France III, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart
Everything I have seen in the last ten years tells me that every word in Lucifers Court is true. Not one thing have I seen during that span confirms a single word of Judeo-Christianity, nor has anything I have seen in human nature before that. And as Judeo Christianity plunges headfirst into a trap laid out with Iran as bait almost ninety years ago its plain now to see the Aryans will have their vengeance on both the god of the bible and all his acolytes. - Jack
Otto Rahn starts his journey in Paris, I was now in Paris. I breezed through customs and was vomited into the middle of Charles de Gaulle Airport at midday. It was a cacophony of noises, races and destinations, like a colony of ants in a nest of methamphetamine. I made my way toward the train stations tentatively following the signs through at least a half mile of this maelstrom. Orage wanted me to take the train to Grenoble in the French Alps where he would pick me up after he drove out of Switzerland, coming from Germany. Immediately my phone began to malfunction and wouldn’t hold a charge. I ended up anchored to a kiosk in front of the airport railroad station that had American charging outlets because I didn’t have a European adapter. A nasty looking slice of pizza was seven euros. I bought one…
If the airport is any kind of a barometer no one in Paris speaks English except the French. Unfortunately all the airport personnel are African, including the security guards who exhibited a visceral hatred of Whites. To counter this the real police were all French. I finally found a little African angel at the ticket station who spoke some English. She told me I couldn’t get a ticket to Grenoble unless I switched at several different stops and was sure to get lost. Orage had been saying he could pick me up at Aix, so I opted for the express to Aix at a hundred and twenty euros. Orage was not happy about it, but he would have to drive the extra kilometers to pick me up.
The train was immaculate just like the trains in Germany. It cut through the twilight of the French countryside at well over a hundred miles an hour, but it didn’t even feel like it was moving. Across from me sat a young African man and on the other side of the aisle two star crossed teenaged lovers obviously returning from an adventure in Paris. The rest of the car was almost empty. The African guy got some food from the adjoining car, and it smelled so good I followed his lead. All I’d eaten that day was the slice of roadkill pizza from the kiosk at the airport. I was just settling in to enjoy it when a Muslim family of four lugging over half a dozen large suitcases started fussing with the luggage rack outside the door. When they came in the man loudly announced that the French teenage lovers were in his seats. He pulled his tickets out brandishing them aggressively in the boy’s face. The kids moved on. There were hundreds of seats on the train. The man, about thirty-five years old seated himself and his family. There was his wife wearing the standard medieval Muslim costume while he wore what looked to be an Aerosmith T-shirt. His daughters were dressed like American teenyboppers, and during the rest of the two hour ride almost never looked up from their I-phones. He spent the rest of the ride fawning over his dour looking wife and, at least I got the impression, trying to impress me what a man he was. I never uttered a word, so he had no way of knowing I don’t speak French.