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Thursday, January 19th, 2006
1:31 pm

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Wednesday, February 2nd, 2005
4:38 pm


"Only a male intellect clouded by the sexual drive could call the stunted, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped and short-legged sex the fair sex."

Schopenhauer

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Friday, January 14th, 2005
2:09 pm
In the distance, several farmhouses teetered on the edge of the night, nearly tipping over the horizon. The road retained little light, now, as our sun and warlord vanished abruptly, leaving us suffocated within the threatening void of a dark blue haze. It didn't matter at this point, the derelict and I were nearing Coalmont. I activated the headlights on the rusting Packard, and the contraptions within the automobile whirred with alacrity.

Gerry at this point was soused beyond any reasonable doubt and still discussing his tribulations in Kentucky as we pulled in front of the local inn. Apparently, as luck would have it, the police in South KY were not of entirely competent stock, and this allowed Gerry a means of extricating himself from the local jail.

"Them bastards, see, none of them'd even bothered to put me in a cell. There was some mixup or somethin with a rabid hen plucking the eyes out of an old spinster and the place was in total panorama..."

"Yes," I stated, not entirely sure what my friend meant with the term.

"Anyhow," he continued, with staid eyes glazenly focusing on the air freshener. "Uhh...I was kept bein handed off to differentiating officers, who in turn handed me off, and eventually somehow, in the confusion, one of them mistook me for a detective or somethin, and I finded myself havin to detail an investigation of some kinda fratricide that tooked place on the south part of the city. 'Witnesses?' One officer spake to me. 'None,' I replied. 'Fingerprints?' he asked then. 'Nope,' I said. 'A weapon?' 'Uh uh,' I says. 'Well, detective, was there even a corpse?' 'Now that you mention it,' I said to him. 'There wasn't even one of them, huh. Well I'll be darned.'"

Gerry began hysterically giggling now, and swung open the door of the car. I smiled as we shook hands. "See you around," I said.

"Ey, thanks for the ride then. You're a stand up magician, my friend, tighter than a gnat's ass stretched over a barrel, but a good man deep down."

"Thank you for those kind words," I responded, as he wandered off into the dark street, not towards the inn but somewhere else. I had no idea where the idiot was going, but decided not to speak for fear of offending him.

Me, I had work to do here and there was no time for dilly dallying. Both of my parents were dilly-dallyers and because of them my childhood was wretched and miserable. I had learned against their ways, however, and had made something of myself in this wasteland. In my pocket that day, I had neighly four hundred dollars in cash and felt quite pleasant about it. You can be rest assured that my folks, bastards that they were, never had this much money in either of their wallets at one point.

I pulled up in front of a quant looking abode off one of the main roads. Putting the car in park, I drank the rest of my coke and threw it out the window. The place looked devious in this light, not entirely black yet but past dusk and oblivion approaching. I strolled hastily up the walkway, adjusting my tie briefly and waving one hand through my greased hair.

Susan opened the door after I knocked. She looked horrifically beautiful, in a bathrobe and curls in her blonde hair.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," she sighed. "What the hell?"

"Hello to you, too, Susan."

"What are you doin' here?"

I smiled at her and tried to enter the house. She blocked my path.

"I just drove here from Kentucky. I was in jail for a while."

"Yeah, I heard, Robert. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I was thinking maybe you could let me stay here for a little while. You know, just a day or so. I'm rather financially distressed at the moment, obviously."

"Yeah, uh uh. I don't think so."

"I have a lot to talk about, Susan. I've changed my ways," I reached out and clasped her hand, but the harlot pulled quickly away from me.

"Robert, there's no way."

"Why?"

"Cause,"

"Cause why?"

"Jesus Christ, you're goddamn impossible. I have someone over, Robert."

"Ha ha, yeah right."

She sighed and closed the door. I continued laughing and shook my head as she disappeared back within her den. Starting up the car, I turned on the radio and listened to Billy Ray Cyrus and drove around the village for about half an hour. When I returned, all the lights in her house were off and the moon glared slovenly from atop the skyline, a punctured and unwashed circle of evil. I had with me now the corpse of a turkey, which I had attained through illegal means from a nearby Thanksgiving farm. Chuckling now, I affixed a makeshift noose to the creature and hung it from a shingle in front of Susan's door. When she left home for work in the morning, she would see it hanging there, like some grotesque Judas of our relationship, and have a complete fit. I, proud of biblical analogy, wiped off my hands and drove back out of town.

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Wednesday, January 5th, 2005
9:51 am - Line up to Get Shot, Oklahoma
The dogs screeched from backyards composing the length of the hill, out from trees and trashcans along the street. Wretched-looking houses and trailers lined the road and he could smell their interiors from the sidewalk, hot dogs and kraft macaroni and cheese and lack of money. His destination was shortly attained, a tiny three room trailer near the top of the hill with three kids playing out in front with tennis balls. The children looked at him and their spines tingled; the man's wealth awed them, set their teeth into the backs of their throats and caused two of them to begin crying. Benny grinned and tussled one's hair.

'Hello, youngster.'

The kid said nothing in reply and Benny grinned wider. He smoothed an ivory lapel and adjusted his mink stole before entering the abode.

Deirdre was sitting on the couch, eating a bowl of captain crunch. She quickly got to her feet as Benny entered. The air became frozen when he walked in, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek and smiled.

'Hey, Benny!'

'Hello, dear.'

'Uhh. You want some coffee or somethin'?

'No, thank you, Deirdre.'

'Okay. Take a seat.'

The two both sat on the cheap little couch, Benny lighting a cigarette in his holder and Deirdre yawning slightly. It was still rather early.

'So, how's it goin'?' Deirdre touched his cheek.

'It's alright, baby. I decided to drop in for a quick how-do-you-do before I went to the grind.'

'Ahh... Well it's good to see you.'

Benny stopped grinning. He removed the cigarette holder and put his hand back through the remaining tuft of gray hair standing atop his head. 'I don't know how to say this, Deirdre. It's quite difficult.'

'Hmm?'

'Well, I. That is... My wife, you see. She-'

'What? How?'

'Err, I don't know. An address written down or something. The usual garbage.'

'Jesus Christ, Ben.'

'I know, don't worry. I just...I don't think I can see you anymore.'

'Yeah...'

Deirdre folded her hands beneath her and started sobbing slightly.

'Honestly, Deirdre,' Benny started again. 'She actually kicked me out of the house. I'm going to beg for her to take me back. I don't know.'

'Yeah...'

'Don't cry, please. I love her, you see. I honestly do. Just- She wasn't even upset about me cheating, it's just who I've been cheating on her with.'

'What do you mean?' She looked up blurredly at Benny, who smiled achingly.

'Just that you're-you know-...poor. I mean, that was the part that disgusted her the most. Apparently she doesn't understand that social classes really don't matter, and that it's not what a person has that makes them.'

'Oh...yeah.'

She stopped crying and went into the kitchen to pour some coffee. Again, she asked Benny if he wanted some.

'No, dear. I really must get going,' he rubbed his eyelids and stood up, preparing to go.

'I guess I'll see you around, then,' she said from her position in the kitchen.

'Yeah, I guess so. I'm terribly sorry, Deirdre.'

'It's okay, Benny,' she smiled slightly. 'Don't worry about it.'

Benny left and walked back down the road through howling canines and frightened children to where his car lay parked at a gas station near the bottom of the hill. After he left Deirdre poured her coffee down the sink drain and exhaled relief through her nostrils. Finally, she was rid of that goddamned asshole.

She went quickly over to the fridge and had some Del Monte fruit cups. One of her kids soon came running in, crying, with a bloody and bruised knee. Deirdre told him not to be a pussy and he returned outside to play.

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Wednesday, December 22nd, 2004
12:52 pm - Filled with the bowels of shepherds
Such occurrences are somewhat commonplace in an occupation such as his. Earl sighed and looked at the plate held betwixt Shelly's narrow fingers.

"Bastards," he said. "Goddamned ingrates."

"They don't like onions."

"Jesus Christ. Fine!" He raised his spatula. "I'll get rid of the onions."

"Allergic or something, I dunno,"

"Give me that plate."

"Here,"

Earl grabbed the plate and stuck it violently near the stove. Shelly jumped slightly and tried to look nonchalantly at a nearby photo of the cook's brother. Earl scowled at her from his position in front of the smoking stove. Several words floated into his head, rhyming with punt or stitch.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Nothing. I was just... the photo. I-"

"Why don't you go sweep or something? I'll let you know when the burger's ready."

"Ok."

He called upon his salival glands after she'd gone and spat into one of the buns. A minor act of vengeance yes, but one that filled him with sadistic glee. It was his only feasible retaliation against a world filled up to the gullet with killers, robbers, and particular consumers. What he really longed for was to walk up to the bastards and slug them in the maw. But, Earl, the patron in question is a woman! All the better, Earl would reply, I am not a bigot, I shall smash them all with equal fervor. Smash them in their stinking bleeding guts...

The only thing keeping him from this course of action was the repercussions of such a response. However much he hated this place, he needed employment.

And Shelly. Once, some months ago, he had attempted to woo her, asking her out for dinner or maybe coffee, but she had replied with some distaste. Earl didn't forget these things. No matter how nice she was to him now that his brother was dead. She asked him out this time, a couple of days ago, for coffee or maybe dinner, but he replied with a cackle and some derogatory remark or another concerning her weight.

"Shelly!" She walked back into the kitchen and Earl smiled strangely at her. "Here, Shelly. No onions."

She took the plate back and looked at him, confused and frightened. He considered punching her in the gut, and felt pretty good.

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Sunday, December 19th, 2004
2:36 pm - Hamburg. 1943
"and are you gonna get a job?"

"well, I dunno know. I'm waiting for my true calling, I think,"

Appalled. There was a line of fellows at the bathroom. It would be the first and last time in my existence that there was a line for the men's room. I couldn't wait to mill over this discovery in the stall, perhaps jotting down some notes on the little pad in my breast pocket. After a severe bowel extrication, I would then be fully satisfied with myself in several regards: physically, intellectually, and (for Jesus Christ, I'm sure, waited at no men's room) spiritually.

"maybe. Maybe I can talk to the wife's father. Dunno. I do kinda hate the guy,"

"you don't want to be in debt to him or anything."

"Charles?"

"would seem that way, huh? I can't-"

"Hmm? Oh, Maurice. Jesus Christ!"

There he was, that old cock-eyed son of a bitch. Maurice. I hadn't seen him in three years. Now he was wearing a big blue sweat shirt and grotesquely enormous horn rimmed spectacles, standing behind these two black fellows chatting.

I stepped back to where he was in line and we shook hands. Daringly, I then clapped him on the shoulder and embraced him. A risqué move, yes, for I hadn't wont to be labeled as a homosexual, but I was quite delighted to see him. Caution to the winds, as they say.

"When did you get back?"

"Three days ago."

"Damn, man. It's so good to see you again," I was smiling wryly.

"Yeah. It's really bizarre to be back in this place. Never thought I'd be here again, honestly."

"I didn't expect it either. What happened?"

"Money."

"Always the case, huh?"

We ended up using the bathroom and went back to my apartment. The place was covered with dirt since my vaccuum'd broken and I was slightly embarrassed by the fact. Maurice didn't seem to mind. He started chatting at the kitchen table about Shanghai.

"They seriously eat dogs?"

"Yeah. It's not that bad, actually. Meat's kind of chewy, but other than that it's reminiscent of a hamburger."

"Maybe a hot dog?"

"Ha ha."

"Well. Yeah. Things are pretty much the same around here."

"Still pumping gas?"

"Yes. Well, I mean. I got promoted to manager but there's not much difference. Only now I get to grab girls' asses and get away with it. But I still pump gas."

"Ha ha ha. Man. It's so weird to be back. Good though."

"Yeah..."

I poured Maurice some Juicy Juice and put on the Allman brothers.

"Good shit..."

"Yeah."

We looked at each other, then, for several seconds. It was quite awkward.

"How about," Maurice began, and then edged his way closer to me on the other side of the table. "How's William doing?" The situation became severely more awkward. He put his hand next to mine clutching my juice glass on the tabletop.

"Well, uhh..." I eyed his hand. "Actually, William passed away. Few months ago."

"No..."

"Yeah. He had um," Maurice touched my hand. I pretended not to notice and scratched an ear. "kinda funny, actually. He had breast cancer."

"Men can get that? Huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so-"

Suddenly Maurice grabbed my face and pulled it in to his. He kissed me on the mouth. I backed away instantly, standing up from my chair and looking wildly around me. "What the fuck?"

"Charles. I'm so scared!" He was completely insane, the barmy lout. He began bawling right there at the table. "I love you, Charles. I'm so alone."

"Get out!" I yelled. "What do you think this is? Ancient Greece? Get the fuck out of my home."

"I have nowhere to go, Charles. I have no one. Please."

"Get out!"

Maurice gazed down at the floor. A deviant bastard. He got up, eventually, after several more vain pleas, and left. I locked the door behind him.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, going to get more Juicy Juice.

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Thursday, December 16th, 2004
12:03 pm
Bloody and bruised, cut on his left temple, the tramp returned to the hotel. He swaggered up to the front desk where bellboy Richard stood arms crossed next to a manager with a toothpick between his yellow teeth. The manager scowled at him while the bellboy (black) grinned.

"Sir?" Inquired the manager in a degrading English accent.

"Yeah. Hi," Deakins' face was mashed in with large blotches of blood. He winced because it burned his jaw to speak. "Looking for Alfred Tarrington. Room number. Need to know. Emergency."

The words came out in a panted growl. He wasn't fond of talking to begin with, and it was seven times as painful to formulate syllables in his present condition. Bastards.

"Sir, well, um," he removed the toothpick from his limey maw. "I'm afraid we can't disclose that information."

The bellboy looked up at the ceiling. Deakins glared at him but spoke to the manager.

"Don't think you understand, boy."

"No, sir. You don't understand. It isn't our policy to disclose private information of our guests."

"Just the room number."

"No. We consider that private information"

"Give it to me."

Deakins summoned a menacing glare, which he hoped would result in the room number of Tarrington, whom he would then proceed to debilitate in retributionally violent fashion.

The bastard. A liar and a snake and a thug. The three things he most despised in this world of clout and pomp. There was scarce a more disgusting thing to him than violence over money. Maybe violence over a woman.

The bellboy stepped forward, still grinning stupidly. "I think you should leave."

"No- Richard" the manager said and turned back to Deakins. "If this man wishes to persist in his interrogation, than he shall suffer the full recourse of his actions. Get ready to phone the authorities."

"Damn the authorities. Room number!"

"Phone the police, Richard."

"Christ!"

Deakins growled and left the hotel when the bellboy had gone for the phone.

He went across the street to the automated diner and grabbed a peanut butter and fluff sandwich. It cost 49 cents but it tasted of gangrene and sawdust. He sat down at a booth facing the hotel in hopes of catching a glimpse of Tarrington when he left. Bastard would have to come out sooner or later. There was a couple of Armenian fellows sitting nearby speaking and he listened to their conversation.

"The doctor said that I couldn't."

"Oh, come on Jerry. You've never listened to those quacks before."

"I'm very worried, Richard."

"It could hardly be considered strenuous physical exercise."

"No."

"Jerr. Come on. We'll have some fun for once-"

"I can't afford to have any god damn fun!"

"Its-"

"My heart's going to explode at any second, Richard. Have some consideration."

"Ha ha. You should've said 'have some heart,'" chuckled. "Oh, come on Jerry. Don't give me that look you lousy son of a bitch. I'm kidding. Just trying to lighten the mood. You're being far too gloomy."

Deakins put the sandwich down. It would set him retching to devour any more. Across the street he saw the black bellboy looking at him in the lobby window.

"I'm going to die at any minute,"

"Jesus Christ. You don't have to..."

The bellboy left his position, presumably to inform his superior of Deakins' status. It wasn't any harm. He was just having a fluff sandwich and enjoying the scenery. No harm to anybody.

Something tapped him on the shoulder. The tramp turned around, startled violently, and saw an employee of the automated diner standing before him. A rather young chap, mid twenties or so. He looked displeased.

"Can we help you with anything, sir?"

"Just trying to eat my bloody sandwich."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave. Your presence is offending some of our patrons," The man gestured at the blood splotches and bruises on Deakins' person. Behind him a brutish looking wench stood gawking disgustingly at him by one of the walls.

"Ugh," Deakins got up and glared at the lackey. He considered pushing him, but that wouldn't do any good. All he wanted was Tarrington. "Fine. Don't want to deal with it right now."

"-bet is to go home and lie in the bed for the rest of my life. Jesus Christ. It's the only way I'm going-"

"Thank you, sir."

He grinned maliciously at the bitch before leaving. On the street again, he looked at some telephone lines that ran concordant along his side. The road was mostly empty, save for a few Chevrolets and Packards occasionally driving past. Damn this town, he scowled to himself. All they drive are Chevrolets and Packards. He thought of joining the army but then realized he was probably far too old. Tarrington. Son of a bitch. That's all he wanted. He'd smash the sod's skull on the pavement and slug his face into dismemberment. Nothing he hated more in this world than a bastard who didn't fight his own fights. Two burlesques of human-ape mutations were the ones he'd hired. No regular man could've stood his ground in that situation. One of them even had a wooden bar-

"Excuse me, sir,"

A little fool had walked into him. Deakins grew hot with rage.

"Watch where you're going."

The man looked at him in an offended manner, "Go to hell. I said excuse me."

Deakins bared several decaying gums and cursed the villain, who proceeded down the street in the opposite direction. Damn this town, he thought. A plague on these filthy citizens and their cantakerous tomfoolery. Men like Alfred Tarrington or that Englishman with the toothpick or that smarmy idiot crashing into him wallow in their vomit and around them spring the searing black cavities of these buildings, popping up dysfunctionally into the white hot sky. A decent man can't even walk around these sores without the seeds of ignorance blocking him up, bumping into him and delaying any real progress.

Such thoughts weren't productive- no more digressions, he declared. Tarrington. If only that son of a bitch would spring forth from the sludge so he might exact revenge. The man was a midget. In their last meeting together, Deakins recalled towering over the hardly five foot tall entrepeneur. His shaken hand had felt greasy afterwards. A dwarven swine, incapable of cleanliness. Exuding dirt from his pores.

Deakins came across the old library on the Eastern edge of the city. It nudged itself between two laundramats and sat across from the park. He glowered at the edifice. Books! he thought. No one even reads anymore. Just knock the thing down and put up something useful, like a bank. The tramp concocted a theory that if enough banks were built than people would no longer need money. They could just use banks as currency. He chuckled at the concept of a man charging interest on a bank, or buying groceries with a bank, or declaring war on a lack of banks. He sat down on a bench in the park and thought of shooting Alfred Tarrington in the head with a bank.

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Friday, December 10th, 2004
9:40 am - The Ovarian Failure
for ye the puritan shall swoon
I sing o woman
were it not for your womb
I would crumble your skull
and tear at your larynx
and bathe in your guts
and toast a thousand drinks
to your eradication

you are a leech on the tit of life
and I am the avenger of
wounded man
rejoice!

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Wednesday, December 8th, 2004
11:51 am - Ode to Randal. RIP buddy
Your bloated gullet is filled with coins
the meek are rotundously vorpalized with the sine of your innards
and the pure consumed by your sallowed maws
Rich Man, I pine for your destruction
I yearn for your unconditional sucking into
the void of death, I long for the chilling
caress of oblivion to consume your being,
oh Rich Man, you have done me wrong
and I shall destroy you and your family
your toddler sons shall be thrown into pits of firey death
and your wives shall be sodomized with
the billows of a billion shrivelled genitals
with starving penii rank into their diamond lined
rectums
oh Rich Man shall ye die

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Monday, November 29th, 2004
9:24 am - ?>!@
The arrival of a good clown exercises a more beneficial influence upon the health of a town than the arrival of twenty asses laden with drugs.



~Thomas Sydenham

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Saturday, August 28th, 2004
11:57 pm
POEM UPDATE!
okay, guys go easy--been working this over for awhile now. found the inspiration while digging in a mcdonalds dumpster for my childhood innocence, hope you like it!!!! :-)

DrEAD-locked ( T R A F ICK) Pardon the
MISS.Understanding,
Gay Gay Gay Gay HOHMOE____SEXyouAll
Equals, me ____++ jimmy carter.
my car is the rusted equivalent of janet
REknow's tart clam^IN^ a
shakesperean sweat shoppe
smeared with (apple or cream) sauce:
lipstick comma over period
tampons

PLZ TELL ME WAT U THNK< THX

current mood: bitchy

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Monday, March 1st, 2004
12:44 pm - my tears, my sorrow
mom and dad have been fighting again. i don't fucking know what to do. i feel like it's all my fault. every day i come home and just sit on my bed and cry. all i want right now is someone to tell me it will be okay.

current mood: depressed

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10:34 am - !stayin alive!
"While from innate cowardice the upper classes turn away from a man whom the Jew attacks with lies and slander, the broad masses from stupidity or simplicity believe everything. The state authorities either cloak themselves in silence or, what usually happens, in order to put an end to the Jewish press campaign, they persecute the unjustly attacked, which, in the eyes of such an official ass, passes as the preservation of state authority and the safeguarding of law and order.

Slowly fear and the Marxist weapon of Jewry descend like a nightmare on the mind and soul of decent people.

They begin to tremble before the terrible enemy and thus have become his final victim.

The Jew’s domination in the state seems so assured that now not only can he call himself a Jew again, but he ruthlessly admits his ultimate national and political designs. A section of his race openly owns itself to be a foreign people, yet even here they lie. For while the Zionists try to make the rest of the world believe that the national consciousness of the Jew finds its satisfaction in the creation of a Palestinian state, the Jews again slyly dupe the dumb Goyim. It doesn’t even enter their heads to build up a Jewish state in Palestine for the purpose of living there; all they want is a central organization for their international world swindle, endowed with its own sovereign rights and removed from the intervention of other states: a haven for convicted scoundrels and a university for budding crooks.

It is a sign of their rising confidence and sense of security that at a time when one section is still playing the German, Frenchman, or Englishman, the other with open effrontery comes out as the Jewish race.

How close they see approaching victory can be seen by the hideous aspect which their relations with the members of other peoples takes on.

With satanic joy in his face, the black-haired Jewish youth lurks in wait for the unsuspecting girl whom he defiles with his blood, thus stealing her from her people. With every means he tries to destroy the racial foundations of the people he has set out to subjugate. Just as he himself systematically ruins women and girls, he does not shrink back from pulling down the blood barriers for others, even on a large scale. It was and it is Jews who bring the Negroes into the Rhineland, always with the same secret thought and clear aim of ruining the hated white race by the necessarily resulting bastardization, throwing it down from its cultural and political height, and himself rising to be its master.

For a racially pure people which is conscious of its blood can never be enslaved by the Jew. In this world he will forever be master over bastards and bastards alone.

And so he tries systematically to lower the racial level by a continuous poisoning of individuals.

And in politics he begins to replace the idea of democracy by the dictatorship of the proletariat.

In the organized mass of Marxism he has found the weapon which lets him dispense with democracy and in its stead allows him to subjugate and govern the peoples with a dictatorial and brutal fist.

He works systematically for revolutionization in a twofold sense: economic and political.

Around peoples who offer too violent a resistance to attack from within he weaves a net of enemies, thanks to his international influence, incites them to war, and finally, if necessary, plants a flag of revolution on the very battlefields.

In economics he undermines the states until the social enterprises which have become unprofitable are taken from the state and subjected to his financial control.

In the political field he refuses the state the means for its self-preservation, destroys the foundations of all national self-maintenance and defense, destroys faith in the leadership, scoffs at its history and past, and drags everything that is truly great into the gutter.

Culturally, he contaminates art, literature, the theater, makes a mockery of natural feeling, overthrows all concepts of beauty and sublimity, of the noble and the good, and instead drags men down into the sphere of his own base nature.

Religion is ridiculed, ethics and morality represented as outmoded, until the last props of a nation in its struggle for existence in this world have fallen.

Now begins the great last revolution. In gaining political power the Jew casts off the few cloaks that he still wears. The democratic people’s Jew becomes the blood-Jew and tyrant over peoples. In a few years he tries to exterminate the national intelligentsia and by robbing the peoples of their natural intellectual leadership makes them ripe for the slave’s lot of permanent subjugation."

current mood: productive

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