Dear Mr. Beardsley:

Many thanks for your letter of 31 AUG and the well received donation. Every bit helps. It looks as if I will need to invest in more Chinese numbering machine ink to re-ink my typewriter ribbon, which fades fast with the volume of typing I do. Cotton ribbons held the ink longer, but they wore out. The acrylic fiber ribbons don't seem to wear out, but they don't hold much ink and they are sold 'pre-faded'. Soon they fade out completely, unless they are re-inked. I first used fountain pen ink, which was much too thin. The numbering machine ink is the right consistency, but what I pay for a little bottle of it is horrendous. Carbon paper is rare. This means,I must wait for the copy place to open, or retype the entire text, if I want a copy for myself. That place charges 18 cents per sheet of carbon paper, whereas photocopies are 7 cents per sheet. The photocopier can be adjusted to darken my faded ink. It also makes sharp contrasts when one copies newspaper articles which are normally grey and black. Older photocopiers used to transfer the night and the fog, worse than the original, and black on red paper came out black all over.The photocopies are now better than the originals! Whitey is sure going to be missed when he's gone!

My father was an airplane enthusiast. He took me up in a two-seater biplane when I was 3, but I have no recollection of my first flight. Dad always wanted to be a pilot, but to him, flying meant open-air cockpits. Since he could not qualify for flight-training, for lack of a high school diploma, the ZOG lost a good combat flyer in World War II. Dad got his high school diploma, finally, in 1940 by taking night courses after his arduous work as a mechanic for a big jew named Karpe in Bakersfield, CA. When war broke out, he became a rig mechanic at Taft. He'd take me out to the oilfields, my first impression of which was black, wooden derricks that marched over the rolling hills as far as one could see in any direction. He showed me the mudpumps which drove the drilling mud down thousands of feet and back up to the surface, bringing up samples, while also driving the mud turbines in the drill bit and cooling the bit. On the upward journey, the mud also lubricated the drill pipe. The mudpumps were hot from the high pressures. On the steam rigs, he showed me the lines of hissing boilers which fed the great engine, which performed great feats of power in virtual silence. Then there were the internal combustion engines, some of which were diesel, others 'gas', meaning they ran on casing head gas from the wells. He would caution me not to play with such things, for I might break them! You know how clumsy some 3 year olds can be. Here and there one heard a 'bang' off in one direction, then another 'bang' from another direction. These were the 'one-lunger' 4-cycle gas engines which ran the pumps of the producing wells, aided by their huge flywheels. They reminded me of a lazy sort of shootout in a cowboy movie. I watched the spinning turntable during drilling and observed the huge travelling block as pipe was raised out of or lowered into the well. All very impressive. The strange thing was my vivid recollection of Dad boosting me up into the cab of a Santa Fe steam locomotive in Bakersfield Station. The engineer showed us the controls and I looked out the cab window, marvelling at how high off the ground we were. That indicates to me that our generations were transposed: Grandfather was keen on the best modern technology: photography, gramophone -- which he made himself, electricity; he installed an electric signal system in a mine, although he was a dentist! He was allergic to horses. Dad was not so modern, for he was most interested in mechanics, how things worked and how they could be made better. He was always interested in automotive and aircraft engineering. In his teens, he rode Harleys and Indian motorcycles, for that gave him the sensation of flying in an open cockpit aircraft. It also gave him a practical excuse for wearing a leather aviator's helmet with goggles. In those days, aviators and motorcyclists dressed the same! As for me, my motto was pretty much "to hell with the future; let's get on with the past!" I enjoyed riding horses. Dad made model airplanes and I played with my Lionel train. He worked on tiny, noisy model airplane engines, while I made cumbersome devices driven by my toy steam engine. I think I was more at home in my great-grandfathers' era! When we took the steamer to Catalina, I was poking my nose into the stokehold, peering into the engine room, observing the steering engine, when we were getting underway or docking. I remain interested in such things, now as I was then. Incidentally, if you ever have need of one, I have the business card of a good Stanley Steamer mechanic in Pennsylvania!

On this topic, I appreciate your information on the diminishing availability of petroleum. John Burton, the geologist whom I mentioned in Canada, claims the opposite. As I say, he has a theory that sounds to me like molecular attraction of like substances. He has never drilled a dry hole, to my knowledge. According to him, his fellow geologists did not think Saskatchewan was rich in oil deposits. He said it was, and it was. The government of Ontario refused him permission to drill down another hundred feet after his exploratory well hit a large volume of gas. As I say, oil is literally forcing its way to the surface in Ontario, especially in Petrolia and Jarvis, You may remember the dire forecasts that we were surely going to run out of whale oil in the 19th century. Well, Whitey discovered petroleum could serve even better, so the whales got a reprieve. There were dire warnings that horse droppings would accumulate in New York city, due to the volume of increasing horse traffic, so that the streets would become impassable. Whitey invented vehicles which did not require horses at all!

As you point out, the problem is the obscene proliferation of mud-people, not the scarcity or abundance of resources, nor the pollution created by increasing consumption thereof. The Sin of the White Man is to share his technology with non-Whites. As a colonial civil servant in Africa, I saw the results of White meddling and the introduction of White technology, which caused an overwhelming proliferation of these stone age subhumans, far beyond their capabilities of sustaining themselves. The worst thing we do is to admit the mud-flood into our own living space, which allows them to breed, while we feed them from our technology so they can conquer us in our own territory.

On a lighter note, let's suppose that we were to run out of petroleum, period. Our vehicles could run on pure alcohol, turpentine or coal gas. The primary inefficiency is the transmission of electric power over distances, which results in one to two-thirds line-loss, which means that one to two-thirds of the fuel used to generate the electricity is wasted and becomes air pollution. Localized power generation would prevent such loss, and Whitey's fuel cells seem to be gaining in efficiency. They can use any heat source to produce electricity. I understand from the jews-media that a cop-shop in jew York City needed much more electric power. The option was to pay for the installation of a new powerline to the station OR to purchase a fuel cell which could be put in the basement. The fuel cell was cheaper and the police station does not need power from outside. The fuel cell runs on natural gas. One day, automobiles could be driven by fuel cells, along with batteries to power electric drive motors. Fuel cell-electric locomotives could replace diesel-electric ones, with heat produced by alcohol, coal, wood chips, etc. In the interim, the steam engine has no problems with any source of heat, and technology has improved over the centuries to the point at which a steam-driven aircraft did aerobatics in 1933. The steam aircraft engine was invented by Bessler. I have further information on steam technology, if you are interested. You might also be interested in my idea for a jet-powered Zeppelin which would use an exhaust-deflector to direct sufficient hot air into the gas-bag, the remainder being used to propel the airship. "'Let's get on with the past!" Ha!

There is also the tried and true German process for making oil out of coal, which the petroleum pirates abolished in the Jew-Ess-Eh, under the Eisenhower regime. This process produced oil for South Africa. Naturally, we can expect the real price of oil to rise, as demand increases relative to supplies. Before we experience a real oil shortage, I predict that drinking water will become scarce and even more critical. Increased consumption and pollution of water supplies insures that water scarcity is a matter of 'when' not 'if'. I am pretty tolerant in regard to drinking water which tastes a bit 'funny', but the drinking water which flows out of the taps in Yakima tastes a wee bit too funny for me, so I buy bottled water, which tastes better. If I am getting poisoned, at least I want better-tasting poison! Many local water wells are deemed too polluted with toxic chemical wastes even to be used for bathing! Since the advent of plastics pesticides and fertilizers, water pollutants are no longer the sort of organic matter which sedimentation and chlorination can eliminate. Activated carbon filters are the only means of removing the advanced chemical toxins which 'go with the flow'. The Romans used such filters for their drinking water while poisoning themselves with lead, which has been blamed for the die-off of the Roman upperclasses. Even boiling and distillation do not remove many of the volatile chemical solvents now present in our water.

The outwardly green and gleaming computer chip industry in Silicon Valley, CA, created a subterranean 'cloud' in the groundwater which is highly toxic and carcinogenic, according to studies of the well water in the area. Hey, don't worry, we may find a source of drinkable water on the World Wide Web! Have a big glass of this virtual water. Eventually, we may have to synthesize water from hydrogen and oxygen. Such a deal! In Germany, people have told me that the municipal water systems test the river water for chemical contaminants daily, and that their water treatment includes the addition of chemicals which react with the contaminants to produce a stable sludge, which settles out. It is a constant race to neutralize new chemicals as they appear in the rivers. One ad in a German magazine showed a grinning skeleton with a drinking glass in one bony hand. The caption read: "Rheinwasser macht schlank!" (Rhine water makes you slim!).

Industrialized agri-business depletes the soil and pollutes the earth and the water. The idea is, of course, so capitalists can make ever more money while feeding the mud-masses so they can breed more and more human cockroaches. Such a deal! As the brown mass pours into the Yakima region, farmland is being taken over by developers. After one developer built his houses on a tract which was previously a hop farm, authorities told him no one could live in them, because the soil was too toxic for children to play on! Let's have another glass of beer. As you mention, we derive many useful things from petroleum, such as pesticides, fertilizers, plastics, solvents, and massive environmental pollution; the price for the benefits. The petro-alcohol additive, the alphabet soup letters I forget, was hardly in use for a decade before it appeared throughout the U.S.A. as a water contaminant. The petro-gangsters objected to the use of alcohol as an anti-knock substance, so they made their own 'alcohol' from petroleum, which is at least as toxic as tetra ethyl lead. The automotive industry is in thrall to the petro-gangsters since their engines are designed to consume more fuel and deliver less power. Such a deal! The so-called 'anti-pollution' devices are designed both to consume fuel which the internal combustion engine cannot use, while reducing engine performance. One brand of motorcycle cannot run at all, as it comes off the production line, until the 'anti-pollution' device is disconnected and/or detoured, according to mechanics and riders of that motorbike. My father used to say that the Model A Ford was the last 'honest' car made in the U.S.A. In terms of its metallurgy construction and performance, it was the 'best' that could be achieved. Subsequent automobiles, he said, were less well-constructed and designed, despite the accumulated knowledge, as the capitalist idea of 'planned obsolescence' seeped into our industries. As a long-time auto mechanic, Dad noted that the standard transmissions became sub-standard when the auto industry began to push automatic transmissions. A standard transmission saved my bacon on several occasions, because I could push-start the vehicle when the battery went flat. I consider the standard transmission an essential safety device on any vehicle, especially if the brakes fail going downhill! Nowadays, gear-shifting provides additional safety, since it keeps the loose nut behind the wheel from using his infernal cell-phone while driving. Maybe Detroit will be required to develop special lock-on handcuffs to keep the drives hands on the steering wheel when the car is in motion; or trigger the airbags when the driver uses a cell-phone. For a few thousand dollars more, I'm sure these devices could be included as standard features on all models. As downbreeding continues, I recommend the introduction of new highway and freeway safety features: guides similar to rails would be constructed on freeway traffic lanes with designated switching points for entering or leaving the road. All of the normal drivers who are physically and mentally deficient, zonked out on drugs, illiterate aliens, etc. would enter a sidelines where they would be connected to a 'road locomotive' tractor, the driver of which would be certified as having passed all relevant physical, mental, drug and highway exams. He would pull his train of monkey-mobiles to their destination, the offramp of their choice, where they would be uncoupled. As for street safety, there would be cheaper and more effective ways of dealing with careless drivers including retro-active abortions on the spot.

"Rich Aryan" is an oxymoron, for all of them are so cozy with the jews, they are hardly distinguishable from their kosher capitalist cohorts. In Protocol #8: "We shall surround our government with a whole world of economists. That is the reason why economic sciences form the principal subject of the teaching given to the jews. Around us again will be a whole constellation of bankers, capitalists, industrialists and -- the main thing -- millionaires, because in substance everything will be settled by the question of figures."

Hitler was not supported by rich Germans until he was in office. Those with the money did nothing until those with very little did a whole lot. When you describe a leader and savior who could lead us out of the cesspool we have created for ourselves and which we have gleefully jumped into, I can say that no such leader would have anyone to lead. I am the very person you describe, and no one wants to listen to me, except for their entertainment. Harold Covington told me that National Socialism was a 'bitter medicine' we must swallow to cure our jew-nigger hangover. In other words, we needed to climb out of our cesspool for a bit, shake ourselves off with a good dose of Wagner, sieg-heiling and nigger-kicking, after which we could jump back into the cesspool, all clean and refreshed in order to 'enjoy our filthy degenerate pleasures' all over again. It is obvious to me that so-called Aryans or Ostensible Whites are enjoying their degenerate pleasures so much, they are not interested in changing their ways one iota. I genuinely enjoy National Socialism, White Man's music and 'straight behavior'. "Bitter medicine" indeed! If the savior of The White Race must be an alien, then the White Race should not be saved from itself. In regard to the majority, I remain a populist, like Hitler. I would not force "bitter medicine" down their throats, even if it were in my power to do so. Anyone who must be saved from himself is not worth saving. "One self-styled "Aryan", Ray Leahart of New Orleans and his mulatto son, came to visit me when I edited and contributed to Liberty Bell and White Power Report in Reedy, WV. After showing him around and attempting to explain what I was trying to accomplish for The White Power Movement, Ray, who was a David Duke K-K-Kook, asked me what I did for recreation. "What I always do," I said, "write, typeset and spread the word. That is my avocation and my recreation." Leahart gave me a lewd wink and said, "Don't you ever want to go drink whiskey, smoke cigars, shoot pool and take some red-hot honkey-tonk mama to bed, for a night on the town?" "Do I look like a nigger?" I responded. "No," he said. "Well, why would I like to behave like one?"

Ray phoned me with a 'great idea': why didn't we buy a radio station and broadcast our message? "Great idea, Ray, but where's the money?" I replied. "Say, we did get the money to buy the station," I continued. "Who would protect it 24 hours a day, 365 days a year?" Zündel did obtain access for his radio message a decade later, and the station was destroyed by ZOG arsonists. The final phonecall which I received from Ray in Reedy was to the effect that held heard Dietz and I were on the outs. I had not said anything to that effect, so it may have come from Dietz, since I was not making any money for him. Ray shifted the cud he always seemed to be chewing and said, "Eric, how would you like to step up on stage and tell your audience, "I am a Klansman!" I replied, "I could no more visualise myself saying that than I would my saying, 'I am an idiot!'" David Duke quit his very own KKK soon thereafter. Such loyalty to 'the Cause".

Not having family matters certainly does free a man for creative work. As a loner, I have only my illnesses to attend to, not those of family members. With the exception of my often chaotic work schedule, I can establish my own rhythms of sleep and writing, interrupted only by work at a job which contributes nothing but the means of survival to me. There are no interruptions from a wife who demands so and so, nor from offspring who demand such and such, and who bring in their mud 'friends' to case my premises and fondle my daughter. I can fight the jew myself, to hold his incursions at bay. I don't have to contend with his incursions into my house, at the insistence of family members. I am not driven out of my own home by niggerball and rap-crap as I would be in most homes of people I know. Having no personal nor physical hostages makes me richer than people with family and material possessions, for I can always do what I think is right, and they can't, unless they are prepared to give up all that they have. Of course, I know that they are self-indulgent, shortsighted fools, like the Ostensible Whites I knew in Rhodesia, for they will lose the very things they value so much, because they will not fight the enemies of Our Race. If they survived the handover to Black misrule by escaping the country, they would have escaped with little more than I took with me when I left before the handover. As I told them: you cannot give your country away and expect to keep your property. Imagine the folly of investing your time, money and labor in a house, only to flee in the night and leave it all behind, forever. I'd rather invest my time, labor and money toward the saving of Our Race, without which, none of our other investments can be protected and enjoyed. I have studied and travelled, always in search of my career and something worthy in which to invest my time, labor and money, and I found it. The byproduct of this lifelong quest was adventure. It was not my primary goal. My first goal was to find my people. The bipeds I grew up with in the Jew-Ess-Eh were not my people. We had nothing much in common, not in our values, our behavior, nor our interests. The height of my ambition was not to drive slowly around the Dairy Queen in my hotrod, with its flatulent exhaust, to impress the cowlike 'cuties' hanging around the premises. Those were the ambitions of the majority of my associates before I entered college. That is the only time I associated with my peers. Eventually I grew tired of the 'intellectual' vaporings and petty games of academic one upmanship, which were sterile exercises, on par with arguing about the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin. My desire was to act within and upon the real world. I thought I could do both in my chosen field of International Relations, but I learned otherwise. After all, my goal was to learn. I did so, and so far I have lived to tell about it.

I never had to sacrifice community, stability, security, etc. in my quest, for that was the purpose of my quest in the first place. I have searched for the things I never had. My search cost me nothing, for I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

I appreciate the download about Edward Said, the rootless cosmopolitan, with his sterile, pseudo-philosophical twaddle about the Arabs and jews. A certain amount of adversity does seem to burn off the babble in a man, and I would recommend that Mr. Said work a full day, in the hot sun, digging a useful ditch with a pick and shovel, as I've done on a number of occasions. Friedrich Nietzsche said with wonderful wisdom: "Man has his stomach to remind him that he is not a god." Mr. Said might thereby understand how silly his vaporings are in the context of people who must do such work, day after day, while experiencing hunger, thirst, fatigue and sore muscles. Mr. Said's 'solution' for the Arab-jew problem appears to be an interminable kaffee klatch or bull session in which nothing gets done. Being such an 'intellectual', he does not seem to realize that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at once, no matter how much they may agree with one another about space-sharing. It reminds me of the Peruvian 'intellectual' who suddenly had to attend his yoga session, after I asked him how Peru's massive unemployment problem was to be solved. In his mind, it must have been a matter of controlled breathing. Then came the Aendero Suminoso terrorists.

Thanks for the cute poem. It brought back vivid memories of the fireflies which I saw on a beautiful evening in Louisville, KY. Bluebirds were swooping low to catch them.

Eric Thomson

ORION!