Shall We Play a Game?
I’m an old man, walking around parks. Unlike all the cliched old men walking around parks, my legs are ripped. I can run, fast if necessary. And, literally, for hours. My vision is 20/10, thanks to the greatest Lasik surgeon in the USA, who trained in Russia as a young man. Tight groupings. My resting HR, hovers between 39-45. I have not taken a pill in 35 years or so, not even aspirin. No vaccines since I was a 17 year old boy, in the military.
Have always wanted to die healthy. Strong. I HATE weakness. As I walk these parks, I see precious few who look like me. Veterans of a different Nation, still imbued with vitality, strength, and lethality.
This is a Manifesto, of sorts. Have been giving large amounts of my saved resources to militias, and other groups for about 9 years now. Many of those donations, were during periods I was certain I would not be typing things to strangers I respect, in 2018.
I no longer much belong in this Country, with its inhabitants, and certainly not on the Left Coast. Increasingly, Martyrdom’s Song swirls in my head. At times, the song seems to come from Bob Dylan, a born-again Christian, from a Tribe I despise, with a voice that made me cringe as a young lad. But, my Father, the brilliant soldier, and nation change expert, knew what was coming. As, he risked his life, for, Blood and Soil.
I have precious few videos left in me guys. Better men than me will pick up the challenge. Much as our enemies fight across generations, so will I.
My Manifesto has only two words. Hell, I know people are way too busy to read a fucking novel.
|Category||People & Family|
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