One cannot imagine a non-white version of Jonathan Bowden [see previous post]. He is something uniquely ours, he belongs to us. If our people should perish, the world will not know such a type again. Brilliant, quirky, hilarious, inspired, exuding the passion of a thousand suns, but also odd and perhaps sad and troubled as well. Very, very English.
Such was my impression, anyway. I never knew Jonathan personally, but he always reminded me, and strikingly so, of a very close friend of mine. They could have been brothers. My friend made it to 39. When he left, dying unexepectedly and without warning, he took something away that those of us who remain would never get back. And so it is with Bowden.
Perhaps that is the price one pays to mix such passion with brilliance. Trapped in normal life, but with a heart and soul too big for it, or simply attuned to that which others do not see. A fire in a barn, the life force ready to explode – or go away entirely. Perhaps such men aren’t meant to last, but rather to use themselves up with haste, spending themselves in a torrent, living mostly within the rich universe of their own minds. Only the gods know.
It is entirely possible that Bowden, had he the resources and support, could have played an even greater role in creating the vision that we require. Our time as a people is running short, and Bowden, his own time cut tragically short, has left us when we needed him most. We can soldier on, and we will. Let his memory and the work that he leaves behind inspire us to go forward with passion and heart, to win a new world, and in the meantime to support those wonderful, talented misfits as they arise, and while we still have them. They will not last forever. Of course, no man does, but the sort of which I speak seems particularly prone to the candle burning brightly, but briefly.
Many have said that preserving the beauty of the Aryan female is powerful incentive for preserving our people, and frankly, that’s always been quite good enough for me. Still is. But I’ll also derive some comfort from the fact that, when we secure the existence of our people, there will be more Bowdens down the road. Not often, and not many, but some. That will be good too.
Rest in peace, comrade.
Source: Comment at Counter-Currents