Christopher Jon Bjerknes
Ancient Rome has disappeared and with it the blond haired Romans, and their gods. The golden haired Greeks are gone, and with them, their gods, once renamed by the blond haired Romans, to be their Roman gods, and protectors.
The Jewish god is a jealous god. It seeks to rule and then exterminate all other gods, and with the gods, the human beings those gods protect. The Jews sought first to destroy the temples of the gods of human beings, then exterminate the human beings themselves. There is something to this, which is perhaps better explained by a religious person, rather than an amateur mystic like me.
I have no religious upbringing. But recently, I visited the Field Museum of Natural History, which I often frequented as a child, having once been featured in the Museum's newsletter as a child. I was reminded by the many exhibits of old cultures, what a prominent role religion and mysticism played in all ancient cultures, and how the Jews destroyed most human cultures and religion, having replaced most of them with comparatively banal and uninspired Judaism.
There is something very important to this, something which others than myself should focus on, having in them something passed along from thousand of years ago, which I lack. The Jews have "cut off" this link to my human roots, having sought to substitute a plastic idol which, like a plastic child's doll, would replace in me something more alive, those gods who danced with my ancestors around ancient fires, and raised courage in the man who faced evil without self-pity and thrust a spear into its neck and chewed on its still beating heart to take from it its supernal power and place it in their own bloodstream.
Instead, I was taught to degrade and doubt the internal power which made me better, more moral and stronger than the weak and stupid around me, the internal power which is the human being, the proud, the loving, the dignified who will fight for his dignity and that of all others, and who listens, which is the key, listens without doubt to the human being that is us all.
This personal power which makes us so strong, is what the Jew so wants to kill as the Jew kills the gods. For the gods are servants, myths which make the man strong, so strong that the Jew must not win, because the people, the children who arise from our individual struggle to find the best of love and human walking gods, the angels who arise from our love of one another, they are us and us better than us, our children whom the Jews must kill. The children are our gods, our immortality, our hope, and why we wake, and why we fight, and why we love and work and build. They are the Elohim, the Goyim and the Goy gods, the Jews are killing. They, they our children, need us to be strong and to fight and to win, for if we lose we die and with us, those angels who came from us to give us life everlasting, wither and die.
Love them, our children, by conquering the slimiest pedophile, the most horrifying monster, the most deadly disease, the Jew. Love them, our children, by taking from this World the Jew who seeks to seduce and murder them.
The gods, the crowns on the priests' heads, the dances and songs, the love of gold and silk and feathered robes and showey headdresses, are nothing compared to the soft hair of my child. The love in me for that which is me and yet better than me, so hated by the Jew, so loved by me, how can you cower and not stand to save all that is us, and save for our children, their future, our future through them?
The Jew is death and the love of death, the poison poured on your food, the poison that kills your gods, the poison that turns your blood into twelve fingered mutated monsters that mock and destroy life, that is the Jew, the Jew leaching into the soil with uranium and plutonium poison, that Jew that cuts down the trees and changes the corn into a mutant jealous Jewish god that demands tribute and kills all that is real and human, by twisting its living soul into the worship of death.
The Jews say that Moses did not know the Jewish god until Exodus chapter 6, verse 3, but before them the Israelites had each tribe its own god, each tribe its own children. But the Jews killed all of these, leaving only Judah, the Jews and with Judah Jehovah the death wish to kill all, that is their Jewish god, the death of all children, all tomorrows, all unique tribes, all better days and yet unseen ways. The Jew named it Jehovah, the death of us all, every culture, every religion, every person.
And tomorrow is almost dead. The Jews are strong, now. The checkmate is near. The Jew killed the Egyptians and their gods. If those gods were beautiful, let others sing their songs, I was raised without gods and have a hoarse voice for such praises. The Romans and Greeks are dead in Jewish hewn tombs, like the magnificent Russ and Germans, and with them their magnificent gods.
That somber god that is mine is freedom and a mouth unafraid to speak what the brain that guides it speaks. I am an American from birth. My gods of love and pride and freedom give me strength of speech and the love to not be afraid to fight for what I believe. To fight for my children whose tender throat has a Jewish knife forever at its soft vessels.
Please join me. My children need more than me to be their legacy to ancient gods who delivered their blood still beating in warm hearts from cold and compassionless forests. I was born without gods, but in me there is the mystic who hears the voice of love and of tomorrows and does not want to die in the Jews' rough hewn and moldy coffin. There is the voice of life that tells me to step here and not in the pit the Jews have dug for us all. I cannot know your gods, but I can love your humanity and welcome you to the eternal garden where I take life.
Join me and live. There is much and we need only give one another this life, unconfused by Jewish lies.
I walked, alone as my child watched the theater of a puppet show. I walked alone in the old familiar halls of the Field Museum of Natural History; and I, a mystic raised without religion, prayed for a natural future for the human race. My daughter emerged from the dark theater of a puppet show on new uncertain feet, searching me out. I was ancient and so morbid, caught in the old world of old religions hanging on dusty manikans, unchanged even from my long ago youth. She walked fresh from a new thought, seeking me out, sweet in fresh clothes and new thoughts, and old this old museum of my youth was smaller than tiny she, smaller than in my youth; and I recalled that I was already in the multiplying tissues of her magnificent brain waiting for her to reawaken it, that innocent ancient it that prayed to live, she is all, and I, without her, nothing, as bronze and dead as the statues of the old museum of my old youth that would capture the once alive, a gangrenous green patina mocking myself in a frozen image of myself, but she lived anew and her life is a search for me and my human dreams which the Jews would end.
I sat and ate with the Armenians, once or twice, Armenians whom the Jews sought to erase from their Jewish god's book of life. Food, it does not truly become us, though in it we taste the Earth that sustains our life. We are more than its electric dust, and I tasted this as I gazed into ancient Armenian eyes which wondered if they could trust me, if they could trust anything, anymore, after so much. Dust becomes beautiful when it lives with us, but alone it is as dry as the dead light of stars that perished a billion years ago and yet lit us only today. We are more than dust and the Armenians knew this before the Jews stole their history to make it their own.
There is much to the struggle of the Armenians to live, and the Jews to murder them, every last one of them, much that is important for us all to know. The Armenians dreamed up that god the Jews would take from them. But look in Armenian eyes to know the difference. I have researched until the dry and mildewy dust of libraries chocked my throat to know why the Jews want them dead, every one of them, those Armenians, and why the Armenians flirt with this death, the Jew, and so court death. And in these silent archives of the dead, which tell us so much we must know, I see the warm and tender eyes of the Armenians in otherwise Jewish faces, and I see the haunted and hateful eyes of the Jews in otherwise Armenian faces, and the struggle of the jealous Jewish god, and the lost Armenian god, is told in this tale of tender eyes and hateful haunted Jewish eyes that cut off Armenian heads and spit on Armenian graves.
I am somewhere else from these ancient religious beings. I am human, alive now, and I am American. I love freedom and I love life, and care not for gods that live in death. I care not for Jews who live to murder, or for martyrs who live to die. I search for fighters who fight to live.
Join me and live. All those ancients whose moldy clothes hang on chipped manikins in the Field Museum of Natural History do not any longer inspire dreams of life in me, but rather fill me with sorrow in their death. Their death is no longer a religion for me. I want to live and for my children to live. Join me and let us live, now and forever, as long as it lasts.