GET READY TO GIVE UP YOUR LIFE
FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO BELIEVE
The American military won’t fight. They’ve been too ass raped by their pervert superiors, just like in the Catholic church. China could walk in and take the place and doubtless will, if we don’t do something.
Who do the American soldiers think they’re fighting for? THEIR PAYCHECKS!? How does their patriotism measure up with this senile robot president shoehorned into the most powerful position in the world by a demonstrably fraudulent election, along with a Communist prostitute about to sleep her way into the White House to oversee the slaughter of white people by insane black marauders sponsored by kosher henchmen. That is your political future, people!
Is it worth fighting for? Is it worth it to give your life for a whore’s heartless plot to punish the whites for their sins. Remember: they teach us that math is racist. On this path, only inchoate chaos may follow.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), a Nobel Prize winning poet and 20th century Irish revolutionary, wrote his most famous poem, The Second Coming, for Ireland’s 1916 Easter Rising, its final and successful attempt to detach itself from its bloodthirsty English oppressors.
John Thomas Kaminski (1944-20??), a 21st century American malcontent and much censored author of America’s Autopsy Report and The Day America Died, is descended on his mother’s side from the clan of Feeney, enabling him to brashly claim lineage from the 3rd century AD Irish hero Finn McCool, who himself was descended from the ancient line of druids, who were destroyed many long centuries ago by the Deep State Roman monstrosity known as the Catholic church.
What follows is his brash debauchment of his Yeats’s most famous poem, and reflects the dishonor human beings now heap upon themselves as they, like McCool and so many others over time, have let themselves be poisoned by their own leaders.
Yeats lines in boldface; Kaminski’s in italic. Both forever choose principle over position.
The whore’s final trick:
Three strikes and you’re out!
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
The higher we think our science takes us,
the more disconnected from reality we become.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
Genetics’ warped plague cannot be controlled;
the worst happens — love goes extinct.
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
Parents eat their children; no pure life remains,
only the re-engineered sewage of curdled dreams.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
The prudent stay silent
while the impulsive howl at the moon.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
Second Coming of what?
the theft of Egyptian valuables endlessly repeated?
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: . . .
We never saw how the planet helped us,
how the Sun guided our way; if we’d have just listened,
it would never have led us astray.
. . . somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
Pray that the animals we abused so badly
survive our mispassions; if we had found our source,
all this never would have happened.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Humanity is consumed by the flames of its own lies;
life in the universe goes on without humans,
goes on without missing a beat.
Because we never found ourselves,
never even really looked.
It’s a simple either/or, my friends:
Death to the Deep State or death for humanity.
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida, constantly trying to figure out why we are destroying ourselves, and pinpointing a corrupt belief system as the engine of our demise. Solely dependent on contributions from readers, please support his work by mail: 6871 Willow Creek Circle #103, North Port FL 34287 USA.