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Who Are the Real Ghost People?
Crackpot Mailbox: Jambalaya Rex Cues the Crackpot on Rel-Race?
without agency
Wed, Jan 8, 1:15 AM (5 days ago)

Mister Rex, I was mostly impressed with how much more "white" this professor is than I am, in diction, outlook and inability to perceive the actual social matrix within which we wane like lost souls in a purgatory of delusion.
If you read my fiction such as The Sunset Saga and Night City, you will see that back in 2009 I essentially hatched the idea that the secret ghost puppeteers yanking on our meat-puppet strings as we danced the desultory jig set forth in the music of the slaves, would be served by front-women and front-men of a mixed heritage—zero culture—golden-skinned none-race.
The mantra, to have the ultimate emasculating effect, will always appeal to our media- implanted victimology sense. So, when a lead meat-puppet dancers on her unseen masters' stage, even if most of her biological ancestry is ivory, she must always, cry for her ebony portion as the infantile Christ-child of the atheistic order. The whole idea behind the victimology occultism is that the ebony caricature of the man-child and queen-child, be conflated into one Kang-Bitch of Man, nailed to the cross by the Pontius Pilot of races—the mythic "whiteman" where he suffers for our ghostly sins. But, unlike the real Christ who will be risen and return to God in heaven, this babbling, baby-Christ can only ascend with the self-defacing consent and agency of the millions of ghost gods that make up our collective divinity. Hence, our victim culture, by placing our ancestors as fallen angels standing cruelly astride the befallen form of Ebony-Baby-Christ, and we as the redemptive agents, merely uses the ebony figure as an effigy of suffering which will elicit our god-qualities and grant us ascension with the victim of our misplaced pity, clinging to our ethical apron strings and pining for some strawberry poptarts and sunny delight...
Watch this video, and know, that if Western Civilization does not fall, and manages to lurch onward, that this vapid-souled bitch and her ilk will be the sort of people who will order, disorder and circumscribe the life of Western Man. A descent into the superior ethics of barbarism is our surest hope to preserve human agency against the satanic machine which owns our bodies and works and thirsts for our souls.
Night City: The Short Fiction of James LaFond: 2015-16
Organa: The Malfunction of Tray Sorenson
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