It’s Independence Day, that one day of the year when Americans pretend it’s still 1950 and not 2016. A cold front has just come over my town, making the sky prematurely dark. I think of La Raza, 50 million Mexicans peering out of their barrios at fireworks in faraway exurbs with hatred and fear. When they burn the American flag outside of Trump rallies, are they thinking of Wise Latinas and transnational mulattos? No, they are spitting on women and children who dare to remain in the territory they’ve conquered.
I believe with all my heart that only Jesus Christ himself can save my people, and yet we look to government—to beautiful ideals and politicians and demagogues. Is it good to laugh at a funeral? Put away your fireworks and put on sackcloth, you wretched fools! Has anyone gathered two of each kind of animal? Who has stored up seven years’ worth of grain? We look to government for peace of mind, the same government that gelded my entire generation with education, living costs, debt, and plastic bottles, and bid our replacements to be fruitful. The generations that came before don’t even have enough sense to be drunkards.
Insofar as I see whites returning to Christianity, they are all cultural Christians, Churchians who are too lazy to attend church and too stupid to study history. Show me a town with ten righteous men who fear God and I’ll show you a nation that will inherit this land.
Night falls, and yet there are no stars. Where is the heavenly host? I see only fireworks, brilliant against a backdrop of stormclouds. Repent, all you spermless wretches! It is still not too late for the Lord to save us.