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Get Out of Cities?
Thoughts on Overrun Zones
Get out of the cites...
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Thu, May 20, 4:37 PM (7 days ago)
to james@jameslafond.com
James:
Unlike the hybrid-Bantu zones with which you’ve traversed over many years inaround N Harm City, in this car-jacking, the reparations recovery agents (RRA) had an easy score on lily-white Yeti women in what appears to be (home prices according to Zillow) an easy score in this decidedly middle class neighborhood.
Kyle Hooten on Twitter: A recent carjacking in Minneapolis -broad daylight -Audubon Park, a supposedly safe suburb
-TR

Imagine...
You are the scion of a race of colonizing worker bees, who were used by the master class of your kind to build an economy in an alien land.
The economy is built.
The masters do not want to share in this bountiful world mechanized by the engine of scarcity.
The masters must get rid of people that look like them, so that they can remain rare.
Your grandparents ran away from their feral replacements.
Your parents ran even further.
For you to migrate further from the city that spawned your grandparents, puts you in the next city that spawned and vomited some other cracker's grandparents.
The rich long ago declared war upon your kind and have sent armies of poorly armed thugs to drive you somewhere else other than where you were born. The reason might be as simple as making you into a renter rather then letting you go from buyer to owner. Fat cats do not like to contest their territory with lean young toms—they would rather the rats or the dogs get you.
Ideology and race loyalty in this dyscontinuum are both lies used by the masters to herd you down a rabbit hole to be whackamoled. The mechanics of the actual Civilization consist of money and force.
I recently spent three weeks in an overrun zone in Baltimore City. From 1998 thru 2018 I was attacked some dozen times within a half mile of the house I stayed at this fine May. My fighter bought this house, in part, on my advice. You see, there are only so many Bantu foot soldiers to take up arms against the guilty ghost herd. In this neighborhood, a 3 by 12-block grid of green yards, nice old homes and mice-like bipedal drones live largely in peace and comfort. The three primary streets and one secondary street that border this area are patrolled by corrupt cops, savage thugs and even armed private security. I was being shadowed by an armed and uniformed private cop and was challenged by a towering ebony thug and his two large pit bulls when I went to the dollar store. I was sick and unwell, one eye covered against te hateful sun rays of day. But all four of these corrections officers of the free-range guilt penitentiary backed the fuck off when I grinned and came right at them.
Other than that trip to the dollar store to get a box of dominos, I spent my weeks working in the yard, reading in the attic and puking in a bucket as the world spun and my eyes attempted to leap from my head. The three Bantu warriors who passed me by in the alley as I worked, stopped and gave respects as I chopped with ax and mattock and saluted to me as I saluted back. So long as I stayed off of the heavily patrolled main streets—where much of my pedestrian life had been lived as a resident, since I worked at night and across town, I and my kind host and his beautiful wife, remain unmolested. Meanwhile, those guilty ghosts who have run as far as they can from the scene of someone else's racial crime, have been targeted for Subsidized Housing Resettlement of deep ghetto gang banger broods into their suburban feedlot.
Imagine if you will, wearing the uniform of a defeated army.
You have been disarmed and are not allowed to bear arms lest you be mistaken for an insurgent.
Would you be better served retreating before the conquering army, waking every morning, after every march, with the tanks, and planes and storm troopers of the conqueror bearing down on you?
Or, would you be better served, hiding in a basement until the killers roll over, only to emerge with some cigarettes and chocolate to barter for a set of civilian clothes?
Of course, the video of the crime you mentioned a week ago has been taken down.
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IshmaelMay 29, 2021

My family hated authority, of course some of them were bootleggers, I see the wave coming to my quiet place, law dogs here don't like it either, but that fat pension keeps them tethered.
A MetzgerMay 30, 2021

You can run. And you can hide. Both are available for a nominal fee.
NCMay 31, 2021

https://www.google.com/maps/place/Audubon+Park,+Minneapolis,+MN+55418/@45.0192647,-93.2459293,15z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m5!3m4!1s0x52b32dc4e7069647:0xdba34d0ccb7a871e!8m2!3d45.0172235!4d-93.2378076

Audubon Park is not a suberb. Its right next to N MPLS which is Bantoo ground zero
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