Moslems are commiting ummacide, the suicide of the whole of the Moslem population. It's not a celebratory occassion for those of us not Moslems. It's a sickening event for us. And if we do not stop it physically, we will physically suffer to death from the suicide of the umma, the death of a billion Molsems means their rotting bodies on the ground are going to be impossible to burn and bury before the corruption spreads plagues across the face ot the world. Even the most choking nutter has to concede that the deaths of a billion people is dangerous to him, and that simple prudence requires we stop the self-extermination of the Moslem population.
It's the Moslems themselves who are so far from prudence and instincitive self-preservation that we must intervene to save ourselves from their destruction. [cf. William Walker; Aether Uber-Mench; Melian Dialogue; What is to be Done?]
How can it be that even Moslems born, raised, and educated in the West can turn out to be homocide bombers? How can people raised in the West and seemingly 'normal' turn into Human bombs used to kill their neighbours? These are educated and intelligent people. Have we done something wrong? Is there anything wrong at all? Or is this simply the nature of biology at work? Is this the outcome of the Darwinian theme of survival of the most adaptable? Is this Nature's way of telling the dysfunctional that it's time to shuffle off this mortal coil, its hour passed? How can seemingly ration people commit suicide by murder and murder by suicide? How can a whole, massive sub-group of Humanity simply commit "suicide by cop" by antagonizing the world at large to drop the big one on them? It's crazy, and these suicidal types are born and raised here, educated, like us. But obviously there's something very different about them.
In revisions we'll include quotations from V.S. Naipaul, Among the Believers in which he qoutes Moslems from around the world living with two internalized and opposed world-views; and that opposition between the one and the other world-view is where we might find the answer to the problem of the homocidal Moslem killer who seems so normal right up till the time he kills as many of his neighbours as he can in a mindless attack on people much like himself-- and himself.
The umma is commiting suicide, ummacide, because it cannot cope with both Modernity and its innate primitivism. When the cognative dissonance of the voice within the bicameral mind reaches an intolerable pitch, "Boom goes London, boom Paree," to quote Randy Newman. And boom goes the Moslem bomber and his victims. The whole of the Moslem population is a bomb, imploding. The shriek of madness is driving them to kill themselves and anyone else they can take with them in their hatred of Modernity and the schizoid terror it causes in their minds. The basic Moslem in dar al-Islam is little better than a farm animal, living his miserable life as a displaced hunter/gatherer or subsistence farmer unchanged from the life of his ancestors of 5,000 years ago-- except that the Modern world is now all around him, and even in his own daily life: the shoes on his feet, the Pepsi in his mouth, the Olvin Klien jeans, the Sunny Walkman, the Ace Aftershave. The compartmentalization of his mind, the way he is and the way of his outer life cannot meet in conjunction without massive emotional turmoil and conflict. When the primitive confronts the conflict of his two mind-rooms, when the wall cracks and the contents of the two comingle, the Moslem explodes.
From what we've seen so far of the emotion of fascism: the cult of death-worship; the hatred of mediocrity, and the need for a grand gesture to redeem the man in his own estimation; the authoritarianism, and hero worship of the leader; the blood purity fetish; the soil idolatry; the hatred of urbanity; the hatred of cosmopolitianism; the false nostalgia; the Romance fallacy; the irrationalism and emotionalism of primitivists; the utopianism; the mysogyny; the homophobia; and the castration anxiety due to maternalistic smothering until adolescence; all these things confront the primitve who is also living on the periphery of Modernity, dependent on its material goods and wealth to keep him alive phsically; and of that Modernity he has little or no part, being not the hero of his ideal self but a minor parasite in the over-all scheme of things. For the Moslem parasite in the body of Modernity it is enough to take on the trappings of Modernity by learning the minimum adapations that allow him to continue feeding: he becomes a technologist if he's capable, rising into the middle-class economically, sucking up the Modernity without contributing to it in any significant sense, not being part of Modernity itself, simply coming along for the ride. The significant aspects of Modernity, the intellectual revolution that seperates the primitive from the Modernist is lost on him. He can pick up the use of numbers well enough to work as an engineer, perhaps, but he can't pick up the sense of Modernity well enough to fake being a Modernist himself because the walls crash when he tries to truly understand the nature of the equality of women, for example, or the beauty of Bacon's essays. He canb pretend rationality at work, perhaps, and for a short time, but he cannot live as a Modernist in his own mind. He cannot be rational in the world that is Rational. Thus he compartmentalizes his life and it doesn't work. He explodes. He kills others.
The whole of the Islamic world is commiting suicide in its hatred of and rage at the Modernist world. All across the globe we witness the primitives of Islam killing and dying in struggle against Modernity, even in less than modern lands like Thailand and India. The reactionary struggle to return to the pristine primitivism of the true caliphate drives the Moslem world to frenzies of suicidal murder. In the Western Moslem, the interior walls of his bi-cameral mind collapse, and when he explodes the neighbours wonder how such a nice boy, who only a few days ago was strumming his guitar and singing folk songs on the stoop could have turned out net day to be a raving, loony bomber.
"The leader of the Japanese delegation, [at the Versailles Treaty meeetings,] Prince Saionji Kinmochi, ...still thought about natural objects and emotions in Japanese, [but] he thought about technical subjects in French." Piers Brendon, The Dark valley. Vintage Books: New York; 2002: P. 21.
A man at Kinmochi's level of sophistication is lis above the average Moslem peasant living in Leeds, and yet Kinmochi is still locked into his personal history of Emperor worship and bushido. For the Moslem living in a self-contained Islamic ghetto in Britain there is no hope of becoming British in any but the least possible way. He will always revert in monments of privacy to his first, Islamic, emotional state. He will kill you because the inner conflict is driving him literally insane, and there's nothing one can do to stop it.
As there is the ummacidal Moslem, next to him is the policidal dhimmi.
Leaving aside the hate-filled fascist loser for now we can view the average dhimmi in the writings of Primo Levi, Survival in Auschwitz,"The Drowned and the Saved."
To sink is the easiest of matters; it is enough to carry out all the orders one recieves, to eat only the ration, to observe the discipline of the work and the camp. Experience showed that only exceptionally could one survive more than three months in this way. All the musselmans who finished in the gas chambers have the same story, or more exactly, have no story; they foollowed the slope down to the bottom, like streams that run down to the sea. On their entry into the camp, through basic incapacity, or by misfortune, or through some banal incident, they are overcome before they can adapt themselves; they are beaten by time, they do not begin to learn German, to disentangle the infernal knot of laws and prohibitions until their body is already in decay, and nothing can save them from selection or from death by exhaustion. Their life is short, but their number is endless; they, the Muslemanner, the drowned, form the the backbone of the camp, an anonymous mass, continually renewed and always indentical, of non-men who march and labour in silence, the divine spark dead within them, already too empty to really suffer. One hesitates to call them living; ne hesitates to call their death death, in the face of which they have no fear, as they are too tired to understand. (Levi: 1996, p. 90)
Those who are the drowned are the anonymous dhimmis on the streets protesting for this or that current faddish cause, against this or that faddish and imagined manufactured outrage. They are not the saved. They are the drowned who will go down without a murmur. The capos of the lager that is the West today are those who will stuff their predecessors into the ovens as their first task, the Left dhimmis who act in favor of the Moslems who are trying so desperately to conquer the world before they give up and die out forever. It is the drowned, not the capos, who are the policidalists, those who are dying as a political entity by stupidity and complaceny, too slow to grasp the fundamentsals of survival in a lager building itself before their eyes for thier extermination. They, the policides, are dying, and they just don't see it coming or care if they do. They're too tired, too stupid, too mesmerized by the voices inside their heads that tell them this cannot be happening, that all that they see around them is just some temporary nightmare that will go away if only they follow the rules and live quitely. The divine spark within them is gone, and one struggles to say they were ever really alive in the first place. The problem is that they might wake up before it's too late, and they might kill off a billion people in a final act of self-preservation that will kill us all in a plague the world has never seen the likes of before.