Homunizam

homoseksualizacija društva – politička korektnost – totalitarizam – za roditelje: prevencija homoseksualnosti – svjedočanstva izlaska iz homoseksualnosti

“Kamp svetaca” (1-7.poglavlje) – sve do cenzuriranja web stranice


Jean Raspail.

Postoje knjige koje bi svatko trebao pročitati – zato jer su nevjerojatno vizionarske. Dok svi znaju za Orvellovu “1984”, malo tko zna za “Kamp svetaca” iz 1973.  Važnost ove knjige je u tome što se danas u imigracijskoj stvarnosti Europe uprizoruje baš ova knjiga.

Iako internet nije baš medij za prave književne tekstove, ovaj zaslužuje put do šire publike. Prijevod možemo zahvaliti portalu http://pandora.kreativisti.org/

[EDIT: portal je dohvatila Policija misli i ukinula]

Način dolaska invazijskih snaga pisac nije mogao pogoditi u detaljima – napisao je to pred 40 godina. Raspail je zamislio puno širi spektar invazijskih snaga i iz daljih zemalja trećeg svijeta. No, zbog religijske homogenosti invazijskih snaga stvarnost je ispala potencijalno i puno gora od njegove nevjerojatne dalekovidnosti.

1.poglavlje

2.poglavlje

3.poglavlje

4.poglavlje

5.poglavlje

6.poglavlje

Kamp_svetaca7

(nastavak)

„… u četiri odjeljenja koja graniče s obalom, pod zapovjedništvom podtajnika, gospodina Jeana Perreta, osobnog predstavnika predsjednika republike. Vojska će uložiti sve napore da zaštiti svu imovinu koja je ostavljena, ukoliko to druge dužnosti dopuste. Vladini izvori potvrđuju da će se predsjednik republike obratiti naciji u ponoć, noćas, s porukom ozbiljne zabrinutosti …“

Oni koji su znali francuski stišali su svoje radio prijemnike i prevodili obavijest hordi sunarodnjaka okupljenih sa svih strana. Čini se kako podrum nikada nije bio tako pun kao te noći. Tu su bili smješteni crni otpadnici iz sjevernih dijelova Pariza. Uz sve njih tako stisnute zajedno, osmorica na krevetu na kat, čije noge su visjele preko rubova, dobivao se osjećaj čvrstoće i snage kakvu niti oni sami nisu nikada primijetili.

Neobično za takve pričljive tipove, nitko se nije usudio reći niti riječ, čak niti šačica bijelaca koja je bila dijelom ogromne mase crnaca, a među njima i jedan od onih svećeničkih fukara i tvrdi militant u ratu s društvenim poretkom. Svi su razmišljali, naprezali svoj um do krajnjih granica. Nije lako zamisliti vrtoglave dimenzije nečeg tako nevjerojatnog kada živiš u čudnom gradu, negdje u jadnom zaboravljenom podrumu, a jedini put kad izlaziš van je svako turobno jutro, kako bi pokupio smeće duž bezimenih ulica.

„A ako se uspiju iskrcati u jednom komadu, što onda?“ upitao je jedan od njih, onaj kojeg su zvali „Šef,“ budući da je već neko vrijeme živio u Francuskoj. „Što ako se iskrcaju, hoćete li se svi vi popeti van iz svojih štakorskih rupa?“

Jedini odgovor bio je dugotrajni besmisleni žamor. Niti jedan od tih neuhranjenih mozgova nije dovoljno brzo radio da bi stvorio sliku mogućeg lanca događaja. Ali nešto je raslo iznutra, nešto sporo što se oblikovalo, ali jednako moćno i svečano. Zatim, iz tamnog udubljenja jednog od ležaja, zagrmio je glas:

„Sve ovisi. Hoće li biti dovoljno štakora?“

„Po danu,“ svećenička fukara je odgovorila, „oni će biti debeli poput drveća u divovskoj šumi, izniklih preko noći u mraku.“



 

Hrvatski prijevod knjige je bio prenošen s web stranice pandora.kreativisti.org , odnosno njihova časopisa “Revolt”. Zapravo pohranjena su bila sva do tada objavljena poglavlja i malo-po-malo prenošena ovdje. U međuvremnu je ova internetska stranica (čini se) zabranjena.Screenshot - 2.1.2016. , 17_15_29

Toliko o slobodi govora i slobodi medija u homunizmu.

Tko ih je zabranio? Ovisno gdje im je bila registrirana domena. Budući je bila ORG a ne HR, vjerojatno je bila negdje u inozemstvu. Nije Hrvatska (još) toliko napredna kao razvijeni Zapad. Zapravo ćete se iznenaditi da stranci bježe na blogspot.hr domenu sa svojim blogovima: Eto, do tuda je došlo. Mi u Hrvatskoj i istočnoj postkomunističkoj Europi imamo više slobode govora nego na Zapadu. Mi još možemo tvrditi da je homoseksualnost bolest. Drugi to ne mogu.

WordPress.com za sada ne cenzurira po političkoj korektnosti. No, kako je smješten negdje na Zapadu, moguće je da vam jednog dana i za homunizam.wordpress.com javi nešto slično – da stranica nije više dostupna. U tom slučaju googlajte ponekad “homunizam” i naći ćete novo sjedište  – imat će “homunizam” u imenu.

Nakon svega, vi se zaista možete početi osjećati kao verbalni teroristi – ako čitate stvari zbog kojih koje se zabranjuju web-stranice. Za homunističke vlasti i lijevoliberalne aktiviste, te seksualne revolucionare vi ste opasniji nego svi oni koji nose prsluke s eksplozivom. Te iste homunističke vlasti su i dovele sve ove s prslucima i kalašnjikovima u vaše dvorište.

Kako dalje nema hrvatskog prijevoda knjige, preostaje samo dati link na PDF da si ljudi skinu engleski prijevod (dolje). Tko ne zna engleski, ovo mu je zadnje poglavlje. Tko vam je kriv što biste čitali politički nekorektne knjige. Neka vam ovo bude poticaj da pročitate Orvellovu “1984” i “Životinjsku farmu”.

No, da barem završimo ovo 7.poglavlje, evo copy/paste ostatka ovog poglavlja na engleskom. Većini če biti od slabe koristi, ali neka, iz principa:

(dovršetak 7.poglavlja na engleskom)

That much they understood, and the murmur rippled with approval. Then they sat back, ready to wait …
There were others waiting too that night: the swill men, sewer men, sweepers from all the dumps the length and breadth of Paris; the peons and bedpan pushers from all the hospitals; the dishwashers from the shabby cafés; the laborers from Billancourt and Javel, from Saint-Denis and beyond; the swivel-hipped menials digging their pits around gas pipes and cables; the fodder for industry’s lethal chores; the machinery feeders, the Metro troglodytes, black crabs with ticket-punching claws; the stinking drudges who mucked around in filth; and the myriad more, embodiments all of the hundreds of essential jobs that the French had let slip through their delicate fingers; plus the ones who were coughing their lungs out in clinics, and the ones with a healthy dose in the syphilis wards. All in all, a few hundred thousand Arabs and blacks, invisible somehow to the ostrich Parisians, and far more numerous than anyone would think, since the powers that be had doctored the statistics, afraid of jolting the sleepwalking city too violently out of its untroubled trance. Paris was no New York. They waited now the same meek way they lived, overlooked and unknown, in virtual terror, whole tribes of fellow sufferers hiding away in the depths of their cellars or huddling together up under the eaves, happy to shut themselves off in infested streets, where grimy façades hid unsuspected ghettos as wholly unknown to the people of Paris as Ravensbruck and Dachau, once upon a time, had been to the Germans.

It was only among the Arabs that the thought of the unlikely confrontation brewing off the southern coast of France would occasionally take a vengeful turn. Nothing too concrete yet, only shadowy yearnings and suppressed desires, like the wish to see a French- woman smile, rather than dreaming of having to rape her; or being able to get yourself a pretty whore, instead of hearing her tell you, “I don’t go to bed with dirty Arabs”; or just being able to take a carefree walk through the park, and not suddenly see all the terrified females cluster around to protect their young, like mother hens ready to pounce. That evening, only the most fanatic envisioned a new kind of holy war, and one that wasn’t even theirs to wage. Still, in no time at all, the Algerian quarters all through Paris and the suburbs had been zoned off again into sectors. A certain Mohammed, the one called “Cadi One-Eye,” appeared to be in supreme command. By eleven that night he had managed to pass his first orders down the line to all the sector chiefs:
“The time for violence is over. Have them put away their razors, have them break their knives in two. The first one I hear of who spills any blood, I’ll see that he’s castrated.”
He was an Arab, and he knew how to talk to Arabs. And so they all obeyed him. Except, that is, for his schoolteacher wife, who was white and French. Indeed, his own razor was quick to disappear. It was hidden inside her right stocking, flat against the thigh. Élise had known what contempt was like. For all ten years of her married life, not one of its subtle barbs had escaped her. She cherished a dream of redemption by blood, and she wasn’t alone. Of all the French wives of ghetto Arabs—a scant thousand, perhaps—not a few had felt that burden of contempt. Among the Arabs, unlike the blacks, they were the only Western intruders. The clan loathed the stranger more as friend than foe; and if it accepted these Christian wives at all, it was only because it had swallowed them up, only because they belonged to it utterly, sex and soul, even more than Frenchwomen do to their Frenchmen …

There were some, though, who had a clear notion of just what a crucial struggle the next day would bring. They had closed their shutters, barred their doors, drawn the drapes in their rooms and offices, and sat clustered in silence around their radios, eager for news, waiting like everyone else for the promised address by the President of the Republic. They were the Third World diplomats and students—Africans, Arabs, Asians. On the verge of panic, with nowhere to turn, they had even stopped calling back and forth between their embassies, between their homes, so suddenly crushed by the turn of events, that they—the rich, the select, the leaders, the militant elite—no longer even bothered to keep abreast of each other. Which was all the stranger since, during the fifty days of the fleet’s dramatic odyssey over two oceans, they had been consumed in a frenzy of thoughtful reflection, issuing endless communiqués, holding press conferences, interviews, meetings, debates, one after the other, while the fleet pressed on and on, a mixture of fact and myth, a phenomenon so untoward that people would have to see it before they believed it. Then Gibraltar, finally, and see it they did! And suddenly all those eager devotees stopped wagging their tongues, their zeal turned to panic, and some—if the dark truth be known—had to hold back a flood of hate at the brink.

Closed, now, the West Indian bars, the Chinese restaurants, the African dance halls, the Arab cafés. In the light of other reports—from embassy guards, from worker and student informers—these signs all tended to kill any lingering doubts the police might have that the situation in Paris, eight hundred kilometers from the refugee fleet, was as grave as it was along the southern coast. Yes, a state of emergency should be declared here too, with the whole array of preventive measures, while they still had time. … The prefect of police called the Élysée Palace. He tried to get through to the Minister of the Interior. But all he was told was that the meeting was still in progress. … Three-quarters of an hour to go before the address, and the government still hadn’t made up its mind! The prefect, too, assumed that all he could do now was wait.
Could that be one explanation? …



Možete skinuti PDF cijele knjige na engleskom:

1 link: http://www.jrbooksonline.com/pdfs/camp_of_the_saints.pdf

2.link, s audio oblikom knjige, ako vam to više odgovara:

https://theendofzion.com/the-camp-of-the-saints-by-jean-raspail-book-and-audiobook/



In memoriam slobodi govora. I web-stranici koja nam je priuštila hrvatski prijevod ove knjige, sve dok je mogla (screenshot):

Screenshot - 2.1.2016. , 17_39_22Screenshot - 2.1.2016. , 17_39_46

Oglasi

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This entry was posted on 2016-01-02 by in Civilizacija, Imigracija.
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