Der Kristos

Der Kristos A.H. at Gustav Zunkel funeral, 1934.

7 responses to “Der Kristos

  • Hosner

    I gasp, an Incredible post is upon us all, in this moment blindness becomes an answer, holy and neccessary at once:
    having seen Him, having seen Hitler, on this particular photograph, my sight seems redundant, as it were, all of a sudden.

    What else could there be after this? More ‘land’?
    After this hitherto unseen photograph.
    Beauty had her fill of Beauty. Bar is the sole rune with closed lines.

    The urge to seal this ophthalmic eucharist with eternal night, with blindness. Here, take my eyes, the vision being etched into the cortex of my brain, I will pawn them for the eternal and exact Recollection of this AH Icon: I’ve washed my soul in its light. It is with Blood that I now see and observe the approach of Ragnarök. Faster!

    Even as it is written: the righteous will be nourished by the likeness of Kristos.

    Can this be? Our Fuhrer, our Father: Adolf Hitler dressed in uniform, sitting in a chair; as pure as a child, an Icon of regal modesty, of virgin totality, thus of strength, of power, of force: Alaf Sal Fena.
    It is difficult to describe this Hagal-Null Image.
    Words fail me, reduced to unexpected joy I am yet confused: never has divinity walked in such merciless proximity to Armen.

    “All Armen die well when the circumstances call, otherwise, you are not an Arman.” (The Complete Armanen, page 53, The 55 Club, USA 2012)

    Imagine the privilege of those that were allowed to share his personal company.
    Heaven on earth in Germany.
    His raven black hair is a starry portal, a miracle, his white skin so delicate as to almost be a wound: it is a shield of light, impenetrable.
    He saved the whole world, the tribe of evil Jews included, and found Himself, after all was said and done, slightly pensive for a spell, because love always struggles – without hope – unto Victory.
    Hail Victory!

  • delendaestziobot

    This is a photo of the true Hitler.

    After a while when one has studied His face long enough then one will see that there is a duplicate Hitler that appears later. Just as Don Miguel suggests in his cryptic way in MAYA:Reality Is An Illusion. The duplicate Hitler has different mannerisms and body language and his face is different also.

  • Hosner

    The above photo is truly a gift. Hitler’s holiness visibly, ever so gently, permeats the atmosphere, it is palpable.
    He’s allowing the funerary feeling of sadness to bring what is human into a mysterious focus; a parting of ways, a secret ocean of joy.
    In a rare moment He reveales Himself as supremely unique, solemn and silent, administering the bounties of His being to an appreciative kosmos.
    I recognize Him as a living Holy Grail, carrying in Her depths the Destiny of West and the world as a whole.

    • delendaestziobot

      A figure if holiness from another world. Those around could not perhaps even be there at all, as if they are mere shadowy reflections of this world… I ask myself; did they really share his company, or was He utterly alone in this world? Confusion, confusion, and as the image portrays – despair.

  • laryensoufi

    …as ALONE as the Polar Star in the Northern Heavens. All in One Son of men…the Root of conscience & of conscious life. A Warrior Guide to a people now disappeared safe thru true fables & sacred yearning.

  • Hosner

    A despair heavy as lead is our destiny. Because of the nature of our path that knows no difference between eros and nostalgia.
    But mostly to avoid getting sidetracked on account of the strength of our hopes and enthusiasms that owe their force to the lucid quality of our vision. Confusion, on the other hand, is not our destiny but our enemy. I wouldn’t dare speculate on the influence of Hitler’s hopes and fears with respect to His Work, but the more I seek and strive towards Him, towards my Fuhrer, our Fuhrer, the clearer emerges this impression of a supremely lonely and unique being. A Logos unto Himself. A man divine whose energetic constitution was so unique as to be able to comprise within Himself more than one soul. I don’t wish to sound disrespectful in any way, and I apologize in advance to all those that may feel my theories to be in poor taste, but sometimes I think that
    1. Himmler,
    2. Hess,
    3. Goering and
    4. Goebbles were “but” different aspects of His psyche that He exteriorized on this plane. But at the same time they were completely autonomous microcosmi, individuals in their own right with a separate destiny, obviously. I don’t know how to verbalize this; I feel it is one of the mysteries that are part of the secret of His Person.
    Adolf Hitler wrote but two poems, I think, yet He is the supreme poet. He composed no symphonies, operas or other musical scores, as far as I know, yet He is the world’s greatest composer and conductor, the greatest architect, the deepest writer and philosopher of the human condition, the most galvanizing orator and the greatest miltary stratege, statesman and politician, whose only misfortune was that He had to work with inferior materials.
    This didn’t prevent Him from leaving His unique imprint on the texture of this world that is still in the process of revealing the exact nature and scope of said imprint.
    A world crawling with humans that possess so little imagination, so little courage, that they seem destined to forever remain slaves. The voices of our enemies who pride themselves on having prevailed, is but one big cacophony that’s been polluting the aethyrs for some seventy-two years now.
    They still haven’t realized, providentially so, that they cannot possibly prevail. But the truly tragic thing is that even the so-called positive “narratives” are compromised to the point of having to express themselves (with)in a Jewish myth, not realizing that it is but a seeming plus of a gigantic negative terminal. They can’t stand the purity of Adolf Hitler. His oratorial monuments and sculptures are not to their taste because they can’t stand the purity, the sheer breathtaking nakedness of His ecstasy. It hurts them to see Him circling so high above their tallest marks, frighteningly impervious. The light of Truth revealed them as worms, but instead of seeking function and mirth, even pride, in the fact, their only reaction is to feel offended. All they know (how) to feel is arrogance.
    It seems it truly takes an imagination of an Overman to seek and find glory and fulfillment in the destiny of a worm.

    “The Aryan is an Aesir and the Vira with plough in one hand and sword or lance in the other, always leaving, always going, caught in the blades of the Leftwards Swastika, Wotan’s Mill, in the attempt to return to the lost Homeland that he shall never recover,”

    (Miguel Serrano: MANU, p.133; Hermitage Helm Corpus Australia 2012.)

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