Tuesday, July 12, 2011

To Every Thing There Is A Season

By Mike James

“Democracy is the whore of fascism and totalitarian corporate socialism. She is the mistress of the bastard child of tyranny and oppression. She is the merciless abortionist of Liberty while posing as the midwife of Freedom.”

Do you remember, as a kid, old folks telling you that time speeds up as you grow older? You didn’t believe them and neither did I. The truth is, the longer we live, the more compressed time appears to be, for we begin to remember the events of four decades ago as if they happened just four days foregone.

I had that feeling yesterday. I began my daily stroll full of vigour but found myself exhausted and out of breath long before I reached the outlying village of Seulberg some two miles away. I actually had to sit on the dirt track to recuperate and take slow mediated breaths: the fibromyalgia in my shoulders spreading like wildfire down every tendon attached to the inflamed cords of my spine. I felt almost the same way I did after coming in fourth place after the inter-school cross-country race in 1974 at the age of just fourteen. Then I almost got a bronze medal, but now I got a curiously bronzed look from a bemused passing toddler on a mountain bike.

I could have returned home and sunk into an abyss of despair over my failing stamina, but I didn’t. Instead, I took delight in the natural course of growing old and coming to terms with the things that were, the things that are and the things that will be.

In a sense, I surprised myself. Despite my slight size that always made of me a natural target for bullies as a youngster, I’ve lived my entire life as a man not to be messed with: a fighter, an indefatigable freethinker, a stubborn contrarian, a drunken scrapper, a latter day pre and post-internet Don Quixote tilting at any windmill audaciously angled enough to obstruct the unhindered and God-given free right of passage through life of myself as a freeborn Englishman and my fellow human beings around the globe: and yet here I was stumped at the effort of walking a mere three hundred yards.

I have some grounds upon which to base such a self-image, but, in all reality, it amounts to very little in the greater sum of things. For sure, I have much to boast of; yet those who boast most have much of which to be ashamed. I’m no exception. My friends once considered me, despite my countless failings, to be a success and someone destined for greater things.

Along the way I suffered a vaccine injury, almost died, lost my wife on account of workaholism (and alcoholism), screwed around and broke a few hearts, picked fights with political giants and injured them at greater cost to myself, trained with insurgents in the Rift Valley, attempted to help lead an armed revolution in East Africa and spent six long weeks under house arrest, was hounded from my profession as an “anti-Semite”, was bankrupted (twice), fought and won two major legal battles on behalf of others who gave me not one vote of thanks, was formerly warned by the British Consulate never to return to England, suffered periodic surveillance and subtle (and not so subtle) harassment from parties identifiable and covert, was kicked offline for the best part of a year and sank into repeated bouts of depression and intensive self-questioning.

But, hey, that’s life.

Over the past few months I have been given over to much reflection without so much as concerning myself with the affairs of the world. I surmise that all those who find themselves struggling to make sense of the events manufactured by the International Parasitic Elites to complement the Satanic narrative of their End Times game-plan have also found themselves at such a juncture: exhausted, anguished, dispirited and disheartened.

It is as well to take respite. We, the Celtic and Anglo-Saxon peoples of this planet, who, with compassion in our hearts for our brethren among the other races to whom we are a Beacon of Light (though the false “Jews” who have usurped the sacred texts strive continually to portray us otherwise), are engaged in a millennial war of attrition against an almost inestimable Evil in High Places that taxes most of us beyond the point of endurance, whether we know it or not.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. (Ecclesiastes. 3:1-4)

Sometimes we take ourselves too seriously. The Puppet Masters know only too well how best to exploit and leverage to their advantage our tendency toward self-searching, moral enquiry and the lingering feeling that we are somehow guilty for all the woes that beset this world, despite our representing yet a very tiny minority among the vast spawn of races that have spread out upon all corners of this spinning ball of dirt, as, by Divine Decree, they are fully entitled to do.

The perpetrators who instigate within us a self-loathing and guilt that would almost see us lynch our own parents for politically incorrect thinking are largely born of the Cult of Ethics, a wholly Judaistic chimeric paradigm deeply nested within our corrupt western judiciary and bleated verbatim by press whores who work for the BBC, CNN, ARD, FOX News and other corporate liars and channels of political pornography. They are not necessarily men and women of ostensible Jewish descent or their cohorts. They are largely gullible or slavishly greedy people very much like you. Without your even being aware of it, you, indeed, may even be one of them but find it all so convenient to point your little puppet finger at the Jew, the “liberal”, the “foreign-looking” guy.

They, the Puppet Masters, the Rothschilds of this world who have the power to make and break entire economies by means of their banking power and destroy entire nations by speculatively promoting and investing in wars, also know how to trick men such as myself into the implicit use of the term “Jew” to tarnish all those of Hebrew (Arabic) descent, many of whom loathe and detest the modernist form of Asiatic-European Zionism used by the psychopathic international ruling kleptocracy, as the mainstay of their system of international debt slavery and global oppression.

Stop right there and think about what I have written. When using the term “Jew”, did I mean to include within my sweeping assumptions all those who have been deceived into believing themselves to be Jews (apart from a tiny minority of the Sephardim there is no such thing as a genetic Jew, who were in any case never Israelites, but Edomites from the land of Canaan) or am I referring to the widely and deliberately disseminated notion of a mythical lineage that has prefigured itself as the very same people who once lived in Palestine over some two thousand years ago?

Think about it, for others have already done the “thinking” for you, suborning it into their own coded “Freemasonic Bible” representing a blueprint for a New Global Tyranny, and this you accept, much to your shame, unquestionably and in a fashion that makes of you an uncritical human being, who, no matter how sincere and loving you are, cannot be entrusted to impart to future generations the wisdom that was yours as of birthright.

Such ignorance is rife abroad in a world set aflame by those burning the collective and private wealth of hard working citizens who are today struggling in the “affluent West” to keep a roof over their heads and feed their children while the parasites they have stupidly elected are hastily pumping their tax dollars into the coffers of treasonous international bankers and the “grace and favour” accounts of the monsters in Tel Aviv who will bring the world to the very brink of nuclear destruction in their insane bid to destroy all those who will not bow down to their Satanic dispensation.

We have seen the rise in Europe of a virulently anti-Celtic form of racism propagated by, believe it or not, those of Celtic descent at the behest of their hidden Zionist overlords. It manifests as irrational hatred towards those who practise the religion of Islam and all Muslims in general, as if the values and central tenets of the Muslim faith were somehow at odds with the natural Celtic-Saxon cultural mindset, despite the deeply philosophical Islamic resonance with true Christianity that bears no relation to the debauched and corrupted “Christianity” invented by Constantine and which is preached in almost every church throughout the modern world, not to mention many of the principles that informed the development of Nordic cultural mores and social standards.

In as much as Celtic-Saxon culture has been poisoned by alien Judaic nostrums in terms of their application in the fields of jurisprudence, usury finance, the scam of fractional reserve banking, state indoctrination (education), psychiatry, the media and just about every aspect of life that programmes the useless-eating, blue-eyed Goyim to act like frolicking munchkins in awe of the Wizard of Zion, you continue to buy into the System.

You believe, time and time again, rigged election after rigged election, false promises heaped upon false promises, that somehow, someday, this wonderfully cuddly, hug-me-squeeze-me godlike thing called “democracy” will save you from everything that afflicts and oppresses your anguished little mind while here on Planet Earth.

Democracy is the whore of fascism and totalitarian corporate socialism. She is the mistress of the bastard child of tyranny and oppression. She is is the merciless abortionist of Liberty while posing as the midwife of Freedom.

No other system of government, at least in its conceptual propagation, has so successfully extracted from the gormless slaves under its purview so much wealth and corporate asset accumulation while convincing those from which it steals that they have never been freer than in any other system of mass control or at any other time in history.

And you want more of it.

No, you say, we want “real” democracy.

Uh, huh. You want more of the same, only more of the “real” same? You want real tyranny? You want real oppression? You want real debt slavery? You want real open and honest scams? You want it real, really right up in front of your face, big enough to suck on and gobble until it goes right deep down into your throat and chokes the very life out of you?

Fool he who abandons his owns people in pursuit of an illusion. Fool he who places the interests of his neighbours above those of his own immediate kith and kin. Fool he who studies the stars but cannot see the light in the eyes of his own children.

To every thing and every man there is a season. That season is about to end very shortly and there will be a harvest upon us. I saw it in the eyes of the youngster on the dirt track who threw me a blank look and I heard it in the breeze that made play with the higher stalks on the corn, the yield of which was overly ripe and sullenly awaiting the approach of the thresher.

In America and in Europe “The Man” is preparing to take what he believes is his by virtue of his own husbandry. We have felt the breeze in the form of protests and the first tentative stirrings of a revolution that is neither of the Left nor the Right, but of and from The People.

This is the season, the Big Reckoning. We, the people of Europe and America, young and old, black and white, Christian and Jew, humanist and Muslim, the working poor, the unemployed, the middle classes and creative entrepreneurs have this one chance in a generation, the very last season of our age, to face “The Man” with defiance in our hearts and destroy the machine that will turn us into fodder for the beasts of his field.

Unless you rise now, and with all means necessary, this season will take its toll; and no longer will you study the stars or see the light in the eyes of your own children.

This is perhaps the last time I shall ever submit an article for publication. I’ve been told I look very young for my age, but inside I feel as if I’ve been around for a million years or so and something tells me that it’s time to stop writing. Certainly, largely on account of my chronic fatigue and the autoimmunity unleashed by a vaccine injury some 17 years ago, my writing skills no longer match what I was once capable of achieving.

Over the years, my rants, my satirical forays, my investigative journalism, my impassioned exposés, my deeply studied critical analyses and, at times, my own sentimental indulgences have been published widely, some purloined from publishers of first choice, and others plagiarised and distorted by others who should have known better. But, what the hell, I did the best I could.

I’m a very simple man. I’m just like you. I’ve worked hard all of my life, not just as a freelance journalist, translator, adaptations writer, proof-reader and editor. I’ve worked in factories, on the trash cans, as a kitchen porter, a street cleaner, a construction worker, a cashier, a gas station supervisor, a postman, an assistant chef, a caddy, an English teacher, a bar tender and even as a fully-costumed King Lear distributing flyers promoting Shakespearian theatre productions outside the National Gallery in London.

My first job was as a newspaper delivery boy at the age of eleven, during which period my all-time football hero, Stanley Matthews of Blackpool FC, gave me the first ten-bob note I had ever handled as a Christmas tip. I tried to say “Thank you ever so much, Mr Matthews”, but, for the first (and the last) time in my life I could not move my lips.

Now I live on the German social minimum (SGB XII / Hartz IV) for the chronically ill. It’s a viciously criminal starvation payment that is in no way commensurate with the vast amount of taxes and insurance contributions I slaved like a work-horse to pay into the system. It’s not enough to cover an ISP fee, which is why every article submitted since 2010 was done so via an unencrypted network I managed to hack somewhere within my vicinity. But I get by. I’m a survivor. I’m an Englishman. I was born to fight, and to die with dignity: not for myself, but for those even weaker than I.

Stalin would be proud of what successive, “politically correct” German-hating Berlin governments have done to this once fine nation. The official statistics vastly obscure the millions of ordinary Germans who are living in dire poverty and those who, unable to obtain work on account of age-related insurance reasons, take their own lives. The politically correct and cowardly stultified media in this country is one of the most subtly censored and manipulated in the world, even to the extent of breathing life into the lie that Germany is enjoying an economic boom that translates into better living standards for German workers, the middle classes, and their children.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Only the bankers and major corporate CEOs are enjoying the fruits of export revenues while far too many citizens scavenge trash cans for food scraps and an estimated twenty-percent of German children go to bed hungry each evening. It is my hope that much of what I have written about Zionist and banking fraud crimes against the German people opened hearts and inspired discussion.

Many of my readers have offered me help but were disappointed to learn that I do not accept charity as a matter of principle. Only an impoverished and yet very determined young man from Arizona was insistent enough to get through my firewall of pride and inaccessibility to send me fifty US dollars in December 2008 and insisted that I eat a burger and fries immediately, which I did. (God bless him: I was starving on the very same day I took receipt.)

Most importantly, for over the last couple of years following my bankruptcy and the collapse in my health, I’ve been in love with the most beautiful girl I ever met, who visits me as often as she can. She was born in my home town, Jarrow, in the North East of England. She’s a fighting Celt and reminds me of me. Or at least the way I was. She is the apple of my eye and the Light of my life.

I jealously love and treasure my people, the English. I consider them to be Kings among Kings, Queens among Queens: each and every one of them. If only they would know it. If only they would awaken to the gifts of God with which they were born as of right. I am heartbroken at what they have become.

I earnestly pray for a Free-State England with a General Republican Assembly in York, shorn of the obscene spectacle of monarchy, celebrity worship, the parasitic apparatus of the anti-human British Crown and the blood-sucking, life-negating City of London and its den of conniving, Zionist, warmongering, English-hating thieves.

Fight to win and never surrender. And then let peace be among you.

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