A Return Of The Frontier

The American West, as the last vast wilderness conquered by the Sons of Europe, captured the imagination of the civilized world long after its disappearance as an actual fact. Filmmakers and storytellers from such far-off places as Italy and Japan, captivated by the spirit of the existential struggle between man and nature or White man and Red man, created epic tales that paid homage to that place and time.
Criss-crossed now by easily-traversable freeways, what was once a mysterious and dangerous land appears to us now as a series of low-budget tourist traps and non-descript strip-mall cities. The 2016 movie “Hell or High Water”, a rare instance of clarity and real insight for modern Hollywood, captured the longing in the hearts of white Americans for the spirit of the old West perfectly. In a very palpable way, the characters in the film mourn the end of the Red man, a solar race who gave us purpose and meaning by fighting against us with valor to the point of near-extinction. For lack of an enemy to test ourselves against and the will to do so, White men as a collective have withered into shadow of the frontiersmen who shaped and tamed this wild continent

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But the image of this sanitized and urbanized world as a civilization or a net of smothering safety is quickly fraying at the edges, and the most clear-minded Whites are rapidly recognizing it to be an illusion. The recent spate of anti-White thrill-killings by Black perpetrators in Memphis, among countless other unpublicized crimes against our old, our women, and our children are just a surface sign of a terrifying and pervasive truth. The bugmen elite who smothered us with indoctrination, regulation, and endless surveillance retreat further and further into D.C. strongholds protected by weapons and barriers from this truth, having realized it long before the common White workers and their families. As office workers scuttle through the crowds of drug-crazed and violent homeless who fill the streets of every major West Coast city, their mind works hard to keep up the illusion of sanity, safety, and order. But the truth is, the frontier we lost has returned through the folly of recent generations. We live in a wilderness populated by monsters of spiritual, mental, and physical forms.

A year ago, the author of this piece took a sunset walk through the downtown district of his boyhood home.

of Seattle, Washington. Upscale restaurants dot the streets like Roman ruins once dotted the devolved landscape of medieval Britain. Even during the day, truly feral homeless run amok on the streets, but as the sunlight fades the city truly becomes theirs to do as they please. The police make only occasional cursory stops to protect a community paramedic administering Narcan to a fallen addict or to stop the beating of a homeless woman by a meth-addled psychopath (but not to detain anyone). Besides this feeble protestations, these false shows of control by a weak government of porn-addled sows who can’t even control themselves, no part of the scene suggests a working city. The population here is, in truth, just a collection of scavengers living in the ruins of an order they could never have built. Sundown is the best time to observe the life patterns of downtown Seattle. No one admits it aloud, but the darkening sky brings a spark of fear to the face of every well-to-do-family, every table of college kids, or every motley crew of fashionable gays and their fag hag friends seated in the bubble-world of a $150.00 a plate restaurant. There is, in that spark of fear, a hint of the ancient knowledge that haunted the villages of our ancestors before the coming of bright kings with sword and torch: the Night is a Time to be Feared. “I’ll get the car” a father might say, taking his oldest son with him to the parking area so they can return with the SUV to pick up mom and the sisters right at the curb, though none will admit the reason why. The younger, mixed-gender crowds of mostly White and Asian friends might brave the walk, equality and girl-boss power and all that preventing any chivalrous protective instincts from manifesting, but they’ll scuttle faster on the way out than they did on the way in, eyes downcast before the leers, jeers, and slavering sexual comments of the predatory Blacks who dominate every corner with confidence. A firecracker pops off in an alley, sounding like a gunshot. The homeless whoop and cackle. One heavyset blonde lady in a nice gray dress picks up her pace. “Watch out, wygirl, you might break a hip!” taunts a Black man. He has a White prostitute in stockings on his arm. She looks strung out.

Walking these streets during sundown and for a few hours after, I was possessed by fantasies of going alley-to-alley with a tribe of my activist friends, under the command of a leader with legendary mind and will, imposing bright, shining order upon this dark swamp. I began to realize that the sort of culture popular with young White men, such as Warhammer 40K, arose from the collective subconscious of our race as a manifestation of an inborn desire to impose order upon chaos, to bring strength to bear upon weakness and rot. A far-flung and far-off fantasy, perhaps, but a recognition of a change that needs to happen, now, at some level and in some way. And indeed, the signs of a change are beginning to show.
As is always the case when faced with a challenge too terrifying for the “civilized” minds to comprehend, those with the courage and will to see the implied task begin to coalesce, to find one another and to form the tribes necessary to overcome the threat with or without the permission of the elderly, decrepit, and fearful who fight bitterly to maintain their treasured illusion at all costs. It is the threat and the chaos itself that calls forth and creates the Active Club and the Koryos. The wilderness is a woman wild in spirit, red in tooth and claw, and her deepest desire is to be conquered and mastered by the strongest of men

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Whether they know it intellectually or not, the White men who fill the activist ranks of WN 3.0 are a recurring phenomenon demanded by the Laws of Nature. In coming together, conquering and mastering their bodies and minds so that they may master the space around them, they fulfill what a Christian might call the Will of God, or an animist the Way of Things. Just as their appearance in the darkest hour is inevitable, so too will they be helped in their quest by the cyclical force of the universe or its Creator. Their rising and their shining is as inevitable as the cyclical motion of our world around this system’s centermost Star. In a way, the growing and coalescing network of Active Clubs around the world are the first swelling of the ranks of the coming Host of the Sun.
The highly successful “Birth of a New Frontier” event put on by WN 3.0 activists was a stirring sight to many in the movement, a sign of an ability to organize at a high level and a display of our growing personal discipline and skill. The title seemed perfectly chosen to announce a truth that we are the first to realize: in modern America, civilization is an illusion. The frontier we longed to conquer is both within us and all around us, waiting to be re-ordered, mapped out, conquered, and ruled by those with the strongest hearts and purest Will.