Tribe before Faction

Love your Folk

2017 is a mess. All kinds of foreign-types are running around making trouble. There’s  a lot of talk about Left and Right,  alt this and anti that, and people are making fools of themselves. Now what in heaven’s name does this have to do with regular America?
Don’t be a Weirdo

The answer is nothing, not a damned thing. We’ve got spies among us, enemy spies and they’re fixing to start a war. Watch out for their devious psychological operations. DO NOT attend street demonstrations. DO NOT follow orders from foreign infiltrators. How do we know if a leader is foreign? That’s easy. Do they look foreign? Do they act foreign? Do they sound foreign? If the answer to any of these questions is “Yes”, then we must disavow. And pay close attention to names: if we cannot pronounce, then we’ve got to denounce. Too many consonants? He’s from other continents. Missing a vowel? Something smells foul.

A Peculiar Odor

Remember our folk wisdom and heed it carefully: wait until you see the whites of their eyes. While some have claimed that this famous motto is merely a commentary on the limitations of antique muskets, it’s actually much more significant and esoteric. It describes a complete philosophy of combat and politics. The enemy will always try to draw us out and expose our positions. He wants his frightened quarry to panic and bolt. We must wait patiently. Let them get closer, closer – keep calm and show no fear. He wants to use his wretched proxies to provoke a response, then attack the exposed flank. Pay no mind to the proxies. Do not engage with them under any circumstances. Ideally we should turn their proxies into OUR proxies, that’s the Holy Grail.

There is no Left and Right, there’s only American Freedom and foreign tyranny. Our true nation must stick together despite any ideological differences. Whether we’re liberal or conservative, radical or moderate, our family is most important – the grand extended family of the Pilgrims and the Pioneers. Our great bards and heroes are with us in blood and in spirit: may we ever compete with our ancestors in all that is noble.



Anne Bradstreet to her Children

“Alas, my birds, you wisdom want”

I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
I nursed them up with pain and care,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
Till at the last they felt their wing,
Mounted the trees, and learned to sing;
Chief of the brood then took his flight
To regions far and left me quite.
My mournful chirps I after send,
Till he return, or I do end:
Leave not thy nest, thy dam and sire,
Fly back and sing amidst this choir.
My second bird did take her flight,
And with her mate flew out of sight;
Southward they both their course did bend,
And seasons twain they there did spend,
Till after blown by southern gales,
They norward steered with filled sails.
A prettier bird was no where seen,
Along the beach among the treen.
I have a third of colour white,
On whom I placed no small delight;
Coupled with mate loving and true,
Hath also bid her dam adieu;
And where Aurora first appears,
She now hath perched to spend her years.
One to the academy flew
To chat among that learned crew;
Ambition moves still in his breast
That he might chant above the rest
Striving for more than to do well,
That nightingales he might excel.
My fifth, whose down is yet scarce gone,
Is ‘mongst the shrubs and bushes flown,
And as his wings increase in strength,
On higher boughs he’ll perch at length.
My other three still with me nest,
Until they’re grown, then as the rest,
Or here or there they’ll take their flight,
As is ordained, so shall they light.
If birds could weep, then would my tears
Let others know what are my fears
Lest this my brood some harm should catch,
And be surprised for want of watch,
Whilst pecking corn and void of care,
They fall un’wares in fowler’s snare,
Or whilst on trees they sit and sing,
Some untoward boy at them do fling,
Or whilst allured with bell and glass,
The net be spread, and caught, alas.
Or lest by lime-twigs they be foiled,
Or by some greedy hawks be spoiled.
O would my young, ye saw my breast,
And knew what thoughts there sadly rest,
Great was my pain when I you fed,
Long did I keep you soft and warm,
And with my wings kept off all harm,
My cares are more and fears than ever,
My throbs such now as ‘fore were never.
Alas, my birds, you wisdom want,
Of perils you are ignorant;
Oft times in grass, on trees, in flight,
Sore accidents on you may light.
O to your safety have an eye,
So happy may you live and die.
Meanwhile my days in tunes I’ll spend,
Till my weak lays with me shall end.
In shady woods I’ll sit and sing,
And things that past to mind I’ll bring.
Once young and pleasant, as are you,
But former toys (no joys) adieu.
My age I will not once lament,
But sing, my time so near is spent.
And from the top bough take my flight
Into a country beyond sight,
Where old ones instantly grow young,
And there with seraphims set song;
No seasons cold, nor storms they see;
But spring lasts to eternity.
When each of you shall in your nest
Among your young ones take your rest,
In chirping language, oft them tell,
You had a dam that loved you well,
That did what could be done for young,
And nursed you up till you were strong,
And ‘fore she once would let you fly,
She showed you joy and misery;
Taught what was good, and what was ill,
What would save life, and what would kill.
Thus gone, amongst you I may live,
And dead, yet speak, and counsel give:
Farewell, my birds, farewell adieu,
I happy am, if well with you.

Against Dual Citizenship

One Heart, One Love, One Nation

No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Mathew 6:24


Our nation can no longer tolerate dual citizenship. America has sustained tremendous damage from this cancerous phenomenon, from needless, immoral foreign wars to the destruction of our Bill of Rights. Presently, we are experiencing an absurd attack on our freedom of speech from dual citizens who reject our perfect right to support, oppose or boycott anything we damned well please. Those who dare to impede our precious 1st amendment are clearly foreigners – disloyal, arrogant and tone-deaf.

Freedom of Speech


The Middle East is a purely foreign land full of donkeys, camels and vipers. No true American cares about this far-flung region at all. The preposterous religions and languages to be found in that dusty clime are like comedy to us: what laughable garb, what unintelligible gibberish. And the features of the benighted inhabitants! But let us not be cruel to the less fortunate.



Foreigners, mind your manners! You are passing strange to us; do not compound your outlandish presence with abominable tyranny. We can say what we want. We can love who we love. And we can hate that which is hateful to us. Whoever dares to trample on our Liberty, he is our enemy and we hate him. And if we fail to hate the tyrant, the usurper, then we do not love our own children and the Nation which gave us life.

As for those traitors who coddle the foreign tyrant, those mewling dogs who grovel before him: Go! Leave us! Go to your precious desert and serve your masters there, you pathetic worms! Begone, ye vile lepers! And let us forget that you were ever our kindred, you unworthy bastards! Thralls! Churls! Slavish reprobates! Begone!
A Trio of Traitors

Lines on Gen. Robert Edward Lee



By H.P. Lovecraft


     “Si veris magna paratur
Fama bonis, et si successu nuda remoto
Inspicitur virtus, quicquid laudamus in ullo
Majorum, fortuna fuit.”


Whilst martial echoes o’er the wave resound,
And Europe’s gore incarnadines the ground;
Today no foreign hero we bemoan,
But count the glowing virtues of our own!
Illustrious LEE! around whose honour’d name
Entwines a patriot’s and a Christian’s fame;
With whose just praise admiring nations ring,
And whom repenting foes contritely sing!
When first our land fraternal fury bore,
And Sumter’s guns alarm’d the anxious shore;
When Faction’s reign ancestral rights o’erthrew,
And sunder’d States a mutual hatred knew;
Then clash’d contending chiefs of kindred line,
In flesh to suffer and in fame to shine.
But o’er them all, majestic in his might,
Rose LEE, unrivall’d, to sublimest height:
With torturing choice defy’d opposing Fate,
And shunn’d Temptation for his native State!
Thus Washington his monarch’s rule o’erturn’d
When young Columbia with rebellion burn’d.
And what in Washington the world reveres,
In LEE with equal magnitude appears.
Our nation’s Father, crown’d with vict’ry’s bays,
Enjoys a loving land’s eternal praise:
Let, then, our hearts with equal rev’rence greet
His proud successor, rising o’er defeat!
Around his greatness pour disheartening woes,
But still he tow’rs above his conqu’ring foes.
Silence! ye jackal herd that vainly blame
Th’ unspotted leader by a traitor’s name:
If such was LEE, let blushing Justice mourn,
And trait’rous Liberty endure our scorn!
As Philopoemen once sublimely strove,
And earn’d declining Hellas’ thankful love;
So follow’d LEE the purest patriot’s part,
And wak’d the worship of the grateful heart:
The South her soul in body’d form discerns;
The North from LEE a nobler freedom learns!
Attend! ye sons of Albion’s ancient race,
Whate’er your country, and whate’er your place:
LEE’S valiant deeds, tho’ dear to Southern song,
To all our Saxon strain as well belong.
Courage like his the parent Island won,
And led an Empire past the setting sun;
To realms unknown our laws and language bore;
Rais’d England’s banner on the desert shore;
Crush’d the proud rival, and subdu’d the sea
For ages past, and aeons yet to be!
From Scotia’s hilly bounds the paean rolls,
And Afric’s distant Cape great LEE extols;
The sainted soul and manly mien combine
To grace Britannia’s and Virginia’s line!
As dullards now in thoughtless fervour prate
Of shameful peace, and sing th’ unmanly State;
As churls their piping reprobations shriek,
And damn the heroes that protect the weak;
Let LEE’S brave shade the timid throng accost,
And give them back the manhood they have lost!
What kindlier spirit, breathing from on high,
Can teach us how to live and how to die?


The Eternal Hun

Hal Foster Prince Valiant
King of the Huns

What is a Hun? The Hun is a foreigner, a tyrant, a mafia boss; he is ugly, greasy and crude. A mongrel of base origins, he appears from the East to destroy all that is good and beautiful. He is loathsome, ill-mannered and unclean, yet he pretends to nobility.

A Latter-Day Khan

The Hun does not build, he does not think of the future. He is merely a plunderer, a ruiner. He finds wealth and leaves poverty; he finds virtue and leaves vice; he finds innocence and leaves corruption. The young and female are his prey, he destroys them.



The Hun is a despot, a raider, a scourge: woe betide those timid souls who surrender to his mercy. He grants no quarter, only slavery and shameful humiliation.

Huns Torturing a Captive

The Hun is bestial, he is cruel, he is many things, but do not say he is invincible. Do not shrink from duty. Like all mortals, the Hun has his weaknesses, but only the bold  may find them.

This Book Slays the Hun


Our ancestors, holding Liberty as their highest ideal, told us to live Free or die; they named our country, “the Land of the Free and the home of the Brave”. Do we call our forefathers liars? Do we shame them with churlish Cowardice? Perish the thought. The Hun belongs to the East, and to the East he will be returned.


Scots Wha Hae


by Robert Burns
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
         Or to victory!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud Edward’s power—
         Chains and slavery!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave!
Wha sae base as be a slave?
         Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland’s king and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’,
         Let him follow me!
By oppression’s woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
         But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow!—
         Let us do or die!

NRx Delenda Est
Moldbug: The Face of a “Movement”

Since opening our doors to the refugees of the failed states of Europe lo these many years ago, our Ellis Island folks have been a source of much consternation. They’re different than real Americans in many ways: their appearance, religion, and political ideology are notoriously outlandish. Nevertheless, many of them have assimilated to the American world-view, embracing the free-wheeling Liberty which characterizes our national temperament. Unfortunately, we still have a faction of misfits, a stubborn element of  recalcitrant foreign-types, who loudly refuse to acknowledge the superiority of their host country’s culture and government.

Today, their Grandchildren Oppose Liberty

For many years, we found these scoundrels in their various ethnic mafias – in the flesh trades, in gambling and in the so-called “labor movement”. They were a nuisance, to be sure, but they remained firmly ensconced in their greasy little underworld, aware of their loathsome status amongst the decent and well-born.
Beware of a Rat-Like Physiognomy


No more, gentle reader. Today, these motley vagabonds are ensconced in the highest offices in the land. They control the Presidency and executive branch of the US government. They clog the the once-noble halls of Academia. They rule supreme in the sulfurous swamps of Hollywood. And one of their scions, aptly called “Moldbug”, is spearheading a vicious campaign of slander against the historical American nation and the Protestant faith. This is is Neo Reaction, aka NRx.

Sinister Calvinists in their Natural Habitat

It may seem incredible, but this cult actually places the blame for our current problems squarely on the shoulders of the Enlightenment, “Calvinism”, and the Puritan Fathers. Yes, these sad primitives dare to malign the very nation who took in their tempest-tost ancestors as refugees. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished.

The Cuckoo and the Cuckhold

cuckoo bird
“Never mind your own chicks, birdie, feed me MORE”

Cuckoos are strange fowl: they trick other birds into raising their young. The Cuckoo lays an egg in a suitable nest, perhaps a sweet little Warbler’s, then flies away, confident that the hapless songbird is unaware of the terrible trick being played upon him.

One of these is not like the others

The eggs are incubated by the dutiful mother bird, who is unaware that an alien creature grows in her own nest. Then, one day, the egg hatches and a very aggressive cuckoo chick is born. The strange chick begins to assert himself at once. He strives mightily to push the true eggs from the nest; writhing his ugly little body, he manages to eject them one by one!

The alien chick’s grim work

The coup is almost complete. The strange chick, already larger than his hapless foster-parents, demands a great supply of food. With their true eggs cast upon the cold, hard ground to die, the Warblers spend all of their efforts on the foreign hatchling, working long days to feed his insatiable hunger.


The Warbler never knows he has been tricked. He serves the alien chick as if were his own, with full enthusiasm. That’s where we get the word, “cuckhold”, or “cuck” for short. The cuck doesn’t know who the cuckoo bird is, or that he has been tricked by a parasite.

Now who are the cucks in our own nation, who has been tricked into serving the alien spawn?

A Fallen Hero


And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods?

 Larry McDonald
Nathan Hale, Davy Crockett, General Custer – our greatest national heroes are those who have met with death at the hands of our enemies.  They held the good of our people above their own safety and went to eternity, not softly, not sickly, but fearlessly and in a blaze of glory.
Congressman Lawrence Patton McDonald was such a man, marching boldly into the enemy encampment with our standard held high. He defended Liberty as a true American: with benevolence toward others, but with a burning defiance of the foul tyranny descending upon us . He saw the despots scheming, he saw their sordid plans and he stood athwart them, without care for his personal safety. The sneaking cowards dared not meet him in open combat, but were forced to show their hand, by shooting his plane from the sky with a Soviet missile.
Murder most foul
Who could be so foolish as to accept the preposterous explanation for this naked assassination? Perhaps those same poor suckers who believe that kerosene can melt structural steel, or maybe those dimwitted souls who believe that General Patton, a cousin of McDonald, was killed in an accident. In any event, the truth is well known to many and in our hearts there burns a thirst for justice.

A Meeting House in Need of Restoration

meeting house1
This stately brick landmark is on sale for a mere $30,000

The true wealth of America is in our blood, of course,  but the beautiful architecture left to us by our forebears is also of great importance. Restoration is difficult work requiring diligence, discipline and perseverance, but the rewards are simply incalculable. Consider this fine example of an old-fashioned meeting house in Vincennes IN. The Palmyra Cumberland Presbyterian Church is situated on a 2-acre wooded lot about 5 miles outside of town.

meeting house2
Many architectural features remain intact

This remarkable piece of our national heritage lies in disrepair awaiting a noble patron with a true Protestant work ethic. Time and the elements have taken their toll, but this lovely little church can shine again with the proper care and restoration.

Preserve this precious artwork