Counter-Currents
1,154 words
Congratulations, folks. We are about a week into our second White Boy Summer and already things are, as the kids like to say, popping. Roe v. Wade has been overturned, hoes are mad, and we still have most of the summer ahead of us. I write these words and a pleasant laziness permeates my body, calling me to the inactivity of the shade and the self-satisfaction of summertime repose.
Last year there was an “official White Boy Summer soundtrack” which was heavy on rap and other forms of negro music. While White Boy Summer was indeed invented by the wigger Chet Hanks, the instinctual impulse behind it is quintessentially white, one could even say Aryan. As such, I never believed a white boy summer soundtrack should consist of anything but California surf rock.
The dream of summer is an almost universal presence in European culture. European man has been forged by winter, and our flesh and souls are embers of defiance in Old Man Winter’s kingdom. And yet, European man is always dreaming of a life without that onerous season. Unburdened by worries of civilizational death or the softness that would arise out of a lack of hardship, our ancestors sought after and yearned for an easier life, the yearning for endless summer. European man, a product of the icy North, yearns to conquer for himself a piece of the South, a piece of summer, so that he may have a brief respite from the endless war against winter.
When we talk about Tiki culture, we talk about the culture of those Americans who conquered the Pacific Ocean and Polynesia in the Second World War. It is an expression of escape from the humdrum of everyday life into the warm, welcoming sand and sea of a Polynesian island, of drinking a Mai Tai under the shade of lush vegetation as bronze-skinned native girls, unspoiled by Western ideas of propriety, frolic in the shallows. We talk about a land without cold, without winter, and with no need for the rigors of discipline — a place where a warrior takes solace. We talk about a sort of Heaven.
Post-war Europe did not look to Polynesia in building its summer cult, but to its own long-suffering southern frontier: the Mediterranean. In that kaleidoscope of cultures and nations, Europe looked to find solace after the cataclysm which nearly ended our race. First it was Dalida, herself an Italian born in Egypt who took inspiration from sun-kissed Italy and Greece, and even the Arab world, to forge a new exoticist aesthetic in Europe. She was followed by ABBA, the Swedish pop group which remains to this day the best example of exoticism done right. I’ve called ABBA the most perfect expression of Aryan aesthetics only half in jest. After all, what is more Aryan than to pluck absent-mindedly at a lyre while a woman in a state of undress sings, yearning for the last horizon — a sunny, sandy beach looking out to an infinite ocean? And while you’re at it, why not have a Mai Tai?
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As I type these words, hundreds of thousands of Europeans are seeking out the Mediterranean basin’s ancient shores in order to experience their week or ten days of heaven. Friendly and overweight German salarymen will roast themselves a peculiar shade of red and drink thrice their weight in beer daily in the courtyard alehouses of the Balearic Islands. Droves of Britishers will overtake the Greek islands and demonstrate once again the sad fate of people who’ve come out the ass end of the civilization-wringer. Russians in their thousands will descend upon Italy and Turkey, the men making spectacles of themselves with their drinking and the women with their beauty. Aryan Man will once again arrive in force on the shores of Mare Nostrum and honor the blood of untold millions — Roman, Greek, Spanish, French, English, and German — who have perished there by bathing his body in its sacred waters, imbibing its magic potions, participating in the bacchanalia on Ibiza and Crete, and sacrificing his skin to Father Sun.
But there is one place where the sublimated Aryan cult of summer and Sun is stronger than anywhere else. I am, of course, talking about the edge of the world and all of Western civilization — and no, not the whole state, either, just the iconic Southern half where we’ve all been (and I don’t mean on vacation). It’s what you get when you light out for the territory ahead of the rest to avoid being adopted and sivilized by Aunt Sally, at scale. People ran from the onerous life imposed by civilization until there was nowhere left to run, and somehow or other, they ended up in La-La Land.
Its current woes – multitudinous, but all stemming from demographic displacement — notwithstanding, it’s important to remember that California was at one point a white state; indeed, a conservative white state and a center of the summer-loving Tiki culture as well as the treasured surfer dude culture. The beach bum: tall, blond, chiseled like a Greek god, sun-kissed (but not like the neurotic and feminine bodybuilder of the ‘80s or today), laid back, relaxed and friendly, amusedly contemptuous of bourgeois norms of “work” and “money” – in short, a Diogenes with the beauty of Alexander, or Alexander were he truly Diogenes. Unhurried and relaxed, SoCal beach life was genuinely the end of the West — or how it should have ended, at any rate: Aryan Man, forged by ice, finally conquering this land of endless summer and living out the rest of his years in well-earned bliss. Alas, it was not to be, but that’s a story for another day.
When we say White Boy Summer, we awaken the ancestral yearning for the land of summer. We imagine a victory state for the white race: a land where cold hath no more dominion. It is a Faustian dream, no doubt, but then again, we are who we are. When we say White Boy Summer, we yearn for the promise of Sun, sea, sand, and above all, carefree youth, a respite from the terrifying progress of time and the attendant spell of ageing. When we say White Boy Summer, we stake our claim to the warm regions of the planet and announce our intent to hew them to our will.
White Boy Summer is far more than a pathetic wigger’s attempt to invigilate himself into blackness, but rather a bold and shameless proclamation of summertime whiteness. It is a glove thrown down on the sand and a message to the swarthy races of the world that the heat will not protect them, and that like the proverbial mad dogs and Englishmen, we will walk in the midday Sun, and we will swim, fish, surf, frolic, and build sandcastles.
There is no escaping Aryan Man. He will have his summer, his sea and sand, and by God, he will have his Mai Tai.
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17 comments
Thank you Nicholas! Like you when I hear White Boy Summer I also think of the documentary The Endless Summer. I’m certain we’re not alone. Frankie and Annette just don’t do it justice.
Excellent piece.
I stopped dreading summer when I set my foot in the Balkans. Finally a season where every day isn’t filled with fighting for every breath.
The overturning of Roe v. Wade was a victory for Conservative Inc. and Christian leaders, neither of which at present have the best interests of white people at heart. Abolishing abortion in a multiracial society where whites are being outbred amounts to white genocide. A few liberal tears are no consolation, their wailing was never all that pleasant on the ears.
At least the blackest and most liberal states will probably still allow it. Here’s hoping a new ghoulish trend of abortion tourism will restore balance.
It will also save some white babies from being killed and just might make white women think twice before exacerbating hookup culture, which has destroyed the white American family.
I am a 💯 percent white advocate and see it differently. Wrong is wrong. My advocacy for my race doesn’t permit me to condone killing any innocent human life. There are millions of white babies aborted too. And no one ever talks about why white women have become so brainwashed and self hating they refuse to get married and have children at all in many cases. This problem goes far deeper.
We had a precursor to SoCal WBS in Vandal North Africa. A Vandal state surviving until the modern day is one of my favorite counter factuals. It could have been both a paradise and a super power.
Imagine how nice Egypt or morocco would be if they were European for the last 2,000 years…
Nicely said. All true, but I must admit, it’s Autumn that shivers me timbers.
“Like the missionaries who deplored the laid-back lifestyle and sexual freedom of the Polynesians, there’s a considerable element on the Right that fetishizes the cold, dark, dismal nature of Northern Europe. Somehow, this is supposed to be “truly Aryan,” and we are to feign nostalgia for some frozen Game of Thrones hellhole, embrace our supposed identity as “Ice People,” shunning bathing, wearing itchy rags, and wolfing down fermented shark “like our ancestors did.” Isn’t the Southern land of Sun and fun now the antithesis of Aryan man? Esoteric Nazism explains the paradox as well: in Wilhelm Landig’s novel Wolfzeit zum Thule, the character SS Major Eyken expounds thusly:
“The North Pole is the theonium of the world, associated with Lucifer, the light-bearer of the north, and Prometheus and represents the spiritual source of all Aryan strength. As its counterpart, the South Pole is the place of greatest materialization and all demonic energies. Using the ying-yang symbol as a model, he indicates that this “white” northern spiritual zone has spawned a “black” point: materialist forces of high finance and Masonic lodges prevail in the United States superpower; the Americans are usurping the Aryans with their own “Thule” base in Greenland; and the Soviets are seeking to develop their own military presence in the Arctic. The Aryans must therefore shift their spiritual potential southward and form a “white” point in the “black” spiritual zone in order to tap its powers for their own purposes in the reclamation of the North. Their goal is the repurified, white sun, the sol invictus of Mithraism, which will ultimately succeed the Black Sun, their present symbol of revanchist military power.”
“This is Tiki Culture: a beachhead – a “white point” – of Aryan culture, within the American zone (or at least the West Coast thereof), tapping the powers of the Pacific Islands. The American veterans thought they were constructing an escape; actually, they were opening up a second front.”
https://counter-currents.com/2019/01/con-tiki/
The South Pacific is also where Lovecraft placed Cthulhu and R’lyeh. R’lyeh was in large part inspired by real life Nan Madol, which according to legend was built by twin sorcerers who transported massive basalt stones with magic. There’s also the legends of the lost continent of Mu/Lemuria being in the Pacific. Regardless of whether there’s any truth to these stories, they do demonstrate that something mysterious about the region speaks to the human soul, and especially to whites.
I have never commented before, despite reading for some time, but of all the excellent writing this publication produces, this has been my favorite read by far… and read while baking in the late evening embers of the northern summer sun.
Counterproposal: engulf the Earth in eternal winter, shroud the sun in endless night, fill the land with unending darkness, blanket the world with sheets of ice.
I don’t know what good would really come out of that, but it sounds pretty cool.
More seriously, imagining a life of perfect ease in an endless summer is arguably a bad thing and a sign of social decline. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the summer cult took off just as western civilization took a nosedive. The annual rotation of seasons is critical to the formation of western man’s world feeling; the experience of enduring winter every year and the knowledge that the easy days of summer will always be followed by hard days to come teaches men key lessons not only about their own survival but the nature of the universe. Wishing these vital experiences away is tantamount to wishing to resign from the struggles of life – which is of course impossible and attempting to do so is simply an invitation to your enemies. The summer cult is a delusion of world weary “ice people” who are tired of history – those who actually dwell in lands of endless summer know it isn’t anything special.
I agree with everything you wrote, even coating the world with ice, I can get on board with that. But pointing out that the changing of the seasons is necessary to world-weary ice people is like trying to explain to a peasant farmer who engages in backbreaking labor every day that the comforts of the city will make his son soft. He knows it, and he’s for it.
Counter-Currents is a Mai Tai Nationalist website.
I am reminded of the William Holden character in Bridge On The River Kwai. I am reminded of the Ricky Nelson song Traveling Man, the part about his Polynesian sweetheart. I am reminded of old movies like From Here To Eternity where the soldiers, airmen, and sailors wore Hawaiian shorts and khakis as civvies.
California was America’s America. The pinnacle of the good life in western civilization. Watching the Joel Schumacher film Falling Down some 30 years ago served as the wake up call from my childhood reverie of Brady Brunch and CHiPs scenes. Schumacher, no conservative, doesn’t shrink from portraying the barrios of LA as nothing short of the hellscapes they are, full of graffiti, litter, cholos, overgrown weeds and other dysfunction.
I adore this. You have no idea. But for the love of God, disassociate from rap and other modern black “musical” creations. This stuff is poison in every way, has brainwashed white young people, and is a deterrent to beautiful white boy summer.
Perhaps some kind of “White Boy Summer” CD is in the cards with a collection of pro-White songs? Make it the soundtrack for the summer.
Also, let’s see a review of “The Endless Summer,” the 1966 surfer documentary made at the highpoint of America’s White youth culture (the graphic at the top of the article is from the film poster). There’s some great contemporary footage of California, Australia and South Africa. You can see where the White world was, and what it might be again.
So pass the Mai Tais and don’t forget the toy umbrellas.
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