Writing a Novel (Futurist/Dystopian/White Genocide)

Here's the first chapter of what I think would be a pretty interesting read. It follows three or four characters (three are set) in a dytopian corporation-controlled multicult urbworld (Earth in its endtimes). One is a 'normie' white gamer who doesn't want to rally for white power in the Underground where the last of the extreme white minority attempt to stay together and build a nation for themselves while keeping their DNA alive. The second is a 100% Finnish woman, daughter of a man who works for the only White corporation that still exists, Power Grid, which controls a large amount of geothermal power and spreads its every penny to the remaining white population. The third is a 'Skinhead' who sublimates his every atom into recovering his culture, traditions, but pays the price of facing danger, violence and death everyday for being a proud white.

This is the first chapter and it's a rough draft. Enjoy! :)

In Our Future

                I often stop to look at the bright screens positioned for my consumption at every street corner. They are attractive and I don't mind being ripped away from the fantasy world I am aware I have created for myself. These days, to mix things up, they broadcast talk shows. On them, they showcase individuals who talk about their feelings, their kinks, their interests. Today, I believe it's a re-run, but we see so many that I don't know if it might be original. A transman is pregnant, has asked a stranger on the street to ejaculate in a cup, she brought it up to her apartment, and inserted it into her womb. She said she wanted to become pregnant even though she felt like she was a man. The news reporter is weeping and they show clips of an emotional audience of women, all together wiping their eyes and cheering for the brave, empowering gesture this genderbent creature has accomplished. The transman will give birth and be the child's father, and will likely have a sex change and have a dildoesque phallus installed where her female genitals should be.

     I'm disgusted. I usually am. It's a change from being in my bubble of happiness, of faraway pyramids and pearly white sand dunes. It brings me back to the streets, where I realize others have stopped to watch. Many weep, others share a slight curl of the nose, and I notice them and they notice me. Those who feel their emotions are crippled, embracing one another although they know nothing of each other. My eyes catch with the eyes of the other disgusted person; it's a woman, which is rare. I cannot interact with her in public as this, especially that we are of the same skin colour. I do wish to see her again, and I become excited to bring her to my apartment so we can take Etherall together and play holographic sea exploration games. She's has absolutely stunning blue eyes and I start to wonder if she's not already taken. I touch her hand as I sidle by her and watch subtly for a response. She looks to the right, which means she will follow me from afar. I turn to the street again, easily returning to a world that I accept completely as my reality.

 The sky isn't a sickening orange and grey, it's purple and blue, and there are live trees, palm trees around me, not just rusting, metallic, poles. I walk up the street and the horizon shows me a sparkling ocean, with rippling white waves and small wind-surfers, enjoying the still tolerable sun. The sun of the past world. There is a jolly tune playing in the back of my mind, classic rock from the 1960's, no... it's Retrowave mixed with a bit of Japanese city pop. The people around me are happy, smiling, the girls wearing short skirts and t-shirts, the guys are ripped and pleasantly tan. In my mind, everyone is white or East Asian...  

  I turn into a grocery where on the door is written 'Whites Only'. It's one of the worst there is, but the next best place I can go is another two kilometers walk, or is in the black market. I didn't get along much with the underground Whites; they still thought they could overthrow the powers that destroyed our countries; I didn't see life the same way they did. I didn't consider myself nihilistic either, but resilient. I knew the codes in order to interact with people I was allowed to interact with, and I tried with all of my might to be good. I buy a few cans of food: beans, spaghetti-O's, corn, peas

  I am slapped on the shoulder and I turn and see a vicious-looking Skin, his body adorned with faded blue tattoos with Nordic pagan symbols. He's probably in his late thirties. How he managed to live this long tells me he's not to be trifled with.

"Good day, friend. There's going to be a meeting tonight at the Old Gate Pub, in the basement. Tell others. All are invited. We paid to have the section of the city. Thank Power Grid."

I nod at him. "Good day, friend." He pays an extraordinary amount for a 6-pack of beer and leaves the store with a wink. I've been to rallies, they're all right, but I can't stand the ego trips, the genocidal racism, and the ridiculous idea that things might be different in the future. There have been times where I had desired to act alongside them, to be a proud white person in this society, but I was more careful. I didn't want to be knifed, jailed, or sued. It depended on who would you would mess with.   

So I quietly make my way back to my apartment, passing some drug addicts in the street of unknown ethnicity, and a group of women wearing burkas chaperoned by a man whose gaze I avoided. I hop up the stairs and as soon as I am inside, I lock the doors. I get out some rice and nutrient paste and mix it together with a bit of salt that I have left. My front door is knocked on. I quickly check my eyehole and open up. The girl from earlier walks in wearing her niqab and when she rips it off I finally observe her for who she is.

"Hey," she tells me, smiling. She had good teeth, and smells like perfume. I can't stop staring at her and she rolls her eyes and takes my hands. She places them on each side of her hips and tells me:

"I want to wait at least a few hours before we fuck, all right?"

"What...?" I pose, flabbergasted.

"I'm... I'm not a slut or anything... I only sleep with white guys and I'm clean."

"Wait... you... you have condoms?"

"Yeah. Good ones. My father works for Power Grid."

I was gaping. "Why the fuck are you here with me?"

"You're handsome. I don't know, you're normal I guess. I live in a pretty white sector but everyone's... you know..."

"Yeah... what do you mean by 'pretty white sector'?"

"Well, it's around 40% white, 20% Chinese and the rest are mixed. Not too bad a sector."

"Any pure bloods?"

She smiled at me and I shook my head and spun, holding my breath and then exhaling completely as I exclaimed: "Unbelievable! What... what... can I know...?"

"Promise not to tell anyone. It's really important... else I'll be..."

"Of course... I won't."

"One-hundred percent Finnish," she whispered, hiding her smile behind her hands.

I felt like I had found a pot of gold. Perhaps the Underground was right to hope, to be optimistic about the world making room for us again. There was a small colony of isolationist Japanese but they barely had the necessities to keep the planes away from bombing them to sterility. Then there was the Last Colonies, which were able to keep away from the Satellites because of their environments. The one in Canada, which consisted of the last of the Canadian Natives and whites, were in the mountains. The East Pacific islanders left had harboured some of us during the Race War, but they would be tempted to raise their IQ by breeding with us and in a sense I didn't blame them.

"You have to breed..."

"You don't even know my name and you're asking me to breed."

"Not with me. I'm a Euromutt. But you know the Underground--"

"--yes, I know the Underground is desperately looking for my phenotype, but I... I just don't want to be a womb for a white supremacist project."

"Huh. I would have thought women eligible would be killing for a place in their project."

"My father doesn't understand me either. But I just want to be normal."

"Normal? You just walked in here wearing a fucking niqab!"

"Do you want me to get raped?"

"Never..." I answered, my stomach churning with the thought. "Please don't..."

"Yea, feel like a fucking failure don't you... Gosh... I'm sorry. We're so full of programming even if we try not to be. I'm sorry. Please, I want to..." She had tears leaking from beautiful blue eyes. She had the loveliest of blonde hair that waved down to her shoulders. "...just play video games, eat flavoured nutrient paste and then have some nice sex..."

"I have some good music and an Underwater Simulator."

She wipes her eyes. "That sounds amazing." But soon she's weeping, hiding her face behind her hands. I embrace her and kiss her pink cheeks. 

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."  

"Allison. My name is Allison."

"Carl."

Bringing Back: Etiquette Schools

In attempt to rebuild a healthy, homosocial gathering for young women and girls, I believe it would be a wise thing to bring back etiquette schools. They are now few and often tailored to modern society. I, as a hardcore traditionalist, believe that we can do-away with much of social media and technology and their failings. I do believe young women (17+) may wish to have a Facebook or a cell phone, but I would recommend that they do not use them for anything else than communication with the world. There is no need for them to be toxified by Buzzfeed, Twitter, Tumblr, Yahoo, MSN, etc. If any website would be acceptable for young women these days, it would be YouTube (although it's being censored) Reddit (in moderation) or Pinterest. Still, I do believe parents should be involved in their children's feast of ideas, asking them if they have seen something disturbing or that they are questioning. But I digress.

Society today is secular, highly immoral, unconcerned with spirituality, uncouth and ultra-liberal. In order to counteract this 'Slut Culture' of fallen women, we must salvage the younger generation and make them once more into women with class and dignity. Christian, moral, elite, conservative girls might be able to be the future that will help this world return to Truth, morality, and peace. Instead of falling into despair in an eschatological depression, let us look into ways to row to shore the girls who will inevitably drive down the waterfall of sin.

Etiquette schools should focus mainly on:

(Indoor Activities)

Conversation, Socialization, Games, DIY, paperwork (taxes, etc), table manners, hosting, music, painting, sewing, cooking, canning, exercize and literature (as well as Bible Study).

These activities will create wonderful, sturdy, joyful girls who will see the value of being a housekeeper. This does not force them into being a wife and housekeeper, however, she should be free to go on to do some higher education if she so chooses (perhaps in medicine or education), but she will be suited well to her femininity and should not wish to be a man, or masculine more than her disposition might incline her to be.

(Outdoor Activities) might include:

Horseback riding, gardening, gathering, non-violent sports, swimming, and free play. 

I do believe girls should be left along in order to breed 'romantic' relationships with each other. Women can be very homosocial and intimate with each other, I believe this is why many of them fall into desiring to be sexual with each other, but I do find that falling into lust is immoral and breaks the potential for a perfect intimate friendship. Older girls and younger girls should be imaginative and play wonder games, make plays, read or invent stories with each other.

I believe etiquette schools could be made into summer camps. I would host one if I had the budget and location and well... girls who would like to to this, but the only problem is that the discipline that is needed is no longer tolerated in our society. We cannot shame and humiliate anymore, and by that, I don't mean it in a 'hazing' type of way. I mean it like, make them stand in a corner wearing a dunce hat, or such a thing. Humiliation can be done right, shaming is highly needed in order to correct false ways and return to a healthy social stigma. Will we ever see this? Likely not. But it's nice to imagine. I will keep dreaming in a positive light.

"To despair is to turn your back on God." Marilla Cuthbert

Proud of Being Straight--Writing and Homosexuality in Teenhood

I'll admit it, I'm proud of being straight. This might come off as hate speech for some, but that's Cultural Marxism and we don't need that here. We don't need that ever. But I'm going to have one of those stories for you all. If you are a straight person and always were, that's great! If you were not always in understanding with your sexuality, we can perhaps both share in this text I shall write for you together.

I won't be sharing really negative things that have happened to me, but I will share an umbrella understanding that I've come to realize over the years.