From rsavage@netcom.com Wed Apr 10 14:55:24 PDT 1996
Article: 17016 of alt.politics.nationalism.white
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From: rsavage@netcom.com (Rick Savage)
Subject: Picking at Scabs
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PICKING AT SCABS
   -- Our Judeo-Fiction Heritage
        "If a man cannot forget, he will never amount to much" 
             --Soren Kierkegaard

     A recurring theme in Instauration is the judaization of America 
or words to that effect.  I suspect that most of us have some pretty 
vivid notions of what that means.  We could point to Jewish 
control of the media and finance (and degradation of same), Israeli 
influence on foreign policy, Holocaust sanctification, the 
predictable yammering of the ACLU and the ADL and Clinton's 
cabinet appointments and Supreme Court nominees.  
     More important are Jewish influences that are not just "alien" 
to us, but infect and transform us so completely we start to exhibit 
Jewish behavior.  Here we could mention hucksterism and fast 
bucksterism, the mounting rudeness and abrasiveness of daily life, 
an intolerable increase in conspicuous consumption while taste 
and restraint are nose-diving, the collapse of ethics, the 
proliferation of lawsuits and the over-emphasis on groins and 
loins in popular culture.  Jews may have blazed the trails, but all 
too many of us have followed them, almost oblivious to the fact 
that the aforementioned trails are anathema to an advanced 
civilization.
     Another Jewish trait that permeates American society is the 
"Never Forget Syndrome."  I like to call it picking at scabs.
     There's a reason why your mother told you to leave your scabs 
alone.  First of all, it isn't polite to pick, your scabs in public.  
More importantly, if you leave the scabs alone, they eventually fall 
off.  In time, you'll never know a scab used to be there.  (Note that 
Melville's Captain Ahab -- a sorely wounded Gentile who suffered 
>from  the "Never Forget" syndrome -- was named after a Hebrew 
king.)  But no matter how big the scab, if you pick at it, it will 
never heal -- worse yet, it may become infected.  By choosing to 
pick scabs, the Chosen render themselves as pustulous as they are 
pushy.  And the contagion has spread to the Majority.
     From Freud to the latest Jewish headshrinker on the nonfiction 
bestseller list, Jews have achieved fame and fortune by convincing 
us to pick at every scab -- real or imaginary -- long after the injury 
-- real or imaginary.
     There is a two-step process at work here.  First you convince 
'em they're sick, then you sell 'em the cure!  It's an unbeatable 
combination.
     The Holocaust survivor is an all-too-familiar figure reaching 
back 50 years or more into his memory bank and bringing out 
atrocity after atrocity.  Ah, but now the Holocaust survivor has 
company -- lots of it.  And most of it belongs to the Majority.  
The semitized bestsellers and TV talk shows allow even the most 
seemingly normal person to major in victimology.  We have 
people claiming to have witnessed hundreds of murders during 
satanic rituals, though no remains are ever found.  Alien 
abductions are a real problem, but I'm referring to Latino 
carjacking, rap and murder, not abductions of the "Beam me up, 
Jose'" variety.
     The thousand and one shocks the flesh was heir to in Hamlet's 
time have grown apace.  Today we must be up to at least a million 
and one.  But you wouldn't have a clue as to what they are if you 
stuck to the TV talk shows that specialize in victim/survivors 
picking their scabs in public:
     - They called me fatso and hurt my feelings!
     - My dad never told me he loved me!
     - My parents use racial slurs when no one else is around.
     - They said I wasn't pretty enough to make the cheerleading 
       squad.
     - My mother wouldn't accept my black boyfriend.
     - My supervisor fondled my buttocks!

     And the scabs of the fathers are visited upon the sons.  Note 
how we now have not only Holocaust victims but children and 
grandchildren of Holocaust victims -- perhaps not so surprising 
considering Yahweh's wrath toward not just evildoers but their 
offspring.  In the year 2025 will we tun in holograph sets and sit 
among a solemn talk show gathering of great-grandchildren of 
Auschwitz inmates?
     Don't bet against it.  Multi-generational whining is all the rage.  
We not only have Alcoholics Anonymous but organizations for 
the spouses and teenage children of boozers.  The gays and 
lesbians not only have their own organizations, so do their parents 
and children.
     One of the sorriest trends in pop psychology is the concept of 
pain sharing.  "I feel your pain," is now the equivalent of "I'm so 
sorry."  This is the height of idiocy.  Pain is to be RELIEVED, 
not shared, just as a disease is to be cured, not spread.  Would 
you want to share someone else's HIV virus or E. coli?  Perhaps 
this trend explains why we haven't quarantined AIDS victims.  We 
want to share their pain.
     Hard to believe that we used to be a hearty people.  Ask 
yourself if you or anyone you know would even attempt to cross 
North America in a wagon train.  AT the first broken wheel, we 
would sue the wheelwright.  Indian attack?  Sue the wagonmaster 
for not protecting us.  
     Have you ever noticed how that as Gentiles age they start to 
resemble Jews?  As the body ages and loses its tone, it assumes a 
wizened, shriveled look.  Many elderly people are complainers, 
evoking good old days when they had their health, before they 
made a lifetime of mistakes of the "If I knew then what I know 
now" variety.
     Catholics will literally light a candle rather than curse the 
darkness but Jews prefer the histrionics of the wailing wall.  
Curiously, they seem to do so not for the purpose of catharsis but 
for the perverse joy of wallowing in pain.  But Jews aren't the only 
ones with a wailing wall these days.  Have you seen those TV 
news stories of Vietnam vets at their own wailing wall -- the 
Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C.?  Is there anything more 
pathetic than the sight of a middle-aged white man in fatigues, 
blubbering away about his war experiences of a quarter century 
ago.   (Note that relatively few blacks are videotaped visiting the 
wall -- even though it's in the heart of D.C.!)
     Now I can hear someone objecting that the Vietnam Memorial 
is just the latest in a long line of war memorials.  Not so.  A 
generation after WWII, you didn't see veterans lingering around 
memorials to their war and bawling their eyes out.  You didn't see 
the mothers of dead soldiers still grieving.  Actually, it's not so 
much that the memorials have changed.  WE have changed.  
Generations ago people got on with their lives.  Now we're too 
busy picking at scabs.
     Thanks to a student deferment and a high draft lottery number, 
I was spared the Vietnam experience, so I may not be qualified to 
pronounce judgment on lachrymose vets.  Still, it strikes me their 
response is not normal.  Here I defer to a recently deceased 
WWII veteran who once described to me the three stages of 
combat grief:
     The first time you see a buddy get killed, it's "Oh, my God!  
My best friend!  He's dead!"
     The second time, it's "Oh, geez, too bad." 
     And the third time, it's "Whew, glad it wasn't me."
     Throughout the vast charnel house of history -- of wars, 
famines, plagues, natural disasters and changing neighborhoods -- 
there's mores than enough heartache to go around.  Most cultures 
provide a specified period of mourning, but in semitized America, 
we can never forget.  (We are, however, constantly advised to 
deep-six the Old South and the Stars and Bars, even though "Old 
times there are not forgotten.")  Too many of us have become 
emotionally disabled for life.  Note the terms "incest survivor" or 
"rape survivor" as opposed to "incest victim" or "rape victim."  
Well, why wouldn't you survive?  As brutal and repulsive as these 
activities may be, they are not usually life-threatening.  But the 
term "survivor" magnifies the seriousness of the wound and the 
deadliness of the perpetrator.  Anything to maximize sympathy.
     So let's look at the Holocaust afresh.  Forget the body count 
and let the Jews assert that Six Million Jews died in concentration 
camps.  Then let us utter the time-honored words, "So what?"
     Insensitive?  Maybe so, but the next time you're in a crowd, say 
at a stadium, a shopping mall, a subway concourse at rush hour or 
a beach on a holiday weekend, take a look at all the people within 
your field of view.  Out of the thousands that you see, every one 
will feel pain at various stages of his life -- guaranteed!  And every 
one will die -- guaranteed!  Black and white, Jew and Gentile, 
homo and hetero, male and female -- every last one of them.  But 
once the dead have been buried, it's time to abandon funeral dirges 
and funeral urges.  Listen, Hymie, they've made great progress in 
tattoo removal since you were in that camp.  You could at least 
cover it up with another tattoo, say, a heart with "My Yiddische 
Momma" emblazoned on it.  Whether the body count is 6 or 
6,000,000, they've been gone for almost 50 years.  So enough of 
those bladder-buster feature films (Swindler's List is a mere 195 
minutes.  The Sorrow and the Pity (1970) ran 260 minutes.  
Shoah (1985) lasted 503 minutes).  Of course, all three movies are 
routinely given four stars by the reviewers.  Could any group of 
people on this planet render abject misery in such wall-to-wall 
detail?  What other group would even try?
     As time goes by, it becomes all too easy to stockpile 
resentments and disappointments.  Some may be profound, others 
trivial.  But they mount up relentlessly and inevitably.  You can't 
totally ignore them but you can, in the current parlance, "Get a 
life!"  It is not that unusual to find people who operate under dire 
handicaps yet still remain cheerful and productive.  On the other 
hand, the chronic complainer usually has it no worse than 
anybody else.
     All females are victims/survivors to a large degree.  They 
surpass men in rote memory and have an uncanny ability to recall 
every slight, every insult.  Men tend to have more selective 
memories.  Women bruise easier than men -- emotionally as well 
as physically.  They are too thin-skinned, literally and figuratively.  
Men, with thicker skins (and thicker skulls, I can hear the distaff 
reader adding) can withstand pain better.  But you better not say, 
"Be a man!" to a male today.  That exhortation can get you in big 
trouble in some circles.
    The white man, at least if he is of Northern European descent, 
constantly derided by those of darker hue because he is too 
restrained, too repressed, too uptight, too anal retentive.  (Thank 
you, Sigmund, what would we do without such colorfully 
descriptive phrases.)  In view of the link between light-colored 
eyes and hesitation and inhibition, Nordics are constitutionally 
able to suffer pain in silence.  This may be the cause of our 
greatest failing.  Look at how patient we are with the depredations 
of minorities.  Ironically, despite Instauration's exaltation of 
Nordics, a serious white consciousness movement will probably 
have brown-eyed foot soldiers!
     Until recently, we didn't burden others with our tales of woe.  
The "stiff upper lip" used to denote courage.  Now the trembling 
lower lip is more common, as the worst examples of human 
wreckage are congratulated for their "courage" when they appear 
on talk shows and rip apart their old wounds on national 
television.  "Well," gushes the talk show host, "it certainly took 
COURAGE for you to come on our show and tell us how you 
were anally raped by inmates for twenty years at Leavenworth."
     The talk show circuit is heavily semitized, but the damage to 
Majority sensibilities doesn't stop with this kind of 
"entertainment."  Do you think we would have been treated to so 
many instant replays of Rodney King getting his comeuppance if 
the TV networks weren't run by the Chosen?  Would the rabble 
have responded so rabidly if the images in that famous blow-by-
blow videotape hadn't been seared into their collective 
consciousness?  If Rodney King had been Shlomo Schwartz, the 
videotape would still be running.
     The Jew is an emotional hypochondriac.  As he exerts more 
and more influence over our popular culture, the unique character 
of his tribe becomes more and more evident.  Originally, Woody 
Allen was going to call "Annie Hall" by another name:  
"Anhedonia."  This is a clinical term for an affliction in which an 
individual is unable to feel pleasure.  A born scab-picker, that 
Woody!
     Whatever their accomplishments as scientists, Jews are not 
known as outstanding naturalists.  Too bad, because they could 
learn something.  Snakes shed their skin, birds moult, trees lose 
their leaves, cells die and are replaced by more dead skin.  This is 
renewal.  This is normal.  This is life.
     Note that blisters eventually give way to calluses if friction 
continues.  This is the normal course of events.  However, this 
does not mean that the subject must become callous.  The callus is 
designed to protect the blister from further injury.  The callous 
individual, despite the linguistic similarity, is generally someone 
who INFLICTS pain in others.  His best defense is offensive 
behavior. 
     Perhaps now we can see the unbridgeable chasm between 
Christianity and Judaism.  Christianity is life.  Judaism is death.  
We can argue forever about whether Christ was a Jew.  Either 
way, his teachings were aimed at Jews -- the people who needed it 
most.  "Look, you Jews, life doesn't have to be like this.  There's 
another way."  Perhaps this is the most compelling reason to 
believe that Christ was not a Jew.  If he had been, he would have 
picked at those Crucifixion wounds and they never would have 
healed.
     There is a long tradition of healing in Christianity and 
paganism.  I'm no Biblical scholar, but from what I remember in 
my readings, healing didn't play a big part in the Old Testament.  
Gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, beating of breasts, 
lamentations, and imprecations were common behavior patterns.  
Of course, in the New Testament, the Jews had a lot to complain 
about, since they were living under Roman occupation.  But since 
they weren't buying Christ's message, his apostles took it to the 
Gentiles.  Lazarus was literally brought back from the dead; the 
"live" Jews weren't so lucky.  The scales had to fall from Saul's 
eyes before he saw the light.  Then came the Diaspora, when Jews 
packed their bags and picked their scabs -- and they still haven't 
stopped.  Christianity, when transplanted to pagan cultures, 
frequently blends with the local beliefs.  Judaism and those who 
espouse it are unassimilable.
     The normal organism tries to avoid bodily distress.  Picking at 
scabs prolongs bodily distress.  It is an unnatural attempt to 
reverse the out-with-the-old, in-with-the-new process.  Worse, it 
increases the possibility of infection.  And infection, if not treated 
or held in check by a strong immune system, will eventually kill 
the organism.
     You have been warned.

- Judson Hammond, INSTAURATION, September 1994
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 _____________________________________________________
|        Rick Savage, P.O. Box 5251, Denver, CO 80217-5251  (u)SA         | 
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