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/

 

Jack Donovan at Baldr's Funeral 2014I spent last weekend with the Wolves of Vinland, a scrappy tribe of serious heathens in Virginia. I’ll be publishing a feature report on that experience on Monday, June 16.

Until then, here are some recent podcasts I’ve appeared on that you may want to check out.

 

Radix: Vanguard Radio

Richard Spencer and I had a great conversation about “so this is how it ends” phenomena like “rape culture,” mass shootings, hashtag wars, #yesallwomen and the politics of outrage.

http://www.radixjournal.com/vanguard-radio/2014/6/2/the-hashtag-wars

The Pressure Project

Master Chim, who runs some MMA gyms in New York, started a podcast-based movement inspiring men to “re-embrace their masculinity through honor and brotherhood.” He’s a fun guy, and he’s blowing up Facebook with great memes. Check out his site.

http://www.thepressureproject.com/tpp-4-the-way-of-jack-donovan/

Knowledge for Men

Host Andrew Ferebee has interviewed Robert Greene, MMA legend Bas Rutten, and “No More Mr. Nice Guy” author Dr. Robert Glover. We talked about The Way of Men and masculinity in the modern world.

www.knowledgeformen.com/podcast-jack-donovan/

A Sky Without Eagles

A Sky Without Eagles, collection of my best essays and speeches from the last four years, can now be purchased in hardcover at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, and possibly other online retailers. Using the ISBN number, most brick-and-mortar booksellers should be able to order it.

I published this collection because many readers requested a printed edition of my online work for their bookshelves. It’s a collection for collectors.

The title speech, “A Sky Without Eagles,” was given to a private audience, so it will be new to all but a few. Some of the essays included in the book were published years ago at sites that are no longer online, so they will be new to most. I also wrote three new essays specifically for this book.

The cover image represents the creeping, all-seeing, all-controlling leviathan replacing the bald eagle — a symbol of freedom and independent strength that is no longer an appropriate symbol for the American surveillance state.

A t-shirt of the “state octopus” is in the works from Danger Press.

Table of Contents

  • Preface
  • Violence Is Golden
  • A Sky Without Eagles (Speech Transcript – NEW)
  • Anarcho-Fascism
  • Mighty White
  • Vote With Your Ass
  • The Grievance Table
  • There Is No Honor In Competition With Women
  • Mother May I? Masculinity
  • Draw The Line
  • Everyone A Harlot
  • Train For Honor (NEW)
  • The Physical Challenge (NEW)
  • Principles of Convenience
  • The Manly Barbarian
  • Becoming The New Barbarians (Speech Transcript)
  • CROM! (NEW)
  • The Brotherhood (NEW)

Available Formats

Hardcover

A Sky Without Eagles (Hardcover)170 Pages, cloth-bound. Matte finish dust jacket.

ISBN-10: 0985452331.

ISBN-13: 978-0985452339

List Price: $35.00.

Buy now on Amazon.

Autographed copies will be available for $45 including shipping within the Continental US only.  Orders to foreign countries, Hawaii, and Alaska will be refunded. (Shipping with tracking outside the US is very expensive)

To order a signed, hardcover copy of A Sky Without Eagles, please use the link below. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery (I have to have them shipped to me, first). I will be happy to dedicate your copy to you or to anyone you designate using the field below.

Signed and Dedicated Hardcover Edition of A Sky Without Eagles

$45 ( incl shipping & handling to continental US only)

Personalized Dedication (name)


 

 

Mp3 Audiobook

ASWE---Audiobook-CoverA podcast-style audiobook reading of each essay by author Jack Donovan, including two “live” tracks from public speeches.

PDF with hyper-linked table of contents included with ZIP file download.

$5.99

Download direct from e-junkie.

Add to Cart

 

Advance Praise for A Sky Without Eagles

 

“I loved reading “Violence is Golden”. It was provocative and inspiring. I enjoyed it so much that I shared it online and was stunned by how much controversy it created. [I'm sure that those that "violently" opposed the views of Mr. Donovan, missed the irony of their anger]. Embracing violence doesn’t mean you must be violent … as a self-defense consultant, it means you must understand violence so that you can do your best to intercept it. In a real fight, when you are the target, it’s not who’s right that matters, its who’s left.”

Tony Blauer, CEO & Founder, Blauer Tactical Systems

“With this collection, Jack Donovan clearly demonstrates his deep and prescient understanding of a very particular type of man: at once revolutionary and traditional – an outsider amongst outsiders. But Donovan goes further than mere understanding, for in his use of physiological warfare against epistemological enslavement, he offers each of us an escape route from the promise of a deracinated and emasculated future.”

Mark Dyal, Ph.D., author of Ultras Contra Modernity: Romans in Revolt (Arktos, 2014).

“Jack Donovan has produced a fascinating collection of straightforward essays that leave no sacred icon of contemporary times unassailed. The contents of this book represent the nightmares of every self-assured Marxist professor, shrill feminist ideologue, or smarmy liberal journalist. Jack’s ideas are Kryptonite to the chattering classes. This is the book to hand out to baby faced university freshmen who have had the misfortune of being forced to sit through totalitarian humanist indoctrination sessions.”

Keith Preston, author of Attack the System: A New Anarchist Perspective for the 21st Century

“I first heard of Jack by way of his essay Violence is Golden. I was so impressed that I immediately contacted him to request his permission to reprint the article for our audience of warriors, and he was kind enough to oblige.

The unvarnished truth and deep insight on the subject of violence by-proxy instantly struck a chord with me (as I am sure it will with you), and I knew then that I had to dig deeper into Jacks other writings.

I am glad I did.

Jack’s no-nonsense approach to “telling it like it is” calmly, reasonably, and logically is particularly appealing to thinking warriors who wish to get a better grasp on masculinity and what it means to be good at being men… Which is something men suffering from a form of a Nationalistic Stockholm Syndrome (for a lack of better terms) certainly need in this day and age in order to break free from the psychological chains that bind them through what Larken Rose calls The Most Dangerous Superstition – A superstition which prevents men and societies from realizing their full potential – living harmoniously (not perfectly) without masters and slaves ruled by the political class via violence by-proxy enforced by the warrior class.

While you may not agree with everything Jack has to say (I don’t – however, reasonable men recognize that no man is 100% right on everything, yet know better than to throw the baby out with the bathwater), what he has to say is as timely as it is relevant, and these discussion are the types of discourse that all men need to have calmly and rationally better understand each other and get along without violence.

Sparking such discussions amongst diverse groups who often would not naturally cross pollinate on their own is something Jack is particularly gifted at, and we are all better off because of it.

If you have have aspiring young warriors under your tutelage, you could do much worse than pointing them towards Jacks writings in hopes that they will pick up better ideas on what it means to be good at being a man, rather than being “good men.”

It is my sincere hope that Jack’s compilation of some of his most popular essays (including the wildly popular Violence is Golden) and the new materials contained in A Sky Without Eagles, will inspire many more warriors to think for themselves and free their minds from the programming that all to often binds them in servitude to the political class.”

Ron Danielowski, Chief Instructor and Principle, Pulse Firearms Training

Knowing the truth means little if you lack the courage to express it in a world built on lies. Expressing it means little either if you lack the skill to capture and convince an audience. The essays in A Sky Without Eagles teem with ancient truths and new insights delivered with courage, humor, and compelling logic. Truth + courage + style = the latest Jack Donovan book.

Greg Johnson, author of New Right vs. Old Right

 

“Celebrate Diversity”

Some readers may know that I spoke at the 2014 American Renaissance Conference in Tennessee last month.  An adapted script for the speech is now available on their web site.  There will eventually be a video version, but I’m not sure when yet.

“Celebrate Diversity”  : Identity Defies the Global Marketplace

A Sky Without Eagles Audiobook

My new hardcover essay collection has been released, but it may take sites like Amazon and Barnes and Noble a few days to list it, especially with the Memorial Day holiday today. I’ll make a post officially releasing it when I see it listed.

However, a few readers have discovered that the audiobook edition is already available for purchase. Learn more about the book and buy the audiobook here.

Pasiphae by Andre Masson

Everything I’ve ever done
Everything I ever do
Every place I’ve ever been
Everywhere I’m going to
It’s a sin.

- Pet Shop Boys, “It’s A Sin” (1987)

A spectre has been haunting America — the spectre of “rape culture.”

It’s everywhere, you see…

You’ll find it in pop songs, in every sexy ad, in every flicker of macho, in every criticism of women. It’s under every rock and you can read it in-between every pair of lines.

Here a rape, there a rape, everywhere a rapey-rapist.

It’s “endemic” to American culture and it exists precisely “because we don’t think it does.”

How rapturous it must be to wander this wet orb as a woman like this, to be tickled by the eyeballs of a trillion would-be rapists! No man can know what it is like to be the object of so much desire.

And yet, admittedly, it must also be tiresome and terrifying at times to be trapped in a never-ending hentai where all of existence scuttles over your delicate flesh and presses into your nether depths with creeping cephalopodous tentacles.

A chorus of women have finally roared, “ENOUGH!” and called for an end to this perpetual prying at their pinker parts.

Read my mansplanation of “rape culture” at Radix.

“Rape Culture”Isn’t About Sex, It’s About Power 

TRIGGER WARNING: Some content may cause certain individuals to indulge in the social theater of offense-taking and thereby engage in melodramatic performances of outrage designed to encourage in-group affirmation, establish a reputation for moral purity and increase perceived social penalties for offering opposing viewpoints. Be careful! It could happen to you!

Diabolus Rex inspects welds on his Ragnarok Engine

 

Somewhere in Portland, a horned sorcerer is building an 80,000 pound machine designed to generate demonic energy. And he’s dead serious.

Diabolus Rex by Fotodoor PhotographyThat’s what I like about Rex. Rex doesn’t follow his pronouncements with a nervous laugh or a submissive smile. He’s not being cute or ironic. He doesn’t “just want to be loved,” and he doesn’t care if you understand.

Rex is a man who is taking his idea all the way, no matter what the cost, and no matter what other people think.

He lives like a monk, devoting most of his free time, energy and money to his great magical endeavor — and his gargoyle-like canine companion, Hannibal. He sleeps in a steel sarcophagus. He likes sake, hiking in the Columbia River Gorge, and working out with his demon kettlebells.

I don’t believe in black magic, personally. I’m sure Rex thinks I am charmingly naive in this regard.

But I do believe that if anyone could pull it off, it would be Rex.

Maybe he’ll be the one who starts the world.

If so, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Links

Black Sun Occult Engineering and Design (for more detail photos of the Ragnarok Engine)

Mandelbrot set

Kali Yuga

H.R. Giger

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

The Goonies

Astoria, Oregon

Ragnarok Engine - GOTOS ring component

 

Subscribe to START THE WORLD on iTunes here:

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