ¿Cómo hacer esto? Bueno, eso es algo sobre lo que estaré pensando y escribiendo durante los próximos años.

Pero les puedo ofrecer cuatro líneas de pensamiento que creo podrían ser útiles.

I. Separarnos a “nosotros” de “ellos”

Esta conferencia es sobre el futuro de la identidad. ¿Qué identidad? ¿De quién estamos hablando? ¿Quiénes somos nosotros? Cuando hablo con gente sobre lo que está ocurriendo en el mundo rápidamente me dicen lo que deberíamos hacer, pero ¿quiénes somos nosotros?

¿Ustedes y las corporaciones que les venden comida chatarra, arruinan su tierra y los dejan sin trabajo?  ¿Ustedes y los “expertos” que transforman sus valores en “problemas psicológicos”? ¿Ustedes y los medios de comunicación que se burlan de ustedes? ¿Ustedes y los banqueros de Wall Street que financian la economía para su ganancia a corto plazo? ¿Ustedes y los burócratas que quieren desarmarlos y manejar cada pequeño aspecto de sus vidas? ¿Ustedes y los políticos que abren las fronteras y se abalanzan para consentir a un nuevo grupo de potenciales votantes en vez de trabajar por los intereses de los actuales ciudadanos del país a los que juraron representar?

¿Ese “nosotros”?

Los estadounidenses especialmente están acostumbrados a hablar en términos de “nosotros, el pueblo”. Pero hay 300 millones de personas viviendo en EEUU y eso es mucho “nosotros”. Sean más específicos.

Sean más tribales.

Uno de los mejores consejos para escribir que he recibido es este: nunca digas “pueblo” cuando te quieras referir a “hombres”. Bueno, mi consejo es que nunca digan “nosotros” cuando quieran decir “ellos”. Dejen de usar un lenguaje democrático. Dejen de pretender que somos todos del mismo equipo, porque no lo somos. Y no tenemos por qué serlo. Decidan por quien verdaderamente se preocupan. Descubran que tienen en común. Definan sus fronteras. Decidan quien está dentro y quien fuera. La gente que está dentro, esos somos “nosotros”. Todos los demás son “ellos”.

II. Dejen de enojarse porque las cosas no tienen sentido

Casi nada de lo que leen o escuchan en las noticias hoy parece tener sentido.

La gente se enoja mucho, se frustra mucho y se siente traicionada. Es como si “nuestros líderes” fueran locos o estúpidos, o ambas. No tiene sentido colocar mujeres en la infantería. ¡Eso obviamente es desquiciado! No tiene sentido el decirle a los jóvenes que contraten préstamos para estudiar que no podrán pagar. No tiene ningún sentido invitar a gente al país cuando no puedes mantener a la gente que ya vive ahí. ¡Eso es una locura!

No tiene sentido empezar guerras y después decir que estás tratando de ganar “corazones y mentes”. ¡La guerra no es una buena forma de ganar corazones y mentes! ¡Y preocuparse de corazones y mentes no es una buena forma de ganar una guerra!
No tiene sentido que banqueros y gerentes obtengan paracaídas de oro y vayan de vacaciones o consigan trabajo en la administración después de que conciente e intencionalmente hayan destruido compañías, trabajos, vidas, medioambiente ¡y sectores enteros de la economía!

Pero si piensan que ellos, la gente que controla el país, hacen las cosas por beneficio propio y no por el suyo, entonces todo tiene sentido.

Consideren la posibilidad de que los líderes del país no se preocupan por si los soldados viven o mueren. Consideren la posibilidad de que a las universidades y a los banqueros no les importe si viven el resto de sus vidas adeudado. Probablemente así lo prefieren. Consideren la posibilidad de que los políticos se preocupan más de asegurar sus trabajos en el corto plazo y de verse bien en la prensa en vez de preocuparse de lo que le pase a la gente de su país en el largo plazo. Considera la posibilidad de que “tú” no eres parte del “nosotros” del que “ellos” se preocupan. Te prometo que si meditas sobre esto, las cosas empezarán a tener mucho más sentido.

Si abandonan la idea de que esta gente supuestamente debieran preocuparse por ustedes o por el país y empiezan a verlos como pandillas e individuos trabajando en pos de su propio interés, entonces se pueden relajar y apreciar su planeada estrategia.
Dejen ir tontas expectativas sobre lo que esta gente debiera estar haciendo. Retrocedan y mírenlos como son. No te enojes. No te sientas ultrajado. Sé sabio.

Como Nietzsche recomendaba: sé despreocupado, burlesco y violento.

III. Desuniversaliza la moralidad.

Los hombres que fueron criados con valores estadounidenses, igualitaristas y “post-occidentales” quieren ser “buenas personas”. Quieren ser amables y justos, quieren que todos sean como ellos. Esto puede ser absolutamente paralizador.

De verdad crea un conflicto interno para los hombres (buenos hombres) que son especialmente atléticos o tienen alguna clase de trasfondo militar o policial. Fueron enseñados y creen en valores de respeto, igualdad y justicia.

Quieren hacer “lo correcto”, sin importar qué.

Quieren ser Batman.

Sin embargo, está también en la naturaleza de estos hombres, incluso más que en otros hombres, el pensar verticalmente, jerárquicamente, tribalmente, pensar en términos de “ellos” y “nosotros”. Para evaluar a otros naturalmente, primeramente, por las virtudes masculinas y tácticas de fuerza, coraje, maestría y honor.

Pero en cuanto el partido de fútbol o la película de superhéroes se acaba, el EEUU progresista vuelve a odiar y a castigar estas virtudes. Estos “chicos buenos”…estos que quieren ser héroes son culpados, se burlan de ellos, se les pasa por encima y se los trata como basura.

No importa lo que diga el mensaje oficial de los Estados Unidos progresista, cuando se trata de hombres que se comportan como hombres (especialmente hombres blancos) a nadie le importa si son tratados de forma justa o no.

Aún así, estos hombres no quieren excluir a las mujeres de nada porque les parece injusto ya que tienen hermanas y madres y quieren que todos tengan una oportunidad. Pero a las mujeres, como grupo, no les importa si los hombres se sienten excluidos.
De hecho, cuando los hombres protestan por algo, grupos de mujeres son los primeros en llamarlos “quejones” o “perdedores”. Los chicos buenos blancos como grupo se preocupan de lo que le ocurra a la gente negra como grupo. Quieren que todo los negros sean tratados de forma justa y en igualdad de condiciones y se aseguran de que ellos mismos no estén discriminando.

¿Acaso los negros como grupo se preocupan de lo que le ocurre a los blancos como grupo? ¿A un papá mexicano con tres bebés le importa si un chico blanco de los suburbios obtiene un empleo de verano o no?

El problema con estos valores post-occidentales es que funcionan mejor como valores intra-tribales.

Sólo funcionan cuando todos los demás están conectados y son interdependientes. La amabilidad, la justicia y el respeto al otro promueven la armonía dentro de una comunidad. Pero al mismo tiempo, hay que establecer límites. Pero en algún momento tienen que decidir quiénes son parte de esa comunidad y quiénes no.

No puedes jugar limpio con gente a la que no le importa si te borran del mapa. No tienes que odiar a todo aquél que no es parte de tu tribu, pero es tonto seguir preocupándose de gente que no se preocupa por ti.

Estos prototipos heroicos son los guardianes naturales de cualquier tribu, pero sus naturalezas heroicas son desperdiciadas y abusadas cuando se les pide que protejan a todos, incluso a enemigos, ingratos y a aquellos quienes los desprecian.

Si los bárbaros occidentales quieren aferrarse a cualquier porción de su herencia e identidad occidental necesitan resolver estos conflictos morales.
No necesariamente tienen que abandonar la moral, pero necesitan volver a su eje y volverse, como en ‘La República’ de Platón, “perros nobles que son amables con sus familiares y lo opuesto con los extraños”.

Sé responsable moralmente, pero sólo con la tribu.

Si van a prosperar y durar en una nación defectuosa, los nuevos bárbaros deben dejar esa trágica e incomprendida rutina de héroe y darse cuenta de que no son Batman. ¿Por qué alguien querría serlo?

IV. Vuélvanse independientes del Estado e interdependientes entre ustedes.


Los Estados Unidos de América y sus corporaciones relacionadas ofrecen una amplia gama de productos y servicios. Todas tienen lazos y mientras más dependan de ellas, más fácil les es controlarlos.

No es una real amenaza para ellos si te conectas a la red y le colocas “me gusta” a una página traviesa o descargas tu solitaria e impotente ira, mientras que el resto de tu identidad se enrolla lindamente en el burgués estilo de vida americano.

Mientras aún puedas conseguir un trabajo en una compañía importante y mantenerte ocupado durante 40, 50 o 60 horas a la semana para que puedas costear la amplia gama de productos y servicios.

Y que luego, en el tiempo libre que te queda, te conectas a internet y te transformas en un ortodoxo, romano u odinista y posteas imágenes geniales de vikingos, centuriones y cruzados.

Pero esa no es una identidad real ni una tribu real ni una comunidad real. Por todos los medios posibles, usa al Estado progresista y toma todo lo que se pueda tomar de él mientras aún quede algo que tomar, pero si de verdad quieren un tipo de estilo de vida alternativo a lo que el Estado tiene que ofrecerte, si quieres mantener algún tipo de identidad tribal que pueda sobrevivir al declive y al colapso del país (también conocido como la repentina ausencia de productos y servicios adecuados) en vez de “organizarse comunitariamente” en internet o retirarse al campo con la esposa y los hijos, trae a alguna de esa gente de internet cerca tuyo y vivan cerca el uno del otro. Tómense un vecindario o un complejo de departamentos, comiencen negocios y prevean servicios que la gente realmente necesite.
Es bueno tener escritores y pensadores, pero también se necesitan mecánicos, plomeros y costureras.  Sirve a todos, pero sé leal a la gente “de la familia” y hazla “tuya”.

No tiene que ser nada formal. No lo publiquen en la prensa. Sólo comiencen tranquilamente a construir una comunidad de hombres y mujeres con pensamientos afines en algún lugar, en cualquier lugar.
No se preocupen por crear un partido político masivo o de reclutar miles o millones de personas. No se preocupen de cambiar al Estado. Los bárbaros no se preocupan de cambiar el Estado. Eso es para hombres del Estado, que creen y pertenecen al Estado.
Apunten a unas 150 personas. Una comunidad de personas pequeña que trabajen juntas para ser menos dependientes del Estado y más dependientes unas de otras.

Inmigrantes recientes, muchos de los cuales son literalmente no del Estado, pueden servir de ejemplo. No hace mucho los irlandeses y los italianos vivían en comunidades aisladas. Piensen en las partes rusas del pueblo.

Miren lugares como Chinatown en San Francisco: cada pocas cuadras puedes ver edificios marcados: “Algo…algo….algo… Asociación Benéfica”.

¿Suena bien, cierto? Podría ser la fachada de una triada. Podría ser para ayudar a escolares chinos. No tengo idea, pero estoy seguro de que es para chinos. También hay consultas médicas, oficinas de abogados y tiendas de abarrotes. Hay una red entera de gente preocupándose primero de los suyos.

Ahí hay una comunidad de gente que es exclusiva, aislada e interdependiente. Van primero donde uno de los suyos cuando necesitan algo. Son difíciles de observar y de controlar. Son menos dependientes del Estado y más dependientes entre ellos. Y cuando el colapso llegue, cuidarán primero de ellos mismos mientras que el resto estará preocupado de que el Estado haga algo.

Quienesquiera que “nosotros” seamos, cualquiera que sea tu “tribu”, es sólo una idea en tu cabeza hasta que tengas un grupo de gente verdaderamente interdependiente que compartan el mismo destino. Eso es lo que es una tribu. Eso es lo que es una comunidad. Ese es el futuro de la identidad en América.
La tierra pertenece a los que la tienen y la conservan. Y esta tierra ya no es tuya ni mía, sino que oficialmente en su tierra. Puede que no seas capaz de reclamarla, por lo menos no ahora, pero puedes volverte un bárbaro y vivir felizmente como tal, como un extranjero dentro, y trabajar para construir las clases de comunidades resistentes y redes de trabajo de gente calificada que pueda sobrevivir al colapso y preservar sus identidades después de la caída.

 

[1] Eminem – “The way I am”

 

 

When I posted “Clickbait Country” a few days ago, I was making observations based on the kinds of headlines I’d been seeing from formerly “respectable” news sources over the past year.

A Portland pal responded, mentioning the recent transformation of Oregon’s primary paper of record, The Oregonian.

According to the left-wing weekly, Willamette Week, last June the paper’s owners at Advance Publications (which owns more than 25 papers in comparable markets) laid off a quarter of The Oregonian‘s newsroom staff and more than 50 other employees, split up the company, and reduced home delivery to four days a week. That October, they officially switched to a “digital first” model, prioritizing posting to the Oregonlive.com website. Then, frustrated that the paper website was still not web-oriented enough, early this year Advance created incentives for generating traffic and posting shorter articles more often, even if that meant relying more heavily on celebrity gossip, sports, polls, ” news stories written solely about readers’ comments, and photo essays on such subjects as obese cats.”

The Oregonian, still in some sense regarded as the most credible mainstream news source in Oregon, converted to the Gawker model.

Everything is yellow journalism now. No news source is trustworthy. Everything is entertainment.

This has to be driving the uptick in outrage politics, hysterical political correctness, and the virtual tarring and feathering of anyone who becomes the focus of a Twitter hashtag campaign.

If there was ever a rule in yellow journalism, it was “scandal sells.”

Instead of creating news in the absence of news, today’s digital reporters create scandal in the absence of scandal. Because scandals sell.

Take, for instance, the case of Stephen A. Smith, ESPN commentator. After saying at least 7 or 8 times that any many who hits a woman is wrong, should be beaten by other men, and should be put in prison (where he’ll probably be beaten and raped by other men), gingerly suggested that some women may provoke domestic violence. Michelle Beadle, a female colleague at ESPN, then attacked him on Twitter, and used the medium to draw attention to herself and garner victim status based on an admission that, at some point, she’s been in an abusive relationship — whatever that means to her. Hundreds of blogs picked up on the issue, vying for traffic, upping the “shock and outrage” ante. Smith was forced to tape an awkward apology for saying something that was obviously true — of course women intentionally provoke male violence, look at all the sympathy fake violence gets them! — and has now been suspended for a week.

How many “reporters” received traffic bonuses for stirring up that madness?

How many people racked up social media affirmation for expressing solidarity with that manufactured outrage?

How many women followed Michelle Beadle’s lead and took the opportunity to divulge a history of victimhood and bask in the fake sympathy of friends and the desperate reassurances of beta orbiters?

This isn’t genuine outrage. It’s not serious debate.

It’s a pay-per-click gravy train, and an online brothel for attention whores.

 

Earlier this week, Radix published an essay I’d been working on for a while, which was bound to cause some controversy.

Beauties in Beast Mode

Read it at Radix Journal

Some guys who objected couldn’t manage to stop tripping over their dicks, and their main beef seemed to be that “chicks who lift are hot.” The point of the essay wasn’t about who men should or shouldn’t find attractive. Feminists don’t get this, because they don’t understand men or the male experience, but boners aren’t political. I could try to project, but frankly I have no idea what the boner that woke me up at 4AM this morning had to say about gender issues or feminism. Men control their words and actions, but erections kinda do what they want.

The essay also wasn’t about attacking women, or athletic women. I have two younger sisters. Both are mothers working hard to stay in great shape, and I’m proud of them both for refusing to become typical American land beasts.

The main point of the essay was that while feminists nag us from their blogs, magazines and Twitter accounts, it is in many cases men who are pushing women to get involved in extreme sports that many feminists would criticize as “hypermasculine” in men — like fighting, strongman, powerlifting, bodybuilding, and so on. These are usually men who would mock effeminate men and hipsters and complain that men aren’t men anymore, but they encourage women to be more masculine, as if the sexes exist in separate vacuums and changes in women don’t influence men. I wrote about some of the reasons why I think men do this, and while their motivations are probably innocent enough, I wanted them to think about how they are impacting men around them, and how their actions contribute to the erosion of sex roles. The places where men train for these “hypermasculine” sports are some of the last redoubts for men who no longer have any other exclusively male spaces. We can’t just expect men to spring forth from the loins of their forefathers as exemplars of manliness without any kind of support or paternal influence. Our manliest forefathers spent much of their time in male groups, being influenced by other men. Females interrupt that process, exert their own influence on male cultures and turn men against each other.

Having observed this over and over again in the real world, and having heard about similar progressions from friends and readers, here’s a basic rule for female participation in male groups.

Donovan’s 10% Law of Female Sex Pollution

A long as females make up less than 5% of the total group, and they are unattractive or no more than moderately attractive, they will be gender-nonconforming exceptions who will adapt to male group culture, respect it, and strive to be considered “one of the guys.” If a majority of the males find her attractive, many of them will be extremely distracted and go out of their way to accommodate, assist, flatter and please her (whether they are married/committed or not). When female participation edges toward 10% and beyond, females will adapt the culture and environment to suit their own tastes and interests. This begins with “the curtains.” Music selections will change, and “family feel-good inclusivity activities” like potlucks, birthday celebrations, mixers and so forth will be introduced. Males will stop speaking freely to avoid offending the females, and when they don’t, females will either confront them directly (uncommon) or attempt to influence a prominent male member to intervene on behalf of women to make the group more “female friendly.” If successful, and the females do not then become bored, as time progresses, they will introduce less adventurous, gender-conforming women to the mix, and those women will require additional cultural changes to feel comfortable in what they still perceive to be a “testosterone-heavy” environment.

Following a consistent 10%-15%  female inclusion rate, a phenomenon called “gender pollution” will occur as the group is perceived to be more feminine and loses masculine prestige. Males will “lose interest” in the mixed sex group, which can no longer be seen as the masculine group they were initially drawn to, and membership in the group no longer increases their honor, validates their masculinity, or gives them an opportunity to interact with men without female interference. Because outright sexism is taboo, especially after prominent male members have made “female-friendly” inclusivity overtures, many males will find other “official” reasons to leave the group to save face. Following this purge, the group will become thoroughly mixed, sexism will be rigorously policed and considered absolutely taboo, and there is a high probability that group will become progressively more female-oriented.

The percentages above will vary according to how aggressively feminist the women involved are, but even one extremely aggressive feminist can’t make enough cultural changes to alienate men without some help from “sisters.”

You may or may not be old enough to remember when the Internet was a new thing, but for a long time, web pages were not considered “credible” sources. If you were a serious person trying to make a serious point, you cited books, academic journals, established magazines and venerable old newspapers.

Books are still books, but publishing is more accessible, and more people are aware that a publisher is just someone with a bank account and some means of printing and distribution who is willing to put up some money and do some of the work of publishing for a share of a book’s potential profit. Academic journals are still an arcane, exclusive racket, but a lot of them are just web sites now, too.

Newspapers and magazines have been forced to compete with web sites, and they are losing. Why would anyone bother to subscribe to a newspaper when they can read it online and get updated news in real-time, for free? For the ads and coupons? I’ll admit they are handy for getting coals started when I want to grill a steak, but that’s about it. Brown paper bags work just as well, and they probably burn cleaner.

Certain magazines are still worth keeping around if you have the space. National Geographic, or something special like Lapham’s Quarterly or even VICE. Glossy design magazines are still better than their online editions, if you’re into that sort of thing.

But major news magazines and newspapers have become printed slaves to their online editions. They have to compete for traffic every day with trashy click-bait sites like Upworthy, Gawker and Buzzfeed. Over the past year or so, this seems to have accelerated, and the old printed institutions are becoming indistinguishable from their yellow counterparts.

I have a copy of TIME from 1970 that shows Yukio Mishima’s death scene, with his severed head still sitting on the floor facing the door where he wanted it. The cover story was a forward-thinking report on the organic food movement. TIME famously explored the Nietzschean question, “Is God Dead?” in 1965, opening with a reference to Jean-Paul Sartre.  It was always a mainstream magazine, but it at least pretended to be a magazine for serious people.

Last week, one of the big stories at TIME online was “Dear White Gays: Stop Stealing Black Female Culture.” Reactions to this ridiculous screed about sassy faggots with stolen head snaps were published at New York Magazine, NPR, Slate (A Washington Post property), The Daily Beast, Huffington Post, and every smaller web site that wanted to tap into the related “outrage traffic.” Meanwhile, at The Wall Street Journal, we learn “Why We Need a Female Thor and a Black Batman.” This is now what passes for a “national conversation.”

I checked out the rest of the TIME site while I was writing this. There were some hard news items about politics and real human tragedies abroad, but among their top 10 most popular stories were “10 Excuses Unproductive People Basically Always Use,” “10 Things Millennials Won’t Spend Money On,” Credit Card Companies Really Hope You Don’t Notice This,” ”Beyoncé Teases Fifty Shades of Grey Trailer on Instagram,” “The World’s Second-Richest Man Thinks You Should Work Only 3 Days a Week” and “How Overparenting Makes Kids Overweight.” I especially liked, “For Nerds, This Video Is Absolutely Everything.” As of this writing, The Atlantic seems to be having a semi-serious Sunday, but monthly cover stories this year have included “The Fraternity Problem,” “Closing the Confidence Gap” (On women in business),  “The Overprotected Child,” and “A Case for Reparations.” Most of them have been designed to draw attention, surprise or provoke outrage, like any click-bait headline. I don’t even think most black people take the idea of reparations seriously, and with percentages of male enrollment in college lower than ever, an article about the trouble with frats is just another invitation for spoiled college girls to gossip about boys.

I have a hard time believing that the people who write this stuff are even sincere. They’re going for the big story, the most shares, the most tweets, the mention on late night television.

I’m not complaining. In fact, I welcome this development. I love that the mainstream media is getting trashier and easier to dismiss.

It makes people more willing to consider what non-mainstream writers have to say.

American newspapers and magazines started out as soap-boxes for entrepreneurs and ideologues. Hearst drove sales with sensational headlines. Every paper was as unapologetically skewed as The Huffington Post. For a few decades, journalism gained a veneer of respectability based on an assumption of objectivity that was probably always more of a charming fiction than a reality. Now the industry is returning to what it always was — a commercial enterprise catering to base elements of human nature and whipping up madness in crowds.

As the “reputable” papers and magazines become increasingly indistinguishable from TMZ , Jezebel, Upworthy or Thought Catalog, they burn credibility as legitimate sources and gatekeepers of ideas. They’re down here with the rest of us on the digital street corner, shouting, trying to get people’s attention. If everyone is spinning everything shamelessly and sensationally, people can just pick the spin they like the best, instead of looking to the mainstream media for “serious journalism” and “reasonable viewpoints.”

In 2012, one Gallup poll (whatever that’s worth) found that 60% of Americans don’t trust the mainstream media.

When no one trusts the mainstream media, what happens next could blow your mind…

A Sky Without Eagles Shirt

Danger Press printed up a run of t-shirts using the image from the cover of my book of essays, A Sky Without Eagles.

Some of you have the t-shirts and prints (see my framed one above) that they did for The Way of Men, so you know that the shirts are really high-quality, they fit well, and the printing is top-notch.

I approached the guys at Danger Press about doing a run of these because so many readers told me that the TWOM t-shirts were conversation-starters.

The octopus illustration symbolizes the perversion of the Great Seal of the United States from an “eagle” to an all-seeing, creeping police state Leviathan.

They’re on sale just in time for Independence Day.

I’m not selling these myself — get yours from Danger Press for $24.99 plus shipping.

The Redwoods - CA, 2011

 

Counter-Currents just published my review of Ernst Jünger’s The Forest Passage, a short book with themes that tied in nicely with my recent to visit the Wolves of Vinland in the woods of Virginia.

The Forest PassageJünger’s narrative and his arguments meander more than they should, but The Forest Passage is highly quotable and somewhat prophetic. There are good bits in there about 4GW, the right to bear arms, and role of the poet or artist in revolt and some thoughts on the concept of freedom.

Read more at Counter-Currents…

A Tribe Among the Trees: Ernst Jünger’s The Forest Passage

 

Paul WaggenerAfter I published my recent article about The Wolves of Vinland, a bunch of guys sent me questions.

Most of them were along the lines of “how do I start a tribe like that?” or “where do I sign up?”

So I invited Paul Waggener — Grimnir from the article — to come on Start The World and answer some of your questions.

 

Subscribe to START THE WORLD on iTunes here:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/start-world-jack-donovan-podcast/id844102780

The Wolves of Vinland are Building a Tribe Outside the System

Wolves of Vinland - Grimnir

Grimnir oversees a fight at Ulfheim.

Brothers will battle to bloody end, and sisters’ sons their sib betray; 
woe’s in the world, much wantonness; 
axe-age, sword-age — sundered are shields — wind-age, wolf-age, ere the world crumbled;
will the spear of no man spare the other.
 
– “Völuspá”

Grimnir moved barefoot through the dirt at Ulfheim like he didn’t know he wasn’t wearing cowboy boots.

He rolled his shoulders, shook out his neck, and called out to Frejulf. This would be Grimnir’s third match of the day, and it wouldn’t be his last.

Frejulf seemed chipper for a kid who knew was about to get his face fucked up. He was a junior patch member of the Wolves, and this was going to be a disciplinary beatdown. Grimnir, leader of the Lynchburg chapter, had promised that if Frejulf didn’t get some extracurricular mixed martial arts training within a few months, he would show him why he needed it. Frejulf knew his time was up.

A red bearded patch with an algiz ᛉ rune tattoo on his freckled shoulder started picking out a tune on the banjo.

Grimnir and Frejulf touched their MMA gloves. Then hoots, hollers and brawling.

The fight was over in less than a minute.

Frejulf had blood on his face when he got up. He looked a little dazed, but he was smiling. He’d taken his medicine like a man, and hadn’t made too bad of showing — all things considered.

Paul Waggener, who you know as Grimnir, gave him a quick hug and a pat on the back.

Ulfheim

Ulfheim

There’s this video making the rounds designed to convince people that the worst thing you can tell a young male to do is “man up.”

It’s far worse to let a young men luxuriate in his own tears and fears and fantasize that he’s something special for doing nothing special. That’s a degradation of his spirit and a waste of a perfectly good Y chromosome.

A fat lip is just a fat lip.

Grimnir grabbed a wifebeater, cleaned the mud off his face and called out for a prospect to bring him a beer. He looked on as the fights continued. A few more serious matches, and a lot of light sparring. Another bloodied smile, a mild concussion and some vomiting. All in good fun.

Grimnir told me that the fighting was just a warmup for the main event at dusk. His brother, Jarn-nefr, who runs the Wyoming chapter, added later that the greatest achievement of the Wolves has been their ritual practice.

The Wolves of Vinland officially identify themselves as “a tribe of folkish heathens.”

About seven years ago, Grimnir and Jarn-nefr were running a black metal venue in the Lynchburg, Virginia area, and they decided to start a regular Viking theme night. They drank beer, played Icelandic folk music, and started reading the Eddas. As more of their friends became interested, they decided to move things outside. The Wolves started holding regular sumbels in a National Park.

The sumbel is a common practice in Germanic paganism, derived from ancient texts like Beowulf, Lokasenna and Heimskringla. Sumbel loosely means “feast” or “gathering” and often involves “boasting” or “toasting” with drinking horns filled with mead.

As the Wolves entered their second year, the guys started wrestling at sumbel, and some of the members started wearing motorcycle gang style “battle jackets.” From the initial “come one, come all” approach, a natural hierarchy and sense of collective identity emerged. The men felt the need to determine who was “in” and who was “out.” Oaths of loyalty were taken, and new members were filtered through a prospecting system. As Grimnir said to me, “why hang out with just anyone?”

Jarn-nefr and a prospect after a grappling match.

Jarn-nefr and a prospect after a grappling match.

By the end of the third year, the current system was more or less in place, and all new members had to be voted in unanimously at the Lynchburg group at Ulfhiem. The Wolves have members in eleven states and a handful of international prospects. They’ve been denounced as “luckless bastards” by some more “settled” heathen organizations, so they decided to make a joke of it. Several of the Wolves wear “luckless bastard” patches on their battle jackets.

Ulfhiem is a 12-acre property owned by the Wolves. There’s a small cabin, a tool shed, and a structure for smaller fires where music is played. In 2013, the group crowd-funded the construction of a massive longhall, which is almost finished. The majority of the group’s activities, however, are funded by dues.

The afternoon of fighting was part of the Wolves’ monthly “moot” — a word with deep Indo-European roots that means “meeting” or “gathering.” It’s where “moot point” comes from. Originally, “moot point” meant an issue that needed to be resolved by an assembly of a people, but has come to indicate an issue already resolved and therefore irrelevant. Part of the moot’s purpose is for patched members of the Wolves to discuss official business. At some point during the afternoon, Grimnir called them over and they disappeared to vote on patching in a new member — and other subjects unknown to outsiders.

As Sköll chased the sun across the sky, I joined some of the prospects at the top of a hill. They were cutting themselves and using their own blood to draw runes and sigls on a large piece of white fabric. It was the sail for a fifteen or twenty foot long mock wooden ship they’d built earlier. I helped them fill the hull with branches for the night’s ritual — a yearly celebration of Baldr’s funeral.

Baldr's Ship

Baldr’s Ship

The women of the tribe prepared food and we ate as home-brewed mead and beer were passed around. Grimnir joined a few of the other musicians and played country music. A couple of kids had their own wrestling matches. Everyone was restlessly waiting for dusk. As golden hour approached, a tall guy with several runic brands on his lanky frame came over to talk to me about the ritual. His name was Finnulfr, and he’d given a workshop on sigils earlier in the afternoon. He invited me to come down and “get crazy” with the guys in their ritual pre-funk.

Grimnir handed me the end of a bottle of home-brewed mead and told me to kill it. It was deliciously dry compared to the sugary meads I’d tasted in the past. I followed him and a few others into the woods and down a hill to a place called the Ve. There was already a small fire going, and Finnulfr and the others were busy preparing for the ritual. It was almost dark, and the failing light beyond the crackling fire of the Ve seemed cold and blue. Three black, rune-painted drums were beaten in a steady, ominous rhythm. The men took off their cuts and shirts and passed around a bowl full of black ash, blood and  mead. Each Wolf smeared it on his face, chest and arms. One of them asked me to draw algiz on his forehead. I wasn’t sure how much I should participate as an outsider, but I was glad when he smeared the black goop across my face in some unknowable configuration.

After they’d all anointed themselves, they gathered around one of the drums and started a group death drone that sounded a bit like low Mongolian throat singing. Different men picked up different registers, adding growls and howls to an otherworldly mix of primal sounds.

This is the point where you decide whether you want to remain a smug “objective” outsider, or allow yourself to be moved by the experience and become part of it. You decide whether the movie is good enough to lose yourself in it.

I wanted this experience. I traveled across the country for it. I closed my eyes for a while and let go.

Somewhere between the drums and the hums and wild throat singing, out here in the darkness, we folded into the headspace of our barbarian fathers. Men, magic and nature were all the same thing, and the world was alive again.

After a few more minutes, the drumming reached a climax and stopped. The men got up and there were embraces and pats on the back and shoulder and the hand-to-forearm handshake the Wolves favor. There was some joking and quiet laughter, but the Wolves reminded each other to keep the mood.

I was seated beside an eight foot wooden stretcher covered in black cloth that symbolized Baldr’s corpse. Grimnir came over and handed me a plastic milk jug full of wormwood-infused homebrew.

“This should get you in the mood.”

I took a few pulls, but Grimnir and Lyðulfr insisted that I keep chugging it until I’d swallowed what I’d guess was at least a full pint. I drank until they were satisfied and joked about being an old man, but the truth was that I wanted to make sure I’d be able to remember the night.

It was whispered that we had about twenty minutes before the actual faining would begin. Finnulfr explained later that it was called a faining instead of a blot because no sacrificial blood would be spilled during this particular ritual. Some of the guys relaxed, and some of them focused on final preparations. Grimnir, Jarn-nefr, Finnulfr and Lyðulfr had each prepared readings for Baldr’s funeral and they quietly coordinated them.

The story of Baldr’s death, harrowing and rebirth comes from the Völuspá in the Poetic Edda, was developed in the Gylfaginning in Sturluson’s Prose Edda, and was retold by poet Matthew Arnold in 1855.

Baldr was the son of Odin and brother of Thor. As the god of light and purity, he was known as the most beautiful of all the gods. He and his mother, Frigg, dreamed of his death, so Frigg asked all of the plants and animals and stones to swear they’d never hurt him. She overlooked the mistletoe, because it seemed harmless and too young to swear. Because nothing could hurt him, he became invincible, and the gods made a game of hurling things at Baldr — knowing he’d be unharmed. Loki, ever mischievous, made an arrow (or a spear) of the mistletoe, and gave it to the blind god Höðr to shoot at Baldr. When he shot the arrow, Baldr fell dead.

The gods wept and placed his funeral pyre on a ship to burn at sea, “for that is what the dead desire.” In death he went to the underworld, with Hel, and although his mother tried to broker his release, he was forced to remain there until Ragnarök, the end of the world. After the other gods die and the giant Surtr sets fire to the world with his flaming sword, Baldr will be released from the underworld and begin a new age with the survivors of the cataclysm.

The story of Baldr is a story of hope and the rebirth of beauty and purity following an age of darkness and despair.

Baldr's Funeral Pyre

Baldr’s Funeral Pyre

We saw lights following the path down the hill. The drums started up again and everyone took their places. The women and other members of the tribe gathered above the Ve.

When everyone was settled, Finnulfr called out the directions with a spear — invoking the land spirits, gods and ancestors. Grimnir, Jarn-nefr and Lyðulfr gave fiery, nearly Nietzschean speeches about self-overcoming through discipline and will, and increasing the honor of the group by becoming a higher version of oneself. Grimnir reminded the assembled heathens that they were in a place “out of time,” consciously revolting against the modern world and becoming a different kind of man. He spoke about the evils of the encroaching world and concluded that it was a good time to be a wolf, because the future belongs to wolves. Lyðulfr spoke about the rebirth of Baldr and knowing that light will come from darkness. He ended his grim, pagan sermon by shouting “LONG LIVE DEATH!”

After all of the men had spoken, Jarn-nefr introduced a prospect who had travelled from Wyoming to moot. He was a tall, solid guy with white-blond hair. I’d watched him win a boxing match earlier that day. Jarn-nefr wrapped a wolf skin around his shoulders and directed him to a stone podium to read out his oath to all and become a full member of the Wolves of Vinland. His name was “Ref the Fox.”

At that point Finnulfr and the others “loaded” some mead with galdr, meaning that they sung sacred songs over it. The women of the tribe took the sacred mead around the group and filled each horn with enough for one toast to the gods. After drinking, we each spit in a bowl that was passed around, and the contents of the bowl was poured out onto the ground.

Jarn-nefr initiated the procession back up the hill, and told everyone to prepare their thoughts for sumbel and take a moment to be sure their words would be “worthy of the gods.”

The Wolves carried Baldr’s body carefully and somberly up the switchbacks, and laid him on his pyre.

We gathered in a circle around the ship, and sumbel was held, with toasts made by all to gods, heroes and ancestors followed by a round of more personal boasts and oaths. Some toasts were serious, some were grand, some were sad, and some were funny.

When we’d gone around the circle three times, someone placed a rune-painted plaque in front of Baldr’s corpse. Some words were spoken in his honor, and Jarn-nefr set the ship on fire. We watched the conflagration grow from a light crackling of hay bales and branches to a blazing bonfire with flames jumping fifteen or twenty feet in air.

Baldr's Burning Ship

Baldr’s Burning Ship

The tribe dispersed, with folks going back to the smaller fire to check on children or to grab musical instruments or more booze. Several songs were sung in unison, including the Wolves’ own battle hymn, “I’m A Good Old Rebel” and some old seafaring tunes. I pulled out a pack of cigars, offered one to Grimnir and a couple of the other guys. We smoked them by the calmed fire, which still glowed in the outline of a ship. Grimnir put the moves on an unattached female and disappeared into the woods. Some of the Wolves retired to tents, some to cars and some just passed out in the dirt next to the glowing coals.

The Wolves wouldn’t want me to trivialize my experience by comparing it to something as bougie as a television show, but I have to admit that my time at Ulfheim felt like a cross between Sons of Anarchy and the Vikings.

The exception is that, unlike those shows, Ulfheim is not just a set up for another go-girl narrative or another hair-pulling drama between women. What happens at Ulfheim is designed to create authentic brotherhood between men. It’s about escaping to another world, not just for an hour or even a day, but for good. The Wolves of Vinland are becoming barbarians. They’re leaving behind attachments to the state, to enforced egalitarianism, to desperate commercialism, to this grotesque modern world of synthetic beauty and dead gods. They’re building an autonomous zone, a community defined by face-to-face and fist-to-face  connections where manliness and honor matter again.

If they can do it, what’s stopping you?

——————————-

The Way of Men - Buy Now on AmazonJack Donovan is the author of The Way of MenHis latest book is a collection of essays, titled A Sky Without EaglesTo read more of his work on masculinity and tribalism, visit www.jack-donovan.com/