“The more a people loses its internity, the more pompous and ceremonilized its outward manifestations (propaganda, narrow ways of thinking, thought-police guardians of of a certain necrotic orthodoxy) become—in the character of its government, law, and cult. But they should remain (internally) one in the knowledge: “WHAT I BELIEVE, IS WHAT I KNOW, AND SO I ALSO LIVE IT OUT.” For this reason, the ARYAN divine internity is also the basis for a PROUD DISDAIN for death AMONG THE ARYANS and for their limitless TRUST IN GOD and IN THE SELF…..therefore this RUNE (mystery) says:

“I AM MY ROD (RIGHT & MESURE, CUBIT), this ROD is indestructible!, BECAUSE


I AM MY (myself this solitary pilgrim wolf) MY ROD (Right & Mesure & CUBIT thanks to my Eternal Internity).”


Guido Von List’s interpretation thanks to a translation by Stephen E. Flowers

R.O.T.A. or the plenipotentiary existential rite with the energetic usage of the ROD, the infamous magic wand, is the only palatable & sincerely reasonable way to deal with the general ethnic CHAOS, creeping in on the doorstep of our INTERNAL homes of Blood. Paracelsus tells of its confection. He calls it the HOMONCULUS.

In sight of this, there are no longer any possible outward COMBATS physically imaginable without the probable refrain of dishonest intellectual misinterpretation so customary today in Our TIMEs which are now ideally ripe for the coming into being, of the Aryan Mage, a hidden & inevitablly discrete element for this inherently lost world. The psychosomatic chaos warrior with a real blood pumping in the mortal canister, cannot but nourish the Next World in Its Making. He is the actual God conscious shadow self-perpetuating itself between densities, within the blasphemous technocratic social institutions of the Zionbots. He knaws at what is left of the world’s unreal foundation built on the sands of artificial mortal matter & its imagined molecular fantasies.


We must become necromancians. Our reanimated dead & putrified bodies of tomorrow on the solutive wheel of coagulated fortune, to speak with the honoured dead, joining them in their regalian festivities ultimately in a place of our divinely made Valhallah Kingdom.

With a proud disdain for death, the dying earth so brittle & distraught in all its contours, infested in every part of its terrestrial anatomy by what is the most inferior sort of ‘human defect’ possible.

In spite of this…

I persist in holding upright the immortal sword of my internity, as I walk in and out, thru the Great Architect’s Maze, wandering as a pilgrim wolf in sheep’s clothing, inside this makeshift world of chaos that would uproot the the vital CORD (Hermetical Chain) of my existential being with all its potential good ORDER for a necessaryly HARMONIOUS hyper luminous incarnation!


Carrying on my humble yet hefty shoulders the terrible fault of living in this time within the spacial eugenic anomaly of this imperfect & make believe Universe of 183 Pythagorician Worlds (of a possibly unified field of dystopian disorder) : …of having done wrong and of what I have proudly done RIGHT according to what is the best in me of the Grail Blood still valiantly flowing in my veins. Of being of the Haughty RACE that makes me defiant, conceited & proud. Rather than to weep searching for some kind of prosthetics to prevent the TRAGIC END of our RACE (that would pretend to hold it up with a variety of epistemological tooth-picks!), on living unafraid, not constrainedly bowed down to some sort of supercilious puritanical catechismal handbook; I shall preserve & exalte her (the RACE thanks to my naughty pilgrim ways) avoiding thru her alchemical death with me, those filthy bureacratic clutches that have up till recently martyred the DEAR HOLY EARTH of the Arya & her SACRED RACIAL LAWS since my birth.

I have decided to take HER with me into the biting loneliness, across the great Abyss. Replacing the Architect’s so-called Golden Mean & Standard with a FREQUENCE of my own concoction using no libidinous bunnies.

To a haven of resurrected spiritual flesh, to an elsewhere, to a Summerland all enthralled by a rapturous double lightning to over & above the limitations of these Heavens overhead. Below & beyond the now empty cavities of the hollow earth.

Let the midgets down there fight to the death their own empty square root.

Agartha, Asgard is a very real place. Between Two peaks. Where TWO rivers meet. Under the New Dawn. Where a dead fish takes on life going for a swim into the watery waves of Eternal Internity. The path where Alexander couldn’t go, of Al Khidr, the Green Man.

I have been there.

When I die here, SHE’ll have to die with me. Then it’ll be time to take HER, to the next level, the eternal unending cycle of the Permanent Aryan Man, the kingdom of my Sacred RIGHT, Sacred CUBIT & REAL WORTH!



  1. The Runes are quintessential to the Aryan way. There are no Native African Runes, no Native Asian, or American Runes. Runes have followed only the wanderings of the Aryans since the battle of the Ten Kings.
    If one may want to learn more about runes, several scholars have made available the alphabetical associations with runes. In terms of the rest, you must be prepared to drop your preset notions provided for you by those who demand your slavery.
    Essentially, the Rune in question bespeaks a journey. For some of us, this journey has led us into very dark places. This is the way it ends, for many but not all. Remember yourselves, children of the stars. Don't ever forget what Maria tried to tell you.

  2. Then about the dream about my strange dream about a green man. I don't know if I had this dream before or after my son threw the Green man into "watery sludge snow", but it was many years ago. I was standing outside of a big building, a mall or big center of some kind. I was looking up toward a window 3-4 floors up, and there I saw a man sitting in the window resting his back toward the window, but I only saw his green jacket, not his face. Then I found myself walking at the inside of that very big building, and I was passing a woman who was sitting inside of a store, and she had many sharp arrows in a quiver, so I tried to avoid her in case she was hostile. I passed a whole lot of stores, rooms, walked a lot and was coming down some narrow pathway, hall, after having walked "everywhere", and in front of me I saw a green man walking in the same direction as me, forward, down toward the sea, as if we were walking on a quai. He appeared as if he was naked to me, with no clothes, (hopefully) probably just underwear, but I am not sure, and then there was a slippery slope, the path slid downwards a little as when one are getting closer to stepping into a boat, but I saw no boat. Then he turned and stretched his arms toward me and helped me down a meter to the spot he was standing upon, and for the first time we were standing together, but I can`t remember his face. All of the sudden he started running very fast and jumped into the sea, and lay there, floating upon the water, as if he was a boat. I just stood there looking at him, and I woke up before knowing if I jumped after him. Several years later, maybe last year, I remembered the dream when looking at the "path" Chaka Khan was walking at here (I'm every woman): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWBfJay2c38

  3. It is interesting what you write about the meaning of that rune letter "R". If space allows, I`d like to share two things with you, one from real life and the other one from a dream. Maybe 13 years ago my handicapped son, my husband and I visited my uncle in central Oslo. My son rushed in grabbing a very old English dictionary, which my uncle used when reading old science fiction books, and threw it out of his window even before I had the time to take off my shoes. He also threw his favorite toy which we called "The Green man" out of the window, and really wanted it back. He and I walked down on the street looking below the window where there was a big heap of wet snow; sludge. It was impossible to find Green man and the antique dictionary, and both my uncle and my son were frustrated. My son who can hardly speak several times said: "Kan jeg få grønn mann?", and I tried to teach him: You threw it out of the window, you can`t have it back. We were not able to find an new green man in the toy store, it was way too expensive and big, and lacked the "charm" of the first one. My uncle never found a new antique English dictionary, but he is an intelligent man and understands what the old science fictions books try to tell him about all of those sexy green women in space, but from then of he was in "alarm preparedness mode" each time we arrived, and I was happy that my son did not have that "Hulk" anymore, because I was afraid it was teaching my son how to put his face in the correct "play mood" each time he did not get his will. He is usally a nice boy, but his handicap and lack of language sometimes made him speek with his fists. I will talk about the dream in my next comment.

    • Hard to believe English is not this man's first language. He is in fact a Frenchman. I guess that's why so many great writers wind up in France, they truly are masters of language…

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