/lit/ - Literature

I worship everything that is virile.. the brownshirt, the cannibal, the arsonist, the sodomite, the pederast...

>Karl-Günther Heimsoth (4 December 1899, Charlottenburg – July 1934, Berlin) was a German physician, polygraph, and politician. Heimsoth was a member of the Nazi Party and later the Communist Party of Germany.
>Between August and November 1924 Heimsoth wrote at Rostock his dissertation entitled Hetero- und Homophilie ("Hetero- and Homophilia"), which was devoted to homosexuality.[4] With this work, Heimsoth was probably the first to introduce the term "homophilia" in sexology.[5]
>In his writing Freundesliebe oder Homosexualität ("Love Between Friends or Homosexuality"), published in the magazine Der Eigene by Adolf Brand in 1925, Heimsoth showed his antisemitism: "All heroic and masculine love between friends" remains, "in his idea and possibilities of understanding[,] foreign to the Jewish spirit". Male homosexuality is thus envisioned as not only heroic, but purely masculine, not only in terms of its object of attraction but also in the sexual identity and being of the man in question. In this understanding it is the masculine within the homosexual male that seeks out the same masculinity in other males as sexually attractive without any reference to an assumed internal feminine. [8] Heimsoth's ideal was that of a whole man, virile and Aryan. Homoerotic friendships between men were to serve as a nexus of "obersten Machtaufgebot" (called higher power).[9] Heimsoth thought that he could find examples of such heroes among the soldiers of World War I and among the Freikorps environment, as can be gathered from his 1925 publication in the magazine Der Eigene: in it he asked to be sent documentation to demonstrate the "circumstances and homoerotic relations in the Kampfwagen formations and secret societies" and wanted to obtain material "about heroism, the heroic leader problem and the psyche of the volunteers, the desperate, Landsknechte, Freikorps members, and secret societies".[10]
>At the time of the correspondence with Röhm, it appears that Heimsoth became a member of the NSDAP.[1] According to Otto Strasser, Heimsoth was not only an active member of the Nazi Party in the following years, but a "flaming National Socialist".[16]

Masculinity is incompatible with civilisation. Behind every set of male eyes lies a furnace. Grab the most humane, most liberal man you can find and show him footage of a military parade — huge columns of men bearing standards, marching in unison — and watch his eyes glaze over with obscene pleasure. Look how the blood rushes inside him. Like the sea pounding against the Trojan beachhead, mixing the splinters of broken ships with gore.

What are men? Warmongers, arsonists, sodomites, tyrants.
Everything that conquers. Everything that destroys. The bomber plane pilot, engaged in the aerial bombardment of a city at night, carbonising whole families, leaving red, festering wounds in the human ant hive below. Or some Mesopotamian warlord, fresh from the ransacked town where he has spent the afternoon obliterating the genes of his enemies. See how he emerges, gem-enriched and gold-encrusted, from the shattered city gates, his smiling face covered in soot, his broad back massaged by the puny thumping fists and heels of the boys and women he carries off for his private pleasure. That’s what a man is.

It is not just the destruction of others that the male animal craves, but the annihilation of himself. To plunge a sword into his own bowels and to watch the scarlet liquid drain out in long, spurting plumes — a libation for his death-spasms. To lose his individuality in the throngs of a crowd. To be hanged, martyred, cut to pieces by machine gun fire. Made low by circumstances. Spat upon. To wander like a hobo god over a ruined continent.

Imagine there is a long film reel that documents every hidden desire ever felt by men’s hearts. Let’s take a brief peek. Let’s sit down. We’ve entered somewhere in the middle of the picture. What do we see? A montage of horrors: trapped flesh wriggling desperately under a tickling hand. Blindfolded deserters attached to their stakes suddenly crumpling dead. Breasts mortified with hot irons in a dungeon. Cities wiped clean in a nuclear flash. Where is this dreadful picture playing? In some seedy underground theatre about to be raided by the police, surely? No. Wherever there is a line at the grocery store, the ballot box, the unemployment office.