ogenoct
11-14-2006, 06:54 AM
THULEAN SENTIENCE
by Constantin von Hoffmeister
The spirit of Thule, the myth of Thule - the Black Sun, the White race. The Aryan Adonis hailed in secret whispers in closed dark rooms in basements where dwell the remnants of a once popular sect, now reviled, banished and, like lepers, sick to their grisly bones. Ready to bow in front of an altar that has been tarnished with the blood of millions and millions of their fellow White race crusaders, soldiers in vain fighting their brothers in pain. Sayeth the soothsayer in red: "Seen the bloody crusader carousing through a rebellion of righteous revulsion, rebellious recognition that all that was is what should be, altered, morphed into a projection of a psyche that - flux through flux! - has evolved and regressed, advanced and devolved. A pity the shame brought on the lame! The sickly sent their children to die in exploits of exploration while at home the elderly ruled. Tomorrow a repetition will mean disaster, will spell nostalgic doom. Sails set on ships bound for the outer rims will not glide smoothly but be hindered by obstacles obstinately created by Thulean terrorists." And was the soothsayer speaking words of wisdom? Alas, ey, mate!, the rule!, the book!, we must go by the book! THE book? Ay! THE book! But THE book has to be rewritten! It has to contain the pearls AND swine, the glittering and the earthy, the risen and the fallen. Lucifer spread his wings once, his tail now tucked neatly into a hidden pocket in his black coat - strolling down the bricked street, Lucifer (now the devil) wishes well to those who followed his path of development - from celestial to mundane, from wishing well to spelling gall. Bitter, forlorn, Lucifer and his Thulean minions now march into a future that was never theirs, propagating the disturbing distortions of an inverted heaven: Destruction termed good and creation termed bad, survival of the lying tops the procreation of the productive. Where ruleth the mob aristocracy? The soothsayer sayeth: "In terms of black, white and red, changes have been advised and executed. The black, as a color always uniformed, has been transferred to a new post, far outside the bounds of the snowy hills and the ice-capped mountains of Inverness, to patrol in split-eyed seconds the villages where dissent might still murmur. The white has been chosen to be the color not of truce but of regret, and therefore it has been abandoned altogether. The red is, was and will be the color of anger boiled to meat torn apart. It stays with us, here and far ahead." And thus it is and shall be.
by Constantin von Hoffmeister
The spirit of Thule, the myth of Thule - the Black Sun, the White race. The Aryan Adonis hailed in secret whispers in closed dark rooms in basements where dwell the remnants of a once popular sect, now reviled, banished and, like lepers, sick to their grisly bones. Ready to bow in front of an altar that has been tarnished with the blood of millions and millions of their fellow White race crusaders, soldiers in vain fighting their brothers in pain. Sayeth the soothsayer in red: "Seen the bloody crusader carousing through a rebellion of righteous revulsion, rebellious recognition that all that was is what should be, altered, morphed into a projection of a psyche that - flux through flux! - has evolved and regressed, advanced and devolved. A pity the shame brought on the lame! The sickly sent their children to die in exploits of exploration while at home the elderly ruled. Tomorrow a repetition will mean disaster, will spell nostalgic doom. Sails set on ships bound for the outer rims will not glide smoothly but be hindered by obstacles obstinately created by Thulean terrorists." And was the soothsayer speaking words of wisdom? Alas, ey, mate!, the rule!, the book!, we must go by the book! THE book? Ay! THE book! But THE book has to be rewritten! It has to contain the pearls AND swine, the glittering and the earthy, the risen and the fallen. Lucifer spread his wings once, his tail now tucked neatly into a hidden pocket in his black coat - strolling down the bricked street, Lucifer (now the devil) wishes well to those who followed his path of development - from celestial to mundane, from wishing well to spelling gall. Bitter, forlorn, Lucifer and his Thulean minions now march into a future that was never theirs, propagating the disturbing distortions of an inverted heaven: Destruction termed good and creation termed bad, survival of the lying tops the procreation of the productive. Where ruleth the mob aristocracy? The soothsayer sayeth: "In terms of black, white and red, changes have been advised and executed. The black, as a color always uniformed, has been transferred to a new post, far outside the bounds of the snowy hills and the ice-capped mountains of Inverness, to patrol in split-eyed seconds the villages where dissent might still murmur. The white has been chosen to be the color not of truce but of regret, and therefore it has been abandoned altogether. The red is, was and will be the color of anger boiled to meat torn apart. It stays with us, here and far ahead." And thus it is and shall be.