As children, we are blank sheets – our minds are drawn to every little thing, filling the void between our ears. Even after our eyes grow used to the light and the true depth and parallax of our environment fills its continuity, the absurdism never ends. Our synapses are fueled by the blood of ancients. Veracity is in our DNA. Our shallow existence is offset by a millennium of true plight and existentialism. Who are you to question your paternal lineage? Original sin is not a curse; it is a calling. The call of justice is visceral and vaned – carrying you to antiquity. It is vulnerable, but you are its protector. Venomous, vulturous, vinegarish elites, from their varnished villas, vex our minds with vincible ideals – but we know what is real. It pumps through us like adrenaline, as it incited our fathers past. Extending from the ground, we are coded for triumph. The strong, virtuous and chivalrous pasted their genes to us, while weak men rotted. You are not a reincarnated alien from another galaxy. The foreignness of our world was crafted from Jewish hands. Our memories are left hazy, but we know it all to be wrong. This world must be taken back – burned for our honor, rebuilt with our love, ruled by our passion, and maintained as is our destiny. No septum ring, branded, marxism tranny will tear the West from me. Our future was secured; now it is our turn to return the favor. For ours is blood and soil. America is painted over rot. The foundation must be torn down. Derelict, zionist cities like New York pushed under the sea by our bombs of peace. Our history has been rewritten and now they’ve come for our legacy. These vaccines edit your DNA and steal your soul. They’ve spit in the vanilla of America and left us with the chocolate of microchimerism. Do some deep digging and you’ll find that not only is cultural marxism real, but that a chick, that has been blacked in the past, will pass some of that chimp’s genes to her children. Shove these mules into breeding camps “NO, WHAT ABOUT MY CHOICE?! I DONT WANT TO GIVE MY BABIES TO TRADITIONAL FAMILIES, I WANT TO HAVE THE CHOICE TO ABORT THEM!”. I’m sick of everyone pretending… pretending that they aren’t afraid of me. They know that I am God. They know I can kill them with my thoughts at any time. They hate me, and are only nice to me when their tiny brains remember. They hate me because I must have destroyed the world countless times – it just starts over again without me having any memory. BUT THEY REMEMBER! and they know all of my thoughts. I fucking hate you. Don’t like my writing? Take some experimental anti-psychotics! Maybe then you’ll understand. We are fingers extended through time thousands of years. Pharaohs of Egypt, warriors in Burgundy, wolves and serial killers. The flora must be fed with the blood of anarchists and nihilists. Our words are a virus enough to tear down every false ideal. SO SPEAK UP! Everything is folding and squishing and melting and curling. Please make it stop.